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.
Aleister adjusts his tie before perching himself on a rooftop. The same rooftop hes camped at every year during the festival. His Thrush familiar rests next to him whistling along with a nearby musician.
It was good to be out of the safe house. Kenabres has changed so much in over seventy years. Steave walks around the festival events looking for memories and joy. He learns what history wants the crusaders to remember about the crusades from the battle reenactments, plays, and bards' songs. He watches the jousting competitions and mock duels looking for new techniques and evaluating potential allies. He finds a good spot at Clydwell Plaza to watch the opening ceremonies.
Steave Rojerz stands tall and unwavering. His short blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and slightly sharpened ears hint at his elven heritage. He dresses as a simple crusader in veteran heavy leather gauntlets and breeches, sturdy leather boots, heavy forest green wool overtunic covering a breastplate. He wears a backpack that sits in the small of his back above a thick leather pocket-filled belt holstering a cold iron climbing axe. He stows a heavy wooden circular shield with unusual cold iron shield spikes on a harness in the middle of his shoulder blades. A forest green, hooded cloak is tied to the outside of his backpack.
Menedemus entered Clydwell Plaza, the place he was stationed at for the opening ceremony. Later, he was free to patrol around the festival, but the great crowd gathered near the cathedral required extra security.
Mendemus, usually overly cautious and apprehensive in his job, believed that the joyous mood around the city would make it so there would be minimal problems. Seeing everyone so cheerful had made him a little bit more relaxed, something that rarely happened to him.
Maybe it's also because that voice let me rest two days ago...
For a moment he crossed his mind that maybe that wasn't something to rejoice about. Maybe that was the omen of some terrible event which was about to unfold...
His whip-like tail cracked behind him, shutting the ill thought out of his head, as Menedemus turned his watchful eyes to the crowd.
In unusually good spirits, Lisandra enters Clydwell Plaza with her head held high while chatting up various locals. For those of her faith, Armasse was an uplifting event. On this particularly joyous occasion, Lisandra is decked out in her full regalia, her tailored Armored Coat, sword and shield bearing the symbol of Iomedae polished and cleaned to perfection. She seems the very picture of Knight, though she is considerably slimmer and less war tested then the average Iomedean crusader. Presently, Lisandra holds her helmet to the side, her fine blond hair blowing gently in the breeze as she speaks amicably with the residents of Kenabres.
What a glorious day, one fit for our lady of justice. As the festivities grow ever nearer, Lisandra appears more relaxed and at one with the world around her.
Leander came running onto the plaza. Finally, fresh air. He had been cooped up with his mother for weeks after his "excursion" and now was the first time he was out again. Not just that, he was free, on his own. Sure, mom would come running soon, always afraid he'd get in all sorts of trouble. He snorted. It was tiresome but she had a point, he did have a knack for finding trouble.
Not today though, today was Armasse, the one day in Kenabres that could honestly be described as being fun. So many purses he could lift, yet most where not interesting at all. People didn't pay attention at days like this, making it too easy, and when they finally did notice they'd start shouting and ruin the day. No, best to keep his hands to himself today.
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.
Leander coughed loudly. He unfurls himself from the odd ball he had reflexively twisted himself into when it all went down, whatever "it" was. He blinked several times before looking around him, for once thankful for the curse that ran through his veins.
Steave pushes himself to a kneeling position ignoring any pain. With practiced precision, he removes a torch from his backpack and his flint & steel from a belt pouch. After a few strikes, he ignites the torch. He holds the torch up, as he returns his flint & steel to his belt pouch with one hand. He calls out, "Is anyone else here? Do you need help?" He stands up and surveys the scene.
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.
EDIT: Nevermind, in the time it took me to post that Steve hit the light. Okay you can all see now.
A satisfied grin paints itself on Menedemus's face as pain fills his body.
No no no! What am I doing!
He cracks his tail to calm himself, but what was before his eyes quickly changed his previous grin in a mask of terror and horror.
"Anyone needs help? Please, answer me!" he will shout, as he moves to the nearby rubble to see if there are any survivors.
When he starts scanning the scene his sight starts to blur for a second and then...
Steave notices the six gleaming silver scale-looking objects but moves toward the figures struggling to get up.
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 Aeryx moves closer toward them, he can ascertain that they are indeed scales, and that there is something familiar about them that the daze of hitting his head hasn't yet completely lifted off of.
Steave approaches the human woman in pain. "Hi, I'm Steave. Please let me help you." Assuming she doesn't fight him off, he grounds the torch nearby and starts providing first aid. He takes his time to splint the leg and bandage any wounds. After the time it takes, He helps her to sit on a more comfortable rock.
Suddenly, Menedemus could see azure, bright flames around everyone, even around his very own hands. He will gasp, only to regain composure shortly after, when he realizes that the fires were not harmful in any way.
He will turn around, seeing other six people enveloped by vivid, crackling flames. They looked healthy enough, even if a little beaten up.
The same could not be said for the other two people: one, a woman, enveloped in only a few tongues of flames, laid on the debris, with what seemed like a broken leg. But what worried him most was an elven man: his was merely a candle, about to disappear in a puff of smoke in any moment.
Menedemus rushed to him, helping him to stand straight, and tried to calm him down.
"Can you stand, sir? Here, let me help you. We'll heal you in a second."
"Is there anyone here skilled in healing? This man and that woman need help as fast as possible!" he will shout to the others as he points to the injured woman.
He will turn to what seemed to be a crusader. "Thanks, sir. Your help is appreciated." While Steave tends to the woman, Menedemus will try to keep the elf with the mangled eyes calm.
The woman's unpleasant expression becomes a little less weary as the half-elf begins helping her so spontaneously. "Anevia," she replies, wincing as he pulls a splint together from the wreckage and she settles down to sit. "Thank you," she says, lowering her head and looking down at the injured leg. "I don't know what I would have done without you."
The elf continues fumbling about as Menedemus helps him upright, his hands feeling the arms and chest of the Tiefling. Up close, Menedemus can make out burns all over his face, as well as a narrow wound that runs along his upper face, as if a whip had come down and robbed him of his sight. "Healing will not avail me," he says, his voice weak as he stands up. "My vision will not be cured by mere cantrips. I need a powerful cleric to heal me, and until then, I will need eyes. You seem strong," he says. "It would be a waste if you were to guide me. Are there others here? What are your names, and your experiences in fighting demons?" His voice turns authoritative as he addresses everybody. Though he immediately sets out barking orders, the Paladin's concern for him is enough to earn his cooperation and approval.
"And what of I?" booms the other human as he stands up, brushing some dirt off his clothes and clicking his tongue in distaste of what's happened. "Nobody shows concern for the nobleman because the thief and the slanderer are calling out louder."
You fail to recognize them as being anything from the wild, or the planes.
Aleister coughs the dust from the collapse still heavy in the air, the struggles to his feet and seraches for his familiar. Cain. He finds the little guy happily scooping up insects nearby. Must be nice to have wings.
The Wizard scans the room looking for other survivors and then approaches the largest gathering offering his aid to the angry man. "Did you break anything?" he asks.
"It's good to meet you Anevia. I wish it were under better circumstances. I'll help you walk when we start moving, but I need to see to the others," Steave replies to Anevia.
He walks toward the others and replants the torch in a more central location. When the elf turns authoritative and starts barking out questions, Steave instinctively and immediately responds, "Captain Rojerz, Steaven J. Years of experience fighting demons in the first crusade."
He approaches the unfriendly man, "Sir, are you injured? Do you need first aid?"
Wow, those burn marks are severe. I wonder what it feels like to have your own face set aflame...
Menedemus's tail made a loud crack, and his face briefly twisted in disgust as he tried to stay away from those morbid thoughts.
"I'm Menedemus Aultor, of the city guards of Kenabres. But why do you ask of our experience fighting demons?" he will say after a salute to the elf. Then he will focus his attention on the nobleman.
It would only spread more panic if I said I helped them before because I saw blue fire coming out of them...
"I apologize. They seemed to me to be more gravely injured. Do you feel alright, sir?"
The elf's face twitches as Steave introduces himself, and it's hard to tell if he's emoting or not due to the burns. "Well, this is an interesting turn of events, and we might well make it out alive now, captain." Though covered in dirt, blood, and burns, slowly Steave starts to place the man's face; Aravashnial, one of the Riftwardens who retrieved him from his sleep. "But unfortunately you are too strong to be my eyes either. You'll be needed for other things." He continues speaking as though he's in charge.
Menedemus's question makes his lip curl. "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.
"I'm in pain," snapped the round human, cutting through the moment of realization. "Do you know who I am? I am Horgus Gwerm, and if you sad lot can get me back to my home I promise you 1,500 gold for your trouble. There, maybe that will buy a little more consideration than you'd give to those who don't deserve it."
"So she...saved us?"
But why? Why us? Why ME?
Menedemus looked at the bodies strewn across the floor.
They surely were all much more worthy of life than me, so why did THEY had to die? Maybe it's true: I'm just a curse to everyone who's near me and if things keep going like this maybe even these last survivors may...
"As I said, I live to serve the citizens of Kenabres. It is my duty, and I swear on my life that I will see all of you to safety" he said with the more resolute voice he could muster, more to himself than to Lord Gwerm.
He will move to the only two people that had not talked since the fall, a Tiefling the height of an Halfling and a blonde woman who sported the symbol of Iomedae on her shield. "You haven't said anything. Are you two alright?".
Remembering something about scales, he will approach the small cloaked figure who introduced himself as Aeryx, to ask him if he had suffered any wounds from the fall. "Am I mistaken, or you mentioned some silver objects?" he will add, after he checked if the Aasimar was injured.
Steave is relieved to see Aravashnial on many levels.
"No, reward is necessary, Horgus. We all are going home." Steave replies. He approaches Horgus to attempt first aid.
Aleister did not have the knowledge or skill to aid in healing the man so the mage left the elf to his task.
"Agreed. I can't say I'm interested in your coin,... sir." Aleister says steping away to gather some of Terendelev's scales.
"I'll take the coin if no one else does. My parents' house already needed a new roof and I doubt this improved the situation." The little fellow seemed rather upbeat for someone who just fell down a hole in the floor after the Storm King himself attacked his home.
He moved to Horgus after making sure the wounded two were taken care of. "My apologies for the others sir, they care for the wounded, as is their vocation." He nodded towards Steaven who was checking Horgus' wounds, "You are in good hands sir and we will do all we can to get you out of here in one piece." Just as they would the others, but no point in telling that.
He then turned towards the others, "My name is Leander Mulberry, but most call me Skink. I think it's the tail." He looked at the blinded Elf, "You're one of the Riftwardens, aren't you? My mother works for you people, Elena Mulberry."
Alester pulls a scale from his familiars beak. His mind wanders and he begins to think about the condition of the city above. The only home he had ever known.
Finshed with his foraging he looks back to the rest of the survivors. "My name is Aleister. Pleasure to meet you and to have survived with everyone here."
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 nobleman finally lightens up as Leander speaks to him, giving him what he feels is the respect that he deserves, worded well enough to earn an approving smile. "Finally, somebody who understands how to speak with nobility."
When the nobleman slights him, Steave finishes his first aid assessment, "Your wounds appear superficial. Please excuse me, I need to tend to our blind companion."
Steave moves over to Aravashnial and starts his first aid presuming it would not improve anything but gives them time to converse in relative private. He whispers to the Riftwarden elf, "Aravashnial, it's Steave. We appear to be in a cavern. There are nine of us total. What things do you need of me?"
"Yes, Captain, I can tell it's you," he says, sitting there as Steave tends to him. "There is little purpose in being secretive about this now; secrets are not at all beneficial to our circumstances. What we need is to begin moving as swiflty as we can so that we may find some way back up to the surface. Our home is burning above us and we're currently rather powerless to stop it."
Whatever hole you fell through has since closed back up, and the wall of rubble behind you helps keep you with few options. There is only one way forward for you, following the cave.
"Right." Steave moves away from the Riftwarden and collects his torch. "Let's move with a purpose, people. There is only one way forward, following the cave heading east. Anevia, Aravashnial can you help each other? One to see, one to be a crunch? Does anyone have any magic light? Otherwise, we should light a second torch. I can take point unless someone wants it." Steave takes the lead looking for everyone to follow.
Gripping her aching head, Lisandra listens somewhat absently as the others converse. As the memory of the days horrid events replay in her mind, a single tear falls down the young girls cheek Terendelev is no more, and our home burns... darkness gathers. Shaking her head, Lisandra attempts to regain her resolve No, I cannot give in to despair.
Standing up and dusting her now dirty armor and clothing, the crusader gathers her things and approaches the others "I'm sorry, I heard somebody ask for a healer earlier; such was my training, I can be of service." Taking her helmet off and shaking her hair from her eyes, she nods as she introduces herself "I am Lisandra Elsinore."
After surveying the others, she approaches the Anevia first, she places a hand on her shoulder and nods gently "Allow me to help; I'm a field medic."
Anevia looks at the mage, and though not too excited to, she agrees to listen, grateful for the attention Steave and Lisandra gave to her. She stands up slowly, bending over to grab a long piece of wood near to work as a makeshit crutch, and she makes her way over toward Aravasniel.
"I suppose given the circumstances, you'll have to make do," the elf says curtly, putting one arm around the woman's shoulders and slowly getting up.
Now that your attention is on matters other than each other, you soak in your surroundings, and notice a short ways down a giant spider. It lies limp, legs spread out, and there is a vaguely twitching motion about it. The smell of death wafts toward you as you approach it by necessity; it sits in the middle of the cavernous path before you.
Menedemus tightly grips the dragon's scale in his hand.
If she gave me this power, then my duty is clear: I'm to protect these people, and die in their stead if it comes to it.
He will nod to what he thought to be his grim task, and starts to march near the head of the group.
As they move trough the tunnels, he will keep using his new found sight power () to search for any other survivors.
I wonder if Terendelev and the voice were the same entity...And if that's not the case, who gave me this ability?
As he sees the giant spider, he focus on the arachnid to see if the flames of life still burns around it.
Your vision confirms that the spider is dead, as if your nose was not enough. There is, however, the flame of life burning inside of it, and as you draw closer still there's an unpleasant wriggling motion in the corpse's gut and an unsavoury, wet chewing noise.
"The spider is dead, but I'm positive there's something alive in there. Could be a rat, maybe..." he will say, while unsheathing his greatsword. "What do you want to do?" Menedemus will add, turning to the others.
Leander draws his own shortbow which is the exact same size as the one Aeryx wield, something that tends to surprise most. He aims at the corpse, waiting to see what happens. He nods at the bird-man.
The arrow pierces the spider carcass with ease, and with a sickening noise, three giant maggots spill out of the corpse and wriggle about, slowly finding the purpose of undulating toward you.
Before Steave could get any question from his lips, the archers pop the dead spider releasing three giant maggots. He reaches behind his back and grabs his familiar shield. He readies his shield if the maggot closes and calls out, "Aravashniel, we have three giant maggots spilling from a dead giant spider. Do we need energy attacks, or can we just stomp them?"