Kenabres is not the most happy city in the world, but the approach of Armasse has brought up the spirits of a city that sits on the precipice of destruction. Tradtionally an opportunity for scholars and priests to come together and study the lessons of history from wars past, the holy day has in recent years become more about training commoners in weaponry, choosing squires, and ordaining priests. Jousting competitions, mock duels, battle reenactments, and other festival events provide the entire city with entertainment, and finds a glory in the dark history of the city and the Crusades that is rarely celebrated. Clerics give speeches and the songs on the tips of bards' tongues are of great heroes immortalized by time for their deeds at the edge of the worldwound.
You gather at Clydwell Plaza, just west of the city's massive cathedral, lucky enough to get good spots to observe the opening ceremonies at noon. Those of you who are lifelong citizens of the city know this to be the happiest time of year, and find a repreieve from the worries of your lives as you eagerly await the festivities to begin.
A group of recruits marches in, with Sergeant Jackram at the head. "Halt! At ease! Company dismissed!" he bellows, waving his lads and lassies to enjoy the festival.
Waiting for things to begin, Jackram takes out his heavy blade and runs a whetstone along it. Quite a few passers-by greet him -- nearly all the soldiers know Sarge, and a large number of the officers as well.
Seeing people milling around I decide it is a good time to try and earn some coin. I look for an open area, "This looks like a good spot,", setting a hat down with a few copper in it, I attach bells to my ankles and wrists and start dancing to try and earn some money. Giving a flirtatious look at some of the soldiers that were just released, and at the commander that brought them in for the festivities.
Amanda walks in to a more open area of the festival, hoping to find her friend Kyra. This festival will take my mind off things, at least. She makes sure to hide her tail under her shirt.
"Just call me Sarge, please," says the portly man with a grin.
Alex checks in a the gate and asks for directions to the city's library. He is eager to get to work on his research regarding the Riftwardens. However, he finds most of the staff slacking off due to the festivities. After trying to get a receptionist to do her job for an hour, he growls in frustration and heads out to find an inn to stay at.
Kyra sits down in the plaza, deciding to rest her bottom on a large circular stone area, the center of which displays a large tree. In her hands, she holds a more compact version of The Acts of Iomedae, which she is currently reading aloud from to nobody in particular. She spots a small group of children spying on her nearby, and flashes a warm smile as she continues reciting these acts, intimately familiar with the text by now. A light breeze flows through her wavy hair, though she barely feels it on any part of her body aside from her face, due to the chainshirt she's wearing right now. A large steel shield adorns her back, while a basic longsword rests in its hilt on her waist.
She'd been looking forward to Armasse for quite some time, despite being a relatively inexperienced soldier. A day without worries was always welcomed in her book, and she was anxious for the opening ceremonies to begin, occasionally looking up from her holy texts as if she's waiting for someone to arrive.
There is a sudden darkness as the last thoughts through your minds fade, replaced with the thunderous pain of thrabbing headaches. Your ears ring with a shrill, steady noise that lasts for what feels like an eternity. When it fades and hearing slowly becomes less dulled, it's replaced by the slowly loudening sound of rocks clattering, coughing, and groans of pain. You can hardly breathe as choking dust fills your lungs and sends you into coughing fits. If you feel around, you'll feel rubble all about you, your aching bodies covered in dirt and filth. Though your senses slow come to you as your breathing grows steady and the pain's sharpest moments begin to ebb, there is still only darkness around you.
Iolana will lay still for a moment and take stock of the situation, then take loose a scarf and wind it around her face to help keep the dust out as she tries to look around.
Kyra lies on her stomach, still clutching her holy texts. Her ears buzz with a ringing pain, and her head feels like someone just took a hammer to it, to say nothing of the dust and rubble covering her back. She groans as she attempts to shake off the pain.
"Where...where are we? Ugh...what happened? I can't..." she whinces as she brings herself to a standing position, eyes still closed shut from the pain.
"I can't remember..."
There are eight other people down there with you, all slowly coming to and making different amounts of noise. Those who can see try to take stock of things, while those who don't can feel the panic bubbling just below the skin.
"Nghh, that hurt." Iolana hums a bright little melody and makes a flicking motion with her fingers and suddenly four balls of light appear around her. "There, that's better." She then looks around to better assess the situation.
"Bloody blessed barley brew!" exclaims Sarge as he sits up, rubbing his eyes and head. "Did someone get the number on that caravan wagon? What in the f!#$ing hells happened?"
He squints his eyes against the sudden light. "Corporal Strappi? Private Goom? Perks? Where are you lads? Hey... I remember you, you were dancing. I was about to put some copper in your cup and then... lights out."
"Oh gods, protect us... Where across the Planes are we?"
Amanda sits up as she says this. She notices her tail has become stronger and has torn through the back of her shirt.
better keep my temper...
Iolana makes her way over to the big man, "I appreciate the thought, I hope you enjoyed the show. Sadly I think money is the least of our problems just now." Iolana sees the woman with the tail sit up, "I think we have another survivor over here." Iolana will move over to the strange tailed woman and offer her a hand, "Are you all right?"
Amanda speaks up and Kyra easily recognizes her voice, sighing in relief.
"Amanda? By the Inheritor's blessing, I'm so glad...I...I thought you might have been amongst these poor souls..." she trails off as she once again takes in the contents of the room, looking over the various bodies crushed under the rubble.
"That's four of us up and about, then...What happened, to cause so many casualties? Are any of you hurt? Are you in need of healing?" she asks, looking around at the rest of the survivors to see which of them is in need of help at the moment.
Sarge pats his rotund body over, checking for broken bones. "Thank the gods, I seem to be in one piece." He scans what he can see in the magical light, trying to figure out where they are and how they got here.
Amanda takes Iolana's hand and uses it to pull herself up.
"Thank you, I'm fine."
She turns to Kyra.
"Kyra! Thank the gods you're alright!"
Iolana looks over at the brightly winged woman as she comes to Amanda, "I take it you must know each other?" Looking the both of them over a moment, "I am fine, I only damaged my pride I think. Don't you two make an odd pair? I take it you must be Amanda and you Kyra," pointing to each of you respectively, "I am Iolana, and this is...hey, I never caught your name soldier boy." Iolana looks around, "I wonder if anyone else is alive down here?" The lights start circling out from our position to illuminate more of the area.
"Oh. My head." Alex groans in pain. "Can someone turn those lights down? I've got a headache," he says in response to the floating orbs of light. "What happened? What was that noise?" His inexperience in combat is beginning to get to him.
Upon taking even a cursory look around, you notice a few more things about their surroundings. The light catches a few glimmering, silver objects on the top of the rubble pile.
Of the nine people trapped underground, six of you seem to be in decent enough shape, the wounds mostly superficial, scrapes and cuts that will heal just fine, and the extent of your injuries is mostly just dull pains that you've suffered through before. The same can't be said for the others.
As everyone's senses return to them, those hurt begin to show it a little more by their continued reactions to what's wrong. A human woman lies in pain on the ground, clutching her leg and wincing. An elf feels around, his eyes torn up and bleeding as he mutters lowly to himself. A rather well-fed human in very expensive clothes that are now ruined seems very uncomfortable.
As Alexander groans and complains of the lights, Iolana stops them near the group of injured and rise up a bit higher.
I know enough about injuries to know I should let others handle them.
"I don't think I can be of much help with these injuries. You implied you can heal Kyra, can you help them. If you need my help just tell me what to do."
Iolana then goes over carefully to the elf, "Can you see? What are you looking for, maybe I can help?"
"Oh gods... what has happened here? We have to help these people!"
As she says this, Amanda takes the cloth wrapping her sword and puts it underneath the blind Elf's head, holding him and telling him that everything will be fine.
The elf feels around, shaking his head as he looks toward Iolana's voice. "No, I cannot." Up close, she can see some light burns on his face, as well as a long, narrow scar along his eyes, as though someone had whipped his face and robbed him of his sight. Amanda's blindfold makes him tense up slightly from the unexpected touch, but he nods and calms down. "Thank you. It is fortunate that there are others down here. My name is Aravashniel. I demand the name and experience fighting demons from each of you."
"I prevented a demonic cult from summoning their master when I was young."
"I'm Iolana, and I escaped the worldwound after being captured by cultists." Iolana gets a haunted look in her eyes and shudders at the memory of what happened.
"Heh, you too? Sometimes I wondered if I was the only one who survived," Amanda says, turning to Iolana. Graf barks at her. New face!
Iolana looks even more haunted by the memory, and replies in a hollow voice, "Yes, me too." Seeming to shake it off, she reaches out to hold her hand out for Graf to sniff at and then scratches his ears if he allows it.
Jackram starts looking around for any other living creatures, and at the shiny things. When the elf 'demands' his name and experience, he grunts.
"Well, now demanding's a tricky thing. Some folks might take that the wrong way, you know, take umbrage, be a mite offended. Still, we're in the middle of who-knows-where facing who-knows-what dangers, so I'll not be doing any of that umbrage or offense-taking just yet.
"Sergeant Jackram Hughes, my lad, and I've been training recruits for the crusades for years, taking them out for their sorties into the Wound, facing down all manner of nasties, and then having to write the 'We sincerely regret to inform you' letters to their Ma and Pa, you know. Now it looks like I'll have a whole company's worth to write. So that's my experience that you demanded to know."
A tall woman in heavy armor and the habit of a religious monastic steps forward. Adjusting the hitch in the belt across her shoulders, she checks the hilt of the large sword over her shoulder, certain that she can draw it with either hand.
Stepping up to the group, she lays one hand on the shoulder of the Sgt. "Sgt. Jackram Hughes, it is good that you are here, hearty and hale. Perhaps you could help me keep order long enough to investigate our circumstances."
"I see more than a few of us made it, how fortunate."She pauses to point out the debris around us and the bodies beneath it. "I think it would be wise if all should state their name, occupation and reason for being in the city. Sabotage has been done and the criminal caught quickly is usually the only one caught at all."
"I am Armiger Asmodea Jaegarre, a paladin of the Order of the God Claw. I am in this city with the rest of my order to send those illiterate, barely sentient, lumps of twisted demon flesh back to the Abyss where they belong."
Turning to Amanda, she asks, "May I please have your name, occupation and reason for being in the city? With pen and paper in hand, she is obviously ready to write the information down.
Graf runs over to the woman and licks at her face, trying to cheer her up.
To Asmodea: "My name is Amanda Mayweather. I don't have a real occupation - street rat, I guess, though I have been helping with the upkeep of the Temple of Iomedae. This city is my home, always has been."
"We have to help these people," Amanda says as she notices the other survivors. "Kyra, see if you can heal that woman. I'll go talk to that man over there."
Walking over to the nobleman,
"Hello, sir. Are you alright? You seem to be less injured than these other people."
"Given what just happened, do you truly believe the situation would call for orders to be given from anyone other than a Riftwarden?" His voice is heavy with arrogance and the expectation that his station is apparent to everyone in the cave. "Or do you not remember?"
The question lingers for all of you, and suddenly, the memories come flooding back.
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 clered 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 thunderous explosions ripped through the air and earth, along with a violent tremor.
To the west, the fortress known as the Kite--the location of Kenabres' wardstone--had vanished. In its place, a brilliant plume of fire, lightning, and smoke erupted into the heavens. A powerful roar accompanied a welcome sight rising from the crowd--Keabres' greatest guardian, the ancient silver dragon Terendelev, who had until that moment been attending the ceremony in human guise. Above, another form appeared, as nightmarish as the dragon was breathtaking. A humanoid shape three times the size of any man, with skin coated in fire and lightning, gripped a flaming sword and whip. The creature's identity was immediately obvious; Khorramzadeg, the Storm King of the Worldwound, had come to Kenabres.
As the ground continued to shake and disgorge demons into the streets, the dragon and the balor lord clashed above. The fight was over in a few harrowing moments, as the balor cut deep into Terendelev's body, swooping down to strike the dragon and arresting her charge. A few more blows, and the titanic duo spiraled down toward into the crowd.
The sight of the dragon smashing into the facade of the Cathedral of St. Clydwell is one no witness would ever forget. At that moment, a titanic demon erupted at the far end of the plaza, reducing several buildings to ruins as it smashed into this world. The rift it created shot across the plaza, and this time there was no escape. It opened below your feet, angling away into darkness.
Even as you fell, the dragon noticed your plight. Though she saw death standing over her, she seized this final chance to save a few more souls. After she uttered a few arcane words and stretched out a bleeding talon, you felt her magic take hold of you, slowing your plummet into the darkness as if you were feathers falling into the pit. Yet the fall remained inexorable, and as you drifted downward into the depths, the last thing you saw was the Storm King standing over 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 above was gone.
"My name is Aravashniel, and unless you've a better idea, I suggest heeding my words. If we're to have any chance of returning to the surface and saving our city, we need guidance."
His words rouse the attention of the others in the cavern. An injured human woman pulls herself up, sitting and hissing as her right legs sticks out, twisted and certainly not in good condition. "Avenia Tirabade," she says through winces. "I'm married to the leader of the Eagle Watch, and I run scouting missions at the Worldwound, though I thankfully don't have a lot of experience fighting them. Right now, I doubt I'll be doing much of anything." She tries to touch her leg, only to cry out in intense pain.
A rather well-fed human man with thinning hairline and expensive clothes ruined by all the dirt and blood stands up, with similarly superficial cuts and scrapes to the rest of you. "My name is Horgus Gwerm," he says proudly, leaving the air open for a moment to everyone to recognize his name and be impressed by it. None of you have the slightest idea who he is. "And no, I am clearly not alright. Look at all of this blood and dirt on my clothes, and these cuts."
"Yes, my name is Kyra Altreas, Ms. Iolana, and Amanda is my trusted friend. I would ask what you mean when you say we're an 'odd pair', but this situation is far too dire to focus on such trivial things right now. Aravashniel, my name is, once more, Kyra Altreas. I've always lived in Kenabres, and while I might not have the most experience fighting demons, I have devoted myself to the teachings of the Inheritor, and I aim to battle in her name and in the name of Kenabres against the Worldwound and these demons that plague us."
She nods at Amanda's request, swiftly making her way to the injured human woman, inspecting her injuries.
"Ma'am, prepare yourself. I apologize, but this will might cause you temporary pain." she warns, slowly lowering her hands to rest on her injured leg. She concentrates and a gentle aura of magical energy forms on the palms of her hands, seeming to almost resonate with the gentle glow and hum of her prismatic wings as she casts Cure Light Wounds on the woman's injuries.
As she tends to the wound, any serious injuries slowly close up, and the woman hopefully finds herself in considerably less pain afterwards.
To Asmodea, Alex says, "My name is Alexander Grayson. I'm in the city for research purposes. I study the history of the Worldwound and the Riftwardens."
To Aravashniel, he says, "Fortunately, I do not have much in the way of combat experience. Though, I know a few magic tricks if the occasion calls for it."
Sarge nods to Asmodea, but says, "Sarge will do."
When the blinded elf makes his remarks, and the memories return to Sarge's battered brain, he groans. "Fecking hells, the Storm King. I remember now. Guess Terendelev didn't make it."
"Well, Riftwarden, I'm with you on guidance. In particular, one of us will have to give you a hand when walking, unless you've a spell to restore those ruined eyes of yours. I reckon that'll have to wait until we get up top. Are you hurt in any other way?"
Turning to Kyra and Anevia, Sarge squats down in the dust next to the wounded woman. He keeps up a steady chatter as he helps tend to the leg. "I've always found a bit of old-fashioned first aid helps with healing magics. We gotta set this bone before you heal it fully, or it'll be twice as long healing up. Say, you're married to the leader of the Eagle watch you say?"
"Brace yourself, this is gonna hurt," says Sarge as he gives Anevia's broken leg a twist and a pull, causing her a sharp spike of pain, but getting her twisted leg into the proper alignment again. "Ok, we gotta make a splint. I don't got my healing kit - didn't think I'd need it. Mostly luck I've got what I do have."
As the healing magic washes over the human woman, she settles more comfortably where she sits. Then Jackram comes over over to her and sets the bone, making her cry out loudly, her scream echoing down the cavern as Kyra's healing feels undone due to the intense pain coming forth. Thankfully, there is enough wreckage littered around you that you're able to fashion a makeshit splint for her leg. Shakily, she stands up, takes a few limping steps, and her shoulders ease up.
In searching for rubble to fashion into a splint, Jackram finds six silver scales lying amidst the wreckage. These are immediately recognizable as belonging to the fallen dragon, Terendelev.
Upon picking up each individual scale, you receive a flash of insight as to the scale's properties, along with an emotional rush of sadness tinged with resolute determination. Each scale grants a different power, and will not function at all if more than one scale is carried. The scales are as follows:
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.
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.
Burden Sharing: Three times per day as a standard action, a scale can be used to cast Shield Other.
Consecration: Three times per day as a standard action, a scale can be used to cast consecrate. If used by a lawful good character, the sacred bonus on positive channeled energy DC's granted by the scale increases by +1.
The Riftwarden shakes his head. "I have no magic that can heal my vision, but yes, I'll need somebody to be my eyes. But not one of the strong ones; you are needed elsewhere."
Anevia hobbles toward the elf. "I can do it. I can't walk, but my eyes are good. It frees the rest of you up."
"Well, that was a rather unpleasant blow to the city, you are right Riftwarden, we do need help to get out of here, what would you suggest we do."
Iolana looks around for something that Aravashniel could use as a walking stick if he needed it, and one to serve as a crutch for Avenia, and brings them to the two. "Here, you may not need these now, but they might be useful later if you two get separated." Iolana hands them the walking stick and crutch and helps secure them if necessary.
When it becomes her turn to speak with Asmodea, Iolana tries to identify the accent Asmodea speaks with to determine her homeland before deciding just what to say to her. That name sounds Chellish to me, if she is I had better watch what I say.
Aravashniel puts his hand out. "I am fine, but thank you," he says, adjusting his quarterstaff in his hand and putting it out to the side opposite Anevia as he reluctantly puts an arm around her shoulder. so that they can lean on each other for support and guidance.