It is the eve of Armasse, and all of Kenabres buzzes with anticipation. From the slums of the northern Gate District to the nave of the Temple of Iomedae in Old Kenabres, preparations have been underway for several weeks. 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 time leading up to the event.
"Dr. Lucian Argentum, you are taking tomorrow off and that is final," the halfling woman in the white dress all but ordered him. The way she waved the freshly removed cast from the patient made Luce quite hesitant to contradict her in this moment. Nurse Goldie Plumlock was about the finest attending nurse he could have asked for but he was fairly sure she could have brow-beat Asmodeus into submission.
The boy they had just taken the splint off of rubbed his arm appreciatively and watched the developing row with the somewhat stunned fascination of a child vaguely certain they were see something they were not supposed to. Luce took the boy's arm and ran a hand over it to feel for any abnormalities in the healed fracture and to give him something to keep Goldie from haranguing him further. It would only work for so long but that would be enough time for him to formulate a reply.
"I will not be, Armasse is always the day where we see the most patients every year. Do you remember that time with the shipment of water-damaged Tian firecrackers? Or the batch of bad beer that managed to somehow reach every tavern in the city?" Of course she did. On top of the drunken misadventures, brawling, inadvisable food, and other mundane problems it seemed like something new went wrong in the chaos of festivities every Armasse.
"Yes, and Tusco and I will make due. Kenebres survived Armasses of years past without a Dr. Argentum and it can survive this one without him." Tusco, the apprentice, was busily handling a final few matters with the patient's mother in the front of their little free Gate District clinic and pretending to ignore the argument her two nominal superiors in this operation had been having, off and on, for the better part of three hours. It was a finely honed skill of apprentices everywhere.
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Dr. Argentum lost the argument, of course. It had taken all of his cunning to at least manage to sneak down from his humble apartment over the clinic and grab the traveling kit he kept for house calls on his way out the door without Nurse Plumlock catching him. He was supposed to be having 'fun' and not preparing to respond if someone spooked a donkey and got kicked in the chest.
Not that doing one really prevented him from doing the other, of course. His travel kit came in the form of a wooden backpack with numerous drawers of varying sizes all about the face. It was about three feet tall and contained a variety of useful medicines and all the tools he would need to take care of most injuries on the spot. It also weighed quite a bit, but he barely noticed.
Luce was not a delicate academic by any stretch of the imagination. He stood head and shoulders over most people and looked more like he should be gnawing on his shield in barely contained battle lust somewhere cold and coastal. His hands were large and powerful, seemingly ill-suited for the delicate work of handling a scalpel or tightly stitching a wound closed.
Yet here he was, carefully picking his way through the Armasse-day crowds in his conservative suit and carrying a pack that looked rather like someone had affixed some straps to a piece of furniture without so much as breaking a sweat. He was supposed to be having 'fun' and 'taking in the festivities' but that almost seemed a faintly ridiculous idea. Almost as ridiculous as being chased from his own clinic by a woman one quarter of his size under vaguely implied threat of unknown consequences.
He had a sense that things were supposed to kick off somewhere near Clydwell Plaza. The crowds in that direction were definitely thickening. If he did not want passive aggressive comments kicked his way for the next three weeks, it would be best to make a good faith attempt to actually engage with the festival. To Clydwell Plaza it was then.
Being built like an Ulfen mythic hero and having a face that naturally set into an impressively stormy expression meant that crowds were rarely a problem for Luce. They either got out of his way or were just something he could see over. So by picking a steady pace and taking a slightly circular route, Luce eventually found a spot a little way back from the Cathedral's front.
He had not actually been to a Armasse day celebration in...eighteen years? It had been a very different experience back then as he had been more interested in what he and the other kids might have been able to pinch. He did not have the height to get a good view, the money to actually enjoy large parts of it, or the attention to spare on the proceedings. It was suddenly dawning on him that this was a far more novel experience than it first seemed like it was going to be.
Amarilis keeps to herself as she walks the streets of Kenabres. Ragged clothes, an old cloak, a slim sword on her belt and a backpack with just a blanket on her back. She wasn't a beggar and in truth she had better clothes in her home... except her home never felt like hers and the same was true about everything else she had.
Some people gave her a nasty look and she gave them back out of reflex. She knew she should not and Master Kousei would be disappointed, but it was just... so hard. She was never really good at keeping her emotions in check, but she had good reasons for that. Not nobles ones, though, but vengeance wasn't a noble sentiment, far from it. But it kept her going and this close to the Worldwound, one is a fool to let go of anything that keeps them going.
From a distance, she listens to music. She buys food from carts and watches those who had a more fortunate life than hers, both jealous and not. She is who she is and she isn't bitter about it. She liked herself. She was proud of herself and her people. Yet, she'd be lying if she said she had never imagined how it would have been before the demons.
Master Kousei had given her coins for her to rent a room, but she'd not be wasting it that way, not when the night was clear, so when it comes the time for her to sleep, Amarilis slips in an alley and then, like a cat, she climbs towards the rooftop of a building, wraps a blanked around herself and falls asleep looking at the cursed clouds of the Worldwound.
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Amarilis wakes up with the sun. She stretches, eats a leftover from last night and then jumps back on the streets. She finds an isolated alley and starts to practice. Her movements weren't perfect yet, despite her own feelings about it. 'You don't practice until you can do it right', Master Kousei would tell her every day. 'You practice until you can't do it wrong anymore'. With a deep breath and her closed eyes, she could almost her Master Kousei's strings and with each note, a precise move, a dance, her sword flashing from her sheath in the blink of an eye. And so she danced to a silent song only she could hear... until she opened her eyes and noticed a boy watching. She frowns. The boy flees.
With the sun a bit higher, Amarilis joins the people in the streets, following them towards the center of the city where most of the interesting events will take place. With patience, she observes and listens, trying to figure out which of the recruiting companies would be the best fit for her... preferably not that connected to the church, with little prejudice against kellids, willing to take a woman, a young woman at that, hopefully with no second intentions... she knew she'd had to compromise one or two points from her list, but not before she'd gone through it a couple times.
Othniel had come to the Armasse festival this morning with his uncle, Aravashnial. But once they reached the festival, they went their separate ways for the day. He was glad to have the day off. He loved his uncle, but he also spent a lot of time working for him in his shop, not to mention that Aravashnial had raised him since his parents disappeared in the Worldwound, decades before. They still lived in the same house. When you saw enough of someone for long enough, a day away could be a relief.
He carried with him the heirloom blade that Aravashnial had given him when he finished his training as a Magus. His uncle hadn't actually said that he was disappointed his nephew had not chosen to become an Abjurer, but he hardly needed to say it. Othniel had know that for decades by that point. But he had, nevertheless, given him the ancient, Kyonin-forged blade, which was said to house a spirit which only a true master of the blade could unlock. Othniel had taken that as some sort of metaphor for skill with the blade, but with wizards, one could never be sure. At any rate, the blade was finely-balanced, of the most exquisite elven craftsmanship, yet simple, with little adornment, just three feet of sharp cold iron. He carried the blade everywhere these days, and had won more than one impromptu duel with some arrogant newcomer. Humans, mostly. The poor fools thought their ten or twenty years of practice could come near his century of study. Of course, there were some experienced swordsmen who came for the crusade, and while few of the real professionals had time for frivolity, he had dueled them too. Sometimes he had lost, but as long as he learned, he never counted that day as wasted. One day he hoped they would add a dueling tournament to the Armasse festivities. There were few good ones in Mendev, and he had too many responsibilities to hare of to Brevoy and test himself against the Aldori. But perhaps he'd find some action today. Surely there is an arrogant young mayfly to teach the value of experience, somewhere in this throng. he though, as he set off, sword swinging gently at his side.
The morning of Armasse, a couple of hours before noon, those citizens of Kenabres who have risen early are treated to a breathtaking sight: high above the spires of Iomedae's cathedral, the ancient silver dragon Terendelev makes an appearance. She flies in lazy circles, as if dancing in the air, inspiring and blessing the people of her beloved city. A hearty cheer spreads through the crisp morning stillness as she passes overhead and eventually vanishes back behind the clouds.
It's the night before Armasse, and Lady Sabella Dawnstar Arvanxi is where she is almost every night. Studying with her mentor and teacher Quednys Orlun at the Blackwing. Surrounded by demonic body parts, tomes full of fell knowledge, and various arcane implements, the young aasimar and the old mage debate well past midnight. Finally stifling a yawn, Sabella has to take her leave of her friend. She gives Quendys a fond kiss on the cheek, and steps out into the night. Concentrating momentarily, she calls forth a glowing symbol of Iomedae to light her path home.
Come morning, she wakes with the dawn, gets dressed in her Sunday finest, and makes her way to her mother's chapel. It is here that she'll spend a good portion of the early morning, helping her mom ready the small church for the festival. Vespexion always opens her temple's doors to those in need, offering free food, clothing, books, healing/blessings, and even small toys for the kids.
Thus it was that Sabella found herself outside, reading a story to a small group of children when Terendelev flies overhead. She gasps in pure joy and excitement at the sight of the majestic dragon, as several of her 'pupils' race off after the city's guardian for a few dozen feet, before the ancient silver flies away.
As the crowd cheers, Luce looks up from his people-watching momentarily confused. There had been no change at the cathedral. It took him a moment to follow their gazes up into the sky to spot Terendelev making an appearance.
It was, of course, impressive. Especially so for someone deeply familiar with the function of bone and muscle. Dragons were creatures well beyond simple biology, impossible bodies deeply suffused with magic.
She showed up from time to time over the city but Luce was rarely concerned with the dragon and soon her presence became much like that of the fine carriages of the nobility. She only mattered to Luce's day-to-day life in that some small fraction of her holdings went to charitable organization within the city, and thus to the supply and maintenance of his free clinic.
Armasse officially begins at noon, with the blessing of the festival by Lord Hulrun himself, ruler of Kenabres. The crowd that is gathered in Clydwell Plaza quiets as the aged inquisitor takes the stage, clad in shining, resplendent armor. He clears his throat, but just as he is about to speak, a bright light shines from the west, as if the sun is rising from the wrong direction. Hulrun’s shadow falls huge and distorted across the cathedral’s facade. A moment later, the sound of a thunderous explosion rips 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—vanishes. In its place, a brilliant plume of red fire, lightning, and smoke erupts into the heavens.
Within seconds, a powerful roar accompanies a welcome sight rising from the crowd—Kenabres’s greatest guardian, the ancient silver dragon Terendelev, who has apparently until this moment been attending the opening ceremony disguised as a human. Above, another form appears, as nightmarish as the dragon is breathtaking: a humanoid shape three times the size of any man, with skin coated in fire and lightning, gripping a flaming sword and whip.
It seems that one of the Crusade's most terrible demonic adversaries has come to Kenabres!
Some time later...
The four heroes wake in darkness. Their heads throb with thunderous headaches. Their ears ring. They’re having trouble breathing. After a few moments, the sounds of rocks clattering, coughing, and moans of pain, as well as the choking smell of dust, become apparent as their senses seem to return, but it remains pitch black. Feeling with their hands in the darkness, the PCs realize that there is rubble all around them, and that their bodies are covered in dirt and filth. It may be that they are still in shock, but they do not feel the pain of any possible injuries yet.
The heroes' memories of what brought them here are hazy and slow to recover, but presumably will return as they get their bearings and confirm that they have not suffered any serious damage. All that they can remember is that they fell, down into what seemed like a bottomless cavern, for what felt like hours but was probably only a minute or two.
Noise, terror, falling.
Dr. Argentum pushed himself upright in the darkness, sending a scattering of rubble from his. A fall, confusion, shock, concussion? He could not tell. There was no time for a concussion now. The dark was all consuming here, cutting his world down to his own aches and pains, his hands and knees pressing against rough stone, and sounds of human misery dotting the blackness around him.
He had to take stock, establish a triage, he had to help people.
The familiar weight of his traveling kit pressed down on him, though it sounded like some of the delicate vials inside might have broken. That was no matter, he knew his work well.
"Light!" He called hopelessly into the dark, fear and helpless anxiety tinging his voice, "I'm... I'm a physician! I can help but I need light!"
Othniel's eyes snap open. He spits out dust, and chokes on some more. Once he clears his throat, and is sure he isn't injured, he springs to his feet. A man calls out for light, and he pulls his Ioun Torch from his bandolier and sets it free to orbit. The little sphere begins to orbit the elf's head, casting a silver-white light on the area around him. He looks around to see how many are down here with him.
*Prior to the fall*
Sabella is shocked at the sudden appearance of Khorramzadeh. "The Storm Ki..!!"
*After the fall*
It takes a few moments for Sabella to gather herself. She sits up, slowly and woozily, looking around as she hears a man call out for light. Then, a small flame appears, though it doesn't illuminate much. They were in some big underground cavern, and there were others down here as well.
The mage cautiously stands on wobbly legs, getting her balance. She shakes her head to clear the cobwebs, then summons forth a glowing, defaced pentagram, bringing light into the darkness. .
She makes her way over to the man who claimed he was a physician. "I can assist the injured as well, and if this isn't enough light, I can make it much brighter. Though, not for very long and only once."
"It's a start," was the croaked reply. The glowering face of Dr. Lucian Argentum hove into view amidst the wan light cast by the two sources. His customary frown not helped by the dust clinging to his skin and the blood trickling from a superficial cut somewhere above his hairline. It was a face that most people would have worried about if they saw it come down a darkened alley towards them. He staggered a bit as he got fully to his feet, towering over Lady Sabella and Othniel as he did so. A hand that looked like it would be worryingly well suited to crushing the life out of someone's throat coming up to an aching skull.
With a practiced eye, he took stock of himself and the other two that had managed to stand. He knew better than most that there were all manner of injuries that could hide quietly under the skin and slowly kill a seemingly healthy soul without warning and those sorts of injuries were frighteningly common in fall victims. Crushing organs, burst vessels in the brain, blood pooling unseen where it could choke the life out of a victim without ever leaving the body. There was, however, no time to waste on worrying about unknowns. Triage, that was the first step.
"Damn this dust. Call out! Call out if you need help!"
Sabella takes an involuntary step backwards as Lucian stands to his full height, dwarfing the young lady. However, her face lights up with a soft smile when she recognizes who he is. "Oh! You're the doctor who has a clinic near my mom's chapel. She speaks quite highly of you!"
Turning back the cavern, she holds out a very small, delicate hand to the doctor. "I can see just fine in the dark, so I can guide you to the others who are down here. I've spotted about half a dozen or so, in addition to the man with the magic flame." She offers, referring to Othniel, whom she waves over. "Maybe check him out first?"
"Well, not a man exactly." Othniel says, drawing near. From the way he said it, you might guess that he is trying not to be offended at being taken for a human. Thin, as most elves are, he towers over Lady Sabella, if not the doctor*. He is dressed in an unusual way; his dark robes are cut relatively tightly, like a warrior's, but of cloth too light to offer any protection. The cloth is similar to, but not nearly so voluminous as, the airy and flowing robes of a wizard. Bound at his sides are a rapier and a spellbook. He uses prestidigitation to clean the dust and dirt from his robes, then gestures to the others "If I may?" holding up his hand as if to cast again.
Sabella seems a bit confused by Othniel's words, but recovers quickly. "Apologies friend. I did not mean to assume your gender. You look like a man, but I know full well that appearances can be most deceiving."
Amarilis wakes up in the dark, but she doesn't move. Her body was aching, but she'd worry about that later. A discreet movement assures her that her sword is within her reach and with her thumb she frees the blade from the sheath.
As a voice calls for light, she closes her eyes and controls her breathing. And she listens. Two men and a woman, speaking the common tongue of the south. Could they be cultists? Unlikely, but until a moment ago she'd consider impossible for the Stormlord to attack Kenabres. Be prepared for the worst and you'll rarely be disappointed, she recalls her father saying.
She keeps listening. A man, a woman and something else or in between. Her eyes kept close, her breathing steady, and while her body seems relaxed, it is actually ready to spring into action should someone gets closer to her.
"They're standing and talking. That's going to have to be good enough for now," the doctor said, still trying to gather his wits enough to run the pragmatic mathematics of establishing a triage in this cave. "We've got another over here! Female presentation, seems unconscious, not seeing any obvious injuries but the dust and dirt might be hiding them. Let's get her clear of the rub-ulp!."
Lucian choked on the last word as he suddenly found a length of steel at this throat. It was not the first time he had a weapon pointed at something vital of his and it probably would not be the last but he still put his hands up suddenly. Best to show he was not carrying a weapon openly. There were a few surprises in his pack for self-defense but he was focused on something other than that at the moment.
"Convince me you are not a cultist. Or a demon." The woman says, narrowing her eyes. "I do not want to kill you, I really don't... but after this attack..."
Othniel sighs at the Aasimar woman’s well, apparently a woman confusion. ”I mean that I’m an elf. Just as you are apparently an aasim…” he trails off as the apparently unconscious person pulls a knife on their doctor. ”How exactly are we to do that, ma’am? Do you have the ability to detect alignments? Even if you do, that can be fooled by certain high level spells. Unless you have some exceptionally powerful spells, there’s not really a completely certain way for us to do that. One can fake almost anything with the right magic.” he shakes his head ”Anyway, what would be the point? If we were demons we could have killed you already. Or used magic to restrain you. Are you so important that it would make sense for a demon to pretend to be an ally and worm its way into your confidence? I certainly don’t recognize you, so I doubt you’re a powerful mage. Over the decades I’ve met most, if not all, of the powerful mages who live in or often visit Kenabres.”
"You'll either kill me or you won't. I'd just ask you decide quickly because some people may not have gotten as lucky with the fall as we did and they will need my help while you clearly don't." His chilly regard finally matching his grim countenance, Lucian decidedly did not waver in the face of a threat of summary execution. He had a job to do.
Even with a blade to his throat, there was a feeling of him carefully examining what he could about his would-be captor but not for an opening. He watched her gaze for the unfocused look of a head injury, trying to spot if her pupils were dilating at different rates in the flickering light. Her grip on the sword was too firm for someone experiencing serious pain, but Kenebres was full of people that valued stoicism above all else. It made getting honest answers out of them about symptoms a nightmare.
"Yes, please put your sword away, as I have need of the good doctor." Sabella says in agreement, indicating that Lucian is the physician she speaks of. "There are others down here with us who might be hurt that he can hopefully help."
With the twin bursts of golden light in the shape of a defaced pentagram and a magical stone shining through the gloom, the dimensions of the cavern now become visible to everyone. The ceiling and far walls of this vast underground area recede into darkness far to the right. On the other side, the wall has collapsed into an enormous mound of rubble—here and there the arms or legs of victims who didn’t survive the fall protrude. 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.
"Call out! Call out if you need help!"
The sounds of movement intensify, and a scratchy, reedy voice coughs twice more and then gasps in shock or pain. At almost the same moment, a gruff, whiny voice cries out "Help! Help! I'm bleeding! I'm bleeding!".
These two sounds come from other humanoids buried further up in the debris. The first might be an elf, lying sideways on the ground. The second is a portly human who has risen to a standing position. His once-fine clothing is ruined and ripped, and he is clutching his left arm protectively.
Amarilis keeps her eyes locked at the man while she hears the various arguments. Slowly, she gets to her feet and pulls the blade away. "Hum. Sorry."
Backing away, she lets the so called doctor to do his thing, while she examines the surrounds. A cave. How did they get here? While musing, she inspects the rubble.
"Thank you," Lucian said brusquely and did not suddenly reveal himself to be a slavering demon in disguise. Instead he brushed past his one-time captor and made for only remaining two still making noise down here. "Someone keep an eye on that spider. I don't think it's alive but there's something chewing on it. The last thing we need is a bunch of carrion-eaters coming for the dead and wounded."
Taking the human's arm in hand and bluntly checking the injury without so much as asking permission, he offered up an authoritative, "Pressure, elevation, now," before stooping to examine the elf.
Othniel notes the silver scales and other items and bodies, but his attention is immediately diverted by the elven voice that calls out, and he moves help his fellow elf.
"Thank you." She says simply to the tattooed woman when puts her blade away. "My name is Sabella. Who might you be?"
As the two guys make their way over to the injured, the mage spots some shiny silver scales. Frowning, she goes over to investigate them.
While musing, she inspects the rubble.
Amarilis gives the debris a once-over while distracted by her thoughts of how she got here. Her eyes fall upon a steel helmet that has been split down the middle seam, and with a flash she remembers that she was looking at the ground when the chasm opened, and at the same moment when the dragon took to the air behind her, a group of heavily-armored demons emerged from the ground in front of her. It is something of a blur, but she remembers that in that first charge she struck one of them with her katana, cracking its helmet.
She also sees a clawed hand sticking out of the rubble, with dried ichor plastered to a nasty wound in its wrist.
Taking the human's arm in hand and bluntly checking the injury without so much as asking permission, he offered up an authoritative, "Pressure, elevation, now," before stooping to examine the elf.
Pausing for a brief second to study the spider carcass, the doctor hears the wriggling, chewing sound from within, but also hears a faint choking sound from the ground somewhere near the whiny human. He looks around as he gets closer, and sees a leg sticking out from beneath a pile of shattered masonry and gravel. The leg twitches slightly, and Lucian notes that the other leg is there but half-buried, and twisted like it is badly broken.
The human's arm has a couple of nasty scrapes on it, but the bleeding is merely a scratch. To the human, however, this is a grave injury, and he is clearly distraught. "Wh-- what?" he asks. "Pressure? I don't understand. Don't you have any bandages, or one of those magic wands?"
The elf is a little further ahead, currently in dim light. Lucian can see that he is huddled on his side in a fetal position, and clearly shaking. He seems to have dug himself out of the dirt and stones, but has gone no further.
Othniel notes the silver scales and other items and bodies, but his attention is immediately diverted by the elven voice that calls out, and he moves help his fellow elf.
Othniel pauses as he cursorily examines the rubble, the sound of the reedy voice ringing in his ears. A flash of memory returns to him, his friend Aravashniel turning to see the huge demon lord rising before them and throwing himself in front of Othniel. The smoking and flaming arc of the adversary's whip tore a loud CRACK! in the air, and he heard Aravashniel scream in pain as he toppled forward into the abyss.
He shakes his head to clear it as he picks his way forward, and when he gets closer he can see that the figure looks very familiar, though he is currently facing away from the party. His clothes are torn and dirty, but it could be the same clothes that Aravashniel was wearing at the Armasse ceremony.
As the two guys make their way over to the injured, the mage spots some shiny silver scales. Frowning, she goes over to investigate them.
The scales look like metal heater shields at first, but as Sabella drags one out of the rubble she realizes it is a dragon scale. A memory floods her senses, witnessing Terendelev ascend in the air to face the Storm King in the billowing smoke rising from a terrible chasm. She witnessed their short and bloody battle, with each blow from Khorramzadeh's dripping blade chopping into the dragon's side and scattering silver scales everywhere. Then he stabbed deep, and she tumbled backward through the sky before crashing heavily into the facade of the Cathedral of St Clydwell.
Some of these bodies were cambions, demon-spawn born of incubuses and humanoid mothers. The little flying creatures were quasits-- it looks like there was a swarm of them, for there are at least twenty corpses here amid the stones.
While most of these quasits are dead, Sabella notices that two of them are only unconscious, and their wounds are slowly healing.
Lucian flatly ignores the bleeding man, the scratched arm shunted far down his list of priorities. Instead he immediately goes and begins clearing rubble from where he presumes the owner of the broken leg is still mostly buried.
"If the elven gentleman could try to get a few words out of his kinsman and report any wounds, that would be appreciated," Dr. Argentum called over his shoulder as he shoved a section of masonry aside and crouched to begin work. Of the three injured, this was the one he was most worried about. They had not had the strength to free themself from the rubble which hinted at them being in a strictly worse state than the others.
"Names. Names would be useful," Lucian said to the others as he shoved a section of shattered masonry aside. He was used to carrying on conversations while dealing with damaged bodies. "Dr. Lucian Argentum. Physician, surgeon, and alchemist."
As soon as she recognizes what the scale was, tears start to stream down Sabella face. It would seem that the guardian of Kenebras was dead, slain by the power Storm King. She gently dusts it off, clutching reverently to her chest once it's cleaned.
Then she spots the apparently unconscious quasits. "Uh, we have a couple of quaists over here that are merely knocked out and healing slowly."
"Thank you." She says simply to the tattooed woman when puts her blade away. "My name is Sabella. Who might you be?"
"Amarilis," she replies. "Amarilis of Clan Whitewolf, swordswoman," she adds upon the large man's request. Some of her kin would try to hide their kellid ancestry, but Amarilis was just too proud and stubborn to do so.
As the woman, Sabella, shares the information about the quasits, Amarilis draws her blade and moves with a clear purpose of resolving the issue immediately. "I'll"
"Uncle!? Is that you?" Othniel says as he recognizes the other elf. He quickly checks his injuries and does what he can to the best of his abilities.
"Doctor, I have no skill in this area. If you are familiar with elven anatomy, I could use your help here." He says, something like fear in his voice, despite his efforts to control it for Aravashnial's sake. He knows he is not a healer, and must rely on this man's assistance.
Lucian begins digging the person (who he determines by a quick glance to be a human woman) out from under the fallen masonry, being especially careful not to inadvertently damage her further. His fears are realized as he sees that the body twitching slightly beneath the stones has been severely injured, the base of her spine bent out of place in her landing. Checking vital signs, Lucian's hope is rekindled when he sees that she is still breathing, though very shallowly. If brought to consciousness, he thinks it is unlikely that she will be able to walk without significant help, and will be in enormous pain.
The barely-wounded man follows Lucian to the fallen woman, still speaking. "Did you hear me? I thought all reputable healers had magic wands." He looks at the others, shielding his eyes against the light to try and study them. "You probably don't recognize me in all this filth, but I'm Lord Horgus Gwerm. You, physician, I asked you a question! What do you mean by elevation? Do you mean I must return to the surface?" He considers that, watching Lucian dig up the body. "That certainly must happen, though I shudder to think what horrors are unfolding in my beloved city. What are you doing? That one's dead and gone, don't waste your time." He peers at her as her face is uncovered. "Huh, that one," he says, clearly recognizing her with an expression of distaste.
As Lady Sabella mourns the death of Kenabres's protector, she barely remembers a dim silver glow surrounding her as the dragon fell to the ground, what might have been the manifestation of a spell. Is it possible that Terendelev did something to protect her as she plummeted to earth? She also recalls that at almost the same moment, the ground buckled with the impact and sent Sabella flying forward into the wide chasm that split the city, but that her speed seemed somehow slowed, like she was falling into or out of a dream.
Perhaps because of some lingering effects of the fall, but Amarilis feels slightly unsteady as she rushes across the field of debris and draws her katana in a smooth motion to stab the little creature through its heart. Her vision wavers with memories still flooding back to her, of a black cloud over all that at first looked like smoke, but then as she looked closer she realized it was thousands and thousands of tiny winged creatures descending upon the city. She swung her katana left and right, hard-pressed by the foes who were springing up seemingly from the ground all around her, and then she twisted her ankle and tipped forward over the edge of an enormous chasm. Her body shone with silver light as she fell, so very slowly that she wondered if she had died and joined with the spirits of her ancestors before she blacked out.
"Uncle!? Is that you?" Othniel says as he recognizes the other elf. He quickly checks his injuries and does what he can to the best of his abilities.
The elf stiffens in place and half turns to look up over his shoulder. "Oth...?" he croaks. Then he shakes his head. "Leave me be, whoever you are. Let me die in peace." His voice is shaky and full of emotion.
Aravashnial resists as Othniel tries to turn him on his back, and the magus can see that his face is ruined. A deep scar almost splits his head in half, and his eyes and nose have been seemingly burned away. He is just barely clinging to life, but like the heroes he seems to have no falling injuries.
Lucian tried as hard as he could to ignore Gwerm and focused on the task at hand. The woman was in bad shape and there was little he could do for a spinal injury like this. The most he could manage was to keep her from making it worse.
Unslinging his pack, he pulled out a matched pair of metal contraptions that unfolded into assemblies of metal struts and plate. Painstakingly, he slid them under the woman's back and clipped them together. Straps came out and she was secured against the newly assembled back brace, hopefully stabilizing the injured section of her spine.
A second, smaller contraption was fitted to her broken leg with far more confidence along with a healthy dose of alchemicals to take as much of the edge off as he thought helpful. Only after she as stabilized did he stand and deal with Gwerm.
"Pressure," he snapped, grabbing Gwerm's uninjured hand and forcing it to clap over his open wounds with a vicelike grip. "Elevation," came next and he wrenched both of Gwerm's arms up above his chest. Keeping pressure on the wound and keeping it above his heart would slow blood loss and was all the attention Lucian was willing to give at the moment.
He then brushed past Gwerm for a second time to go see to the elf. He did not wince upon seeing the ruin of the elf's face, not because it was not horrible of course.
"Friend, I am a physician. Let me at least ease your pain," Lucian said, again setting his pack down. Bandages came out, along with a small metal tin. Lucian popped the top from it and the strong smell of medicinal alchemics along with lavender and chamomile cut through the aroma of dirt and mangled elf.
"You're the only father I've ever known, uncle. I'll not be giving you up so easily." Othniel says. When Dr. Argentum arrives, he stays out of the way, but looks on nervously. "Thank you, Doctor. I am in your debt." Othniel says. Knowing there's little more he can do, he begins assisting woman with the eastern blade to dispatch demons.
Sabella won't stop Amarilis from finishing off the quasit. She's too focused on the scale from Terendelev, which she's studying intently. She concentrates momentarily, opening her senses to any mystical energies the scale might posses.
Gwerm goggles as Lucian places the woman in a harness and splint. When he finally turns and snaps at him, he clearly looks offended and sullen, but doesn't say anything else, snatching back his hand. He looks over at the others to see if the doctor speaks for them as well.
The gravely injured elf seems too tired to resist Lucian's ministrations, but he gives no assistance. He simply lies on his back when bandaged.
Sabella examines the dragon scale, and determines that it contains part of Terendelev's innate magical ability to disguise herself.
Augmented (3rd): Increase the spell’s duration to 1 hour per level.
Knowing there's little more he can do, he begins assisting woman with the eastern blade to dispatch demons.
The kellid woman skewered two regenerating demons. As Othniel comes over to help, all of the heroes recognize that a third tiny body lying in the dust had also been regenerating, and they see it twitch as it wakes up.
Seeing one of the little figures start to get up from the ground and realizing it was decidedly demonic in form. Dr. Argentum wiped the last of the healing salve from his hands and got up from the elf's side, grabbing a few things from his pack as he did.
The first he whipped in the demon's direction, a glass vial that shattered on impact with a shockingly loud snap and a flash of light. The other item was a short brutish blade that looked too heavy to really be effectively used one-handed but the hilt of which settled comfortably in Lucian's grip.
Amarilis wastes to time, going from quasit to quasit. "One of the quasits woke up." She tells the others, just stating a fact.
She moves towards it, drawing its attention with her blade. Suddenly, she switches hands and slashes!
Round 1
Lucian senses that combat is happening and immediately rushes over to assist, tossing a burst of chemicals as he picks his way across the uneven terrain.
Amarilis crosses the rocky landslide to where she has spotted the third active quasit, and attempts to kill it with her katana.
The quasit shrieks something in its tiny voice!
The creature concentrates, clearly attempting to cast a spell.
The quasit fades from view, becoming invisible.
"Whatever you said... not interested."
"It begged it's master to take it back." Sabella says, translating the creatures words.
The cavern once again becomes quiet. Horgus Gwerm hesitantly steps closer to Amarilis, still clutching his arm like Lucian showed him. "You there, ah, lady! You seem like a doughty and capable fighter. I will pay you a handsome amount to escort me safely back to the surface. What do you say?"
Seeing the quasit dealt with, Lucian immediately goes back to his patient. Collecting the salve tin from where he had set it aside, he begins daubing the thick concoction over the worst of the burns and raw flesh. He then scattered a packet of some sort of powder over the layer of salve, activating the more potent compounds within and drying the outer layer. Finally came the bandages, wound around the elf's head and face in a reassuring layer of clean white gauze.
Lucian knew restoring his patient's sight was something well and truly beyond his skills but there was still much he could do to help the healing process. Skin grafts and careful reconstruction would certainly go a long way to improving the poor fellow's quality of life.
Standing up and dusting dirt from his knees, Lucian finally seemed to fully regard the others. There was nothing he could do for the still forms buried under the rubble and the quasits were all quite dead by now. Clearing his throat, he tried again, "Well, I have the names for Mistress Whitewolf and Lord Gwerm. You mentioned my clinic is near your mother's chapel, would that make you the daughter of Lady Arvanxi? And you good master elf, an introduction would make things simpler. Perhaps one for your... uncle as well, as I don't think he is in much of a state or mood to talk as the moment."
"Yeap, that's my mom! If you wanna be formal, I am Lady Sabella Dawnstar Arvanxi." She says, with a grin as she curtsies.
As the quasit falls, Amarilis slashes it again, decapitating it just for good measure. In a fluid motion, her blade is back inside its sheath.
Looking at the wounded, she shrugs and nods. "I do not see a problem about me escorting you back, but I'm not following your orders. You'll be following mine."
Moving around the rubble, she eyes the spider, watching it as the others discuss.
"Yes. My apologies. This is my uncle, Aravashnial, or the Riftwardens. I am Othniel." he says, one hand outstretched and supporting the other elf.
"I'm sure we all wish this were under better circumstances but at the very least we're alive," Lucian said as his broad hand all but enveloped Othniel's and he shook it.
"We need to find our way back to the surface. There's not much more I can do for your uncle or the lady's back without a better place to work." Moving someone with a spinal injury was not ideal but nothing about this situation was. Lucian stooped to check on his first patient, hoping to rouse her. At the very least, if she was awake she could help prevent further damage to her own spine.
Gwerm nods amiably to Amarilis, murmuring "Of course, of course, you will call the shots. Just see to it that we both get out of here alive." He looks momentarily surprised when he hears Othniel introduce Aravashniel, and he looks over at the elf lying prone with narrowed and suspicious eyes.
Aravashniel gives a low, gutteral wail in the back of his throat. "Lost, lost," he mutters in Elvish. "How so easily could our defenses have been sundered? Either a catastrophic failure on my part, or we have been betrayed from within. Either way I deserve this punishment, for not seeing in time I will now no longer have sight. You would be better off leaving me behind, nephew, for I will only slow you down. Do not force me to face the consequences of my hubris. I cannot bear the shame."
"I know that one," Gwerm says to Amarilis, indicating the fallen woman (and apparently unwilling to share his information with Lucian directly). "She is called Anevia, and is especially dear to Irabeth who leads the Eagle Watch. She may reward you for rescuing her wife, or at least for bringing her news of what befell her."
Perhaps at the mention of her name, but more likely due to Lucian's attention, the woman stirs and groans. "Blast, that hurts. Where am I? Who are you?" She speaks slowly, slurring her words, and her eyes remain unfocused. She may have a concussion.
The mound of fallen spider shudders slightly.
Sabella pulls out her silver holy symbol of Iomedae(from the Touched by Divinity trait) which hangs around her neck via a chain of the same material, and quietly addresses in his native tongue. "I'm not sure about any sort of failure on your part, or whether there was some internal betrayal, but the Storm King himself Khorramzadeh lead the assault. I am unsure if even the best of defense could have withstood his fury."
"Dr. Lucian Argentum, I'm a physician. Please be careful, you have suffered an injury to your back and broken a leg. I've tried to brace and splint the injuries as best I can. We've fallen into the underground and need to get somewhere safe." As he spoke Lucian held a finger up in front of Anevia's face, moving it back and forth and watching her eyes, looking for further indications of concussion.
"I'm going to need you to try to stand. Put as much weight on me as you need to."