It does not appear to have noticed you, although you’re sure once you move further in there’s a higher chance you disturb it.
Calliope lunges forward, seeming uniquely motivated as she chomps into the huecuva's brittle bones.
As Naomi steps forward with Shelyn's symbol held high, another creature sketches itself into being on the far side of the huecuva — not a bird this time but a smaller red wolf, resembling Calliope but no older than a pup. The pup follows Calliope's lead, snapping at the undead creature.
Shella also charges, anxious to attack the creature while it is still unaware of their presence.
Anagahaar lets out a bellowing roar, stronger than what a merely human voice could produce. As he does so, sharp claws protrude from his knuckles as he hefts his sword and charges in, taking a mighty swing at the huecuva.
The combined might of the team quickly dispatches any sort of fight this poor undead creature may have put up, with Angahaar's sword strike cleanly sliding through its frail body and it quickly disentegrates as its bones clatter to the floor.
All that is left is its tattered robes and the mystery of how it formed here.
Calliope contents herself gnawing on one of the fallen bones, while Naomi crosses over to rinse and inspect the altar.
The altar appears in the same style as the rest of the architecture of this hidden chapel deep underground, sturdy and well constructed. It depicts Torag and his many mighty feats, and even has a few images of a dwarven craftsman creating this building down here, hoping Torag shows his love to him.
Behind the altar is a small sack, in which you find three potions and a silver dagger. The potions are two cute light wounds, and one holy water.
Beyond that small stash, the chapel looks empty and obviously abandoned, as you clearly see. Naomi can tell cleaning up the altar and removing what appears to be intentional defacing would take a few hours of hard work and maybe even some minor magic(like create water or prestidigitation). Should you wish to do so, this is most likely a good place to rest for a bit before continuing on.
Naomi takes one of the curative potions and fills her waterskin from the basin in the entryway, leaving the rest of the findings for the others. She seems as though she's tempted to spend more time working with this expert craftsmanship, but can't quite justify an unnecessary delay. "Looks like this place was made by dwarves. With luck there might be a passage to the surface that was sturdy enough to stay intact."
Anagahaar takes the second curative potion.
"Let's hope so."
As Naomi finishes cleaning and removing the defacing of the altar, a warm light seems to emanate from somewhere without a focus point and the entire party feels as if something larger than life was looking into this room. You have seemingly gathered the attention of Torag, and you hear the distant sounds of hammers clanging against metal before the light and sounds drop off a few seconds later.
What effect this has, you can’t tell quite yet.
Naomi pauses as the glow and clanging fill the room, eyebrows raised. When they fade with no obvious effects she shrugs and finishes securing her gear, passing Shella the other holy water and the silver dagger. "Ready to keep moving?" If the others agree she steps back to the front of the building, opening the door for Calliope and Angahaar to lead the way toward the tunnel continuing onward.
Angahaar nods, "Onward we go."
Assuming everyone is ready to go and takes the pathway back to the main tunnel, you find that the passageway leading south from the opening into the chapel area leads south for a very very long time. About 3,000 feet, in fact. At your current pace, what with Anevia's wounded leg, the trip to the end of the passageway takes almost a full 45 minutes to complete.
Your three companions are mostly silent the entire way (unless you have any particular questions), with the occasional grunt of pain from Anevia or confused stumbling from the blinded elf.
When Naomi reaches the southern passageway and sees it stretch far into the distance, she pauses for a moment to end up beside Anevia once again. Finding a moment when none of the others are near, she leans over and whispers, "Whenever you need to rest, feel free to just give me a tap and I'll suggest it. You shouldn't have to be the one to speak up."
Anevia quietly responds, seeming thankful.
"I appreciate that, friend. It's hard for me to admit I need help or rest, but I will be sure to get your attention."
Angahaar helps his companions along the passage.
Finally, the extensive passageway comes to an end, opening into a larger cavern again. Stone figures are carved into the walls of this cavern. Each depicts a different crusader clad in armor and wielding weapons, but their carved stone features contain expressions of sadness. They don't seem to be of any specific religious orient, as a large mixture of symbols can be seen amongst their ornaments.
Beyond the statues and carvings, not much else appears to be in this room.
Angahaar studies the room, trying to spot anything that might be out of place.
Naomi's eyes are quick enough to notice two dark shapes hanging around the ceiling near the top of a few of the statues. They look like some sort of shadow-skinned octopus with sharp spikes at the end of each tentacle.
They appear to be lying in wait, but obviously haven't noticed that you've seen them quite yet.
"Don't react too obviously, but there are creatures on the ceiling. By the head of that bearded statue."
Calliope's ears twitch ever so slightly at Naomi's warning.
Angahaar has a hand on his sword as he cautiously advances into the room, focusing mostly on protecting himself.
The two octopus looking creatures move along the ceiling until they are directly above Angahaar, and then drop down, ravenous maws wide open.
Angahaar exits his defensive stance and takes a mighty slash at the nearest beast but can't quite connect with their nimble forms.
Calliope bounds to Angahaar's defense like a released spring, snapping at the nearest creature.
Meanwhile Naomi summons a bird to swoop down on the creatures from above, turning their own tactics against them.
But the bird seems torn between the two targets and ends up swiping uselessly into the air as it pulls out of its dive.
While both Angahaar and Naomi plus her bird missed, Calliope charges and snaps her jaws around the nearest one, feeling it go limp.
The other one continues to attack Angahaar, flailing wildly around him.
Seeing the bird's poor accuracy, Naomi darts forward with a tap of divine aid as it flaps down to continue its efforts.
Calliope bites at the remaining creature as well.
Angahaar tries again to hit the last beast but his swing goes wide.
Naomi and the eagle manage to take down the second beast, and its corpse flops to the ground next to the first one.
The cavern is suddenly quiet once more, but there is a quiet grunt behind one of the pillars that make up the ground of this cavern. Something else is in here with you!
Angahaar hefts his greatsword onto his shoulder, ready to strike if necessary but equally ready to sheathe it if all is well.
He walks towards the pillar slowly and calls out into the darkness, "Hail, who goes there? We mean no harm if your intentions are noble. We are survivors of the massacre, and hope you are as well."
Naomi follows Angahaar toward the sound, at first creeping softly in the hopes that whatever's there wouldn't know they heard it, but giving up on stealth when Angahaar calls out. "Yeah it'd be real nice if we found something down here that wasn't trying to kill us for once." Calliope keeps pace beside her, and the bird circles overhead.
Aliyeeva groans at the intrusion, but is at least relieved it's not further things trying to kill her. A woman with incredibly long flowing white hair, steps around the pillar, moving from a crouched position around it to a standing one. Her hair, flowing independently despite the lack of airflow in the room, reached around the corner of the pillar to help pull her up as one would use their arm to do so. Her clothes battered and distressed, caked in mud, blood, and dust, were once elegant traveling clothes. A backpack is slung over her shoulder, its straps battered and beaten. Her skin is incredibly pale, but she smiles weakly. A small white rabbit, its fur equally caked in grime, skips next her curiously.
[b]"I'm Aliyeeva Morgannan, of Whitethrone. I bear you no ill-will nor harmful intent, and it appears we have the same enemies; though our definitions of 'noble heart' may drastically differ. I tumbled down here as well, and have been having to evade the various...things down here. It is a relief to see something NOT trying to kill me."[\b]
Angahaar extends a hand to the woman to help her to her feet”I am Angahaar…” his voice catches for a moment, a slight quaver that cracks his mask of courage and bravado, ”Scion of Terendelev and protector of Kenabres.”
"A pleasure under better circumstances I am sure. A relief for the immediate."
Aliyeeva looks at the remaining party members, and manages a sympathetic frown to Angahaar and places a hand gingerly on his shoulder.
"My condolences for your loss Angahaar, Scion of Terendelev; I had only arrived today and the stories of Terendelev were a popular discussion on the roads, inns and taverns on the way here. I had only seen a glimpse of her and her icy draconic majesty. She was a powerful champion, and will be sorely missed." She lowers her hand; while the words were kind, her voice betrayed a lack of genuine sympathy. More akin to a proclamation or a eulogy for a well-known public figure.
Aliyeeva straightens up, her eyes focusing on Angahaar himself. She takes in the large mans blue eyes, white hair, and has to resist a smirk. The warrior would have passed for one of the Jadwiga had his eyes not indicated a gentleness and warmth that was alien to the Winter Witches.
"May you become as mighty a champion as your patron." She says softly. Then her voice hardens, as though trying to organize and take charge.
"I was sent as Her Majesty of Irrisens envoy to assist the cause in any way I could. If we intend to assist the city, I doubt there is much we can do from down here. It is likely in our best interests to find a way to return to the surface to coordinate with whatever leadership remains. I lost my way evading the various entities through these ruins after the fall; however, I assume that if someone built something down here, there must be a path to the surface. Unless our luck is completely hexed, I assume we can find a way that has not yet been closed off by rubble."
Armasse officially began as the sun hung directly overhead, with the blessing of the festival by Lord Hulrun himself, ruler of Kenabres. The festival slowed, activities and jousts coming to an end as the crowd gathered in Clydwell Plaza. The people quieted down as the aged inquisitor took the stage, clad in shining, resplendent armor. He cleared 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 a thunderous explosion ripped through the air and earth, along with a violent tremor.
To the west, the fortress known as the Kite—the location of Kenabres’s wardstone—had vanished. In its place, a brilliant plume of red fire, lightning, and smoke erupted into the heavens.
Just a second later, a powerful roar accompanied a welcome sight rising from the crowd—Kenabres’s greatest guardian, the ancient silver dragon Terendelev, who had until that moment been attending the opening ceremony disguised as a human. Her glittery silver scales reflected both the midday sun and the spreading fire around the Kite.
What few crusaders still kept their wits about them quickly attempted to spring into action with calls to arms, but all of that ended when 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: Khorramzadeh, 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 downwards toward the crowd.
The sight of Terendelev, Kenabres’ most devoted defender, smashing into the facade of the Cathedral of St. Clydwell is one no witness would ever forget. At that moment, a massive 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, she noticed your plight. Though Terendelev 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 a pit.
“I can’t…let them…d-“
Her words were cut off, quite literally, as the last thing you saw before continuing your steep dive into the darkness was the Storm King standing before the ancient silver dragon, his sword lashing out and cleaving full through her neck. As her severed head clattered against the brick pavement, a last painful cry echoed around the square, before Terendelev lay silent for the last time.
Finally, the rift above you slammed shut, and the light of the world above was gone.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity in unconsciousness, all three of you eventually find yourselves awakening to a brand new set of surroundings, one both better than what you remember happening above ground and somehow worse than knowing what the actual threats would be. You seem to have landed in a cavern atop a large pile of rubble and debris, and underneath one of the larger piles you can see two black octopus-like creatures crushed to death. Perhaps that was a stroke of luck, at least.
Taking immediate stock of your surroundings doesn't give you much more information than you had already, besides the two that had been at your side before the fall into the darkness below Kenabres. Those of you with darkvision or a light source can see a handful of other bodies on the pile with you, although only three others besides your group seem to be moving at all.
Looking around at the cavern reveals stone figures are carved into the walls, each depicting a different crusader clad in armor and wielding weapons, but their carved stone features contain expressions of sadness.
Elise stirs to consciousness. "Have I died and been reborn yet again?" she mutters. Pushing herself up and looking around in the darkness, she others that had been with her. Only some of whom had not been crushed. At least she wasn't the only survivor. "No, it was Terendelev, wasn't it? She saved us. Or at least some of us. Why?"
She conjures a set of Dancing Lights around her, revealing herself to be an attractive young woman with flaming orange hair and red robes. She picks up her quarterstaff and pushes on it to get back onto her feet. "I don't know what this place is, but we need to get back on the surface--Kenabres needs every able crusader!"
Angahaar startles awake, hand going to his blade. He murmurs, "Terendelev...how?"
The light blinds him for a moment, but he gets his bearings before too long. He's a tall human, silvery hair and ice-blue eyes. Small patches of silver scales betray an ancestry that may not be entirely human, however. Looking up at the woman with blazing hair he nods his head sadly, "It was. She gave her life to protect Kenabres."
He clambers to his feet, his voice morose and grim, "She was...kin to me. I am Angahaar, of the Scions of Terendelev." His mind wanders to the spot where the rest of the Scions had been at Armasse, right near the cathedral, "Waybringer make it not so, but perhaps the last of the Scions of Terendelev."
Anastasia abruptly jerks up from her bed of rubble, jerking her head toward the direction of the dancing lights. She dusted herself off as the other two spoke. Then, began to take inventory of her supplies and available extracts.
"Hell of a way to start service." she noted to herself before she rose and went to inspect the statues carved from the stone. Inside, she was dealing with real panic, but she also knew the danger of giving in to that panic. As the other collected and introduced themselves she looked up at the ceiling where the fissure had closed, and then turned her attention back to the statues. "Where is this?" she asked aloud.
Even a foreigner to these lands such as Raban had heard legend of the Great Terendelev. The Mbe'ke dwarves oft considered themselves dragonkin, owing to their relationship with the cloud dragons of the Terwa Uplands. So to see a legend as this silver dragon cut down in the prime of her life, and knowing that one of her last acts had been to save Raban causes him to weep silently.
Yet there is little time for weeping. The dwarf groans as he comes to and coughs half a cloud of dust and...well, who knows what else...from his lungs.
"Gods above and below," he curses through the aches. The dwarf pounds on his head to try to knock some dust from his ears and stop the ringing before patting himself down to see whether he is whole. He had carried most of his traveling possessions him, arms, armor, and all, with him to Armasse. His mask lay somewhat crooked on his face, but seems otherwise intact. And...Olapa!
The dwarf lurches to his feet and begins searching around frantically for his tiger cub, hoping she is not likewise buried beneath rubble. It takes Raban a few moments to register that there are others with him as well. Though he can see adequately he idly summons a light to shine worth from his mask, adding to the illumination from the fiery-haired sorceress. He is an ochre-skinned dwarf, stout and sturdy, with a painted wooden mask carved in a shape that looks vaguely turtle-like covering his face. From behind the mask, long, thick, ropy locs flair out down and drape down his backside. A large, silver butterfly necklace hangs prominently across his chest
He quickly finds Olapa near him. The cat yowls, her orange, black, and white fur dusty and slightly matted from grousing in the rubble. At the crown of her head, her fur comes together in a butterfly shape. She begins licking Raban's hand, purring softly, and mewling occasionally. He puts her gently.
"Much as it would bring comfort to believe that the above was a nightmare and this a mere fever dream, I fear we have been swallowed up!" he declares. The dwarf's accent is thick, reminiscent (to any who had met people outside of Avistan) of the Mwangi Expanse. He breathes shallowly, knowing that a coughing fit due to dust would be unhelpful at a time like this. He stands up and brushes himself off.
"Greetings, Angahaar, Scion of Terendelev. I am Raban Kwazeeli of the Magaambya, servant of Shimye-Magalla." Raban looks up and around. "Let us work together to return alive."
"Agreed--we're not returning dead," quips Elise in return. She looks around at those who remained--an exotic but capable looking bunch.
"I'm Elise Emeria. Born and raised in Kenabres." She puts that thought aside and focuses on the well-armed individuals. "Like the rest of you, I can fight my way out of this place if we need to. And Angahaar, I am sorry for your loss. Our loss." She thinks again about the sight of Terendelev's head rolling away from her body and shudders.
"Honestly have no idea where we are, but maybe it's a crypt? It would make sense that we're underground, and the sad crusaders here might be mourning the dead." She starts looking around for any others who might have survived, even if injured or buried in rubble.
Anastasia ducked her chin, not facing the others as they did introductions. She did eventually turn about though, casting a quick look back toward the statues as if she was worried she had missed some detail. Or worse, that they might animate and attack.
She gives an examination of those who yet lived, but her scrutiny toward Angahaar was brief. The man's grief making her visibly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry for your loss." she remarks toward him awkwardly, "My name is Anastasia Tirajen Armat. I recently came from Andoran. I was not familiar with Terendelev, but she has my gratitude... we should kill many demons in her name when we escape!"
She then looked about awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.
Angahaar nods to each member of the woods party as they introduce themselves.
”I know not where we are, but if Kenabres is in danger we must endeavor to fight back the assailants.”
He gives a grim smile, ”If you wish to apologize for my loss, do so by helping me kill the demons. Flowery platitudes have no place now.”
From Raban and Anastasia's knowledge, they gather that you have landed somewhere in the caverns and crypts below Kenabres. There were always rumors of tainted crusaders making their way down into the caverns below the city after the First Crusade, but not many believed them to be true.
The three strangers on the pile with you begin to make their way to their feet as well. They are very much alive, luckily, though some are worse for wear. A younger human woman sits against one wall, her leg bent in an unnatural angle as she winces in pain and attempts to keep it still. A much older male elf carrying an interesting looking staff stands off the far side, a bloody bandage completely covering his eyes. And to top it all off, a heavyset human male is worryingly running his hands over his clothes, either looking for something or trying to find some wound.
"Aha!" Raban exclaims, looking over at the other three. "More survivors of the fall." The dwarf toddles over to the three who seem in various states of injury. "I would say good day to you, but the good part would almost certainly be a lie. But we may yet turn it around. Of whom do I have the pleasure of speaking on this inauspicious day?"
Raban is aware that the others--Angahaar and Elise at least--might know them, or at least know of them, but he wants to ingratiate himself to all of the gathered. Survival would take all of them working together, that it would.
Elise hurries over to to the additional survivors as well. She wasn't sure if she knew any of them.
"Please, let us help you with those injuries," she offers. She decides to focus on the elf standing in the far side, whose eyes appear bandaged, and speaks to him more directly. "There's a group of survivors gathering--can I lead you there, sir? You can hold my hand if that would help." Elise offers a hand if the elf seems receptive.
Angahaar rushes to the woman, "Here, I've got you. Take the weight off your leg. Doesn't look good."