Aelenta Renvanith, Fox Knight of Autumn and Child of Renvanna

[jmecha]

Across the planes there exist that which is to pure a concept for any prime material world to contain, and the Rusalka was one such entity. Born of beauty betrayed, this being of Love and Loss encompassed some of the strongest emotions imaginable of all of the Fey Wild. In a physical form so fine that her otherworldly beauty had been described by those who had looked upon her fiery read hair and bared flesh as nothing less then then an avatar of the Princess of Passion. So stunning was her presence that without the supernatural charms of her otherworldly wiles, men and women would willingly give their lives to feel the warmth of her loving embrace. I say this not because she was so overwhelmingly a being of lust, although she most certainly was, but also because she exuded an ever present aura from her very being of welcoming love so overwhelming that her mere presence was enough to make those in her company unconsciously elevate themselves in an effort to prove worthy of the possibility of her affections.

Months ago when the companions four in an effort to aid the Sea Elves and Merfolk of Deepwater Harbor confronted the predator who had hunted their communities, the Rusalka most unexpectedly encountered someone she had never imagined possible. The man who would inspire in her the Love at first sight, that she had inspired in so many others. Although their exchange was a violent one, the passions that stirred in her heart were undeniable, and ever since the day beneath the watery depths that she first laid eyes upon the love of her life, Sir Ambrose Illance Sworn Knight of Love and Beauty...the Rusalka worked to devise the means of proving her truest love to this noble hearted paladin.

Love sometimes influences all of us to make questionable choices, and her love for Sir Ambrose Illance was no different for her. Being as love struck and awed as she was by this handsome man from Cormyr with a heart as pure as starlight and whose charms rivaled her own, the Rusalka was at a loss as to how after so many horrific acts during her time, she might somehow prove herself worthy to this Champion. For sometime she stalked him quietly and unseen, the only traces of her passing being those strains of her brilliant hair that were found in Sir Illance's bed chamber, after the night in which her longing for him had been so unbearable....she had snuck into his chambers just to cradle him in her loving arms while he slept blissfully. When she learned that her love was going to set sail for the shores of Avernus, the choice to secretly stow away upon the battered old spell jammer known as the Astral Ghost, was no choice at all. She had to be there for her Knight, and when he needed her more then he knew, she was there for him and his.



As the devils came forward to take the lives of the dying, the Rusakla leapt between them and the man that she loved. Born from an act beauty and love betrayed, Her tragic death was in a sense a mirror image of her creation. It is unknown if it was the very power of the Rusalka's love and loyalty that washed over the four dying companions in Avernus, or a blessing from Sune. Scholars may argue, although for the Four, there was no need to distinguish a difference as their once collapsing lungs filled with air, and their withering limbs found renewed strength within their grasp. Rising to their feet as one, there was no argument between them, as to what had saved them, and not one of them was willing to waste this unexpected grace that they had been granted. Together the companions fought for their lives, they fought for the one who had sacrificed herself, they fought for all that was good in existence although they were fighting in Hell it's self. Together they stood after the Devil had played his last song, and his minions defeated, and certain death cheated.

Upon the Devil's Dance floor, upon the spot in which the Rusalka had given her life, there amongst the carnage and carrion, there gleamed a perfect instrument to pure to have ever been created upon a prime material world. This Harp's chords were capable of playing the conceptual essence of music so purely and perfectly that to even try and define them with such crude tools as thoughts, words, or even imagination would do the truth of music an injustice. Feeling the burdens of Love and Loss, feeling the beauty of life reborn, Sir Ambrose Illance Knight of Sune, Champion of Love and Beauty took this instrument from where it laid and tossed it in a graceful arc to the Elven Bard whose long fingers plucked it from the air.

"Finish this Aelenta."



Striking the Harp strings, music beyond mortal understanding was played with such perfection that all the Devils who dared to hear such beauty perished within it's sonic wake. Thus the Four claimed the Fiddle of Gold, and left with their souls intact, for now, to return to Ravel Puzzlewell...

[jmecha]

Their time in Avernus worked to erode away who they were, and each of the four slowly but surely came to be increasingly dour in their demeanor. It came to be the smallest exchange or slightest unpleasantry became more then enough for them to snap at each other with open hostility and resent. Not one of them wanted to be there, and Avernus had a way of turning their shared suffering against them, driving wedges where there were once strong bonds of brotherhood and comradery. The four had not yet broken, but it was clear to see they were breaking, and it would only be a matter of time before Baator broke them. The unimaginable victory against the Infernal Instrumentalist to claim the prize Fiddle of Gold with Angel Hair strings, should have filled their hearts with song and gave them the strength they needed to move mountains. Yet here in Hell, they found themselves barely motivated enough to shuffle their boots through the blasted sands of broken stone shards with their soles worn thin. Upon once more returning to where the Witch laired, the four almost collectively if silently felt a little piece of their hearts break as they stared up the rickety flight of stairs. The last thing any of them wanted now was to walk up all those steps.

Summoning what he could for a display of confidence and bravado, Aelenta Renvanith shouldered the Golden Fiddle as he walked into the elevated wooden structure, supported by questionable struts far above the hellscape below. Standing before Ravel Puzzlewell, the young elf kept his back straight and a smile he did not feel, upon his face. As the Hag reached out for the fiddle, Aelenta was quick to unshoulder the prize and pass it to her, in an effort to insure there was no need for her foul fingers to come anywhere near touching his face.

"Ah poor Mhick... His pride must have been a sight."

The words of the Witch brought no comfort to those that heard them, nor warning to what she would do next. Without so much as examining the Fiddle or admiring it's beauty, Razel Puzzlewell haphazardly discarded it into a waste barrel half filled with stems of various herbs, what appeared to be chunks of glistening fat and organs still slick with blood and bodily fluids taken from unknown humanoids, and what may have been a bird's nest of severed tongues and half eaten eyeballs. Raising his hand and opening his mouth in protest, Aelenta fell silent and found no words for this atrocity. None of the four had words for what they had just witnessed, collectively they just watched in confusion and despair as the most beautiful instrument that they had fought and suffered to acquire, was tossed away to waste.

"I will need to construct a potion of soul searching."

Turning with all the grace and beauty of a lumbering uncoordinated corpse covered in pustules and blight, Ravel Puzzelwell begin rummaging through her pantry. The smells and sounds that escaped from within were that of a vast sea of cannibalizing maggots' feasting upon their putrid selves.


"That will do....Unhallowed oil, an ebon slaad tooth."
"What else?"
"Yes a lock of hair from the subject?"
"You have that to produce I assume?"

The robes of the wizard Mephis began to move and with a snap of his fingers, his infernal familiar Yapka sprang out with a lock of hair clenched tightly in it's paw. As the Imp delivered the hair to Ravel Puzzlewell, Sir Ambrose Illance glared with visible disapproval of Yapka. It was widely accepted amongst the four that the imp, was not to be trusted, yet Mephis seemed convinced that his choice of familiar was an acceptable risk and even vital to the task of recovering Alasharious the Meek from Avernus, as well as his research. It remained a point of contention between Mephis and the others, except for perhaps Bodkin Sodoff, who after his exile from Cormyr had grown rather apathetic about almost everything in his existence. All the same this was not the time nor place to begin infighting, no matter how tempting it was to do so.

Grasping the lock of hair and adding it to the other ingredients, the Witch Ravel made an announcement.

"One more ingredient is needed, for my stock is low...Noble Blood....Blood from Noblity."

Looking sharply to the Witch, the color blanching from his cheeks, Sir Ambrose Illance asked.

"What?"

All eyes turned to the Hero who had brought them all together. All eyes turned to Sir Ambrose of House Illance of Cormyr, Sworn Paladin of the Lady of Love and Beauty, the true love of the Rusalka, and the man who they knew to be their Leader.

"The final part of my potion mortal! I need only a few drops."

With an imploring look towards the wizard, Sir Ambrose Illance invoked his name as if it's mere utterance was a plea for aid.
"Mephis..."

"I knew not this component Sir Illance, I do apologize."

"What is the nature of this infernal alchemy?"

Looking from the Fiddle in the Waste Bin, and then to Ambrose, Aelenta Renvanith let his bitterness get the best of him. Between uncounted days of Avernus and having seen the Fiddle of Gold so casually discarded, the desire to lash out and kick someone while they were low simply got the best of him.

"Noble blood, not complaints."

Just to insure the message was clear, the young elf made a buttoning gesture over his lips to let Sir Ambrose know it maybe time to seal his mouth and instead open a vein. To which Mephis spoke up as the voice of reason, as he was prone to doing on the rare occasion he spoke up at all.

"Traditionally scrying is exceeding difficult in Avernus I am afraid..."

The look of betrayal was clear to see on the handsome face of the young caviler from Cormyr as it twisted in uncharacteristic scorn for the Wizard and the Elf, before softening as it looked to Bodkin Sodoff with longing for moral support.

"You would suffice, that would be quite nice, but it would be more powerful from your eldest brother."

"My..."



Before the champion of Sune could finish his thought or share his words further, the large twisted fingers of Ravel Puzzelwell reached out to take hold of Bodkin Sodoff's powerful arm before swiping a single glistening black talon across his flesh to draw blood. As the hag moved back to her alchemy to allow the blood from her glistening talon to drip into the potion she had been preparing, the companions exchanged their confusion at the revelation.

Aelenta Renvanith studied the men from Cormyr for any semblance of relation, and found none.
Mephis offered them the confession of this all being unexpected then congratulated the pair on their revealed relation.
Sir Ambrose Illance's previous look of scorn and confusion evaporated as he was washed over by a renewed sense of brotherly love for his longest companion, and Bodkin spoke his truth...

"She is wrong...I do not think her potion is going to work...she is a liar....how can we be brothers if we have different mothers?"

Black smoke rose up from the potion as each drop of Bodkin's blood fell from the hag's talon and mixed with the other ingredients, and as the last droplet fell, the crone grinned like a shark and extended a gnarled hand to the wizard Mephis.

"Drink...but take care that you do not over imbibe...
you seek the soul of another and may lose your own...
if you dive to deeply into the draught...
But fear naught...
for many here have lost their soul in Avernus...
You will not be alone"

Before the witch had finished her warning, Mephis had knocked back the heady brew and set the now empty vial on the hag's counter top between the twitching frog legs and quivering monkey paw. The lines of the wizard's face grew deeper and better defined as his eyes nearly shined with clarity and focus. The ability to perceive an ethereal chord between himself and the trapped soul of Alasharious began to manifest, and Mephis's entire posture orientated towards further hunting down his quarry. The hound had caught the sent, and it was time to depart without delay.

Leading the way Mephis with his eyes blazing with the glow of a soul trail lead the way out the door and down the stairs. Bodkin Sodoff, eager to put a distance between the revelation of his and Ambrose's relation was fast on his heels. Ambrose was not far behind with an innocent smile upon his face as he continued to relish in the idea of Bodkin Sodoff being his brother, even if by another mother. Only the elf was slow to set off for the final leg of their journey as he stopped to make on last effort to reclaim the fiddle of gold.

With a wide smile and a twinkle in his eye, Aelenta Renvanith summoned all the youthful charm and naïve innocence he could muster in his voice as he pitched the idea of his being a dutiful and helpful young lad on his way out the door.

"Well...now that we are on our way...and since Bodkin is now an Elder Noble....want me to take your trash out? Save you a trip...up and down those treacherous stairs?"

"No I plan on melting it down, always use gold in my potions. Gives it a nice effect those flecks and all Aelenta."

His expression soured with all the full savory flavors of the deepest richest salt mines of all of the multiverse, and the words sprang to the front of his mind without hesitation.

"What a Witch."

[jmecha]

Mephis followed the soul tether that only his eyes could see, and lead his companions deeper into what was locally known only as the Under Maw. The entrance to the underground complex appeared nothing more then a cave mouth in the side of a mountain of stone and bones. Once inside it was quickly revealed the Under Maw was in truth a well designed fortification. The stone work within was infernally exact in how meticulous it was finished, the width of the tunnels being uniform without variation and the height of the passages proper for the patrolling Abishai within. So well refined was the design of the Under Maw in fact, there was no real need for a heavy presence of sentries for there was no way in which the Demon Host beyond could breach the Under Maw's bulwark defenses, and there was no reason any reasonable being would want to cross over to the chaos beyond where the Demons had obtained a foot hold in Avernus. Little did the designers of the defenses realize how very unreasonable four mortals could be.

Advancing slowly along the well carved tunnel of finished stone work of uniform measurements the companions moved deeper, and deeper beneath the surface of Avernus. So long and methodical was their march that in time they grew complacent enough to forget they were infiltrating a place they should not be, and began to converse amongst themselves. Although the nature of Avernus did keep the conversation on the edge of paranoia and far from anything resembling comfortable or casual. With his right hand tightly gripping the hilt of his blade, Sir Ambrose Illance began to make an inquiry.

"Mephis old boy...are we still posing as traders at this point, or should we..."

The Wizard's reply was cut and dry, with no room within it for rebuttal.

"We are still traders."

Yet a rebuttal came in the form of a blue Abishai sentry making it's way down the endless tunnel towards the four companions. Aelenta Renvanith, saw it coming before it sawed them, but the early warning he provided his friends was fruitless. They were standing in what may have been an endless tunnel with no where to hide, no where to run, and the sentry was heading directly towards them. It was only a matter of seconds before the Draconic Devil shouted and Mephis stepped forward to handle the delicate situation with all the finesse it required.

"Intruder!"

With his eyes still shining with the wild gleam of the Witch's alchemy, Mephis stood tall before his companions and released an unholy sound from his mouth as he spoke the language of Infernal. It had not been the first time he had done so during their time in Avernus, but it was far from something anyone had grown comfortable with hearing. There was something about the tongue that made one's hair stand on end, and inspired a desire to recoil from the sounds it generated. It was akin to hearing nails dragged across a chalkboard and listening to bones break while flesh was torn open. Thankfully the negotiations between Mephis and the Abishai were as brief as they were unbearable to hear.

The Wizard barked forth something infernal, and the Draconic Devil snapped and hissed something just as foul sounding back in response. Whatever it is the pair had said to each other, neither sounded as if they were willing to concede their side of the argument, at least not to the untrained ears of the others present. It was then that Mephis changed the tone of his voice and tried a different approach to end the stalemate between himself and the sentry.

Raising his right hand and speaking an arcane language, the wizard emitted a thin ray of negative energy from his index finger that struck the towering blue Abishai without warning. The sound of hundreds of pounds of now inert and lifeless devil flesh coated in draconic scales collapsing to the stonework floor signaled the end of the negotiations. When the wizard spoke next, he used the common trade tongue, and offered a polite request for his companions.

"Please, continue."

Even with the inclusion of the word, Please, something about the wizard's tone implied that he was not actually interested in any further discussion, and so the companions wordlessly stepped over the corpse littering the tunnel and marched deeper into hell.

[jmecha]

Passing through the Under Maw proved more difficult then the arcane slaughtering of a single sentry. Not only was the door they needed to pass through several feet thick and made of reinforced stone and steel, but there was no obvious means of opening it. To add infernal injury to insult, the industrious trap that had been laid to slaughter any demons who managed to break through nearly proved the end of Aelenta Renvanith as it sprang up from the floor without warning and nearly cut him in half. Fortunately Mephis managed to determine that the manipulation of some nearby statues of Asmodeus were the key to opening the Under Maw Gate, unfortunately though a host of Hezrou Demons eager to invade the rest of Avernus were awaiting on the other side of the the door that once held them back. They stood tall towering over the companions and they looked to be some form of muscular toads cross breed with ogre blood. Their maws opened large and were lair to rows of blunt teeth that appeared designed for delivering unforgiving crushing force upon anyone or thing unfortunate enough to feel their bite. These demons could easily tear the limbs from a man, and then snap through their bones with all the easy of cracking a carrot. Fighting their way through the Under Maw was in truth only the beginning of a very long trial of endurance as the companions four eventually emerged from the depths to find themselves looking across the endless war torn wastes of blasted sands.



As time and distance are difficult thing to track in a place that had no days and upon a journey with no mile markers, it remains unknow for how long or for how very far the four struggled across Avernus in search of Alasharious. There were only the occasional changes in terrain to serve as land marks upon their quest. First after the Under Maw were the near endless dunes of blasted sands and the occasional ruins of forts built for, and then lost to the eternal Blood War. The came the forests of dead trees where hordes of Dretch would charge forth in near endless swarms spewing noxious gases from their wretches frames as they were slain by the sword strokes of Sir Illance and his Brother Bodkin's savage scythe swings. Stumbling over the mounds of corpses and through the fog of foul stench, the four next reached a series of jagged cliff faces that forced them to maneuver through twisting and turning foot paths that were littered with the bones and corpses of all those Devils and Demons who had fought there before them.



It was in these twisting paths known as Uloch's Pass that the four came to know the predations of the Hyena-shaped Demons known as the Shoosuvas. They stalked the cliff faces and twisting trails with unnatural hunger and a cruelty that did not exist in nature. With their series of bony ridges that went down their spines and their giant poisonous tail stingers, they proved capable of inflicting grievous wounds even without use of the fierce teeth within there ever slavering maws, which they seemed ever eager to sink deep into the flesh of all they encountered. Despite the ankle breaking terrain, and the ruthless pack tactics of the hunting bands of the Shoosuva. Eventually the Companions Four found themselves in what could be described as large bowel of sand surrounded by the jagged cliffs surrounding it, and there in it's heart waited a large fortified encampment and the host of Demons that had claimed it an unknown time ago.



Raising his staff and gesturing forth, the Wizard Mephis shared with the others what his soul searching gaze had revealed to him. The light of nearby burning corpses gave his pale face an eerie glow as he made his proclamation.

"We have come far."
"There... within that fortification ahead... Alasharious awaits."

The wizard's words while simple and direct, were taken by Bodkin as an announcement that now was the time for conversation. Bodkin Sodoff used the opportunity share what had been upon his mind for the last leg of their harrowing journey, and without hesitation delivered forth his unrefutable logic.

"You know, Ambrose. You can't be my brother. My mother died when I was born."

Blinking back tears due to the sulphur fumes from the nearby corpses and the confusion between their ears, three of the four companions slowly turned their gaze to Bodkin Sodoff. In response the peasant of Noble Blood, nodded with all the certainty of a sage, and all the pose and grace of the village idiot. It was Ambrose Illance that took the bait.

"And your father?"

"Two fathers can't make a baby...Everyone knows that."

The young elf decided to escape the conversational mire, and slinked ahead to take a closer look at the encampment. With his senses searching for any hidden threats between himself and the distant demon camp, he slowly crept forward with his blades in hand and a tightness behind his eyes. Unexpectedly, there came a conversation from which there appeared no escape as the voice of Priestess Nova Starmane spoke within his mind.

“Orcs dispatched. Hard battle. Had strong magic beyond their capabilities. Necromancy. Flesh Golems. Any idea on who could create? Are you safe?”

"I do not know what Orcs you are talking about, but I do know a powerful Necromancer with wealth and a history of questionable alliances."

"Necromancer noted. I feel that I have done all I can to help you. May the Weave guide you."

It felt good to be reminded that there were people back home, and a back home, to return to. Even if there was nothing anyone back home could do for him given his current situation, and nothing he could do for them.

[jmecha]

In the distance there was a large fortified camp, and Aelenta Renvanith crept closer for a better look. No sooner had the young elf gotten close enough to see the fortification appeared to have human origins based upon the designs of the wooden palisades, a flock of Vrocks spotted him and released blood curdling screech. All pretense of stealth were immediately abandoned as it came down to a race between his swift elven feet and the beating of abysmal wings. Thankfully his companions were ready and waiting.

As the Vrocks were led through a narrow passage between a pair of jagged stone cliffs, an arcane storm of ice erupted amongst the flock upon the command words of Mephis the Magician. The Vrocks landed battered and bruised from the violent eruption of ice. They had been caught off guard, and were ready to extract blood for the unwanted violent surprise they had suffered. Unfortunately for the Vrocks, their troubles would soon be over thanks to Sir Ambrose Illance and Bodkin the Bastard charging head long into their ranks to put them to steel. Spinning to confront the flock that had been in pursuit, Aelenta Renvanith barely had time to release arrows into the demonic beasts as the last of their numbers were slain upon the bitter sands of Avernus's battlefield.

Aelenta shared with his companions what he had seen of the fortifications ahead, and how they appeared to be once human designed walls and walkways, repurposed by demons. Not wanting to battle encamped Demons, Aelenta was going to suggest to his friends that they work to find a way around the fortifications. Instead, Mephis made an announcement and pointed directly at the encampment with his rune littered stave and eyes that continued to shine with an unnatural glow from the potent potion he had previously imbibed.

"Alasharious...is near. I can sense his tortured soul."

Each of the three processed the proclamation in their own way, with different degrees of nobility and grace. Sir Ambrose Illance raised his chin with pride and defiance, for not even a camp of Demons would sway him from his service to Sune. He had sworn to save an ally of Her church from a fate such as to be found here upon this frontline of the Blood War, and he would not be deterred so long as he had life in his body. Aelenta Renvanith, released a short burst of well crafted vulgarity that would make cold blooded Yuan-ti blush, before he stood up straight to steel himself for the fight to come. Where as Bodkin the Bastard lazily swatted at some infernal flies while staring at the fiery sky with his mouth agape and the unfocused eyes of a traditional village idiot. It was possible Bodkin was not even aware of the encampment before them or their plans, the blissful look in his glazed over eyes strongly hinted at profound ignorance.



The clatter of pots and pans as well as the crash of crates being clumsily knocked over, drew the attention of the companions from the encampment's fortifications. The sight they beheld now was that of a comically short and disgustingly portly demon as it strained and struggle to wiggle and worm it's way out from where it had hidden. Upon it's head sat a well stained and soiled chef's hat, and within it's beady eyes lurked an intelligence that was rivaled only by Bodkin the Bastard's own gaze. This disgusting being immediately surrendered it's self in an unabashed display of self serving cowardice. It introduced it's self as the camp's cook, and was more then willing to share the meal it was preparing. The sights and smells of which were vile enough, that only one of the four were potentially hungry enough to even consider accepting the offer. Instead of breaking bread, the four companions set to questioning the cook and learned that on the far side of the camp were the latrine trenches where the captured larva of Avernus were used as slave labor by the Demons to dig and burrow pits into the soil in which they may, relieve themselves of a host of abysmal excrement.

After having warned the four to avoid the center of camp where the Leader of the Demons dwelled, the Cook offered unwanted blood muffins before scurrying off to find a new place to hide before the next wave of inevitable battle broke out. Scanning the Fortifications ahead, the companions agreed to try and maneuver around the massive encampment to the left in hopes they may reach the latrines upon the far side with minimal engagement with the camp's current occupants. This went about as well as you may expect any plan to go upon the eternal battlefields of the blood war.



Beset upon by black swarms of demonic blood thirsty flies the size of horses, the four fought on through the madding hum of dozens of dark wings towards their shared goal. Only coming to a hard halt as Ice Demons erupted through the encampment's gates to hamper their progress with storms of cutting cold and ice. The combination of the arcane might, unwavering steel, unrelenting determination, and well honed skills of the companions was enough to carry them through to the putrid aroma of the latrines. There beside the bubbling pits most foul, wallowing in the muck and the mire, was the one they did seek, Alasharious the Meek.