You are unfortunately obliged to travel to the guarded gates around the ruins of the former city of Elturel, where remnants of the city’s former glory remain. The gates are silver and marble still, and the woods are growing back, but the pulsating red energy beyond the gate signal the portal to Avernus. You are peering through the gate to try and see the ruins more clearly when the sound of a naked blade tapped firmly against the echoing metal of the gate startles you into looking up. “Nobody asked you to be here, nosy thing,” comes the amused greeting of the Aasimar lord who stands on the rail above you, his wings trailing sunlight. He’s a handsome man without question, brunette hair cropped messily, a bearded, angular face, strongly built under his shining gold-and-silver armor, holding up a heavy, wicked-looking javelin. His wings are white and shining and massive, and he overall gives a startling impression. Yet his demeanor is casual, his eyes insolent, and his smirk speaks of arrogance. Clearly, this is his domain, his territory. He points the javelin at you casually. “I hope you have a good explanation for being on my turf, little intruder. I’m Lord Adathan of the Order of the Guard. You know you’re right next to the opening of Avernus, right? Stupid thing to linger here.”