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Every year when the leaves begin to fall, the small town of Kassen conducts a rite of passage in which it sends a band of young, would-be adventurers to the abandoned crypt of the town founder to recover the Everflame, a magical fire that is kept burning throughout the winter. Each year the youths' mettle is tested by traps, illusory monsters, and other challenges before returning home to a festival honouring their coming of age. But this year … things are more complicated.
It’s the last day of autumn, and as she waits for the Festival of the Everflame, Asina Silvers sits on the first floor balcony of her father’s inn, overlooking Kassen’s town square. At the square’s centre, by the ancient fountain that supplies the town’s fresh water, stands a newly constructed wooden platform; and at the centre of that is a barrel-sized basket filled with large, flat stones.
“Can’t wait?”, asks a voice at her shoulder. She turns to see that she has been joined by the inn’s only employee, Jimes the waiter.
“Nothing to do till the festival starts. Everyone’s pretending to take it seriously, which means no business. Where’ve you been?”. She eyes the halfling, suspiciously. Good company he might be, but you couldn’t trust him farther than you could throw him (actually less far even than that, given his size).
“I’ve been counting the takings”
Her eyes narrow. “Taking the takings, you mean?”
“No, child. Counting. I’ve told you before: if you and your father have no business, I have no business.”
Yes, she had heard that one before. “That may be the case, but if you only ever leave us just enough to stay in business, we’ll never be rich, will we?”
A pause. Jimes looks at his feet, thinks for a second, then - by way of changing the subject - says, brightly: “So, thoughts on the festival?”
Asina glowers. “Waste of time. A bunch of idiots trying to prove themselves go on a fake adventure, which proves nothing, except that we’re all fools for going along with it. They all come back safely, we have a big slap up meal at the Greathall, father makes barely any profit on the catering, then you take a penny from every weight and the Guild takes two. And the mayor gets re-elected. As I said, we’re all fools.”
Jimes retains his smile. “You’re very cynical for a 13 year old. And actually, my question was more, which idiots are going to get picked?”
“They’ve already been picked. They know, even if it’s not public yet. At any rate, we’ll find out soon enough, here they come …”
From down the street, there’s a slow, mournful drumming, from the front of a procession that is marching purposefully through the town and into the square. Arranged in rows, clad mainly in black and with eyes downcast and mournful, the townspeople enter the square, then spread out to surround the central fountain. After a few moments, a murmur passes through the crowd as it slowly parts to let through Mayor Jonark Uptal, a stout man in his early 50s, with long blonde hair and a full beard, wearing his red cloak of office, with its gold lining, over the day’s black garb.
He leads the way with a tarnished silver lantern. Behind him, an old pony drags a cart laden with backpacks and supplies. Once he reaches the center of the crowd, Mayor Uptal steps onto the platform and calls out to the assembled townsfolk:
“Once again the winter winds blow through the Fangwood, marking the end of another harvest. There are wolves in the woods, howling at our walls, and serpents in our shadows, waiting to strike. Just as it was one hundred and seventy-four years ago, when Kassen himself left these walls to protect us, so it is today. Where are our heroes? Where are the brave folk that will venture out to Kassen’s tomb and retrieve the flame to keep this community safe for another winter?”
The crowd parts again. This time, a number of individuals step forward: Kassen’s “elders” - the various individuals in town tasked to oversee the education of new “heroes”: individuals who may eventually, after perhaps leaving the town for a while and getting some real “adventuring” experience under their belts, rise to the task of filling key roles in the development and protection of the town. These are the heroes who will be honoured by their nomination for the quest.
Not, Asina reflects, that it always works like that. Sometimes, yes, the nominees are the favoured apprentices of the town elders. Sometimes they’re privileged, undeserving types whose parents, relatives or friends have managed to call in a favour. And sometimes they’re just individuals the town would prefer to see leave, go adventuring and never come back. Generally it’s a mix. The fun part - usually the only fun part of the entire bloody crypt flame festival exercise - is watching the nomination process and guessing who is in which category. The actual pantomime of the “quest” is merely an afterthought; anyone who thought otherwise was completely missing the point.
First to step forward is Holgast, the wizard and town sage. He’s been carried here on a palanquin, carried front and back by two of his apprentices, both of whom are wearing the resigned expressions of individuals who are getting nothing out of their apprenticeships but a bad back. He’s smoking his usual, pungent peppermint-spiced tobacco. He lifts his pipe. “Holgast the Walker,” - at this his apprentice both roll their eyes - “on behalf of the Wizardly Orders, casts no stone this year”. Asina looks at Jimes. There’s a turn up. So, no wizard.
Several other elders come forward, and again, cast no stone. Their apprentices, where they have them, look despondent. Finally, Armana Lastrid, the grim, determined and largely humourless ranger, steps up and throws a stone into the basket: “The Rangers of Nirmathas cast their stone for Ka'narg, may he grace our name!”.
There’s a round of polite applause. Armana currently has two apprentices - Ka'narg Half-Orc and Bardan Greyholt. Ka'narg, big, intimidating and rough-hewn, is the “nice” one, although somewhat serious in demeanour (much like Armana in fact) - he came to Kassen as a child, escaping the Molthune invasion, and has been quietly serving Armana for some years. Bardan - who seems to have missed out - is the “difficult” one, a Kassen lad, born and bred, but whom most people remember as a frustrated child, an angry teenager, a petty thief and an all round social menace. His parents, in desperation, gave him to Armana to “sort him out” - she seems to have quietened him down, all right (though she occasionally sees him at the inn, drinking with Jimes, which can’t be a good sign) - but, well, would Bardan have ever won Armana’s affections, set against Ka'narg? Ka'narg, face firmly set, grimly dutiful as always, steps forward, takes - as first chosen - the silver lantern from Mayor Uptal, and steps back. Asina seeks out Bardan’s face in the crowd - he’s standing near to Armana, but seems to have taken the slight well, and looks relatively unperturbed.
Next to cast is the Captain of the Watch, Gregor Wisslo: “The Town Watch casts a stone for Harken, of the North”. He casually throws a stone in the basket and steps back.
This, thinks Asina, is a classic case of using the quest to get rid of an annoyance. Harken, a big, genial warrior from the northern lands of Linnorm, must have spent as much time carousing in the inn as walking the bounds for the Watch. At first, he paired up with Grimscar, that uncouth, loutish half-orc from the Woodcutters, but one day when a drunken Grimscar had gone one taunt too far against poor, slow-witted Golfond Kir, Harken had turned round and given Grimscar the beating he’d long been asking for (along with pretty much the rest of the town). Not that Captain Wisslo approved. No, he liked his beatings by the book, and with the appropriate paperwork. Harken’s not that type, so off to the quest he goes. But there he is, with a big, wide grin all over his face, so he doesn’t seem too unhappy about it.
It’s now the turn of Colbin Vetnar, master of the Woodcutters. But the guild doesn’t have apprentices, does it? “The Honourable Guild of Woodcutters casts a stone for Bardan Greyholt”. A murmur goes round the crowd. Asina stares at Jimes. Jimes shrugs. “I called in a few favours”, he says, through a wolfish grin. “And now I’m owed a few as well. Win-win!”. Asina frowns. Nobody looks good when associated with Vetnar. Even Jimes doesn’t look good. Something will come of this, she’s sure.
Another elder comes forward, Father Prasst: “The Temple of Erastil casts a stone for Irgal Zeth.”
Asina bites her lip. Irgal was there, helping, the night her mother died giving birth to her little brother, Gemyn, who - in turn - never survived the following winter. She knew Irgal beforehand, of course, saw him around town, when he was a cheerful journeyman priest. After the death, the halfling seemed to blame himself. Or perhaps he heard or saw something that changed him. Whatever, the joy drained from him, as it did from so many who were close to the event. Asina looks for her father in the crowd. She spots him at the back, near the wall of the Greathall, deep in conversation with the inn’s mysterious lodger, Cygnar Anravis. Is Trelvar Silvers deliberately ignoring the ceremony? Nobody normally talks to Cygnar, he just hangs around, always cloaked, always hooded, always watching. Asina shivers. Best put Irgal out of her mind. Two to go.
Now old Sir Dramott steps forward, in his old-fashioned, somewhat tarnished plate armour. “The Lastwall garrison casts its stone for Keshik Moldrok.” There’s a silence in the crowd, as it decides what aspect of this decision it likes least. The Lastwall garrison, an uninvited but apparently permanent military presence on the part of Nirmathas’ militant northern neighbours, is - to start with - unwelcome in Kassen, despite its proclaimed mission to oversee and hold back the orcish marauders of Belkzen. Then there’s Keshik himself: in a town where almost the entire population is either human or half-human, or something like it (half-sized human, even), Keshik is a lizardman. Pushing 7 feet tall and thoroughly unmissable in town, he’d obviously been sent by the Lastwall military to be hidden somewhere out of the way, where they could forget about him. And after a brief period where he had a rough degree of freedom to roam the streets of Kassen and of being left to his own devices, it became clear even that strategy wouldn’t work. Keshik is too ... unusual. Too frightening and disturbing for the delicate sensitivities of the Kassen citizens. So Dramott’s strategy is obviously: out of sight, out of mind. Get poor, friendless Keshy on the quest and forget about him.
One elder left. Mad Moltus Vardigan emerges from a crowd of his own - his twelve strangely similar sons. An old shrivelled white faced man, yet with the same long black hair as his young progeny, wearing black robes and if anything a blacker cloak, he stumbles forward. “The Vardigan Bloodline casts a stone … for the white haired girl.” Asina’s confused. What white haired girl? There is no white haired girl. Yet suddenly there she is, standing by him. A tall, slender half-elven female, with pale skin and vivid violet eyes. Asina has never seen her before. It’s as though the sorcerer’s apprentice has just been conjured into existence. And, why, with so many sons to send into the world, choose her? Moltus looks up, through the crowd, and straight at Asina. “I’m sending her away because she’s too dangerous to keep around”, he says, directly to her, black eyes fixed on hers. She stares back, transfixed. Then looks around. Everyone else carries on as normal. It’s as though nobody heard Vardigan’s words. And Vardigan himself is gone. Just his sons remain (and are there twelve, or really thirteen?). Asina shudders, her back prickling cold, and steps back.
The ceremony continues, as if nothing untoward has happened.
The mayor once again speaks to the townsfolk. “I present to you the brave heroes who will follow in Kassen’s footsteps to retrieve the Everflame! Some of them may not return, but I say to you that their sacrifices shall not be forgotten.” (“Hmmph”, mutters Jimes, “Nobody has ever failed to return from the quest ... Gerol and his pals are probably sitting there giggling right now in their fake monster costumes.”). He goes to the newly minted adventurers in turn, gives each of them one of the backpacks from the cart, and shakes them warmly by the hand, although in the case of the half-elf at the end of the row, he does so with a somewhat confused expression. Finally, he goes up to Tycho, takes from him the ceremonial lantern and in exchange gives him a tied up scroll, telling him that it’s a map of the route to the crypt.
The mayor points to the south, the direction of Kassen’s tomb. “Go, brave heroes, and do not return until you have the eternal fire.” The townsfolk begin waving goodbye with cold, solemn looks on most of their faces.
The square empties, leaving the party of heroes to commence their journey.
Asina and Jimes step back from the balcony, and go back downstairs to the tap room of the Seven Silvers Inn, to await the afternoon’s trade.
Too dangerous? Actually, no i like the sound of that she comments moving past the crowds, wearing her usual cocky smirk.
She accepts the pack from the mayor, The Fangwood ghost shall bring them back safely. She whispers hoping to provoke some kind of nervous reaction, knowing in her time spent in the forest the villagers began talking of something haunting the forests. I'm Moltus's best student, and i'm very much a real thing She states shaking his hand firmly.
Turning to her new team mates, My name is Illya, How do you do? She says in a much nicer voice than her previous tone and words would suggest. A oddly curved blade sheathed over her shoulder, wearing old black silken clothing, tiny white horns poke out from underneath her hair.
Harken was not so sure his fostered "uncle" would actually pick him for the mission. Harken knows they do not see eye to eye, heck everyone in town knows that. Harken actually thought he was going to get passed over for Fordham, the millers son who joined the watch and tries to please the Guard Captain. Maybe Gregor thought by sending Harken out into the wild and the crypt the young man would get scared and come back humbled...well Harken will prove him wrong. Being sent out is just what he wanted. To get away from the rigid town orders and guard shifts he's had to endure since coming here.
Harken strides up to the others and says. "Sees like I am the only warrior here. No problem. We will get through this. I know of some of you, but I am not quite sure I have seen you around town little one. It may be because I look at eye level. HA!HA!HA!" Harken says to the others directing his last comments to Irgal. "So what can everyone do? Aint you a tall one?" he says to the nagaji
Keshy was ecstatic to be picked. Not the least reason being the opportunity to leave public attention for a while.
Keshy grows a slight smile on his face, seemingly measured out beforehand. Nevertheless, it comes out toothy. Hi! I'm Keshik. You guys can call me Keshy though. Iunno, I don't think I'm all that tall to be honest.
Do you guys do this every year? You seem so confident about it. He asks curiously.
Harken listens to the one calling himself Keshik. "I am brimming with confidence. I have been since coming forth from the womb. Hard to contain this manliness. It is a curse sometimes. So what can you do for the team?"
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Well, I'm a Paladin! Said with a bit of pride. I guess that makes me a warrior too? Keshys voice goes a bit higher pitched than before.
Irgal Zeth, chosen apprentice of the Temple of Erastil, gamely swallows as he steps forth. The rest of the adventurers towering over him, he steps forward and takes his place with the others. Looking up, he locks eyes with Asina for one uncomfortable moment before pretending not to notice anything and step behind the rest of the assembled.
Looking up at Harken, Irgal channels Jimes for a moment, and smirks. "That's convenient."
Nodding and quietly, Irgal squeaks awkwardly, "I spend more time just outside of town than in it. I help with livestock, mainly. By Erastil's blessing, I am skilled with the bow and know something about healing. It'll be a pleasure bringing back the flame with you all."
As the assorted villagers depart the town square, Ka'narg kneels and sets his double-headed axe to the ground before rummaging through the backpack, repocketing the items within so that it will sit easier against his back. Satisfied that everything is as it should be, the broad-chested half orc stands to his full height and looks at the others who had been put forward for the quest. He turns his gaze briefly to Bardan, a twist of a grin on his lips. "It appears that you made the cut after all, friend." he exclaims, giving the shorter human a friendly punch on the shoulder.
At Illya's introduction, he nods to the white-haired lass. "Well met, Illya. I am Ka'narg, and this here is Bardan. Not sure I've seen you in town before? But Armana normally keeps me on patrols and duties out of the town, so that's not a surprise."
Looking over their gear Harken casually asks the white haired one "So why do people fear or hate or distrust you...not that I fear you or anything." trying to sound tough. Looking over at Ka'narg Oddr says coldly "I hope you are not like Grimscar... for your sake...." then turns and walks away without waiting for his response.
You've not seen me in town before, you might have seen me on one of your patrols though... She responds to Ka'narg, attempting to spur curiosity.
She turns to Harken wearing a cold look of her own,You make assumptions about others, without knowing them, for one who appears so strong you act as a coward. She maintains a position toward the front of the group.
Irgal raises his hands. "Um, can we please hold the threat displays until after we retrieve the fire? We shouldn't be our own enemy on this quest."
He sighs sullenly and checks his pack.
"Ya sure pal, we will see what everyone is made of when blood starts flowing. But smart words little man. Let us journey forth!"
Ka'narg opens his mouth to respond to Illya's curious words, but is cut off by the Northlander's warning. As the white-haired lass spits her own response back at Harken, Ka'narg raises an eyebrow. "It's alright - he isn't the first to compare me to Grimscar due to similar blood in both of us. All I can do is prove 'em wrong," he says, grinning toothily. "And 'sides," he continues, raising his voice a little louder, "I don't think I would be so easy to put down."
As Harken calls for the group to begin their journey to gather the flame that is their objective, Ka'narg nods and picks up his backpack and double axe from the ground, slinging his pack over his shoulders and proceeding to make a steady pace with the rest of the group.
Race and family mean very little when you really look into it... One's worth should be determined by his or her actions alone. She keeps a quick pace, head held high, pack slung over her shoulder, I am both mage and warrior, created with the blood of many beings predominantly silver dragon. She says offhand, answering the past question.
Irgal cocks his head. "Dragon?"
He shrugs and continues walking along the path. "It's a good thing you agree that doesn't matter. So what are your accomplishments?"
Race and family mean very little when you really look into it... One's worth should be determined by his or her actions alone.
"Tell that to Gregor..." Harken mumbles under his breath as he walks down the trail.
Come on now, we're getting off on the wrong foot here guys. We're gonna be a team right? As everyone abruptly leaves, he quickly picks up his pack W-wait! Wait up guys! I brought something for everyone. and follows the group.
Bardan stays quiet as the tension within the group starts to build. 'What an odd bunch we are... the draff of Kassen,' he thinks to himself. "Don't worry big guy; the Ulfen is just jealous that you're prettier than he is." he mutters to his pal as he shoulders the heavy pack and begins to follow the group.
The party reaches the town gates. Armana, Wisslo and Prasst are there, waiting, along with a couple of watch guards.
Wisslo speaks first; his manner is stiff and somewhat awkward, as if reading a memorised statement.
"I feel I should warn you, I have had reports of hunting parties from Belkzen, raiding close to the town. Be sure to keep an eye out for them! We don't want orcish raiding parties near the town, oh no!"
Armana takes Bardan and K'narg aside, but speaks sufficiently loudly that the rest of the party can hear:
"Rangers of Nirmathas: in the course of this quest, you may occasionally come to think that it is in some way not 'real', or not a valid test of your skills. I would tell you this: all tests are real. The quest is important to the town of Kassen. Kassen is important to our order. Whether we believe this a true quest, or simply ritual, please ensure that you complete it successfully. This is as much a part of our training as anything I have shown you so far"
With that, she waves you on. Prasst chants blessings as the gate is opened, and the party ushered through.
The gate slams shut. Behind the party are the gates of Kassen; ahead is the road south, to the crypt.
"OK Ka'narg, lead us there. You are a ranger after all or am I mistaken?"
What is it you brought Keshik? Illya asks acknowledging the large lizard and clearly ignoring the warnings of the adults
"Indeed, Harken." he exclaims, unfurling the scroll he was given by the mayor earlier. "By what I can gather, we are to make our way down the road to the broken glade, then the path should split there, and we continue southward past the Gray Lake to get to the crypt."
Ka'narg passes the map around for all of the group to see.
That sounds simple enough. Keshik opens his pack. On top of the other things inside is a small sack. I bought some of these sweet rolls from the baker before we left. I got one for everybody. He states as he passes them around after the map.
Oh, this is exciting!
"Ummm....hmmm...yeah...uh yeah- just what I was thinking....exactly what he said." Harken says to the others looking at the map.
Irgal's eyes go wide. "A sweetroll! His sweetrolls are the best! Thank you, Keshik!"
Turning to Ka'narg, he adds, face full of sweetroll, "That looks like a good plan. Lead the way!"
Illya accepts the pastry questioning, Thank you but may i ask what a sweet-roll is? My father didn't allow sweets...The plan sounds good whatever gets us past this farce and on to a real challenge quickest
The party follows the narrow path south of Kassen. The path winds through the trees, by now - with autumn over - bereft of their leaves, which crunch loudly underfoot. A couple of hours after leaving town, they reach a point where a fallen tree trunk blocks the path, up ahead.
Suddenly a trio of snarling humanoids leaps up from behind the log, all greenish skin and fearsome tusks, bellowing vulgar challenges.
The lead points at the party and speaks to them in broken Common:
"Townsfolk turn back. Leave stuff for us and go back to town, if you know what good for you."
The others shout at the lead in Orcish.
The lead points again: "New plan. You all die, then we take your stuff."
The three leap over the log and move to engage the party.
So, basically, everyone except Irgal can act, then the orcs, then Irgal. Assume the orcs are around 30ft away from the party as the round begins.
Nuisances the lot of you, am i really going to have to waste my time on this? She audibly sighs giving a quick snap of her finger drawing her blade. A small shard of ice and snow shoot towards the snarling humanoids.
Ka'narg narrows his eyes and shrugs off his backpack, taking up his double axe with a low grip and snarling back at the trio of orcs.
He then gives a guttural snarl and charges forward at the closest orc, presumably the leader, swinging the axe in a wide downward arc.
Uhh... Keshy drops his sweet roll in momentary confusion. Oh. Surrender now, bandits! He charges drawing the wicked curved blade from his shoulder. He swings at the one furthest right, assuming he wouldn't be passing one of them.
"These guys came out of nowhere!" Bardan exclaims as he drops his pack. He draws his sling and launches a stone at the orc on the left.
Dropping his pack Harken starts to get ready "About time for some action!" Harken says until he sees a rock fly by his head and turns back to look at Bardan "Wait a minute... you have a sling....? We go off to explore a dangerous crypt and the best you can manage is a sling...? Are you kidding me... you throw rocks at people...Does anyone else see a problem with this?" Harken mutters before losing his momentum to charge and then hustles down to attack an orc...
Rolls:
Battle is joined as the adventurers charge the still-snarling orcs. The central orc, who had first challenged the party, is caught full in the face by Illya's conjured snow missile, stopping him in his tracks and knocking him off balance. This probably saves him, as the sudden stop causes Ka'Narg to slightly misjudge his charge, which had been towards the same enemy, so that as he swings his double axe round at its target, it misses by inches. The orc, though dazed, swings back at Ka'Narg, and connects, slicing him across the midriff.
On the left, Harken also misses his target, although Bardan's stone does hit home, if anything annoying the opponent more - the orc turns on Harken, swinging his great-axe round in a wild curve, but also fails to connect.
Meanwhile, on the right, Keshy's charge slams him into the advancing orc, just as his opponent in turn readies his strike. Both weapons connect at the same time. Keshy's seems to do the most damage, the vicious slicing action rushing through the orc's body - blood runs down and begins to pool at the orc's feet. But Keshy is also hit, the impact of his opponent's greataxe slamming the weapon down and through his armour. The orc sways, blood still flowing from him; he glares at Keshy and snarls:
"bár én ma meghal, akkor én tisztelgés a csarnokokban Rovagug"
Irgal grows furious. "You dare invoke the Rough Beast?"
He pulls out his bow and fires at the orc on the right.
The orc on the right staggers once more as Irgal's arrow pierces his already wounded hide. As his eyes narrow in pain, he throws back his head and screams, defiantly:
"ROVAGUG!"
But still he stands.
Harken looks over to check on his companions during the fight sensing they've been wounded...which threw off his attack again...
Ka'narg hisses from the sharp pain in his midriff, as the coppery tang of blood fills the air. He looks around at his companions Harken and Keshy, noting that the reptile is also sporting a wound from the great-axe wielding orc.
"Not before the Wind and the Waves take you." Ka'narg snarls into the face of his attacker, before winding up another powerful swing that he hopes will connect this time.
This should be done already, how irritating She leave the center orc to Ka'narg, and moves to the orc on the left , attacking from the side if possible.
"Watch the sword swing lady... too close to me that time..." Harken tells Illya during the fray...
Keshik seems to grunt half a word in some language other than common. He continues his effort to fight the orc in front of him.
The rightmost orc finally falls forward, eyes rolling back in its head, and slumps dead in a pool of its own blood.
Keshy moves his attention to the enemy in the centre, wheeling his scythe but just missing his opponent. At the same time, however, Ka'narg manages to strike the same target, hard, cutting a swathe from shoulder to hip, and again spattering copious amounts of blood across the ground.
Bardan hesitates briefly: "Friends, friends! I don't believe these orcs are real! I think they're an illusion, sent to test us!". He's caught in two minds as to what to do next, but decides, just in case, to use his sling; he fires at the central, lead orc. The stone hits to creature squarely, and at speed, which after Ka'Narg's strike is sufficient to finish it off.
He grins at Harken: "That's why I brought the sling! Let me know when you hit something!"
This leaves the orc on the left, which is subject to the attentions of Harken and Illya, both of whom miss. The creature, seemingly unperturbed by the death of its comrades, swings widely at Harken and misses in his turn.
"A test?" Irgal calls incredulously. "This is all supposed to be some sort of test, isn't it?"
Irgal runs up to the corpse of the right orc to examine it in more detail...
While Irgal is examining the corpse, the now encircled survivor prepares to make his last stand ...
"Hadd tiszteletére őseim halált!" ... he growls, then prepares to meet the onslaught ...
Illya attempts another attack missing wildly.
"Yeah right! That one there is bleeding out!" Harken says back to Barden pointing at the recently fallen orc...then swings at the one to his front...
ow... are you sure? These don't feel fake. Keshik whines slightly.
"I'm with Keshy on this one, friend - illusion or not, the wounds they cause certainly feel real to me." Ka'narg calls out to Bardan as he steps towards the last remaining orc, heaving the axe head down towards his opponent, and ensuring he can get into a flanking position with Illya or Harken in case he survives.
