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"If no one minds," Gwyneth answers Naali with a shrug. "Fate favors the vigilant. Better to have too much than none, y'know?"
Taking her holy text for a backboard, the paladin begins tallying out supplies on her half-sheet...before distracting herself with small sketches and caricatures of the group. All complementary, or so she'd like to think. Naali, her smoking vials, stab-happy glaive and distinctive crown. Aravashnial, all robed and fit with his staff, his tiny toon standing proud in spite of his blinded sight. For Horgus, she draws the spherical man atop a small mountain of gold, gaudy and shining, but with a rag in his hand; a man whose worth must've taken a great deal to maintain...though perhaps she's just being naïve.
Of course then Gwyn fails her better nature and draws their dark-haired archer firing a few arrows at him. The paladin scrunches that page up and tosses it into her empty backpack. Goddess knows she's offended the poor woman enough.
Abrielle gets song notes, a halo of chalk, and her morningstar helm-deep into some ambiguous form of evil--though Gwyn does much prefer this slightly-less-terrifying person who appears to be talking in the crusader's place--and Therrik...Therrik gives her pause, because as the paladin tries to put his most distinctive features to paper--height, strength, and a shadow tall enough for the two of them--she finds his tattoos (what few signs and sigils she catches sight of, at least)...just the tiniest bit familiar. Like she's seen them, or something like it--a long, long time ago, probably in some book, but she can't think where. Between the cordial chatter and their immediate situation, she doesn't think much to it and quickly returns to her doodles in earnest, stopping only to add the odd line to the conversation, or sip from her divinely filled flask of water.
When the team winds down, the thought of sleep doesn't seem to fit well with Gwyneth, who treats the idea as though it were an enemy and clearly fights it off right unto the last, volunteering first watch (), finishing her sketches and jotting in her holy text--committing the events of Arodus 16, 4713 between the lines of Iomedae's great ascension to divinity. When she does fall asleep, it's an involuntary affair. Gwyneth appears to drop unconscious right where she sits, slumped up against the wall, her hand still poised to write even as the papers scatter from her grip.
"Wait, you're married? To a Crusader? Seriously? Anyone I know? I mean I've heard how one in the family causes heartache, but...Inheritor's Hand, how do you even have time for..." Beat. "No, no, no--please don't answer that. Forget I said anything. I mean I'm sure she's...breathing. And not to mention contractually honor-bound to punch me in the face. So there's that. History dictates she can't be that far off."
"Erm. Maybe? Her name is Irabeth Tirabade. She's one of the Eagle Watch," Anevia starts, but she grows a touch withdrawn when Gwyneth continues. Her lips purse briefly and her expression grows drawn, right up to the point that the Crusader mutters about being punched. A weary laugh slips from the archer and she shakes her head gently, lifting her gaze back to Gwyn again. "That does sound a bit like Irabeth. To her credit, though, she'd wait until you did something very wrong to actually hit you. Paladins," she murmurs the last word a bit wistfully, still shaking her head.
Horgus, miraculously, keeps his complaints to himself as he sets to scrubbing at the floor and walls with the rest. Those who spare a glance in his direction might note that he is startlingly adept at cleaning for a whiny noble. Still, he grumbles quietly the entire time and straightens with a tired sigh when they have finished. Abrielle's song draws an appreciative smile from the two humans and the blind elf, even if some of their expressions are a bit pinched. It has been a trying day, after all, and some of them are barely holding it together.
Naali's sudden exuberance spurred on by her slight growth takes them all by surprise, and the two humans stare in idle wonder. Aravashnial, unable to stare, begins hypothesizing aloud to himself about what this could mean of the fallen draconic sentinel and her death. Most of which is meaningless magical jargon that few beyond himself and perhaps Hendron can understand. Still, there are at least a few words here and there that are actually comprehensible to you all.
-------------------------------
When it comes time to take stock of their belongings, the group's three non-combatants have very little to offer. Anevia offers up a length of silk rope, should they elect to make a tent of sorts using the blanket. "Better for warmth to use body heat," she explains, clearly having some measure of experience with this sort of thing. Aravashnial fumbles for his pack which the archer helps him with, feeling through it blindly for a moment.
"I had three potions, four scrolls, and a wand, though I know not what survived the fall." At any mention of using the potions on himself, he declines and says that he will save them for an emergency. Offers of bedrolls and blankets are waved off as he simply pulls his voluminous, fur-lined cloak tighter around him. Horgus, meanwhile, is even less helpful. He has neither rations nor bedding, though his current attire sparkles in the firelight in a way that implies all manner of jewelry and finery. He gladly accepts rations offered to him and eats as though he has been starving all day, but was too proud to ask.
The "night" passes uneventfully despite the careful watch of their resident tiefling night owl. All are glad to find that they still have their parts upon awakening. Upon further exploration around the small temple, behind a wide, squad stalagmite is another tunnel. Where it leads, however, is anyone's guess. Seeing no other options, you all agree to make your way down it in search of...well, anything, after gathering your belongings. Though it takes a bit less than an hour, you happen upon something fairly peculiar this far below the surface.
The tunnel you have been travelling through opens up into another wide cavern, though it is quickly apparent that this cavern has been frequented by someone or something. Stone figures stand in silent repose, carved into the walls of the cavern, each depicting a different crusader. All of the statues bear weapons and armor, but their stone features contain expressions of deep sadness.
You can easily recognize that these are soldiers of the First Crusade. Though you recall an old legend regarding such crusaders, it is just beyond your immediate recollection. Perhaps one of your companions recalls better?
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Abrielle takes it upon herself to check on everyone in turn when they awake. She changes the wrappings on the blind elf's eyes with frech bandages and does her best to tighten the human's splint before moving on. She even checks on Horgus, who she takes the time to compliment about his fine work the day before and give him a pat on the back, ensuring him they'd get out of this yet.
"Not bad work," she says to Horgus with a smile. "Humbling yourself is never easy, and your efforts are appreciated. Gods willing, we'll get out of here before too long. The temple is a good sign. Must be an exit to the surface somewhere around here!"
~ ~ ~
As they travel, Abrielle hangs back with Anevia and Aravashnial, helping the woman with the broken leg walk while guiding the blind one. No point in making them lag behind on their own when she can barely see far enough to matter. The others would be better at spotting anything up ahead.
When the tunnel opens into a cavern, she notes the obvious signs of frequent traffic through the area. Worn stone and disturbed dust... someone or something has been by. She nears the stone walls to get a better look at the carved faces, but if they represent anything in particular, she can't tell. Look like crusaders, but around here everything looks like a crusader.
"Anyone got an inkling to what, or who, these are, or what might be lurking down here?" she asked in a hushed tone. "Better stay on our toes if something is about. I'd rather not have any unwanted surprises..."
Naali is found sitting on one of the stone pews. Balanced on her lap is a well polished glass chess set, well maintained even though many years of use have dulled its edges and removed the fine details from its pieces. Seeing the others awaken, she begins carefully putting each piece away in a wooden carrying case. Each one is treated with the utmost care, clearly quite dear to the woman in a way that has little to do with its monetary value. Explaining to the others, she says, "Don't worry. I was losing anyway," and smiling at her own joke.
"Well so far it's just been really old things that have been here for a while, right? The big maggots were just something that live here naturally, and the cleric was here for a really long time. Maybe there won't be anything else?"
Therrik takes a watch as well, though he arches a brow as it becomes apparent Naali's not intending to sleep. "...don't you need some rest too?" he asks uncertainly, watching her play the game with the little board. Dice and cards had been more favored in the River Kingdoms than chess; he has only a vague sense of what the game is, and no idea how to play.
***
Therrik stares about with the others at the statuary. "Damn. Seems a shame, doesn't it? All this work, down here underground where nobody's liable to see it... well, unless there is somebody down here," he amends after a pause. "...dwarves? The ones who made that temple?"
His theorizing is really just wild guessing. Therrik scratches at his jaw, prickly with a day's worth of stubble, and moves from statue to statue, peering at each.
"...they look real down and out," he mutters. "Shouldn't you make your heroes look... heroic?"
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Gwyneth wakes up with a start, her skull ricocheting off the chapel wall with a solid crack and a choked moan that has little to do with her bruised scalp. For all her vocal nature, it perhaps comes across strange that the paladin doesn't utter a single word until everything is organized, checked, packed away and her armour donned. Even then it's only to mouth prayers as they leave; to Iomedae and Torag alike for the largely uneventful stay. Discipline demands an hour of her time for the Inheritor, but she's taken enough of her goddess's attention, or so Gwyn thinks, and thus remains oddly mute for the duration.
When the group finds a way forward, Gwyneth offers little more than a nod and a determined scowl, tying back her mess of hair with a length of string pulled from her tabard. Whatever the reality, she's clearly happier out of her dreams than in them.
----------
By this point, Gwyn's stopped being surprised by their findings, but the down-turned faces of the crusader statues pull at fond memories and heartstrings, and Private Koschei wastes little time in casting her torch over the old stonework, armoured fingers pressing at the cracks and crags worn into the ancient frowns.
"I--" And here her voice cracks from underuse, so she coughs a little to wake her chords, "--Don't recognize them? Not these colours." Of course what she means is their blazons; identifiable markings, signs of the Crusade. Or perhaps they've all just worn away with time. It's anyone guess if her brows furrow at that, Therrik's words, or just the general feel of the place.
"Too old for me," she says simply, tearing away from the figures to pull her sword from its sheath and stare further into the cavern. Abrielle's got the right idea. This place's been frequented, and while it'd be nice not to have to swing it, having the blade to hand puts the steel back in her step.
Naali keeps playing as she talks to Therrik, a light clicking sound echoing through the stone chamber as a knight captures a rook. She shrugs sheepishly, with a slight smile.
"Ah, not really. I get pretty tired if I'm too stressed out for a long time, but doing something simple usually helps. Lots of people I tell are jealous when I tell them, but it's usually pretty lonely at night. Just me and my games, or whatever project I'm working on."She thinks back to her time in the small shop in Egede, and the nights she sat in the storefront by the candlelight. It was the only shop in the city that could claim 24 hour service, an idea Naali followed through with despite her mother's protests. Not much ever happened during the night, save for an occasional adventurer rushing in for a vital potion to save a friend. Now it seems that she is the adventurer in need of potions.
"Sometimes I do sleep though, so I can dream."
"I could teach you how to play, if you wanted. I have cards and dice, too. I used to have a mancala board, but that's gone now, hahaha."
He looks skeptical of the chess game. "...well, I'll try anything once," he says. "How about a game of this-- what do you call this, anyway? -- then cards?"
"Yeah, dreams are pretty nice. Though I don't know if I'd want to sleep after today. Yesterday? It's hard to tell time down here. I feel like I'd have more nightmares than nice dreams."
"Oh it's called 'Queen's Chess'! I played it all the time when I was growing up. You have a bunch of pieces that act differently, and you have to capture all of the other player's pieces by landing on the same square."
She hold up a few of the pieces one after another. "This one's the tower, and the elephant, and the knight - it looks like a horse, but it's called the knight. It moves all funny, because the rider left and now the horse is just running around! Err, uh, at least that's what I was told as a kid."
She continues on explaining the rules, equally interspersing mentions of advanced tactics with seemingly childish explanations of the pieces or their movements.
"Sure, cards after this! Or, if you like gambling, there's a dice game I know called 'Tripps'"
"Still, dwarven architecture is a good sign! If they were down here, there must be a way out, and it's probably sturdy enough to survive an earthquake."
At the mention of statues of Crusaders, Aravashnial lifts his brows in clear interest and surprise, only to wince at the gesture. Those eyes are still tender. Not that he lets the pain stop him from piping up helpfully, "I recall an ancient legend from my studies regarding such things. After the First Crusade, a group of crusaders who had become infected with Abyssal energies fled into these caverns. They only wanted to raise their deformed children in peace, but their descendants are said to live on today in the tunnels below the city. I imagine these very statues were carved by their children."
Unfortunately, your inspection of the room's statues quickly reveals that this place is certainly not uninhabited. Before you can get too much further into the room, the natives grow restless and lunge from their alcove toward you!
You know this to be a darkmantle! It is a magical beast.
Critter 1
Gwyneth - UP
Therrik - UP
Critter 2
Abrielle
Naali
The quickest of the two bizarre creatures wings its way toward Therrik and flails in his direction, trying to slam against him.
It succeeds in its attempt and slaps the large half-orc fairly gently, all things considered. Unfortunately, it also manages to latch onto his forearm and squeezes painfully!
"That... seems needlessly complicated," he says after her tutorial, but then offers a toothy grin. "What the hell-- I'll try it."
Even if Naali had not had several thousand hours of practice, Therrik would be easy enough to beat: it's plainly apparent from their first game that he has little grasp on the strategy of the game-- grinning smugly when he takes a pawn of Naali's, only for his face to fall as she deftly springs the trap and takes a vital piece that his own move left undefended. He'll have a long way to go if he's to learn to play the long game.
When she proposes switching over to cards after his first easy defeat, Therrik is relieved. "Yeah, I know the game," he says with a nod. "We call it Smuggler's Run down south-- you try and load your 'boat' with light 'cargo,' the low rolls..."
He hunts in his belt pouch until he finds his coins, and lays down a gold piece-- the idea of playing at cards and not wagering money on it is nearly foreign to him. He scoops up the tiefling's dice to give them a roll.
Therrik carefully sets aside the dice showing just one pip. "We call the one 'spice'," he says in an aside to Naali. "Valuable cargo, you can pack a lot in your hold, not too heavy."
Another one, to one side.
The half-orc grins broadly. "Three is magic treasure-- pure profit!" he says, plucking out the two threes from the pool.
Again, the grin turns to a grimace. "Damn! Lumber. Okay, so that's... eight. Your go."
***
Therrik is still nursing his ribs from the day before; clearly that's the reason he doesn't notice the thing launching his way until it's too late. The hit, he could take-- it's when the hideous wings wrap around his arm and sink in deep barbs that he involuntarily shouts in pain. "OWRR!"
With one arm half-pinned, his falchion seems a poor tool. Therrik rips his club free of his belt and swings wildly at the thing attached to his person.
"GETOFFAME!"
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Ever the eager student, Gwyneth lulls in Aravashnial's explanation as a matter of course, musing the Elf's theory with a more than a passing interest. Sadly she doesn't get to add her own word in, as Therrik's roar cuts through all scholarly thought and rams the severity of their situation back home.
For the love of...
Finding a second creature--the same, though more sluggish--looming at the edge of her vision, Gwyneth clicks her tongue and digs a heel into the ground.
"Naali, Abrielle, get that damn thing off him."
Unfortunately her swing comes off recklessly wide, but given the sorry state Therrik appears to be in, serving as another body in the way appears to suit Gwyneth just fine.
"Magic treasure!"
"Is two gems? I bet it's gems." She drags the second die in front of her, placing and adjusting them into a straight line.
"More magic - I guess I'm just an expert smuggler."
"A reliable expert smuggler, gems again!" She focuses intently on the table as she cups the single die in her hands and shakes. "No lumber, go!"
"Aha! Woops. Shouldn't be so loud, people are sleeping. Four total, I'm a lucky girl tonight."
"It's definitely more interesting with the names. Where'd you learn them?"
Naali rushes over to tear the creature off of her friend without a second thought, arms wrapped around the creature as it tries to wriggle free.
"I got it! Uh! What do I do now?"
Critter 1 lets out a squeal of displeasure as the sudden swing from Therrik's mace connects soundly with its body. It seems all too content to squeeze harder until Naali abruptly wrenches it off of the half-orc! Tentacles flail wildly in dismay, but the beast is not out of the fight yet.
Seeing Gwyn's eagerness to leap into the fray, Critter 2 has no qualms about lunging in her direction.
Sadly, or perhaps not so sadly for our heroes, the beast misses in its attempt as its tentacles find no purchase on her armor. It lets out a displeased chitter and resolves to do better next time.
Critter 1 - UP
Gwyneth - UP
Therrik - UP
Critter 2
Abrielle - UP
Naali
The creature in Naali's hands writhes and shifts as it works to get its feelers into her now!
All it manages to do for its effort, though, is slap itself and her fingers a few times entirely ineffectually. Poor critter! All it wanted was an easy dinner!
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Gwyneth, not a fan of the nattering sound provided by her assailant, equally resolves to shove three feet of steel through it before becoming hors-d'oeuvre.
This time the accuracy's a little cleaner--but that's not saying much, and her left wrist screams something awful as she powers into the blow, twisting the blade just a touch out of line.
Even if that does, miraculously, land, the disgusted sound Gwyneth makes is more towards her herself than the creature. At least the others sound to have more success; that's a plus, right?
The world's getting a little dizzy at the edges; the winged thing was ripped off his arm (he'd be impressed by the tiny Naali managing that, if not that he's staring down at the blood running forth from the punctures it left and wondering if maybe he ought to lie down a bit--)
Abrielle touches him, and the dizziness clears-- and the wounds seal shut. Therrik blinks, then shakes off the moment in favor of attacking again, trying to club the one Naali's got grabbed into pulp.
"Hold it still, I'll smash it--"
Therrik shrugs a little. "....anyway, sailors play a lot of games like this, down on the river-runs."
Critter 1
Gwyneth
Therrik
Critter 2 - UP
Abrielle - UP
Naali - UP
Critter 1 lets out a strangled squeak as Therrik's mace connects with its middle, many of the beast's tentacles bent at odd angles or hanging limply. It still tries to latch onto Naali's fingers, though it looks to be on its last proverbial legs.
And it does indeed manage to sink its hooked suckers into the tiefling before abruptly falling limp in her hands. It seems that is all she wrote. Meanwhile, across the cavern, Gwyneth is having her own bizarre battle against the creature. Which involves the both of them missing quite often.
At least, until it manages to finally find purchase and latch itself onto her midsection. Those vile tentacles encircle her waist and squeeze down painfully as it works to crush a few ribs and less durable things within.
In the midst of the heat of battle, you are able to hear murmuring from the next cavern over and the telltale sign of flickering flame can just be made out through the tunnel ahead. Maybe this area is actually inhabited?
Round 2
"Ack!"
Naali flinches, letting the creature fall to the ground with a wet thud. She rubs the wound on her arm before passing her glaive from her tail to her hands.
"I'm fine, we gotta help Gwyneth!"
With an echoing click-clock of hurried hooves on stone she rushes to the flailing combination of creature and paladin, slashing her glaive when she is sure she won't hit Gwyneth. After all, glaive wounds are quite the damper on new friendships.
"Watch out!"
She throws a worried glance towards one of the cavern's exits, and the source of the sound she heard.
"Oh no, are there more of them?"
"Right, you had said you were from that area. I think I heard you say you were looking for someone in Kenabres? I doubt I'd know them, I'm not that great at meeting new people, but maybe I saw them somewhere." She shrugs and fiddles with the two gold coins. "Maybe we can help each other find the people we're looking for."
Now that he's free and has a moment to breathe, Therrik realizes that Abrielle's touch actually healed his wounds. He blinks down at his arm, now showing mere pinkish scars rather than gushing punctures.
"--thanks," he says, but there's no time for more than that. Therrik drops his club in favor of his preferred weapon-- dashes to Gwyneth's other side-- and takes a swing at the flapping horror.
"What the hell are these things, anyway?! They're like bats... mated with mosquitoes... mated with squid, or something..."
"Her name's Janayya. Half-elven, about Gwyneth's height. Brown hair in a long braid, carries a bow, favors green..." Despite his previous words, he glances up hopefully, but when there's no flash of recognition in Naali's face, he shrugs. "Just as well, I guess. So... who're you trying to find? I think I saw half the city during the time I was there, so maybe I might have seen 'em."
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Okay. Okay. Crushing. She swallows air and promptly feels it squeezed back out as if through a pinhole in her chest. Sh*t, that's a rib isn't it?
"Biology--later." She manages between staggered breaths.
With a taut grunt the paladin lets loose of her longsword to her better hand and bolts an armoured fist to the the writhing mass of tentacles at her front, fingers tight as she attempts to tug enough of the creature free, barbs and all clinging to stubborn to gaps in her mail.
Ow-OW-OW--
Nope. Wrist's still screaming, and Gwyn finds her grip slip as another bone audibly creaks under the pressure.
"Get. OFF."
Though she perceives nothing, Gwyn's more trusting of their nightsighted Tiefling than her own vision and quickly falls back into stance, shifting a few feet off with a thorned prayer thick on her lips. A short moment later, the paladin's gold-tinted gaze squints further out as her already dim world becomes just a touch less featured; the flare of her torch seeming saturated with flecks of black and silver-grey.
She knows full well her eyes aren't going to work that far from light; but at least, in the worst case scenario, Heaven's might.
Therrik doesn't hear whatever has Naali bothered.
"Well, a while before all this happened, I was out past the wardstones - looking for alchemy ingredients. I already got interrogated by crusaders about that. Right, so I was out past the wardstones, and I found some ruins that I thought had what I needed. When I went to leave - there were a bunch of cultists standing about outside." Naali tugs on her hair nervously as she remembers the scenario, but soon her face changes to a happier one as she describes what happened next. "I thought I was done for, but then this other woman was there in the ruins too! She helped me distract the cultists so I could escape, even though she could have gotten away, and then stayed with me until crusaders came by. She disappeared before they came by, and I never even got her name."
"No one I've asked knows who she might have been. All I've been able to ask people is if they have seen a beautiful woman with a bow and a holy symbol of Desna. And she seemed sad. Asking that in Kenabres got me pointed to a lot of women, but none of them were the right one - I guess that's what I get for asking around taverns and guard posts."
She sighs.
"I guess it's silly to pine over someone you barely know, but... Er, I mean, uh, I just want to make sure she's okay, because she saved my life and all. Hopefully she was safer outside of Kenabres when all this happened. Sorry, I rambled on. You're worried about Janayya, you don't want to hear more sad things."
Despite not being vorpal in the least, Therrik's blade does indeed go snickersnack and guts the beast. Or bisects it, considering they have some bizarre anatomy and who really knows where its guts are? It falls to the cavern floor in pieces and Gwyn is finally able to draw breath again. Not that your ordeal is quite over yet.
Naali's keen ears and Gwyn's divine senses may have told them that something was there, but few would have expected a dwarf to pop out. He rounds the corner where a slight flickering of firelight dances unseen by most in the chaos of the fight. Now that you can get a look at him, something about the rictus grin and wild hair seems...off. His skin is smudged with dirt and Gwyneth's detection is pinging up a storm on this individual. A nimbus of green light whorls around one of his hands while the other clutches a dagger that looks to have seen better days.
Fortunately, at least some of you knew he was coming.
Gwyneth
Therrik
Dwarf
Abrielle - UP
Naali - UP
"Oh woah, you aren't looking so great!" She calls to the approaching dwarf with a grimace. She tugs Gwyneth's tabard to get her attention towards the dwarf, before realizing that the human woman might not be able to see well enough. I'll have to do something, then!
"H-hey, you just stay right there! I'm warning you!"
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Naali's tug earns a scathing hiss as Gwyn's side roars in complaint, but the paladin does well to bite it back behind her teeth. Can't be showing weakness now; not with the truly injured at her back and a blackened soul just out of reach. In her eyes, though the silhouette comes solid enough, the light's a touch too dim for the dirt and grime, and her divine magic paints a web of thick, tenebrous shadows that billows from his pores like ethereal soot and smoke.
"Apostate." She answers Abrielle's question before the clearly unstable heathen has chance to debate. Because that's not an opinion; it's divine judgment, and whatever pain Gwyn feels is overridden by a familiar rush of faith as she plants her sword in the ground and tugs sharp at the longbow over her shoulder, nocking an arrow with surprising speed given the amount of blood weeping through her fabric.
"Surrender and explain yourself, Dwarf." Naali might recognize this voice, for it's the same authoritative tone bestowed upon any Crusader cursed to dealing with insurgents, vagabonds and dangerous glaive-wielders over Demons and the Abyss. "Or by Iomedae's might the only thing you'll be in aid of down here is a headstone."
The dwarf in question certainly does not stop moving as soon as he gets a bead on our heroes, and he scoots over just out of Abrielle's reach. Which naturally causes both Naali and Gwyneth to shoot him rather callously, considering he has not actually done anything. Yet. He snarls in pain as the flames scorch his beard and the smell of burned hair hits the cave air. It smells about as vile as he looks. Sadly, Gwyn's arrow does not put him down. Instead it hits the outside of his shoulder and just barely lodges itself there, but it clearly hurt from the way his jaw clenches.
In rebuttal, he quickly casts a spell and a blast of poly-chromatic light explodes outward from his outstretched hands. Straight at Abrielle, Naali, and Therrik!
You are unconscious, blinded, and stunned for 6 rounds, then blinded and stunned for 1 round, and then stunned for 1 round.
You are fine! Huzzah!
Gwyneth - UP
Therrik - UP
Dwarf
Abrielle - UP
Naali - UP
"Ah, s@@@, from the rapids to a sandbar," Therrik mutters as he realizes there's more trouble incoming. One of those healer's potions would be good, he thinks-- Abrielle's touch healed the worst of his wounds, but he's still feeling somewhat light-headed... can't even think clearly as to has them, did the tiefling pick them up? Did the Iomedan...? "Who's got those potions?"
As Therrik starts moving towards one of his traveling companions, colored light washes over the group.
Therrik snarls, abandoning the hunt for the potion in favor of going on the offense. He launches himself forward, hurtling between Naali and Abrielle, leading with his falchion towards the deranged-looking dwarf.
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Abrielle was far to used to the tricks of demons to fall to this dazzling spray from the dwarf. She quickly shakes it off and takes a step in to close the distance between her and the dwarf, swinging her morningstar at the new attacker.
Sadly, her swing goes right over the dwarf's head. Damn shorties...
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"Stupid--"
--Waste of life! Though no one seems affected by the burst of colour, the paladin takes offense to it all the same and Gwyneth's hand snaps for another arrow, pulling hard on the string despite the pain in her side.
...Perhaps a little too hard in fact, as the arrow flies clean over the dwarf's head, lodging itself square into a crevice in the rock. Apparently not even the divine can fix her shoddy aim...as if she hadn't already known that for years.
Fetching another shaft from her gear, she sighs over a shoulder, "Don't suppose you're giving lessons, Miss Tirabade?" Gwyn lines up a third shot, squinting into the dark. "Archery's never been my thing."
Mercifully, the other three appear to be holding the front just fine--though she does hope Therrik downs that tonic sooner than later.
Naali hands Therrik the healing potion
"Hey, get away from Therrik!" She shifts a few feet back to where she can actually swing her polearm. "I don't want to hurt you, but you better get back!"
With everyone shouting all manner of nonsense at him, the dwarf only feels that it is right he returns the favor. "You won't take me back! I've only just begun my work here!" Eyes wide and wild, he cackles madly and begins murmuring magical words of power under his breath.
Without any further ado, he hurls a pair of bolts of force from one hand in Naali's direction, though her retaliation narrowly misses the mark. Fortunately, Therrik is there to pick up the slack and promptly takes the dwarf's head clean off. The ensuing silence is deafening as all falls still to the tune of a decapitated body slumping over weakly.
Naali, staggers from the force of the magic, stumbling backwards and finding tentative balance just in time to see the dwarf decapitated in front of her.
She had seen people die before, but only of old age or sickness. Mostly old age, as the people she grew up around reached their natural lifespans. Combat was still fairly new to her, and people being decapitated in front of her was even more so.
She rushes to the opposite side of the room, dropping her glaive in haste, and promptly throws up all over the stone floor.
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"Well..." Gwyneth lowers her bow with a frown as Naali rushes by, unsure of whether to comment on Therrik's impressive swing given that he'd inadvertently given their resident tiefling--an unfettered soul, as the paladin's kindly reminded by the retching sound at her back--a privileged seat to what was essentially an in-field execution.
Eventually she shrugs, knowing the corpse can wait, summarizing with a flat, "I suppose that works."
With the haze of righteousness rapidly dulling from her mind, Gwyn gingerly retrieves her sword and Naali's glaive before giving the horned woman a diligent rub on the back.
"Welcome to the Crusades, Naali," she says, as if she has done at least fifty times before. "You did good, y'know? It'll be okay."
It's an odd statement; because even though Gwyneth doesn't exactly know what 'it' is right now--not with Kenabres burning overhead--her slightly pained grin declares that, at the very least, the paladin's managing to retain some measure of optimism. Just not necessarily her sanity.
With that said, she holds out Naali's weapon for her to take. Presumably once she's done emptying the contents of her stomach to the floor, anyway. "Now d'ya think you can handle staying conscious for me?"
"Heugh..." She looks up to Gwyneth, her skin now drained of some of it's normally vibrant color. After a few moments she gives up her search for something to wipe her face off with and settles for her sleeve, as most of what she owns is covered in at least a little blood or gore, from either the giant maggots or newly acquired by the dwarf.
"I'll be okay, I just need a minute. Wasn't expecting... that."
Luckily Naali's preparedness had paid off, and she still had a potent healing draft, specially brewed for her own physiology. Unfortunately, this meant it didn't have the pleasant strawberry flavor of other potions - she would have to replace the taste of vomit with something equally unpleasant.
With a grimace, she downs the vial, and takes her glaive back to woozily lean against.
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Abrielle had been about to step forward to tend to Therrick, only to see Naali stumble off to sick up the contents of her stomach.
Gross...
Despite the repulsion she has for vomit, Abrielle quickly rushes to Naali's side and gives her a quick once over. She was hurting, and probably not too thrilled to see someone get decapitated.
Actually, everyone was looking a little worse for wear. Except herself of course. Clearly her experience in the field was paying off.
"Alright, gather around all of you," she says, taking Naali by the shoulders and helping her in towards the group. "Let's get you all patched up before we move on. Apparently we've made it to crazy dwarf tunnels."
Once everyone is in range, Abrielle channels the divine energies granted to her by the gods, a bright white light bursting out around her.
Unlike poor, spattered Naali... Therrik has killed before, a few times; other men and women like him, for the most part: river rats, born to a life that straddles a thin line between pirate-and-sailor. There's little enough room for mercy in a boarding action, or when fighting a turf battle for which jumped-up bandit has the right to call himself lord over this stretch of the river...
This time's different, though: he'd acted-- he thinks, through the haze-- not on someone else's orders, but... because he was hurt, and angry, and there was a threat, not merely to him, but to the others: it needed doing. Therrik's heart is still racing from the struggle with the winged creatures, but he stares down at the dwarf that he'd just down, then rubs at his face with his hand.
"...damned crazy bastard," he mutters. "I didn't really mean to..." Well, no, he'd meant to; he supposes. It just... it was messy. He looks over at Naali and winces a bit, realizing she got some of the, uh, spray.
"....sorry," he mutters, and crouches to wipe his blade clean on the dwarf's garments.
The healing energy that washes through him at Abrielle's presence makes him blink again, and look at the blue-haired woman with doubled appreciation. "You're damn useful to have around," he says. "Thanks for-- earlier, too. I'll owe you one."
Still crouched by the dwarf, Therrik divides his attention between glancing warily up at the tunnel where the crazed mage came from, and rummaging, almost out of habit, through the man's clothes. He may not be overjoyed to have killed someone, but he has no significant moral compunctions at all about taking their stuff once they've gone. After all, if you don't, the river carries that bounty to somebody else...
Therrik listens, one brow arched quizzically, an elbow resting on his knee. When she gets to the description, he can't help a snort, and a wry mutter of, "...so, between the two of us... I bet we've asked every damn shopkeep and tavern wench in Kenabres about beautiful women who are carrying bows. Probably overlapped on a lot of the poor sods."
He fiddles with a bit of rock gravel on the temple's cold floor, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, maybe it is odd," another short, toothy grin, "but to each their course, my ma always said. Desna... that's the butterfly, right? I didn't see anyone like that, in the city. Sorry."
Another little shrug at her last words. " 's alright. Yeah, 'm worried for Janayya, but she can take care of herself." (He may be trying to convince himself of that.) "She did for a long time before she met me, anyway. I bet your-- your lady probably can handle herself too, if she got you away from the cultists."
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Happy though she is to know Naali's nausea is a temporary affliction, the sight of Abrielle so candidly coaxing the tiefling aside brings a far wider smile to the paladin's face. Of course the radiant wave of positive energy doesn't go amiss either, and Gwyn can't help but heave a sigh of relief as the magic knits together the raw wounds into soft tissue and fresh skin.
"She fights, she sings, she channels curative properties like a divine font," rattles the paladin, fist clenching dramatically at the now well-bloodied insignia at her chest. "Be still my beating heart, Cerulean; I'll be swooning before this venture's through."
Gwyn's jovial tone doesn't run much longer than that though, as she plants a fist on the pommel of her sword and snatches up her torch from the ground. She's got no problems with Therrik's means to pillage the dwarf's body--for the Inheritor herself teaches that no practical tool should be abandoned--but the loose head and its harrowing expression leaves her with a conflicting mix of pity, anger, and a sizable wedge of horror.
Demons, fiends, the occasional monster on the river; the Mendevian military prepared her for that. But people...You never get used to killing people.
Stupid, stupid waste of life...
"I pray the gods judge you fairly, whatever the crime," she mutters under a breath, before turning her full attention to Therrik, the obvious questions left implied but unsaid.
She nods appreciatively to Abrielle's help, and the ensuing healing, though she doesn't notice the elf's reluctance to get anywhere near the mess Naali created. Slimy, chunky, and smelly were pretty standard adjectives for things in an alchemist's line of work, after all.
"I suppose we probably did, haha. Well at least they'll be sure to remember us if either of them start asking around!" Naali breathed a sigh of relief - she had been worried that she might have just missed her savior in the city, but with two people searching, there was a good chance that she was still out past the wardstones. Possibly helping other wayward souls like herself!
She smiles. "Smart mom. Yes, Desna is the butterfly. I figured it would stand out, since almost everyone around here follows Iomedae." She rubs at a stain on her clothing, graciously provided by a giant maggot earlier in the day, sheepishly avoiding eye contact. "Ehh, apparently including me if some things I said earlier today were to be trusted. I might have lied just a little to Abrielle when I didn't think I'd be around her long. She gets, uhm... intense about religion."
A flood of weak thoughts begin to stream through the mind of an elf. What life choices did I... no... where is... what is that ringing?
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With everyone at least partially patched up, Abrielle gives a satisfied nod and puts her morningstar back in its strap. "Gather what's useful," she says to Therrik approvingly, clearly not having any qualms herself about using what the dead leave behind.
Once they've taken what they can, or just what they want, Abrielle picks up the corpse and drags it against the wall, laying it down with its arms crossed before grabbing the head and place it as back in place as she can. "Be at peace," she murmurs as she closes the head's eyes.
She straightens back up from the rather gruesome task looking none too bothered. Apparently she's better with corpses than she is with vomit.
"Keep pressing onward then, yeah?"
Therrik manages to find quite a few things on the beheaded corpse; two potions, two scrolls, a dagger, a light crossbow, ten bolts, a very finely made cloak, and a small handful of coinage.
The potions are cure light wounds and invisibility. The scrolls are shocking grasp and resist energy.
As your three non-combatants move forward to join you after the fighting has ended, Aravashnial makes all manner of commentary about what the beasts might have been and how the dwarf came to be here. Most of his theories have something or other to do with the demons and each one is more fantastical than the last. Anevia just seems quietly appreciative that she has not had to try to fight with a broken leg. Horgus steps forward to clap Therrik on the back with an approving nod and the friendliest smile you all have seen on his face.
"Well done! Quite the show of force. I am glad you are on our side," he jokes good naturedly before moving to nod his thanks to Abrielle. After the sudden channeling from the aasimar, it seems that all three of them are looking far less worse for the wear. A great deal of color has flooded back to their cheeks where they were frighteningly pale before, and they look to have a bit more spring in their step. Despite the gruesome deed that you had to commit, things seem to be looking up. For now.
The next room over where the dwarf had come from is nearly identical to the one you left, just without the carved statues. Instead, one corner of the room holds a small campsite with all manner of appropriate gear around it. Taking quick stock of the items at hand, you can find a small pack with dried meat, preserved fruit, and moldy cheese that could equate to about six days of rations. Within the pack is also a spellbook that presumably belonged to the dwarf and a six-inch chipped marble statuette of a humanoid throwing a spear. Within the book are the spells detect secret doors, fog cloud, grease, invisibility, resist energy, shocking grasp, silent image, blur, levitate, color spray, mage armor, magic missile, acid splash, detect magic, ghost sound, and read magic.
You think the book is worthless, but the statuette is a priceless artifact! It could fetch thousands from the right buyer back in Kenabras.
You are dead certain that the statuette is worth about 75g and the book, 160g.
Even more peculiarly, there looks to be a man-sized bundle beside the ratty bedroll and small fire. Every so often it squirms and the slightest grunts can be heard from within. It seems to be wrapped in a frighteningly large amount of spider's silk, but there is no spider anywhere nearby. Upon opening it, out spills an elf nearly as dusty and disheveled as you all.
After falling through the earth when the demons attacked and carved massive chasms, you woke up here. Inside this bizarre cocoon that some spider tucked you inside. You have been absolutely terrified ever since you awoke here, especially when the sounds of fighting outside of the cocoon rang out. Sadly, you never got a chance to see your "savior" as he or she simply dragged the entire cocoon away without opening it.
It has been a full twenty four hours since you have eaten or drank anything, so you are famished.
Is this it then? Wiping dust covered webbing from his eyes, the elven man takes stock of the situation at hand. Half-expecting to see drooling mandibles below arachnid eyes, he lets loose a slight sigh of relief upon seeing actual people instead.
Quick eyes note the amount of gear settled around the campsite, linger on the rations, and then note that those in front of him are still wearing their own gear.
He stands up, shakily, brushing off what debris he can from a silver jacket. He almost falls twice, as blood starts to return to his limbs - pointy needles of agony caused by his leather armor being bound against him for so long.
"If you're going to kill me... can I have some of this food first? It'd be terrible to die on an empty stomach."
He cautiously tests the party by inching his way towards the rations. "Where... where are we? What hell have we been sent to that I have crawled from a cocoon not as one of Desna's beauties, but some forgotten remnant of spider lunch?"
The elf watches the party. He considers running, but resigns himself to the fates. He wouldn't make it very far before collapsing anyway.
Therrik flashes that impressive dental hardware of his again when she brings up the gods, and glances over towards the sleeping Iomedae-worshippers, both of 'em. "She won't hear it from me. 'm probably not devout enough for the Kenabres crowd. Not much call for Iomedae down in the River Kingdoms, anyway. So you're Desnan, then? he hazards, making an educated, but wrong guess, in his assumption she might follow the faith of her missing person as well.
He cracks his knuckles absently, and flicks his piece of gravel off into the darkness. "Guess I should be getting some sleep," he observes. "Probably a long day tomorrow."
Therrik surveys the little pile of useful gear he's taken from the dwarf, his brows knitted.
"Damn-- I'm no sculptor, but this little statue's gotta be worth a pretty penny!" he says, holding the artifact aloft. He looks at the other gear, then around. "Anyone not got a bow, or something else they can use if we get more of those flying suckers? A crossbow's pretty easy to cock and load."
Therrik gives Horgus a nod and what his ma always called the Nice Smile: the one with his mouth shut, to keep the tusks hidden. "Just doing what had to be done," he says, bundling up most of the gear in the cloak. "Look, you should take this crossbow. I don't plan on letting anything nasty get close to any of you, but you should still be armed. Dagger too."
Therrik collects his own club again, and passes the potions and scrolls to Naali. He hikes his pack up again, checks at his arm-- nearly completely healed-- and readies to move into the next cavern space with the others...
After glancing nervously up at the ceiling to ensure there's not a spider up there to have caused those webs, Therrik helps to cut the figure free, though he keeps his falchion at hand in case this turns out to be a threat too. However, the elf inside doesn't look capable of attacking a mouse. Therrik arches a brow, and perhaps privately thinks something like another elf, great, but if so it doesn't make it to his speech.
"Not planning on killing you," he says gruffly. "Not unless you make a move on us. If you're hungry, eat. Who're you? Did you get attacked by a crazy-looking dwarf?"
"The priests of Desna that traveled through my city were pretty nice people, but no, it was the church of Sarenrae in my Egede that I visited. Egede's just far enough away from the worldwound, but just close enough that people aren't too friendly to the fiendblooded. A mixture of zeal against true demons and a lack of interaction with them, I suppose.
But the priests were always good to anyone, regardless of who they were." She smiles to herself, reminded of good memories.
"Alright! I have a good feeling about tomorrow."
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Naali grimaces again at Therrik's looting and Abrielle's unflinching work with the dwarf's head, but says nothing. Logically she knows that they could need the supplies, and the dwarf won't be needing them anymore. At least Abrielle tried to give him some peace in death.
She swishes the potions, quickly putting down one of them, and spending a bit of time on the other - an almost clear, teal tinted liquid with the consistency of water.
"Hmm. Well this one's another healing potion, and this one... hmm! Ghost mushroom, water, and... something else? Hmm. This one's pretty neat. I think this one would actually turn you invisible for a little bit! Can't figure out exactly how, though."
"And then these scrolls aaaaarrrreeeeee... looks like a spell to shield against fire and other elements aaaannnddd an electricity spell."
Even not thinking about the value of the spellbook, Naali is immediately interested in that as well. "I could probably figure out a few extracts with his notes. Once I can scrounge up some ink, at least."
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"What? Hurt you? Why would we.. oh." Naali remembers they are all covered in blood, and frowns. "Is this a common problem for adventurer types?" Her face lights up when she remembers something she learned from one of the priests of Sarenrae in her home city. The paladins of Sarenrae would often wear a white scarf or tie to indicate that people can surrender to them in combat for mercy. Perhaps it could be used to help the group now, as well - luckily in her shopping spree she bought just such a scarf!
It's clean, bright white color easily stands out from the dull, now splotched browns of her leather armor and the deep blues of her traveling clothes.