WotR: The Worldwound Incursion [IC]

[King Tius]

King Tius's Wrath of the Righteous IC Thread
Part 1: The Worldwound Incursion
Chapter 1: The Kenebres Underground
OOC Thread

[King Tius]

Dimly, as if through a heavy fog, you regain consciousness. The ringing in your ears subsides as the thunderous headache abates and you involuntarily cough, your lungs choked with dust and your mouth coated in the metallic taste of blood. As your senses continue to return to normal you become aware of the oppressive darkness around you, heavy and cloying with the dusty air. All around you are the sounds of clattering rocks, heavy coughing, and the slow moans of pain. Feeling around in the darkness, you find that you are covered in dirt and filth but do not appear to be harmed other than a small host of bruises, aches, and small cuts. From somewhere in the darkness, you hear the distinct sound of a woman gasp in pain, followed by frantic, short breathing and small cries of further agony.

Vague memories of sunlight and laughter drift around the edges of your thoughts but for now you seem unable to remember the events of the immediate past...

Spoiler: Eupraxia and Anya

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Your planar blood affords you sight in this lightless place. You appear to be lying on the floor of a large underground cavern. All about are strewn pieces of rubble, some from buildings and flagstones, as well as several bodies. While some of these bodies are twisted into horrible shapes or crushed under large debris, several of them appear to be moving as they regain consciousness. One wall of this cavern is a huge pile of rubble, the result of some kind of cave in or rock slide. Protruding from the stones are the disfigured body parts of those who were not as fortunate as you to survive whatever tragedy has just occurred.

[RaggedAngel]

Talara blinks her eyes open, and notices that everything hurts. The next thing she notices is that she has either gone blind, or she is underground. It takes a lot of darkness to blind an elf, but this was apparently enough. She didn't feel like anything was broken or missing, however; for once, her slight size had proven to be an advantage. She checked the sword at her back, a smoothly curving scimitar, pleased that it was in place. The blade at her hip, a rapier, was also intact, and by some miracle she hadn't stabbed herself with it.

"Is anyone there?" She calls out, not expecting a response. After calling out, she considers that yelling in a dark, possibly dangerous environment may be a less-than-strategic action. Sitting up, she mutters a few words and waves her hands, casting the only divination she's comfortable with: Detect Magic. Straining to pick anything up in her temporary sixth sense, she sweeps her vision through the gloom.

[Saskia]

Anya shakes her head. Thoughts of what might have happened run through her head briefly, but sounds of distress and the sight of bodies savaged by rubble suggest the past might not be a priority for the moment. She calmly removes the musket from her sling and loads a wad and ball, guarding against corrupting dust mixing with her precious black powder. It wouldn't do to go rescuing people unprepared.

[color="color="blue""]Yeah,[/color] she says, her sing-song voice sounding perhaps less pained than she is. "We've got some serious problems, too, by the looks of this place, but I don't know what happened. Are you alright? Can you see?"

[Zoobity]

Andreu Melzic comes to with a cough as he spits out a mouthful of dust. Looking around, or not as the case is, he says, "Damn it. Damn it damn it damn it. This is really typical." He slaps his hand around, the chain glove sounding against the floor until he finds the pole of his glaive.

As he hoists himself to his feet, using the polearm for support, he hears Talara call out. He coughs again and says in a formal tone, "Andreu Melzic, Journeyman of the 16th Glaives of the Image of Beauty. I have some training as a man of Shelyn. I'm here to help." He tries not to let on that, given that he can't see, he's not much help to anyone.

Hearing the woman gasp in pain, Andreu very carefully reverses the grip on his glaive so that the curve of the blade rests near his shoulder. With the blade secured, he uses the blunt end of the pole to begin working his way towards the screams. "This woman needs help," he says in a voice just below a shout. "I need a light and a healer. Who has a light?"

[hoverfrog]

Eupraxia Glykeria

"Andreu? It's me, Prax. Eupraxia." The tiefling makes her way across the rubble to her friend. "Stop bumbling around like a blind fool. The woman with the big mouth is over here." She takes his arm to lead him over to the most injured person, her training tells her that it may not be the one who's making the most noise.

Once Andreu is in reach of the wounded she looks around for some thing that burns, a chair leg, a shattered timber, torn clothing, anything that could be used to start a fire. She twists cloth around wood until it is secure. With a wave of her hand she causes a spark to burst onto the makeshift torch. For a moment light reflects from her silver horns and white skin, a frightening flash of a demonic face. Curled round across her shoulder is the snake like neck of a tiny reptile, no bigger than a chicken. It hisses as it sees the dusty faces in the ruin.

Bending low over the flame she blows on it until it catches. "Well? Head over to the light you flaming idiots and make your own torches so we can find a way out of here." She wedges the torch between some rocks and steps back out of the light to search for more wounded, giving what help she can to the injured.

Spoiler: OOC

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Cast Spark to get a torch going so that those not blessed with darkvision can see.
Heal check on one of the wounded. (1d20+5)[8]

[RaggedAngel]

Talara allows the cantrip to fade once a torch has been lit, and she picks her way across the rubble to the source of light. Entering the light, the others see what appears to be a skinny teenage girl, clad in armor and armed with two swords. On second review it becomes clear that she is an elf, throwing her age into question. Either way, she is clearly a bit too young to be as heavily armed as she is.

"Thanks for getting that lit. My donkey has my lamp and oil and things like that. He apparently didn't have the good conscience to follow me whenever..." She had been smiling, but it fades when she realizes the gap in her memory. "Does anyone recall what happened? I remember a party, or something, but nothing after that. It was the demons, wasn't it? What else could cause this?"

She takes her stock of the others as she stoops down to gather the material for a makeshift torch. "My names Talara, by the way. Or Tala, or really anything other than 'girl' or 'student'. What can I call all of you? Does anyone know how to fly or some other way to get out of here?" She finishes wrapping a bit of cloth around a chunk of wood, and it promptly falls apart the moment she stands to admire her work. "Dammit. Of all the days to not prepare Light or Dancing Lights."

Spoiler

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Generic Craft for the torch: (1d20+3)[4]

[Sky Forest]

Boelthor wakes with a gasp, opening his eyes from senselessness to find himself in total darkness. "Skathi?" he croaks tentatively. Opaque dreams of pain, pressure, and a struggle to breathe have been replaced by a waking dream that seems one and the same. The half-giant reaches slowly up to his face, and finding not fresh wounds and bandages but long-healed scars, remembers. This is no healer's skinhut and he is no boy - this is Kenabres, or what is left of it, and he is Boelthor Starshunned.

Boelthor lumbers to his feet slowly, hands raised protectively over his head in case the ceiling is low. He approaches the torchlight cautiously, saying, "This one is called Boelthor." Those gathered see 8 feet of barbarian looming in the gloaming. A star is tattooed on his forehead and the lower half of his face is heavily scarred. He stoops to prepare a torch and finally seems to take in the scene. A slow frown creases his brow. "Did I do this?"

[Sky Forest]

"Talara. Andreu. Eupraxia. Demons? Ah. Yes. This one cannot fly but can move what is heavy." He goes where he is needed and lifts what needs lifting to pull survivors from the rubble.

[King Tius]

Eupraxia finds a broken piece of banister and wraps it in a scrap of cloth that appears to have once been a banner of some sort. Her spell catches the small scrap of tapestry alight, though without a proper fuel soaked in, the rag burns quickly and does not project as much light as a torch. It burns long enough for you five to converge and begin to try fashioning torches of your own. The large fabric that Prax harvested her torch material from is actually a pennant bearing the royal emblem of Queen Galfrey, ruler of Mendev and leader of the crusade against the demons. Seeing the pennant brings back a bit of memory... today was Armasse, a holy day of the dead god Aroden. What was once a scholarly day for priests and intellectuals to come together to study the lessons of history has grown to encompass jousting competitions, mock duels, battle reenactments, and other festival events. In Kenabres, the festival 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. You all vaguely recall being gathered in Clydwell Plaza, just west of the great cathedral where this banner hung, for the openning ceremonies of the Armasse festival.

As these memories awaken in the recesses of your mind, Prax's torch begins to fail, as does Tala's attempt to craft her own. Fortunately a new, brighter source of light springs into existence a few short feet away. An elven man dressed in scholarly wizard robes is sitting up against a rock and has cast a light spell upon his necklace. The man curses quietly in elven and casts the light spell again. The magical light winks out of existence and reappears again, once again cast upon his necklace. Slowly the elf raises his hands to his face and begins to feel around, his hands moving more and more frantically as he begins to speak, his voice full of panic.

"My..my eyes. I...I cannot see. I've gone blind!"

With his head held up, desperately straining as he looks about, you can see that his face is covered in nasty burns and cuts, particularly around his eyes. Meanwhile, his light reveals the source of the female, distressed breathing. A woman with short cropped hair and leather armor lies with her leg pinned under a large boulder. When the light sources appear she becomes noticeably calmer, though she is still obviously in a great deal of pain.

"Thank the Gods Above I'm not the only one down here. Can...can you get this thing off my leg? I'm feeling dizzy."

Her head lulls sideways before she manages to regain focus and catch herself on her elbow. Though she's putting on a brave face, the injury to her leg seems to have her on the verge of passing out. Prax can tell just by glancing over at her that the woman's leg is clearly broken from the angle that it sticks out from under the rock. From somewhere in the darkness, beyond the range of the wizard's light another distinct voice picks up.

"Help! Somebody HELP me! Get me out of here THIS INSTANT!"

[RaggedAngel]

Tala begins picking her way across the rubble to reach the blinded elf. "<No fear, elder, I can be your eyes,>" she calls to him in Elvish as she approaches, then she switches back to Common. "As long as you can be my light, that is. I'm never going to go without that spell again, trust me. And don't worry about your eyes; we'll get you out of here and healed up soon." She speaks calmly, and she makes sure he is aware of her before taking his hand to help him to his feet. She had learned early on that a startled wizard was a dangerous thing indeed.

Once he is on her feet, she looks over to the woman trapped by the boulder, concern for the wounded growing. "Elder, what spells do you have prepared? I only have combat spells ready, nothing that can help in this situation. My name is Talara, by the way. <It is good to meet you.>"

Spoiler

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A note on Talara's name; namely, the fact that she is still growing into it, so to speak. Talara is a woman's name, and she's still a girl. I plan on that changing in the future, probably after her first few major battles. For now, I'll tend towards the shortened 'Tala', but either way is fine by me.

[Sky Forest]

Boelthor looks down on the trapped woman, concern knotting his craggy brow. "This one can try to free you. There will be pain." Ox-like, the man moves into position, as if accustomed to the expectation that his size must serve the greater good.

The half-giant slides his fingers along the bottom of the boulder, seeking purchase for his thick fingers. Before setting his strength to the task, he looks to the others. "Stars willing, one of you can soothe her, whatever the outcome."

Finding no objections, Boelthor sets his feet and lifts, pushes or rolls, depending upon the size of the boulder. Should any stay his hand, he nods acquiescence and goes where he is needed - to the new voice in the darkness.

[Saskia]

Anya looks around with a nod. It's a relief not to be the only one who doesn't panic easily. "I'll look around for whoever that other one is." There's a hint of resignation in her voice, but not needing light and not possessing tremendous strength or medical knowledge she's probably best suited to collecting the less injured victims, and probably best suited to dealing with the more obstinate individuals.

That doesn't mean she looks forward to it, however.

Spoiler

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[roll0] perception to look for anything useful while following the voice.

[Zoobity]

With the light in the chamber, Andreu switches his grip on his glaive again. In a confident voice he says, "Eupraxia, I'm pleased to hear you're in fighting shape. Now, pray mind your words. These people have already taken a beating and do not need to be lashed by your tongue as well."

Andreu assists Boelthor in moving the boulder from the woman's leg if, by chance, the giant needs the assistance. He looks at the woman as he does so, observing her features and dress. "Pay no heed to my companion's words, ma'am. She's as well meaning as the rest of us but lacks a certain civilizing influence." He smiles at her in attempt to calm her down and looks around the room again When he breaks eye contact with the woman his face assumes again its stoic grimace. "Can anyone bind or heal a leg?"

He also looks unsmilingly to Boelthor. "I'll stay with this one. Please lend your strength to search for the injured, if you would." He then mutters to himself again, "Damned bloody crusade..."

[King Tius]

The blinded elf turns his face in the direction of Talara's voice and he seems to noticeably calm down. He responds to her in elven, his voice quickly regaining an air of authority and superiority that Tala is all too used to from the aristocratic wizard-types that are so common among her people.

<"I am Aravashnial. The clerics back on the surface will be able to restore my sight with a rejuvenate spell. The spells I have prepared should more than suffice until my vision has been restored. I am a conjurer, Talara, and that should tell you what kind of spells I have at my disposal. Give me something of yours to cast my light spell upon. If I cannot see, it will do little good to draw attention to myself as a light source. Who else has survived our fall?"> He does not wait for Talara to respond, however, and instead calls out in an imperious tone: "Who is in charge here?"

Boelthor and Andreu attempt to lift the boulder off the pinned woman. They get the bolder moving slightly before losing their grip on it, causing the weight to shift back onto the injured woman's leg. She gives another cry of pain before fainting altogether. Driven by a mixture of embarrassment and worry, the two men heave again, this time managing to roll the boulder all the way off her. Her lower left leg has been crushed by the boulder and is clearly broken in multiple places. A bit of bone protrudes from an exposed wound that has begun to flow freely now that the boulder's pressure has stopped restricting blood flow.

Anya moves off in search of the other distressed voice. Rounding a particularly large piece of rubble that blocks the light spell, she sees a middle-aged human man lying on his back dressed in nobleman's clothes. He also appears to be tangled up in a large canvas awning from one of the vendor's shops on Clydwell Plaza. He flails about making all sorts of noise and cursing furiously. Lying not ten feet away from him is the hideous form of a demon, pinned under a much larger piece of rock than the injured woman. It looks like a horned human skeleton smothered within a bone-tight hide of slimy leather. As the human man continues to struggle and shout, the demon's head slowly begins to move about as it regains its senses.

"Gods Below! What am I, in some kind of sack? I WILL NOT BE YOUR DINNER YOU THRICE-DAMNED DEMONS! Release me at once!"

[Saskia]

Anya shakes her head walking past the nobleman. "At ease. You're going to get us all killed making all that noise. You're wrapped up in a canvas sun shade, by the looks of it." She takes a moment to look at the beast, committing its form to memory. "Do you have a weapon? Never mind. Boelthor, can you come over here a moment? I need you and that hammer of yours. Quickly, if possible."

[hoverfrog]

Bowing her head at Andreu's comment the tiefling manages to look embarrassed. She even bites back a rude comment when the rock falls back and adds to the trapped woman's injuries. After she's pulled free Prax kneels down looks over her leg. "I bet that hurts," she comments with an unnerving smile. "I have magical healing, the break is bad enough to warrant it. She might lose the leg otherwise. Or I could help the blind elf." She stands and examines his eyes carefully, "Looks like bruising. My spell could fix the damage but I'm not sure if the blindness will be cured or if it will need stronger magic than mine. What can the woman do for us, wizard? Which of you is actually of any use in this situation?"

"Andreu, I've only got one cure spell, which one is more deserving?" Looking over at Talara she spares the elf child a glare, "<It's rude to speak a language that others might not understand.> Aravashnial, Andreu is a paladin of Sheyln, you can trust him, he'll be in charge. I'm a healer from the camps but my herbs and ointments are in my hut. It looks like the street has collapsed and we've fallen in the hole. As a conjurer can you conjure anything to burrow or call for help. We could be days in the dark before they dig us out, assuming the air doesn't run out." Her words are intended to be comforting though they probably aren't.

Having not followed Anya's scouting she isn't aware of the presence of the monster so when the man starts shrieking about demons she steps back and pulls her hood up to hide her face.

[Sky Forest]

Boelthor looks beseechingly to Andreu as the woman starts to bleed out. "We waste words while Death stands among us. He will waste none."

Hearing his presence requested and a call for speed, Boelthor snaps into motion, unslinging a massive, battered earthbreaker from his back and weaving swiftly through the rubble. Expecting further search and rescue, his eyes widen when they fall upon the pinned demon. The half-giant seems to shiver, and his features set themselves in a rictus of savage intensity, but he chokes back his rage, blowing forcefully through broad nostrils. Boelthor raises his hammer high and brings it down forcefully on the exposed head. "Torment take you!"

[Zoobity]

Andreu looks between Aravashnial and the woman with the shattered leg. "Elder Aravashnial said he can seek help from the temple. He sounded confident in that. Prax, you're a more gifted healer than I, but I believe the woman's wounds present a more desperate situation. I think she should benefit from your spell." He looks over to the elves, "It is Talara, correct? Do you believe your friend will survive without magical intervention?"

When he sees Boelthor rush from one end of the ruined chamber to the other, swinging a gods-know-how-heavy hammer, Andreu positions himself to see what the man is up to.

[hoverfrog]

Prax kneels down next to the prone woman and casually straightens her leg, "I bet you're glad you're unconscious." Drawing on the source of her power she sets the bone and staunches
the blood oozing from her wounded body. She didn't wait for whatever the elves were going to say.

Looking up as Boelthor sprints away with Andreu close on his heals she wonders if asking the paladin for direction on every decision wasn't foolish. She was old enough to be his grandmother, she should know by now what was right and wrong without having to ask. You've made bad decisions but you're making it right now. There's no need to check everything.

Spoiler: META

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Cure Light Wounds (1d8+1)[2]
A heal check to (1d20+5)[7] apply first aid if she's still injured.

EDIT: I feel that it's always good to make sure that your rolls start as you mean them to go on, don't you?

[RaggedAngel]

Talara thinks for a moment about what to offer the wizard to enchant with Light before placing the hem of her cloak into his hands. "Here, this should do well. I can't be disarmed of it and my body will not block the light, preventing unnecessary shadows." She throws a glance over at the mouthy tiefling, but she resists responding with a biting remark. Not even Tala was unwise enough to start a fight with the the only healer in the group.

After Aravashnial has cast his spell, she gently helps him to his feet. As she does, she calls out to the half-giant with the hammer and the others near him. "Is that really a demon over there? I have a cold iron blade, if you need it. Are there more, or was it just that one?"

[King Tius]

Aravashnial once again casts his light spell, this time upon the hem of Talara's cloak, the spell seeps into the fibers of the garment and moves upwards, spreading like flowing water until the entire cloak is shedding a pale blue light. The effect is particularly enchanting as it accents Talara's figure, giving her a radiant glow like some kind of archon. After completing his spell, Aravashnial takes hold of Talara's offered arm, straightening himself up in an attempt to look as dignified as possible as he is led around. Now that he's regained some degree of his composure, he turns his head towards Prax, his elven hearing making it surprisingly easy for him to locate her despite his lack of vision.

"I do not know who this woman is, or who any of you are for that matter. However, if you were demons or their ilk I suspect we wouldn't be having this conversation. Nonetheless, your paltry healing spells will not be able to mend my eyesight. I'm surprised I even have a head upon my shoulders after taking a lash from that Balor. Even utilizing all my spells it would take weeks to dig a tunnel to the surface, and that's assuming we are less than a hundred feet underground. If we are in a cavern, then perhaps there are others attached to it. Kenabres is an old city by your human standards and there are many things below its surface. Where is this Andreu? Someone needs to take charge and lead us back to the fight. I am in no condition to command."

Eupraxia applies her healing spell and the woman's eyes flutter open. The woman gasps and reaches for her sword at the sight of Prax but manages to stop herself before she actually looses any steel. "Th...Thank you for freeing me. Can you give me a hand up?" She tries to get to her feet while avoiding putting pressure on her foot but barely manages to get up onto one knee before she cries out in pain and shudders, half collapsing again. "My leg is messed up something fierce. We'll have to put it in a splint." She starts looking around her for material to work with, suddenly very businesslike. She takes those gathered around in one at a time, though her eyes linger on Aravashnial a moment longer than the rest.

OOC: Prax can try to splint her leg with another Heal check (I'm going to pretend you didn't roll that first one...)

Andreu and Anya watch as Beolthor bounds over to the pinned demon and brings his hammer down upon its head with all his might. The blow strikes the demon squarely in the temple with a sickly crunching sound, collapsing the creature's skull and sending a spray of its protective slime splattering in all directions. Boelthor, please make a Reflex save to avoid the slime getting on your weapon!

The man trapped in the awning stops struggling so fiercely and starts to move more slowly and deliberately, trying to work himself free. He gives a shout of surprise when Boelthor's hammer strikes the demon before continuing to try and free himself. After another few seconds of futile struggling, he shakes violently in frustration and shouts again, his voice only slightly quieter than it was before.

"Will you KINDLY get me out of here AT ONCE! I am not some babe in need of swaddling."

The sight of the demon or Aravashnial's mention of a Balor brings the last of your memories back to light.

Spoiler: Armasse

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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 lashingout 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.

[Saskia]

"Then don't swaddle yourself like a child, perhaps?" Anya kneels beside the mewling human with her bayonet. "Attracting demons' attention with your mewling is very stupid. You woke that thing over there up, and without Boelthor here we might all have died because of you. I'm sure you can understand my frustration." Trusting that, if nothing else, being treated like an adult would cause him to start acting like one, Anya cuts the obnoxious man free. "Anya Moendahl. And you?"

[hoverfrog]

"I remember," Prax shudders, standing confused for a moment as the memories flood back. "The wardstone."

It is only the groan of her patient that brings her back to the present, "What's your name?" Se doesn't really care what her name is but hearing her talk might determine if she's suffering from other ailments like blood poisoning. While she listens she takes her time to find wood and cloth to support the leg and ties them on carefully. "How did this happen? I mean, I remember falling and the...the Storm King killing the dragon. There were demons everywhere. Can the army fight them back? I...I have friends, a few friends, in the camps who will fight."

"Someone must have helped the demons." Prax barks out a laugh, "Maybe a witches' coven, ha." She tightens the splint and looks around for something suitable for a crutch, "Are you going to be able to walk or should we make you a stretcher?"

Spoiler: META

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Take 10 on splinting her leg for a heal check of 15.

[Sky Forest]

Like a frying pan smashing an egg, the sheer size of the hammer helps to contain much of the splashback to the massive metal surface of the earthbreaker, and Boelthor reflexively angles the hammer in such a way as to prevent any slime from reaching the shaft of the weapon. The acid seems to add a few pits and whorls to the hammer's face, but no real harm is done and he nods with grim satisfaction. Hearing Talara's voice, he ***** his head to better hear the glowing figure before replying, "Cold iron. This is good. Not needed now, but there will be more. This one will aid you in hunting for more demons."

The half-giant aids in retrieving the man from the awning, lifting him bodily to his feet and holding gently to his shoulders for support until he's sure the man can support himself. He speaks with slow conviction. "You too were saved by the drakkon. Destiny has chosen us to share this path. I am sure your gifts will be needed. This one is called Boelthor."

The half-giant nods before turning to join Talara for a sweep of the room, with an eye for any lingering demonkind or weapons and supplies that may aid in their survival underground.

[Zoobity]

Andreu stands upright on the threshold to the smaller chamber and watches with a barely perceptible flinch as Boelthor kills the demon and he and Anya set the man to rights. He scoffs as Boelthor equates their survival with destiny. "Destiny?" he says in a quiet voice. He locks eyes with the half-giant. "This is the Crusade, friend. The destiny of the survivors here is to suffer longer against the tide. Some fate that is..."

He stamps the end of his glaive on the ground and turns on his heel. He drops his scowl as he faces the rest of the survivors. "I heard someone call for me." He approaches Talara and the elf again and kneels low to speak to the blind man. "It's my solemn duty as a Journeyman to lead us back to the fight; however, sir, I am a," he pauses for a moment, "I am a fighter, neither sapper nor earthmover. I'll assay this task under your recommendation, but I don't know the first step. What do you propose?"

[King Tius]

Aravashnial turns his head towards Prax's voice, nodding ever so slightly in agreement. "The demons certainly had help, and have had it for some time. The blasted worshipers of Baphomet have been sowing discord within the crusade for quite some time, but it seems they have taken a more active role in their nefarious activities. There is no way the demons could have pierced the wardstone barrier without help from the inside." When Andreu presents himself to the blinded elf, the scowl on his face clears and he almost seems pleased. "Organize and assess those who have survived the fall, then begin searching for a way out. While you're at it, find someone who can bandage these burns on my face. I've survived too great an ordeal to die of an infection."

The now-conscious woman grimaces when Prax tightens the splint but does not cry out, her face locked in stiff determination. Breathing a sight of relief once the wrappings are set, she holds her hand out to the tiefling for a help up. "I don't know, let's find out." Pulling the woman to her feet, she gingerly tests the splint and manages to stand straight up and unassisted. "I don't think I'll be able to walk without a crutch, but you won't need to carry me." She looks towards Talara. "How about you and I trade spots? That stuffy librarian isn't much use without his eyes and I'm no use with this leg. We can be cripples together...the broken leading the blind. I'm Anevia, by the way. Anevia Tirablade." She can't help but smile when she sees Aravashnial's obvious displeasure at learning her identity.

When Anya cuts away the last of the awning, she reveals a pudgy middle-aged man with thinning hair and a face that always seems to have just smelled rotting meat. Boelthor picks the man clean up by his armpits and deposits him on his feet, causing a shout of objection and some weak flailing from the man. "Unhand me, you...you...lout. You CLEARLY don't know how I am! Horgus Gwerm? Patron of Kenabres? One of the only people in this gods-forsaken city with any sense of class? Ugh, of course, it would have been far too much to be trapped underground with anyone decent." He dusts himself off and walks towards the light, pausing to look distastefully at the crushed demon but making no comment. As he takes in those gathered, his eyes rest briefly and disapprovingly on all of you, pausing slightly longer when they alight on Anevia and Arivashnial together. He points a finger at the elf and scoffs. "Of all the people that dragon had to save, why did she pick YOU!?" The elf stiffens and seems somewhat cowed. "Horgus, how wonderful that you are unharmed."

Spoiler: Eupraxia and Talara

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This gaunt, abyssal creature trapped under the rock is a babau, a demon that specializes in stealth and assassination

[RaggedAngel]

Tala had been all but struck silent when she remembered what had happened. Her eyes feel to the cavern floor, and she numbly allowed the woman with the wounded leg, Anevia, to trade places with her. She did not move far from the wizard's side, however; he was to be protected. That much, her head could piece together.

Finally, the simpering fat man jarred her out of her stunned state. She glares at him, a look of pure anger and frustration. "Shut your mouth and have a little respect, human. One of the greatest forces for good died today, and her last act was to save our lives. We were not worth of that, not one of us. Terendelev has done more good for the world than most angels, and that balor killed her. And now we're trapped her. I'm not even a hundred percent sure we're on the Prime. Why would the rend in the earth close up like that? Was it a planar portal, or a Gate?"

[hoverfrog]

"You're a demanding one, mister high and mighty elf lord. The first rule of emergency aid is to treat the worst wounded first. A broken leg trumps possible infection. If you'd have a bit of patience then I'll get to you in a minute." Prax deliberately spends a few minutes searching for a suitable crutch for Anevia before tending the blind man. "Anyone got any wine? No, I don't want a drink, blasted fools, it's to clean these wounds. Though a drink wouldn't be amiss at the moment. What about you, fat man? Got any wine on you?"

"Alright, what about fresh water?" She shakes her head in annoyance, "That should be our first priority then." Doing the best she can with what is available she cleans and dresses Aravashnial's wounds. "Does anyone else have any sort of injury that needs looking at? Are there any other survivors?"

"You lot are as much use in the dark as the elf lord here. I suggest that those of us with good eyes take a good look around. The rest of you look for anything that we can use, weapons, rope, water, bandages, anything like that. Your magic light only shows things in a small area but use it to look around, why don't you? I'm going to look at this demon." Moving over to examine the babau she wishes that she had her vials from home to collect samples. She pokes it with a bit of broken wood before picking up one of the teeth that Boelthor knocked loose when he caved in the demon's skull. "Trophy for you, big man, wear it as a necklace to scare your enemies."

Spoiler: OOC

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Talara is the only one with a waterskin on their character sheet and I'm guessing that they'll be on her missing donkey. I really should be a bit more diplomatic to Horgus Gwerm, Patron of Kenabres, as he sounds really important and probably a vital NPC later in the campaign but, you know, 5 charisma.

Take 10 on cleaning the wound and bandaging it.

Perception isn't a class skill for witches so Anya is probably the best to scout for us.

Knowledge (The Planes) (1d20+8)[22] I know that Babau slime is bad but Prax may not. Is there any way to determine if we've transported to another plane other than the fact that we're still alive?

All those actions should take a while.

[Saskia]

Anya watches silently as her new companions make fools of themselves. While Talara speaks she slowly, purposefully removes her leather glove and steps gracefully toward Horgus, and with as elegant a motion as can be made slaps him across the face. While she might not be as tall as Boelthor, she can tower menacingly over most humans, and positions herself so that Abadar's silver key hangs prominently within his field of view. "Let me clear this up right now, she says, her voice dripping with force and venom. Two can play this game of condescension, and nobody can do it better than old-money elven nobility. "I don't give a flying **** who you think you are. I am Anya Moendahl. My line has been famed for its masterful warriors and dragonblooded arcanists since before your race knew to clothe themselves. Do not even think of pulling social rank as if your pudgy-faced puffery and fleeting moments of life-shattering greed are something more than putrefaction of Abadar's will." As much as she hates this imbecilic game of social dominance, it's best to just get it out of the way if you can, though she knows that if this fails she's committed herself to constantly butting heads with him. Fortunately, she knows quite well whose head is the hardest.

She then struts toward Prax, musket over her shoulder in a gait suggesting the owns the place, and hands a small canteen from her pack to the odd woman. She might not have much in the way of social grace, but she talks plain, and she obviously means well. That already places her leagues ahead of the distinguished Horgus. "Here," she chirps to Eupraxia in her singsong voice, quite pleased that somebody volunteered for injury duty. "Strong spirits for cleaning my musket. I'll check out the area for an exit, the rest of you look around here for anything we can use."

Spoiler

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(1d20+5)[14] perception! Or take 20 if whatever that is isn't enough.