Happy to have everyone aboard.
Welcome to Kenabres city on the edge of horror. It's the last city before the war front, and today is Armasse. Though originally it was about scholars coming together to study the history of the war it has grown to include training of the commoners in arms and tactics, the ordaining of priests, and signing into service of new soldiers and mercenaries for the war. Also in more recent years it has become more of a festival including food and games for the enjoyment of all
Though Armasse is a city wide celebration most of the entertainment is found in Clydwell Plaza, just west of the cathedral. Through good luck and patience you manage to get a good spot for the festivities. A few others have gathered nearby as well.
All right you basterds The tall half Orcish Mercenary colonel speaks
We got that garrison contract, we are going to fulfill it, and Terendelev is a pretty good dragon to have in ones corner. She pauses
Sooo, no incidents with the local population, and Viktor, keep your spontaneous comedy performances to a minimum. Smesh demons first, then you can try and make inquisitors appreciate Comedy. The Plate armor clad non nonsense Orc finished.
Dismiss, enjoy effing armasse, and I repeat
She shouted, a pretty deafning voice.
Eh, I need to buy some stuff anyway Viktor thinks, anticipating that his comrades will manage to raise a ruckus in 30 minutes at maximum, mostly on account of Seargent Sigurdr sharing his tears to wine booze, or not sharing it because here is never enough for everyone, and once this would happen there would be well, much less opportunities.
Victor, a black eyed, brown haired human with a fairly impressive physique of above average height, strides toward the marketplace. He is hardly unattractive, but certainly seems to be a fair bit too smug to be considered "company that one could introduce to ones parents".
Armored in a well kept scale armor and sporting a rather impractical seeming number of various axes, he kind of looks like a textbook mercenary.
He opts to quickly buy a masterwork backpack (52 gold) a Skalds kit minus the 10 torches (37 gold, 37,5 lbs) and 1 scrolls of cure light wounds (25 gold) leaving him with 5 gold.
What could possibly go wrong He thinks as he surveys his surroundings and new posessions.
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Well, this is it. It isn't quite how the books said Armasse would be, though. Aris frowns, shifting the uncomfortable pack she'd purchased a day or two and stuffed haphazardly full of the things she thought she'd need. I don't remember carrying so much when I was in Pitax...
Aris's icy-blue eyes peer out from the brown cloak she's thrown on over her red silk-and-wool jacket, even though it's summer. She shivers, then adjusts the pack again. Whether it's lack of sun from an indoor job or elven heritage, Aris's skin is a near-white pale, except for the blue marks - or are they tattoos? - on her face. Taller than most men, Aris maneuvers through the crowded plaza, her backpack thumping her back as she walks.
Still thinking about the differences between historical, written Armasse and the festival she's witnessing, Aris finds herself purchasing a few last-minute items before she signs herself up for the Crusade. At a wizard's shop, she picks up a scroll of Color Spray and scroll of Snowball, then bumps into - Who could possibly need that many axes?
"Apologies. Happy Armasse. Is 'Happy Armasse' appropriate for the seriousness the holiday is, historically, supposed to have? Regardless, it seems to be adequate for today's celebrations. Yes, Happy Armasse. I'm Aris. Aris'arial. Librarian." She thrusts out a thin hand, calloused not by manual labor or a sword's hilt but by countless book spines. I should have said soon-to-be crusader.
Librarian Mrs Aris'arial? The mercenary answers.
Excellent, our cultural traditions must be preserved, lest we somehow prevail over the demons and then forget who we were in the first place. You can call me Viktor I am a Spell Warrior with the Orchestra, in perhaps more familar terms a variant of a Skald myself. He takes her hand, and shakes it, almost careful to not injure it.
Did you specialize in any particular part of research? Our ways are rather informal, I managed to come up with such a hilarious denounciation of Goatface Dogtitsson that one of his infiltrators, that we were unaware of, broke his cover to try and kill me on the spot. He obviously failed, and I was declared a full spell warrior the next morning.
He adds mirthfully.
Viktor Hämndson, Public relations expert and community outreach officer! He thinks.
Knowledgable Kellids strongly dislike referring to Demonlords by their names, as the Abyssal structure of their names includes parts of their titles, and are thus "honorifics". "Goatface Dogtitsson" obviously refers to Baphomet and his descend from Lamashtu.
Baphomets full Kellid title is "Goatface Dogtitsson Demon-Turd of Real Estate Fraud, Motherf#%*ing, and intellectual property theft".
The Orchestra is a Kellid/Orcish mercenary unit, orginally founded by Kellids who retreated when Raliscrad fell to the worldwound, they clashed with an Orcish mercenary unit over the name, the Orcs stating that something whose name starts with "Orc" must clearly be of orcish nature. A cunning spell warrior had the very cunning idea of doing a company vs company drinking contest under the eyes of Lord Gorum. Nobody remembers who won, but both units joined up with each other.
Terendelevs decision to hire the Orchestra was controversial, as they are pretty unconventional, rather chaotic in alignment, are on relatively bad terms with the church of Torag and have been the subject of a fair bit on inquisitorial attention. There are also points in the favor, the pronounced Kellid aspects of their identity could mean that they would be more easily able to recruit from the sizeable Kellid refugee population, their fighting style as night combat specialists can also cancel out demonic advantadges in this area.
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Parvin drifts along through the people gathered for the Armasse celebration taking in the sights and subtly gawking. She attracts plenty of stares and side-eyed gazes herself.
In part it is her foreign clothing, baggy pantaloons of bright blue and a knee-length black coat crowded all over with an embroidered pattern of peacocks, sunbursts, and flowers over her white shirt. A red and gold scarf is looped around her neck.
More than her clothing though, it is Parvin herself who attracts the attention. She is freakishly beautiful. Her long and wavy black hair or dusky caramel skin may not be unique in the crowd, but the shimmer and glow that seems to emit from her is. Parvin doesn't literally glow, it is more a trick of the eyes or light perhaps. It is something seen at a glance or from the corner of the eye, but gone with a direct look.
Only recently arrived in Kenabres, or Mendev for that matter, Parvin doesn't know what to expect of the Armasse holiday. Not that it matters to her, she's excited for a day of celebration, whatever it might involve.
Parvin has found her stay in Kenabres to be a bit disorienting and vexing so far. It's not so much that it's a foreign land as there seem to be inefficiencies in whatever bureaucracy is involved in assigning new volunteers for the cause against the demons of the Worldwound anything in particular to do.
When she tried to enlist and offer her services, Parvin was told she should consider herself a member of the city militia at present. She would be contacted at her address when something more might be required of her. So Parvin has waited and nobody has come calling.
Since she was given no details about what 'considering herself a member of the city militia' means in practice, she has idled away time wandering around the city to become for familiar with it. Parvin has decided she does not love Kenabres. Compared to Gurat it seems new, comparatively empty of inhabitants, and architecturally sterile. She also misses mountains.
Parvin finds a pillar out of the flow of the crowd and leans against a pillar. She unwraps the waxed paper she has been carrying in her hand and begins to casually eat the slices of fried sweet potato it holds. As she watches the people in the square, Parvin catches sight of an elf conversing with a man some short distance away. She doesn't need to see her ears to be sure. No human could be so tall and thin.
Elves are extremely rare in Qadira. Though Parvin has seen a few here and there in her journey to Mendev she has never actually spoken to one, feeling awkward and a little intimidated at the thought of doing so.
So pretty... she thinks absently.
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Aris recalls reading old Kellid interviews, as well as a copy of the missive recruiting the Orchestra to Kenebres, in her work in the library. The big man - Viktor - seems to think that his joke is funny, and she cocks an eyebrow in a puzzled expression. "Oh. Because of the...horns?"
"Well, specialization implies mastery, and while history and politics are finite, that doesn't hold true for the arcane, so specialization is really a myth. For example, it's possible to exploit how a wizard's spellbook interacts with a elf's trance to quickly replace spells in one's mind. And it may be possible to slide through a different dimension without using a proper spell as well, but I haven't gotten that far in my research yet." She shrugs, both as a gesture and to once again re-adjust her backpack. "I've only recently begun to understand what I'm reading, after all. Your Orchestra doesn't seem like a typical crusader order."
If I recall some interrogation of outsiders capable of at will teleportation correctly, it is described as opening localized rifts in reality and stepping, perhaps better sliding through them. This option does not seem available for mortals, inspite of spirited attempts by my people to unlock it. I do not personally buy the "its outsiders" excuse, we would be outsiders on their planes as well, and we know for a fact that humans or other mortals do not spontaneously manifest teleportation abilities on other planes. The large man answers, evidently beign quite happy to talk about scientific affairs.
Another rather option of teleportation, that I have actually seen people who arent demons or potent mages, did relied on using the innate potential of items capable of sufficiently strong conjuration magic. The process is a bit of a punch in the gut, and only available to well, seriously brawny people. As in considerably brawnier then me. It is also short ranged, essentially line of sight. He continues
It is interesting that you mention trances. They way my weapon song works likely has a common ancestry with Kyoninese Blade or Tree singing. Tree singing in essence transfers enables and enchants trees by speaking and singing to them, the same can be done for weaponry, enabling them to be more heavily enchanted. I am atypical in that I use comedy for this, and well, weaponry tends to have a rather black sense of humor in general, but it works. Do you have experience using your research in practice yet? He finishes
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As he makes his way to the Plaza, Théoden's eyes go wide with amazement. "This is fantastic!" he exclaims to no one in particular. The tall, good-looking, long and wavy brownish/black-haired, with a well-groomed beard, and golden-eyed fellow looks upon the festivities with excitement. "Let us go see what's out there, shall we Théoden? Of course, we shall!" A grand smile forms.
Moving from vendor to vendor, he looks upon their wares and examines various items. In the middle of studying an interesting figurine of a silver dragon, his attention is diverted in the direction of someone yelling expletives. Narrowing his eyes, he once again converses with himself. "Well that was quite ill-mannered. It sounds to me like someone needs a lesson in proper etiquette." Shaking his head at how far society has fallen, he cuts his attention back to the item he was admiring before calling out to the proprietor. "Vendor, my good man! How much for the dragon statuette?"
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Finja was a local - she grew up in Kenabres, after all - so it was not her first Armasse. That did not make it any less enjoyable.
She had just been past the first growth spurt of puberty when she kind of...stopped aging. She was too large to be a child, too small to be an adult - but that was not the only thing weirdly in balance - her face had absolutely symetrical and androgynous features. She was flat as a board - not that that worried her - and could easily have passed for a boy with longish hair.
Speaking of her hair, it presently shined in a bright golden color, as if reflecting the suns light to the viewer - and her shadow danced in multiple colors, as if she was a glass sculpture breaking the light, rather than blocking it.
She wore a simple tunic and sandals, both of fine make, but with no fancyness - except for a small-hand-embroidered unicorn on her left chest, and the back of the tunic had two long vertical cuts to allow through small feathered wings, much too small to be of use for flying.
The illustrious young girl was presently in the company of some kids, among them an elven boy that seemed about her relative age, and in the process of being dared to do something...stupid.
Soon, the group of kids approach a foreign-looking woman leaning against a pillow, and Finja steps forward and speaks up, in a very clear and melodic voice:"Hey Miss. You are not from around here, are you? Looking to join the crusade? You probably don't know the custom around here, but it's supposed to bring good luck if you share your sweet potato fries with local kids. But don't worry, we're glad to help you out and teach you more about local culture!"
There is no such thing as a custom to share your snacks with kids for good luck. But this is not an attempt to swindle you out of your food, just some good-spirited amusement among the kids.
A small group of children play in the plaza as the adults play drinking games. Soon the spirits of all nearby seem to improve, even in the shadow of war. As you browse the stores and stalls you come across one in which you find marvelous deals. The stall is large and sits next to a wagon. over the stall is a sign saying "Mad Marvelo's Magical Menagerie"
Once your shopping is done you realize it's almost noon. Armasse officially begins 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 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!
Around you people are screaming and running. A group of children huddle with a priest of Iomedae near a wall of the Cathedral. That wall is crumbling, and will soon give way. What do you do?
Viktor draws his Bardiche
Standing orders to to find our commander in case of sudden demonic invasion, and act on our own initiative otherwise Viktor says matter of factly.
I suggest you follow along Mrs. Aris'arial, only you have a better idea.
Viktor begins to move towards where the his company is garrisoned, expecting Demons to pop out somewhere immidiatly.
His attention snapping in the direction of the commotion, Théoden looks on with shock. Putting the figuring down, he quickly looks around and notices the trouble a group of children and a priest are in. Eyes going wide, he takes off in their direction, yelling, He warns, running in a full sprint in an attempt to save them.
Growing up in and around a temple, Parvin is unaccustomed to being lied to. Of course the church is political, and its members desire things. She is well aware the unvarnished truth can be shaped to one's own favor through the choice of words, or the withholding of some things in favor of others. She knows deception, her mother made sure Parvin is aware, a basic survival tool within the church for anyone who rises through the hierarchy.
The kids' lie is different, it is cheeky and utterly fabricated. It is also a stinker, too specific to the circumstances of their meeting and promising too much in return for the request made. Parvin isn't fooled even for an instant.
Parvin hands over the paper wrap and its contents. She tells the young half elf (that's her guess at least. Elves are at the forefront of her thought at the moment and they seem to generally be very pale and blonde)
"Here, take the rest to share among yourselves. I've had plenty."
With a parting smile for the youngsters Parvin moves on, going to the plaza where people seem to be gathering. She's barely reached the place when the explosion occurs.
Parvin has relatively little context for understanding what is happening, but the presence of an actual dragon and a flying, lightning handling giant makes it quite easy to see it's both unplanned as a part of the festivities and very important.
She notices the wall and the group of children and can only think she must do something to get them away. Parvin begins running toward them as fast as she can while yelling The wall will fall! Move away! Get away from the wall!"
"You're going...to find your commander?" Aris looks at the quickly-leaving form of Viktor, then at the cathedral wall. "Viktor, the cathedral is collapsing! I don't think you can just leave children there!" She runs toward the cathedrel, children, and priest. All the while, she looks at the wall, trying to figure out which parts are in the most danger of collapsing and how much time the children have. Yet another part of her brain is on the impending fight between dragon and lightning monster.
2 of them have f~@$ing noodle arms that is not going to work.
Viktor thinks as he makes a snap decision.
Viktor turns towards the children and shouts
Oi you brats, do you know what Korramzadeh means in Abyssal?
Now grab your priest and run to the two nice ladies running towards you!
He totally made that up, takes either courage and an extremely opportunistic attachment to the concept of self preservation to shout that within Korramzadehs hearing range though
Those that run toward the children reach them though the falling rubble and and devastation, but they are are to petrified to move. The priest that is with them grabs one of the children in her arms and grabs another by the hand and screams "Come with me children" and motions with her head. She heads away from the cathedral and across the plaza pausing to see if the children are following. The remaining children are still huddled in fear and refusing to run. Perhaps if someone was to grab the remaining children and take them to safety they would move?
As soon as he makes his way to them, "Come, children! I will protect you! Now, all of you, please, let us go!" He pleads. "I shall be right behind you!" Motioning with his hands for them to hurry, Théoden will wait for them all to leave before following after.
"Come on! You have to go!" Aris grabs a couple of children's hands and starts pulling them away from the wall. What is Viktor talking about? That's definitely not what Korramzadeh's name means in Abyssal.
Parvin swoops in behind the group of children. She grabs one of them in each hand and uses her outstretched arms and body like a net, pressing the rest she's not holding onto forward.
"We have to move to a safe place right now! Move! Move!
Bugger this quicks putting his bardiche back, viktor scoops up 2 kids per hand and starts running to a place of mildly less danger.
As soon as they are forced to move they start to run. They quickly follow after the priest and clear the plaza as the wall that was crumbling is hurled to the ground. The little ones you carry squirm to be set free. As you set them down only one takes the time to say thank you as she runs away. Behind you you can hear the battle reaching a fever pitch as screams of the fallen reach your ears. As you turn to go back and join in the fray the ground shakes and disgorges demons into the streets, the dragon and the balor lord clashed above. The fight is over in a few harrowing moments, as the balor cuts deep into Terendelev’s body, swooping down to strike the dragon and arresting her charge. A few more blows, and the titanic duo spiral downward toward the crowd.
The sight of the dragon smashing into the façade 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 a pit. Yet the fall remained as inexorable, and as you drifted downward into the depths, the last thing you see 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 you slammed shut, and the light of the world above was gone.
You awake in darkness with dust and dirt swirling around you.
Parvin can see, but is so used to being the only person she knows of with darkvision that she immediately creates a light for any others present who are alive and conscious. Placing it on a copper coin, she sets it on a projecting piece of rubble so it can have the best effect.
Next she quickly checks herself for injuries, and finding none draws her scimitar. Mindful the spider may react to the light and her voice, she watches it as she asks aloud "Can anyone hear me? Does anyone need help?"
I am intact, I can see in the dark, horse sized spider roughly 40 feet away from us. Can you deliver aid to other survivors? I shall cover us against that spider.
Viktor whispers, as he positions himself outside of the light between the other survivors and the spider, bardiche drawn and ready to strike it should it attack or approach.
When all hell broke loose, Finja first and foremost worried about her friends. When she saw they followed her brothers lead, away from the plaza and towards the Librarium through some back alleys, she stopped a moment as she saw the OTHER kids in danger. Telling her brother to go on ahead, she rushes towards the cathedral wall, just in time to see a group of adults scoop in and fetch the kids.
Oh well. Better I'm here and not needed than the other way round.
But she has no time to turn and rejoin her brother as the ground beneath her suddenly is no more.
____________________________
Moments later, she finds herself in a cavern. It was dark, but that didn't worry her. It simply was...inconvenient. First, she likes colors. And secondly, she could only see a very short distance in the dark.
Before she had decided if it was safe to create some light, someone else did, and spoke up.
Finja stood up, and dusts off her tunic:"Yo...kind potato slice lady. Glad you made it. Told ya it's good luck."
She shows a broad grin, before remembering the grim spectacle going on above, and the grisly death of Terendelev. Her expression darkens:"For us, at least.".
She turns and looks at the others, smiling when she notices the elf: "Oh, Aris! You also made it!" - but just as before, her mood quickly sinks again:"I hope my brother is okay."
Finja didn't seem panicked, or fearful. But being chatty seemed to...calm her, help her process what was going on. She was clearly agitated, and the situation seemed to make her mind race - and her restless.
Coughing and waving off the dust that floats around him, Théoden looks about, trying to make out the situation. Seeing the massive spider and wondering if it's dead, he draws his sword and shield just in case.
He looks over at the woman who calls out before angling his head and listening for somebody to respond to her. Not knowing any of the people with him, "Hello, all. I don't know any of you but my name is Théoden. A pleasure. Also, there's a large spider just over in that direction. Be wary, I'm unaware if it's alive or dead." He warns.
Aris blinks against the darkness, reaches into her spell pouch, and pulls out a dried firefly. "Clara!" She pops a light into existence, which settles on a chunk of rubble near her hand. She glances around. The large man, Viktor, who she'd chatted with at the scroll shop. A woman who'd rushed in to try to save the kids. The kids...were we quick enough to get them away from the square before...? An even bigger man that Viktor. And...
"Finja, is that you? Your parents will be so worried. I'll get you back to the library...somehow. If it's still in one piece. We'll try to find your brother, too."
She picks up the bit of rubble she's lit and holds it up. "I can't see quite that far, at least not without getting closer. Someone could throw my light toward it, though?"
The others moan and begin to show signs of life. One looks unscathed the others not so lucky.
Hearing moans of pain, Théoden quickly makes his way over to the wounded. Sheathing his sword and his shield, he notices a woman, an older man, and an elf.
"Are you all alright?! What can I do to help?" Théoden asks, aiding them in any way possible.
"I hope they are fine.", Finja turns her attention to Aris. "Things looked pretty bad up there. Terry died, didn't she?"
When Theoden speaks up, she notices even more people nearby, but seeing he is dealing with them, focuses on the walls and a ceiling, if one is visible. "We are pretty far down and that rift closed. Think we can climb up and dig a tunnel or something? Or how do we get back home?"
Because of the 'potatoes' comment Parvin knows the girl who speaks to her must have been one of the group she gave her snack away to. But she hadn't really paid attention to them individually so she doesn't recognize her beyond that. What matter to Parvin is if she's joking about the incident, she must be alright.
"If this is the good luck you mentioned, I'd hate to see what you would describe as bad luck."
Parvin moves on past the girl, as well as a couple of other people who seem to be alright, one of them being the elf she had noticed earlier. She stops at the first person she comes to who hasn't managed to rise yet, also an elf she thinks, and checks on them.
They seem to have some sort of unspoken truce with the spider, or they look yucky to it, and Parvin isn't going to mess with that situation unless forced to.
"Right you are. Bad luck, you would all be dead, I guess, and I'd have to find a way back up alone.", she answers pragmatically and absent-minded as she still inspects the walls and ceiling.
Aris looks at Finja. "I'm...pretty sure she did, yes. I think she saved us, though." She stands up and walks over to inspect the injuries the other fallen folks have.
Giving the effing Thunderfart was here as well, bad luck means.. , well, plenty of fates worse the death on offer. Since we are even alive, we are not just lucky, we must also be good!
The big man says with a grin.
Not much skill on with healing on my part, can you check on the wounded, I am going to keep pointing a big 2 handed piece of pointy sharp metal at that horse sized giant spider.
He continues.
The one is a middle aged human man with gray hair dressed in fine if dirty clothes. He seems to have several superficial cuts and bruises, though he moans as if he was dying. Another is a middle aged male elf with white hair also in fine robes covered in dirt. Among several cuts and bruises his eyes appear severely damaged. The last is a human female dressed in leather armor. Her leg is severely wounded.
The spider remains still.
If you need a splint, borrow one of my throwing axes Viktor offers after taking a quick look
The 4 on the back are not cold iron, and would be preferable
He still seems focused on the spider.
"Hm. Climbing does not look good - that ceiling seems solid. But unless that spider thingie fell down with us, I guess that cavern over there leads somewhere."
She approaches the human female:"Do you think you can walk, lady?"
The elf seems confused but then he starts asking questions Hello. Who ever you are? Are you trying to heal me? It seems to me my eyes are damaged. Is it bad? I can't see. Are you skilled in healing? What's your name? Mine is Aravashnial. I smell blood is everyone alright? Where are we?"
You can tell that unless you interrupt him he will continue to ramble on without end. The human female saves you all by doing so. "My name is Anevia Tirabade and I don't think I can walk. I have no skill at healing though so if you can heal please take a look.
The light spell Ends before you can see the far eastern wall. The walls and floor of this cavern have the rough texture of natural stone. The distant squeaks of bats echo broadly, suggesting that this underground space is large and relatively open. Grit and rock dust covers everything. Clumps of stalagmites jut from the ground.
The spider remains motionless.
Leg seems broken, but can be splinted, old trick is to use a throwing axe, axe head will cool the wound somewhat, and if the axe is well maintained, which mine are, the various weapon oils will somewhat reduce infection odds. Setting the splint should be be done by a professional though. He offers, handing off one of his throwing axes.
Viktor Hämndson, Mercenary with the Orchestra. Tirabade? I believe I have heard your surname before.
Viktor carefully approaches the spider, reading attacks at each steps, and periodically fueling some of his arcane power into his bardiche as he does so.
Parvin does what she can for the elf's eyes while appraising him of the situation in detail. He will need help to travel, so he must be calmed and reassured.
"Hello Aravashnial, my name is Parvin. It is beyond my ability to restore your eyes from their injury. It must wait until we have made our way above ground and find help. So, at this time I am bandaging them."
"We have fallen through a large fissure that opened in the ground. At this time there seems to be eight of us here. Given the complete darkness, the fissure appears to have closed up somewhere high above us. This space seems to be a large cavern. We have only started to look around, so there isn't much more that I can tell you at this time."
After finishing with Aravashnial, Parvin restores the Light and moves on to care for the woman's leg. She repeats the information, as needed and appropriate since Anevia can see, as she does so.
"Oh, Aravashnial? Hej...it's me, Finja! You remember me, right?"
She had not recognized the elf at first, but when he started talking it seemed familiar enough. With Parvin approaching the woman on the ground, she shifts her attention to the Elf. Her foster parents had worked for - or with - him, among others, so she knew who he was. Not much more, though, but he had been consulted when her sorcerous powers manifested a while ago - so he likely also remembered her.
His rambling gave Finja a sense of comfort, of home, and she gladly listened to the old Elf if he wanted to keep talking.
Aris looks over the two injured citizens of Kenebres, trying to wrap her head around seeing them here. Where do I know them from?
While she thinks about the two, Aris eyes the spider. When the man with too many axes - Viktor - starts to approach the spider, Aris slips her hand into her bag and comes up with an alchemical concoction in a glass sphere, which she tosses up and down in one hand. [b]"Be careful. A spider like that should have attacked by now, with wounded folk here.
@Parvin You look at Anevia's leg and it is broken in several places and though she is hiding her pain she is severely wounded with several deep cuts and bruises. Until she receives a regenerate spell she will not be able to get full use out of her leg. You can piece together a split and crutch from the rubble that should allow her some mobility. After you apply the splint she seems to brighten a little. "Thank you Parvin was it. I appreciate your help."
@Aris'arial You know Aravashnial is one of the preeminent scholars in the city and is often seen in the Blackwing Library. You know he is a wizard but little else.
Aravashnial continues to ramble. "As I was saying before being interrupted, who is the strongest of you? What is the plan? Someone needs to be my eyes. how many survivors are there? Sorry dear I don't remember you perhaps if I could see your face I could recognize you."
Anevia speaks up and says "I'll guide him. I won't be able to walk fast anyway. Mister Viktor is it? You may know my wife Irabeth."
@Viktor As you approach the spider, you see it's abdomen pulse and squirm in the half light. Do you continue to approach?
Finja is miffed that Aravashnial does not remember her:"It's fine. I guess. Nobody seems to remember me.", she glances at Parvin while she works on Anevias leg:"Don't know about the other stuff, but there's only one way we can go from here so that seems like a good start."
When the woman with the broken leg volunteers to guide him, she shifts her attention to what she say, then comments on Anevias mention of Irabeth:"Your wife? But you're a woman? Can a girl marry another girl? Cool."
I think its trying to throw a web Viktor says, not sounding too concerned.
Irabeth? Nope, doesnt ring a bell
The spiders abdomen busts open as three giant maggots crawl forth. Roll initiative.
When Parvin has done what she can for Anevia, she moves on to check on the last of the three, a human male. She asks his name and whether he knows of any injuries along with where.
It's about the same time when the man with all the axes throws one at the spider. Despite his excuse, Parvin's impression of him is he grew bored and handles such things poorly. Typical of someone who lacks the discipline of mind to withhold from poking at things he shouldn't just because he can't find anything else exciting enough to do at the moment.
When his axe produces the kind of unhappy result one might predict, she looks up just long enough to tell him "Your mess, you clean it up", then she goes back to caring for the man.