After being sentenced to support the war effort, Terry was not permitted any real freedom of movement within Kenabres. He was restricted to army dorms and facilities, never left alone unless he was in a room without additional exits. The army was going to make sure he served his sentence.
Bored, Terry was slowly working his way though a morning's porridge, watching everyone else in the chow hall, wondering when they were going to send him out, when he would get to see a chance at freedom again.
Life in Kenabres is very excinting. Not because Emil had actually done something since arriving but because eveything is so new! After spending most of his years in a cloistered monastery even the city market is a wonder capable of stupefying him.
The city people seemed shy and skittish but he could relate to them, living so close to a unnatural hazard can be taxing. He still remembered all the nights in his youth when he was too scared by the storms of The Eye to sleep.
They would probably send him out soon. While the tought of entering the demon infested land terrified the cleric it also filled him with want. His holy work awaited.
A Varisian woman with flowing red hair tied in a loose pony tail and wearing tightly fitting provocative clothing sits alone in a corner, watching everyone. She carries a whip coiled up at her waist and a buckler on her back. On her navel is a tattoo of the holy symbol of Calistria. Her hands shake slightly with excitement as she wonders when she will get a chance to prove herself.
For several weeks, excitement has been building in Kenabres—Armasse is coming! Traditionally an opportunity for scholars and priests to come together to study the lessons of history from wars past, since Aroden’s death, this holy day has become more about training commoners in weaponry, choosing squires, and ordaining new priests. Over time, Armasse has grown to encompass jousting competitions, mock duels, battle reenactments, and other festival events. In Kenabres, the festival (which takes place on 16 Arodus) is eagerly anticipated, for it provides distractions from the horrors of being on the front line of the war. Smiles on faces normally marred by downcast eyes and furrowed brows do wonders for city morale in the weeks leading up to the event.
Armasse is a citywide celebration, but the majority of the event, including its jousting matches and other entertainments, takes place at Clydwell Plaza, just west of the cathedral.
Armasse officially begins at noon, with the blessing of the festival by Lord Hulrun himself, ruler of Kenabres. The crowd gathers in Clydwell Plaza, where you are looking forward to finding a decent spot to see the Lord Hulrun give the opening speech.
As the time for Lord Hulrun's speech approaches, Terry's "newest personal friends" escort him to an area where they will be able to see what's going on and hear the speech, but they can keep him from doing much without permission.
Emil is very excited about the Armasse festival. He arrives at the plaza early to get a good spot for Lord Hulrun's opening speech. On his way there he buys some useless Armasse Festival trinkets.
Mirel flirts and talks her way to the front of the crowd to see Lord Hulrun's speech.
Lirrathan has been looking forward to the festivities, but not due to what they represent or any of that 'lessons learned, celebrate others' junk that always seem to come with holidays. He's eager because he wants to get into some of the duels and battle reenactments. It's not like it's a real fight, but they should prove at least a bit of fun. The real treat will come with the celebrating masses. Festivals always mean good drink and good games.
He finds a place amongst the crowd that will allow him to head to the fights as soon as all the boring speeches have finished. He stands with his left hand in the crook of the other elbow, as his bites at the cuticle of his right index finger. He is mildly entertained to see a man 'escorted' to the event. They sure put a lot into this, if they are even bringing out prisoners to watch.
Arcessentes attends the festival like its a field research project. He is not so much interested in it for the marshal demonstration or even the celebration. For him it that its a major happening in his town and he needs to be informed of what is going on. He hopes to add a little knowledge to his understanding of things historic and marshal, but mostly he is here because he is part of this town and supports it. He carries a small lap desk, ink well, pen and parchment, prepared to take notes.
If there are a group of wizards or scholars he would be sitting with them.
Arcessentes plunks down with his lap desk and starts to scribble a few notes. He pauses and after looking around at some of the people he jots down some descriptions. Another elf startles him for a moment as he crudely bites at his fingernails. A rather boorish looking elf seems to enjoy the taste of his own flesh better than the festivities. he writes down. Noticing that the strange elf is looking elsewhere than the front where the Lord Hulrun was expected to give his speech, Arcessentes follows his gaze and sees a man surrounded by Crusaders. A rough and shady looking fellow appears to have become the newest member of the Crusade here. He does not seem to be enjoying himself overly much. the quill moves furiously as Arcessentes documents the world around him. And what's this, a dwarf who values baubles over things of REAL worth like knowledge has clanked his way next to me. He seems to be some sort of holy man, but I can't imagine what god would condone his clerical followers valuing useless objects. Arcessentes' attention is drawn for a moment over his other shoulder...the immediate crowd shifts and ripples away from a beautiful human woman and the men in the crowd openly show lust in their eyes. Ahh...a Calistrian. Were I a poet I'd wax of her beauty. Suffice to say that celebrations such as this attract all types. he writes.
The crowd gathers in Clydwell Plaza quieted as the aged inquisitor Lord Hulrun takes the stage, clad in shining, resplendent armor. He clears his throat, but just as he was about to speak, a bright light shines from the west, as if the sun were rising from the wrong direction. Hulrun’s shadow falls huge and distorted across the cathedral’s facade. A moment later, the sound of a thunderous explosion rips 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—has vanished. In its place, a brilliant plume of red fire, lightning, and smoke erupts into the heavens. A moment later, a powerful roar accompanied by 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 appears, as nightmarish as the dragon is breathtaking. A humanoid shape three times the size of any man, with skin coated in fire and lightning, grips a flaming sword and whip. The creature’s identity is immediately obvious: Khorramzadeh, the Storm King of the Worldwound, has come to Kenabres!
As the ground continues to shake and disgorge demons into the streets, the dragon and the balor lord clash above. The fight was over in a few harrowing moments, as the balor cuts deeply into Terendelev’s body, swooping down to strike the dragon and arresting her charge. A few more blows, and the titanic duo spiral downward toward the crowd. Cries rise up as hundreds are crushed by the mighty weight descending from the sky. Buildings rock in their foundations at the impact of the fearsome warriors.
The sight of the dragon smashing into the facade of the Cathedral of St. Clydwell is one no witness will ever forget. At that moment of terrible crashing, a titanic demon erupts at the far end of the plaza, reducing several buildings to ruins as it smashes into this world. The rift it creates shoots across the plaza, and this time there was no escape—it opens below your feet, angling away into darkness. Even as you fall, the dragon notices your plight. Though she sees death standing over her, she seizes this final chance to save a few more souls. After she utters a few arcane words and stretches out a bleeding talon, you feel her magic take hold of you, slowing your plummet into the darkness as if you were feathers falling into a pit. Yet the fall remained as inexorable, and as you drift downward into the depths, the last thing you see is the Storm King standing before the ancient silver dragon, his sword lashing out and cleaving full through her neck. As her severed head falls, the rift above you slams shut, and the light of the world above is gone.
As the events unfold across the courtyard, and the greater city as a whole, Lirrathan can't help but be both amazed by the majesty and terrified by the implications all at once. To bear witness to the powerful beings in a battle of such magnitude is a sight he can't seem to tear his eyes away from. As chaos and violence erupts, he is transfixed by it all, unable to even think of drawing his weapons let alone where or how to use them here. As the gap opens beneath his feet and he begins his plummet, he is frightened, and realizes none of his boasting can do anything for him now. The soft floating that arrests his fall, and the subsequent enveloping darkness, puts him at an unnatural ease. At once his thoughts return to that time many decades ago, and the gentle sadness of his woman savior coming to his rescue. Was she here with him now?
The day is a little hotter than Arcessentes had planned. Perhaps his white robes, trimmed in black would have been better than the black with white collar. As usual there were lots of newcomers in town. Likely more refugees come to spend the limited resources of the town. There has to be some limit placed on the generosity of Kenabres. We simply cannot continue to take all comers. he thinks as he makes note of those around him. Some have the look of capable sorts at least... This was his last normal thought before the world he had know for 40 years began to come apart around him.
Mental training had its place. And knowledge arcane was of use as well. Everyone panicked in the initial attack. who would not? But his trained mind allowed him to recover perhaps faster than others.
He did not recognize the casting the dragon did but its effects were plain enough. Many were falling into some abyss, but he and a hand full of others were falling much more slowly; their fall had been slowed by the will of the Terendelev. An opportunity? He wondered. Perhaps he was not dead no matter what. Understanding that he might be falling for long seconds he reached for his spell component pouch and began to cast spells.
First he will cast Dancing Lights, creating a single torch-like light dancing well below him and moving down with him. He is trying to illuminate where he is headed, and not himself or the group falling with him. If he falls for another round he will cast Mage Armor on himself as well.
In response to the burst of light and explosion: What the **** was THAT?
In response to the balor standing over the crowd: Holy ****!
In response to the dragon and balor fight: Oh . my . gods . . ..
In response to the ground opening up and swallowing them all: Oh, ****!
And, no, the curse words don't repeat.
Now that I've got that out of my system . . ..
Terry recognizes the desire his guards have to see the speech, and knows there's really nothing to be gained from making their lives more difficult right now, so he actively behaves himself while waiting for the speech, and plans on behaving himself through as much of the afternoon as he can stand. As Lord Hulrun takes the stage, Terry actually tries to stand straighter, telling himself that he's just stretching his back.
When the burst of light turns into an explosion, the trained soldiers surrounding Terry all start moving immediately, some try to start clearing the crowd, others move towards the stage to try to protect the Lord, but the majority head towards the explosion. Terry hesitates, his face an obvious display of confusion, but then turns to follow those headed for the explosion. Well, this isn't going to take long. Wonder if I'll survi . . .. Even his thoughts stop moving as his mind comprehends the size and power of the balor now moving into the city. As his inexperience causes him to freeze again, Terry sees the balor simply trample squads of soldiers at a time as he takes a few steps before leaping into the sky to battle the dragon. THAT sparks instinctive movement from the young man, and he starts moving diagonally away from the balor's path, knowing instinctively that the sloped angle makes him less obvious than going either directly to or form, or moving at a hard right angle.
When the two titans crash to the ground, Terry's instinct proved it's value. The buildings he could have entered simply collapsed as a result of the impact, and a souvenir stall only a few feet from Terry exploded in his direction as a result of being brushed by the dragon's tail as it fell.
Again, Terry turns, moving away from the titans who could crush him without noticing they had done so and, spotting the smaller daemon across the plaza, his eyes grow wide as the daemon rents the ground with a single, mighty blow. The rent rips across the entire plaza, opening at Terry's feet even as he thinks about turning and changing directions again. With no expectation of survival Terry screams as he falls, realizing that his life has just ended.
Until he stops plummeting and starts, well, floating or drifting down. He stops screaming once he realizes that he's been saved, and starts trying to figure out how to get out of the rift. And then the rift seals over his head. "Okay, I get it. I did something wrong. Lady in the Room, I can not appease you for my error if I don't know what I did. What can I do to pay back whatever has led to this torment?" While he prays, some moving motes of light appear nearby . . ..
Belt Pouch .5#
Pickpocket's Outfit 3# (+2 Sleight of Hand to hide small objects on person)
Things that Terry MIGHT have secreted in the pockets of his pickpocket's outfit are:
Sap 2# 1d6/x2/B/nonlethal
MW Thieves' Tools 2#
The only other things that Terry MIGHT have had with him would be:
Shortbow 2# 1d6/x3/60'/P
20 Standard Arrows 3#
Rapier 2# 1d6/18+/P
Leather Armor 15# +2/+6/-0/10%/30'
As I had him set up as a non-volunteer soldier, I defer to GM judgement for what Terry would have been allowed to carry to the speech. Armor? Makes some sense. Weapons? I don't have any kind of feeling for how much trust might be involved.
At the sound of the explosion Mirel whirls around to see the flash of light. When she sees Terendelev take on his true form, she smiles confidently. Looks like we are starting early, and I get to fight alongside a dragon! she thinks as she straps her buckler on. Mid-strap, a behemoth of a demon appears: a balor! Fear clutches at her heart, but this is the moment she has been waiting for! Suddenly, the dragon and the demon are engaged in combat of epic proportions. Momentarily distracted, she has no time to react before the ground opens beneath her feet and she begins falling to her death. She feels herself slow in the air and looks back to see the dragon casting a spell on all the falling creatures. The last thing she sees before she is too far down is the slaying of the beautiful dragon. Tears welling in her eyes she swears her vengeance, "By Calistria, Terendelev, I will avenge you."
Emil was so eager to listen to the wise words of the senior inquisitor that he hardly noticed the people around him. And it was with shock that he witnessed the slaughter. All the mouths of training and the extensive lectures did not manage to properly prepare him to be face to face with the reality of a Demon Lord. His body froze as Emil watched helplessly Kenabres crumble.
Falling to his death in the precipice that used to be the city's streets the last thought to cross the cleric's mind was a felling of overwhelming shame. He had failed to react, failed to protect his new home and failed his order. But suddenly his fall is slowed to the speed of a feather, Emil smiles. Gozreh could be as merceifull as he was ruthless and today he had given him a chance to make amends. Holding his holy symbol Torquemada dedicated a silent prayer to the defeated dragon as the darkness surrunded him.
The ceiling and far walls of this vast cavern recede into darkness. On one side, the wall has collapsed in an enormous mound of rubble—here and there the arms or legs of victims who didn’t survive the fall protrude. As your eyes adjust to the lack of light, you notice momentary sparkles of light coming from the mound of rubble. The dim light doesn't help much to take stock of your situation, but you can hear the sounds of some other survivors—a bit worse for the wear by the sound of it. It takes a few moments to realize, but there is another sound of some sort you can't quite make out...
In the back of the cavern, a disturbing shape looms. Nearly the size of a horse, what appears to be an immense black spider crouches silent and still on the ground.
"It sure is dark in here..." Mirel stands up brushing the dust off her clothes, whip and buckler still in hand. She looks around, hearing the sounds of the survivors and seeing their mangled bodies. She does see some other survivors standing up and getting their bearings too, some of them also stood out in the crowd above.
Lirrathan gets up and looks himself over real quick, feeling all fingers and toes, checking for any pain or limited mobility. He takes stock of the situation he finds himself in, "Okay, is it just me or.... WHOA!? That... was ... intense. Could you imagine being a part of a fight like that, the crashing and flying, and I'll say it again, Whoa!"
He looks up into the darkness above and the rubble, and then takes stock of how many are with him compared to the limbs sticking out of the spilled rock. "I'd have to say, that once again, I number amongst the lucky ones. I mean if the dragon didn't do that thing to make us float, a fall like that would have splattered us against this very floor." He stomps on it to emphasize the solidity of it. "We're just a shade above about where the upper side of the Darklands would normally be. We fall any further and we'd have a whole other set of problems. Speaking of, good job with the light there pal, it's gonna be a big help in finding a way up and out." He acknowledges Arcessentes.
He heads for the pile of rubble and begins to root through it casually, "I'd say we collect as much as we can from the dead, they won't need it, and may also have something to help, like food, water, more weapons and... is someone already eating? I mean seriously, a little conserving of our resources is how we're gonna survive. Why don't you save some for everyone else?
He turns to the two standing by the rubble as he begins to go through it, "You guys wanna lend a hand? You can help too there, sweet-thing." he adds to the red-headed woman in the tight, somewhat revealing clothing. Too bad she's only human, she's a looker. Looking at the elf with the light source, "If you need to do something to keep that light going... just do that, I'd think you'd be in the way more than a help in moving rocks. And you three in the back, if you're able, maybe you could help some."
Arcessentes lands softly on the balls of his feet, careful to keep his conjured light well away from himself and any other survivors, understanding that it could draw predators. Pleased to be unhurt he quickly assesses his situation, checking first his familiar and then his possessions before moving the light about the chamber, pausing over the obviously dead spider before moving on to study the strata o the rock and then the pile of rubble with the shiny objects.
Seeing that others have survived and that they are not under immediate attack by some deep denizen, the wizard offers light to the group. Yes, my light. I can make more if need be. Is anyone hurt? He recasts the spell to increase the source to 4 flowing spheres that over 10' off the floor and 20' away from each other like a chandler in the cavern. And I agree. There will be no quick egress. We should prepare to spend an unknown amount of time in this subterranean cavern. We should equip ourselves as best we can.
When he hears the chewing noise he grows concerned and begins to flash the dancing balls of light around, trying to illuminate the source.
Terry settles onto his feet, and quickly takes stock of what he has on him.
"I agree, we should see what we can scavenge, but I wouldn't want to ignore whatever's eating the spider's corpse. Whatever it is, it probably ain't good news. Since our 'friend' here has already chosen to dismiss you as useless in helping look around, perhaps you could try to keep an eye on the spider, just in case whatever's in it decides it wants fresher meat?" As he says the last, the human points at Arcessentes. "I do REALLY appreciate the light, by the way. I can't emphasize enough how difficult this would be for me without it. Unless maybe these scales are actually glowing, too?"
As he's talking, Terry begins digging through the rubble, looking to see what he can find.
As the human begins to speak the dancing lights move briefly to better illuminate him, then dance back to their overhead position.
You there. Human. What is your name? You seem to be unarmed. That is an unacceptable condition in these surrounds. You had better take this, for now. the wizard advances and offers the man his functional and unadorned long sword. He then offers him his hand. I am Arcessentes by the way.
"Glad to meet you, Arcessessentesses. I think I said that wrong. But, I am not unarmed. I have my bow. I can do a thing or two with it if the need arises. Name's Terry, by the way."
Still Terry, I would feel better if you were to carry this. I am proficient with it but suspect you would wield it better. I have my knife should I be forced to melee. Perhaps if you are armed I will not have to be. He says, explaining his logic. He offers the blade again, hilt first to the man.
Terry grins. "I'm not going to argue long and hard, friend. Just wanted to be sure you were going to stay happier rid of it, for now." He takes the blade and the scraps of a shirt from one of the dead and rigs a sling to carry it.
Mirel raises an eye-brow at Lirrathan at "sweet-thing", but otherwise ignores the comment. She takes a cursory look around, but isn't much interested in looting the dead.
When Terry mentions not ignoring whatever is eating the dead spider, she looks at him. Eye brows raised in a quizzical expression. "What do you mean eating it?" Whip and shield ready, she approaches the spider.
Terry snickers. "Doesn't mean I'm right, but . . .. I can hear something chewing, and there's a big dead critter RIGHT THERE," said while pointing at the spider's corpse. "Makes sense that whatever is eating is eating that. Doesn't mean we need to go looking for trouble, just that we need to watch out for trouble."
Lirrathan turns to look at the dead spider in question, the one he landed beside, a sneer of disgust on his face "Eating the dead spider? That's just nasty. Oh, yeah, name's Lirrathan. Can't say it's nice to meet you, well because we wouldn'tve met if it weren't for falling down in this crevasse caused by an epic demon and dragon fight. I'm just saying."
"Is anyone hurt?"
You hear three distinct voices:
"I'm...not fine. My leg...it's crushed." she says in a pained yet stoic voice, "I...think it's broken."
"Who's there? Why is it so dark in here...last I remember is the Storm King...he wasn't more than a few feet away...his whip of fire...it struck...my...face..." The man sobs uncontrollably for a few moments, "MY EYES!! I CAN'T SEE!!!! WHO WILL SEE FOR ME!!??!"
"You big baby. I'll see for you. Pull yourself together...we're in a cave that's dangerously close to the Darklands. There's five folks on the other side of this cave who look to be capable. There's another man by us...I don't know who he is..."
"You don't know who I, Horgus Gwerm, am? I am only one of the foremost scholars in the city! And to imagine that I've had to suffer this indignity. I am scraped and bruised! And my clothes!! Oh my silks...how shall I replace these? They were a gift to me by Lord Hulrun himself for distinguished service!"
"Shut up."
As this conversation goes on, you search through the rubble you do not find anything that is useable. Bent and broken or spoiled you find knives and foodstuffs that did not survive the fall. You do find five silver scales, much like the scales of Terendelev, scattered amongst the rubble.
As Mirel approaches the spider's corpse, slowly, the abdomen grows quiet for a moment. When she gets to about ten feet from the thing...the abdomen bursts open and a pair of what looks like giant maggots flop out to the floor and crawl towards her.
Mirel gasps in surprise, but she expected trouble. She lashes out at the nearest maggot with her whip.
The whip opens a welt on the maggot, and it visibly shrinks back from Mirel.
The wizard moves to stand by Emil and fires a dart of acid at the nearer maggot.
Arcessentes dart slams into the maggot, withering flesh.
Readying his bow, Terry lets an arrow fly into the closer of the two amazingly big maggots. "I said we shouldn't go looking for trouble!"
---
Terry's arrow slams into the maggot and rips it open along its length. It quivers a few times then is still.
After finally landing on the floor Emil cant stop thinking about the battle above. Slowly the sound of voices bring him back to reality from his reverie. Looking around he sees the other survivors. What are they talking about it? Loot the dead? I thought elfs were suppose to be nice... What? Wait lady, dont move it. Let me have a look at your leg. He says while making his way to the debris when the spider burst open and combat begins. Whoa, gross!
The cleric moves and attacks the giant maggots.
The cleric's hammer falls like a fist from heaven and squelches the remaining maggot into nothing more than bits and fluids.
With the immediate threat removed Arcessentes will begin gathering what appears to be the silver dragon scales, picking up those near him. These have to be useful for something. Don't people make shields from them?
Lirrathan barely gets a chance to turn around and see what all the excitement is about, before the last of the giant things is squished. Seeing them, he remarks "You know, you may not want to hear it, but those things are edible. Two that size has a fair amount of fatty meat to give you the energy to make it in rough patches of little food. If you want, we could cook them first."
He turns back to the pile of rubble he'd been digging through, grabbing the nearest shining scale, and looking it over to try and discern if it has any real value besides just looking cool. "We'll probably need to eat them anyways. There's nothing we can take from the fallen that will help us, nothing immediately useful that is. We could probably trade these scales for a meal if we meet anything that lives down here. To top it off, it looks like we got the blind, lame, and dumb to deal with. No offense to those that are that way due to the fall, and not birth."
He walks over to the armor-clad Kellid and plucks a chunk off of where the last maggot stuck to the man's hammer and takes a bite, chewing it with a grimace, he remarks "The taste takes a bit to get used to, but you learn to deal. The injured will need it more." He offers the other half to the woman with an injured leg.
Terry stows his bow, and also begins picking up the scales that are near him.
"You want us to eat giant maggot? I don't know that I'm that hungry, just yet. I hope not to get that hungry, honestly."
Lirrathan scoffs, "Look at it this way... Terry, right? I don't want you to eat it, I don't care if you eat it. As long as you don't complain, or become a risk to my survival, when you have eaten all your food because you didn't fill up on maggot beforehand." He points a thumb at his pack, adding "I have rations, and never leave home without certain food in case I can't find any on the road. But if this here squished larva will give me one more day before I need to eat my rations, then that's one more day I can eat and stay strong."
"Well, I'm glad you're so superior about how trail-ready and hardened you are. Meanwhile, real people have to have reasons to follow you down that path. You talkin' down to us about not being as desperate as you are ain't makin' you ANY friends. Friends are gonna be real important for a while, I'm thinkin'."
Lirrathan looks confused about what Terry is referring to, "Friends? Why do we need to be friends, and I don't need to be followed. I'm just trying to tell you what I know, so you have better chances of survival. I'm trying to help you guys. If you don't want it, don't use it, I ain't cramming it down your throat. You can skip it, but I'm not sharing my rations with whoever gets hungry one maggot earlier than those who weren't willing to put aside disgust for survival. Is that all that wrong?" he appears genuinely confused why someone seems to be mad at him for trying to help.
"Meanwhile, these people seem to need help, and you're telling us what to do without trying to help them! Know any First Aid?"
Taking the few scales which were at hand (#3 & #5 were both adjacent to where Terry started) with him, Terry moves towards the (apparent) non-combatants. "You!" He points at Gwerm. "Would you rather try to carry the woman with the broken leg, or lead the blind man? CAN you carry the woman? We're gonna need to work together, and I think you'll be able to handle one o' those tasks."
He then turns back towards the other combatants, but obviously focuses on Lirrathan. "Unless you know better?"
Emil helps gather the scales around him. I have heard about such armor. But the more enlighted brothers of my order are capable of performing resurections with only a drop of blood from the victim. There must be people who can do the same here. Its the cruzade afterall. He says puting the last of the scales in his backpack and moving to help the wounded. Errr... Terry. Please help me release her leg. Approuching the injured women.