Mulluq looks to the others, wondering if they will speak, but accepting that it just may be his hideously deformed appearance that may cause the mongrelmen to be more willing to treat with him. "Greetings Chief..." allowing the chief to finish the name for him.
Whether he does or not, Mulluq continues "It is not under good conditions we meet. The tremors and shaking earth was the result of a demon lord attacking the city above and slaying the great dragon protector. We were dropped through a crack in the earth, and are now just trying to get back to the surface."
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Isilma enters the room and stands behind Lann. She curtsies when he introduces them, then clasps her hands behind her arching back to listen to his report. She had heard it before, however, so she spends most of the time watching the Chief. He is by no means fair to behold, but she recognizes the steadiness of his posture and the studied impassiveness with which he received Lann's news. He is a prince. A prince that has now turned his eye upon them. She steps forward.
"A most grievous calamity, Excellency," she says seriously, her words dropping from her mouth with the gravity of a river over a waterfall. She realizes she does not know his name. Lann, of course, has told him theirs. "The same one, no doubt, that wrecked your tunnels. The demons came to Kenabres, winging, burrowing, and swimming," she takes a deep breath, swallows before plowing on, "and they took it.
"We seven fell down one of the rifts they opened in the ground. We know not how many live, only that many are dead. Including the great dragon." She pulls out her scale and slaps it down on the Chief's desk for him to examine. If he knows anything of magic he should sense its power and know from it the truth of her words. "She fought the Storm King, and she fell.
"We need to return to the surface, to see if anything can be done, and especially if there is any chance of reclaiming the city. If you can help, we would be most grateful."
Lann moves to stand beside his chieftain as he responds. "Sull is my name, he begins, and if your news is accurate, then there is much cause for concern. An incursion of demons on the land above is among the worst news I have received in my lifetime."
The chief retrieves from a space behind his great chair, a small silver icon. What once must have been a symbol of Aroden, the dead god of humanity, sits eroded and ancient in his hands. "We may be abberrent to most of the uplanders, but our ancestors were the First Crusaders who threw the first waves of demons back. We wish them destroyed just as much as anybody does."
He puts the little idol away before he looks back up and continues. "There is a path to the surface from here, but it runs through....badlands, so to speak. Territory of another tribe of mongrels that consort with cultists and demons. Traitors. It will be dangerous."
Lysbeth's eyes widen as the chief explains where the mongrels came from, and her stance changes to one displaying much more respect than simple politeness and gratitude. "It is only by the strength of your ancestors that any of us are even alive to be speaking to here."
The stories she had heard of those that lived underground were scarce in quantity or description, and now, learning that there was a battle going on underground that mirrored the one on the surface, she felt a certain closeness to these people. 'We are all fighting the same war.' she thought, and before she knew what she was thinking, she spoke again. "Perhaps we can aid your plight against the tribe?"
"Perhaps you can.." the mongrel muses. "And perhaps you can help us beyond that. Help us help you, so to speak. You must pass through the traitors' territory in order to reach the surface, so it is more than likely that you will end up fighting them, but what I wish for you is not their destruction, but rather the acceptance of the surface people. Bring word to them of us, and allow us onto the surface to aid you in your plight against the demons."
Mulluq stands taller, he feels an odd kinship with these great people who are rejected by society, "Chief Sull, I will make it my duty to both do what I can to vanquish these demon-lovers, and bring word of your noble personage and eagerness to help to those on the surface. It would be an honor and a privilege to be allowed to represent you."
Cruroar stands in the corner listening but not talking. He isn't one for conversations. Instead he nods in agreeance with Mulluq. For he would love nothing more than to bring judgement to any demon worshipper in the name of Torag.
The mongrel chieftain smiles widely, revealing his foul teeth and spreading out several of his chins.
Horgus grimaces, but avoids saying anything or retching or doing anything else entirely gross.
The chieftain smiles, bows, and says, "Then my village is at your service until you see fit to leave."
Mulluq bows respectively, "Thank you , Chief. I have but one request. We found some dead Iomedaens near your plant protector. I wish to inter them as appropriate. Would you have a place that I might use to do so?"
"Absolutely. Please, make full use of our cemetery. Deceased crusaders are a tragedy, and defiling of their bodies is only one step worse." He bows back as you are dismissed.
Given the leave to attend to the dead, Mulluq heads out, looking first for a clothier. He buys two pairs of wool socks, and two clean cotton tunics. As he prepares the bodies, first he removes all their weapons, armor, and traveling gear. He then washes their hands, faces, and feet, before dressing them in the new clean clothes he purchased. For any of the others that joined him, he explains the reasoning behind the process. "As Iomedaes, we are crusaders to her cause, fighting the war against evil in her name. As we follow her, we are all soldiers, regardless of how we perform our service. At the end of the day, there are very few things that a soldier really wants. They want to wash the road from their face, the blood of their enemy from their hands, relax in comfortable clothing, and last but not least wear a pair of clean and dry socks. The least I can do for them is let them enjoy their final rest as a soldier would want."
With that he gathers all their equipment, and indicates that the group should use what they could from it. "Their fight is over. They have been called to serve Her in another way. Just as a soldier in need takes up a weapon dropped on the battlefield, so do we redistribute their supplies. This way those of us still living can continue to take up the fight against evil. We do not inter the dead with their arms and armor, as they do no good buried. They serve greater purpose adorning those that can use them to further Her cause."
After his explanation he goes quiet, bows his head and says a prayer over the two men. Once finished he proceeds to finish the burial.
Each of the men wore a masterwork chain shirt emblazoned with the symbol of Iomedae, and each carried a glaive and wore a pair of spiked gauntlets. One of the men carried a potion of cure light wounds and the other carried a scroll case that contained a scroll of cause fear. Between the two of them were two bags of money that contained 129gp.
While Mulluq and Lysbeth see to burying the bodies, Aravashnial and Anevia stand by, discussing between themselves about the implications of the mongrelmen's presence down here in the underground. Horgus tries to ignore the fact that he's in the underground and mumbles to himself about how he'll be home soon.
Lysbeth quietly helps Mulluq prepare the bodies, interested in his explanations, but far more interested in his methods. It was surprising, and a little humbling, to see how gracefully he moved, and how gently his enormous hands treated the deceased. He put more care into what he was doing than she'd ever seen from anyone. During the last crusade, there had been so many bodies, there was scarcely time to treat them with any degree of reverence. But she understood now how important it was. As they stand up from praying, she touches his arm. "Thank you." she says, quietly, tears hanging lightly on her eyelashes.
Mulluq is somewhat surprised to see the young woman with teardrops ready to fall. He merely nods in acknowledgement, not wanting to say anything to diminish her emotional connection to praying for the dead. He gathers the 'weapons' in the good fight, and hands them to the others. "Please, distribute this as you see fit to aid all those that continue to fight wickedness. I just ask that I may retain but one of thses armors? It would be an honor to wear the symbol and protection that these men wore for the cause."
He looks the ringed shirt over, a scowl crossing his features as the two lumps that have come to be recognized as his nubile new wings wiggle agitatedly under his cloak. "Though I may need it to be rent in order to accomodate my cursed extra limbs."
With that he goes about trying to find a smith of some sort, someone that could provide the service he is looking for. Despite the appearances of those that live in this very community, he cannot help but resort to his natural predilictions, as he hunkers down under his cloak to hide the wings, tail, horns, and well, just about everything he can hide from others.
Mulluq spends the rest of the day (well, what is a day, really? Without the passing of a sun, that 24-hour mode of measuring the days is outmoded) searching for a person to help him with the armor that he's scavenged from the dead crusaders. What he finds is a huge, muscular, almost ursine mongrelman. The arms of a bear combine with a goblinoid face and strong, supple, antler legs to form this massive forgemaster. He stands in front of a hot bellows and has a mining implement upon a makeshift stone anvil. He turns to Mulluq as the man approaches, snouted face curling up in surprise. "I can't tell if you're a surface folk or an underground folk...but whaddya want?"
For the longest time, all you remembered was blackness, and when you awoke in the dark, you had been afraid that you had died and were sent to the Abyss... A simple light cantrip clarified that, of course, but perhaps it would have been better if you had died. Life is toil, and it was certainly a difficult endeavor to survive your emtombment in the deep and the dark.
If Shirraj had not been around, Killian would not have lived. The Desnan priest had deep rents in his legs from sharp rocks that had pierced him on his way down, and found it difficult to walk. The demon that had cleaved the street right from under him had laughed as he had fallen below, knowing that he would die a slow death in the Underdark. He had not anticipated companionship. Shirraj had landed quite ably on her feet, taking very little injury, as cats are wont to do. Her first concern was Sinjin, but the little dinosaur was merely cocking its head at her from a few feet away.
Shirraj supported Killian and the pair had gone trekking through the many caves of the Underdark, spending at least one day down there. The deep was full of things, hunting things, just waiting around to kill them, but the pair were a puissant pair, competent enough to survive the few things that the underground threw at them.
At the end of the second day, the pair came across a patrol of humanoids. Grossly deformed, the trio of humanoids were nonetheless strangely well-spoken, and upon learning that Killian and Shirraj were crusaders from above, they gladly took the pair in.
The pair have been in the village of Neathholm for a couple of days now, just waiting for Killian's leg to repair under the watchful eye of the Seer, Opoli.
Every day, the Desnan tries to walk. For a few minutes he stands and takes a little stroll, and today, he's felt the strongest that he had since he fell into the Deeps.
Today, whispers travel through the village. More upsiders have come! What a coincidence.
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Curious about the Iomedean rites, Isilma starts the ceremony rapt and ramrod-straight in her chair. Soon, however, her unspoken suspicions about the fallen men, and the down-to-earth practicality of the ceremony, cause her attention to drift. To keep from fidgeting, she moves back a few rows to sit with Anevia and Aravashnial. She can see how much their wounds still pain them, despite their brave facades. She is sure that somewhere in Neathholm there is someone who can help them more than they'd been able to in the tunnels.
When the ceremony ends, she slides off the chair and speaks quietly to them. "Should the others ask where I have gone," she says, "tell them I went to find you a healer, and shall return soon." With that, Isilma slips quietly out of the graveyard and into the street.
Shirraj kneeling in front of her dinosaur companion tosses a small piece of meat in the air for him to catch. Sinjin has been taking their predicament surprisingly well, perhaps it is the light of her spells that calms him, but eventually he would become skittish if they didn't find a way back to see some sunlight. She scratches Sinjin's chin as she turns to Killian. She speaks with a soft voice and a light accent mostly noticable by the rolling 'r's complements it:
"More people from the surface, do you think they encountered the same fate as us?"
She stands up and walks over to the Desnan to inspect his leg: "Do you think you can walk well enough to go see who these people are, or should I go on my own?"
"Ah, I think I can manage it, my friend. What tremendous fortune it would be if these newcomers are from Kenabres too." He flashes a broad, bright smile at Shirraj. "I'd be tempted to offer a wager to see which of us could find these new strangers first, but after seeing how good you and Sinjin were on the way here, I'd be at a rather considerable disadvantage." He offers a wink before grunting as he pulls himself to his feet. With a brave but obviously pained smile, he eases forward, gradually increasing the speed of his gait as his legs and muscles loosen up. "Well? Are you coming along or not?" With a bright laugh he then takes off into the streets of Neathholm to search for his fellow survivors.
As Shirraj helps Killian up, and the man walks around a few steps to get ahold of his feet again, Isilma searches for the seer that healed them. A helpful mongrel points Isilma in the direction of the Seer's house, and the catfolk offers to go on her own to find the rest of the surface folk.
Seer Opoli isn't home that day, but a pair of newcomers that he'd been looking after were. Shirraj and Killian weren't sure what they were looking for, which is why when Isilma poked her head into Seer Opoli's hut to find a human and a catfolk standing there having a chat and a laugh, all were struck with sudden surprise.
Mulluq is relieved to find someone that looks capable of doing the work he is requesting, "I am sorry for my covered appearance, as I am more comfortable hiding it. I am from the surface, and have only come here with the aid of one of your kind named Lann. After speaking with your Chief Sull, he informed us that we could make use of his city to fit our needs, and I have but one. I regret to have to ask something of you, but I have a suit of armor that needs to be modified to allow for my horrible deformity." He pulls the cloak back to reveal one of his stunted wings sticking out from the modified holes of his current armor.
"I was hoping you would be able to assist me in this, as you look to be skilled at what you do?"
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"That shall not be necessary," says Isilma, having overheard the man's boisterous good humor from the street. Unfortunately, her appearance seems to have banished it.
"Greetings! I am Isilma," she says loudly, attempting to break the awkward silence. She looks past the duo, into the hut, but there does not seem to be another room. Still no answer. "Is Seer Opoli here? I did come here with friends from Kenabres, and two were injured in the fall. They need to see him."
Shirraj nods her head toward Isilma, indicating a bow she would do weren't it for the man she is supporting right now.
"I am called Shirraj, I am of the tribe of the Tearing Claw." she introduces herself "Unfortunately the Seer is not here. But we may be able to offer assistance with your wounded."
"And I am heartened by your presence, Isilma! What a wonder, to bump into other survivors in such an unexpected place." He turns to Shirraj and offers a grin, "You see? Desna smiles on us." Turning back to the newcomer, he extends a hand in greeting. "I'm Killian, Killian Shard. Opoli has been caring for me," he gestures to his weakened legs, "but has gone off somewhere else for the moment. Let's bring your injured here though. I'm nearly mended myself and might be able to help Opoli tend to them. Did I mention what a delight it is to meet you, Isilma?" He shakes her hand again and beams a bright smile.
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"Thou didst, Killian," says Isilma, brushing his fingertips with hers in the expected greeting of the Dreamer's faithful. "My friends are in the cemetery, paying their respects to fallen Crusaders. It is not far, but I can bring them here if you do not wish to walk." She turns to Shirraj. Having missed the start of their conversation, Isilma imagines her to be a resident of Neathholm. "Hast thou known the Seer for long, Shirraj?"
"I cannot say I have, we both only arrived recently after Kenabres was attacked. We were lucky to find this place, as there would have been little I could have done for my friend here out in those tunnels." she turns away for a moment to call Sinjin to her. The small creature, looking somewhere between a predatory lizard and a bird of paradise, emerges from a corner cautiously before taking a few quick strides to stop by the catfolk's side.
"I think we should go and bring them here together. That way we can take care of them as needed."
Try as she might, Lysbeth is unable to pull herself away from the burial site, and remains long after Mulluq, longer after the others had all gone away. She wonders how many had perished in fighting against the darkness, and how many more were to follow. The uncertainty of what was happening on the surface had long ago begun to eat at her. Whatever may have happened, the one thing that she could be certain of was that the life she had known was gone forever.
An overwhelming feeling came over here that she needed to be more than she had ever been before, and not in a week, not in a day, but right now, at this very minute. A song that she had heard Brother Magnus sing comes to her mind, and she hums several bars before remembering the words. She sings it softly in Celestial, saying goodbye not to the brave adventurers that had died some time ago, but to herself, and her old life.
"Gib deine Hand, du schön und zart Gebild!
Bin Freund, und komme nicht, zu strafen.
Sei gutes Muts! ich bin nicht wild,
Sollst sanft in meinen Armen schlafen!"
When the song ends, she kneels before the burial sites, picking up a small handful of earth and letting it run through her fingers. When she stands again, her eyes are dry, and filled with a new resolve.
"A fine idea, Shirraj." Nodding, he turns to Isilma, "I must confess, I'm rather excited to meet your compatriots, Isilma. There were a few dark moments in those tunnels when I considered the possibility that Shirraj and I might have been the only survivors." With Shirraj holding his one arm, Killian draws a large coin from his pocket with his free hand and flips it into the air. He snatches it out of its downward descent and plops it back into his pocket without looking at it, then pulls away from his feline friend. "Let's see if I might manage this stroll unaided. It wouldn't do to be stuck here in bed when you and these others set out for the surface." He smiles and pats Shirraj's hand appreciatively, then hobbles along after Isilma.
Sinjin lets out an inquisitive squawk before following Shirraj and the others out.
"So who are these friends of yours, Isilma? Have you known them very long?"
"I was hoping you would be able to assist me in this, as you look to be skilled at what you do?"
"Skilled as I can get, I suppose" the big man grumbles. He doesn't look to be pleased to be interrupted, but he puts his hammer down nonetheless and takes Mulluq's chain shirt from him. "Yeah, I can do this...but I'm gonna need something in return. I got a bit of a problem...I go out and mine my own stuff, but my mine's got infested with some sort of beast lately. If I give you directions, will you head out and clear out my mine?"
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"Not long at all, Killian," says Isilma, looking up at the man as they walk. "I came to Kenabres but recently, and only met most of them after the attack. Thou wilt forgive me if I wait until they are present to introduce them, but I understand that they are established citizens and Crusaders, and wholly admirable."
Mulluq listens, and is clearly concerned by the mention of a dangerous creature preventing the man from working, "It would be my honor to help anyone of this community so willing to accept m... us and allow us to be treated as one of them. What insights could you give me as to this beast? Though I am no scholar by any means, my companions are heavy with knowledge, and I believe they also would be willing to lend a hand toward this greater purpose."
The big forgemaster shudders. "Was a big, evil-looking hound. Spikes all over. If you and your folk say that th'surface got attacked by the demons, then it coulda came down after them demons was done. I'm afraid of what happens if it finds Neathholm, too..."
After a while, and Mulluq has taken his leave of the forgemaster (leaving the light armor for the man to repair, with a promise to take care of the monster in his mine) all of the adventurers meet up again. Anevia and Aravashnial have been taken to Seer Opoli's hut, so that when he comes back, the healer can care for them, but Isilma has also brought two newcomers from the very same hut for the others to meet - a strange, catlike woman toting around a dinosaur, and an armed and armored human with an injured leg.
Mulluq listens intently to the description, determined to use what he can from the information, "That sounds like a beast I am passingly familiar with. Though I do not believe it is demonic. All the same, I will do everything within my power to rid you of this dangerous creature, so that it may not threaten anyone any more."
Once he returns to the group, he is surprised, and actually looks concerned, that there are more from above. He was beginning to feel a certain kinship with these Mongrelmen. Out of habit, he poorly keeps his appearance hidden, "Well met then. My name is Mulluq'Tar, I am a most unworthy follower of the great Inheritor, and follow her will that my very existence be worthy of something." Turning to the others he adds, "To that end, I have agreed to help the town smith, as some vicious evil creature has taken over his mine. I told him I would remove this threat for his safety and that of anyone that may happen across it. I do not expect any of you to join me in this cause, but if you choose to you are welcome." With that he passes the description of the creature along, and what he thinks it is.
"I'd be happy to lend a hand, Mulluq'Tar. I feel I rather owe these kind folk a notable debt for caring for me as they have. Though I must say, it does my eyes and heart good to see others survived Kenabres' fall." He bows to the tiefling, seemingly unfazed by the man's twisted appearance, and then in turn to the others. "I am Killian Shard, and it seems Desna has seen fit to bring our paths together."
Shirraj musters Mulluq'tar curiously, for a moment seeming sunken in thought, before she stirs out of her momentary absence and gives a deep bow with sweeping motions; "Shirraj of the Tearing Claw," she introduces herself and then motions to the small creature by her feet, "I and Sinjin would fight with you as well.", along her accent it is difficult to tell wether her choice of expression is deliberate or an artifact of her speaking in a language that to her is foreign, her tone however seems much less ceremonial than her phrasing however.
Mulluq bows humbly, "I thank you both for your willingness to aid in my cause. It is not often that one as foul and sinful as I am is beset with such noble companions. Isilma and Lysbeth, what do your plans entail? I was told that Cruroar returned to the shrine of Torag we found, determined to do more to return its glory."
Lysbeth nods at the newcomers, including the small dinosaur. "Killian. Shirraj. Sinjin." She smiles, "It is a pleasure to meet more acquaintances of Isilma's. I am Lysbeth."
She shakes her head at Mulluq's description. "It sounds unlike any creature I've heard of before. Still," she continues, nodding in agreement with Killian. "My heart goes out to these people. I will gladly help in any way I can. This beast, do you know of any weaknesses?"
"I believe I have read of this creature as well. It is no demon yet just as vicious." Shirraj explains.
"Its quills become stuck in the flesh of those who touch it and cause great pain and its howl... it is said to have driven those of lesser mental fortitude insane," she continues grimly, before lighting up again, "But it can be defeated like any ordinary creature."
Killian runs his hand back across his bald pate and offers a bright, wide grin. "Well then! Let's hunt the beast, shall we?"
And with that, the heroes (excluding Cruroar, who remains behind for now to stay with Horgus, Anevia, and Aravashnial and make sure that they don't bother the mongrels too much and that they are save) take off through the tunnels to help the blacksmith with his beast problem.
It takes them about twenty minutes to navigate their way to the mine, even with a mongrel volunteer's help. When they arrive, they see a strange thing - a partially-constructed den (composed mostly of detritus that the creature must have found in the area) within a large, open and dark mine. The mongrels have darkvision, so there's no reason for them to need lighting. Somewhere, a growl echoes off stone walls.
Mulluq'Tar stands ready, facing the mine opening with his sword and shield drawn. Looking into the darkness with his demonic eyesight, he calls out to what lies within, trying to sense evil's influence. "Beast. The place you inhabit does not belong to you. You must vacate it now, or you will be dealt a swift and righteous deliverance back to your home plane!"
Shirraj draws the longs, slender curved blade from her back, and gives Sinjin a command in her own tongue.
Sinjin squawks in response and takes a few steps back.
Lysbeth's dark eyes peer into the darkness, attempting to search out the source of the sound. Taking a deep breath, she raises her crossbow, forcing herself to hold it steady.
Killian peers ahead into the deep gloom of the cavern and shrugs. He readies his crossbow before uttering a quiet prayer to Desna. A moment later, the bolt set in the weapon begins glowing brightly.
HP: 11/11
AC: 19 (13 T / 16 FF)
CMD: 17
F/R/W: +3/+4/+5
Chance Encounter used: 0/1
Fervor used: 0/2
Blessings used: 0/4
Spells Prepared
Orisons (4) - light [ ], mending [ ], purify food and drink [ ], stabilize [ ]
Level 1 (2+1) - cure light wounds [ ], divine favor [ ], protection from evil [ ]
Ongoing Effects
As the heroes gather around the mouth of the cave, the growls begin to get louder. Mulluq picks up an evil aura at the edge of his detection spell, but just as he does, a grating and loud bay emanates from the mouth of the cave. Directly followed by the bay, a terrifying canine creature leaps from the mouth of the cave, ready to attack. The creature looks like some insane wolf, but instead of fur, the creature is covered in long, sharp quills. Its jaw muscles and teeth look supernaturally strong and sharp.
Initiative:
Howler - 25
Lysbeth - 20
Isilma - 16
Killian - 11
Mulluq - 10
Shirraj - 7