Mission 3 - Ransom Demands

The Ransom

We set off to deliver the sniveling Amrik Vanthampur back to his mummy, anticipating a hefty reward for our troubles. The ever-earnest Reya Mantlemorn tagged along, radiating righteous indignation. Navigating the heavily guarded gates of the Upper City proved laughably simple; our Flaming Fist credentials parted the guards like smoke.

Vanthampur Villa itself presented a similar, albeit private, display of martial readiness. Amrik, still clinging to his delusions of authority, waved us through his family's personal guards. Inside the opulent entrance hall, Amrik attempted some pathetic coded whisper with the stiff-backed butler. Oh, the predictability! We insisted on accompanying him to fetch dear Thelamra. As we stood there, a flicker of movement in the periphery caught my eye – a subtle distortion in the air. Just the barest warning before chaos erupted. Thurstwell Vanthampur's nasty little infernal imps, lurking invisibly in every corner, decided to join the party.

As they shimmered into view, stingers bared, Amrik made a desperate, foolish bid for freedom, scrambling towards the front door. Tsk, tsk. I intercepted him with a swift, decisive slash. We had warned him about funny business. He really should have listened. His brief, treacherous life ended there on the polished front stoop. Meanwhile, the butler, showing slightly more sense, bolted for a side door. Iliran Tilorri - Mike, quick with his staff, hooked the fleeing servant's ankle, sending him sprawling ignominiously in the hallway beyond.

My blade sang as I cleaved the nearest imp neatly in two – such fragile things, really. I then darted across the room to assist Thomus - Thomas, who was already gleefully trading blows with another of the little devils. All this delightful commotion naturally attracted attention. Three guards materialized in the hallway where the butler had fallen, three more burst through an eastern door, and another trio approached the main entrance from outside. Quick as a viper strike, Reya Mantlemorn dragged Amrik's cooling corpse back inside and slammed the heavy door bolts home.

Then, a moment of beautiful synergy: Iliran Tilorri - Mike placed a hand upon Thomus - Thomas's shoulder, and suddenly, our brawny companion unleashed a torrent of dragon fire! The inferno utterly consumed the imp we'd been fighting and the three unfortunate guards who'd chosen the wrong door to burst through. Glorious immolation! Not to be outdone, Iliran Tilorri - Mike clapped his hands, sending the three guards in the hallway tumbling like ninepins against the far wall with a thunderwave. Amidst the chaos, the butler seemed to have vanished. Thomus - Thomas and Baktha Tassup - Ryan waded into the stunned guards in the hall, each felling one with brutal efficiency. The sole survivor turned tail and fled deeper into the mansion's bowels.

From outside, frantic pounding began against the main door. Reya Mantlemorn, thinking quickly, shouted a rather creative warning: implying that Amrik himself was barring the door and that forcing it would surely tear his arms off. The pounding ceased abruptly. Silence descended upon the entrance hall, thick with the smell of ozone, burnt flesh, and spilled blood. Deliciously eerie.

I peeked through the eastern door. It was undecorated, a simple room filled with beds and a small dining table. Drawers were tucked beneath the beds, hinting at forgotten personal effects.

To the west, the building opened into a grand gallery. Black curtains, drawn tight against the southern windows, plunged the space into shadow, and a noticeable chill permeated the air. A graceful wooden staircase ascended at the hall's northern end, while in a secluded corner stood a large wax statue of a female figure, cradling a small tressym. A feather duster lay abandoned on the floor, a silent testament to the maid whose labors we had so rudely interrupted.

The room in the southwest corner of the house was a stately parlor. A pair of elegant chairs flanked a polished coffee table. On the north wall, a somber tapestry depicted winged angels plummeting from the heavens into a fiery abyss. The remaining walls were adorned with framed portraits, each portraying the stern visage of Duke Thalamra Vanthampur.

To the north, an elaborate iron chandelier hung over a table whose chairs were grotesquely carved in the likeness of devils. A wine cabinet, stocked with sixteen bottles of vintage wine and a set of eight ornate goblets, promised rich indulgence.

East of the main entrance hall, a door led to the kitchen. A delightful aroma of recent cooking wafted from within. Pots, pans, and utensils hung neatly above the prep tables. A dumbwaiter, complete with a call bell, stood ready for service. A tressym, sleek and curious, wandered casually about the room. Baktha Tassup - Ryan, ever the animal lover, offered it some kitchen scraps and a gentle scratch behind the ears. Its collar bore the name "Slobberchops."

The door in the northeast corner of the kitchen concealed a staircase leading downward, while the southeastern door opened into a fully stocked pantry.

We ascended the main staircase, our boots echoing softly.

The upstairs hallway was illuminated by the warm glow of lanterns. A subtle draft hinted at an open southern door, which indeed led to a balcony where six guards stood vigilant.

They immediately launched into a concerted attack, severely injuring me. Salah Secumber - Hal swiftly provided healing, while Baktha Tassup - Ryan unleashed a scorching fire spell upon one. Iliran Tilorri - Mike then finished off another. The remaining guards, relentless, grievously wounded me once more, forcing us to retreat to the bottom of the stairs. Iliran Tilorri - Mike, with a flash of reckless bravery, charged back up, blasting them with a thunderwave before finding himself mid-staircase. One guard gave chase, and we cut him down on the steps. We waited a tense twenty seconds, listening for any sign of movement. When none came, Baktha Tassup - Ryan cautiously ascended, confirming the silence. He then reported that the remaining guards were all dead, victims of blunt force trauma from the thunderwave.

The eastern wing contained a door that opened into a lavish vanity room. Baktha Tassup - Ryan began to meticulously search its contents.

The master bedroom was a grand affair, boasting a canopy bed draped with gossamer shrouds, a wooden privacy screen, and a cast iron clawfoot tub. A stout chest, secured with a lock, stood in the corner.

We attempted to pick the lock, without success. Then, with a shared glance, Salah Secumber - Hal and I took turns battering the chest until it finally yielded. Inside lay ledgers inscribed in the unsettling Abyssal tongue, a complete poisoner's kit, a calligrapher's set, a heavy coin purse overflowing with various currencies, and a set of pipes of the sewer. As we emptied the contents, a hidden trap activated, filling the room with a noxious gas. We managed to hold our breath, escaping before the poison could claim us, waiting for the air to clear.

The room south of the vanity contained an oak desk adorned with two black candles. A wrought iron spiral staircase wound its way upwards. In the corner stood a formidable suit of black plate armor, complete with a bucket helm, a longsword, and a shield. As Iliran Tilorri - Mike entered the room, an ominous orange light pulsed within the armor, which then turned and attacked him. I prodded it with my shortsword; nothing happened. Thomus - Thomas bashed it with his mace; still nothing. It appeared immune to normal damage. Baktha Tassup - Ryan then struck it with a ray of frost, which seemed to have an effect. Fire, too, proved efficacious.

The battle against the animated armor continued for several tense rounds before Salah Secumber - Hal finally delivered the decisive blow, bringing it crashing down.

The bookcases in this room groaned under the weight of countless tomes. One particular book, titled Last Charge of the Hellriders, proved to be merely a leather binding holding loose-leaf papers. Concealed within were two keys.

Thomus - Thomas investigated the top of the spiral staircase. There, he found two filthy, padlocked cages, each containing a human prisoner and a chamber pot. One was a male, the other a female. The man introduced himself as Kadjil Orenmar, a tax collector. He claimed to have uncovered improprieties in the Vanthampur family's filings and, upon confronting them, was summarily imprisoned.

The woman, Shileen Zoraz, explained she had been working on a sewer expansion project when she was ambushed and kidnapped. As we released them from their wretched confinement, we were set upon by three more imps. We dispatched them swiftly, then escorted our newly freed companions to the estate gates.

Back upstairs, the southwestern door led to Thurstwell Vanthampur's private chamber. The frail, forty-something man clutched a small wooden box. He launched a flaming bolt at us before diving under his bed, commanding his imps to attack. The imps, previously disguised as rats, transformed and flew at us from the two windows. We dispatched them with ease, then took Thurstwell captive for interrogation.

We extracted vital information from him: Thabius Kreeg had indeed arrived in the city and had recently met with Thalamra Vanthampur, both of whom were currently in the basement. They had conspired in the downfall of Elturel and were now striving to seize control of Baldur's Gate. Giving Elturel to Asmodeus was a central part of their nefarious scheme. Furthermore, the Vanthampur brothers had stolen the Shield of the Hidden Lord, a legendary magical shield rumored to contain a trapped devil named Gargoth. Gargoth had promised Thalamra Vanthampur that if she freed him, he would aid her in conquering Baldur's Gate.

We stripped him of his belongings and locked him in a cage in the tower, then proceeded to search the remainder of the second floor. Thurstwell's box was a cube-shaped container, six inches per side, appearing to be constructed from numerous small pieces. It weighed approximately three pounds.

The Temple / Basement

The air grew heavy as we descended into the basement, thick with the stench of sewage and a dry, desert-like quality. We unlatched the eastern door. As I stepped into the hallway, my companions in the landing room were ambushed by spined devils, bursting from crates in the center of the room.

I spun back, delivering two critical hits to the devil assailing Thomus - Thomas. Baktha Tassup - Ryan quickly discerned that radiant damage was far more effective against these creatures. Thomus - Thomas landed the killing blow on that particular fiend with a burst of sacred flame.

Baktha Tassup - Ryan then felled the second of the three spined devils while Salah Secumber - Hal and I combined our efforts against the third. Finally, Thomus - Thomas dispatched the last of the infernal creatures.

The Journey into the Depths of Vanthampur Villa

The very air of this accursed Vanthampur Villa continues to cling to my soul like a shroud woven from dread and decay. Our latest foray led us into the truly vile heart of its sewage system, where black, fetid waters writhed and churned towards a central, gaping drain. The reek, dear journal, was an assault upon every sense, so profound, so utterly putrid, that even my hardened sensibilities recoiled, forcing a tactical retreat. The only other door in that damp, miserable basement landing revealed a far more civilized, though no less unsettling, vista: a 20-foot square wine cellar, cloaked in an ominous silence.

The Northern Passage and the Cultists' Lair

Back in the foul embrace of the sewer archway, we steeled ourselves, the metallic tang of resolve mingling with the pervasive stench, and ventured north. The passage twisted westward, a path disturbingly adorned with wicked rat traps, hinting at the teeming vermin that infest these shadowed halls. Just as my eyes discerned two robed figures, their censers swinging with a cloying, almost mocking, perfumed smoke, they vanished around a sudden bend. These perfumed phantoms left behind a scent that seemed to mock the very essence of the pervasive reek of the sewers, a truly unnerving juxtaposition that prickled at the edges of my sanity.

The hallway branched, presenting three doors: two to the north, one to the south. The first northern door unveiled a grim larder of sorts, its air thick with the scent of stagnant blood. Three hooks, suspended by rusty chains, hung ominously. One bore the grisly weight of a large, eviscerated pig, its vacant eyes staring into nothingness, while the other two dangled empty, awaiting their next unfortunate payload. The second northern door revealed a much larger chamber, a macabre dining hall perhaps, its oppressive gloom alleviated only slightly by the flickering illumination of six tall, wrought-iron candlesticks. Their hesitant light danced upon two massive wooden trestle tables and their accompanying benches, casting shifting shadows that played tricks on the eye.

But it was the southern door that truly called to us, a siren song of muffled voices speaking an unfamiliar, guttural tongue. Yet, amidst the sinister murmurings, Salah Secumber - Hal swore he heard the name Zariel whispered on the fetid air, a name that sent a shiver down my spine. With a shared glance of grim determination, Baktha Tassup - Ryan and I kicked the door open, braced for whatever depravity, whatever unspeakable horrors, lay beyond its threshold.

A Dance with a Fiend and Shattered Idols

The chamber beyond was a sanctuary of shadows and infernal devotion, its very essence permeated by an oppressive, unholy aura. Two rows of wrought-iron candlesticks provided a dim, suffocating glow, their hesitant light revealing a towering, 6-foot tall, spined fiend standing guard before a menacing statue of Zariel, its eyes burning with an unsettling, otherworldly light that seemed to pierce the gloom. Four cultists, their faces obscured by grotesque gold devil masks, knelt in abject supplication before the fiend, their devotion chilling to behold.

My blade sang its song of vengeance as I obliterated the first cultist, a spray of dark ichor filling the air, a testament to righteous fury. Iliran Tilorri - Mike followed suit, a scorching ray of arcane fire reducing another to mere cinders, his form dissolving into nothingness. My own critical strike turned a third into a swirling mist, a wisp of vapor where a fanatic once stood, and finally, Salah Secumber - Hal brought down the last one with a mighty blow from his mace, crushing bone and silencing devotion. With the cultists dispatched, our collective fury, a storm of righteous indignation, turned upon the fiend. We rained down blows upon it, a tempest of steel and magic, each strike aimed at its infernal heart. The beast, however, was no pushover. Its wrath, a tangible force, turned upon Baktha Tassup - Ryan, its wicked spines embedding deep into his flesh with sickening squelches as it ripped them free, a truly gruesome display that churned my stomach. It struck him again and again, leaving him a bloody, battered mess, yet we pressed on, our combined assault relentless, fueled by adrenaline and defiance. Finally, with Salah Secumber - Hal delivering the coup de grâce, the monstrous fiend fell, its unholy light dimming into oblivion.

With the battle won, Iliran Tilorri - Mike and I drank down potions of healing, their sweet, herbaceous relief a balm to our weary bodies, the lingering taste of victory on our tongues. Meanwhile, we mended Baktha Tassup - Ryan's grievous wounds with our healing spells, patching him up from the brink of collapse. Our attention then turned to the idol of Zariel, a symbol of the very evil we fought. We tore it down, the statue shattering into a thousand fragments upon the unforgiving stone floor, a satisfying cacophony that echoed our defiance. Within its crumbling form, a hidden mace lay revealed. As we scoured the room, two secret doors revealed themselves in the southeast corner. One, on the eastern wall, led to a short hallway and a ladder, which ascended to a wooden hatch that we surmised, with a thrill of possibility, led to the stables. The other, on the southern wall, awaited further, tantalizing exploration.

The Cultist Ambush and Vanthampur's Demise

We decided to rest in the secret hallway, its hidden nature providing a brief, fragile respite from the horrors we had faced, a fleeting moment of peace before the inevitable storm. Our peace, however, was short-lived. Upon opening the door back into the fiend's chamber, we were met not with silence, but with a hail of spears! Ten armed guards, their faces grim and determined, had set a cunning ambush, their intent chillingly clear. I wasted no time, guzzling a potion of fire breath, the liquid fire invigorating my very being, as did Thomus - Thomas, who then charged into the fray, a veritable dragon, unleashing a torrent of flames that consumed one of the guards in an instant, reducing him to ash. Iliran Tilorri - Mike sent a thunderwave echoing through the chamber, its percussive force slamming into our foes, and Salah Secumber - Hal swung his mace with wild abandon, a whirlwind of destructive power. Then it was my turn, my breath a fiery inferno, searing another foe, the scent of burning flesh filling the air. For a mere twelve seconds, we battled, a chaotic dance of steel and flame, a whirlwind of fury, until the last cultist fell, their unholy cause extinguished.

The second secret door, in the southeast corner, concealed an even greater, more sinister prize: Thalamra Vanthampur herself, the wicked matriarch, lurking in wait like a venomous spider. She immediately launched an eldritch blast at me, a searing bolt of dark energy that crackled with malevolence. We piled in, a furious assault, a coordinated strike against the architect of so much suffering. My shortsword bit deep, a critical strike that drew a gasp of pain from her, but her hellish rebuke burned me in equal measure, a searing pain that fueled my resolve. Thomus - Thomas and Baktha Tassup - Ryan kept me on my feet, their vigilance unwavering, and I pressed the attack, a blur of motion, my every strike imbued with righteous fury. A few more attacks, a radiant blast, and the wicked matriarch fell dead, her reign of terror brought to a decisive end. Upon her lifeless corpse, we found two keys, their purpose yet unknown, hinting at further secrets within this cursed villa.

With a defiant flourish, Baktha Tassup - Ryan hurled a bottle of holy water onto the altar where an angel-shaped flame, a mockery of purity, danced with infernal glee. The flame sputtered and died, its light extinguished, and the altar itself cracked in two, a satisfying, symbolic victory over the forces of darkness. Yet another secret door beckoned, leading us deeper into the labyrinthine sewers. We navigated the vile, treacherous passages, eventually discovering a small prison guarded by a grotesque purple devil with tentacle-like lips, its very presence a testament to the horrors that festered beneath the villa. After a few rounds of brutal combat, the fiend succumbed to our relentless attacks, its tentacles flailing in a final, impotent rage.

Unlikely Allies and a Deceptive Shield

Two cells within the prison held occupants, their faces etched with suffering. The first, a short, lean, erudite human in his fifties with a crimson goatee, introduced himself as Fallaster Fisk. He claimed to be an agent of Sylvira Satticus, a renowned tiefling expert on the Nine Hells based out of Candlekeep. He had been investigating the Vanthampur family's unusual sheltering of Thabius Kreeg and believed Sylvira Satticus would prove a valuable ally against the burgeoning devil activity in Baldur's Gate. The second prisoner, a rather snooty Lady named Satyr Thune, had been kidnapped as leverage, a vile insurance policy should her family discover the theft of the Shield of the Hidden Lord from their crypt. Despite her haughty demeanor, a palpable air of aristocratic disdain, we freed her, for even the unpleasant deserve freedom from such vile captivity.

As we led our new, albeit temporary, companions out through the stables, Fallaster Fisk warned us to keep a vigilant eye out for Thabius Kreeg, his words echoing with a sense of urgency. Satyr Thune, ever the self-absorbed, didn't even bother to close the stable gate behind her, forcing Thomus - Thomas to dutifully pull it shut, a small but telling detail of her character.

The northwesternmost room held wrought-iron candle holders, casting flickering, uncertain light upon two disturbing paintings: one depicting the impish lemure devils from the River Styx, their grotesque forms rendered with chilling accuracy; the other, a chilling tableau of a corpse hanging like a marionette, its limbs artfully arranged in a dance of death. A humble woodburning stove, a simple bed, and a solitary chest completed the sparse furnishings. Inside the chest, we discovered a silver holy symbol of Torm, a small but welcome find, a glimmer of light in the pervasive darkness. The next room, a barracks, yielded a meager 40 gold pieces and a pile of mundane, unremarkable clothing.

The door to the south of the barracks led to a 10-foot wide, pitch-black hallway. No sooner had we stepped within its inky confines than it erupted with blinding light, and we were assailed by searing rays of fire from two masked acolytes at its far end! Iliran Tilorri - Mike retaliated with a triple blast of scorching ray, incinerating one of their ethereal hearts completely. The other fell to our combined might, Salah Secumber - Hal delivering the final, guiding blow with his mace.

Thomus - Thomas discovered a subtle crack in the wall, leading to a hidden chamber. Within, four more wrought-iron candlesticks cast flickering light upon a large, 9-pointed star inscribed into the black stone floor, its sinister points circled by a ring of red candles, radiating an aura of dark power. Simultaneously, Baktha Tassup - Ryan opened another door in the hallway to reveal a surprisingly empty room save for four unremarkable wooden wardrobes.

The Shield of the Hidden Lord

The final room held a middle-aged man whose shadow, cast upon the wall, betrayed his true, horrifying nature: a pudgy, horned fiend with small, leathery wings. Hanging on the wall beside him was a golden shield, gleaming with an otherworldly light. Without hesitation, I burst in and attacked, my shortsword nearly ending his miserable existence in a single, devastating blow. Salah Secumber - Hal stepped forward to question him, his voice firm, only to be interrupted by Reya Mantlemorn, who burst in, placing herself protectively between us and the man. She began to defend him, her paladin's heart stirred by what she perceived as injustice. But Baktha Tassup - Ryan, ever observant, pointed out his devilish shadow, and her compassion curdled into righteous rage, her face hardening with grim determination. Thomus - Thomas cast see invisibility, confirming no hidden threats, while Iliran Tilorri - Mike barred the door and focused his senses, detecting two distinct magical auras: one emanating from the man's ring, the other from the shield itself.

The man, who we now knew to be Thabius Kreeg, spun a tale of being captured by Duke Thalamra Vanthampur and forced to inspect the shield. I remained unconvinced, for this did not comport with the information we extracted from Thurstwell Vanthampur, who told us Thabius Kreeg had conspired in the downfall of Elturel and was now working with Thalamra Vanthampur to seize control of Baldur's Gate. I compelled him to surrender his ring, tossing it to Iliran Tilorri - Mike for further inspection.

As we interrogated Thabius Kreeg, a voice resonated in Baktha Tassup - Ryan's mind, a direct, insidious communication from the entity within the shield. It claimed to be the Hidden Lord from the celestial plane, begging for release to aid in the restoration of Elturel, warning him of an evil cult seeking to thwart its good intentions.

Salah Secumber - Hal, focusing his divine senses on the shield, declared with certainty that the presence within was most assuredly not celestial. And then, when I took hold of the shield, its voice entered my mind, echoing the same deceptive pleas it had whispered to Baktha Tassup - Ryan. This also did not comport with the information we had extracted from Thurstwell Vanthampur, who told us the shield contained a devil named Gargoth, who had promised to aid Thalamra Vanthampur in conquering Baldur's Gate if freed. This shield, this "Hidden Lord," held a dark secret, a truth cloaked in deceit, and I intend to uncover it. What foul machinations are at play here, I wonder, twisting truth into insidious lies?

We turn him over to Reya Mantlemorn wrath and he sputters out his final words as her sword separates his head from his body.