GM Toothy's Wrath of the Righteous (Inactive)

Game Master Sir Longears

Open for Dotting only.

The Armasse... 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.

For several past weeks, excitement has been building in Kenabres for the Armasse has finally arrived! Today is 16 Arodus and in Kenabres the festival was 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.

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 of Saint Clydwell, also called the Grand Temple, a great stone building with a green copper steeple and stained-glass windows portraying the imprisonment of various horrific demons. To the east it is possible to see the Temple of Iomedae as well as the tip of the wardstone, just outside the inner walls of Old Kenabres.

There are still a couple hours before noon, when Lord Hulrun, the ruler of Kenabres, will officially begin the festival but the plaza is already buzzing with commoners and crusaders alike, warriors and knights preparing themselves for the competitions, and, obviously, merchants of all sorts, offering food, beverages and assorted trinkets. The sound of laugh comes from everywhere, an atmosphere that anyone would expect in a festival day, even if the Worldwound was just outside the walls.

Elriel was in no mood for festivities; he hardly ever was.

It was tough growing up a half-elf in an elven community, more so when that community was at the edge of the demon-infested swamp called the Tanglebriar.

Ever since the day when he was rejected from training to become an Uprooter his life had been like a dream.

A literal dream were Desna spoke to him, or whom he hoped was Desna, to the waking dream of being in a new place. He had left home about a month ago and slowly made his way up north to the Worldwound, where he was told his anger could be put to good use. Not just for lashing out at haughty elves.

But in truth he was here to find his father, or the man who raped his mother. He didn't know what he would do to this person once he found him but he always clenched his fists when he thought about it. Tarik, that was his name, and, if rumors were to be believed, the old man had turned a new leaf, had found redemption, and was now making amends for what he had done.

This Tarik was supposedly working for free in different establishments in Kenabres, orphanages, retirement communities, soup kitchens and the like. As if any of those deeds were enough to atone for what he had done.

It was in the orphanage Elriel visited last night that the main caretaker had told him a name. Arrika. He was supposed to find this girl because she may know or have worked with Tarik. Arrika was supposed to be attendance at the festival so here he was, hands at his hips looking for a girl he'd never met and was only given the briefest description.

He looked about a food stand and approached a girl that fir her description, "Arrika? I'm looking for a girl named Arrika?"

Arrika, not sure if your eidolon is present so I left him out. Also no need to know Tarik at all, just trying to give me a reason to go seek you out.

At first, she'd noticed the man's approach, but she simply looked back down into the cauldron of soup, seasoning and stirring with a look of concentration. The Inheritor's Wings ran this stall every year, to earn some coin toward the upkeep of the orphaned children they kept, and this year Arrika had volunteered to take the helm. The Abadius day was hot, and a drop of sweat trickled over the glowing sigil on her forehead and down her prominent nose; with a loose white sleeve, she dabbed it away and continued working on the food she prepared. But at the name, she started upward, almost as if she wasn't precisely used to hearing it. Looking for me? No one's ever looking for me...

Turning to face the man, she took in his features for a split second: the dirty, rough-shorn hair tied back, the curious leather armor, the scowl that seemed to be carved into his features. Well, he's certainly not from around here... It was refreshing to see a new face, in truth. Most of the people in Kenabres looked all the same - some variation on the refined Chelish or Taldane features, draped in swathes of red and white, and the sword-and-sunburst everywhere.

And the look of condescension - that was everywhere, too. Even in the eyes of the beggar-knights, riding into town with little more than a half-dead donkey and a tablecloth with made-up arms painted onto it. Even on the faces of the poorest underlings of the thieves' guilds, come to pickpocket themselves fat on the crusaders' gullibility. Hells, even the prisoners in the stocks looked down on her. Whether it was with revulsion or pity, everyone in this town looked at her and saw only an orphan. A heathen Kellid. And a witch to boot, many whispered, consorting with evil spirits. Different.

But this one was different from the rest, too - and, truth be told, Arrika found it just a little bit comforting.

Her considerations lasted only a moment - then her eyes dropped again, and she bent a knee in what a polite, and apparently well-practiced, curtsy. The matron of the Inheritor's Wings had taught her well in southern manners. Arrika, at your service, sir. What is it you need of me?

At the introduction, there was a slight rustling near her feet; within moments, a creature stood, padding next to Arrika and sitting on his haunches. He looked to be a large mountain cat - but then, no mere cat ever had such a stunning iridescence to its fur, or such intelligence in its features. Nor did tame beasts ordinarily bear glowing runes on their foreheads, and his was an exact match to the mark that glowed beneath Arrika's rough-cut bangs. He merely stood and watched, but it was easy to sense that, should things turn sour, he would not be so still.

Her considerations lasted only a moment - then her eyes dropped again, and she bent a knee in what a polite, and apparently well-practiced, curtsy. The matron of the Inheritor's Wings had taught her well in southern manners. Arrika, at your service, sir. What is it you need of me?

Elriel turned his head to look behind him, hoping not to find another knight next to him. With no one there, he realized what had just happened. "No girl. Don't sir me. And I have no need of you."

He remembered his dream and decided to soften his approach some. He forced the scowl from his face, "Arrika I presume. I was told you may know a man by the name of Tarik. An old war veteran..."

At the introduction, there was a slight rustling near her feet; within moments, a creature stood, padding next to Arrika and sitting on his haunches. He looked to be a large mountain cat - but then, no mere cat ever had such a stunning iridescence to its fur, or such intelligence in its features. Nor did tame beasts ordinarily bear glowing runes on their foreheads, and his was an exact match to the mark that glowed beneath Arrika's rough-cut bangs. He merely stood and watched, but it was easy to sense that, should things turn sour, he would not be so still.

Elriel stepped back and his hands went to his blades but stopped there. With great effort, he breathed out. he tried to disguise the nervousness in his voice by making a joke, "I assume he's your pet and has already had lunch."

He leaned in closer and whispered, "Are you a wizard in disguise or something?"

"AHAHAHAHAH! I get it! Nice song! Nice song indeed!" bursts Bertholdt, slapping his free hand on his lap while waving the stick of "meat" in his other in a swirling pattern as if it were a sword, at the bowing minstrel, commenting before throwing a few coins at the man. "An Ale for Clydwell... I like that song! I really like it! But poor Clydwell, did he ever figure it out after all? I bet you he didn't! Well, good for Cayden I s'pose!"

Powerful, yet lanky, with a great crown of black curly hair erupting from the crown of his head, Bertholdt smile and laughs, spying a stare at the stall where he got his "meat" and at the woman manning it.

Invisible... he thinks to himself, noticing how she did not notice him, before taking a mighty bite at what could either be roasted rabbit-, chicken-, cat-, or rat-on a stick.

Chewing pensively, he narrows his eye at the half-elf coming to talk to her.

I hate festivals!

several days before this day...

Sabrina was riding hard, pushing her horse to the limits. she was only a half day ride from the edge of the desolation of the Worldwound. a pack of hell hounds on her trail.

she had reached the old bridge. a not so sturdy bridge across a chasm and the only way out. Sabrina stopped and checked on her pursuers, she could hear the abysal howls closing in.

She urged her horse on across the bridge, only making it halfway across when the wood started to give way, and the ropes started to snap. She pushed on, her horse panting as it ran beyond the limits any such animal could endure, hoping to get across before the bridge would completely collapse.

Then with a sudden snap the bridge collapsed beneath her only a few feet from the other side. Sabrina made the leap, grabbing a length of rope still attached to the far side of the bridge, but her horse was to fatigued to make the jump. plummeting into the chasm below.

Sabrina looked back, the Hell hounds and stopped their pursuit at the edge of the Chasm. With a snarl they turned back.

Sabrina climbed up and collapsed on the solid ground. thank the Inheritor. she says before passing out from exhaustion.

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

It had been several days since that day she escaped from the Worldwound, and without her horse, Sabrina made the rest of the journey on foot.

She entered the gates on the day of the festival, clad in a brown and well worn cloak, hood drawn over her head, Sabrina made her way into the city. She had not been here for some time, and as always she avoids other crusaders, fearful that she would be recognized, fearful of what lies the stories have spread. it had been many tears since the second Crusade, but some histories are not easily forgotten.

She had no idea who or what to seek out, she looked for a place to get some food.

checking her coin purse, it seem a bit light, and what coin she had would be needed for a place to sleep.

As she walked about the smell of soup caught her attention. she made her way in that direction.

passing close by a Half-elf and some other girl, Sabrina had not been paying much attention and nearly walked into the pair as the talked.

With a short apology, she looks to get to the soup.

Elriel turned his head to look behind him, hoping not to find another knight next to him. With no one there, he realized what had just happened. "No girl. Don't sir me. And I have no need of you."

He remembered his dream and decided to soften his approach some. He forced the scowl from his face, "Arrika I presume. I was told you may know a man by the name of Tarik. An old war veteran..."

Arrika had to duck her face behind her hand and feign a cough to hide her smile at the half-elf's brusque manner. Finally, someone who gets it. She wasn't one to simply ride roughshod over others' feelings, but finally meeting someone else who wasn't hiding behind a veil of politeness and decorum was refreshing. It reminded her of Mama - but she quickly stopped that road of thought. It never ended well.

Tarik? I can't say it sounds familiar, though there've been bunches in and out of the church lately - A few moments too late, she recognizes the look of concern on her visitor's face and made the connection. Oh, I'm so sorry - Kelu, it's fine, he's just looking for someone. See, he's being perfectly nice. The cat's appraising gaze lingered for just a moment longer, before his head sunk into what was unmistakably a bow.

Elriel stepped back and his hands went to his blades but stopped there. With great effort, he breathed out. he tried to disguise the nervousness in his voice by making a joke, "I assume he's your pet and has already had lunch."

He leaned in closer and whispered, "Are you a wizard in disguise or something?"

The comment didn't precisely have the mood-lightening effect the half-elf had perhaps hoped. At the word "pet", Arrika's hand flew to the glowing sigil on her forehead in an almost reverent gesture. And at the mention of wizardry, her hands flickered in a strange gesture, one almost of warding or pushing something away. A pet? A wizard? You - But then she checked herself, her quickly harshening tone calming back down. Remember, he doesn't know...they never do...

With a deep breath, she continued. Sorry - it's just...no. I'm not a wizard. The reply was equal parts nervousness and condescension. What I am is...well, not many others understand. The word my mo- the word we used back ho- the ancestral word for it was adra-miach. I think what they call it in the Common tongue is a god-caller?

passing close by a Half-elf and some other girl, Sabrina had not been paying much attention and nearly walked into the pair as the talked.

With a short apology, she looks to get to the soup.

Perception - Arrika: 1d20 ⇒ 2

Mercifully, the somewhat-awkward conversation was interrupted by the equally awkward arrival of a woman in armor. Arrika nodded at the newcomer, a hint of subservience quickly bubbling back up into her manner and her eyes quickly flicking toward the symbol of Iomedae on her chest. Of course, it's fine - let me just - But as she turned toward the kettle, the cat's manner changed suddenly, and in a trice he was between Arrika and the newly-arrived knight, a low growl escaping his lips. Then, remarkably, he began to speak, his words accompanied with a low rumble.

Woman! he spat out, wary anger in his voice. Why wearrr you not the arrmorr of the otherrrs? Why smell you of the demon rrrealm, the Abyss? Speak! Though his words were imperious, bearing a difficult-to-explain weight and power, his stance wasn't immediately threatening - it was a defensive posture, not a threat of attack, and the focus of his defense seemed not to be himself, but the girl behind him. At the words, Arrika suddenly glanced up, a glimpse of fear in her eyes, and seemed to crouch back a bit behind her companion, shielding herself.

With a deep breath, she continued. Sorry - it's just...no. I'm not a wizard. The reply was equal parts nervousness and condescension. What I am is...well, not many others understand. The word my mo- the word we used back ho- the ancestral word for it was adra-miach. I think what they call it in the Common tongue is a god-caller?

A bit miffed as all the inquiries to find Tarik proved fruitless, the half-elf's mind latched on to another interesting bit of knowledge. "A god-caller? Like you call on Iomedae or Desna? Then you are a devout like a priestess then? Funny because I wouldn't have pegged you as a devout of Iomedae but I guess everyone is here in this town."

later
perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25

Few things escaped Elriel's eyes and ears and this knight was no exception. His hands went to his blades once more as he stepped back; the woman smelled like the deeper bogs in the Tanglebriar. Demon taint!

Elriel shifted his hands to his waist, not too far from his shortswords, and asked, "Well? I think there must be an interesting story in all of this. If not, demon, your disguise was just foiled and you will die here today."

Perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3

Bertholdt, lost in his musing about the nature of the meat on his stick and whether he could use this as some kind of pretext to talk to the woman, perhaps even ask her to go for a drink, and who knows, perhaps someday be his loving wife, if the crusade doesn't leave him maimed somewhere in the Worldwound, completely misses the arrival of the other woman.

It is only the utterance of the words Abyss, and demon, that shake him from his reverie, for if there is one thing that perhaps intrigues and beckons Bertholdt more than women, it is demons and Her crusade!

Pivoting on his heels, he shifts and turns, his black rioting hair dancing in the air, to face the new woman, not sure whether he should stab her just yet...

Sabrina takes a couple steps back, pulling her cloak tighter around herself, perhaps time has not forgotten, do they recognize me?

I'm sorry, I only came for some soup, then a bath. She tries to get past them to the soup line. she makes no attempt to draw or even reach for a blade.

I'm sorry, I only came for some soup, then a bath. She tries to get past them to the soup line. she makes no attempt to draw or even reach for a blade.

Elriel walks up to intercept her, Did you not hear? You wear Iomedae's symbol yet you smell of demon. I can smell the taint on you."

He looks at the cat-like thing on the other side of the woman, "Explain yourself or you'll be in more trouble than you bargained for."

Sabrina puts up her hands, I have no desire to fight, I am hungry. That is all.

The back of her hand bears the mark of Iomedae, burned into her skin. The sleeves of her clothing beneath the cloak become somewhat revealed, stains of black blood are spotted on her clothing and armor.

her hood is still up, her facial features as well much of the rest of her is covered.

She does not back up any further, but a skilled warrior would notice her feet have assumed a defensive stance.

There is no need for all of this, I ask for food and lodging. nothing more.

BTW this is a rather interesting turn of events. Sabrina is hiding her identity for a reason, however that reason is interpreted differently... I hope you are enjoying this as I am. perhaps this will become a sparring match?

have you seen the images in the profile? will give a pretty good visual of the armor under the cloak

Seeing the mark of Iomedae burned on her hand and the splotches of dark blood relaxes the rogue. A little.

"So you're not a demon in disguise. I doubt any of the fiends could still live with Iomedae's mark."

Elriel relaxes some more, "My name is Elriel from..." He hesitates, "... from far away."

His head to the side,"What about you? Do you have a name or should we just call you demon-killer?"

Realizing the mark has been shown Sabrina quickly covers back up, I am Sabrina. Now, I would like some soup.

Of course. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...I didn't mean... Her already ruddy face becoming even redder, the Kellid woman begins to busy herself with bowl and soup kettle, nearly tripping over her own feet in haste and embarrassment. But the big cat, for his part, seems unperturbed by any social niceties that may have been disturbed. At the sight of the demon blood and the symbol on her hand, he merely ducks his head in another regal bow, then turns to Elriel. It was my mistake, then, elf-blooded. I merrrely wish the safety of my charrrge. Welcome, Sabrrrina Demon-slayer.

I love it - it's all roleplaying. I'm the one being difficult here. :)

He pads back to where Arrika continues fiddling with the serving ladle, her face flushed. As she slices a hunk of rough brown bread, the two converse in whispered tones.

With one more scowl toward her companion, Arrika comes back with a bowl of soup and a couple of pieces of buttered bread (a little more lavishly buttered than usual, it seems). I'm sorry - Sabrina, was it? He didn't mean to frighten you; it's just that Kelumarion...he's a little overzealous sometimes when I'm concerned. I'm sorry - here, sit, eat. Let me pay for your meal, it's the least I can do. If it's lodgings you need, the Ring District has a couple of nice ones, or I can see if the Church has a room to spare...

Arrika continues to worry and bustle over Sabrina, face still flushed. I'm sorry - Elriel, you said? I haven't heard of this Tarik you're looking for. I hope you find him, though; any errand that brings you to the edge of the Worldwound must be an important one, even if today is a festival day.

1d20 + 3 ⇒ (19) + 3 = 22

The half-elf seemed satisfied with the turn of events, "Well met Sabrina the Demon-Slayer. From the little I know this place, you should have no problems finding accommodations."

He then turns to Arrika, "Thanks for the information or whatever. I'll keep looking for Tarik. It's not that important but something to do while I'm here."

He looks about all these people, "I'm here to offer my blades. Do any of you know whom I should speak to about joining the Crusades?"

I think the usual sign-up method is just to charge toward the demon horde, sword drawn, banner flying...that's what all the other knights do, Arrika replies, slipping her hand toward her mouth to hide a chuckle.

In seriousness, though, I'm not the person to ask. I've had little to do with the crusades, though perhaps the church is a good place to start? Or, perhaps there'll be someone at the festival today looking for recruits.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (2) + 6 = 8

Bertholdt's eyes narrow as he watches the pair relent and cease their questioning. He figures they could very well have been enthralled by the fiend, as such things were possible, yet unlikely behind the protection of the Stones...

Uncertain, he decided to advance on the lot, and figure it out for himself: "Halt there fellows! I overheard you and wonder too about the stain on this woman!" He snaps his finger in front of Elriel who, bemused, watches him intensely. "Are you there!? Can you hear me?!"

And then Bertholdt slaps him: "Are you possessed?!? Did she possess you!?!" he intones, an accusating finger pointed at Sabrina's chest.

The face on Elriel should now tell him he is not, but Bertholdt is still learning to read faces...

In seriousness, though, I'm not the person to ask. I've had little to do with the crusades, though perhaps the church is a good place to start? Or, perhaps there'll be someone at the festival today looking for recruits.

perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (7) + 7 = 14

Elriel saw the burn marks and scars but decided not to ask. It was clear she was hiding them and probably did not want strangers asking about them.

"So recruiters then? Do I have to be affiliated with the church or something?"

Uncertain, he decided to advance on the lot, and figure it out for himself: "Halt there fellows! I overheard you and wonder too about the stain on this woman!" He snaps his finger in front of Elriel who, bemused, watches him intensely. "Are you there!? Can you hear me?!"

And then Bertholdt slaps him: "Are you possessed?!? Did she possess you!?!" he intones, an accusating finger pointed at Sabrina's chest.

The face on Elriel should now tell him he is not, but Bertholdt is still learning to read faces...

His scowl was quickly back on his face, "Careful old man; I'm not from around here."

He stepped back, ready to knock the man out, "No, I am not possessed. It looks like you may be though. If you are here for the food, then you should talk to the girl?"

"Oh! Pardon me then... I- ugh... I just thought..." mumbles Bertholdt, highly apologetic and confused, then whispers to Elriel: "So she's no demon? Are you sure..?" clearly concerned.

Mad...he's utterly mad... Arrika backs away from the counter slowly, as if trying to avoid a rabid dog. Eyes glued firmly ahead (and her gaze seems to be fixed mostly on the symbol hanging at his chest), she nearly trips over a sack of potatoes in her retreat. Kelumarion pads softly after her, stationing himself firmly between Arrika and the priest with a low rumble in his chest.

At Elriel's comment, she finally manages to squeak out a reply. C-can I g-get you anything, sir?

Sabrina takes the offered seat, and practically devouring the food she is offered, like she has not had much to eat in several days.

As she eats she removes the hood of her cloak, to reveal her face, beautiful golden hair, and bright green eyes, under the dirt and grime of both battle and travel. she definitely will clean up nicely.

she completely ignores the old man's accusations, this was not the place to worry about such things.

Once finished she pulls out a gold coin and places it on the table in front of Arrika, more please.

The gold coin is rather old (possibly just under 100 years old)

As for joining the Crusades, Think carefully on that decision, war is not everyone can stomach. for every hero that rises from the battle, 10 others die, 10 fathers, 10 sons, 10 daughters and mothers, 10 good people.

If all goes as I hope, you may ride under my banner. that is if you are willing.

Looking toward the large cat, I am not to familiar with such animals. but still it is very loyal, an honorable trait indeed.

Bertholdt looks at Elriel with wide eyes: "She- She is ignoring us? Pretending she can just waltz in, ask for soup, and then proceed to kill us all and damn our souls for eternity?!" but as he unfolds his thoughts, they seem to make less sense. and he hesitates.

Waving off Arrika's offer for food with a wave of his 'meat' stick and a wink, Bertholdt moves up to the newcomer, listening and now hesitating, and then cajoling madly: "You- You come from the 'Wound?! A crusader..? You- You're going back? TAKE ME WITH YOU!!! I am a sworn defender of the faith! I am ready! I will fend off the demons and send them back to the Abyss!! Take me with you! Take me with you... Please..?"

As for joining the Crusades, Think carefully on that decision, war is not everyone can stomach. for every hero that rises from the battle, 10 others die, 10 fathers, 10 sons, 10 daughters and mothers, 10 good people.

If all goes as I hope, you may ride under my banner. that is if you are willing.

Elriel beams with confidence. "Careful? It's the demon lords who should be careful. Desna guides my blades."

He looks at the woman closely, "So you have a banner? Who do you fight for? A noble house? An angelic patron?"

Looking at her worn outfit, "I'm guessing you don't command an army, do you?"

Waving off Arrika's offer for food with a wave of his 'meat' stick and a wink, Bertholdt moves up to the newcomer, listening and now hesitating, and then cajoling madly: "You- You come from the 'Wound?! A crusader..? You- You're going back? TAKE ME WITH YOU!!! I am a sworn defender of the faith! I am ready! I will fend off the demons and send them back to the Abyss!! Take me with you! Take me with you... Please..?"

The half-elf raises an eyebrow at the mad-looking priest, "Easy there. What exactly are you ready for?"

He starts sipping the heavy broth, "Are you associated with any church here in Kenabres? I'm looking for a man named Tarik, about 60 years old or so..."

Sabrina finishes her second bowl of soup, and more bread. I fight for my honor, for my family. My banner is my own and for Iomedae.

she takes a moment to size up these new companions. I fight for the De'Foe family.

Arrika nods at Sabrina, grabbing her empty bowl to refill it (but leaving the coin). As she returns to her kettle, her furtive glances back at Bertholdt suggest that maybe she's not too disappointed the mad priest turned down her offer of food. Returning with the steaming dish, she sets it in front of Sabrina, then retreats slightly, standing ramrod-straight with hands tucked behind her back, waiting for another request.

At Sabrina's compliment of Kelumarion, Arrika flinches slightly, though she covers it back up quickly. He's not...I mean, he's...yes, he's remarkable. One of the greatest beings I've ever met. There's a subtle emphasis on the word "being", though the entire comment is made in a timid, conciliatory manner as she runs her fingers idly over the glowing rune on his forehead.

As she stands at attention, Kelumarion nudges against her hand. The two stare intently at each other for a moment, then together they glance toward Sabrina. Arrika's glance lasts only a moment, and her face bears the same nervousness it's worn since Sabrina first arrived, but Kelumarion's lingers longer, looking...eager, almost hopeful.

Knowledge (history): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21

De'Foe? But they - Arrika gasps loudly at Sabrina's admission, then claps a hand over her mouth, looking around timidly. But you - you couldn't...the fort was - your family - you'd have to be... It's hard to piece together much of her meaning, between the broken sentences and the sudden near-whisper she's dropped into, but the look in her eyes suggests it's nothing good she's heard. She looks back to the cat beside her, her eyes communicating something that he seems to understand completely, though it's difficult for anyone else to decipher.

Elriel dismisses Sabrina's comment, "Sorry. I'm not from around here so the name De'Foe means nothing to me. Should I be concerned?"

Then seeing Arrika's reaction, he quickly adds, "OK, out with it. One of you must tell the tale because it apparently is very good."

Arrika looks to Elriel with her eyes wide, glancing nervously sideways to Sabrina. But she gave the name...and if she can admit something like that... Finally, she manages to squeak out a reply.

It's just that...well, the De'Foe family were in Fort Drezen when it fell. Some say they're the reason it fell. Whether that's true or not, the whole family was killed - so, begging your pardon, miss, but you can't be one of them. Surely you mean it's in your great-aunt De'Foe's memory, or a cousin twice removed or something...

And...it's...you said you were looking for people for your banner or something like that...before we... Suddenly withdrawn again, she seems to be teetering on a steep edge in her mind.

Bertholdt was about to tell the Half-elf just how ready he was, and the he wasn't that old, that he looked older, but that was just because of the mustache. And perhaps the rash on his cheeks from shaving with a blunt blade, but the conversation turned and Bertholdt knew this time it was time to be silent, for she just spoke of treachery.

His eyes narrows as he turns to the De'Foe, trying to pierce the woman's mystery; forgetting that his own name would likely bring an onslaught of questions.

perhaps another time, I will share the truth of what happened on that final day of battle.

looking to the serving girl, the look in Sabrina's eyes is a look of regret, like a failing that changed everything. Finally she replies, There were extenuating circumstances. and no, not all were killed that day, one survived.

looking at Bertholdt, I think it best I simply say yes now and get it over with, you can join me, or perhaps I can say us. indicating Elriel. It would save the trouble of you following along anyway and causing trouble.

and you, looking at Arrika, knowing what you have been taught, would you be interested in joining? I am sure you have some talents that could be useful. Looking at the cat that talks, He is definitely not the sort to just hang around some simple serving girl. I think there is much more to you that meets the eye.

Bertholdt's face becomes a poem as Sabrina says the magic words. He had knocked on the door of the Everbright Crusaders, begged the Order of the Flaming Lance, shouted at the Order of the Sunrise Sword, knelt in front of the Eagle Watch bastion for four nights, among other things.

Every time he was rejected. Re. Jec. Ted. Often with scorn, mockery, or worse, compassion!

The woman whom he almost speared a heartbeat ago had with one gesture stolen his heart. He would die for her. Tears started flowing down Bertholdt's cheeks, and he had to sniffle loudly, before he managed to ask: "When do we leave?!"

At Sabrina's further compliments to Kelumarion, Arrika finally seems to step off the precipice in her mind. It's not me...it's him, she replies with a pat of his mane. Like you said...he's not just a simple beast, not a pet or some kind of circus animal. He's adra...divine. The admission is punctuated with a glance to each watcher, as if she's gauging their reaction.

That's what I meant, Elriel, when I talked about being a god-caller. We Kellids don't narrow our view of the gods to the few you southerners have...the gods are everywhere, if you know how to look. And one of them made a pact with our clan a long time ago, agreed to bind himself to us, to teach and protect us. Ever since, one of my clan has been able to call upon him in times of need, to bring him into being, and to share minds with him when he's here. And now that's -

For a moment, she looks to be on the edge of a sob, but with a shuddering breath, she continues. When the Wound opened, my clan was scattered, all gone as far as I know. The only other I've ever known was my mama, and she - she's gone now, too. At the comment, her eyes flash briefly to the holy symbols Sabrina and Bertholdt wear. So now it's just me and Kelu, and he wants to join the fight, to stop the demons like he says his brothers and sisters are trying to do...

Her head drops dejectedly. I'll probably just slow him down. But he wants it so badly, and he can't go without me because of his pact...and it's my duty to avenge my clan against the demons if I can... So, if someday you do go, and you decide you can handle having a heathen witch along...he's strong, he'll be helpful at least... She buries her hands further into the cat's mane, looking at the others with trepidation.

Elriel is cowed by such tall company. But only for second.

"Well, I have no name nor any formal training in religion and much less can I call on a god. But Desna speaks to me in Dreams."

He continues, "I was born at the edge of the demon-tainted swamp so my forefathers have been fighting demons for centuries. I hope to do my part."

He shakes his head and looks at Bertholdt, "I was rejected by the Uprooters so I know what you mean. Who knows? perhaps this is our chance to leave a mark in this world."

Sabrina actually seems a bit shocked at the witch comment, she seems suddenly lost in thought as memories flood her mind.

witches, hags? betrayers, liars....Gennoa witch's spawn...

Sabrina's eyes start to glow a faint green light. as she stares at each person. then around to others in the area.

After a bit, she closes her eyes and when she opens them the glow is gone.

Well then, it would seem the start of a new banner is found right here. or rather new crusaders under an old banner that will rise once more.

let us enjoy the festival then, after some more of this soup and bread. she places a second coin on top of the first offered.

detect evil on the group and found none

Everything is dark.

Your heads throb with thunderous headaches, your ears ring, and it is difficult to breath.

The sounds of rocks clattering, coughing, and moans of pain, as well as the choking smell of dust, become apparent as your senses seem to return, but it remains pitch black. Feeling around in the darkness, you can feel rubble all around, and notice that your bodies are covered in dirt and filth.

As your headaches diminish, you start to remember what happened in the last couple minutes:

Armasse officially began at noon, with the blessing of the festival by Lord Hulrun himself, ruler of Kenabres. The crowd gathered in Clydwell Plaza quieted as the aged inquisitor took the stage, clad in shining, resplendent armor. He cleared his throat, but just as he was about 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.

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, and the light of the world above was gone.

Well, talk about an opening scene!

Am I alive?

Elriel licked his dirt-caked lips and spat out. He squinted hard to get the grime off his eyes. He cleared his throat and murmured, "I am alive!"

Instinctively recoiling from the hand around his arm, he groaned as he started to move about.

Since blinking a few more times yielded no results, it was still pitch dark, he asked, "Hello? Anyone have a light? Who's here?"

Any similarity with Adele is purely coincidental. :)

"All is lost..."

"ALL IS LOST!" shouts Bertholdt as he pushes himself to his feet in the darkness.

Then he crouches back, oblivious to his surroundings: "All is lost..."

She felt the blows land one by one. Children should be quiet and obedient. If I'm good maybe I can go... So she simply lay there, as blow after blow rained down, taking peace in the unknowable mind that shared hers...Kelu...Kelu...

...and his words cut through. For this was not the mere warmth of soul from her childhood, but her living, breathing god. Child, arrre you all rrright?

Kelu? Kelu?! she shouts in her mind, grounding herself to the touch of the silky mane underneath her hand. She opens her eyes, but sees only darkness...and then the last several moments come rushing back.

The festival - and the balor - Terendelev! And the ground, opening up -

I know. And we seem to have been caught up inside it, from my guess. Can you see?

Fumbling on the hard floor around her with a wince as her ribs protested, Arrika finds a small loose stone. Show me what's happened... she prays in a tiny, scared voice, and suddenly spirals of light begin to curl across the stone's rough surface, bathing her surroundings in a dim radiance.

Cast light. Can I see or hear the others?

Sabrina, initially did not move. the shock of the events keeping her still, then the kick brings her back.

What happened, did the follow? Did I lead them to Kenebras? No that is not possible

She slowly gets up to her knees checking the man that seemed to be alive, Are you alright? she asks trying to remove him from any additional danger

heal: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4

She checks out her surroundings to try and locate a save spot to start gathering the wounded.

perception / darkvision: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (19) + 3 = 22

"I'm blind... I'M BLIND! My eyes are gone... I can't feel them argh..." The voice comes between Elriel and Arrika but everyone can hear it.

The stone shines and even if the light initially blinds all those already awake, it soon reveals the surroundings.

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. Above Arrika there is the remains of a woman's face, completely crushed by a rock and with blood and saliva dripping from it... probably the source of the taste of blood in her mouth.

Besides Elriel there is an elf with both eyes destroyed and his face is a mass of horrific burns. With his hands, he alternates between touching his ruined face and groping around.

Under Bertholdt there is a woman with black hair trimmed shortly. Her leg is trapped under the large boulder that the cleric landed on. She remains silent for now, bearing her obvious pain.

Besides Bertholdt you can see Sabrina, and besides her a rather robust man in his thirties. He has a number of superficial cuts and scrapes but is otherwise unharmed, even if still unsure of what is happening now.

"Hey take your hands out of me... you all... where the f**$ are we?" The man steps back.

Current Map Yellow circle represents normal light; orange represents dim light and the increment for low-light vision; red represents darkvision of Sabrina and Kelumarion.

Perception: 1d20 ⇒ 5 Man, having no Perception mod is weird.
Knowledge (local) - untrained: 1d20 ⇒ 13

The elf's ruined eyes horrify Arrika, but looking away only makes it worse, as she meets what would have been the eyes of the woman above her. Suddenly she begins retching and spitting, trying to get rid of the taste in her mouth. It's not my blood, it's not my blood I taste, Kelu...

Trying to distract herself, she begins to look around at the others in the dark cavern. The half-elven man she remembered from lunch at the food stall, a couple of hours and a lifetime ago; the mad priest and the beautiful crusader woman too. The others she couldn't quite place, except the woman trapped underneath the boulder. Though Arrika tended to be a bit of a shut-in, she'd seen Anevia and Irabeth at their prayers in Iomedae's temple, and the way they looked at each other...Arrika wondered if she'd ever find anyone who would look at her like that.

Suddenly her reverie is interrupted as a surge of anger not her own rushes through her mind. Kelumarion begins to growl, staring intently into the darkness beyond her small light, and Arrika begins to fear again. What? What is it? she asks him through their mental bond, and gets only tense watchfulness in return.

As Sabrina stands she immediately looks to see that the wounded are tended to.

the man with only superficial wounds seems healthy enough. pointing to him, You, You seem healthy and unhurt, help the more wounded.

Elriel, help as well, we can set up a safe zone over there indicating a clear section just north of Kelumarion.

As she survey, she catches sight of the spider.

Drawing her blade, It would seem we are not quite alone, Arrika and Berth, keep the other survivors calm The big cat and I will check things out.

Sabrina takes a few step closer to the apparent spider Sword and shield drawn.

perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8

The light was welcomed indeed.

All the commotion was playing tricks on the half-elf and he could not place any of the people with them in the cavern.

Elriel nods towards Sabrina, "Got it." He takes out his two blades and makes his way towards the outer perimeter of the cavern.

His elven sight allows him to see the dark shape, "Sabrina, get your blade here. We may not be safe."

move 3 squares to my right

Bertholdt takes a moment to take the whole thing in. As light pierces through the dust, he coughs with echoing thunder. Cheeks striped with caked tears, he finally straightens and mumbles, looking at all the dead bodies around him: "The Silver One... He- He saved us..! Us?"

Finally, he notices the woman caught under the rock and bends to help her when Sabrina calls up to him. Her commanding voice straightens him like lightning would, and he looks around at the others, the blinded elf and the older man: "Everybody stay calm. Do. Not. Move!"

And he readies his spear, a moment ago a survivor, now fearing for their lives. For his life!

Perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5

I can move my token on the map.

Elriel and Sabrina move closer to the spider, yet it doesn't move or attack, remaining perfectly still. You feel the rough texture of the floor of natural stone and can hear distant squeaks of bats echoing broadly in the darkness ahead. Grit and rock dust covers everything and clumps of stalagmites jut from the ground.

The trapped woman remains silent but the same could not be said about the other two survivors. The man crossed his arms at Sabrina's demand and doesn't make a move to help anyone. "Yeah, of course I will... do I look like a cursed priest or a stupid healer?"

The elf ignores the other man's bitter words and noticing he is not alone, he assumes a more commanding posture. "I see I'm not the only survivor in this catastrophe so right now we need to focus on our survival. I want to know your names and your experience at fighting against demons or other fearsome creatures. I'm Aravashnial, a Riftwarden and I also demand someone to act as my 'eyes'." His tone suggests that he is used to command.

Knowledge (nature) - untrained: 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (2) - 2 = 0
Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (19) + 4 = 23

Stalking forward with the crusader woman, Kelumarion flexes his powerful claws against the rough stones. Caution thyself, Sabrrrina, he growls softly. The crreaturre is alrrready dead, if my nose tells me trrrue, but something yet moves inside. Be warrry. Even treading softly, his long strides eat up the cavern floor between him and the creature, and soon he draws close, tail twitching expectantly as he watches the slight movement in the creature's abdomen.

40 foot movement speed, so Kelumarion can end up next to it. Both our tokens can move.

Elriel made a mental note to talk to the haughty human once their threat was evaluated. he peered closer to the spider.

"I smell it as dead as well but there's something else moving. Eyes wide open!"

____________
perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25
k. nature: 1d20 ⇒ 10

Calm...of course... Arrika squeaks out at Sabrina's order, fighting back her own wave of panic. Moving to the others, she sets her glowing stone on the boulder trapping Anevia and begins to look the situation over more closely. She's kneeling over the trapped woman when the two men speak out; at the words, especially at Aravashnial's imperious tone, she snaps to attention kneeling on the ground.

Ex-experience? I've - we - I learned how to swing a mace, a bit? She indicates the heavy silver mace hanging at her side, its head peppered with small holes. The weapon is ancient and tarnished, covered in reliefs of the sword-and-starburst of Iomedae - and even a few of Aroden's winged eyes. And I've got a knife, too...it's only that...I've been a ward of the Church all my life, and I'm barely come to adulthood. They...they mostly just left me alone, sir, not quite sure what to do with me...I was taught a little, but not much...but I can help guide you, I can, it's just that there's a woman stuck here...

She goes back to looking over the trapped woman's plight, setting a hand gently on her shoulder. An-Anevia? If we move the rock a little, could you pull yourself out? From Anevia's trapped leg, she looks up to the older man sulking at the cavern's edge, quailing a bit under his stubbornness, but determined to elicit his help. We can look at h-healing her in a bit, but I n-need someone who can help move the stone, even just a bit...and you look so s-strong, you probably don't even need me to help...please?

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15

If we can get the stone lifted or propped up even slightly, would a grease spell help with getting her out?