For several weeks, excitement has been building in Kenabres—Armasse is coming! Traditionally an opportunity for scholars and priests to come together to study the lessons of history from wars past, since Aroden’s death, this holy day has become more about training commoners in weaponry, choosing squires, and ordaining new priests. Over time, Armasse has grown to encompass jousting competitions, mock duels, battle reenactments, and other festival events. In Kenabres, the festival (which takes place on 16 Arodus) is eagerly anticipated, for it provides distractions from the horrors of being on the front line of the war. Smiles on faces normally marred by downcast eyes and furrowed brows do wonders for city morale in the weeks leading up to the event.
Blue eyes roving, circling, darting between knights riding warhorses, priests expounding upon the virtues of courage, strength, sacrifice, and common folk running, dancing, eating, drinking around him, the small Blue-scaled Kobold smiles at his newly found fortunes.
One would never realize that only a few easy miles away are hoards of hungry, diseased, poorly attired demons and worse. Humans are so weird.
The 3' tall draconian (dressed in Taldor fashion with a blue hooded cloak) continues further into this raucous town, following the crowds to the heart of the apparent festival....
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He has been back in Kenabres for a couple of weeks. His foster parents - well, Sarnax's foster parents - were welcoming but full of questions.
"Have the visions increased? Tell us about them.
Have there been any physical changes? Let us see the birthmark. Yes, yes. See that? That line has moved. It means something. Look, here is our sketch from last year. See?
We heard tell of a Cyclops seer - in Qadira was it? - yes, a Cyclops seer may be able to divine the meaning. We can arrange passage..."
They are devout, and believe that something has happened to him beyond simple madness. But they want explanations, confirmation, proof, statements from a higher authority.
And he knows this - he is Aroden. Maybe not the Aroden that was, but the Aroden that is and the Aroden that will be.
So, to forestall the questions, he goes with a fib. A simple white lie that makes everything easier.
"You are making too much of it. I am just a man trying to follow his example. Pursuing greatness, blending spell and steel, battling the enemies of humanity and of Golarion - such as the demons of the Worldwound. The visions were given to me as inspiration. But I am Sarnax, the son you raised as your own."
It's a lie. He isn't Sarnax, not anymore. He is Aroden. And he isn't just a man, he's something more. Not a god, no. Not yet, anyway. And the visions of Aroden (Aroden Who Was) battling Deskari are what drew him back here.
Long-time residents of Kenabres know him. Sarnax, orphan of Riftwardens, raised in Kenabres and went mad in Absalom. Visitors here for Armasse think he might be a reenactor, someone dressed up to play a part in a historical lesson. "No, just a man trying to follow his example."
Aroden takes part in the longsword drills, and he is terrible, though there is a hint of some forgotten skill. Just a hint. Enough to persuade him to keep practicing.
Clanging fills the air at the training yard.
"There you go! Keep your grip firm but relaxed! Nice hit! Remember to keep your stance!" Tandyn shouts while quickly walking from trainee to trainee. "Great job everyone! Now place your blades back on the rack and feel free to take a flyer on your way out!"
As the guests exit Tandyn stretches a bit, fixes his hair, and straightens out his tabard over his scale mail. After a deep breath and a few quick jumps, he prepares himself for yet another round.
"Welcome! Are you all ready to learn some swordplay? Please take a sword from the rack and make your way to one of our unoccupied straw demons..."
The day of the festival begins much like any other - the light of the sun seems pale and sickly as it creeps over the horizon, as if even the celestial spheres fear to shine their light on the blighted lands below. In a small, dilapidated house in the Gate District, an emaciated young man rises with the sun, grimacing as his horns rebound off a battered crossbeam with a solid thud. As he makes a simple breakfast with the scraps of bread and cheese he can collect from around the barren kitchen, he glances contemplatively at a quarter of a sausage left over from the butcher's shop the previous week, considering whether or not to use it in the meal. Oh, might as well. Armasse comes only once a year, after all. Both his taloned hands are occupied cooking the meal, so his whiplike tail darts out at the remnant of the sausage, impaling it on the scorpion-like stinger at its end and bringing it over to his waiting hands. As he eats the (admittedly mediocre) meal, he pauses every so often to jot down notes in the journal open on the kitchen's shoddy, secondhand table, taking bites between sentences as he writes.
16 Arodus - Armasse
Another year, another festival. I've been given the day off from work, but as usual, I hadn't planned to go - those damned crusaders already run what's left of our country, so why give them a whole day to rub it in our faces?
This year, though, it's different. A friend of a friend down at the Market Square said that the Locksmiths' Guild is going to have a stall set up with a few demonstrations. Supposedly, they've got some sort of lock that's supposed to be 'unbreakable' for anyone less than a Guild journeyman - anyone who can prove them wrong gets an apprenticeship at the Guild.
'Unbreakable,' my foot. Supposedly, it's a three-cylinder model - three cylinders! I've picked more complex locks - Hell, I've made more complex locks! I'll go to the Armasse celebrations, get that apprenticeship, and make a better life for my family. If all goes well, tonight we'll eat that salted beef I've been saving - after all, I certainly think a celebration would be in order! I only hope Saba
Suddenly, a soft blow on the shoulder jolts the young man out of his reverie, accompanied by Hallit words in a rich baritone voice. «Still scribbling in that book of yours, my little brother?» He turns in his chair to glance up at his assailant, grinning as he responds in the same tongue. «I'll s-sting you - don't think I won't! M-morning, Huresk.» His grin widens. «B-besides, at least I c-can read, you b-beer-swilling illiterate!» The pained grimace on his brother's face lets him know that he's struck a nerve, and he sighs. «L-look, I'm s-sorry. I d-didn't-» The tall Kellid man waves a hand dismissively. «Never you mind about that, my brother. Look, this is the first Armasse you've actually agreed to go to in years - just go, enjoy the day, show Saba the sights, okay?»
The brothers' conversation is interrupted by a furtive scratching at the door, accompanied by pitiful whining. «T-that'll be that d-dog. I'll give him something s-special - seeing how it's A-armasse and all.» Taking the better part of the sausage that he had made for himself, Dorek's blade-like claws expertly slice off a large chunk of meat - walking to the shoddy wooden door and opening it, he kneels down to greet the small, scruffy-looking terrier waiting at the door, begging for scraps. «M-morning, Ranek. Y-you excited for Armasse, l-little buddy?» Dorek moves the sausage up and down, and the little dog's head moves to track it, his face the wide-eyed, focused mask of a dog who knows that someone has food and is not giving it to them. Dorek chuckles as the dog seems to nod in assent. «Yeah, m-me too, little buddy. Now - w-where's Saba? Go find S-saba!» He tosses the sausage to the dog, and it vanishes in a little gray blur of motion as the dog devours the meat, then rushes inside and clambers up the stairs to his adoptive daughter's cramped room. The young tiefling returns to his seat, not meeting his brother's disapproving gaze. «Dorek, you know our family doesn't have the money for you to keep feeding that mutt - not on the salary we make, at any rate.» Dorek sighs. «I k-know - but t-that's all going to change after today! I k-know they don't let d-demonspawn into the guild, but after t-today, they'll-»
A self-satisfied yipping announces the return of the terrier Ranek, a bleary-eyed young Garundi girl at his heels. «Papa? What's going on?» Scooping up Saba's plate in his talons, Dorek crosses the cramped room to his adoptive daughter in just a few strides, kneeling as he hands her the plate. «Why, today's A-armasse, Saba. It's going to be a g-great adventure!» The little girl looks up at him, pleading in her eyes. «And you're coming with me? You're not going away to that awful foundry, Papa?» Dorek laughs. «If all goes well, Saba, I'll n-never have to go to that horrible foundry e-ever again. Get your t-things - we don't want to miss the p-parade!»
The three members of the Devaimai-Windstep family slowly make their way through the cramped streets of Kenabres, Saba pulling her father through the crowds in her excitement to see the festival, exclaiming in Taldane as she takes in the sights. "Papa! Papa! Look at all the knights! Do you think we'll see Lady Tirabade?" Behind her, Dorek answers in the same tongue, his blade-like talons locked firmly around the handle of his tool kit as he rushes through the streets after Saba. "I'm sure she's very busy, Saba - I don't think she'll have time to be at a festival like this." Next to the little girl, Ranek barks excitedly and darts to and fro, unsure of what is going on but aware that he likes it very much.
At the festival itself, Dorek glances around the plaza for a minute before his one remaining eye lights on the Locksmiths' Guild stall. "H-huresk, could you go show Saba the j-jousting event for a bit? I'm g-going to try my hand at that l-lock." Approaching the Guild display hesitantly, he ducks his sharp-featured head at the Guild representative's suspicious glare, holding up his locksmiths' tools as proof of his purpose. The gray-skinned tiefling kneels in front of the display lock, his picks probing its inner workings for a few minutes as sweat beads on his forehead, but eventually, it opens with a click, and Dorek exhales a sigh of relief.
His heart still pumping with the exhilaration of winning the Locksmith's Challenge, Dorek hurries back to his brother and daughter at the jousting tournament, clutching his hard-won scroll of apprenticeship in one taloned hand as he carries his tool kit in the other. He spends most of the rest of the festival watching the jousts and mock combats with his daughter, beaming an unnaturally wide grin as he watches the gathered crusaders in their mock fights. Like many of those present, he takes part in the longsword drills, but he fails miserably - while he seems quite comfortable with a blade, such as the overlong dagger he wears at his hip, the unwieldy length of the longsword seems to stymie him, and the lanky tiefling misses blow after blow, eventually putting the sword back on the weapons rack and leaving the practice field in frustration.
”You stop too soon, child. Strike through your target.” The impossibly deep but melodious voice rumbled over the training yard in the misty lamplight. Cecily nodded, digging in her back heel before lashing out again. The sandbag rocked with a resounding thump and the young woman confidently met the eyes of her master. The immense silver dragon gave her a small nod.
”Better. One hundred more then you may go ready yourself for the celebration.” Terendelev looked to the first glimmer of dawn on the horizon then inclined her head toward her student. ”Enjoy the parade, the celebrations, but seek me this evening. We have something important to discuss.”
”Yes, master. And enjoy your part as well!” Cecily called out in farewell As the dragon took wing to more pressing matters. The tiefling continued her drills, punching until her knuckles were sore and working up a healthy sheen of sweat in the cool pre-dawn chill. She hummed a happy tune to herself as she returned to the barracks once her assigned drills were done, cleaned herself up, and began to dress for the day. Terendelev's instructions made her giddy. She had been taking special lessons for years now as she carried out her duties within the crusade, and it was high time that she began a formal apprenticeship. There were numerous highly capable crusaders she could learn from, but she hoped against hope that Terendelev would be taking her on herself, and if the dragon wanted to meet her after the ceremonies, well, that was a great sign! And if today was going to be such a special day, her usual uniform just wouldn't do. She had commissioned an elaborate dress for Armasse in the hopes that the festivities would mark her own day of ascension, resplendent in white, red, and gold and festooned with tasteful ribbon and lace. Lamenting that the barracks did not afford her a staff to help her dress like she had grown up with, she cinched up the dress herself with her tail then tucked the tail back up under her skirts. To complete the ensemble, she pulled on white silk gloves over her claws and styled her hair up and over her horns, leaving only the tips of the side horns sticking out (although they might be mistaken for a headpiece) but her slightly-pointed ears free and fixed the styling in placed with a caul. There. She looked almost human again.
By the time she was ready, the troops in tge unit she was attached to were ready to go as well. She formed up with them and they headed out into the morning air and out to the parade ground.
Thawm arrives in town on the eve of the festival, curious about what she might need to do in such a happy seeming place. Eventually, she learns that people are mostly happy because of the festival of Armasse. Thawm finds a comfortable looking inn and stays the night. Her first night in Kenabres.
She doesn't dream, though.
It's fine, the dreams don't come every night anyway. She thinks to herself.
Thawm gets dressed and joins in the festivities.
She performs... poorly at swordplay (dropping the sword, in fact), but does moderately well at the crossbow range. In the afternoon she goes to watch one of the jousting tournaments.
Part 1 - The Fall of Kenabres
You’re in a dark place, your head throbs with a thunderous headache. Your ears ring and you’re having trouble breathing. After a few moments you hear the sounds of rocks clattering, coughing, and moans of pain; as well as the choking smell of dust clouding you. Feeling around in darkness you find rubble all around you, you’re covered in dirt and filth.
Before standing up, Thawm tries to do something about her headache. She tries calling upon her healing fire and what appears to be sparks fall around her, especially her aching head.
She looks around, her eyes piercing the darkness, wondering what just happened.
The Eye... No, not there. Dust, rocks. Where?
The man stands up and casts Dancing Lights, sending them around so that he can see where he is.
"OW."
Cecily tries to look around, confused, but it doesn't get her anywhere. So she HEAVES.
Furiously rummaging about the recently strewn rubble, the Blue-scaled Kobold gives a slightly satisfied sound as he is seen replacing the aforementioned shoe on his foot. The Blue-scaled Kobold then begins rummaging through a pack placed precariously perched on that same recently strewn rubble.
With an actual sounding satisfied sound, the Blue-scaled Kobold pulls out a vial and drinks it down!
Quickly scrambling to his now recently reshod feet, the Blue-scaled Kobold looks at those also lying, standing, bleeding on the recently strewn rubble.
Who the f~+# are you....
The Blue-scaled Kobold seems a bit twitchy.....
What happened?
Tandyn forces himself up and finds footing on the rubble. As he stands the dirt and filth slide off his skin. He raises his unclean shield over his head and tries to make out where the moaning is coming from.
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Dorek slowly picks himself up from the heap of rubble, brushing dust off his threadbare tunic and adjusting his eye patch as he mutters an inventive but anatomically impossible list of particularly foul swear words in a mixture of Abyssal and Hallit. In the ghostly light of Aroden's spell, he casts an intimidating silhouette - standing at his full height, he reaches nearly six and a half feet, not counting the horns sprouting from his forehead, but his unhealthy-looking gray skin seems to be sized for a man nearly two feet shorter, and those of a morbid or curious bent could likely count the individual bones in his sharp-taloned hands. Blinking his one lambent red eye in the spell's light, he spots other forms amidst the rubble and approaches, one hand outstretched in an offer of aid. "H-here, let me h-help. W-what happened?" His whiplike tail lashes back and forth in anxiety, its scorpion-like stinger almost jabbing Tandyn's ankle as he frets. "A-are we t-trapped here, do you t-think - w-wherever here is, I m-mean? One m-minute we were at the f-festival, and the n-next..."
Tandyn cautiously eyes the approaching Tiefling weighing whether his demeanor is nervousness or a ploy to get in range.
"Good questions friend. Maybe one of the others will know."
As you stand your head clears enough and the prior minute or so comes rushing back to you like a punch to the gut.
Armasse officially began at noon, with the blessing of the festival by Lord Hulrun himself, ruler of Kenabres. The crowd gathered in Clydwell Plaza quieted as the aged inquisitor took the stage, clad in shining, resplendent armor. He 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 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 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 you slammed shut, and the light of the world above was gone.
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. Dotting the rubble are flashes of silver, sparkling in the magical light.
three figures pull themselves from the rubble.
A human woman in her late 20s with short dark hair; she carries a short bow. When she tries to stand she gasps in pain but doesn't scream or cry out. Her left leg has been crushed to uselessness.
A male elf with silvery flowing hair. You're uncertain of his age like most of his kind. He clutches a staff, leaning on it. It's then you notice that his eyes have been burned from their sockets.
An finally a rotund and balding human man in his early 50s. He is dressed in the finery of a noble replete with fine jewelry and gold. The man appears unharmed.
The elf is the first to speak and he demands, "Who's there? Identify yourself!"
Thawm stands up and dusts herself off.
"Thawm..." She says absentmindedly, not fully processing what just happened.
She looks around and the horror of the attack starts sinking in.
"I call myself Aroden," says the wizard. "I am of Kenabres, and I was attending Armasse."
He moves slowly over to the injured woman. His hands are up to show that he means no threat to anyone - though he judges that the elf, at least, cannot see.
"My lady, I believe your leg is broken. Do not try to stand; we will need to splint it first."
He looks around. "Are any of you versed in the healing arts? I... I think I was. But... I have forgotten much."
At the suspicious edge to the crusader's voice, Dorek pulls up short before reaching Tandyn's side, raising his clawed hands in a gesture of peace. "My name is D-dorek. Dorek Devaimai-W-windstep. P-please, you need not f-fear - I m-mean you no h-harm. My b-blood is tainted, but I am no f-friend to the demons."
He lowers his hands. "The l-last thing I remember, the w-wardstone fortress was destroyed, and the d-demons were taking the s-square. My b-brother Huresk fled with my d-daughter Saba - our g-goddess will protect them. T-terendelev was fighting against the d-demons - she gave her own l-life to s-save us." He sneers. "I t-thought I saw a w-wall fall on that butcher H-hulrun. Good r-riddance, I say - him and his d-damned witch hunters k-killed my parents."
At the sight of the bodies in the rubble, Dorek moves to the pile, shifting as much rubble as he can away from the corpses of his neighbors. "We should g-give these people a p-proper burial." He stops as he uncovers a face, his mouth working silently for a moment before he can muster the breath for speech. "I-I know her. I-Iolani Neaga. S-she lived on my s-street - she was always an amazing s-storyteller. I always used to say h-hello to her and her l-little son when I passed them b-by." When a glimmer of silver within the rubble catches his eye, he kneels to examine it, grateful for any reason to take his eyes off of the gruesome tableau. "D-did I drop one of my t-tools? I d-don't think I d-did..."
"Are any of you versed in the healing arts? I... I think I was. But... I have forgotten much."
Dorek shakes his head regretfully. "N-not I. M-much as I'd like to h-help, another might be b-better." He moves to the blinded elf, extending a hand to help him navigate. "Here, m-master elf - this is n-no place to die. We've but one e-eye between the t-two of us, but it will s-serve. Take care you do not c-cut yourself - my claws are s-sharp and I would not wish to h-harm you."
"Sir Tandyn of Kenabres. Let's get off the rubble and search for anyone surviving under it." Tandyn carefully walks to the woman with the crushed leg and positions his shield under her. "With your permission, I'd like to carry you over there"
After moving her, he continues "Sadly I'm not a healer, and I have no knowledge of this place. Some of the demons came from the ground, so we all need to keep watch" Tandyn begins sorting through the rubble.
The memory of the past few moments hit Cecily like a truck. The explosion, Terendelev's valiant charge. Terendelev reaching out to save her. Her mentor, her commander, her friend, felled by the Storm King.
Was that really what she saw? There had been a lot going on, chaos, and she was falling, floating- but no. The other tiefling's prattling - Dorek, he called himself - confirmed it. She had felt the massive impact of the head.
Terendelev had fallen.
Cecily felt that familiar heat bubbling up in the pit of her belly. The defenses that Terendelev had worked so magnanimously to instill within her rose up to contain it. Center yourself. She closed her eyes and found her heart. Feel your anger. It roiled within her, she wanted to tear the Storm King's head off with her bare hands and after him every demon in the Abyss. Know where it comes from. The anger spewed from her heart, rent with pain at the scene that had played out with her helpless to stop it. Her friend, dying as she had reached out to save Cecily in her last moment.
Dead because she had reached out to save Cecily.
Terendelev had fallen. The walls had fallen. What good was any of this? The defenses within her cracked.
A low growl came out of Cecily, building to a howl as wild, burning eyes flitted between the other assembled survivors, searching for an outlet for her fury. But there was no guilt here, just more pain and confusion and goodness shining in the darkness. She turned with effort and pounded the rubble until the knuckles on her silk gloves were shredded and bloody and the anger had, for now, washed through her.
She fell to her knees and visibly gathered in her composure. After a few moments she stood, looking again between the assembled survivors, a fire still in her eyes but muted. ”I am Cecily Levain, Baroness Leeford and page to our late, greatest defender. We need to return to the surface and make these fiends pay.”
The recollection of the sudden attack by that same Demon Hoard that he had accidentally been in the mist of punches the Blue in the scaled face! The flames devouring those unfortunate to be present burns into his memory. The clamouring of voices shouting, screaming, squelching of To Arms!, My arms!, Tasty arms! echo around in the kobold 's head, as his blue eyes follow the doings of those also apparently dumped down here.
Appreciation for the Knight's practicality, the Trapper also begins to explore their immediate surroundings....
The kobold uses his surroundings as cover as he snoops about.
Thawm nearly convulses as Tandyn moves the injured lady.
"Hey, careful!" Thawm admonishes Tandyn as she comes back to her senses.
"Let's have a look." she says as she casts a spell that summons 4 orbs of light hovering over the injury.
Bending over the broken leg, Thawm's muscle memory from years of practiced motions tending the wounded back in Thuvia become obvious. Treating the woman is almost meditative, helping Thawm as she straightens the leg and finds the fracture points by touch and by... ear: listening for groans and asking the patient where it hurts as she goes.
After her careful and practiced manual ministrations, she also tries her healing magic. A waterfall of sparks to pour out of her fingers and dance over the lady's leg without burning her.
As Cecily flies into a frenzy and begins to attack the wall, Dorek jumps with surprise, and he trembles with anxiety as he addresses the wrathful noblewoman. "Y-your L-ladyship, none of us down h-here had a p-part in the dragon's d-dea... defeat. A-all we can do n-now is press on and h-hope there is a city to r-return to."
Supporting the blinded elf, he begins to make his way across the cavern, his one eye sweeping the ground for any obstacles that might cause the scholar to trip. "W-when we get out of h-here, there's a p-place we can h-hide in my f-family's home in the Gate District - a hidden s-shrine to the old Sarkorian g-gods, somewhere Hulrun and his d-damned zealots would never f-find it. A-after this is all o-over, I'll l-leave Kenabres with my f-family. My uncle Zuron is a w-wine merchant in the c-city of Gundrun - hopefully, he'll t-take us in."
The lanky tiefling scowls. "O-one thing's for s-sure, we can't s-stay in K-kenabres. Even if the c-crusaders win, I k-know they'll blame the f-fiend-blooded and the S-sarkorians for the a-attack. There'll be t-trouble for any who d-don't get out, you m-mark my words."
If anyone happens (by chance most likely only by the faint field of your peripherals) to glance over at the previously boisterous Blue-scaled Kobold, one may notice him not actually going anywhere. If that same person had enough patience to play out the viewed scene, that patience would pan out to a plethora of positivity where humor is concerned.
He seems to have gotten his reshod shoe stuck in-between some rough rubble...
The Blue-scaled Kobold's blue eyes wonder over just in time to make direct contact with your wondering, patiently placed peripherals!
He waves.
How's it going?
"You have made your point, Dorek. You hated Lord Hulrun. Well, he is dead now, most likely. But if you hated the Lord of Kenabres so much, why did you stay here in the city? Why not leave before?
It is an honest question. I wish to know. What kept you here? There are other nations that do not have Mendev's history with the Third Crusade. That was fifty years ago, and I believe Mendev has become a wiser nation since then, learning from its errors. But if you feel otherwise, why stay? Why not go to Andoran, Nirmathas, or Absalom?
I do not believe that the Third Crusade will recur. Ever. I do not believe that your kind, nor the Sarkorians, will be blamed for this attack. I think Mendev is a righteous nation with good though flawed leaders, devoted to a deity who herself once was human, and made human errors."
An odd look comes over the man's face and his voice changes for a moment.
"Even the gods err..."
He continues on, seemingly unaware of having said that last phrase.
"I do not ask you to forgive, for Lord Hulrun, servant of Iomedae, is dead and will be judged by Pharasma." The odd look flits across his face again at the mention of the Lady of Graves, then passes.
"Nor do I ask you to forget, for that would dishonor your parents.
But, if you believe that Mendev is as misguided as it was fifty years ago, then I don't understand why you would remain."
"I apologize. That is all beside the point of addressing our present situation."
At Aroden's words, Dorek blinks. After a moment, he speaks again, though he sounds on the verge of panic. "I-I'm sorry - it's j-just... you try to h-hold on to what you can, try to k-keep from t-thinking about... I'm s-sorry for w-what I said. Kenabres is a g-good city. It's the o-only home I've k-known all my life. All a-around me, f-friends I've known for y-years are dead or w-worse, and for all I k-know, my family is... Anyway, w-where would I g-go if I left? If K-kenabres can f-fall, then none of the w-wardstones are safe. N-nowhere is safe, don't you see?"
He closes his eye, taking a deep breath before continuing in a slightly calmer voice. "L-look, once we r-reach the surface, I d-don't know what n-nine people can do against an a-army, but I'll do w-whatever I can. If I d-die, it will be a g-good death - b-better than r-running and leaving the w-world to fall."
"Y-your L-ladyship, none of us down h-here had a p-part in the dragon's d-dea... defeat. A-all we can do n-now is press on and h-hope there is a city to r-return to."
"That seems so. And while a hovel may be a good place to hide, we will be most effective should we join back with the crusaders. But to do that, we need to get out"
Cecily looks around for a way out, swinging by the nobleman. He looks vaguely familiar, and she is certain she's met him at some function or another.
...but she can't place who, or where, or when.
The elf visibly relaxes as Dorek sways him, ”I am Aravashnial, thank you. You’ll need those claws; have you any experience fighting demons? I fear we are not safe here.”
Thawm manages to cobble together a splint from splintered wood and rope and minorly heals some of the woman’s bleeding wounds but determines her injuries are severe and will require more powerful magic to completely mend her leg. The woman nods her appreciation and her demeanor, while pained, has softened somewhat, ”Anevia Tirabade. Aravashnial, I’m good with my bow, or at least I would be if I could stand.”
The rotund man complains, ”Healer, attend to me first. And pay no heed to the elf or the woman, the former has openly sown dissent in the crusade with false accusations while the latter is nothing better than gutter trash who has somehow seduced the Eagle Watch’s Irabeth Tirabade.” When confronted with these accusations both Aravashnial and Anevia look away and do not defend themselves.
The man addresses Cecily, ”I am Horgus Gwerm of Egede in Eastern Mendev. I knew your aunt, Edwina, quite well and had the opportunity to advise her on your… condition.”
As Dorek examines the glint in the cavern it dawns on him, they’re silver dragon scales, shed from Terendelev. He spies five more within reach.
The Blue-scaled Kobold limply continues to wave, while also pulling at his leg with his other hand. Pack perched precariously on his shoulder causes the small stuck Kobold to again topple over some more loose rubble!
Standing again, brushing off the dust and debris from those same rubbles, the Blue-scaled Kobold carefully walks over to those introducing themselves.
Halting before the elf, the small Kobold bows.
Ahmose, the Blue Whisper, Alchemist and Trap Breaker, at your service.
Ahmose then carefully walks over to the injured lady. He nods in appreciation of the splinter crafted by the cool blue haired lady.
If you still need further assistance, I may be able to Craft something a bit more maneuverable, pending our further findings.
Stepping down to carefully walk over to the pompous Asshat, the Blue-scaled Kobold simply dies a drive by , as he bends to look at the Silver Scales found by the Tiefling with an antiauthority complex.
Nice horns. Whatcha find there?
Aroden cannot discern the reason for Aravashnial and Anevia's acceptance of these insults. Well, at least it isn't coming to blows. He is displeased with Horgus's lack of courtesy, but tries to be understanding.
Everyone here is terrified. Am I? I should be terrified, should I not? Trapped in a cavern below Kenabres, after a balor lord slew the great Terendelev. A great champion of righteousness, summoned forth to battle an ancient evil, only to be easily bested and slain. Like... like her.
Tears well up in his eyes, and he wipes them away.
I... he... Aroden could not intervene then. And this time, what am I? Bereft of power. A mere apprentice mage. So I could not save the dragon. But why would the dragon save me and these others?
He sends the Dancing Lights over to Horgus. "Where does it hurt?"
Cecily notices the shade being passed but doesn't read anything more into it. But if this man is close with Edwina, a lack of honor in his dealings wouldn't surprise her at all. And he'd probably look down on Cecily as much as the rest of the group, despite her higher birth.
She checks her hair as she glares at Horgus, finding it unsurprisingly mussed and fallen away from where it had hidden her horns, most of the caul gone. She gives scant effort to pushing it back into place and her fierce glare doesn't soften as she shoots him a saccharine grin. "A friend of Auntie Edwina, lovely. I'm sure we'll get along just as famously."
Seeing that the man calling himself Aroden is tending to any wounds the man might think he has, Cecily turns her attention to the little blue kobold. She understood him quite well thanks for Terendelev's tutorship, but she didn't understand all of the vocabulary. She heads over to see what he and Dorek are looking at and asks.
Tandyn finishes sorting through the rubble.
"That about does it. We need to find out what else is down here."
He brushes off his armor and approaches the tall Tiefling. "Dorek, now that no one else in immediate danger, let's have our talk." He gets uncomfortably close right in front of Dorek "Look into my eyes, I don't know all that you've been through, but you've got a strong heart, a good heart. You're worth fighting for, and I want you to have my back. Are you with me?"
As he feels the scales under his fingers, Dorek picks up one, examining it with curiosity before tucking it away in his tool kit. When the foul-mouthed kobold and the noblewoman approach, he holds up another one of the scales to show them. "T-terendelev's last g-gift to us. Ladyship, y-you should probably h-have one - you were c-close to her, after a-all." At Cecily's query, however, he clears his throat, replying in the same language.
At Arvanishal's query about his experience fighting demons, Dorek grins. "I've been out i-into the W-worldwound itself, you k-know - s-story for another t-time, probably, but a g-good one n-nonetheless. I can t-take care of myself - and you b-besides, I'm sure."
When Tandyn approaches, the towering tiefling turns to face the heavily armored crusader. As the man steps closer to Dorek, he stands his ground, straigtening to his full height. "W-well, it's l-like I said - if K-kenabres falls, the w-world dies. Y-you've done me n-no harm, and you s-seem s-strong enough - both in b-body and in w-will. I'd g-gladly fight alongside y-you, e-even if the world w-wasn't at stake."
Dorek scowls at the fat man's condescending attitude. "You d-don't seem to have any serious w-wounds - other than your b-brain being missing, I m-mean - so we'll t-tend to the others f-first. E-everyone can make h-honest mistakes, but it d-doesn't make them less w-worthy of aid - e-especially when they've j-just lost both e-eyes. Now s-shut up and w-wait your turn."
Tandyn nods in approval. "Thank you Dorek."
He turns his attention to Thawm. "Amazing work. May I ask about the sparks?"
The curious Blue-scaled Kobold simply smiles at Dorek as the Tiefling identifies the Silver Scales. Reaching for one, Ahmose immediately finds a vision of himself standing amongst the clouds!
Terendelev's last gift to us? Yes! I am honored to have this gift.
Absently walking by Dorek and Cecily's conversation, the distracted Kobold says
Ahmose does give a much in agreement thumbs up to Dorek after the Tiefling kicks the pompous Asshat in the nuts....
Thawm is too busy with the broken leg to notice what the thing between the three injured is, but Tandyn's question gets her attention as she finishes up with her ad-hoc splint.
"A blessing from the Dawnflower." She says simply as she stands up to her full height of five feet and turns to look up at Tandyn.
"I can treat flesh wounds with ease, but this leg seems to need something more." she adds with a sigh and a downward glance.
Thawm looks to Anevia.
"Anevia Tirabade, was it?" Thawm asks.
"I can treat injuries, but I'm not very strong. Maybe someone stronger can help you up?" she says while looking to Tandyn expectantly.
She then moves over to help the noisy noble alongside Aroden. She sprays the allegedly injured man with healing fire, much like she did for Anevia.
With her permission, Tandyn lifts her from the ground and holds her upright.
"How do we want to do this?" He asks unsure if she can walk with the splint if he lets go.
Aroden will speak quietly to Horgus.
"It seems that Aravashnial and Anevia caused some offense to you previously. I know not the full story, nor do I need to know. But we may need the skills of any and all of us to escape from here, yourself included. There is no profit in settling scores at this time, not if it risks alienating those that we may need.
We know now that Anevia has some skill with a bow. I do not know what skills Aravashnial has. And yourself? Can you use a sword, for example?"
Cecily puts a supportive hand on Dorek's shoulder for a moment while she shoots the kobold a suspicious look. "You're the one who said it in the first place, Ahmose."
She squats down to look over the scales, and one in particular seems to call to her. She picks up the scale of sacred armaments and feels purpose in it, Terendelev's righteous conviction to use her fists and her claws for good, no matter what form those cultists tried to twist her into. She makes the sign of the sword over the scale, touches it to her forehead, and then tears one of the ribbons from her tries to tie it down, quietly bemoaning her lack of pockets.
Aroden hopes that his words will at least convince Horgus to cooperate.
Cecily’s sarcasm washes over Horgus like water to a goose. Aroden examines his wounds and even his untrained eye finds them quite superficial, a few scrapes and bruises but nothing anywhere near dangerous.
Aravashnial whispers to Dorek, ”Please you don’t understand. Horgus’ words are not as misplaced as they might first appear. He is mistaken in some regards but I cannot fault him for that because I share in some blame that has caused harm to the crusade. Perhaps we can speak of it later.”
The elf faces in the direction of Horgus, and holds out a potion, ”Lord Horgus, for your injuries. A small token as recompense for my past sins against you.” He pauses for a moment and unstoppers it, and puts a drop to his lips, ”To prove that I mean no harm.”
Horgus looks to Aroden and then Aravashnial, takes the potion, and downs it with a harumph, his minor injuries clear up immediately. He scowls at Aroden but is clearly ameliorated, ”I never thought anyone would take up your name again. My skills lie in the scholarly realm,” and with seemingly great effort says, ”I apologize, I have no martial skills. However, should you see me through this ordeal alive, I shall reward you handsomely.”
With Thawm and Tandyn’s help Anevia manages to get to her feet. Between the healing and the splint she is able to hobble along with the party.
Unfortunately all the talking seems to have attracted unwanted attention as a large chitinous horror, a spider of unusual size scrapes its legs against stone, its abdomen shines black and red. Venom drips menacingly from its fangs.
The spider aims its spinnerets at Sir Tandyn and the crusader is covered in sticky webbing.
Round 1
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"Eep." Thawm explains as the spider begins hunting one of her new friends.
Ahmose just grins at Cicily. The Blue-scaled Kobold trying to look innocent, which his grin is not helping....
Excuse me, but anyone else seeing this large chitinous horror, a spider of unusual size scraping its legs against stone, its abdomen shines black and red. Venom drips menacingly from its fangs? He seems a bit fixated on us.
The Alchemist decides to further alert those in deep conversations by quickly pulling a vial, along with another vial and mixing them just before tossing it at said large chitinous horror, a spider of unusual size scraping its legs against stone, its abdomen shines black and red. Venom drips menacingly from its fangs!
Having now alerted those others present, the Blue-scaled Kobold then Strides away from the large chitinous horror, a spider of unusual size scraping its legs against stone, its abdomen shines black and red. Venom drips menacingly from its fangs!
Cecily considers asking for further explanation on the unfamiliar draconic vocabulary when the spider attacks. This is real action, not just training and supporting crusaders from behind the lines! And with their own crusading defender caught up in a web, it seems like it's up to her to stop its advance.
"I got this."
She drops into a low combat stance , then she dashes forward, sinuously weaving between the new friends she has to protect and skipping over the rubble and winding up a mighty punch as she goes.
Ahmose's bomb explodes in the spiders face and Cecily follows up right behind it with a mighty swing.
The giant spider is put down after Cecily’s strike after Ahmose shakes the room with an explosion.
Thawm opens her mouth to speak but closes it again without a word.
She goes to help remove webbing.
"I agree." she explains.
Tandyn bursts free from his webs.
"That's better..." As he reaches for his sword he notices the charred and pummeled arachnid. "Excellent work! We probably shouldn't stay here for too much longer. Everyone ready?"