Dot for fun and profit.
Dot.
The sun approaches high noon, as you stand in the crowd gathered in Clywell Plaza for the opening blessing of Armasse. The crowd hushes, and you see that Lord Hulrun, ruler of Kenabres, has taken the grand stage erected in front of Cathedral of Saint Clydwell. The aged inquisitor clad in his shining, resplendent armor, clears his throat and begins the opening blessing, ”My fellow citizens of Kenabres, today...”
He gets no further as a bright light bursts in the west, as if the sun were rising from the wrong direction and Hulrun’s shadow is thrown up huge and distorted across the cathedral’s facade. A moment later, the sound of a thunderous explosion rips through the air and the ground trembles violently beneath your feet. The crowd begins to panic and the screams of terrified men, women and children join the cacophony
Turning towards the source of the light, you see that where the fortress known as the Kite—the location of Kenabres’s wardstone—once stood, a brilliant plume of red fire, lightning, and smoke billows into the heavens.
A powerful roar draws your attention back to the cathedral and you are greeted by a welcome sight, Kenabres’s greatest guardian, the ancient silver dragon Terendelev must have been attending the opening ceremony disguised as a human and now stands revealed in all her glory, preparing to launch herself to investigate the disaster. A few beats of her massive wings lifts her into the air, sending those unfortunate few soul who happened to be close by tumbling. She barely begins to clear the rooftops before another form appears, as nightmarish as the dragon was breathtaking. A winged humanoid shape three times the size of any man, with skin coated in fire and lightning, gripping a flaming sword and whip. The creature’s identity is immediately obvious: Khorramzadeh, the Storm King of the Worldwound, has come to Kenabres!
The ground continues to shake and great cracks appear in the streets, disgorging hoards of demons who fall upon the scattering crowd with glee, while above the dragon and the balor lord clash in an awe inspiring display. Unfortunately, the fight is over in a few heartbreaking moments, the balor’s fell blade cuts deep into Terendelev’s body, as it swoops down to strike the dragon. A few more blows, and the titanic duo spirals downward toward the crowd. The sight of the majestic dragon smashing limply into the facade of the Cathedral of St. Clydwell is one you will never forget. At that moment, another titanic demon erupts at the far end of the plaza, reducing several buildings to ruins in its violent birth into this world. The rift created this shoots across the plaza, swallowing all in its path, unfortunately it seems to be heading right for you and it opens beneath your feet, angling away into darkness.
Even as you fall, the dragon notices your plight. Though death is standing over her, she seizes this final chance to save a few more souls that were entrusted to her guardianship. She utters a few arcane words, stretching out a bleeding talon, and you feel her magic take hold of you, slowing your plummet into the darkness as if you were feathers falling into a pit. Yet the fall remains as inexorable, and as you drift downward into the depths, the last thing you see is the Storm King standing before the ancient silver dragon, his sword lashing out and cleaving full through her neck. As you watch her severed head fall, the rift above you slams shut, and the light of the world above is gone.
In the darkness, rubble rains down on you and you hear a few voices cry out, while others grunt in pain and fall ominously silent. After what seems like an eternity, but couldn’t have been more than a few heartbeats, you find yourself back on solid ground once more. There is one more terrible crash from the darkness above and another violent tumble of stones, and then all is silent, save for the coughs and groans of your fellow survivors.
ever since Maeve was a child she had known fear. First as a babe it was the fear of hunger. Then as a child it was the fear of the demon-wrought guards in their fleshmask as they came for her father and mother during the night. Later as a young woman it was of the slave-gangs that took what they wanted, or who they wanted without cause for who it might hurt. And finally as a woman when she was thrust into her first glimmers of power and forced to decide if she would skirt the edges of darkness to survive. Yes, fear was like an old companion to Maeve.
The smell came first. Terror had an odor to it, just as hopelessness did. It was rank, visceral, it made your skin want to crawl. Then came the screams. First one, then several and then it was deafening. The pressing of bodies, the wails. It was chaos and pain. It was the shattering of hope.
Hope, people spoke of hope. Crusaders and priests even common men. Each clung to it in their own way. For nineteen years Maeve had dreamed of freedom. She had dreamed of being away from the slave pens or reinforced manor, be free of the witches and their dark patrons. Even three months ago when she had finally managed to survive the wastes she had not dared to hope. And yet things had begun to calm down. She had managed to make it to civilization. She had prospects and had tried to put her old life behind her. She had begun to hope.
She should have known better.
High above in the sky she watched as the Storm King, Khorramzadeh dominated the air around her. The ground shook and she felt the sliver of hope that had been inside of her shatter like the buildings around her. She could still remember seeing the beast from afar on the day she had been selected for the Blood Games. The Storm King, massive and commanding, singling out her, a weak human female among all others to be his champion. It had been ludicrous, she had thought at the time. But she did not have the perspective that her patron did.
In slow motion, Maeve watched as the crack widened below her feet. The hole below as black as night. She felt herself falling into the darkness. Was this the end? She murmured, moments before she felt herself grow light.
No, it was not the end. It was the beginning.
Ruarc had been studying the crowd carefully in the moments prior to the opening blessing of the Festival. His disguise was that of a common laborer, formed from a simple glamer provided by the grace of Ragathiel. It wouldn't last long, but long enough for him to get close to the opening. Ruarc was scanning the crowd when the flash of bright light to the west drew his immediate gaze. Seeing the Kite explode caused even Ruarc's iron facade to slip. His eyes went momentarily wide before his training reasserted itself.
He dismissed the glamer, drawing Justice, and looking for a target. Then Ruarc saw a scene from his childhood replay itself in the sky above. The streets were different, and the players didn't look as massive as they were in his childhood memory, but there was no doubt the Storm King had returned. He was caught helpless in a flood of terrifying and painful recollections as the scene unfolded quickly in the sky above.
Before he could break his reverie, some new horrible demon erupted from the far side of the square sending a chasm shooting towards Ruarc and several others. His expression was of disbelief as he fell and the great dragon Terendelev reached out her claw to save them. The draconic magic took hold of Ruarc and left him flailing as he fell into the darkness. He landed awkwardly looking around at his surroundings as one more terrible crash from the darkness above ushered in silence.
Good thing I'm a sociopathic vigilante, Ruarc thinks, running his hands over his various gear to make sure it's all still strapped in place. Once satisfied, he stands, dusting himself off and looking around for other bodies, searching for movement. He grips Justice's hilt tightly, praying that he won't need to use it. The darkness is no particular hindrance to his vision, but the clouds of dust are. He spits grit from his mouth and asks into the gloom, "Is there anyone else unharmed?"
Rakeesh shouldered his way through the crowd. As a relative newcomer, the celebration meant little to him. Some of the Iomedaeans had tried to explain its significance, but he had little patience for pomp and ceremony. Besides, he needed to find a new place to sleep.
The Ragathien cultists had been quite adamant after they discovered that he was in disfavor with the vengeful one. They didn't understand the true depth of his situation. Perhaps it was better that way.
A young boy hurrying through the crowd collided with him. Rakeesh gave the impish creature a stern look of reprimand. To the youngster's credit, he looked properly abashed and held his eyes to the ground as he made to dash away. Then the world exploded.
Rakeesh swept the boy behind him, and reached for his glaive. The massive blade felt reassuring in his hands. Then, in the chaos of the blast, the battle began above his head, and suddenly his impressive weapon felt small and irrelevant. He grabbed the boy by the arm and ran across the courtyard towards the stalwart shelter of St. Clydewell's Keep, dragging the brat with him.
A flood of demons poured into the crowd ... get this one to safety, first... he breathed to himself. The madness of the scene went from real to surreal as Kenabres most powerful champion fell in mere moments to the unholy blade of the Storm King. The Keep, as well, lay shattered beneath the broken remains of the the great silver dragon. Rakeesh spun looking for the next best option, as panicking Mendevians ran in every direction, and a few of the ready guard of the city tried in vain to organize any defense.
The creature that emerged in front of him was like nothing Rakeesh had ever encountered. The power it unleashed was nothing short of staggering. The creature spoke a word, and the earth beneath opened like a jagged, fanged mouth to consume Rakeesh and those around him. With too little time to think, Rakeesh simply heaved the boy away. The lad collided with another fleeing Kenabran, knocking them both to the ground. Rakeesh saw them both tumble well clear of the fissure. He allowed himself a bitter smile. He may have postponed the child's death, but it was charitable to give him as much as an even chance of living out the next few moments.
In the fraction of a second that Rakeesh had reacted, the dragon's final spell had taken hold. Rakeesh dropped into the gaping tear in the earth, and for the second time in recent memory, was swallowed by darkness.
.....
The ringing silence was shocking in contrast to the terrible cacophony of the battle above. Rakeesh let his eyes adjust to the sudden darkness. Several people had been caught in the demon's earth shattering spell, and caught by the noble dragon's final one. Rakeesh feared he had done the young lad a disservice by trying to spare his life.
He spits grit from his mouth and asks into the gloom, "Is there anyone else unharmed?"
Rakeesh turned to the voice. The heretic. It seemed the cult of Ragathiel was very casual with its limited numbers. This one had been cast out much as Rakeesh had. "I yet live. Where are we?"
"Good question." Ruarc states, moving towards the sounds of Rakeesh and Joao's voices. When he gets close enough to Rakeesh to recognize him, he stops. "You're that Osiriani paladin who was recovering in the temple." The tone of his gravelly voice makes it a statement rather than a question. Ruarc nods his chin down a quarter inch, in what will have to pass for a greeting of recognition. Then he joins the paladin in meticulously studying their surroundings, hoping to recognize something known or useful. Last time Rakeesh met Ruarc, the inquisitor wasn't wearing the costume-like armor that he has on now. The only part of his skin that's exposed is his mouth and chin, the rest is covered in layers of black cloth, leather and steel. The unique sword Justice is what Rakeesh was able to immediately recognize.
Wheezing in pain, Maeve felt rough, cold stone against her face. Her body ached from the fall and her wrist hurt. But she was alive and at least temporarily out of danger. She breathed out slowly. The pain was receding. Not a break then, probably just a sprain. Lucky she supposed when she paused to consider. Likely above the demons would be pouring into the square, killing and pillaging with reckless abandonment. How had they managed to get past the wardstone? From somewhere around her she could hear three voices. They sounded like men. Other survivors perhaps and there was some mention of a paladin. Gritting her teeth she put weight on her wrist. It hurt, but not in a unmanageable way. Pushing herself up to her feet she looked around. Light could be seen far above streaming through a crack. The cavern itself was dark however and she could only make out the faintest hint of forms. Does anyone have a light? She asked in the general direction of the others.
Her voice echoed throughout the cavern, resonating along the stone walls. If she listened hard enough she thought she could hear the dripping of water. Am I imagining that? Then, realizing that she had fallen, she felt around in the darkness. Her pack? Had it fallen near her? Feeling the leather worn strap she grabbed it in both hands. In the darkness she felt the tear where it had snagged against a stone outcropping during her nightmare flight out of the blighted lands. Excellent, at least that was something, she wouldn't starve to death any time soon at least, but she diden't have any torches. She hadn't expected something like this to happen. How could she? The wardstones had been a safety net. Sighing, she carefully walked towards the shadowy figures. Is anyone here hurt?
"We're fine," Ruarc states, examining the woman. He notes her wand, and spell component pouch, filing the information away in his mind. She's so scarred that she looks like some kind of undead, but the way she's squinting into the darkness and requesting light tells him that she must be human. He considers replying to her query about having a light source, but he doesn't have one and doesn't know who this woman is. Better to wait and watch for now, to see what kind of group he's dealing with. The paladin was nothing to fear, but this woman was potentially dangerous.
Pytros has some time to think as the feather fall spell takes hold of him. His mind works quickly, recounting the events of how he came to this point and planning out his response. He applies a cold reason to both aspects quickly and rationally.
First: his discovery of the skin-stitched tome was not intended. The ship had blown off-course in the squall, coming too close to the shore of Hermea. His research on the sea showed that there are no known shipping lanes that come even close to Hermea, which is well-known for a violent defense against unauthorized ships. Ostensibly, the reason for this is to prevent unselected persons from breaching Hermea and endangering the Glorious Endeavor; he now believes that the true reason is to limit the exposure of Hermeans to the world at large. The only viable conclusion is that the ship - and thus its main content of the tome - was intended for a recipient inside Hermea, and that it was not to travel through the main port.
Second: after Marcus and he informed the Council of Enlightenment, their concerns were summarily dismissed. They were targeted immediately thereafter by a non-human assassin. The only way a non-human could infiltrate Promise for any period of time is with the assistance of a member of the Council. The immediacy of the attack suggests that it was sent by a member of the Council present to hear their forbidden knowledge. Therefore, at least one of the members of the Council was the intended recipient of the tome, and thus interested in the knowledge of how to use a Wardstone's magical power to forcibly accelerate the intended goal of the Glorious Endeavor. In all likelihood, several - if not all - of the members of the Council are similarly tainted, as none seemed to outwardly give much concern to the information.
Third: even after he escaped Hermea onto the seas, the tiefling assassin followed him. Thus, the information he discovered - even if he no longer possesses the tome - is important enough to track and kill him. His role as a sailor gave him time and cover to visit several major ports and attempt to ascertain more information about the nature of the Council's corruption. The assassin found him in Sothis, and again in Absalom - but he could not stop him from learning the name of the organization that taints the island of his birth: the Templars of the Ivory Labyrinth. Reading a dusty tome in the archives of the Grand Lodge in Absalom, he placed together the information at hand to come to this conclusion. This cult of Baphomet was capable of infiltrating a society's power structure and would be quite inclined to use a source such as the tome. His attacker's presence when he left the Lodge - one of the few places in the world he might be able to learn such information - only further strengthened this argument.
Fourth: after learning this information and coming to the conclusion that his presence was a danger to the sailors he had grown to consider friends, he made his way to Mendev. It took months as he joined a caravan, taking pains to limit his presence. His pursuer would eventually determine where he went, and would come after him. He hoped that he would arrive in Kenabres with ample time to warn the city's leadership of the danger of the compromise of the protective wards.
Arriving in the city, he had left the caravan to seek out a person in a position of authority. After his last attempt at appealing to such a person, he knew that he had to be able to trust the information to the right person. A festival in which many of the city's strongest defenders were present would be an ideal time to evaluate this point of contact and assess the situation. The surprise appearance of the Storm King Khorramzadeh brought a sick feeling to his stomach. 'I am too late,' he thought to himself.
His mind ran through scenarios of the battle between the dragon and the demon as they rose through the air to meet one another. He studied the strengths, weaknesses, and tactics of both types of creature; even though both were singularly powerful examples of their species, the basic tenets should hold. The arcane resistance of the demon would largely nullify the dragon's advantage in spellcasting; the fiery heat of the demon would hold the dragon's icy breath at bay and exploit Terendelev's vulnerability to flames; the blade wielded by the demon could cut through the dragon's scales far easier than the latter's claws could cut through thick demon hide. The conclusion was all but inevitable to Pytros, but the dragon would not likely listen to his counsel. When the dragon collapses in the street, he was not surprised. The dragon's final act, keeping him aloft as the ground crumbled below his feet, did surprise him, though.
He knows that there will be other survivors, as he saw the dragon's spell take hold of others. He knows that he will be at a disadvantage, being unable to see. He knows that the city will be under attack; depending on the strength of the demon's attacking army, the city may be overrun completely by the time they can escape - thus, the survivors will most likely have to find their own escape instead of relying on help from above. His first task must be to evaluate the skills of the survivors, and to determine the most effective route back.
He evaluates what possessions he has at hand. Regretfully, it is not much. He kept his belongings to a minimum while on board the ship and while in the caravan, and thus only has his whip (clipped to his belt), armor, Marcus's notes, and a bag of gold. He hopes that his new companions have more, or at least talents that might be able to help. A full plan will have to await more information as to his possible resources.
He hears the other voices speaking: so far, a man with an accent common to the crusaders of Mendev; a taciturn man with an accent he cannot place; an Osirian; and a woman with a rough voice. The Osirian and crusader seem to know each other. The crusader seems to recognize the Osirian by sight, suggesting that he has the ability to see in the darkness - and thus they have a guide if unable to find a light source. The woman asked for a light, and thus lacks this ability as he does.
He adds his own strong and commanding voice. "We must be below the city - which I imagine is being overrun as we speak. This pit presumably predated the demon that just burst out into the courtyard. If we had a source of light, we could determine exactly how far under we are and if there are any ways out of here. How many do we have in our numbers? Just the four of you?"
"So far five people are moving. Come to my voice and declare yourselves. Rakeesh and I will see if you are lying, so do not," Ruarc instructs, waiting for the others to comply. He mutters under his breath "Ragathiel, lend me your sight." activating an orison that allows him to see magical auras. He begins concentrating as the other survivors gather, sweeping the area for auras. Once they make their way over he says, "I am Ruarc, a defender of Kenabres."
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Bristling at the impetuous tone from the man, Maeves fist clenched slightly. She had been through more in her rotten nineteen years on this world then some crusaders had been through in all of their lives. She had watched as children were carried away to the flesh forges, as wives were separated from husbands. She had been forced to serve in the foul rites that the cabal of witches that she was born into offered up sacrifices to the Lord of Locusts. She had survived the Blood Games, alone and hunted among the Wastes dam it! She wasn't going to let some man push her around and then question her honesty!
Scowling in the darkness, she faced the man. Who do you think you are to give me orders?! To question my concern? Did you even pause to consider that casting a spell on me might be an invasion of my privacy? Grabbing the leather bag from around her shoulder she dug into it and pulled out a small box. I wanted to help! She exclaimed gesturing with the healers kit that apparently the man could see in the darkness.
Biting down on the inside of her cheek, she let the pain flair in her mouth. Pain was something she was familiar with, as much so as despair. She breathed out slowly, letting the breath calm her. Its polite to ask first. I don't know where you're from, but where I come from, most women would hesitate before a man would wanted to cast a spell on them. That’s how women disappear.. or worse. Besides, I don't know the first thing about you. Pointing towards the dim shape other man, who she assumed was the paladin that the first speaker had referred to, Maeve gave a nod. If he is really a paladin then he should be know if someone is good or bad right? That’s what I have heard from crusaders at least. Crossing her arms she squared her shoulders and waited.
"The spell I cast was on myself, only to detect magical auras in our vicinity. Fear not." That last sentence was another command. "As I said, I am a defender of Kenabres. I am only exercising due caution. You seem to be honest to me, and what you say about paladins is true. I would be happy for Rakeesh's confirmation that no evil lurks amongst us." Ruarc's tone is unwavering and even, totally lacking in emotion the whole time he speaks. His voice is rough, worn sounding, a grating whisper turned up in volume just enough to be heard.
Light shatters the darkness, stinging your eyes. It emanates from the hand of a lithe human woman dressed in well-made leather armour. She sits propped against a piece of fallen rubble and even to an untrained eye, it’s obvious that one of her legs is badly broken. ”That’s better, “ she says to no one in particular.
”Damnation! Of all the days to skip that cantrip! Light! We must have light! Does anyone have a torch or a source of magical light?” A tall elf, in what must have been very fine robes, stumbles around blindly, leaning on a staff. His face is a ruin of blood and seared flesh. ”Who else is down here? I need names, people! Are any of you Worldwound veterans? We must get back to the fight as soon as possible! We can’t lose the city!”
A third man sits disconsolately on some rubble, ”Oh shut up, Aravashnial, no one wants to hear what you have to say and quit bellowing about light. There is light. Looks like you’ve somehow managed to lose your eyes, so I guess you wont be seeing any demonic plots for a while.” The man stands up and approaches the party. You see that though a little worse for wear, his clothes are of outstanding craftsmanship and of the latest fashion. A thick silver chain hangs around his neck and rings glitter on his fingers.
”I am Lord Horgus Gwerm and I will give a 1000gp to whoever can return me to my manor on the surface.”
Just what I need, an entitled noble waving about money. At least this group appears to be well equipped, Ruarc thinks. Then he sees the large arachnid. "I would note the presence of that giant spider watching us. Perhaps we should deal with that before doing anything else?" Ruarc uses Justice to point at the spider. "Do any of you have a way to dissuade it, or shall we fight?"
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Rakeesh remained silent during the exchange. It was true that he could sense the presence of great evil, but not the venal sins of the common citizenry. Unless one of them was a true demon in disguise, or a cultist filled with a demon lord's power, his abilities would sense nothing.
"There is another over here," he pointed to the recumbant form of another fallen Mendevian. "One of the Iomedaean priests by the look of his raiment. He is still alive."
Rakeesh saw the spider just as Ruarc pointed it out. "I see it. It doesn't appear to be aggressive. Perhaps we startled it." In spite of his words, Rakeesh swung his glaive in a defensive arc in front of him, stepping protectively in front of the unconcious cleric.
Scowling at the man's continued impropriety, Maeve shook her head. She had noted that the last sentence was yet another command. Coming of age among the witches of Undarin, she had seen men flayed for such a tone. Not that she approved of such things. She had thought when she had escaped into Kenabres that things might be different. That men would have not thought themselves better then a young woman. For the most part she had been correct in that assumption, but there was something about the crusaders... a sense of holier than thou that irked the young, scarred woman. She had been surprised, but she should have known better. She had seen how power could corrupt another. She had seen it in the slaves as they choose peaking orders, she had seen it in the witches as they obtained stature, she had seen it in the demons that had called upon her former mistress Areelu Vorlesh and she had seen it in the crusaders. It seems that some were more equal than others in this world.
Preparing a blistering retort, instead she reflexively raised her hand as the light appeared in the cavern. The darkness had been deep and the sudden blossom of light made her eyes water. Blinking rapidly she looked around. Seven men, one wounded in the face, another that seemed to be unconscious, and a woman with a broken leg. Eyes continuing to scan the cavern she quickly took a step back away from the giant spider. Still holding the box that held clean bandages, a suturing needle and antiseptics she back pedaled away from the beast putting the armed men in front of her. She prepared herself to lash out at the creature with the magic that had been given to her by her patron, the one that visited her in dreams and offered promises of vengeance against those that had wronged her. She felt that power, deep inside of her like a second beating heart. Touching it made the shadows in the cavern throb in her vision, slowly moving in and out. Even now, three months after the first taste of its potential, she was hesitant and wary. She had learned a long time ago that nothing was given without a price.
Moving hesitantly towards the blinded man, the lamed woman and the unconscious priest, Maeve held up her kit. Suspicion was nearly as bad outside of the Wound as it was within and she did not want her actions to be mistaken. Speaking slowly, she gestured towards the kit. I have some skill at treating wounds. She said, gesturing towards the injured. And you're not the first that I have tended to. If it is acceptable, I would like to examine your injuries and see if I can lessen the pain while the men make sure that the beast is not aggressive.
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Pytros examines the scene using the light from the armored woman, sizing up potential allies and threats. He first looks over the crusader, noting his fearsome armor and the coloring of what skin is visible; combined with his ability to see through the darkness, the man is likely a tiefling of some sort. His jaw clenches reflexively. The only other tiefling he has ever had any interaction killed his mentor, and tried to kill him on no less than three separate occasions. He starts placing the voices that he heard earlier to the faces that he sees in the dim, magical light.
First, he interrupts the haughty nobleman. "Lord Gwerm, I suggest you offer your own talents to help us get out of here as a whole - assuming that you have any beyond an excess of gold and a closed mind. If Aravashnial saw demonic plots, did you listen? Did he foresee this day's events?"
Without waiting for an answer from the wealthmonger, he moves on to the question of the dark-haired man who asked about the spider. "Spiders of any size generally eat slightly smaller creatures. Humans are on the large size for a spider of that size, but I doubt that it would turn down making a meal out of one of us. We ought to stay away from it unless necessary - its poison is not immediately fatal, but it will most likely weaken any person bitten, which is a liability I would like to avoid. We will need all our resources, together, to emerge and see how much of the city above remains. Regarding the spider, its mind is so simple that mind-addling magic - if we have a source of it - would be rendered useless. We need to move slowly and carefully around it. Most of the time, spiders live in mated pairs or perhaps even an entire colony. They can be quite territorial, and will likely attack us if it sees us a threat to its control of this... pit."
The foreigner speaks sense. Cautious. Unembellished. He might not be useless, Ruarc thinks, nodding when the man says the word "together". "What is your name foreigner?" The dark knight asks, directed towards Pytros.
A third man sits disconsolately on some rubble, ”Oh shut up, Aravashnial, no one wants to hear what you have to say and quit bellowing about light. There is light. Looks like you’ve somehow managed to lose your eyes, so I guess you wont be seeing any demonic plots for a while.” The man stands up and approaches the party. You see that though a little worse for wear, his clothes are of outstanding craftsmanship and of the latest fashion. A thick silver chain hangs around his neck and rings glitter on his fingers.
”I am Lord Horgus Gwerm and I will give a 1000gp to whoever can return me to my manor on the surface.”
"It is my intent to see us all returned safely to the surface."
"Come, it's best we move. Introductions can wait, at least until we are no longer under the spider's eye." Pyotr nodded to the lady with the broken leg. Rakeesh appraised the relative size of those around him. "Milady, if the blind one were to bear a portion of your weight, could you guide him? And you sir, Aravashnial was it? If milady were to guide you, do you believe you could support her? Perhaps if we splinted the leg?"
"Lord Gwerm, will you be so kind as to accompany them? I shall attempt to bear the weight of our recalcitrant cleric, here. Has anyone yet determined by what route we should leave this place?"
Pytros glances at the man wearing the dark armor, considering his question. "Pytros," he answers after a moment of hestitation - leaving out his surname. "Unless one of us has the power of flight or can mimic the spider's climbing ability - or even the ability to tame the spider, though it isn't large enough for any of us to ride - I imagine that exploration is our best option for determining a way out. The demon must have come from somewhere; it would not have teleported to an empty pit underneath the city when it could have simply teleported to the thick of battle following the destruction of the Wardstone. Thus, there must be an entrance or exit back to the surface somewhere - though we must be careful for more of the demon's number acting as reinforcements."
The scarred witch kneels over by the wounded woman, ”This looks pretty badly broken, if you will allow me, I will try to set it.”
The woman nods, ”Ya I figured as much. My foot doesn’t normally point in that direction. Name’s Anevia, by the way.”
Horgus comes closer, seemingly more interested in the light than anything else. ”I wouldn’t waste my time that sneak thief. Though, if her wife is still alive, I guess she might come in handy.”
Anevia blows a kiss, which elicits a grimace from the man, but no further comment.
There is plenty of wood to be had from the ruins of buildings that tumbled into the rift and the few crushed unfortunates that you come across provide more than enough cloth for dressings. During your scavenging you catch sight of some thing glittering among the rubble. Investigating, you see that it is a silver dragon scale the size of your hand and a few more rest nearby. Picking it up, you are filled with a sense of deep sadness and regret and are immediately aware of the magic contained within.
Each of Terendelev’s scales grants a different power to the person who carries them. The powers granted do not function at all if more than one scale is carried. The powers of the six scales are listed below—any nonevil creature that handles a scale immediately understands its use.
Cloudwalking: Three times per day as a standard action, a scale can be used to cast levitate. A pillar of roiling clouds rises below the levitating object or creature, growing and shrinking with the target’s altitude. This pillar is 5 feet in diameter (regardless of the target’s size) and provides concealment (20% miss chance) to any creature or object wholly contained within.
Disguise: Three times per day as a standard action, a scale can be used to cast alter self. While disguised, the target gains a +4 bonus on all Bluff checks made against evil creatures.
Guardian: Three times per day as a standard action, a scale can be used to cast Shield other. Unlike the spell, there is no platinum ring requirement and the caster may link with up to 3 people.
Paralysis: Three times per day as a standard action, a scale can be used to cast Hold person. This ony functions when targeting evil humanoids and provides a +2 to the DC vs tieflings.
Resistance: Three times per day as a standard action, a scale can be used to cast resist elements—but only against electricity or cold.
Sacred Weaponry: Three times per day as a standard action, a scale can be used to cast align weapon, but only to make a weapon lawful or good. Unlike a normal align weapon spell, this effect can be cast on an unarmed strike or natural weapon.
Materials in hand, Maeve quickly sets and immobilizes the leg and fashions a crude, but serviceable crutch. Testing it all out, Anevia hobbles around a bit, wincing occationally in pain, but otherwise seems thrilled.
”Thank you so much. I think I should be able to manage on my own. I think in a pinch, I could probably put enough weight on it to fire my bow.”
Aravashnial puts a hand to his face, ”Blind. Yes, I remember seeing the whip lash out. I guess I am fortunate not to have been completely decapitated. I can’t seem to think straight at the moment.”
He rummages a hand up a sleeve and pull out a small stoppered vial. Working off the top, he gives it a cautionary sniff before downing the contents. Some of his wounds close before your eyes, but the elf is still severely wounded.
”Well that will have to do for now.” Taking a more authoritative tone, he addresses the group, ”From your lack of comment, I gather that none of you have ever so much as seen a demon before, let alone entered the Worldwound. Well I have and on numerous occasions. We need to get back to the surface so I can regain my sight and help with the fight. I will need someone to act as my guide. I heard mention of a woman with a broken leg before? If she is willing to be my eyes, I will be her legs.”
”Now as for this spider you keep mentioning, the giant arachnids of the undercity are known for their aggressive nature and are highly territorial. If you can see it, it most certainly can see you, yet it has not attacked. Something is not right. I suggest that a few you go to investigate. The undercity is rumored to be full of pitlings and mole people and I don’t wish to leave potential enemies behind us, when there may be more ahead.”
Anevia :9/17
Aravashnial: 13/36
Horgus: 17/18
"As is to be expected, it appears our only way out is through that spider. I am going to investigate." I can't afford to stand around all day planning. Valki is up there right now, I need to get out of here and make sure she's safe as quickly as possible. Ruarc looks to the the other armed men around him. "I wouldn't say no to help."
We have the advantage of numbers, and these appear to be hardened men. Best to go in defensive and take it slow. Ruarc thinks, reaching under his cloak and unstrapping the shield from his back. He slides his left arm into the straps with practiced ease. He shifts his grip on Justice to just below the guard. Holding his shield up before him, Ruarc advances slowly and cautiously, being as quiet as possible. He scans the cavern as he approaches, looking for any hidden threats that might be keeping the spider at bay.
_____________________________
”From your lack of comment, I gather that none of you have ever so much as seen a demon before, let alone entered the Worldwound."
"I have seen a demon. As an infant, I was nearly destroyed by one. But, no," Rakeesh shakes his head, "I have never entered the Worldwound."
More despite Rakeesh's help than because of it, the heavily scarred woman is able to set and splint Anevia's broken leg. Rakeesh dug through the rubble of the fallen city. More than one unfortunate soul was trapped in the demon's ground rending spell, while only nine seemed to have survived.
Glinting from the broken skeleton of a shattered building was a hint of silver. Rakeesh pulled the hand-sized, shield-shaped fragment from the pile, mulling over the death of heroic champion of the city. "One of dragon's scales," he flashes the remnant unnecessarily. "Is it odd that I feel that I was meant to find this?"
"As is to be expected, it appears our only way out is through that spider. I am going to investigate. I wouldn't say no to help."
Rakeesh pocketed the scale, more certain than ever of his kinship with the artifact. The cleric was stirring, no doubt shaking off the dazing stupor of the fall. Rakeesh spun his glaive into a ready position.
A pity the creature couldn't have been startled enough to flee. Rakeesh began circling the vermin on the opposite flank from the heretic. He watched the creature out of the corner of his eye as he studied the surrounding cavern. "If he flees, it will likely be upwards. I do not relish an ambush from above. Any who can put arrows to flight should have them readied."
The awe-inspiring sight of Terendelev giving his last thoughts and energy to save a band of strangers would stay with Aglamore as long as he lived, but being struck in the head by falling rubble demanded his more immediate attention. Battered and dazed, he took several moments to realize that he was neither dead nor alone.
Shaking the rubble from his shoulders, the battered priest rose, dust cascading from cassock and armor. "I am here," he croaked, spitting dust and coughing.
As he limped into the light, he indicated the plain wooden figure of Iomedae around his neck. "Have you sought out any injured among the rubble? I can call upon the light of the Inheritor to heal up our wounds, but I would not leave out any who She may through our efforts bless this day."
"I'm Brother Aglamore, by the way," he said, then entered into another fit of coughing. "And I spent a decade in the Worldwound."
Pytros cautiously and politely looks at the Iomedaen cleric. Arcane spells are something that he can understand, but he has little practical exposure to divine magic. He can understand it from a technical, rational standpoint - but the habit of eschewing religious belief dies a slow death. "Pytros. We recovered all who live, and these." He hands Aglamore the scale that grants the magic of good to him, keeping the scale that grants resistance to elemental magic to himself. From a philosophical standpoint, he doesn't truly believe in the inherent good of the Positive Energy Plane or the inherent evil of its Negative Energy counterpart; he isn't quite sure that the scale would work for him.
Pytros holds his hand up in the dim light to caution the two warriors for a moment as they approach the spider. "Aravashnial, what can you tell us of the undercity? Is it natural caverns, sewers, some combination of both? How would one access it in normal circumstance? We must have all the information available, lest we find ourselves lacking facts at the exact wrong moment."
Aglamore shakes Pytros's hand and reverently accepts the Scale of the blessed Terendelev. He then kneels in their midst and prays. "Sacred Iomedae, Sword of the Righteous, Shield of all who walk in the shadow of death, hear my prayer. Evil has come to Kenebres and by the last will of mighty Terendelev we here yet live. Grant us the strength to arise from this prison and repay the awful deeds of this day with a mighty wrath. So prays your humble servant, Aglamore."
The priest then examines the scale.
Anevia sighs as Aglamore’s healing washes over her. She experimentally puts some weight onto her broken leg and takes a few tentative steps. Smiling broadly, she eases her makeshift crutch to the ground. ”Well I wont be winning any races anytime soon, but between the splint and the magic, my leg should hold up. I don’t have any intention of getting near trouble, but I have a few things that might prove useful to those that do.” Fishing around her person, she produces 2 flasks of alchemist’s fire and 3 smokesticks, offering them to any who are interested.
Limping over to Aravashnial, she offers him her arm, ”I can aid you Aravashnial. We cripples best stick together until we can get things set right.” Turning to Joao she says, ”I could make more light if need be, but my talent is limited and we might need it more later. If the group thinks it is for the best, then I will bend to the will of the party.”
Aravashnial takes Anevia’s arm gratefully, with whispered thanks, and then turns his attention to the general direction of Agalmore and Pytros. ”A brother of the crusade? Our prospects are looking up. I thanks you for your healing, but is there any chance that you might be able to ask your God’s blessing to regenerate my eyes? No? Oh well, no matter then.
”Now as to the nature of the undercity, well the term is used to apply to all the connected subterranean structures under Kenabres. It is fairly well known that extensive caverns pepper the area and the city’s sewer system makes liberal use of a number of them. As for what we might find, well there will be all manner of vermin, no doubt, and possibly some of the city’s less desirable elements have taken up residence in these caves. Most interesting are the rumours I have heard of the pitlings that are supposed to live down here. The first crusade was not kind to the men and women who stemmed that first wave of demons. Many were practically bathed in demonic energy and this had very severe effects on their children. These crusaders birthed horribly malformed and twisted progeny and it is said that some of them fled to these caves so as to raise their children away for the judging eyes of their neighbours. It is said that there are whole cities down here full of the descendants of the first crusader. It’s really fascinating.
During your approach, you notice no change in the spider and as you grow nearer, you understand why, as the smell of putrefying flesh washes over you. Whatever danger this beast may have once posed, it now lies dead and rotting in the darkness.
Anevia :16/17
Aravashnial: 20/36
Horgus: 18/18
"That ain't right," he says, looking at the bulging corpse and gripping the haft of his long spear. Aglamore's immediately moves to interposed his body between the spider corpse and the non-combatants, setting his spear against a charge.
"It's dead. Something's inside eating it. I'm going the rest of the way in," Ruarc says in his monotone, advancing slowly and quietly the rest of the way to the spider. He approaches it from the angle of the bulge distorting its side. Ruarc maintains his defensive stance, ready for something to pop out of the spider at him.
_____________________________________
Rakeesh's approach was more direct than Ruarc's, making a great deal of noise and a series of flashy spins of his glaive to draw the spider's attention. The smell of carrion went unnoticed in the cavern, choked as it was with dust and debris.
"It's dead."
"I'm Brother Aglamore, by the way."
Rakeesh relaxed. "I am Rakeesh Sah Tarna, Sah Anun, Sah Kahamet, Sah Knuht, at your service. Your skill with the healing arts is impressive," Rakeesh admired the recovery of three wounded Kenabresians. "But, we have a long trek ahead. And a return to the surface puts us in the midst of a full demonic invasion, led by none other than the unholy Storm King," Rakeesh spat. "We must ration our resources closely."
"Something's inside eating it. I'm going the rest of the way in."
Rakeesh spun back to the spider husk, weapon raised. "Let's move. If the creature inside is feeding, it may bid fare to ignore us. Lord Gwerm, will you kindly condescend to stay close by these others? I will take the vanguard."
Listening quietly, Maeve who up to that point had been wrapping bandages around the wounded elf eyes looked up at the mention of Aglamore who had spent ten years in the wound. Nodding to the man, she sized him up. Captured crusader she thought at once. Must have been lucky to make it out alive. Finishing the wrapping of bandages, she placed and hand on the elf's shoulder. Try not to pick at the wrappings. Whenever we stop for the day I'll need to change them again. Same with you Aneiva. Sighing, she glanced at the woman's crumpled leg. I would say to try to keep your weight off it, but that’s unavoidable. Turning to the others she put her healing kit back into her weather-beaten leather bag and nodded surly. I'm Maeve. As for "joining" in the fight? Just what do you suggest Rakeesh? Me? I grew up in the slave-chattel pens of Undarin. I know just how deadly those demons can be. We are lucky we fell. Kenabres is probably ruins right now, littered with the dead and those that wish they were.
Scowling, she finished putting the kit on her back before picking up one of the glittering silver scales. Her eyes widened imperceptibly as she felt the imparted power flow into her. Her hand closed reflexively around it, tightening. Maeve's lips curled up slightly. She could use this power, it would be useful. Regardless, Rakeesh, your right about one thing. We need to get out of here. But as for the Storm King, if you're smart you'll run. And you won't stop until you get somewhere you think your safe.. and they you keep running. Biting her lip to keep from revealing anything else, the scarred woman glances around the cavern. Does anyone see a way out?
I'm Maeve. As for "joining" in the fight? Just what do you suggest Rakeesh? Me? I grew up in the slave-chattel pens of Undarin. I know just how deadly those demons can be. We are lucky we fell. Kenabres is probably ruins right now, littered with the dead and those that wish they were.
"Your servant, mistress." Rakeesh gave a slight nod in lieu of a more formal greeting. "I admire your optimism. But, before we decide what we will do on the surface... we must reach the surface. Perhaps it will be as you say. If they all lie dead, then all that remains is vengeance." A slight gleam of red flashes from the holy symbol around his neck.
Aglamore turns to regard Maeve when she mentions where she grew up. He thinks about the extraordinary group he seems to have literally fallen into and about the extraordinary coincidence of there being six of them and six scales of Terendelev.
"Say not that we were lucky, Maeve" he says. "For here is no luck at all but the hand of Providence. We have not fallen into each other's midst by the whim of fate, but by some design we can at this moment glimpse only dimly."
He shepherds the non-combatants closer to him and says "Out sounds good, whether for vengeance or running. Pick a direction and let's move."
"We must seek out information, and we must at some point act to learn many more facts through action. If whatever killed the spider is innocuous, we will not have to creep in fear in the future; if not, we will know how to best contain or avoid it. Stand back and be ready." Decisively, he prepares to open the spider from fifteen feet away. He raises his whip and launches its tip forward, using the strength of his arms rather than a technical flick of the wrist. The blade at the end of the whip darts forward and deftly slashes at the dead spider's side, near the bulge.
(There are two openings out of the cavern on the western side beyond the unmoving spider)
Horgus turns to Rakeesh, "I have no intention of going anywhere near that thing. You people have the swords, you deal with it."
The dead spider's carcass is bloated with corruption and prodding at it causes it to split open like an overripe fruit. A foul reek issues forth as the spider's decayed innards spill out, along with the creatures that have been feasting on the corpse. A trio of mastiff sized maggots wriggle in fury at the interruption in their feeding and they turn their attention the fresher meat at hand. Pale white flesh undulating horribly, they squirm towards you, mouthparts snapping hungrily.
Combat: Round 1
26 Aglamore
23 Rakeesh
21 Ruarc
17 Joao
15 Pytros
15 Maggots
10 Maeve
AC 9, touch 9, flat-footed 9
hp A:7/7, B:7/7, C:7/7
Fort +5, Ref –1, Will –3
Immune: disease, mind-affecting effects
Anevia :16/17
Aravashnial: 20/36
Horgus: 18/18
When Pytros calls out to stand back Ruarc readies himself. Now just a couple paces from the spider the stench is horrible. Ruarc accepts it and doesn't react. When Pytros' whip flicks in and slices the spider wide open to birth three grotesque larvae into the cavern Ruarc's thin lips set in a stone hard grimace. Rakeesh reacts a moment before him, stepping forward to strike at one of the grubs with his glaive.
Ruarc, never one to pass up a flank, flows in right behind him, his cape billowing slightly with his advance. Once he's across from the Osiriani paladin, Ruarc thrusts aggressively at the maggot and slips in a puddle of ichor, overextending and missing the worm by an inch. F*ck! Get it together man, these people need you.
_____________________________
Rakeesh blanched as the fetid, sickly-sweet smell of carrion washed over him. The maggots within writhed and charged blindly, though he tried to put himself as much in their way as possible. He swung his glaive through a strong upward arc, lifting one of the maggots from the ground as he split it open.
The sight of the huge white maggots does not disgust Aglamore. For most of a decade, he survived on maggoty bread. He moved to stand beside Rakeesh, stabbing low with his longspear.
Pytros steps back and sets his feet. He takes aim at the rightmost maggot crawling towards him, grimacing at the disgusting spectacle that his whip brought forth from the spider. "At least it's not a demon-spawned creature," he says - mostly to himself. He raises his whip and lashes it forward. It cracks loudly as it snaps across the body of the maggot. A long, bloody welt develops across the hideous thing. The force of the whip launches it upwards and onto its opposite side, curling in upon itself. Whatever limited consciousness the maggot had immediately wavers and drops to nothing.
Ruarc looks around him surprised at how quickly the worms were dispatched. He is even more surprised that he had slipped in the ichor and missed. Great job Ruarc, the only warrior to have not landed a blow. What's next, need help tying your laces?
Ruarc turns to the priest next to him, talking to turn away from his inward berating of himself. "You must have woken up while I was sneaking over here. Ruarc," he says, offering his mailed hand to Aglamore. Ruarc nudges the grub that the priest speared. "That was a well struck blow, son of the Inheritor."
Aglamore:
Pytros:
Rakeesh neatly skewers one of the maggots, while Pytros beats another one senseless. The remaining maggot, oblivious to the fate of its compatriots, advances hungrily,
only to be cut down my Rakeesh's blade.
As the din of battle fades, Aravashnial calls out, "What happened? What were we fighting?"
Anevia pats his arm, "There was something eating the dead spider. Some kind of giant bug I think."
Aravashnial grunt, "Gods woman, you're supposed be my eyes. See for me. I can't be oh any use if I'm only getting after action reports."
Anevia's scowl, while ferocious, obviously has no effect.
"Good, great, grand, wonderful!" Horgus interrupts. "The way is clear. Let's just get out of here before all the fresh meat attracts more of those things."