I do not intend, by this, to break away from you, but I cannot sit here waiting and unchanging until you see fit to pick me up, either, not when Cheliax, which matters so much to me, is at risk. Were you to swear that Cheliax will be safe, I would abandon this course, but I don't realistically expect it, and so I must be capable of defending her. 

 

I'm genuinely not upset about the prospect of going to Hell. I want to be a devil and I'm going to be a really impressive one. I am not deluded about what it will be like; I am here in Dis to witness it. I am all right with thousands of years of suffering for a result which endures for all the life of the universe. I am impatient for it. 

 

Love, 
Carissa

The night passes, and two hours of sleep; morning comes, and when dawn has passed, Aspexia Rugatonn is there.

Carissa Sevar has requested her Splendour headband back from Pilar, and used magic to put herself to sleep when she was failing to achieve that, and left detailed somewhat pointed project instructions for everyone and especially Olegario. He might make mistakes but he is trying to protect Carissa's interests and that's invaluable, really. 

Pilar is here, wearing Asmodia's +6 Wisdom headband, and hands over her precious Sevar-crafted Splendour headband.  Pilar is a little sad about not getting to see the majesty of Dis herself; the sights of Hell scried to her in Elysium were mostly just petitioners getting tormented and screaming to be allowed to die.

- and Carissa feels, indeed, a little fuzzier, a little less like she can think of things no one's ever thought of, but also stronger and more determined, less like there's something inside her that doesn't want to become a devil and doesn't want to sell her soul. 

A good trade, on the whole, maybe not even just for this specific occasion.

Aspexia is not carrying the Crown of Infernal Majesty; besides leaving Abrogail vulnerable including to tropes, it was deemed more fitting that Sevar face Dispater with a headband of Splendour that she crafted herself, so that all the strength of her will is her own, born of her.

Aspexia has a double-strength Ring of Eloquence that Cheliax reserves for emergencies where somebody suddenly has to be a diplomat; and a bracer that grants an instinctive knowledge of Infernal customs and etiquette for outside visitors including the Infernal language.

Well, then, that is as ready as a person can be. "As you will, then, Most High," Carissa says with conviction, and if part of her still objects very quietly that it doesn't want to sell her soul, well, that part is why she has to sell it.

"Take a deep breath before you step through the Gate, and don't breathe until I've had a chance to cast Planar Adaptation," says Aspexia Rugatonn.

And opens a Gate to Hell, to Avernus, at the outer doorway of a fortress that guards one of the many many entrances to Dis.

And steps through.

Smarter Carissa knew what she was doing, Carissa tells herself firmly, and steps forward into Hell. 

(She does have Resist Fire up because it'd just be embarrassing to be constantly flinching about all the fire in Hell until Aspexia casts Planar Adaptation.)

The fire in Hell isn't even mostly the problem.  Aspexia Rugatonn can feel the weight of Avernus trying to press on her soul, horror and despair and regretting all your choices; before she casts Mass Planar Adaptation on the party, and the pressure mostly eases.

Well, Carissa does regret several of her choices, and she can see how if anyone were in a position to correct her errors right now it'd be useful for her to feel the weight of that regret. 

Anyway. 

Onwards. 

It's a mighty fortress they've arrived to, all blood-rusted iron and seared pitted steel, and lesser devils on the ramparts, looking down at the newcomers with all the scorn their lesser kind can muster.  It stands in the midst of a vast desolation, a volcanic desert with sand of iron and obsidian, from which, in the distance, not really all that far, bursts of hellfire constantly erupt from the ground; the firelight of the plane flickers, but has yet to go out for even a moment.  There are not many petitioners about this place, but in the distance their screaming forms a background sound steadier than the firelight.

The magical Gate has taken them to before the physical sort of gate, polished and unblemished steel that stands in contrast to the rest of the scarred fortress.

Aspexia steps forward and drives her fist into gate, backing it with magic to produce a hollow bang; for the gate has no knocker on it, if you are not strong enough to knock on a door in Hell then nobody in Hell is going to pay you much heed.

"You'll speak for us, for practice," Aspexia tells Carissa.

Right. Makes sense. She wonders if it's really so that every devil in Dis knows her name.  She wonders if they'll be laughed right out of Dis. ...probably not, it's in fact true that she was asked by a devil if she'd settle for three Wishes, and that when she was substantially less valuable. 

Unseen Servants hold the hem of her dress clear of the ashen ground, and she waits.

The outer gates crack open.  Behind them stands a creature like a very tall cadaver, skin shrunk to almost fit the skeleton and skull, but that the skin is itself animated and moving bone.  A great stinger-tail rises from it, and many not-particularly-functional-looking delicate wings of bone, like colorless butterfly wings petrified.

Behind the thing is another, even more imposing-looking gate.

Carissa's new instincts for Hell will tell her that this is an Osyluth, a sort of lesser Security of Hell.  The greater party speaks first, in Hell, and it will be waiting for Aspexia Rugatonn to speak.

"I am Carissa Sevar, called in Golarion Chosen of Asmodeus, come with the Grand High Priestess of Asmodeus to Hell with business for Dispater. We would pass through the gates of this fortress to Dis."

The bony thing turns its head to the evidently far more powerful and Evil soul, with a questioning, submissive look.

Aspexia Rugatonn gives no return sign; only stands beside and to the left of Sevar like an allied mercenary who was not paid enough to speak.

...confusing.

But confusions are not worth resolving, except insofar as they touch upon the interests of the self.

"Do you offer me fee for passage, or threat for it?" speaks its cold rasping voice.

She can't, actually, take a devil in a fight, even a lesser one like this - a caster of her level could probably win this fight if they were an adventurer, but she's not one.

Rugatonn could, though. 

Also they shouldn't have to fight, this isn't the Abyss, that'd be stupid. 

Her voice carries none of this uncertainty and no nervousness about maybe getting unceremoniously stabbed by the first devil she runs into. 

"We're here about Asmodeus's business and will cut down what stands in our way, only negotiating with anything that would otherwise have a true interest in impeding us."

A slight rasping noise that surely is not laughter.  "I did trouble myself to open the outer doors for you, and now you'd have me open the inner doors as well.  Do you pay me for my effort, or tell me to pay it as your due?"

She's tempted to pay, but she suspects she's not supposed to. This isn't Axis. Paying is admitting - something. That she's not very important. And importance is negotiated, and she needs to be important. 

"If you want payment, seek it from someone else, for the story of what you witnessed. We are owed your obedience; open the gate."

The Osyluth reads sincerity in her, and the Grand High Priestess waiting by her side and not contradicting this statement does lend it credit and threat; it obeys, then, and the inner gate swings open.

The interiors of fortresses set to guard Avernus are not so complicated as mortal fortresses, they need not food nor places to sleep, only mazes of traps to also serve as garrison.

Behind the inner gate is the entrance to a dull metal hallway that branches out left and right from the gate's opening.  And a next sentry there, a nightmare of chains linking bladed cogs and jagged gears; a Castigas, a thing stupider than the Osyluth but more dangerous did it choose to fight.

Dozens of pitted lenses angle slightly to point at Aspexia Rugatonn, and then the mass of chains clunks forwards into the left-hand side of the maze, assuming (Carissa's bracer will tell her) the submissive posture of a guide who walks ahead of its superiors.