DragonSon's Wrath of the Righteous

Game Master Ryuko

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You awaken, head pounding and body aching and sore, in the dark, stone floor under you (possibly with some debris, wood or stone). As consciousness trickles back in you recall what landed you in this dark cavern.

The Tourney of the Third Day of Armasse officially began at noon, with the blessing of the festival by Lord Hui run 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, but just as he was a bout to speak, a bright light shone from the west, as if the sun were rising from 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 stretched 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 remained as inexorable, and as you drifted downward into the depths, the last thing you saw was the Storm King standing before the ancient silver dragon, his sword lashing out and cleaving full through her neck. As her severed head fell, the rift above you slammed shut, rubble streaming through the air around you, and the light of the world above was gone.

Now, through the darkness, you hear a small voice. "H-Hello... Anyone? Is anyone else here?"

Aaliyah groans. The last she can remember she was performing a bit off the Plaza, only giving up and moving in with the crowds as people went to watch. Then, dragon, demon, no time to react...and then here, with a massive headache, and darkness.

"...I think so? Unless one of us hit our head arder than we thought."

Jens awakens to darkness - even as he opens his eyes, he sees nothing. His head pounds, and as he feels around, his fingers find a small cut on his scalp, still seeping slowly. He bushes his fingers off on his chainmail, pushing himself to his feet.

Patting his body down, he finds his weapons in order - sword, shield, bow. He finds his lance a second later as he tries to step forward, and he picks that up, too. The weaponry is familiar, and it helps him relax slightly. When he hears a voice calling out, he crouches, pulling a torch from his pack, followed by flint and steel. Fumbling slightly in the darkness, he manages to light it, and he holds the torch aloft as he calls out.

"Ho there!" he calls back, Ulfen-accented voice echoing in the darkness. "I'm here, at least. Can you come towards the light?"

Stone slides against stone in the dark, the noise of shifting rubble and settling stones. There is also a creak of wood accompanying the sound, then splitting, and clattering. A few more rocks shift, and a deep groan echoes through the cavernous depths that carries with it the crackling pop of a campfire. Aaliyah can see a pair of glowing orange eyes lit up in the dark, like a pair of hot coals. Then, blotchy orange spots come into view below, metal growing hot in irregular fashion, marred by dark patches of still cool steel.

"چه ..." the words sound like steam-hissing logs, snapping coals and crackling flames. Teeth are blacklit by an internal fire within whatever creature has awoken in the lightless depths. There is a clank of metal, a scrape of steel on stone, then the jingle of chain.

The appearance of a torch being lit nearby draws the creature's attention away from the dark-skinned woman. Slowly, the creature moves into the light of the torch, revealing a tall and broad-shouldered man with crimson hued skin and bald head. A pair of black horns sweep out from the sides of his head and his body is covered in a suit of dusty and dented black chainmail armor and a floor-length black cape trimmed with dark fur. In one clawed gauntlet he holds a flanged, iron mace where all the metal components glow red hot. Emblazoned on the breastplate of his armor is the iron star of Asmodeus.

Standing in the dim light at the edge of the torch's illumination, the creature asks in a Chelish accent, "Is anyone injured?"

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Izah will be activating and maintaining his scorching weapons ability on his light mace at the expendature of a swift action every "round."
 
Izah also possesses darkvision out to 60 feet, so he can quickly assess the situation without waiting for a light to be lit. If there are any obviously injured people, they will be his first area of focus.

"EEP!" Startled by the sudden appearance of another demon, the girl jumps to her feet with a speed that implies acrobatic training, before falling back on her behind. It takes her a moment to recover before she realizes what was said. "...oh...sorry...i'mfine"

At the reaction Izah's brows furrow and his lips downturn into a momentary frown. Fiery eyes downcast to the ground, then alight slightly as his expression shifts to one more thoughtful. "Fine," is said with something of disbelief, and as Izah notes the superficial dents and dings in his own armor he begins to recognize the lack of injuries among the barrel-chested Ulfen man and the Kelishite woman. Thoughtfulness turns to healthy -- in his eyes -- suspicion. Gradually, as recollection of the past few hours comes back, that suspicion turns into confusion.

Why save them?

As the red-skinned man moves into the light of his torch, Jens narrows his eyes and drops one hand to the hilt of his sword. "Why do you ask, fiend?" he asks suspiciously, no fear in his voice. "What concern is it to you?" He stands at almost the same height as the fiend, but looks considerably older - his face is lined with age, and his golden hair and beard are streaked through with silver. His body is still bulky, a combination of hard muscle and the beginnings of the fat of middle-age. He notices the Kelish girl behind him, and starts to position himself between her and the fiend.

Fiery eyes flit about to areas of the darkness where the torchlight does not reveal what is hidden. "Because, my Ulfen friend..." he begins to walk through the light with clanking footfalls and then into the darkness, leaving only his eyes and the head of his mace visible. "Our survival depends on one another from here on out."

Crouching, the creature looks to be inspecting something in the dark. "And you may address me as Izah, Armiger of the Hellknight Order of the Pyre," instructs the voice in the dark, "your eyes in the dark places."

"Jens," the Ulfen man replies slowly, watching Izah as he moves from the torchlight. "Jens Varmodsson." He takes his hand from the hilt of his sword, offering it to Aaliyah. "On your feet, girl," he mutters, helping her up. "And stay close to me, alright? Let's see if anyone else made it." With that, he starts walking slowly, torch aloft, searching the rubble for other survivors.

Aaliyah nods slowly, accepting the hand up, then blinks. "...wait, we're a voice short, aren't we?"

Jens nods slowly, feeling his neck creak. "I think I heard someone over here," he affirms, heading towards the voice he'd heard earlier. "Here, hold this." He hands Aaliyah his torch, swinging his shield off his back. The weight is comforting, and he feels more useful holding it. "What's your name, girl?" he asks as he walks. "You're awful young to be trapped down here, aren't you? We'll keep you safe." His tone is patient and fatherly, with all the patronizing tones that come with it.

Aaliyah's reaction to the tone is a probably somewhat odd wince, although she gathers herself quickly. "I'm a dervish of Saerenrae, actually."

...although even as Dervishes go she doesn't have much muscle on her, although what she's got is well-toned.

The sound of voices draws Michael back to consciousness, and he finds himself half-buried in rubble as his mind starts piecing together what happened and how he arrived here.

As he digs himself out he mutters to himself in the almost-musical, soothing syllables of the Celestial tongue.

"... Aaaah!" With a final cry he manages to dig himself free, then starts heading toward the source of the voices and the light. "Hello? Are you all right?"

Aaliyah just stares in the direction the voices come from, obviously scandalized by whatever it was the man said.

The Ulfen man seems about to tell Aaliyah exactly what he thinks of dervishes but when Michael calls out, Jens' large head whips toward the sound with uncanny speed. "Ho there!" he calls back toward the new voice. "This way! That makes five of us," he adds, more softly. "I wonder if anyone else made it?"

Michael can't quite restrain a sigh of relief as he hears an answer. "I would hope so," he calls back as he approaches the others, "...But given what happened that landed us here..." He trails off, closing his eyes briefly as he recalls Terendelev's sacrifice, and murmurs a brief prayer in that same language.

"... It's probably not likely," he finishes as he rounds the final corner and looks over the assembly.

He nods curtly at Jens in a one-warrior-to-another fashion, then his eyes widen in recognition as he recognizes the cut of Aaliyah's robes and he smiles, only to shift into a scowl as he sees Izah.

Calm, he reminds himself. Strike down evil, yes, but make certain you strike true before you raise your blade...

"Michael Carenae, sword arm of the Inheritor, at your service," he offers in greeting.

Shifting a pile of rubble aside in the dark, Izah does not look back more than a cursory glance at the sound of the knight's introduction. However his voice carries more active concern than his shadow-concealed posture does. "Iomedean crusader, your discipline will be useful in the coming minutes," the ifrit notes with a crackle and pop of flame behind his voice.

"I believe there may be others trapped within the rubble," is spoken with a calm inflection, even as he exhales a grunt of effort followed by the loud clatter of stones on stones. "I have yet to discern a passage out of this chamber, we may need all the hands we can muster to dig our way out."

Then, pausing, one of Izah's pointed ears twitches. "That was not your voice," the ifrit notes, looking over his shoulder to the paladin, finally recalling the voice he had heard calling for help in the dark just before fully waking. Tense, he begins to scan the cavern for anyone he missed.

Awakened by the sound of voices, Elsbeth lies still a moment to assess her situation. There's light coming from behind—or in a sense, "above"—her, but she's far enough away to be mostly shrouded. Listening in as best she can, she simultaneously starts checking herself: fingers and toes all wiggle, no part of her body feels either warm and wet or conspicuously cold, and she's able to recite several combat forms in her head without sluggishness or fogginess.

Patting herself down to check her equipment in the dark, Elsbeth feels a bit of relief as she hears one of the voices mention being a Sarenite, though she's still cautious as to what the source of alarm she heard a moment ago might be. Slowly (and hopefully quietly) turning toward the voices, Elsbeth is further reassured by the arrival of a paladin of Iomedae, then freezes—halfway through standing up—as she sees a horned monstrosity staring right back at her.

Elsbeth quickly scans the group for threat assessment:

Reassured by the (relative) calmness of the Sarenite and Iomedaen but still wary of the beast, she finishes standing and puts forth her best greeting.

"Um... Hi."

A woman covered in grime stands as well as she can at the far end of the cavern. The lower portion of her left leg is solidly sandwhiched between a beam and the rock and the bone is visible beneath much blood. "Thank the Inheritor I'm not the only one the dragon saved." She nods in introduction. "I'm Anevia Tirabade The beam hit my leg. It's broken badly. I can't move the beam off." Her voice is the voice you heard first in the darkness.

As she speaks you hear another voice, dignified, careful and male, call from fairly nearby "Hello... I'm here too. Can someone light a torch or a sunstone. Please?" Even as you bring a torch closer it's clear why he asks. An injured elf holds himself up by the rock. His face is quite grisly, burned in red painful lines, one of which stretches across his eyes, leaving only dark red pits remaining.

"Lord Varmodsson," Izah rumbles, moving along the wall of rubble towards where the woman is pinned by debris, "if you would be so helpful as to assist with leveraging this timber." Izah settles onto one knee and sets his mace down on the ground, the iron head immediately cooling from its red hot state. He grips the beam with both iron-clad hands and braces himself to ready for the lift when Jens arrives.

As he waits, Izah looks in the direction of the elven man and purses his lips together in thought. After a moment, the ifrit's brows lower and he looks to be contemplating the consequences of someone permanently blinded. He leaves the elf's fate to the others, even as he notes, "Be still," to Anevia, "and when I say so, crawl out from under the beam as fast as you can."

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Taking a 20 on the Strength check (result 23) to lift the beam to ensure we don't royally screw it up. With Jens aiding another that boosts the check to a 25, which should presumably be enough.

"Elf," Elsbeth says matter-of-factly, "You appear to be blinded. Wait for further instructions."

Turning to the trapped woman, Elsbeth isn't sure what to make of the human and the horned one working together; they will require further investigation. In the meantime, Elsbeth positions herself to pull the woman out from under the rubble in case she can't move herself. While waiting for the beam to lift, she thinks to herself...

"That horned creature bears an awful lot of resemblance to a lot of things that tend to be evil; on the other hand, he jumped to help this woman, presumably a stranger. Maybe not a stranger? Or perhaps she is, but he's just a better person than his race would suggest? Unlikely, but then again there's that tiefling Iomedaen I heard about in Absalom once, so it's not beyond the realm of possibility. And the others... the dervish and the paladin I should be able to trust, unless they're in disguise, but there's not much I could do about that. This human man, I know nothing about. That's two and two; eyes sharp, Elsbeth."

Michael nods at Elsbeth, but then moves to join Izah. "Further introductions and catching up will have to wait until after we've gotten you out from under there, Lady Tirablade." he replies, then takes hold of the beam opposite from Izah.

"On three... One... Two..."

"Three!"

With groans and strains from everyone assisting, the beam moves off to Anevia's leg fairly easily. She pulls her leg from the gap, whimpering a bit at the pain as she does so, and the piled rubble comes crashing down a few seconds later. Anevia takes a moment, gritting her teeth, then attempts to stand, falling with a short cry. "I can't go anywhere on this until it's healed at least a bit. It'll take considerable magic to make it fully functional again, but a bit of healing should at least allow me to hobble."

At Elsbeth's curt instructions the elf takes a seat, almost collapsing onto the rock. "I... Blinded..." He takes several moments, in which he seems to almost be panicking, then forcibly calms himself as everyone helps Anevia to get out. By the time it is quiet again for a moment he seems calm. "I am Aravashnial, a wizard of some renown. I will need your help leaving this place to get back to the surface, I'm sure someone there will help me restore my sight, and get the Lady Anevia her leg properly sorted." He seems about to say something else when another voice calls out.

"IS ANYONE THERE! PLEASE I NEED A CLERIC! I'M INJURED! OH YE GODS THE PAIN!" This seems to come from a slightly rotund man in the fine clothes of a noble. Other than the bruises and scrapes on all of you, he seems to have no injuries.

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.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (12) + 6 = 18

Elsbeth makes mental note of the elf's tone, then turns. She scans the screaming man up and down briefly, then instructs him firmly: "Panic won't help anybody, so calm down and act more like these two," she says, gesturing toward Anevia and Aravashnial. "State your injuries clearly, so we can prioritize accordingly."

Elsbeth swings her pack off of her back and kneels to open it. "If we're going to start looking for a way out, we'll need more than one light source, but we should also conserve limited resources." As she speaks, she produces a hooded lantern and some flint and steel. "Who among you are spellcasters?" Elsbeth asks. "Do any of you have non-expendable light sources available?"

Squinting against the dust of falling debris, Izah observes the area where Anevia was now covered in rubble. Then, slowly moves over in crouched posture to loom over Anevia. Looking her up and down with fiery eyes, Izah pauses his inspection only when he hears the call for aid from the man nearby. There is a dismissive gesture to the others to see if they can be of aid to him, while Izah lays a gauntleted hand on her wounded leg, it is uncomfortably warm to the touch.

"Torn flesh, ripped muscle I can heal, but bones of such broken quality, yes, are beyond me." Gripping her injured leg firmly, Izah's gauntleted hand begins to glow red hot and flesh starts to sizzle on Anevia's calf, though oddly the sensation is soothing like warm bathwater rather than a hot poker. Concentrating, Izah channels that heat and warmth inward to the marrow of Anevia's leg with pin-prickling quality.

As the sensation grows in Anevia's leg, Izah begins speaking in a firm voice a litany of his proudly displayed faith. "O, Fragile form born of impurity and desire. Find balm in the comfort of flame and rejuvination in new beginnings, like embers to ashes and flames to smoke, let your weakness leave your mortal form." There is a pulse of fiery light then, and Anevia can feel the pain in her leg subsiding some.

Once the spell has been cast, Izah releases the woman's leg and grabs a piece of wooden detritus from the ground as he rises to stand. One hand is held out in offering to her to help her to her feet, the other holding out the length of wood suitable as a makeshift crutch.

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Standard Action: Cast cure light wounds on Anevia
Cure Light Wounds @ Anevia: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4

Elsbeth's head snaps around, half-ready to see Izah freeing Anevia from her mortal coil via immolation. Narrowing her eyes briefly, she seems satisfied that it was curative magic, and returns to lighting her lantern.

Once Anevia is healed, Izah turns to Elsbeth and furrows his brow with a consternated expression of displeasure. It's not clear what, exactly, he finds disagreement with, and the ifrit is quick to dismiss his own concerns for more practical ones. "This one may walk," Izah gestures to Anevia, "and I have capability to lend healing magic to those whom require it as the First One bestows onto me. I have no need to carry lights, such as you require, as the dark hides nothing from my eyes."

Staying beside Anevia until she has risen and taken the crutch, Izah then moves over to where he left his mace and retrieves it, keeping it held fast in one hand. Turning his burning stare down to the elf, Izah looks contemplative. "Aravashnial. Have you magic that you can cast without needing to see the target?" The pleas of the wealthy man in the distance thus far go ignored as Izah sizes-up the usefulness of the wizard. As the minutes tick by and the confusion of the attack fades, Izah clearly becomes more and more implacable and acting in control of the situation, whether the others would prefer him to be or not.

Perhaps that is what he saw in Elsbeth's words, a threat to his authority.

Jens crouches next to Anevia, watching warily as Izah mends some of the damage and offers her a crutch. He seems well enough, but I'm not sure I can trust him. To the woman, he says "You'll probably need that crutch to get out of here. You stay close to me, alright? I'll make sure you get out of here safely." With that, he claps a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.

As Izah sizes up the wizard, he furrows his brow. "Whether he can or not, he's coming with us, fiend," he says firmly. "I know you Asmodeans are all about strength and order, but as we're decent folk, and able-bodied, he's now our responsibility. I do think our noble friend needs to cease his complaints before I give him a fresh one, though," he adds darkly, eyes narrowing at the balding man.

"Liability," Izah politely corrects Jens on his choice of verbiage for the elf. "He is likely becoming all too aware as we speak that his lack of sight is a liability, not only to himself but us. Each injured person we ferry to..." he hesitates to use the word, "safety diminishes our overall effectiveness as we ensure their survival. If they cannot contribute, they are liability."

With that said, Izah slowly approaches the wizard, mace in hand. "I am certain a long-lived and clever arcanist such as he has something of value to contribute to our prolonged survival," is a plea as much as it is a sentiment, reinforcing his position while giving Aravashniel an opening to expound on whatever scraps of usefulness he can muster.

"I do not believe I need to impose on any of you the severity of the situation we find ourselves in," Izah concludes in a hushed, reverent tone. They had seen far mightier champions of the crusade felled by far darker creatures than had ever dared brave the high walls of Kenebres.

"We may be all that is left." In that, Izah has a faint hint of apprehension in his voice.

Elsbeth dons a foul expression and steps swiftly to the fiend, standing far too close to him as she speaks in a harsh whisper.

"You know what else is a liability in a situation like this? Anyone who incites conflict or panic. If you make people think"—Elsbeth's voice lowers further—"that they're going to die down here, you could start an incident that could get us all killed." Raising her voice back to the merely semi-hushed tone she started with, Elsbeth continues, "There will be no more talk of leaving people behind. And put that damn weapon away, too."

Stepping away from Izah, Elsbeth raises her lit lantern and addresses the group again. "Now as I was saying, let's assess injuries and light sources. Who has what?"

"I am old, fiend," Jens says firmly. "My back aches when I rise every morning, and my strength isn't what it used to be in my age. Does that mean I should be left behind? Anevia has no visible talents, and can barely walk - should she be left behind?" The accent of the Lands of the Linnorm Kings is back in full force, echoing off the walls of the cavern.

"I've lived many years, fiend. I've fought many battles, travelled many lands. I've been from the Lands of the Linnorm Kings down to Qadira. I've seen snowy peaks and scorching deserts. I've been in tougher situations than this - none that were caused by a silver dragon and a balor, though, I'll admit. I've marched for a week straight with one of my fallen friends on my back, so if you're determined to leave Aravashnial behind, I'll carry him myself." Though his posture is defiant, there is no hint of cockiness or arrogance, only a blunt determination, brought on by decades of experience.

As the human woman intervenes, Jens watches her, eyes narrowed, but says nothing. As she finishes speaking, he shrugs. "I may not have any fancy magic, but I have a sword, and I have a shield. I know how to survive in hostile environments, particularly when it comes to food, water, and shelter. As far as light goes, I have just under a dozen torches." His voice is calmer now, though he eyes the fiend warily. If he makes trouble, I'll kill him where he stands.

"It would seem you are in the minority when it comes to wishing to leave me behind, Sir Izah." Aravashnial states wryly with a small smile on his severely burned face. "Even in this state I have many spells open to me. I specialize in conjuration magic, and have many friends on the surface should we reach it." He opens his hands in a gesture of supplication. "I am more concerned with you all. What experience have you fighting demons? What help are each of you? I need assistance, and I need to know your capabilities if I am to lead us from here."

Anevia's breath intakes at the scorching heat of Izah's healing, but she lets it out in a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Armiger Izah. That should be enough to walk, though I am afraid that it wouldn't take much to finish me off, I am prepared to offer aid with my bow or blade should the opportunity present itself. I can also make light, though only a few times a day." She reaches over her shoulder and snarls. "Iomedae's Tits! My arrows are gone. I've only got 6 left." She holds onto Jens with relief. "I'm usually a scout, but I doubt I'll be much help scouting with this leg."

The rotund man is shocked into silence by Jens' threat. "Why you... you... ruffian! I am Horgus Gwerm you lout, I have powerful friends in Kenabres." He stands to his unimpressive height with rage. "I will have you know that I am the most trustworthy man in this cave, not like this thief," He throws a dismissive hand toward Anevia, whose brow furrows in anger. "Or this nutter!" His incriminating finger sweeps to Aravashnial, whose expression is difficult to read through the burns.

"Why you little Worm!" Anevia cries, her anger clear. The atmosphere in the cavern is violent.

"Your preconceptions cause you to misunderstand," Izah notes with a brief furrow of his brows. "Firstly, I am no fiend. I am an ifrit, kin of flames and scion of genies." Looping his mace onto a hook on his belt, Izah reluctantly does as Elsbeth asked, if only to defuse the situation some. "Secondly, I never spoke of leaving anyone behind, everyone has a role to serve. Your age does not preclude you from being useful, nor does Aravashniel's lack of sight or Anevia's lame leg. It mitigates our own strength, however..." Kneeling, he begins looking for Aravashniel's spellbook, hoping that it is nearby to the elf.

"And when considering we face the legions of the Worldwound," Izah explains, looking up briefly to Jens, "we must consider carefully, all mitigations and plan accordingly." Tossing a loose stone aside, Izah continues to search for the blind spellcaster's tome. "You spoke that we Asmodeans are all about structure and strength. Superficially true, but we are more than that. We are community and civility at its core. The Sisterhood of the Golden Erinyes looked after and cared for the orphans left in the wake of Isger's goblinblood war."

Another stone is overturned, a piece of timber shifted aside, still no sign of the spellbook. "I do not plan on leaving anyone behind," Izah emphasizes, so as to ensure the others can hear. "Put your prejudices aside as I am trying to," a brief look is given to Elsbeth and Anevia, "and we may yet make it out of this alive, and together."

Michael favors Izah with a blazing glare. "While I can still walk, we are not leaving anyone behind. 'Useful' or not. " he replies coldly just before the shouting starts. When it does, he mutters something under his breath in Celestial before moving to stand in between the others, arms outspread and a warding hand in each direction.

"ENOUGH! We are all of us trapped here, and we'll need all the eyes, arms and wits we can gather together if we're to find a way back to where we came from."

He shoots another glower to Anevia, then to Horgus. "I don't know what kind of grudge the two of you hold, or what it's about, and right now? I. Don't. Care. The noblest mortal creature I've seen in all my days spent the last moments of its life saving all our hides. I suggest you start acting worthy of that sacrifice."

Diplomacy or Intimidation; something in between: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21 21 if Diplomacy; 18 if intimidation. Whichever gets them to act like adults right now.

Geez, sleep for eight hours and the thread goes nuts.

Aaliyah has been quite quiet during the debates, however when the last man looks ready to incite a small brawl, she instinctively takes up a position just behind him - like a servant or advisor - and speaks quietly. "M'lord, a little discomfort may be necessary for us to get out of this alive..." However, she gives Anevia a bit of a wink.

Diplomacy (Noble?): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (17) + 3 = 20
Diplomacy (Anevia): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (20) + 3 = 23

Easily bearing Anevia's weight, Jens glances at Aravashnial. "I've been fighting for nearly thirty years, all over the Inner Sea. I've been from the Lands of the Linnorm Kings to Qadira, and everywhere in between. I've fought demons in that time, certainly - I have my reasons for wanting every last one of those bastards dead." He sighs deeply. "I used to be a mounted skirmisher, but these days, I focus on protecting those more defenseless than myself. If you stay close to my voice, I'll keep you safe, Aravashnial." His tongue fumbles slightly over the Elven name.

With his free hand, he fumbles at his back, checking. Yes, his quiver was still there. Good. To Anevia he mutters, "I've twenty arrows. If you can use them, they're yours. Never liked those blasted bows much."

He rolls his eyes at Gwerm's outburst. "On the surface you are a noble, but here you are just another survivor. I won't leave you behind, but I certainly don't have to make this journey any easier for you," he growls. "So stop complaining about your wounds. They're no worse than what any of us suffer, and certinly no worse than some.

"Even if I believe that you are no fiend, Izah, you wear the symbol of Asmodeus on your chest. Your initial actions have been benevolent enough, but the worship of evil gods is something I would never want in an ally."

When the shouting starts, he sighs, shaking his large head. "Be the bigger person, Anevia," he mutters to the girl. "Later on, you can tell me your side of things. But everyone needs to calm down first." He raises his voice slightly. "We need to get out of here, and I for one suggest we start moving. We search this cavern, see if anything useful made it down with us, then we move. The dragon clearly saved us for a reason, and we won't find that reason if we sit around bickering and waiting for death!"

Anevia takes a calming breath and mutters a quiet prayer to Iomedae, then smiles as Jens hands her his quiver. "Thank you Sir, I'm a hell of an archer, and luckily it'll keep me off the front lines."

At Aaliyah's words Horgus seems to calm down a tad. "Of course. My apologies. I will work with whomever I have to I suppose. I will give you one thousand gold pieces if you can get me to safety. I am not much of a fighter, but if necessary I would prefer to fight with a rapier. I am quite handy with one. If not, I would be able to fight with most simple weapons." He looks frustrated. "I shouldn't even be in this hole."

Aravashnial nods at Jens words, standing to move next to the big Ulfen. "I will have to save my spells. Without being able to see I will not be able to prepare any again until I am healed. Not that I have my spellbook with me anyway."

"Does anyone else hear something moving?" Aravashnial states suddenly, turning his head.

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (19) + 3 = 22

Aliyah's head whips around, and as she stares she approaches whatever she sees at a good clip with her scimitar out, eyes wide as if seized by some kind of madness. When she speaks, it's with words in the same flowing, musical language Michael was using earlier.

"Did you have your spellbook with you when you fell?" Jens asks the elf, helping Anevia shrug on the quiver. "If you did, it can't be too far from here."

Looking over his shoulder at Horgus, he adds, "And if we can't get you a rapier, there's bound to be something here you can use as a club."

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (9) + 4 = 13

When Aravashnial speaks again, Jens frowns. "I'm afraid my ears aren't what they used to be. I don't hear- Hey! Girl!" he barks suddenly at Aaliyah. "What are you doing? Get back here!"

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22

I hope I can keep rolling like this once the fighting starts...

Answering Jens' confusion, Elsbeth announces, "There's some kind of giant spider in the far corner! Those combat-able, form ranks; everyone else behind us!"

Carrying her lantern in one hand, Elsbeth springs forward alongside her spiritual sister, drawing her own scimitar with blinding speed.

Moving forward to stay even with Aaliyah (and bring a light source closer to the monster) and quickdrawing a scimitar.

"A spider?" Jens laughs, a hearty bellow. "That hardly sounds like a challenge!" He helps Anevia sit on a nearby pile of rubble, instructing her and Aravashnial to stick together. With that he retrieves his shield, draws his longsword, and joins the others, positioning himself in front of them.

Perception, Darkvision: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (11) - 1 = 10

Michael blinks at Aaliyah's outburst and looks around for what she may be seeing, moving up beside her and drawing his sword just in case.

"We're not here for a challenge, Ser Varmodsson," he points out as he brings his shield up to face the foe.

Furrowing his brows at mention of the spider, Izah looks up to the cavern's ceiling and narrows his eyes. Retrieving his mace from his belt, the iron head immediately blossoms with patches of red hot light, soon glowing as hot as a coal. Unlike the others, Izah is not quick to leap towards the source of danger and seems content to allow the others to be the vanguard as he retrieves an enormous black shield off of his back patterns with flame designs. Moving to step in front of Anevia and Aravashnial he widens his stance and braces himself. "Conserve your arrows," Izah requests to Anevia over his shoulder, "unless this creature proves too difficult for the others to strike effectively. We do not know how long we will be down here."

__________
Perception: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (20) + 0 = 20 (darkvision; spider does not gain concealment from darkness)

Everyone before the enemies, that's handy.

As everyone begins to approach you see the abdomen of the spider writhing with motion, though it's legs are still as death. Suddenly, two gigantic maggots burst from the corpse, writhing angrily toward flesh.

Maggots are about ten feet away from the frontliners.

Okay, forgive me if I've misunderstood your comments on block-based initiative. I think it's okay for me to post an action now, right?

"Whoa! Two big maggots at 12 o'clock!" Elsbeth calls a warning to the others, thinking particularly of the blind elf, who needs all the input he can get. Dropping her lantern, she calls to Aaliyah, "See if you can get behind them!"

With that, Elsbeth swings her shield from her back onto her free arm in a single fluid motion, then moves forward to strike.

------------------------

Drop lantern, quickdraw the quickdraw shield, move up 10ft, attack.
Scimitar: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (14) + 4 = 181d6 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6
If threat: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 51d6 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 3 = 8

About how big are the maggots? Dig sized? Horse sized? I wasn't sure on how big the spider they came out of was.

Spider was roughly horse sized, maggots are more dog sized.

Sweet, thanks.

As the enormous spider ruptures and releases a pair of writhing, dog-sized maggots from its abdomen, Izah recoils and tightens his grip on his super-heated mace. Glancing back to Aravashnial and Anevia, he insures that there is nothing coming up from behind them before squaring his focus on the wriggling vermin. Izah watches Elsbeth advance, evaluating her form and finding himself impressed by her precision and agility. Keeping shield raised, he tenses his mace-arm and prepares to strike should the maggots bypass the front line of defense.

_________

Swift Action: Maintain Scorching Weapons on light mace
Standard Action: Ready action - Melee Attack (Light Mace) on any opponent entering reach.
>

Michael pushes back his revulsion at the sight, then thinks fast.

"Ladies, flank them. Ser Jens, with me down the center!"

With that and a loud call in that bright tongue, he charges.

Tactical explanation: With him and Jens back to back the maggots can't flank either of them, while their position allows Elsbeth and Aaliyah to circle and flank them and gives them the room to move as a dervish does.

Attack, charge: 1d20 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 5 + 2 = 15
Damage: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10

Edit:Argh, bad spelling. On mobile tablet right now