Harrol will attempt to drive the creature back with a flask of holy water before pelting it with slingstones.
The scorpion focuses upon the backpedalling and defensive Anevia as you rush to aid her. As your initial forays prove ineffectual (bar a glancing blow from Harrol with holy water), it is Lann who proves more decisive - the mongrelman's blunt instrument cracking carapace and causing ichor to bleed upon the stone.
Gregori rushes back outside just as a second beast forms and chitters ready to fight. Channelling the righteous power of Terendelev into his liberated blade the melee turns as the Paladin and the mongrel put paid to the assaulting vermin. A third scorpion forms soon after and as you turn to face it... Anevia is assaulted by an as yet unseen party.
A cloak of invisibility sloughing from his form as water from a duck's back, a red-armored orcen form comes into view. In his hands is a ranseur... freshly bloodied through a cut on Anevia's thigh. It screams in the guttural orcish tongue...
Theodric will cast Daze on the orc, trying to give Anevia a chance to escape. If he needs to sink back to the ground first, he will.
Harrol will use his wand of spiritual weapon (6 charges left) to ward off the creature, conjuring a bright, golden sword of holy light to beat the assassin back. He'll rush to Aneiva's side to administer healing as soon as he's able.
With a roar of fury Gregori charges the Red armored Orc, bringing his blade to bear on the attacker.
"Face me you bastard!"
Anevia rears backwards with recognition and scrambles to draw a weapon, putting too much weight upon her rent leg and crumpling to the ground. Left vulnerable the attacker is able to score a deep strike before Harrol's conjured sword lances him in the side and Gregori barges the orc off of the injured woman.
A brief scuffle follows, but the weight of muscle upon your side quickly proves weighty enough to carry the day - and the orc is felled. Anevia heaves herself away from the body and sucks in breath heavily to regain her composure.
"Friend of yours?" Docia asks pointedly, as she offers her support to Anevia to regain her feet.
"It sounds like this attack was definitely personal," Gregori says, placing a hand on Anevia's shoulder, a warm glow emanating from it.
Lay on hands
Theodric floats slowly back down to the ground, hurrying over to the others.
He looks around nervously, pointing his crossbow in front of him as he frantically searches for other foes.
Perhaps we should take this conversation inside--that is, if it's safe in there. Gregori?
"The house was clear," Gregori responds."You're right, we should head inside."
Accepting Gregori's healing Anevia responds to Eudocia with a forced chuckle "Hardly... a mad cultist that Irabeth arrested in the River Kingdoms... Vagorg I think. Seems he held a grudge" her eyes and facial expressions conveying her thanks to you all once again.
Upon the orc's body you find a potion of invisibility, wand of magic missile (CL 3rd, 11 charges), and 42 gp in coin. But it is the orc's weapon that proves most interesting. It is a ranseur, but the head is seemingly carved from smooth black stone.
Anevia leads you inside and limps immediately into the bedroom, moving to the bed's headboard and revealing a hidden niche. Her demeanor brightens as she retrieves a small piece of parchment and a range of philtres. Reading she shares with unbounded relief "Irabeth is alive! She says to seek her at The Defender's Heart... that's an inn north of here. The word “Silverstrong” will identify us as friends."
From what you know of the city - the Defender's Heart is indeed to the North and in the same district that you are currently. You wager that it is likely the nearest of the landmarks left to investigate.
Gregori smiles at Anevia's relieved joy. "Then let's get you to your wife. Is there anything here that you feel you need?"
Harrol lets out a cry of joy and claps his hands together. "Safety? Oh bless my poor, bleeding feet, it'll be good to rest my legs a spell... Truth be told I don't rightly know 'ow long I can keep going like dis..." Harrol says, beaming. For a moment he seems to forget himself "First thing I'll do is scrub all of this blood and demon-bile off, then a cooked meal in my belly and a feather bed... Er, after we get the survivors to safety, that is." he adds gingerly rubbing the back of his neck as he looks guiltily away.
Theodric stows his crossbow and takes the wand, turning it over in his hand and nodding with satisfaction. He seems much more comfortable with magic at his disposal.
Agreed--I could use a rest myself. Demons are rather sadistic, so they probably targeted all of the decent cooks first, strike at our morale and whatnot. It's worth a look, though--I'm ready to travel when everyone else is.
Anevia shakes her head "No, there's nothing else here... lets press on."
The remainder of travel through Kenabres to the Defender's Heart is fraught with tension... but passes with only an occasional sound or imagined flutter of motion at the extremes of your senses. Before long and as the evening descends you round the last corner and it comes into view.
The Defender's Heart was the largest inn in Kenabres before the fall and stands still as a stout stone structure without any real sign of damage bar scarring by soot. Largely ignored by the initial demonic attack that was heavier to the West in Old Kenabres. The usually welcoming doors are instead barred by a fortified structure of steel and wood. Eyes can be seen from windows within the structure also and while you are still more than sixty feet from the barricade a stern voice cries out "Halt, and speak words that prove you friend..."
"The password is silverstrong," Eudocia replies, holding up a hand to halt the group until they are invited to approach, "although how long it will remain a secret when it's asked to be spoken aloud in the open street from seventy feet away, I don't know."
Gregori chuckles as Eudocia's caustic retort. It was clear that stress made her tongue even more acidic than usual.
The words spoken louder carry and those that are whispers do not. The guardsman breaks a gap in the barricade and ushers you forwards. As you approach his interest is further piqued by the appearance of Anevia among your number - as he turns and passes a message within. The presence of Lann following after quells some of the animation... but not enough to give you pause.
Harrol, emboldened by the thought of the comforts of civilization at last, murmurs a prayer of thanks at the threshold and is the first to pad through the door.
Theodric wastes no time crossing the threshold, relieved at the promise of some protection.
We have important information regarding the assault on the city. Can you please show us to whomever has taken charge of the defenses here? You may wish to consider relying on more than a simple password to verify the identities of would-be visitors. Do you have any holy water? he inquires of the guard who admits them.
As you begin to move forwards towards the inn, you are swiftly met by the emergence of a half-orcen lady. She is bedecked in full plate of burnished bronze, a heavy bladed sword at her side and a demeanour that both commands respect and threatens righteous violence both. Her stern face melts though at the sight of she who limps beside you on makeshift crutches. "Anevia!" she cries to be answered by a "Irabeth!". With what swiftness they can muster they meet in embrace as Anevia's crutches are left to clatter to the ground.
Irabeth Tirablade smiles widely as the pair part but slightly, Anevia relying now upon her wife's support to move and she effuses "A thousand thanks I will offer you... but first within, words would be best exchanged bound by walls and with weight off our feet" and with that you are led into the inn proper. In her relief and haste she either does not care or has not noticed Lann's macabre appearance... the guardsmen are less ebullient, but with Irabeth's approval girding your claim that do not challenge. One stammers a response to Theodric "Aye, there's divine agua within"
The darkened common is lit by flickering lanterns and much of the decoration has been given over to maps and notes spread upon the walls. Red and black marks depict places of note and interest, but you are ushered to a central table swiftly and cannot pay much notice. Irabeth calls to a one-armed man behind the bar for water and stew as seats are taken and adds "Send for Quednys". The inn has a range of weary crusaders both martial and arcane around... who turn and take interest in the new arrivals.
Seated beside Anevia, Irabeth opens "I am Irabeth Tirablade, Commander of what remains of the Eagle Knights and the organised resistance against the demons. You have returned my light to my life and for that I will always mention you in prayers... but please, speak of me your names and what brought you to this place of refuge in times dire."
Eudocia cringes a little at the public display of affection. Embracing a person in full plate armor... that can't be comfortable. Between the half-orc's heavy armor and the human's limp, the process of their enraptured reunion is played out in excruciating slow motion, and Docia carefully looks anywhere but in their direction until they have parted.
Once inside, she coolly replies, "You owe us no thanks, Commander, as nothing we did was calculated to please you; we merely did as we thought right. As to what brought us here, your bride can tell you, as she was with us the whole way." 'The light of her life' indeed! She sounds like the Horse Officers back home. There's enough of them who wear their wives and sweethearts like another medal on their chests. She thanks us as if we returned a lost dog or a purse full of coin in hope of a reward. Speak up for yourself, Anevia, and tell your own story instead of just gazing at her in silent adoration!
The summons for Quednys attracts her attention, and she waits eagerly to see if their as-yet unmet patron will, in fact, arrive. "Quednys Orlun?" she asks, quickly tucking loose strands of her hair behind her ears and wishing for a mirror. "The librarians at the Blackwing were uncertain of his ... whereabouts." She exchanges the more politic word for 'fate' at the last moment.
Any coolness of phrase is not met with challenge, instead Irabeth's green face smiles around her nascent tusks "For my benefit or not I can still offer thanks for the act." pausing a moment before adding "Do you keep your name for a purpose?... or would you let me have it?"
On mention of the Blackwing Irabeth nods affirmation though with an appearance of confusion "Aye the same... though he thought the Blackwing entirely destroyed. He will be gladdened to hear that some of the order survived."
Gregori smiles at the reunion, an expression that has the effect of the sun coming out from behind clouds on his countenance.
"I am Gregori Arcanthus Shadowbane Commander, and we are all happy to bring you both at least some joy in these dark times." the Paladin says with smile. "When the attack came we were among those taken by the great cracks rent in the earth and found ourselves in caverns below the city...."
As Irabeth listens Gregori details the group's experience to this point, making emphasis of the aid of those below who maintain the fight against the demon hordes.
Harrol for the most part nods silently as Gregori recounts their tale, content to let the big folk sort out such matters. His eyes light up at the mention of hot stew, and he frequently glances toward the kitchens.
Theodric Abernathy, Commander, pleased to meet you. If Miss Fairday will not take the credit for reuniting you with your beloved, allow me to accept your thanks and any goodwill that comes along with it. The scholar smiles, despite the perhaps inappropriate timing of his own jest.
Mr. Shadowbane is correct--we would not have survived without the help of Lann and our allies below. They helped us to uncover some of the Baphomet Cult's plans. First, though, the Black Wing--perhaps you and Quednys can send word, and an escort, to bring the remaining librarians here? Aravashnial was with us when we fell and he remains at the ruins, trying to salvage what he can. He was blinded by demonfire and is in need of help--I do not believe it to be safe there. As he represents half of the surviving Riftwardens, this should take some priority.
Irabeth measures up Lann with a wary eye as she listens to all that you have said about him and his tribe. At completion she nods cautiously "Of course... we have no dearth of foes and can use all assistance we can. We will send a patrol with you to formalize the treaty when we can. If the tunnels are now secure they may very well be the best place to sequester civilians until Mendev comes with steel."
Harrol need not stand on ceremony or salivate for any real length of time... as bread, stew and stale cheese is furnished to the table as well as a thin ale and weak tea. The fare is not as sumptuous as it would have been before fire and death descended upon Kenabres - but it has still been made with care and is a welcome reminder that not all that was has been lost.
Quednys himself arrives just as Theodric mentions that Aravashnial lives - the grim lines on his aged and stern face softening as the news sinks in. His voice is soft, but still forceful "So a Riftwarden lives... It is not often that tidings heard are as fair as that."
Eudocia gets to her feet as the Librarium's founder arrives. "Master Orlun, an honor to meet you, sir," she offers her hand. "Eudocia Fairday, recently arrived from Oppara. You approved my request to try to find and preserve items of historical value?" She is obviously far more eager to please the scholar than the Commander.
Quednys' brow furrows briefly in thought before he has a seeming revelation of recollection and offers his own hand "Yes.. I remember it now, sadly we will be in need of your talents even more now than before... so much has been broken and lost." eyes distant and with a tinge of sorrow before he nods "It is good that you survived... and are here yet to fight with us"
At the mention of the Tower of Estrod, Irabeth raises a hand "That we know of... one of our scouts led a patrol there earlier today and I hadn't a moment to debrief yet. Joneth, come we'll take your report now." calling to a lithe man in one corner of the Inn to step forwards.
The prisoners that were brought with you were taken into custody, and secured within an adjacent building under guard. If the demons were to come there would be little effort spent to defend them, but there is at least a remaining pretense that they might see a trial before hanging.
Unarmored and seemingly unarmed save for a black-hilted gently curved sword resting in its black leather scabbard by his left hip, the silver-haired man approaches Irabeth and the new arrivals, his clothes, torn here and there yet entirely clean, hinting at his own travails after the city's fall. Although all too human, at first glance one could mistake him for a half-elf going by his golden eyes and slightly pointed ears, but a closer look makes his true nature apparent.
"Certainly," the sworsman nods before introducing himself to the others. "My name is Joneth, Joneth Revane," he says before adding with a smile, "though Jon will do nicely."
Pausing for a few moments to let the others introduce themselves, he proceeds to talk about his own experience in the now ruined Kenabres. "The Tower of Estrod can hardly be called that anymore," he begins, "as now only the lower two floors still stand. And it was on its second floor where the patrol I was a part of fought against cultists of Baphomet and their leader, a tiefling witch with skin as red as blood." He takes a moment before continuing, his eyes narrowing at the memory. "Because of him I had to kill one of my own comrades-in-arms after he took control of his mind, leaving me no choice. But it was not long before that demon-spawn followed him in death at least." There is a hint of satisfaction in his tone and he seems to brighten up, at least a little. "They had a shrine to Baphomet compised of a brazen minotaur head hanging above an altar covered with wavy-bladed knives and curved bulls’ horns, and the walls were decorated with red star-shaped symbols."
"And then there was this, found on the witch," he concludes, fishing a note from a belt pouch and showing it to Irabeth and the others.
You did well to report your superior’s mishandling of funds, and I trust that you will continue to serve as loyally in the weeks to come. You need not command the Kenabres Templars for long, for the city is about to die—I only wish I could be there to take part in its murder, for I have fond memories of my Red Morning Massacre. No matter, I suppose, for your mortal kin will all fall soon enough—as I said, Kenabres’s days are short.
Vorlesh has already left to meet with our Lord’s daughter in the Abyss to secure a Nahyndrian crystal of the proper purity, and once she has what she needs, she’ll arrive in Kenabres to finish the job and turn the wardstones fully to our use. You will know when she succeeds, I suspect! Praise Lord Baphomet!
Minagho
"The Tower of Estrod," Eudocia repeats. "That was mentioned in the note we found beneath Kenabres, wasn't it? Yes, one of the three 'safe houses' the cultists were maintaining. Our note was signed 'S.V.,' though; this is from someone else entirely."
Eudocia does not know of the name Vorlesh, though she can recall some pertinent information about other items of mention.
After the Red Morning Massacre, as it was called, Kenabres refused entrance to any except those who could demonstrate direst need. Those admitted were forced to undergo protracted and painful tests to demonstrate their mortality. Individuals who fell under suspicion were turned away or executed on the spot.
"All business as usual, Miss Fairday." Harrol manages through a mouthful of bread. "'m Harrol." he offers with a shrug, before dusting the crums off his worn robes and clearing his throat. "This is Eudocia Fairday of the Kitharodian Academy, Theodoric Abernathy, our wizard, and Gregori Shadowbane, our commanding officer, in a manner of speaking..." he says, excitedly. "Pleased to meet ye, Joneth!"
He stares at the outlandish looking man with barely concealed fascination, although it does nothing to dampen his good-natured halfling courtesy.
"So, what kind of notions 'ave these cultists got into their thick skulls... concernin' Kenabres and all? What's to be our next move?"
"Minagho...," Eudocia breathes. "Can it possibly be the same one...? It must be, but ... that was before even the First Crusade. She was a lilitu demon who entered Kenabres in disguise and killed sixty-two people shortly after Aroden's death, when the Worldwound was new. Master Orlun, what is this Nahyndrian crystal the note speaks of? Do you know?"
Neither Theodric nor Gregori are able to glean any additional information from the clues before them.
The wizard's brow furrows before he shakes his head "It is not known to me... but your memory is keen with respect to the past massacre. The demons are undying so it could be possible that the names are not coincidence... but if so, then it is a grave portent indeed."
Irabeth is pensive as you speak, seeming to take in what is said and weighing it with respect to what forward actions might be borne of it.
Well met, Jon. Theodric says, listening to his story with interest.
"So, what kind of notions 'ave these cultists got into their thick skulls... concernin' Kenabres and all? What's to be our next move?"
Well, as it seems Mr. Revane has already destroyed one of the three safehouses, perhaps we should investigate the remaining two to see if there are any clues, or more cultists, lurking about? If I recall, the remaining two were the 'Nyserian Manor' and 'Topaz Solutions'. If we're incredibly fortunate, and at this point why would we ever consider otherwise, their passphrase may still gain us entrance among any insurgents. It was: 'I’ve new material for the archives'. My preference would be to rest for the night and strike out first thing tomorrow, if that can be arranged.
He looks around the room to gauge everyone's reactions.
"Master Orlun," Eudocia asks, fixing the librarian with a sober gaze, "what happened? What became of the wardstones? How was all this brought to pass? And why, frankly, is any of Kenabres still standing?"
Theodric's question is met with affirmation from Irabeth "Aye, we are short of answers and I'll not refuse any chance at further information."
Irabeth looks to Quednys at Eudocia's question and gives a slight nod, before the aged magister smooths back his mostly absent pate of hair and begins. The words come as a weary expression descends upon the man "Fire and death, the Storm King came and took the head of Terendelev... but you know of that already. They came as a wave... those that could fly washed over us even as foulness boiled up from beneath our feet. We were not ready... we were not strong enough... and the ground became a river of blood."
"When the wardstone was destroyed by the Storm King, it exploded and destroyed the Kite. The network along the border failed, but did not fade completely. I believe this is because a significant portion of our wardstone still exists... though we know not where. The attack on Kenabres has had a predictable result: our brethren have massed at the border to defend it. Some wonder why the demons haven’t attacked in stronger numbers... and the truth is we know not why... not yet."
"It would serve to reason that the crystals and the machinations spoke of in the missives you recovered may have hints to the whys... but meditation and thought is needed to draw out the truth."
"And yet I very much doubt the Storm King intends on giving us the leisure for thorough research," Eudocia sighs. "The demons obviously know a great deal more about what is going on than we do, and time is not on our side. Still, it's good to know they haven't been completely unleashed to wreak havoc on the rest of the continent ... yet."
Irabeth nods "Aye... but for now you must be in need of rest. Find a room, a bed and let sleep replenish. We've managed to liberate some supplies and weapons from garrison stores and would be glad to share what we can with you also. We can speak in the morning as to what might follow."
"Yew see? There's 'ope yet. The wardstones still hold, and Iomedae's crusaders will drive those demons back." Harrol says, beaming his agreement to Eudocia. He taps his worn copy of the Acts, hanging from his belt "When the Inheritor fought to free the city of Eleder she told onto the people of that far-off place: "We glory in tribulation, knowing that tribulation worketh patience; And patience, experience; and experience, hope. With hope we are unstoppable, as the fire of valor burns ever in our hearts." he says, earnestly, but his sudden fire is followed by a sleepy yawn. He blushes. "... gods above, I'm wreeeecked."
Groggily, Harrol allows himself to be led off to an empty chamber, and is soon snoring soundly.