Everyone knows at least something about the history of Crimson Gulch. It’s an enclave between two mountains and it resides within the cold shadows of the draconic bones that form the bridge between the rocky peaks.
When an ancient black dragon terrorized the land, many fought him, men and angels alike. His scales fell from his decomposing body over time and his blood fed the wildlife below.
Now, overgrown by thorned vines and poisonous plants, a small passage is hidden beneath the twisted nature, passing a small stone temple on its crooked way to the forgotten city of Bleakwight.
The last mile beneath the darkness the dragon bones cast down upon the land is a long one. These five adventurers are so close to this life-changing meeting, this quest that will be bestowed upon them.
They can feel the angelic warmth as they are closing in, the source being the small stone temple along the abandoned road. A golden glow can easily be spotted, shining bright through the small glassless windows. It has no door to hide the building’s insides to the outside world, making it easy for him to see the scenery inside.
“Welcome”, an echoing voice speaks, filling everyone’s head with his majestic presence, “I almost feared you wouldn’t show up in time.”
The humanoid cleric, his sapphire inlaid sceptre in his hand, nods.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world”, he says calmly. All others seem to fade and bleach within his radiance. He sees a half-elf, a satyr, a small puppet-like being and a siren.
“We are your heroes?”, Oslando asks, as he observes the latest visitor.
“Strange lot”, the hunter adds and the captain agrees with a stern nod.
“Yes, children, you are the prophesied ones. I was surprised as well, if I may be honest with you.”
His skin is of the same kind of gold most expensive rings and necklaces are made out of and his long white hair is draped across his naked torso, covering his entire rib cage. His eyes burn with white flames, undoubtedly able to see past every lie and illusion they could tell him. A dark brown cloth hangs from his hips towards the dusty ground, covered with silver symbols written in an unknown and ancient language. His wings seem to be incorporeal. A bright light originating from his shoulder blades fills the entire room.
“Now that everyone is here, I think it’s time to tell you what your mission is.”
“Just a couple of miles from here you will find a small ghost town called Bleakwight. It is the perfect hiding place for the blood cult that stole the artefact you’re supposed to retrieve, the Enochian Mirror.”
The angel waves his hand and a look-a-like of the relic materializes from his warm light. It’s a simple looking object, five foot in diameter and surrounded within a silver framework with five different sized holes evenly spread across the circle.
“These miserable creatures took it from our temple, killing the entire order protecting it and now they’re using it to learn about secrets that no man should know.”
They look intrigued at the apparition and turn their attention towards Hadriel’s face as the image dissolves back into golden light.
“They are hiding in the church of Bleakwight, but - sadly - I can’t enter to retrieve the object myself. They have warded the whole village with barrier spells. The entire church has become an anti-angel bastion. Luckily for your quest, none of you are angels.”
“And what about our rewards?”, Lyssa asks, interrupting the silence the radiating man has created after revealing their task. Bruq, standing next to her and leaning on his glaive, visibly agrees with her.
“We are risking our lives to clear the mess your own order couldn’t”, he speaks bleating as he says the word “mess” and stares deeply in the emotionless eyes of their employer. “That’s worth something up front, Sir. An advance, sort of speak.”
Merodius raises his hand to add something to the conversation.
“You don’t have to raise your hand to speak, Merodius. You are with equals here.” He thanks the angel and looks up to the others.
“I don’t think we are in the right position to demand something from the angels. They are, well, you know, the embodiment of everything pure, good and holy. They are beings of their word, I presume. Right?”
Hadriel nods.
“You will get your payments. Don’t worry, but I need that mirror before I can give it to you. Do I make myself clear?” The temperature in the stone building rises, making them sweat and impeding their breathing.
“Perfectly clear”, Oslando says to end this pointless discussion. “Can we get on with the task at hand?”
“What cult?”, the cleric asks. Hadriel stays quit too long for his taste. “What cult?”, he repeats with a more growling tone to his voice.
“They don’t worship a deity from this realm. They are followers of the Archdemons of Abaddon.” The sapphire instantly turns red, red as blood.
“The Archdemons of Abaddon”, he repeats angered. “You’re sending us to our death, that’s why you’re not going yourself! It’s not the warding, it’s fear for an opponent you can’t overpower!”
A blinding light fills the room, making all of them dizzy, pushing them onto the ground.
“Think carefully about what you are going to say next, monster in disguise! You are not in the position to speak to me such a tone. I could wipe your existence from history, like we did to your god!”
The light dims and they manage to stand up again with heaving breath. “If you want to leave, fine, you won’t get what you desire and I’ll make sure to find you when you don’t expect it.” The priest just stands there, like all others, struck with awe about the anger burning with the angel.
“That’s what I thought”, he says calmly. “Let’s get you prepared for your journey.”
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