Descent into Avernus

190

origins, yet everyone knows its power. When properly

entreated by Torimesh, the tree's red bark cracks and

curls like parchment. Pulling it carefully away reveals

a prophetic scene rendered in bloody sap. These arbo-

real visions of the future are often cryptic, yet inevitably

come to pass. As much as the city's elite would love to

harness this power, anyone else attempting to peel the

tree's bark or force a prophecy reveals only bark and

sends Torimesh into a near-murderous rage. For his

part, the druid refuses to work for money, peeling off

prophecies only according to the unspoken whims of the

tree, or in exchange for bizarre and dangerous favors.

jOPALIN'S

After taking over from his father, a neutral evil male

half-elf thug named j opalin transitioned this building

from a seedy dockside tavern to a thriving, upscale

teahouse. Many were shocked by the growth of such a

sophisticated establishment among the port's lowbrow

customers, but no one can deny the addictive nature of

the half-elf proprietor's special blend. jopalin includes

sable moonflower leaves in his tea, creating a subtle,

slow-building addiction among those who drink it. Many

never realize what's happening, knowing only that they

deeply crave his tea above all others. and for those who

do uncover the scam, it's often too late, leaving them

with no choice but to keep coming back.Jopalin person-

ally watches over the customers and ensures that only

those who seem vulnerable get the "special'" tea, avoid-

ing suspicion from any who might decide to fight back if

the truth were to come out.

Jopalin also runs a more traditionally squalid moon-

flower den in the shop's damp basement, catering to

ordinary addicts and those who've become so reliant on

the tea that they can no longer pass as normal custom-

ers. These sad cases are shuffled in through an entrance

in the building next door to avoid suspicion, where a

group of thugs presides over several dozen filthy cots,

collectingjopalin's fees and dispensing his moonfiower

supply. The paranoidjopalin himselflives in a lavish

and heavily booby-trapped loft above the cafe.

Low LANTERN

This old, three-masted ship rocks gently in the water

alongside Stormshore Street Dock on the harbor's east-

ern side. A notorious festhall and tavern, the ship is no

longer seaworthy and is in desperate need of repair.

On warm days and evenings, respectable clients can

sit at tables on the upper deck beneath hanging lanterns,

smoking and drinking between wagers. while a more

raucous crowd congregates around bars and gambling

tables on the decks below.

For more information about this establishment, see

chapter l.

MANDORCAI

(^1) S MANSION

The only blight in otherwise upscale Bloomridge, this

mansion appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the

night, taking over a previously vacant lot. Fully staffed

with close-lipped servants, the imposing manse hosted

a few lavish parties for the Lower City elite, presided

over by an eccentric and brooding human wizard

named Mandorcai. And then, just as suddenly as he had

BALOUR'S CATF. 0A7.ETIE£R

arrived, Mandorcai shut the manor's doors and vanished

from public life. Curious locals who peered through the

windows reported a completely empty manor, its furni-

ture looking as though it hadn't been touched in years.

Yet soon thereafter, individuals around the city began

to receive invitations to visit, written in silver on black

paper folded into pentagons.

Those who entered the mansion for the requested

appointments never emerged. After a handful of such

disappearances, a Flaming Fist squad smashed its way

into the building. Only two of its members emerged, bab-

bling about shifting rooms and blood-soaked abattoirs

filled with writhing hooks and chains. With no laborers

willing to tear the place down, the Council of Four

boarded up the doors but left the mansion standing. For

decades now, no one has been observed going in or out.

Whether the little black invitations that still occasionally

appear on citizens' doorsteps are genuine or harmless

pranks remains anyone's guess.

In truth, Mandorcai gained occult knowledge and his

magical manor in a bargain with the obese twin chain

devils Kyrix and Valisog. For years Mandorcai upheld

his side of the contract by bringing the fiends mortal

sacrifices, until an accidental breach of contract let the

devils haul him screaming into the Nine Hells. Since

then, the mansion's hungry traps and shape-changing

powers have lain dormant. Recently, however, a group of

cultists have broken into the house, seeking to harness

its fell powers. Though they haven't yet figured out how

to commune with the chain devils yet, when they do, it'll

likely be without the safeguards Mandorcai managed to

negotiate, potentially resulting in fiendjsh disaster for

the whole neighborhood.

SEATOWER OF BALDURAN

The headquarters of the Flaming Fist stands on a rocky

islet in the harbor, its sheer walls erupting from the

stone in such a way as to grant invaders from the sea

few footholds. From the fortress's five stout towers,

specially made Gondan trebuchets stand ready to hurl

stones three times the distance of an ordinary siege

weapon, giving the fortress command of not just the

entire harbor but the opposite bank of the river as well.

Any invading ships not intimidated by such death from

above would also have to contend with the massive

chain running from the Seatower to pilings under the

easternmost wharf in Brampton. A capstan in the tower

can raise the chain, stretching it across the harbor

mouth and keeping anything larger than a rowboat

from entering or leaving. As for land-based attacks, the

400-foot-long causeway connecting the Seatower's islet

to che shore needs no gates or drawbridges, as any at-

tackers foolish enough to charge along its length would

be easy marks for the wall's archers.

Roughly a hundred Flaming Fist soldiers occupy the

fortress at any given time, along with the residents of

the Officers' Tower. Jn the central bailey, the organiza-

tion's vast armory holds every weapon a mercenary com-

pany could need, along with trophies from campaigns

abroad, a priceless library of war-related texts, and

more. Rumors also speak of the Fist's treasury, kept in a

lead-lined vault somewhere beneath the Officers' Tower