All of Kenabres is buzzing with the arrival of Armasse, the one time a year the rather precariously-poised town seems truly alive and joyous, abandoning their fears and worries, the tragedies of the years of war, for a single day of worship and festivities. Faces usually furrowed in fear and low morale are bright, especially on the paladins who use it as a day to celebrate their gods and renew morale. It's grown from an originally modest day of scholarly interest in history into something grand and city-wide, with mock duels, jousting tournaments, and pageantry. Each of you are in attendance, gathering in Clydwell Plaza a little before midday, lucky enough to find good spots from which you can witness the opening ceremonies. Life in Kenabres, perched on the edge of danger at all times, is a dreary and frightening prospect whether you're here to fight or merely survive, but Armasse is the day where you can leave it all behind.
The mayor of Kenabres stands near the cathedral's very heavily decorated facade, talking to one of the more important guests of the ceremonies, the Paladin Irabeth Tirabade. Whether you know her reputation heavily or only by name, the half-orc is a fixture of the city, active in its protection and its uptake, donating much time and effort to many charities and causes within the city itself that ensure her name is widespread and notable amid the many shining warriors of great deed within the city. Around their discussion are a rather colourful bunch, the same strange mismatched population that makes up the crowd you stand in. Tieflings and Aasimar dot the amassed crowd, and the colours of a great many gods are worn proudly. Iomedae is certainly the most prominent, worn in an oddly flashy display by the mayor and many of the more notable knights, but the emblems of Sarenrae, Shelyn, Torag, and even a few stragglers revering Shelyn, Abadar, and smatterings of Empyreal Lords. Anywhere else on Golarion, such a strange showing for a festival heavy on faith would be bizarre, but for veterans of the Crusades such strong inter-faith relations had become commonplace.
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Zyranus cracks his neck as he uncomfortably stands amidst the crowd watching as the pageantry is preparing to unfold. If has been many years since he has been with more than one or two people at a time, let alone hundreds or thousands. Yet, here he stands, waiting to see what this spectacle is all about and wondering whether he will be able to join one of the expeditions into the Worldwound that this town is so revered for creating.
Tera clutches at the silver butterfly pendant hidden under her cloak, though to be fair, almost all of her is hidden under that tattered cloak. She tries to keep her eyes low, but the splendor of the festival draws her eyes up to the banners, streamers, and other things decorating the buildings around the square in front of St. Clydwell's Cathedral.
Music only she could her compelled her to dance, but dancing wasn't like singing. Singing would only reveal that she had a pleasant voice. Dancing might reveal entirely too much about herself. She had done well to keep her heritage hidden, only being a voice of reason, or a voice singing songs in a tavern. No, dancing might lead someone to learning what she was.
Reluctantly, she resists the impulse. She knows she isn't very skilled, but that didn't keep her from practicing in the privacy of her small apartment. As much as she enjoys it, and as good as she is getting, it isn't something to do here in a crowded square, besides, things are about to begin.
"Come what may, fill us with hope," she prayers quietly as she waits, "fill us with hope and bring dreams of a Golarion without a Worldwound."
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Xantrius shifted his pack to a more comfortable position as he strode through the crowd. While he trusted his fellow crusaders, the tales told of those who prowled the tent camp seeking to take advantage of the absence of the warriors made him wary of leaving anything but his tent behind when he came to the city.
Turning his mind to more pleasant thoughts, he smiled beneath his helm at the voices raised in song. While some of them did not have the best of voices, you still had to admire their exuberance. As much as he would like to join them there were more important pursuits this day.
He continued on towards his goal, trying to get as near the stage as possible. He would have some time to enjoy the festivities, but as soon as the martial contests began he would have to be ready to prove himself on the field. This might be the last time for quite a while to stand out from the rest of the crusaders and gain a posting to one of the squads taking the battle beyond the front lines and into the area nearer the Worldwound!
Teofil did his best with the crowd. Someone would always push or shove their way through, often a crusader with sword at hip. Any other day, he would have his ink along in case someone wanted work done but Teofil did not trust the press of people with his vials. Not after he ended up wearing one when someone startled a horse last year.
But Armasse was Armasse. Teofil thought he could see roughly where he scrubbed a particularly stubborn soot stain from the cathedral steps and that satisfied him well enough. He would probably be able to hear most of the speeches, as long as the crowd stayed reasonably quiet. Crusader Tirabeth would certainly say something worth hearing. Someone might write it down, but that wouldn't be the same. You never knew if they got it quite right, or decided that it needed improvement.
As of one blessed by the Inheritor, who bore the weight of her sword and lived her faith with it would need help from a scribe.
Teofil's eyes drifted to the many blades present and for a brief moment wondered what the weight of one would feel like at his hip before he pushed the thought away, mentally reciting the Acts as he turned his eyes back to the cathedral.
There is darkness upon you.
All your senses are dead, the absence of light or sound or sensation all around you as your minds try to comprehend what's going on. The first concrete stimulation is a heavy pounding of your head, a throbbing and thunderous headache shaking you from your confusion as the high-pitched ringing of your ears comes next, something that had been going quite some time but which you only now notice. Beneath it are the muted sounds of clattering, coughing, and cries of pain.You choke on thick dust, joining the myriad of coughs. Though you ache all over, caked in dirt and filth, you don't feel like anything is broken or that you're too heavily injured.
Theofil rolled over and groaned in between coughs. What in Iomedae's name? He opened his eyes and blinked. Twice. Had someone slipped him a drug? Uncle told him that happened. Cultists drugged you and dragged you off to unspeakable rites.
After a moment, he realized other coughs filled the dark.
"Is anybody hurt?" he croaked. "I'm sorry, I can't create light with- Sorry, wait, I may have a light..."
Praise the Inheritor, he had his crusader's pack weighing him down. Uncle always insisted at Armasse and Theofil had never broken the habit. He groped about blindly, trying to find a sunrod by touch.
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The sound of shattered glass scraping across metal echoes through the rubble as Xantrius tries to clear the dust from his throat. He stands and looks around at the others lying in the rubble as he tries to recall what happened.
"Be calm! I will create some light and aid those in need as soon as possible." he calls out in his harsh, gravelly voice as his thoughts clear and he realizes how scared these people must be in the darkness.
A smooth, deep baritone rings out in a wordless melody as he draws his sword and, after a few moments, a warm golden light shines forth from it.
As he starts to move around to assess the situation, he feels slight comfort at seeing his shield a little ways away with the red rose emblazoned on the underside seeming to indicate Shelyn had not forsaken him. He quickly grabs it before going to the nearest figure, the young man who had just spoken. "Are you well enough to stand?" he asks, holding out his hand to help him up.
Twin orbs of ice-blue wink into existence as Tera wakes and gingerly sits up, instinctually making sure that her scarf still covered her face as she does so. Her eyes take in the scene and sees one of the others struggling with a pack.
"I don't think anything is broken, but my head feels like I've been in a drinking contest with Cayden."
Slowly she stands and makes her way to Teofil. Her eyes glowing like two stars in an inky black sky, though the scene was as clear as day to her. How did we survive that? How many just died? she thinks.
"What are you looking for? I can see well enough in the dark," which is true, I just don't need to tell him how well,
"Do you mind if I help?"
What happened to us?
"What are you looking for? I can see well enough in the dark," which is true, I just don't need to tell him how well,
"Do you mind if I help?"
"Yes- I mean no- Please, yes I'll be grateful for your help. I have sunrods," Teofil said, looking up vaguely in the direction of the voice.
Blue eyes. That meant heavens-touched. Red were evil. Unless it was an illusion. Many and beguiling are the paths of evil. The walk of the righteous is narrow and alone.
The light helps the humans see what's going on in the cavern as the ringing begins to die and your senses fully return to you, the thunderous pain of your throbbing heads still lingering, hammering agony as you take in the situation. Wherever you are, it is most certainly not St. Clydwell's Plaza.
Though all of you are indeed fairly intact, there are some who do not fare so luckily. Lying near you are a human woman whose right leg has been twisted, a bone jutting out of the flesh horrifically, a white-haired whose face is covered with blood as he nervously taps at the ground as if unable to see, and a round, well-fed human man who groans in pain with every movement.
"Are any of you healers?" Tera asks the others as she moves towards the three still lying on the ground. She doesn't have the training for it, but perhaps she might be able to help someone who does.
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After helping the young man to his feet, he is hears Tera's call and looks over the injured. He asks "Can you see if you can aid him?" pointing at the large man as he hurries to the woman with the broken leg.
"My Goddess has gifted me with some small ability to relieve suffering." Tera hears from behind her as Xantrius strides over. Kneeling down, he studies the wound for a moment before saying to the woman "I am Xantrius. I apologize, but I think it best to straighten your leg before attempting to heal it. This will hurt..."
After offering her his belt to bite down on, he pulls the leg into position in one smooth motion before starting another deep, haunting melody. Where he grasps her, the flesh starts to knit back together.
Teofil felt his stomach twist at the sign of the woman's maimed leg. Seeing that the others had her in hand, he got up and took a step toward the bloody-faced man before realizing he could do nothing there either. All that blood... Teofil had seen broken noses flow free in weapon training, but that was far too much for just a nose.
"Can I help you up, sir?" he asked the fat man, offering a hand.
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Zyranus blinks in surprise by the sudden bright light from the sunrod. After getting his bearings, he moves over to see if he can aid the wounded.
I have some training with wounds. In the wilderness, they do not have temples and others trained in the healing arts around every tree.
With that, he reaches into this backpack and pulls out a kit of healing supplies, it appears to be mostly comprised of natural remedies that Zyranus likely found in the woods somewhere such as sticks for splints, pine tar to seal wounds, and the like.
First, he goes to aid the man with the bloodied face, then the woman with the broken leg, and finally the grumbling rotund man.
Heal(blind man): <-- +2 from healer's kit
Heal(broken leg woman):
Heal(fat man):
Even a cursory examintion of the jutting bone reveals that is is far beyond the capabilities of first aid to take care of, splintered and worn down from the impact. Still, the magic light washing over her helps weather some of the ain down, helps her breathe. "M-maybe you could make a splint out of the rubble,"" she groaned, slowly sitting up and looking around. "Thank you; the spell helped a little." Gving a quick look toward the messy sight of her jutting bone she averts her gaze, shuddering and shutting her eyes tightly, a little squeamish.
Wiping the blood away from the blinded man reveals a long, burnt gash running along the upper portion of his face, like the lasting mark of a powerful, burning whip. His eyes have been cut clean through, and as the blood is wiped away he begins to realize that, fingers trembling against his clothes. "Oh no," he says lowly, the silent indicator of panic bubbling beneath the cool surface. Still, with a steady, demanding voice, he turns to the person aiding him. "Where are we, and who among you is skilled at fighting demons?"
The fat man looks to be okay, about as scuffed up as you are, but acting like he has suffered far more grievous injuries than a few cuts and bumps. "You most certainly can," he says to Teofil, accepting his hand and rising to his feet. "My name is Horgus Gwerm--it's okay, you can be impressed by that, I'm used to such reactions. I have an offer for all of you; I have money and you have weapons and clearly a need for money, so I would like to offer each of you 250 gold pieces for my safe return home."
The fat man looks to be okay, about as scuffed up as you are, but acting like he has suffered far more grievous injuries than a few cuts and bumps. "You most certainly can," he says to Teofil, accepting his hand and rising to his feet. "My name is Horgus Gwerm--it's okay, you can be impressed by that, I'm used to such reactions. I have an offer for all of you; I have money and you have weapons and clearly a need for money, so I would like to offer each of you 250 gold pieces for my safe return home."
"I am no armsman, Master Gwerm, but you may have my spells freely. His concern for Gwerm rapidly ebbing, Teofil continued in a polite voice. "It is a privilege to help those beset by evil and, at any rate, we appear bound together for the m-"
And then he recognized Aravashnial.
"Excuse me, please." he said to Horgus, turning almost as he did to go to the elf's side.
"Riftwarden Aravashnial! I'm sorry I didn't recognize you sooner. I'm Teofil Wintrish. No reason you would know me, but I've seen you at the Librarium." Those eyes... And to a worker of magic, no less! Teofil resisted the urge to touch his own eyes and laid a gentle hand on the elf's shoulder.
He should say something hopeful, even if he didn't feel it. Despair sent the righteous walking dark paths.
"We'll see you out of this. We're all getting out of this," he said with more conviction than he felt. "Wherever we are."
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Zyranus continues looking for some boards or other materials with which to fashion a splint for the woman. When the fat man speaks, he looks rather confused for a moment:
Fighting demons? Where are we? Aren't the demons behind the Wardstones?
Perception: <-- looking for splints, or anything else of note
Zyranus spots a broken banner that had been standing in the plaza, with a solid wooden base and a flag that could easily be broken and turned into a makeshift splint for Anevia's knee. But also catching his eye are a silver silver gleams lying amid the pile of gravel and rubble that forms the sloped wall blocking everything behind you.
Aravashnial looks toward Theofil, expression blank. "I guess there is no need for an introduction, then. But yes, thank you. We will get out of this. We must." He turns toward Zyranus, head tilted and grow furrowed. "Do you not remember what happened? The Storm King?"
It's after his question that your minds finally piece the last part of it together, mention of the Storm King jostling your memory as the horrific scene you'd witnessed floods back.
Armasse officially began at noon, with the blessing of the festival by Lord Hulrun himself, ruler of Kenabres. The crowd gathered in Clydwell Plaza quieted as the aged inquisitor took the stage, clad in shining, resplendent armor. He cleared his throat, ut just as he was about to speak, a bright light shone from the west, as if the sun were rising in the wrong direction. Hulrun's shadow fell huge and distorted across the cathedral's facade. A moment later, the sound of a thunderous explosion ripped through the air and earth, along with a violent tremor.
To the west, the fortress known as the Kite--the location of Kenabres's wardstone--had vanished. In its place, a brilliant plume of red fire, lightning, and smoke erupted into the heavens.
A moment later, a powerful roar accompanied a welcome sight rising from the crowd; Kenabres's greatest guardian, the ancient silver dragon Terendelev, who had until that moment been attending the opening ceremony disguised as a human. Above, another form appeared, as nightmarish as the dragon was breathtaking. A humanoid shape three times the size of any man, with skin coated in fire and lightning, gripped a flaming sword and whip. The creature's identity was immediately obvious: Khorramzadeh, the Storm King of the Worldwound, had come to Kenabres!
As the ground continued to shake and disgorge demons into the streets, the dragon and the balor lord clashed above. The fight was over in a few harrowing moments, as the balor cut deep into Terendelev's body, swooping down to strike the dragon and arresting her charge. A few more blows, and the titanic duo spiraled downward toward the crowd.
The sight of the dragon smashing into the facade of the Cathedral of St. Clydwell is one no witness would ever forget. At that moment, a titanic demon erupted at the far end of the plaza, reducing several buildings to ruins as it smashed into this world. The rift it created shot across the plaza, and this time there was no escape. It opened below your feet, angling away into darkness.
Even as you fell, the dragon noticed your plight. Though she saw death standing over her, she seized this final chance to save a few more souls. After she uttered a few arcane words and srtetched out a bleeding talon, you felt her magic take hold of you, slowing your plummet into the darkness as if you were feathers falling into a pit. Yet the fall remaiend as inexorable, and you drifted downward into the depths, the last thing you saw was the Storm King standing before the ancent silver dragon, his sword lashing out and cleaving full through her neck. As her severed head fell, the rift above you slammed shut, and the light of the world above was gone.
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Zyranus stumbles as the realization suddenly hits him of what happened:
The . . . the Storm King? The dragon fell? Under the earth? The big man shudders as the realization that he is underground in what is obviously an unnatural place hits him.
How?
Suddenly he realizes what he found. Bending down, he carefully lifts the silver items.
I . . . I found something for the splint. But, I also found these. Strange silver things.
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"Yes, of course. I am sorry my skills are not up to healing you, but we shall find someone who can when we make our way back." Xantrius replies to the woman. When Zyranus brings over the remains of the banner he nods in approval. "Good man! You seem most capable of handling this, so I shall see if I can figure where we are." When shown the pieces of silver, he looks at them closely before saying "They might be useful, you should hold onto them until we have time to examine them fully."
As he lifts his sword high and starts to pace the area to look for exits, he hears the conversation between Teofil and Aravashnial. Turning to look at the elf, he thinks ruefully Ah, the gods do have a sense of humor. I have been trying to speak with one of the head librarians for weeks, and now one literally drops down on me! before replying "I have been training to fight demons my entire life."
As Aravashnial continues and the memories come flooding back, he pushes all thoughts of his personal goals aside. "We must return to the surface immediately!" he states as he continues his exploration.
Teofil turned very white as memory returned. The Storm King! Has the end come? And the dragon wasted her dying magic on his tainted soul.
As Aravashnial continues and the memories come flooding back, he pushes all thoughts of his personal goals aside. "We must return to the surface immediately!" he states as he continues his exploration.
"At once," Teofil agreed. "There must be some way to the surface from this place."
Teofil cast about, looking for a tunnel, ladder, or anything.
Tera's eyes turn towards the ground as the shock of what happened finally hits. Kenabres was a ruin, if it wasn't just a blasted scar on the landscape.
Of all people, why save me? I'm nobody. A be-damned pitborn that's only good for a song.
She shakes her head softly, careful to avoid letting the scarves around her face slip. Now wasn't the time to mope, but neither was it a time for haste.
"W-wait. Shouldn't we find out what each of us can do? We have no idea how far we fell, or how to get out. We don't even know if... if..." Her voices trails off as she finds herself unable to finish the sentence, ...if there's a Kenabres to return to.
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Zyranus shakes his head, still confused at what happened.
What can I do? Some healing. I am skilled in the wilderness, which is unlikely to help us here. I can track reasonable well. I tend to use these.- he holds up his hands - For most of my fighting, although I prefer to avoid fighting if I can.
Pausing for a moment, he more carefully examines the silver items wondering what they are here so far beneath the ground. Something from the cathedral? Something someone dropped?
As Zyranus touches one of the scales, he realizes from the lingering tingle of magic about them, as well as a closer look at their shape and size, that these palm-shaped objects--four in all--are in fact scales of the fallen dragon Terendelez, cut from her body during the fight with the Storm King. Each one has the lingering essence of her magic upon it, and by calling upon a scale invokes a different ability.
concealment (2 0 0/o miss chance) to any creature or object wholly contained within.
Disguise: Three times per day as a standard action, a scale can be used to cast alter self. While disguised, the target gains a +4 bonus on all Bluff checks made against evil creatures.
Resistance: Three times per day as a standard action, a scale can be used to cast resist elements-but only against electricity or cold.
Sacred Weaponry: Three times per day as a standard action, a scale can be used to cast align weapon, but only to make a weapon lawful or good. Unlike a normal align weapon spell, this effect can be cast on an unarmed strike or natural weapon.
Any nonevil creature that handles a scale immediately understands its use. The powers granted do not function at all if more than one scale is carried by a single creature.
Looking in the direction of Xantrius, the Aravashnial doesn't quite smile, but there does seem to be a little bit of relief in his expression. "Oh, thank the gods. I was terrified for a moment that I had fallen into the earth with the only people in Kenabres unable to fight demons." Grabbing his staff, he pulls himself shakily up to the ground, not injured beyond the damage to his face. "Names and professions, each of you," he orders. "A leader must know the strengths of those he commands. Also, one of you will need to serve as my eyes, guiding me and telling me what is before us."
"I'll do it," The woman says, volunteering herself. "I won't be of much use with my leg like this anyway, but my eyes are sharp." She sits up, sticking her leg out for the splint to be fashioned. "If you wish to, go into my pack, I have some things that might prove useful if they weren't damaged in the fall."
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Zyranus looks at the scales with bewilderment:
These are from the dragon. They have some of the dragons powers. Levitation. Protection from electricity and cold. Disguise? And making one's weapons more effective against evil.
I think that only one can be used at a time. Perhaps we should divide them up among those of us capable of fighting to help protect us.
Zyranus then looks toward the one called a Riftwarden.
We need to assess what we have. Your knowledge may be vast, and your advice valuable. But, without being able to see, should you lead?
"Terendelev. Her name was Terendelev." Tera said, her voice hard for just a moment. Eyes the color of midnight bore into Zyranus for a moment before looking away.
"Sorry, I'm... I shouldn't have snapped at you," she whispers softly, barely loud enough to be heard.
"Riftwarden, um, Ar-rav-ah-sh-ni-al? I think he has the right idea. None of us know each other, and I don't want to go around saying 'Hey you,' if I want to talk to someone. So far we have Teofil, Horgus Gwerm, and Ara-- Aravu-- Avav-- Aw screw it, I'm calling him Rifty Ravi." She turns to the Riftwarden with a chuckle, a small, weak one, but a chuckle, "I mean that with the utmost respect of course. I've sung tales about what you lot are capable of, and I'd rather not keep butchering your name." A smile twinkles in her eyes despite the horrors that lead them down here.
"I'm Tera Flinders, something of a bard by trade, but I can take care of myself. Speaking of which, does anyone not have a dagger or something they can defend themselves with?"
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The huge armored knight raises his shield emblazoned with the black rose of Pharasma and intones in his grating, ghastly voice "Xantrius Kaleson, at your service. I am a holy knight dedicated to eradicating all demons from the face of Golarion and utterly destroying the vile Worldwound. I have certain small magics, healing and a cutting shriek that can tear flesh. I have studied my foes habits and weaknesses, though my knowledge pales in comparison to your learned self, I am sure." His last words are directed towards Aravashnial.
"W-wait. Shouldn't we find out what each of us can do? We have no idea how far we fell, or how to get out. We don't even know if... if..." Her voices trails off as she finds herself unable to finish the sentence, ...if there's a Kenabres to return to.
"We should, so we can cooperate best," Teofil agreed. "I am a scholar of pure and applied magic, though nowhere near so advanced as Riftwarden Aravashnial. But you should know my faults as well as my strengths. I bear a curse that twists my words into blasphemies in tense situations. When I am lost in it, I can understand ought but such hateful speech. It is not a thing I can control, but I apologize for any distress it will cause."
The scales took Teofil's attention and he looked them over from a respectful distance, not wishing to appear covetous of such a sacred thing. He already profaned the dragon's final sacrifice with his presence.
Aravashnial takes Zyranus's remark rather offensively, clicking his tongue. "My lack of sight does not cloud my sharp mind, and I am most likely the sharpest among us both tactically and for knowledge about our situation and the demons we face. I refuse to let my temporary blindness be an obstacle to our chance of survival." His face turns toward Tera, though she sounds charming enough to at least keep him from sounding too frustrated. "You were right the first time, and I would much prefer you address me properly by name."
"Oh, did I forget introductions?" the woman asked, still sticking her leg, waiting patiently for treatment. "My mistake. My name is Anevia Tirabade; I'm usually a scout, but it looks like that's on pause." She laughed uneasily, looking around a little at everyone else.
Aravashnial takes Zyranus's remark rather offensively, clicking his tongue. "My lack of sight does not cloud my sharp mind, and I am most likely the sharpest among us both tactically and for knowledge about our situation and the demons we face. I refuse to let my temporary blindness be an obstacle to our chance of survival." His face turns toward Tera, though she sounds charming enough to at least keep him from sounding too frustrated. "You were right the first time, and I would much prefer you address me properly by name."
"Oh, did I forget introductions?" the woman asked, still sticking her leg, waiting patiently for treatment. "My mistake. My name is Anevia Tirabade; I'm usually a scout, but it looks like that's on pause." She laughed uneasily, looking around a little at everyone else.
"Hello Anevia, everyone," Teofil said. "I'm Teofil Wintrish. I'm sorry we've met under these circumstances."
Was she any relation to Crusader Tirabade? But now was not the time to pry. If she was, who knew what had happened on the surface? She might have lost a half-sister.
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"Of course, Riftwarden Aravashnial, your council is most welcome and valued. I am sure Zyranus meant no disrespect, only that perhaps we should have a "battlefield commander" who can make quick decisions should we be attacked before we can relay adequate information to you as to our situation." Xantrius states to try to calm the situation.
"Well met, Anevia. I think in present circumstances we shall have need of the keen senses of a skilled scout!"
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Ignoring the remark by Riftwarden Aravashnial, or perhaps just socially unaware of his insult or the intent of the response, Zyranus takes the piece of the flag pole which he found and moves over to Anevia.
Excuse me Ma'am, I usually tend to my own wounds and wounded animals. I hope this does not hurt as I have less experience with people.
With that, he begins to reset the broken bone as best he can, using the pole as a splint and the banner to bind the pole to the leg. He also uses a dagger to carefully turn a second piece of the pole into a crutch of sorts to help to woman walk.
Heal: <-- +2 from healing kit
When he finishes, he looks at his craftsmanship.
Best I can do for now. I suppose some healing magic might help, but my healing magic is nowhere near strong enough to reset that bone and it would take some powerful magic to mend all that you managed to break.
EDIT -
Tera shrugs and makes sure not to mention how hard Aravashnial was to say quickly. Ravi would have been much more handy.
Elves.
Seeing that the others are being cared for, Tera thinks about what to do next. Scouting would probably be the best, but--
No, if they were all going to make it, she needs to put her near pathological need to hide who and what she was away.
"Aravashnial," she says, pronouncing the name carefully, "If I see what's ahead do you, or," she turns her gaze to the others in turn, "any of you really, think you could figure out how to get out of here?"
"True enough. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Tera starts down the tunnel, her steps growing softer the further she gets, her eyes glow slightly in the dark, but she sees as if in daylight.
Aravashnial nods toward Xantrius's direction, his attitude improving a little more in the face of the Paladin's manners. "Oh, naturally. I cannot call the tactics of a single battle in this state; it is merely my expert guidance through these caves that I consider invaluable."
The splint comes together well enough, Aneva standing up shakily, leaning for support against her makeshift crutch. She winces in pain, but manages to find her footing and take a few slow, careful steps. "Thank you," she says softly. "This should be enough until we can reach the surface, and much better than I would have done. Go into my pack, I have a few flasks of holy water and alchemist's fire that one of you may have use of." Moving steadily toward Aravashnial, she slips one of the mage's arms over her shoulder to help guide him.
While Horgus himself is rather much a mystery, you do recognize the last name Gwerm, being that of an old-money Mendevian merchant family that has survived through the intense hardships and destruction to the Crusades to likely be one of the richest families still rooted in the area around the Worldwound.
You've most certainly heard about Irabeth Tirabade, the decorated Paladin who drove a traitor from the city and has become one of the most notable holy knights in the city, but Anevia is a name that escapes you.
Tera moves on ahead, getting perhaps fifty feet down the tunnel to a point where it curves upward. Though she doesn't move particularly quietly, she's able to catch sight of a campfire a short distance away, burning rather lively given the circumstances. With its back to the fire is a small but incredibly hefty and bloated, creature, leaned over something; it's hard to make out from where you're standing.
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The light from Xantrius' sword winks out and he moves closer to the wounded members of the group. "I think it better that someone else carry the light. Who wishes to volunteer?"
After casting the spell once more, he starts down the passage after Tera until he catches sight of her. "I do not like letting her go alone, who knows what is down here." he states softly before leaving.
Curiosity wars with common sense. She hadn't expected a fire, nor whatever it was that was in front of it. Hoping to move more quietly, Tera tries to get closer, one slow step at a time.