As the unusual group of a dwarf, a gnome, and a human standing looking at the waving banner, a Varisian man approaches with a smile. "My friend," the stranger calls out, "I like your necklace, it's good to meet a fellow follower of the Emypreal Lords. I have all kinds of trinkets and relics at my booth. Why don't you and your friends come over here with me and take a look. If you find something you like, I'll give you a special price, just for friends who worship the Empyreal Lords."
Khry doesn't appreciate the interruption of her conversation with her new group of friends, but turns to see the newcomer anyway. As he speaks, she quickly double checks that her unholy symbol is hidden away sufficiently enough and then finally speaks.
She doesn't recognize the necklace, but pretends to anyway.
"Good to see another friendly face here! I have a particular liking of the Emypreal Lords, glad to know this festival has a wonderful presence of such good people."
Her two new companions obviously can tell that this is clearly a lie, and the front of an attitude towards the vendor is quite unlike the personality they witnessed moments before. She secretly stares the merchant down, before deciding that he is just that, a harmless merchant.
The merchant smiles and begins backing towards a small stall nearby. "Yes, friend, so good to find other good people. Come, please, my friend. Come with me to my stall. I have many good things for sale--talismans made from the steel of weapons that fought in the last crusade, medicine pouches containing dried flowers carried back from Sarkoris during the second crusade, little idols of Iomedae and some of the Empyreal Lords that you can pray to before battle... come and see."
"Empyreal? Aha, no, I--" Raban turns his eye and looks at the human and gnome beside him to look for their holy symbols. He is prepared to launch in to an sermon of how Trudd is a dwarven deity, never mind the short beard, who commonly associates with the empyreal lords and is served by one of the agathion races. He also considers the finer point about the classification of deific powers and pantheons across Heaven or Nirvana or Elysium, but gets lost in his thoughts while Khry engages the merchant in some conversation.
Naturally, the merchant seems to want to make a sale. Whether he actually prays to or cares about any of the gods represented in the wares he speaks of, and whether they are legitimate, he is a salesperson. Raban respects that, whether he is ready to dig into his coin-purse or not. The M'beke dwarves were less overtly materialistic than some dwarves that Raban had heard of in, say, the Five Kings Mountains, but he did still appreciate driving a hard bargain.
"Ah, why not? I will see your wares." Raban strides towards the small stand, an appraising eye scanning around. "Mind you, I do not wish to upset my own god!" He points to a necklace around his own neck, a silver and marble representation of a throne that weighs heavily around his neck.
Khry pays no mind to anything regarding the Heavens or any of their supposed might. Where were the celestially and their Empyreal masters when Sarkoris fell? Not here, that’s for sure.
The pale gnome laughs darkly, almost chuckling at the thought.
”I’m sorry, friend, but I doubt you have any talismans or trinkets that represent the god I pay homage to. My dwarf friend here seems more than interested in your peddling, however.”
Gadlan eyed the bobble, unsure of which deity or empyreal lord it belonged. Before he could respond, Khry had adopted a far friendlier persona.
He flashed a wry smile to Khry, "C'mon, it's Armasse, our favorite holiday! Let's see what he has for sale. If Raban is interested, we may as well see what... what was your name, sir?" Gad had heard tales of adventurers or crusaders finding magical items in the unlikeliest of places, and the thought of possibly finding something of value before venturing into the Worldwound was just the kind of thing that would make a great tale.
"I have just the thing for you, my friend," the merchant answers the dwarf as he digs through a basket in the stall. "Here, an idol of your dwarven god, to help you focus while you offer your morning prayers," he says while handing over a small wooden statue.
While Raban examines it the man turns to Khry and assures him, "I have many trinkets for many gods, my friend! Tell me which one you worship and I'm sure I'll have something for you."
The dwarf finds that the wooden statue does include a throne somewhat similar to the one on his holy symbol but, while its of decent craftsmanship, the figure seated on it is average enough in appearance that it could easily be said to be any dwarven god, or king.
The merchant turns away from the gnome long enough to give Gadlan a smile and reply, "I am Iozef, my friend, welcome," before returning to waiting for Khry's answer.
Raban looks over the wooden statue curiously, and with a modicum of pity for the merchant. He is clearly trying to make a connection, despite not knowing much about the dwarven pantheon. No runes to be seen, and and Trudd would not want a wooden representation of his stone throne. Raban had also never seen a figure seated in the throne: just the throne itself.
"It is lovely, Iozef," he says, admiring the craftsmanship, cheer in his voice. "What else do you have?"
He does not want to appear rude, so he looks towards his new companions to see if they are were just humoring him or if they had any legitimate interest.
"No idols, okay, yes, what else, what else..." Iozef replies with a smile. He returns the wooden carving to its basket and removes two medallions and a small leather pouch from below his counter and places them on top, along with a clay vial. "Here we have talismans made from the steel of a knight of the last crusade's sword- guaranteed to bring luck in battle. And this is a medicine pouch, it contains special flowers and herbs that were carried out of Sarkoris at the end of the second crusade- no demon can come within ten feet of it. This vial here contains sacred water harvested by druids from the West Sellen River, its so pure that it burns the flesh of both fiends and the undead. Surely these things will be of interest to you?"
"Aha, yes, you mentioned those previously," Raban says.
Raban looks over at Khry and speaks to her in Druidic.
The dwarf sniffs each of the items in turn, wondering if the man would be offended if he detected for magical auras.
"Ah, flowers and herbs from old Sarkoris, hm? My homeland. I am an expert in such things, would you mind me taking a look at them real quick?"
”Iozef,” Gadlan scratched his chin, ”Talisman’s made from a crusader’s sword? Something like that is bound to be of use.” Gad said as he reached for his coin pouch. He paused with his hand still in the pouch, a coin between his index finger and thumb. The sun reflected off the bit of silver peeking out of the pouch. ”Then again, if it’s made from a crusader’s sword, that means he probably died. Which makes you wonder about how blessed it really could be. Then again..." he chewed the inside of his lip for a moment, "How much for one of those trinkets?”
If Iozef's answer ever came it has been completely forgotten as Raban, Khry'barakt, and Gadlan fight to open their crusty eyes amidst a fit of coughing. Their heads throb with thunderous headaches. Their ears ring. Wherever they are, they is no source of light and a cloud of dust so thick even those of them with darkvision can barely see. The sounds of clattering rocks echo all around them, mingled with coughs and and pained groans.
It takes a few moments for them to regain their senses enough to even sit up but as their minds start to clear memories come flooding back. They had been standing with the merchant when Armasse officially began, with the blessing of the festival by Lord Hulrun himself, ruler of Kenabres. The crowd had quieted 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. A moment 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. 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: 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 downward toward the crowd.
The sight of the dragon smashing into the facade of the Cathedral of St. Clydwell is one no witness will 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 had opened directly below their feet, angling away into darkness.
Even as they fell, the dragon had noticed their 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, they had felt her magic take hold of them, slowing their plummet into the darkness as if they had been feathers falling into a pit. Yet the fall remained as inexorable, and as they drifted downward into the depths, the last thing they saw was the Storm King standing before the ancient silver dragon, his sword lashing out and cleaving full through her neck. As her severed head fell, the rift above them had slammed shut, and the light of the world above was gone.
The ringing in their ears and the pounding in their heads are both somewhat diminished by the time they've relived those harrowing moments. That relief, however, does nothing to help with their current predicament as they lay coughing in a pile of rubble, some unknown distance below the streets of Kenabres.
Coughing, Gadlan shifted his feet under himself and forced himself to his feet. He spat some dirt from his mouth and tried to scan the darkened...room? Cave? He gave up after a few moments of staring into the gloom. No amount of time would adjust his human eyes.
”You-you all okay?” Gad fumbled around in the dark for his pack, and, more importantly, his halberd. ”Olapa? Khry? Raban? Iozef?” He said while swatting at the cloud of dust around his head.
”Real hard to lead crusaders into the Worldwound,” Gad muttered when no one responded, ”when I’m stuck under the city in total darkness.” And with that, the images of people running and screaming hit him again. The city of Kenabres. His city. His home. What was going on up there?
Khry looks around, somewhat confused as to where she is, and not sure about if the events she saw were real.
"Am I dead?" she looks around, noticing Gad and Raban. "Ah, no. I can't be. You and I would share very different afterlives, good sir Gadlan." she stands, and begins dusting off her clothes before checking to see if her scythe or unholy symbol was damaged.
"Did everyone else see...that?" she is quite obviously not new to death, but just wants to make sure that she was not imagining things.
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 bear cub, hoping she is not likewise buried beneath rubble. It takes Raban a few moments to register that Gadlan and Khry'barakt are with him as well, and though he can see adequately he idly summons a light to the battleaxe he draws.
"Much as t'would bring comfort to believe that the above was a nightmare and this a mere fever, I fear we have been swallowed up!" he declares. The mirth that colored the dwarf's voice is muted, but not completely absent. He breathes shallowly, knowing that a coughing fit due to dust would be unhelpful at a time like this. "Olapa! Where are you?"
The three new acquaintances find that they were fortunate enough to avoid any serious damage from the opening and closing of the rift in the surface, but the sounds of pained moans echoing in the darkness confirm that some others were not so lucky. When Raban tries to stand, he discovers Olapa is clinging to him- the bear’s claws buried deep in his hide armor.
The three are also pleased to discover that everything they were carrying is either still on them or laying within arms reach in the rubble. Unfortunately, neither darkvision nor the freshly conjured light is enough to see more than ten or fifteen feet through the think cloud of dust and debris that hangs heavy in the air.
Gad blinked against the light that winked into existence. Even with the dust dampening the magical lightsource the sudden light stung. Once Gadlan’s eyes adjusted to the new light Gad found himself reminded of the stories of villagers carrying pitchforks and torches through foggy nights.
”Yeah. Yeah, I saw it,” Gad said as he slipped his pack over one shoulder. He gave the halberd a quick once over for any damage to the blade or shaft. Satisfied, Gad took a few careful steps toward the moaning, using the halberd to steady himself. He placed a hand on Raban’s shoulder as he stepped past, ”If you’re able, either of you, help me look for whoever else is down here? It sounds like they’ll need it.”
"Aha, there you are, girl. Good, let me see you." Raban checks Olapa over briefly, carefully relaxing her claws with light pressure on the pads of her paws, and finds her about as uninjured as the rest of them. But then he hears the groans further afield.
"Indeed, Gadlan, we are not alone," he says in response to the paladin. "Come, follow me."
Raban walks towards the sound of the moaning, forming an armored line of disproportionate height walking through the thick, gray haze.
Khry will look out for the people making the sound after she has located and secured her gear and scythe, her hand sliding across the edge of her weapon almost ritually.
Snapping bacvk to their current situatiuon, "Yeah, yeah, I'm working on it." she answers Gadlan, somewhat begrudingly. She follows the young paladin through some of the debris as she stepped around the other druid, being sure to give the animal a wide berth.
As the dust settles, light spreads further out across the survivor's surroundings. The ceiling and far walls of this vast cavern recede into darkness. On one side, the wall has collapsed in an enormous mound of rubble— here and there the arms or legs of victims who didn’t
survive the fall protrude.
The cautious walk towards the source of the loudest moaning is cut short, however, when the three notice that in the back of the cavern, a disturbing shape looms. Nearly the size of a horse, what appears to be an
immense black spider crouches silent and still on the ground.
“Gods above…” Gadlan nearly choked on his words at the sight of the bodies amongst the rubble. He fought back the instinct to begin excavating. “No,” he thought, “A fall like that, under all of that…” Gadlan lowered his head in respect. “I pray Pharasma finds you all in good judgement,” he said while drawing a spiral over his heart.
When he looked up again, his eyes fell on the massive spider lying in wait, “Do you all see that as well?” Gad raised his halberd over his head, the point angled slightly down in front of him. "Why hasn't attacked us?"
"Terendelev blesses us," Raban whispers in thanks as he gazes on the mass of the dead. He bows his head in respect. A moment later, the dwarf sees the spider and draws his battleaxe into an offensive position, its light shining.
"Foul beast!" he cries, scrutinizing through the dust to see if he recognizes what seems poised to attack. "Stay back or face the justice of the Mighty!"
"Seems as if they were the unfortunate ones, hm? Lucky us." Khry says, very much not reacting to the sight of the pile of dead bodies.
Noticing the spider, however, she immediately perks up, seeing a potential ally down here in the dark depths where they have fallen.
"Hey, Gadlan, don't try to kill it on sight. Sometimes even the most vicious of vermin can be reasoned with, should you know the right words and proper motivations."
Raban breathes a sigh of relief as he recognizes the black widow, unmoving. Khry's comments are interesting.
"Aha, for truth? I have had little luck with the creeping and crawling things of the earth. That is quite the talent, Khry'barakt!"
He nods, his mask jostling up and down a bit in the thick dust as he is distracted by appreciating the talents a fellow druid has.
"I will keep that in mind should we encounter further vermin in these depths, provided they are not allied with the demonic host."
“Toss it a mouse or two and hope it goes away?” Gadlan squinted through the dust and studied the creature. In the gloom he could just make out some movement. “Spiders lay eggs right? Because something is definitely moving inside of this one.”
Gad cocked his head to one side, angling an ear at the arachnid. “Do you two hear that? Sounds like someone finishing off a bowl of soup.”
"Oh? But this one is dead. Perhaps its young survived."
Raban looks at Khry. "I do not wish to harm younglings. Do you want to try to help them?"
Khry’s excited face drops slightly as she is told that this one is dead.
”It’s…dead? Such a shame, must have been recently. I suppose we should at least try to comfort its young, they’re most likely confused and lost.”
”But I am much more concerned about the source of that loudest moaning, for insects don’t moan. Something else is in here with us.”
She’ll take a few steps towards the dead spider, careful scanning the cave for whatever is making those moaning sounds.
Gadlan and Khry both make out another detail as they look at the spider's corpse: in the rubble beyond it the trio's light reflects off of several saucer-sized silver objects. The gnome also notes that there are three distinct sources of moaning, none of which are currently visible. The loudest is directly behind them (as they look at the spider) and the other two are off to their left and right.
Not hearing the sound of slurping soup (how undignified), Raban takes the others' word for it and assumes that he must have some dust cakes in his ears from the fall. He gives his head a reasonable thunk to try to clear whatever blockage is troubling him and turns around to approach the source of the loudest moaning. No need to bother with a dead spider when there were potentially mortal survivors afoot.
"Hello!" he calls out. "It sounds like we are not the only survivors down here! If you have voice yet left in you, call out and we shall come find you!"
It occurs to the dwarf, belatedly, that if demons had truly come to Kenabres, then they could be here setting a trap. His breath catches in his throat, and he is glad for the mask adorning his face for shielding the others from the fear that creeps up for a moment. He banishes it a moment later and continues to approach the sound of--hopefully--a fellow survivor.
"Oh there are more people down here with us and the spiders? How delightfully pleasant." Khry says, almost assuredly sarcastically.
She does, however, know that safety comes in numbers, especially around here, so she'll follow Raban and Gad when they start moving.
The light shifts with the trio of survivors as they make their way back across the room. As they approach the far wall a somewhat portly, middle-aged human man in what appears to have been fancy nobleman's dress comes into view. "You there," he calls out from where he's lying on his back, "come and help me. I survived the fall, of course, but I've been battered by the falling debris and have many wounds."
Raban utters a brief prayer for guidance as the man comes into view, and he looks over his relatively mild injuries.
"Aha, well met fellow survivor of the fall! Yes, let me help you to your feet."
The dwarf strides forward and offers a stout hand to the human.
"I am Raban Kwazeeli of the Magaambya. Who do I have the pleasure of helping this day?"
Try as he might, Raban seems unable to mask his awareness of the limited extent of the man's injuries in his voice. He does not intend to come across as demeaning or patriarchal, but worries after he finishes speaking that his tone may not have effectively matched his words.
"Yes, more people, Khry," Gad said, the faintest hint of annoyance in his tone. "People that could use our help." He took a step backward away from the spider then followed Raban to the loudest moaning. He did not like the idea of leaving whatever that was unattended but, there were more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.
Gad offers his own hand to the man as well, "I think what my friend meant to say was 'where are you injured?'"
"Forget my hands, you oafs," the man barks, "clear this debris off me and make sure nothing's going to start bleeding when I stand up."
Once a few of the larger little rocks are cleared away, the man stands up cautiously and brushes himself slightly cleaner. "Its fortunate I'm as tough as I am or that could have gone much worse. The name is Horgus Gwerm, I'm sure you've heard of me if you've been in the city long."
Although Raban made sure to study what he could of Kenabres before traveling across Avistan, the name of Horgus Gwerm was unfortunately not ringing any bells for him. He is terse and gruff, but Raban supposes that he would be as well if he had been covered in debris.
"I am a newcomer to the city," Raban says, bowing his head, "But it sounds as if you may be quite important!"
He nods, the mask jostling about, and scrutinizes Horgus some more. "You injuries do not appear to be deadly. Praise be to the gods." He is deliberately vague, as he does not wish to assume anything about the man's religious bent.
“Horgus Gwerm? I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar as well. And I’ve lived here my whole life,” Gad said. ”Though, that could be my own fault,” he added quickly. Gad had seen this man’s type before. Pompous, self-satisfied, smug. Most people like that tended to be harmless but a few, well, sometimes they could wind up causing serious harm. Most times, it was best to just play along and keep an eye on them.
Gadlan turned toward another source of moaning, “We should check on the others too. Care to join us, Master Gwerm?”
When Gadlan admits that his ignorance could be his own fault, Horgus gives a little huff and mutters, "I should think so."
He nods to the paladin's next question and begins moving with him towards the next moan. As they do he instructs, Stay near to the wall where we can see the ceiling, the last thing we need is something falling on us out of the darkness above."
"A wise plan, Master Gwerm!" Raban says, pressing towards the wall. "Are you armed? I have numerous weapons, and you could borrow one if you wish for some manner of defense." He points to the warhammer slung across his back, crossed with a shortbow.
Khry doesn’t even take a second look at Gwerm supposed injuries, not noticing anything life threatening. She also doesn’t know who he is in the slightest, but understands he clearly expects her to.
”I’m a relative newcomer to these parts specifically, but I am glad to have the chance to make your acquaintance.” she makes a small little curtsy, her hands extending to either side in an uncharacteristic show of reverence.
Horgus' attitude seems to soften somewhat at the gnome's show of deferrence. "As well you should be," he answers her with a nod, "it's actually quite fortunate for all of you that we happen to have landed in the same cave. You see, I'm quite wealthy and if you assist me in returning to my home on the surface I'll pay you the sum of one-thousand gold pieces to split amongst yourselves as you see fit."
When offered a weapon, he replies, "I've got a bit of skill with a rapier, but not with any of these things."
It doesn't take very long for the four survivors to draw close enough to the next source of sound to see that it is a woman with her leg pinned between two large rocks. She is moving enough that she's clearly alive, but its unclear if she's really conscious or not.
"A rapier? Ah, funny weapon that. Good for the noble folk and buccaneer alike. Not being either, I'm afraid I have not had occasion to practice the fencing arts. I will pray that we find a blade for you, Lord Gwerm."
Coming upon the next survivor, Raban bends down to assess the situation.
"Oh, my, this young woman's leg has been broken! I do not have the magic to help with that."
The dwarf puts his hand gently on the woman's shoulder.
"Hello, young lady. Are you with us?"
Gad surveyed the large rocks pinning the woman. “We should be able to get her free. They don’t look too heavy.” He set his pack down and dug through for his mess kit. Gadlan pulled free the kit’s wooden spoon and put the rest of the kit away.
“I imagine it’s going to hurt when we shift these rocks, she may need something to bite down on.”
"Ah, what a good idea, Gadlan! What a shame it would be to free her and have her bite off her own tongue."
With no clear response, Raban begins to suspect that the young woman could be in shock and delirious. Removing the obstruction should help.
"Hello again. My name is Raban. We are going to remove the rocks that are on top of you," he begins, as though working with a comatose patient back at the Magaambya. Hopefully she speaks Taldane. "I am going to put this spoon in your mouth in case it hurts." He carefully, and as gently as possible, opens the woman's mouth to place the handle of the spoon inside, checking for signs of communication as he works.
Before he begins helping Gad take the rocks off, he looks over at Khry. "Perhaps you can hold her hand? Even if she is not fully conscious, it may be comforting to know that she is not alone in this."
The woman groans when Raban slides the spoon into her mouth, but her eyes remain closed. When the two men pull the heavy rocks off of her, she groans notably harder and her eyes flutter open. She looks quickly at each of the four figures before her and, although her face remains rather stoic, there is a clear hint of fear in her eyes. "What... what happened? Who are you? Stay back..." she mutters.
"We're below the city," Gad said. He knelt and placed a hand on the woman's shoulder, "Raban here says your leg is broken. Given the fate of most everyone that fell with us, I'd consider that lucky." Galdan forced himself to keep eye contact with the woman, he knew if he looked at her leg, she would too.
"My name is Gad, this is Raban, Khry, Olapa, and Master Horgus. Can you tell me your name? Oh, and that's my spoon you just put teeth marks in."