Morphling's Wrath of the Righteous PbP/Roll20 Campaign

Game Master The Morphling

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.

At a glance:

A young woman with dark hair and clad in leather armor lies face-down on the ground, unmoving. Her leg is caught underneath a massive boulder. Two short-swords are strapped to her side, and a shortbow is slung across her back, though her quiver is empty from the fall.

At a glance:

A well-dressed man in the garb of a wealthy merchant lies slumped against the massive pile of rubble on the western end of the chamber. He has several scrapes and bruises, but does not appear to be severely injured. He seems stunned by the fall and the rockslide for the moment.

At a glance:

A savagely wounded elf dressed in robes and clutching a quarterstaff lies nearby. His face, neck, and back are covered in horrific burns, and he seems to barely cling to consciousness.

Zaigan, blessed with darkvision, is able to make out his surroundings. He quickly takes note of the fellow victims, primarily, the woman who appears to be stuck under a boulder. Zaigan hesitates slightly, attempting to overcome the shock of seeing some the wounds sustained by these strangers, then quickly makes his way to the trapped women. "Is everyone okay?" Zaigan cries out as he attempts to push the boulder off the woman with all his might.

Strength: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24

Whether adrenaline-fueled strength or some imperceptible divine might, Zaigan manages to roll the massive stone off the woman's leg. She cries out as the stone is moved, and grits her teeth as the pain hits her. "I'm... alive," she manages to say, eyes squinting against the pitch blackness. "I think my leg is broken," she continued with surprising calmness as the realization settled in.

"Who's there?!" the well-dressed man calls out. "You there, in the darkness! Make some light, damn you! There could be demons, or worse, about to attack and finish us all off!" He pulls himself up into a half-sitting position, feeling about wildly in front of him.

Considering the circumstances, Zaigan feels that the merchant's rudeness is excusable... for now. Zaigan quickly draws his bastard sword and casts light onto the sword's blade. "Is anyone here a healer?" At times like these, Zaigon could only wish to be as good of a healer as he often claimed to be.

"Bah!" the man recoiled at the sudden brightness, throwing up a hand to shield his eyes. "I wanted to see, not be blinded, damn fool!" He squinted as his eyes adjusted. "Help me up! I've been hurt. Where are the crusaders when you need some?"

Garlok stood up and dusted himself off. He clearly heard the stranger's request for a healer, but it took him a moment to remember his own abilities. "I... yes, I am a healer."

CLW Aravashnial: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5
CLW Horgus: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2
CLW Anevia: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4

Garlok's spell causes Anevia's injuries to begin to close, sealing much of the damage to the skin and muscle.

"Thanks," the woman replies simply. She seems a quiet type, calmly assessing the situation around her and keeping a calm expression. She checks to make sure her blades are still present, but remains motionless otherwise, not wanting to jostle the still-broken leg.

Heal Check (Garlok): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (8) + 9 = 17

Garlok can tell that the human woman is likely still in intense pain from her broken leg, and that she will be unable to walk without a splint (a DC 15 heal check to fashion one from nearby debris - up to one ally can aid). Healing her leg completely is beyond the power of the healing magic Garlok knows.

The elf's wounds are incredibly severe, and Garlok's magic can do little but ease the pain of the worst burns. Seeing the injuries, the half-orc shaman remembers catching the barest glimpse of a humanoid figure in the crowd receiving a glancing blow from Korramzadeh's flaming whip during the clash above ground.

As the healing magic flows over him, the elf turns his face towards Garlok, revealing that his eyes have been completely destroyed by the demonic flames.

"What goes there in the darkness? I heard a voice calling for light. Someone provide illumination quickly. The demonic attack won't abate for long." He seems utterly unaware of the piercing glow from Zaigan's sword merely ten feet from his face.

Heal Check (Garlok): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (12) + 9 = 21

Even with years of experience as the apprentice to the tribe's shaman, Garlok has never witnessed burns such as these. It's likely Garlok's spell may have saved the elf's life, but restoring his vision will require magic far beyond what he has available.

Garlok grimaces, not at all eager to deliver the bad news. "I'm sorry... but the burns have taken your eyes. You will need a better healer than I if you're ever to see again."

Sense Motive (Garlok): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (19) + 9 = 28

The elf takes the news stoically, but Garlok can tell he is deeply shaken by the discovery of this handicap. He takes several moments to respond. "Very well. I will need someone to serve as my eyes then. I hear no sounds of battle. Has the fighting ceased? Where are we?"

The elf climbed to his feet, leaning on his staff for support. "Who do we have about us? I want names and ranks. I am Aravashnial of Kyonin, conjurer and demon hunter."

Amyrtaeus slowly shifted to consciousness in the darkness at the sound of other voices. Just as he was about to respond to the request for light, as he needed it himself, another illumination flickered and lit up the area. Sitting up and taking in his surroundings, he took note of all who were present, noting that his charge, Alexandre, was here as well. He watched carefully and quietly as the half-orc tended to the wounds of the others, surprised that the majority of those around him seemed to be without a scratch, himself included.

Now that he had his bearings, Amyrtaeus chanced to stand up, drawing his scimitar and flickering his own light into existence upon it. He drew his attention back to Alexandre, reaching a hand down to help him up "Looks like you're stuck with me a bit longer than we agreed upon."

Despite his nonchalant demeanor, Amyrtaeus had a lot on his mind regarding the incident above-ground. The Wardstone should not have failed like that. Something was very amiss, and he couldn't figure out just how it could be so. Even moreso, the gruesome death of Terendelev burned in his mind.

"We are trapped in a cavern of some sorts. I am Garlok, and I come from the orcs to the west. I've not met anyone here, but I suspect we will need to cooperate."

Zaigan is surprised that the half-orc, of all people, replied to his request for a healer. Regardless, the aasimar lets out a sigh of relief. Unease and pity quickly replace that moment of relief once Zaigan learns the condition of the wounded. Things certainly aren't looking up for the group, but what good comes from grieving over the crippled during a time like this?

"I leave the wounded to you, half-orc. Try your best to get everyone on their feet." Zaigan calls out as he takes a step towards the vast cavern. "You need not worry. I, Zaigan Thorne, Herald of Ragathiel, shall smite any demons who dare threaten us!" Bold words for a boy who has yet to experience real battle.

Zaigan's go-to-solution for when things go south is to take on role of the righteous hero, emphasis on role, in order to give the people hope. This entire day certainly takes the cake in regards of hopeless situations, but the others might not realize that as long as he puffs his chest out and puts on a good show.

Zaigan scans the cavern, looking for any nearby threats or escape routes, as he takes a combative stance.

Clouds of dust still choke the air, preventing both Zaigan's light and his darkvision from seeing much farther than about 30 ft. into the cave, but he will be ready for anything that might emerge from the haze of settling rock dust.

Kala gets to her feet after a long moment, finding herself fit enough, and the area safe enough to do so. After all, if the entitled man whining for light hadn't brought the demon horde down on their heads with his demands by now, she doubts the sound of her bells will. She dusts herself off and looks the others over curiously.

"If the constant complaints haven't doomed us, yet, I think we're safe for the moment, Hero," The short tiefling quips, taking a few jingling steps to examine some of the scattered wares she had, until just recently been transporting. She cursed under her breath at the chipped and dented arms before pulling her personal hammer off her back and checked it as well.

Alexandre awoke, not from the voices around him, but from a sharp pain in his shoulder. Pushing himself up with a gauntleted hand, he wiggled his injured arm a bit before deciding that he'd simply landed on it awkwardly. No real harm done. He was quite aware of the presence of others around him, though it wasn't until a brightly lit sword was unsheathed.

The man he'd been protecting, Amyrtaeus, had already risen and offered a hand. Alexandre chuckled uncomfortably, while taking his hand. "You won't hear any complaints from me," He said, looking around in unsettled awe. "I don't think I've ever seen such a sad sight in my life." His gaze fixed upwards where they'd seen the silver dragon slain.

The booming voice of another draws his attention back down. It brought him back to the reality of the situation. A dusty cavern, nearly dark, save for the light from the man's sword. Starting suddenly, Alexandre felt around his hips, immensely relieved to feel his weapons still in place.

Without consideration, he clicked his tongue against his teeth, expecting Tas to emerge from the dust. But the horse had been stabled some distance away and so had not dropped into the cavern.

Garlok whispered a quick prayer, releasing a flood of healing energy, just to be certain everyone receives their share.

Channel: 1d6 ⇒ 4

That taken care of, he turns back to the woman with the broken leg. "Don't try to stand just yet. I'm going to try to set your leg."

Heal: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (14) + 9 = 23

Garlok's ministrations are successful, and he is able to bind his patient's leg in place. The splintered haft of a broken polearm nearby (likely fallen from the bundle carried by the muscular tiefling woman nearby) serves as a sturdy crutch. With help, she manages to get to her feet, taking a few experimental steps with the wooden shaft for support.

Pleased by her newfound mobility, she smiles at the half-orc. "You've a talent with your healing skills, Garlok. I'm Anevia Tirabade," she adds, extending a hand for a firm handshake with the shaman. "I've no rank of my own, but I'm no stranger to combat," she says.

"Looks like we're stuck here together, Aravashnial." she adds, seeming to recognize the wizard.

Zaigan: Lore (Mendevian Crusaders): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (13) + 4 = 17

Zaigan recognizes the name Tirabade as the surname of Sir Irabeth, a reknowned and well-respected female half-orc paladin of Iomedae, knighted by Queen Galfrey for the discovery of a traitor within the crusaders' ranks.

"So we are, Lady Tirabade," the wizard responds somewhat tersely.

Amyrtaeus and his bodyguard both realize that the use of Anevia's surname, rather than her forename, after "Lady" indicates that she is the wife of a knight rather than a noblewoman by birth.

"Perfect! I'm stuck down here with a conspiracy nut and a thief!" the merchant fumes. "I'm Horgus Gwerm, and if we're to get out of here we need to move! This blasted pit could collapse on us at any moment. Just look at all this rubble!"

While the bombastic merchant's manner might be off-putting, it seems that there might be something to his comment about examining the rubble. As the dust begins to clear from the cavern, several gleaming objects become visible in the debris, and as the heroes examine them, it becomes clear that they are reflective, silvery dragon scales. As they are picked up, each individual receives a rush of knowledge, instantly understanding the magical powers possessed by the scale they've discovered.

All the scales function at caster level 19th, and cease functioning if a creature is carrying more than one scale at a time, but can otherwise be traded freely.

Anevia is no less excited to discover 2d4 ⇒ (4, 4) = 8 of her arrows survived the fall as well.

With wounds healed and debris salvaged, the dust has finally cleared enough to reveal more of the chamber. Crouched at the edge of the two swords' light is the massive shape of what appears to be a gigantic spider as large as a horse, crouched unmoving in a shadowy crack about fifty feet away.

"Everyone, quiet. We'd do best not to alarm it. Give me a moment, and I will take care of this."

Garlok kneels, putting one hand on the ground and the other to his forehead. He closes his eyes and begins to say a prayer in the tongue of orcs.

Attempting to manifest! Takes one minute.

"...Tirabade?" Zaigan thinks to himself as he looks back to the crippled woman, "as in Sir Irabeth Tirabade? She's the wife of a knight!?" Zaigan can't help but feel embarrassed by his actions. Acting like a crusader in the presence of a crusader's wife? Smooth. As the fair lady looks upon each of the faces within the group, Zaigan quickly looks down to avoid her gaze.

As he looks down, Zaigan notices a distinct glimmer underneath his foot. The light reflecting off what appears to be a dragon scale is bright enough to cause Zaigan to wince. Upon grasping the scale, knowledge of the scale's abilities flash in the forefront of Zaigan's mind, like a lost memory unexpectedly returning. The fact that a single scale of the fallen Terendelev contains so much power astounds the mesmerist.

As Zaigan uses the light of the sword to better examine the scale, his peripheral vision catches onto something terrifying; resting just a few paces away is the largest spider Zaigan has ever seen. Reflexively, Zaigan casts shield with the help of the dragon scale. "Nope," Zaigan affirms to himself. At times like these, Zaigon could only wish to be as experienced of a fighter as he often claimed to be. This whole day is starting to fit that theme.

Luckly, it seems that many among the group have adapted to the situation well. Some of them even have weapons. Perhaps they could be of assistance in this matter. Without making any sudden movements, Zaigan whispers to the group.

"Do not panic, but I would advise that you all take heed of the spider on our right." Despite being a bundle of nerves, Zaigan attempts to save face and keep up the heroic act. "Would any of you wish to share the glory of battle with me? We can surround and overwhelm the beast."

Kala catches sight of one of the silver scales among the scattered weapon debris. At first, she thought it a broken tip from a sword or an arrow, but just brushing her fingers over it proved it wasn't so disposable. The flash of draconic knowledge makes her hand recoil before again reaching out to pick it up.

She gives the scale a flip and catches it again to stash in her belt pouch. What magic it had was little use to the small tiefling, but discarding it would be both a waste and a major disrespect to the fallen dragon guardian of Kenabres.

The others draw Kala's attention to the Spider lurking just outside the light, her demonic eyes allowing her to see a fair bit farther. She takes hold of her hammer in both hands, prepared to defend herself, but warns, "If it let's us alone, we should let it alone. Slaying vermin isn't my idea of glorious."

That would be the second barb the tiefling has laid into Zaigan since falling into this pit. Regardless, she makes a fair point. Avoidance is certainly Zaigan's solution of choice. It would also seem that the half-orc, who has already proven his resourcefulness, is working on a plan.

Zaigan slowly takes a step back towards the group and relaxes his stance. These are not the type of marks that need heroic grandstanding to overcome fear. Any normal group of strangers might panic under these circumstances; but between the two travelers holding idle conversation, the tiefling tossing around the remains of a dragon like a toy, and the elf calming adjusting to his lack of eyeballs, it's apparent that fear is an alien concept to this lot. "Lucky me."

"A spider? Describe it." asks the wizard. "Cursed blindness! I would be much more help if I could see the damned thing," he bitterly laments.

"I can serve as your eyes," Anevia piped up. "I won't be too mobile with my injury," she added, peering into the dark as she moved over beside the elf. "Its legs span about nine feet, and it has a red marking on its back."

"Ah! Likely a cavern widow spider. Their venom is extremely lethal, and causes pain excruciating enough to stagger even a mighty warrior. That sounds like a particularly large specimen. Be wary of its bite." Aravashnial seems pleased to be able to contribute by sharing his knowledge. "I have a few spells of summoning prepared, but once expended, I will be unable to call upon them again without my sight. I am loathe to expend them unless absolutely necessary. Can you handle this foe? We may have many battles before us."

The words "lethal" and "excruciating" cause a shiver to run down Zaigon's spine. His stance tenses up as he studies the deadly vermin. There is no way he's taking his eyes of that thing now. As he intently stares at the spider, he unknowingly casts detect evil for the first time.

Zaigan's mind reaches out toward the crouching predator, probing for the hateful thoughts and malicious urges that would signify the presence of evil. Normal thoughts and feelings are too subtle for his still-untrained senses, but evil's taint would ring out vividly to his mind's eye.

Luckily, he can sense none.

Looking into the eyes (so many eyes...) of the spider has actually caused Zaigan to empathize with the creature. Poisonous fangs are just the tools with which these animals fight for survival in a land that wants nothing more but to wipe them out. It's a familiar story to Zaigan. However, the sympathy Zaigan feels isn't strong enough to keep him from anticipating the worst from the spider. Zaigan keeps his stance firm.

Out of the earth in front of Garlok rises a spectral form clad in dented, dingy armor that barely seems to fit him, if it even is a him. It's difficult to make out details, but it seems to be a young human man in the armor of a crusader, but less solid, and with a distinct orange tint. As Garlok rises, he takes his place by the half-orc's side.

"Shall we taste battle, brother?"

"We may, brother. I will need your vigilant eyes."

Horgus recoils at the appearance of the ghostly warrior. "What in the name of..." His words trail off. "Of course! I ask for a crusader and the only one I get is already dead!" He scowls.

"Garlok has summoned a spectral warrior," describes Anevia, for Aravashnial's benefit. "He bears arms and armor in the appearance of a crusader of Mendev."

"Fascinating! Tell me, is he translucent?" The wizard seems excited by the phantom's arrival. "Spirit, tell me of yourself. Are you a fallen champion of Mendev? What power brings you from the other side?" He turns to Anevia, "I have long theorized that the constant conflict within Mendev is fertile ground for the unquiet spirits of fallen warriors to return as ghosts. Why, the interplay of demonic energies along with the holy barrier of the wardstones must give rise to..." he trails off as Anevia puts a hand on his shoulder, subtly signaling him that his enthusiasm has gotten the better of him.

"Hold your questions, please. Arngir bears the armor of his father, and his death was far from here. Beyond that, we would prefer to keep some things to ourselves."

Kala recoils slightly at the sudden appearance of the orange tinted spirit, eyeing it and the half-orc cautiously, "What is that and why is it orange?"

Garlok turns to the little tiefling girl and scowls. "Hold. Your questions."

Alexandre finds himself far more interested in keeping his eyes on the spider than the spirit that had materialized. His hands continued to hover near his pistols, in case this got a bit messy. He assumes a somewhat offensive stance, spine arching forwarf just slightly and eyes cautiously tracking every arachnid twitch.

"That will be of little need at this time Aravashinal, but thank you. It appears that we have some luck after all with this strange survival party. I am Amyrtaeus of Osirion, a magic specialist transferred to maintain the wardstone. It seems our friends have seen battle, so I trust that we're prepared to handle this. The three of you stay safe behind us."

Despite Garlok's resistance, Amyrtaeus still had many questions about the glowing spectre. They would have to wait as he insisted, unfortunately. Standing just a bit behind the rest, he casts a spell in preparation, creating an invisible force in front of him.

Casting shield.

"A scholar like myself then!" responds the wizard. "Excellent. I am pleased to find another practitioner of the arcane arts down here." He grips his staff tightly. "Our fates are in your hands, then. Dispatch this threat and I shall devise a plan for our next move."

Anevia nocks one of her salvaged arrows to her bowstring, but keeps the bow lowered, not wanting to waste her small supply of ammunition unless it becomes necessary.

Roll20 Combat Summary:

As the group drew their weapons and spread out, ready to assault the beast, it was Kala the tiefling who charged first. Hefting a massive hammer that seemed far too large for her slight stature, it was evident that her demonic heritage had imbued her with unnatural strength. The mighty bludgeon smashed into the still-unmoving spider... which split open like a dry fruit, revealing that the terrifying beast had been dead for days. Within its carcass, however, wriggled forth two new threats - a pair of slimy maggots each half the size of a man, feasting upon the dead spider's innards. The vile worms reared up to strike at the one who interrupted their meal, but were met with a flash of steel as Zaigan charged forth, driving his sword deep into one of the beasts. The revolting larva writhed for a moment upon his blade, but went limp as the fledgling paladin pulled forth his sword, now drenched in its foul ichor. The second maggot died quickly to a flurry of strikes from the spectral champion Arngir and a mighty smash from Kala's hammer to finish it off.

As the others cleaned their weapons and gave thanks that none were injured, Kala's eyes spotted a strange liquid dripping from what appeared to be a small package of some kind dangling from a ledge in the crack behind the vermins' bodies. With a boost from Zaigan, Kala managed to clamber up the slippery rocky wall and retrieve a well-made backpack, stamped with the seal of a local tannery known for their high-quality leatherwork. Inside, she discovered the source of the spilled liquid - three potion vials, one of which had been smashed open, along with a collection of other supplies.

Progressing into the next chamber, the party was ambushed by a pair of hissing, bright-red beetles, which sprayed a shower of caustic acid from their mandibles as they entered. Kala managed to duck out of the way and Arngir shielded Garlok with his body, but Zaigan took the spray directly. As it melted through his clothing and seared his skin, the pain was excruciating. Despite this, he reached out to the now-melting phantom and proclaimed, "Ragathiel's power overcomes this meager attack! Arngir, you are healed." Unfortunately, his selfless blessing consumed much of his attention, leaving him open to a brutal bite from the beetle's crushing jaws. Zaigan noticed the attack too late, and braced himself for the pain... but was relieved to hear not the snapping of insectoid jaws on flesh, but the spectral clang of chitin deflected by the mysterious magic of Terendelev's shield. As if in thanks for his quick action, Arngir advanced, moving directly through Zaigan with an unsettling feeling of slime and spectral portent. The orange-tinted warrior brought his ghostly blade down upon the beetle's carapace again and again, cracking, shattering, and finally penetrating its hardened armor. For the final blow, Garlok called upon his magic to imbue his phantom's blade with spirit-fire, and Arngir dispatched the beetle with a brilliant, burning strike. Alexandre and Amyrtaeus launched their own attacks at the second beetle, the gunslinger blasting one of its legs off with a glancing shot, and Amyrtaeus answering the beetle's acid spray with one of his own, his magic calling forth a glob of corrosive liquid to scorch the creature's face before Kala's hammer ended its life.

The beetles dispatched, the heroes noticed the contents of the chamber - an apparent former campsite, the debris of which had concealed its insectoid occupants upon entry. Searching the room, they uncovered a few potentially useful items among a bunch of ruined supplies.

The group's trials were far from over, however, as the next chamber's occupant was no friendlier than the beetles. Just as Kala was about to step on a massive coiled viper, Alexandre called out, rushing forward with an acrobatic leap over the serpent. Leveling his pistol in midair, he fired a well-placed shot which blew a hole in the snake's sinuous body. Not to be outdone by his bodyguard, Amyrtaeus again unleashed his acidic spell, placing the corrosive blast directly into the snake's gaping wound. The animal barely had time to register the injury, however, before the familiar THUD of Kala's hammer ended its life with a blow that nearly shook the chamber.

Feel free to embellish on what I just described as you continue your trek. The caverns wind on, sometimes separating into branching paths, but never much wider than ten feet and frequently only a few feet wide. The footing is always uneven, and water trickles here and there over the stone. Everywhere you see signs of recent tectonic activity, such as cracks in otherwise smooth walls and fallen, shattered stalactites. You will walk for quite some time before any new threats arise, giving ample opportunity for conversation about the events of the day, and speculation about what might be going on above the surface.

You are all also awarded 320 XP each. You will need a total of 2,000 XP to advance to level 2.

"Hopefully those vermin are the least of our troubles down here. I'm glad to see that we're not helpless just in case. You're pretty handy with that thing, given you- I mean its proportions," he said, gesturing to Kala, hesitating to insult her stature in comparison to the unwieldy hammer. Had he not just seen the dark Tiefling above-ground before the attack, he'd have mistaken her for one of the invading demons. He was grateful that he had not.

Once it seemed that they were in the clear, Amyrtaeus asked to inspect the contents of the bag they had found as well as the other scavenged items. He focused his magic detection on all of items that had been recovered thus far and observed their potential magical auras.

Spellcraft is +8