Ravana grumbles a bit but kneels beside the bound and unconscious woman. She touches a hand lightly to her forehead and the woman's eyes snap open immediately though she says nothing.
Lucius' question permeate the air.
"Yes, the note is from Staunton Vhane."
"Areelu Vorlesh...the original betrayer of Kenabres. SHE is going to corrupt your precious Wardstones and turn them to demon use. The Storm King will rule this ugly city."
"Nyserian Manor...a safehouse. Nothing more. The same goes for Topaz and the Tower. There's nothing of concern there. At least...there shouldn't be anymore hehehehehe."
"It's a password...one merely says it. It doesn't change until Staunton tells his lieutenants."
"Yes...just our...squatting. Or our existence altogether...we are but a whisper of a rumor after all."
"Hahahahaha....true corruption would turn Radiance into an unholy human smiting weapon of great strength. And think...when a bastion of goodness told about the city like a legend is corrupted against them...the blow to morale would weaken the defenses even more."
"Wait, how is she going to corrupt the Wardstones?!" Nebbin asks in a sudden panic.
"That is an excellent question. Answer the man, witch."
Aero only half listens to the interrogation, much more interested in Saroise and the sword.
"I don't know...and I'm not a witch. I am a holy propagator of Baphomet's glory. Areelu's magics are great...far greater than I pretend to understand were I even understanding of arcane arts."
"Staunton Vhane, Baphomet, Areelu Vorlesh, the Storm King. It must be terribly disorienting to serve so very many masters, all squabbling to be at the top of the heap. It sounds positively exhausting. I do hope you and Uziel over there think on what it has gained you when the mongrelfolk come back for you."
Saoirse turns her face away from the interrogation to look towards Aero. "You seem distracted Aero? What is it?" Her voice quiet so as not to interrupt Lucius.
"Just the sword. I came to Kenebras, guided by Pulara's light. I never dreamed I would find something so glorious. Wield it well.
After a few more minutes, in which Hosilla and Uziel angrily look on at the party, Wenduag comes through the door. She extends her hand out with a with a rolled up parchment that turns out to be a map of the encampment. A red line shows how to get to the surface through the tunnels.
"Thank you. All of you. I will be personally going to Neatholm to talk with chief Sull. This will show you the way to the surface. Thank you for not killing these two...they will be answering to us for all of their deeds."
She motions to the doorway and two other mongrels come bearing a chest. "This was a chest that a long ago thief buried down here. I...she kept it hidden just in case, but I think it would serve you better. You've put us on the path to unifying our tribes again...and hopefully my brother's dreams of seeing mongrelmen accepted on the surface comes true."
Inside the chest, with explanations from Wenduag, is +1 light wooden shield, a ring of climbing, a scroll of identify, a scroll of magic fang, two potions of darkvision, 250 gp, and finally a thin shale tablet with spidery writing carved into it.
Nebbin's eyes widen at the sight of the items.
"Wow, thank you! You don't have to do that. What if the thief comes back and is looking for it? She could be angry!"
Wenduag laughs—truly laughs—and claps Nebbin on the shoulder. "I shall bear your warning in mind, sweet man, but I am certain there is no fear in that."
"OK..."
Nebbin looks uncertain and confused.
"How interesting, on my initial inspection this tablet appears to be a page from the journal of one of the first crusaders... the claw marks on the side though... I wonder if he himself was changed by the corruption or if other more sinister creatures have just come before us."
"It's an antitoxin."
As you make your way back up the rope ladder, surprisingly calm questioning coming from behind you, the three other survivors greet you. "Well...perhaps you are worth some measure." Horgus Gwerm grudginlgy says. Anevia shoots him an angry look but hobbles over and smiles at you, "Well done. Wenduag has told us how you managed to capture both the tiefling and the witch alive." Aravashnial simply smiles and nods in the general direction of your voices.
Following the map, large room with worked stone walls that hold a number of shelves, each of which display the preserved bodies of dire rats, bats, rock vipers, cave lizards, and other creatures that pose in eerie stillness. A pair of bedrolls have been laid out to the southeast. A pair of humans are bound and gagged sitting on the bedrolls with mongrel guards watching over them. One of them grunts through its snout, "Cultists of Hosilla's. We'll be bringing them to the surface at some point."
An old iron ladder, bolted into the wall and covered in rust, leads down a hole to the south to a foul-smelling room. Gwerm gasps a time or two but is quickly stifled by a seemingly errant elbow from Anevia.
A small chamber to the east contains a rusted iron door sitting in the center of the eastern. A copper brazier hangs from the ceiling above a flimsy wooden table. Two more mongrelmen are sitting at the table and glance up and give a smile. One points toward the eastern door and says, "To the surface. Careful through the maze. Demons."
Opening the door on the eastern wall reveals a large chamber that must have once been a cistern for the sewer system. Walls made of identical stone blocks hold up a lofty ceiling reinforced with elegant stone arches, while the center of the room contains a more recent-looking structure made of brick walls that reach from floor to ceiling. There is no sign of any demons here...
Finding your way through the "maze" isn't difficult, only time consuming with a blind elf and a crippled woman. At the other end you find a slope leading up to what looks like an old sewer tunnel. About a hundred feet up the slope you see a welcome sight...sunlight! You've reached the surface of Kenabres!
"Demons?" Nebbin says, gulping nervously and not looking happy. He clutches his maul as he makes his way through the maze, breathing a sigh of relief as he reaches the surface.
"We made it!" he exclaims, sounding surprised, a grin splitting his face.
Escape from the ever-present darkness is not without its own last-minute surprises. Just at the mouth of the cave—and effectively blocking your egress into the fresher air—is a body sprawled on the ground.
Thick, poorly-maintained dirt-colored half-plate armor and a dark, heavy, hooded cloak cover a half-orc’s thick, stocky body. The armor and cloak—along with a destroyed backpack, a morningstar, and a few javelins—all show evidence of fire and recent combat. Soot mars the armor, the clothes are singed in places and all-but-destroyed in others. The backpack—only one strap hanging askew from one shoulder—is irrecoverably destroyed… most of its ruined contents strewn across the ground. The smell of smoke lingers around the body, with the sickening-sweet undercurrent of burnt flesh. And the face… only the half-orc’s hideous face is visible, and it’s revolting.
The half-orc’s head is bald, and all of the skin you can see is burned, blistering, scarred, and altogether ruined. But what really draws the eye are two runes that seem to be carved deeply into his forehead.
"Oh God, one of the mongrelfolk already tried to get to the surface! And it looks like he's burnt! Do you think he's a good mongrelfolk or another demon worshiper, though?"
Aero looks over at Nebbin, "that's no mongrel, that's a half orc, a rather burnt half orc, by something recent since he's still smoldering. We should be on our guard in case whatever 'it' is is still here."
Aero ponders what caused this poor soul's demise and will examine the body and gear.
Lucius holds his nose while exiting via the old sewer system, the other hand on the hilt of his mace, after the warning about demons.
He idly wonders about what caused the brick maze to be installed into the old cistern. He smiles despite himself when he feels the warm sunlight on his face after two days underground.
He lets Aero deal with the burned-out carcass. The last two days in Kenabres must have been brutal beyond description. He keeps his eyes looking up and down the street in case something else arrives.
"Do you think he could still be alive? We should probably check."
Nebbin starts moving toward the body.
I hope I don't throw up. It looks pretty badly burnt. I don't think I've ever seen someone die because of burns. I bet that's probably worse than being crushed to death.
Saoirse blinks several times as her eyes adjust to the sharp light she has missed all these days. A prayer whispered across her lips for a few moments as she closes her eyes, the high sun contrasted by the burning and scarring that covers the landscape of the city in her view.
Turning to hear Nebbin and Aero remark on an unconscious half-orc, Saoirse moves over to look at the deformed face of the man. Saoirse's eyes narrow for a moment as she looks over the half-orc. After considering the options, Saoirse leans down and presses her hand to the half-orc's forehead. "Let us see if we can save another soul. The Inheritor shields."
The sickly-sweet smell of burnt flesh is stronger as people approach, as is the char-smell. At Aero’s careful touch, the half-orc groans softly, subtly turning its head. Saoirse’s healing, however, has a more pronounced affect. The half-orc sucks in a mighty in-take of breath, its black eyes opening as wide as they seem to be able, his body lurching.
With wild eyes he looks up at Aero and Saoirse.. frantic. His breathing becomes quick, painful gasps, and he attempts to sit up only to cry out in pain and stop moving. He looks around… eyes still seeming dazed.
”What’s going…” he croaks in a voice that’s almost all rasp. A thick, gloved hand goes to his throat as his face scrunches in pain. He coughs weakly to clear his throat, but when he continues, it sounds no better. ”Where am I? What hap—“ he stops again to clear his throat, with no more success. The look of pain and disorientation is coalescing into one of confusion on his burned, ruined face. ”What happened? Armasse… the fair… “ he coughs again, shaking his head weakly to clear it. ”The fighting.. the Demon… what…”
Still trying to sort out his disorientation, he closes his eyes and raises his gloved hand once again to his face, wincing at his fingertips’ contact with his forehead. ”Inheritor’s Blade! What the … ?”
The pain seems to be shoved aside as his confusion and alarm amplify on his blunt, orcish features. He stares at his hand, dumbfounded. After a few seconds, he raises his head (with some effort), his black eyes seeming to go ever-wider as he looks down at his body. Panic now blossoms on his features; adrenaline gives him the strength to sit bolt-upright, his pain forgotten momentarily.
”What curse is this?!” The fear is thick in his raspy voice as he looks up at Aeros and Saoirse, ”WHAT IN IOMEDAE’S NAME HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?”
"By the light of Pulara, you're not dead!"
"Gyaaah! It's a ZOMBIE!"
Nebbin leaps back, hammer raised.
There is no rest for the weary. Lucius intones Infernal under his breath, casting a charm person at the raving half-orc.
"Peace. Are you not familiar with your body? I have experience with that sensation...this body was not mine when I trained at Herne's Oak."
The half-orc begins to try to scramble away from Nebbin when Lucius's enchantment hits home. It looks up at the Chelaxian, its raspy voice pleading.
"You must help. What's happening?"
Ravana's question is lost to the half-orc in all the confusion.
"He looks badly hurt and sounds delirious," Nebbin says, concern etched on his face. "Should we ... I mean, you know ... put him out of his misery?"
Anguish flashes on the big man's face at the thought, though he knows it's sometimes a mercy.
Lucius reaches for his waterskin. "Let's start with letting him calm down, and see what he can tell us about what has been happening while we have been trapped underground."
He presents the waterskin to the half-orc. "We've been trapped underground since the demon attack. I believe Soairse was trying to heal your wounds. Can you tell us what has happened?
Aero adds to Lucius's question, "We've been trapped since well... the demons attacked. Anything you can tell us about the surface..."
Aero will help the half orc sit up and become comfortable.
Again the half-Orc recoils from the huge man with the hammer, but his eyes remain pleadingly on Lucius. He takes a long drink from the waterskin, his eyes lingering on his own hands and body like a man watching some kind of nightmare.
When he hands the waterskin back and responds, it's obvious he's trying to control the fear. "The demon attack. You mean Armasse?" He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, "I don't know what's happened since then. I was on duty for the crusaders. Me, Dyrian, Langville... we're all initiates. Then the attack happened. We tried to help a family. I got separate from Lang and Dyrian. That's when the demon--" he cuts off, his body shuddering momentarily as a thick hand goes to his chest. "... that's when it stabbed me."
He looks around, "Then I have a ... memory ... like a dream. Voices. Tons of them." He shakes his head again, trying to clear his frightened voice again... unsuccessfully. "Then a blinding light. And I woke up."
He looks at Lucius and Aero. "I'm not a half-orc," he pleads, "My name is Thom. I'm an initiate to the Crusaders. I'm human." He looks down at his body, his voice dropping to a raspy whisper, "I'm human."
It's OK. We met some people down below who used to be human and they look way worse than you do now!" Nebbin says earnestly, trying to cheer the half-orc ... er, human. "They turned out to be really nice. Well, most of them. A couple were demon worshipers. But the rest were really nice, even though they looked like horrible monsters."
"Maybe we can introduce them to you sometime? You'd probably fit in really well! They said they were going to come to the surface and help fight the demons, I think."
Aero will get out some water and a bit of food and will offer them to Thom.
"You've been out for a couple of days, we've got time to rest for a few minutes but then we should get going, we don't know what's been going on up here since the attack, we've been trapped underground. Drink this, and have a bite."
Saoirse turns to look around as Aero suggests taking a moment to eat. Seeing out to look at the ruined landscape of Kenabres, Saoirse sighs. "So much... destruction... I agree with Aero... let us eat something and then press onward, you are welcome to join us Thom."
"There is strength in numbers. We're headed for...actually, I'm not sure, now that we have reached daylight. I don't know the city, though I was given to understand that if anything would remain standing, it would be the Kite, and I saw that destroyed with my own eyes."
He looks across the faces of his companions. "Where would the crusading companies and the militia fall back to? Aravashnial, do your Riftwardens have a hidden bolt-hole anywhere? Mister Gwerm, we have promised to return you home, but if possible I'd like to do so with an escort of Knights or experienced magicians. On the other hand, your estate, if as well defended as you claim, may have survived: it would not present as attractive a target to the demons as a fortress full of holy warriors." The tone of Lucius's voice implies he finds this tactic folly. That is, a properly disciplined force should strike targets based on strength and strategic value, not purely on vendetta with the defenders inside.
He continues to think aloud.
"It's possible that the city's proper defenders have all been routed or driven to hidden fallbacks: secret bunkers or hastily commandeered buildings, making them difficult to find and unsafe to simply search for. The Gwerm estate may be the best place for us to go, for now, until we can gather more information."
"It a better idea than any I might have, I'm new to Kenebras."
Thom’s fearful panic slowly slips into a brooding silence. He shrugs neutrally at Nebbin’s suggestion that he could be introduced to the others who apparently ALSO look like ‘horrible monsters’ who are ‘worse than Thom is now’.
As he takes the offered food, realizing that he is, in fact starving, he finally takes a few moments to look around the chamber and at all of these new people. So it is easy to miss what happens when his black eyes fall on Ravana.
When Thom’s eyes fall on her, they once again go completely wide, and his whole body seizes up like he’s been violently grabbed in one giant fist. With a sharp in-take of breath, he begins a raspy whisper… the words tumbling out in a fast flood.
”Archdruid of the Estrovian Wood … pain … fire … so much blood … Herne’s Oak … the trees … houses … lives … so much death.”
He slumps as if released, shaking his head as if once again dazed.
Aero continues to help Thom sit up and sip some water.
Ravana sharply jerks her head towards the half-orc. She takes a faltering step back at the mention of Herne's Oak. "The druids? The wood? No...they couldn't have. No! "
She rushes to the half-orc, oblivious to any pains or wounds and grabs him by the shoulders. Antlers begin to appear on her forehead. "Tell me what you saw! What do you mean?!?!"
When you look around you see a city vastly different from the one they left. The tremors and demonic attacks have devastated the city,
leaving it a smoking, apocalyptic ruin. Deep chasms riddle the city, while the paths of what had to be enormous demons have left ruinous trails of rubble extending towards the city’s heart. Above, the once-familiar skyline of Kenabres and forever changed—the tower of the Kite and the Cathedral of St. Clydwell having been completely destroyed, while elsewhere plumes of dark smoke still rise from the smoldering remains of burned-down buildings. Fat buzzards wheel above in skies scarred by red smoke and black clouds. The Worldwound has expanded its borders, and now the city of Kenabres is enveloped in it.
”I don’t know… “ he rasps, shaking his head as he once again thankfully taking a drink, ”Images… in my head. A forest and village… burning. Bodies everywhere. Blood. And demons everywhere….” He looks up at the horned woman uncertainly. ”I don’t know what it means. It’s never happened to me before.” He baks out a coarse laugh, ”Add it to the pile, I guess.”
Ravana growls, literally. She let's go of the burned half-orc and turns towards the south. "I must check the Estrovian Forest. If what this creature says is truly a vision then I will destroy every last damned abyssal there. None shall escape my wrath. Follow if you wish. Or dare."
With that said she turns and her visage shimmers as she completes her transformation into a creature more like an elk. She does not wait nor does she offer any goodbyes to her accidental traveling party. Gwerm stands with his mouth open, while Anevia reaches a hand out towards her retreating figure. Aravashnial simply mutters, "I wanted to tell you when help could be offered." but he refuses to say more on the matter.
At the mention of Horgus' mansion he closes his mouth and crosses his arms. "Of course it is still standing. You will be paid for bringing me there. And I may, of course, have other types of aid still there."
Anevia hangs her head for a moment then looks up, "We must find Ira. We should check our home in eastern Kenabres...if it still stands. We can meet with others of the Crusaders through her. Iomedae...the destruction...please let her still be alive."
Aravashnial releases a huge sigh at Lucius' words. "Yes. Blackwing holds a hidden Riftwarden base. It is where the most surviving would be."
After serving as a guardsman for another few years, Orlun founded the Librarium of the Broken Black Wing, pinning one of the preserved vrock wings above the entrance.
The Librarium of the Broken Black Wing—called “Blackwing” to the locals—has a reputation for containing the most complete record of research on demon hunting and planar travel research in Mendev. In addition to being a library, Blackwing is a museum of demon skulls, talons, and other grotesque trophies. An aged Orlun still oversees the collection of tomes and scrolls and is always keen to acquire new research material for the stacks.
Anevia speaks again, "And what about those safe-houses you told us about in that letter? If that traitorous Vhane is at work here in the city then the Crusaders must know and his plans must be stopped."
Thom nods to Aero as he hands back the water and finishes the last bite of rations, "Thank you."
As he listens to the discussions, his disturbing stare shifting from speaker to speaker, he struggles to his feet, giving one last look down at his body. With a shake of his head, he begins rifling through the contents of the ruined pack. His motions are the slow, calculated movements of someone in pain, but he perseveres... making a small pile of useable weapons and gear.
Then, with a little effort, he's able to tie the backpack back into a semblance of its former shape. It won't stand up to long-term use, but it looks like it'll carry his gear for the time being.