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It was a joke - not one I expected to make it through your thick demon-skulled head mind you. In any event, can somebody less... you know... tell me what's going on? Brushing himself off, the fat man stands up effortlessly, virtually unharmed by the fall, and sneers at the sight of Aravashnial, Ugh, trapped in a cave with that idiotic conspiracy theorist, must be my lucky day! In any event, someone get me a bite to eat, I'm starved!
Completely ignoring Kaloo, Aravashnial addresses Iskarl, What's that I hear! Dissent! Winters, see to it that that one receives proper discipline and will somebody get me a healer before I bleed to death! The woman let's out a short chuckle at Aravashnial's complaining and then introduces herself, Name's Anevia. The elf's a wizard alright, he's not one to lie. Of course when it comes to embellishment, especially for the sake of profit, then he's the one your looking for. Before anyone has time to respond, the rather fat man awakes with a loud grunt. His tone of voice is both annoying and acerbic, the kind of kind voice that could only be described 'easily murderable,' Well this bloody well isn't the room I payed for! And the underground freak show, that wasn't on the agenda either! What in the blazes is going on?
From the other side of the cave the mysterious woman, silent and observant this whole time, chimes in, here voice deeper than her lithe figure suggests and unfaltering despite her injuries. A Riftwarden, eh? You still trying to spread that rumor, Aravashnial? You may be a passable wizard, but pretending to be with the Wardens just so you can overcharge your spell-casting services is hardly 'crusader-like' is it now? Besides, is faking your secret society membership really worth drawing the attention of the Blackfire adepts? Once she has said her peace, the woman lies back against the wall again, wincing as she moves her leg a bit. Aravashnial merely ignores the woman's words to resume his desperate attempt at appearing authoritative, despite the fact that he still lies on his back. More voices I hear? You there, he says, mistakenly pointing at Sir Riven, you sound quite quite petite, and girly, are you even old enough to be taking part in the crusades? Regardless, you'll be staying here tending the wounded. As for you, this time pointing to Kaloo, stop that blarghety-babbling! By the sound of that monstrous voice of yours, you're a real brute, so you'll be on the exploration team. Any questions, no, good! Who else is in the vicinity Private Winters? The fat man lets out a loud snore.
Private Winters? For a moment the atmosphere is tense; due to his lack of eyes, it is unclear whether the elf is staring at Iskarl suspiciously or just thinking deeply. The Private Winters? Thank the gods! You're just what I need right now, lot's of decorations and whatnot - and the other officers speak quite highly of you don't they? Yes yes, exactly the kind of man I'm looking for!
:
While the elf seems to have bought the Private Winters story, the obvious uncertainty in his voice points to the fact that he has no familiarity whatsoever with the Kenabres guard. Of course a simple soldier like you probably wouldn't concern himself with the affairs of scholars, so I must introduce myself. Although patronizing, he seems to genuinely like 'Private Winters.' I am Aravashnial, wizard and Riftwarden. I'll be counting on you to be my new set of eyes, private. First off we should organize two parties, one of which will stay here with the wounded and the other of which will explore the caves. What are your thoughts Winters? Without waiting for a reply, Aravashnial continues. Please give me an extremely detailed description and assessment of each survivor and their current physical state so that I may decide the two parties.
The elf turns his head toward Iskarl, revealing a number of ugly lacerations across his eyes. While unclear what could have caused such wounds, there is no doubt that they have left him blind. Who's there? Survivors? State your names! Are any of you experienced warriors? Step up, on the double! Despite the elven man's near debilitating injuries, he seems to be wasting no time in trying to straighten himself out in a position somehow more authoritative.
Digging through the rubble, Riven manages to find three more scales, all of them causing a similar reaction to the first as he picks them up. Sir Riven:
As you take more and more scales, you feel more horrible waves of goodness and receive similar glimpses of power similar to the first. The other three scales possess the following effects:
As you pick up each scale you begin to feel worse and worse, almost to the point of fainting, although you just barely manage to hold yourself together. Sir Riven is currently looking quite ill. I do hope he's learned a lesson from his excessive greed. Sadly, he probably hasn't. GM Screen:
As soon as Sir Riven grabs the first scale, a strange look comes over his eyes and he begins to stare off into space, transfixed by some imaginary entity. Sir Riven:
As you pick up the first of the scales, the dragon's severed head flashes in front of your eyes, and you are overcome with a wave of sadness and a strange desire to protect Kenabres at all costs. Disgusting! A moment later the vision becomes one of yourself beset by waves of frost and lightning. However, you touch the scale and are quickly protected from the two elements.
The shock of the initial vision has left you sickened for one minute as well. You may continue picking up the scales if you wish. After a few brief moments he snaps out of it.
Light floods from both the gnome's fingers and the aasimar's torch cutting through the darkness of the large cavern you now find yourselves in. The ceiling and far walll of the cave stretch off into darkness, but the squeaks of bats can be heard, meaning this space is relatively open. Brushing the grit and dust from yourselves, stock is taken of the surroundings, and a number of interesting features are immediately apparent. The Rubble Behind you lies a pile of little other than stones and the dismembered body parts of some unlucky crusaders. However, the presence of the light reveals a number of glittering silver scales laying among the stones as well (presumably belonging to the late Terendelev). The Courier Lying facedown between the four of you is the upper half of a Kenabrian courier. His lifeless hands still clutch a large and very flimsy looking box, miraculously undamaged by the fall. The Other Survivors Also lying by you are three clearly living beings, although none seem to have been so lucky as to recieve the dragon's aid during the fall.
The Wounded Woman:
A grim-faced woman sits silently with her back up against the wall. Her leg has been badly wounded, likely crushed by some of the falling rubble. The Unsightly Elf:
Lying in a head near the corner of the cavern, a robed elvish man lets out a groan and brings his hand up to touch a face covered in blood. The Foppish Fat Man:
Somehow managing to have sustained little more than a few scrapes this plump, well-dressed man lets out a loud snore. How he slept through all this is beyond you. The Spider The black form of a large, horse-sized spider looms ahead! Luckily, the thing has clearly been dead for some time now, based upon the god awful scent and poor condition of its corpse.
...and to all a good night! Slowly you come to your senses, who knows how far underground, surrounded by darkness. : Even those normally accustomed to seeing in the dark can see nothing at the moment but vague and ominous shapes.
And so our adventure begins! What was to be a most excellent Armasse festival (one of the few holidays celebrated so close to the Worldwound) has just been interrupted by a rather nasty demon invasion. As the Kite (the fortress housing the Wardstone) vanished in a cloud of fire and lightning, a great roar could be heard and Terendelev (the ancient silver dragon guardian of Kenabres) could soon be seen taking to the sky to engage with Khorramzadeh. As the ground began to shake and disgorge demons into the streets, the dragon and 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 famous 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 (although her choice of souls was, admittedly not the best). 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. |