Hell’s Rebels #63: The Hero

The party continues their assault on the Asmoden temple, looking for the infernal engines fueling the tyrant Barzillai Thrune and his guardians. The rogue-wrestler, Guts Clobber, continues their tale. (-GM)

17th of Rova, 4715 AR

Our story begins on the ground… Or rather on a balcony. We just finished our previous fight against the cult of Asmodeus, where over twenty men lay slain at our feet. They would use their will and force others to do their bidding, so they had it coming… Although this endeavor is against a group of hellhounds. The handwraps around my fists tell me so, and purge spirits deemed unworthy (1d6 good damage vs evil aligned). But for now, we can take a breather. From our previous endeavors, we learned that using traditional medicinal techniques takes too long, so we instead brought a magical bag full of potions. Easier to drink a potion than laboriously applying bandages over 10 minutes, after all. My wounds begin to fade, but the potions were not going down easy; consuming that much magical liquid and then exercising too much is bound to make anyone queasy.

We could hear the bells ring louder in our ears. The fire ritual at the center of the church is now growing even larger. From here on out, all enemies are only the most ELITE as they are boosted by the flames of hell. We decide to press onward. What good is a hero that runs away anyway?

The next room has a large brazier that priests would use to immolate themselves in order to be purified in the image of their god. Fitting. They would rather light themselves on fire in subservience to another than rise against the forces that control them. Their fate is to be nothing more than pawns in a greater scheme and they run TOWARDS that goal instead of challenging it to become their best selves. I now see why they fall so easily. They have no drive except to follow the path laid out for them, never diverging to find their own. Our fighter Narkwood plunges his icy axe into the heart of that brazier putting it out. They may not be willing to challenge fate, but we are.

The next room after the brazier is the library. A horrific space with rings of bookshelves that run up the walls until they meet with the domed ceiling with orbits around it representing the circles of hell and a single eye bearing down that sees all within that room. However, we cannot fully get our bearings before we are attacked! Four ELITE (from the fire) Erinys. They get the jump on us and, before I can even get my bearings, I am blasted by energies of evil and law… I really regret drinking those potions now… I can barely keep my vision straight, so I go back to the brazier and vomit pure red healing potion back out (and remove the sickened condition!).

Narkwood jumps into the fray and JUMPS some more to get into range of one of them. It was as if he was jumping off of clouds… Our mages begin to go to the center to get sightlines high up… I… I cannot really do anything… So I go to the edge of the arena and try to High Jump up onto the wall (nat 1); a shelf breaks and I begin to fall, but I catch an edge and begin to climb… Meanwhile, I can hear them going to town on my allies with bows… I put them out of my mind and keep on climbing, my bracers helping me go faster. I begin to regret putting all my emphasis on jumping…

That is, until I reach the top. One of the angels is within reach of me and is putting critical arrows into my allies. This is my chance to finally be a hero. I reach out from the top of the shelf and grab at her… I barely tap a wing… I reach as far as I can and go again, but I feel the shelf I am resting on begin to creak… I stop reaching for now… Am I cut out to be a hero? The Erinys after putting another arrow into my ally, turns to me and draws a blade… I can’t be thinking about anything else. It’s do or die. And brother, I’m not gonna die.

I GRAB her sword arm and whirl her around before SLAMMING HER into the ground (crit Whirling Throw). Now we can take this fight to where I want it. I jump off of the top of the bookshelf and fall over 30 feet to People’s Elbow the Erinys prone on the ground. I succeed and get a Combat Grab off. She is not going anywhere… until she breaks out… and gets up… and plunges her sword into my back. But more than the pain I feel something else. I am hearing the cries of my allies for aid.

She taunts me, but I am not paying any attention to her. I have friends I need to help. I played the role of main villain for too long to leave an ally in need. My secret medical training is coming to pass, as I run out and Doctor’s Visitation Malcolm our oracle, who has healed us all through many things. It is my turn to return the favor now, friend. Our psychic Dasya is reduced to a pile of bones on the ground. I have not studied how to heal those that don’t have organs, so there is sadly not much I can do there.

The Erinys go around shooting at us more, our fighter having lost his axe. One thing is clear: we need to run. A hero never runs, but it is a good thing I am no hero. I pull out an oil of unlife from my utility belt to revive our psychic, and immediately go to clear a path to the exit of the room. One of them puts a fear spell on me which diverts my attention just enough to let the angel I abandoned get the jump on me and cleave into my face (crit something something every +1 or something). I gain a new scar to remind me of my carelessness, but what is one more scar to a man with hundreds already?

I am preparing myself to fight right as Narkwood cleaves her in twain with two hits of his mighty axe. As I look into his eyes I realize something. I am not the hero… BUT HE SURE IS. I need to do everything I can to make Narkwood as potent as possible. I have a new mission, but first we need to get out of this place to regroup. We go for the door to get out, being pelted by arrows. On the other side of the door, we slam it shut and hear frenzied clawing… But Narkwood and I are stronger than the last of them put together. Malcolm pulls out an immovable rod from his back pocket and fastens it on the door so it will never move.

Now time for my favorite part of the day, the part where I drink a mountain of healing potions all at once and feel like crap after. Anyway, we start chugging, all pulling things out from the bag of holding in a mad drinking frenzy with red liquid disappearing… reminds me of the parties after a big tournament win… except I never got invited to those since I was forced to play the role of the villain in each wrestling event due to my appearance. It is nice to be at a place where I can play the role of a hero even for a little bit…

Our break is cut short when more of those angels come down and pelt us with arrows. Malcolm’s curse stops him from healing fully from the potions, so he is the first to fall. Narkwood and I rush into the fray. Neither of us can do much with how high they are up… at least not alone. We both look at each other and nod. I pull upon my time as a heel and taunt one of them above me. I am not a hero, so I don’t need to use heroic methods. Then I got ready to boost Narkwood… I am able to boost him just high enough with my Aid and that Demoralize was just enough for her to lose focus on Narkwood just a little bit, allowing him to successfully grab. Every. +1. Matters.

But nothing can stay so simple for long. I hear a slam coming from the room Malcolm was in. The door breaks AROUND the immovable rod and a spider-looking thing starts crawling in… It turns to look toward Malcolm. That will not stand. I know what I need to do. I turn and charge the foul creature. Images of Failure cross over my mind, but a Hero would not let themselves fail without a fight. My fortune fights fate and I RESTRAIN the foul beast. I may not be THE hero, but I can still be a hero. And what good is a hero that won’t save his friends?

–Guts Clobber (Sean)

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Dasya – ifrit-skeleton psychic 13
Guts Clobber – orc wrestler 13
Malcolm – gnome life oracle 14
Narkwood – dwarven fighter 15
TBD – strix ranger 13

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