Bob cast sleet storm , calling down a 20-foot-tall cylinder of sleet and rain on the behir. The magical storm caused slick ice to form on the ramparts and parapets. The hostile creature disappeared in the maelstrom, but the sorcerer did not hear the hoped-for sounds of a large monster slipping and falling. Satisfied, Bob began to climb the staircase of the ruined tower to join Alec and Varien. From the impenetrable storm cylinder lunged the behir, its massive jaws open wide. Alec manifested his tail and whipped to the side as the creature’s jaws snapped shut on nothing but air. The barbarian placed his boots on the creature’s hovel-sized jaw and almost gently shoved it back. Unimpressed, the behir stretched its neck past Alec, wincing as Varien’s spirit guardians lashed its hide, and then doubled back around on the barbarian in a constricting maneuver. Its sharp scales were like serrated knives as it caught Alec up and squeezed him tightly. Siegfried rushed up the stairs and slapped Varien on the back. “By order of the House of Alagondar, Varien of House Aether shall be unfettered by all bonds. This is the order of the King!” He cast freedom of movement on Varien. He turned to Alec “Alec, suplex this snake!” he shouted. The behir took offence to that, crushing Alec even further in a serrated squeeze. Alec gritted his teeth and pushed back with all his might. Varien ran along the ramparts towards the behir, heedless of the ice and snow, sliding in and uppercutting with Fiendsbane. “You will release him!” he shouted, casting a vow of enmity as he slashed. “Begone!” He slashed again, but the creature twisted out of the way of his blade. The behir reared up and bit at Varien, but the paladin blocked the bite with his shield. Erwen woke up from his nap inside Siegfried’s Sequestered Sanctuary . He stretched, scratched, and looked around for his companions. “Hmmm, they must be outside,” he said. He padded out the front door and walked from serenity into hell as the cacophony of battle reached his ears. Erwen looked up. Way up. Atop the ruined castle walls was an unnatural sleet storm, out of which was rearing up a gargantuan serpentine monstrosity that appeared to be engaging his friends in battle. He could hear Siegfried shouting something inspiring that echoed off the ruined battlements. Erwen shrugged. “You’d look better as a cow!” he called out and cast polymorph . To his disappointment, the spell failed. Erwen shrugged and sat down. Alec flexed his muscles and broke free of the creature’s constricting grasp. He stood before the behir and growled menacingly. In response, the behir bit him, its long, sharp teeth impaling the barbarian. “Ouch!” Alec shouted. Bob cast guiding bolt and fired a blast at the behir, which recoiled in surprise. He presented his holy symbol and invoked his breath of life ability, healing his companions’ injuries. The behir bit down at Varien and missed. The paladin’s spirit guardians continued to shred the creature’s scaly hide. The creature opened its mouth wide and expelled a crackling beam of lightning energy. Varien heroically dove in front of the beam as it washed over him and then struck Bob squarely. The air was filled with the smell of sizzling Trevelyan, despite Varien’s efforts to shield him from the blast. Varien’s spirit guardians immolated under the onslaught, and Varien’s magic shield became too electrified for the paladin to continue to hold onto. The shield clattered to the stones before him. Siegfried put a hex on the behir and launched a barrage of eldritch blasts at the creature. Three of the four shadowy bolts formed into skeletons that ripped and tore at the behir’s flesh. “Avoid lining up, lads!” Siegfried called out to his friends, moving away. “We know that, Siegfried,” Varien said, wearily picking up his shield and receiving a nasty shock. The behir chomped at Varien, but the paladin cast shield to block the attack. Fire crackled along Fiendsbane’s blade as Varien manifested a searing smite , slashing the behir with a burning blade. Radiant energy sizzled into the wound and the behir was scorched painfully. Varien’s next swing missed the creature. The behir bit at Alec, who dodged out of the way. Erwen stood up, dusted himself off, and cleared his throat. “I said, you’d look better as a cow!” He cast polymorph and again was stymied to discover the spell failed. He threw up his hands in disgust and sat back down in front of the long-dead campfire in the ruined campsite next to the castle wall. Alec roared and began to swing his Oathtaker recklessly, landing three devastating hits. The gargantuan creature crawled along the parapet, looming over the heroes, in an attempt to extricate itself from Bob’s sleet storm . “Stop right there!” Bob said, casting hold monster . His sleet storm disappeared, the ice melting away into steam, and he attempted to use magic to hold the creature in place. The spell failed. “Huh,” Bob said. The behir bit at Bob, who danced nimbly out of the way. Bob used his breath of life to rejuvenate both himself and his companions. The gargantuan monster attempted to chew on Varien, but its teeth found no purchase, and then it turned on Bob to ravage him with his claws. Bob dodged again, but the creature tore at the sorcerer anew, slashing him viciously twice more. Free from the environmental effects of the sleet storm , the behir attempted to withdraw from the battlefield. “No you don’t!” Bob shouted and cast hold monster . “You be here!” Siegfried misty stepped onto the parapet and rushed the paralyzed behir. Spinning his Ettin Axe expertly, he struck the creature squarely, blasting it with the flaming axe-head. Necrotic damage spread across the creature’s scaly hide as Siegfried launched it up 20 feet into the air, knocking it off the high castle wall. There was a terrible cracking of bone as Siegfried drove it down to the ground below, its vertebrae shattering upon impact. The behir wheezed and died, sparks flying ineffectually from its broken jaws. Siegfried could hear his axe hissing and bellowing in Orcish victory. “Batter up!” Siegfried bellowed. As Siegfried’s battle cry echoed, silence descended once again upon the castle ruins. “Hey, what’s going on on this side?” Erwen said as he rounded the corner of the ruined tower. Standing between the castle barbican and the main keep was the crumbled shell of a stone temple, a weather-beaten symbol of Tempus – a sword upright against a starburst insignia – still visible on the half-broke arch over the temple gate. “The Hold of the Battle Lions,” Varien said. “Home of Dragonspear Castle’s last defenders.” Siegfried strode towards the ruined temple and incautiously entered. Varien rolled his eyes, picked up his shield and drew his sword, and followed Siegfried. “Fiendsbane,” Siegfried said to Varien’s sword. “I may need you to taunt for me in Infernal. My grasp of that language is minimal.” “What?” Varien asked. “You’ll have to have Fiendsbane translate what I say,” Siegfried said. “You mean you want me to taunt for you,” Varien said. “I speak Infernal.” “I think Fiendsbane might be a better taunter than you, Varien,” Siegfried said. The half-orc’s right, Fiendsbane opined. “Quiet, you,” Varien hissed to his sword. “If you think you can taunt fiends better than your fiend-killing sword, then by all means be my guest,” Siegfried said. Varien looked at his sword, then looked back at Siegfried, and then back to his sword. He sighed. What are you looking at? Fiendsbane said to Varien. Varien shrugged. Siegfried started doing his best impression of an abyssal chicken, strutting around and fluttering his arms theatrically. Varien rolled his eyes again. The ruins of the temple seemed even gloomier than the gloomy remains of Dragonspear castle, with a grey mist that rolled along the floor in drifts of fog. Pools of standing water spread across the cracked tiles of the temple floor, and gaping holes in the roof and walls were the obvious reason for the dank environs. The temple’s layout was vaguely cross-shaped, with a long, rectangular sanctuary with chambers off to the north, east, and south. Two tall doors, likely leading to the temple’s main altar, hung drunkenly off their hinges to the east. The temple had become a tomb. Here and there lay scattered bones and mummified remains of the defenders of the Hold of the Battle Lions. Their armour was brittle and rusted, with bits of corroded weapons scattered across the tiled floor. Most of the defenders lay dead where they had fallen decades ago, in some places piled two or three deep. Here and there on the floor and walls were jagged scratch marks, strangely familiar. “The temple was established to maintain the wards on the portal to the Nine Hells, to keep the breach sealed,” Varien said. “It would seem the breach reopened.” Siegfried activated his detect magic ability and picked out the dim, weak auras of faded magic coming from discarded, broken weapons once enchanted. He sniffed with disdain. “Varien, remind me, which devils remain on Fiendsbane’s hit list?” Siegfried asked. “Yancazi, Lorcan, Azazel, Baazka, Rimmon,” Varien said and then paused. “And Levistus.” “Right,” Siegfried said. He cast sending to Lorcan. I'm at Dragonspear Castle looking for Baazka. Chickenshit didn't show up, know where he's hiding? If you want to sub in, bring that glaive along. Be seeing you, Lorcan replied with a sneer. “Good news, Varien!” Siegfried said. “Lorcan might be joining us!” Varien sighed. As Siegfried toed the corpses on the floor, the paladin looked at the fallen defenders of the faith of Tempus who had died for their vows and had been brought low to a sad and violent end. “They upheld their vows and paid for it,” he said to himself. “But what were they defending? Where is this alleged portal?” Varien looked at the dead defenders and tried to imagine their final moments. A large grouping of them were piled at the foot of the two doors to the east. “They were defending something important,” Varien said. He moved past the dead and through the askew doors into the chamber beyond. He saw a large marble altar on a plinth at the far end of the room. Four final dead clerics and paladins of Tempus were lying on the steps before the altar, their weapons broken and shields splintered. “Aha,” Varien said. The altar appeared stained with blood and age, but was largely intact. Varien opened up his divine sense and smelled the familiar smell of a consecrated, hallowed ground having been desecrated. “The temple would have been the focal point for rituals to strengthen and sustain the holy wards,” Varien said, understanding. He moved closer to the altar and discovered something disconcerting. The altar’s inscriptions and sigils had been defaced and defiled. Upon close inspection, there was a definite infernal stench coming from the defaced bas-reliefs and other iconography that had been chipped away. As Varien watched, the chipping seemed to continue – a piece of inscription visibly withered and cracked, a piece of it falling away, as though the desecration was ongoing. “Huh,” Varien said. “This is still happening.” Siegfried poked his head in and scanned the room. “The altar’s not magical or anything. You might want to try a ceremony spell, but you’re not a cleric of Tempus, so you’ll probably need a priest or follower of Tempus to repair the altar. Bob, you could probably contact the church of Tempus in Waterdeep and ask them to send a holy repair crew here.” As Varien turned to discuss things further, the room grew cold, and what little light there was seemed to diminish further. There was a flickering of blue light from the altar’s alcove, and a ghostly form manifested over the altar. The ghost looked feminine, clad in the armour of a follower of Tempus. “Huh,” Varien said. The ghost’s visage twisted into something horrible as the ghost suddenly launched towards Varien, sword at the ready.