[Game Thread] The Fall of Kenabres (A)

[Medesha]

You awaken in darkness. Everything aches. Grit and dust coat your limbs, grinding into the scrapes and wounds on your body as you try to sit up. It's pitch black, without enough light even to see your hand in front of your face. Your head pounds. Around you, you sense movement and hear the small motions, grunts, and soft cries of others in the same situation. The air is filled with dust and the smell of cold earth. As you take your bearings and try to figure out where you are, memories come flooding back...

Each of you came to Kenabres for different reasons--or, perhaps, the same reasons. You are strangers, knowing little more than the sight of each other as you passed through the crowded streets on the way to the cathedral in Kenabres. It was festival day, a day to thank the gods for their blessed aid in the fight against the demons of the Worldwound. Here in Kenabres, protected by the enchanted wardstone, the people could relax even if only for a day and count what few blessings they had.

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' 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 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 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 down towards 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, an immense demon erupted at the far end of the plaza, reducing several buildings to ruin 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 was gone.

[Eddas]

Marcus Taim Marcus sits up with a slight groan. He hadn't hurt this much since he had his qualification fight with the master of arms at the outpost. After taking a moment to try and Dice Perception: 1d20+1 (4)+1 Total = 5 sense if there is anything in the immediate area that might be a danger to him, he quietly flexes all his muscles and bends all his joints, making sure nothing was broken. He drew his longsword, the whisper of sharpened steel sliding against leather was louder than he was used to. "That dragon," he said in a quiet whisper. "sacraficed herself for us." Taking hold of the ever presant Sword of Valor, symbol of Iomedae, that hangs from his neck, he whispered a prayer. "Iomedae, gather that great warrior into your arms, and interceed for her with Apsu, for she died a noble death, trying to protect the innocent people of this city." Feeling slightly better, as he always did after praying, Marcus decided it was time to see about improving his current circumstances. Pulling a sunrod out of his pack, and strikes it against the pommel of his longsword. As the tip of the sunrod ignights he quickly turns looking in all directions for possible enemies waiting to attack. Seeing others in as bad a shape as he is, Marcus puts his sword away, and props the sunrod against his pack before checking on them.

[ShadowcatX]

A shout comes from just beyond the brightest radius of the sunrod. "FRAG!" And with that singular curse Gideon slowly climbs to his feet, patting himself down to make certain that not only are all his body parts in their good and proper places but that his equipment, such as it is, wasn't damaged in the fall. Finding only a minor need for adjustments he steps more fully into the light, letting it wash over his pale blue skin and wholly white eyes. Squinting as his eyes attempt to adjust to the light he nods his head towards the servant of the Inheritor.

"I think you might be bad luck stranger." A flash of a weak grin at the man hopefully conveying the jest intended in that line, though his voice is flat as though his heart wasn't in it. "Regardless, I'm Gideon."

Without waiting for a response, Gideon turns his eyes upward toward where the rift had sealed. "Lord Nethys, Lord of all Magic, grant me detect magicsight to see thine works."

[Eddas]

Marcus Taim Certain that no one is in immediate danger of dying, Marcus looks after himself. "Well, I'm not much good at gambling, so you might be right. I'm Marcus, Marcus Taim, servant of Iomedae." After making sure nothing in his pack broke, he took a measured drink out of his water skin. It took a minute to brush all the dust off his polished steel scale mail. Sadly, his formerly white cloak with yellow trim, was going to need cleaning.

[Ehlana]

"Itaa....itai..." The exotically-accented female voice comes from the darkness, from the far side of a large chunk of rubble. Shoko blinks a few times, thanking whatever long ago celestial sired her ancestors and gave her the ability to see in darkness. Not that there's much to see, apart from the stone looming over her. A foot or so the side and she'd have been joining that celestial ancestor in the afterlife. She closes her eyes for a moment.

"Thank you, Empress of Heaven. I would like to meet my ancestor...but not today." But there are voices. She heard them, the last little nudge rousing her from unconsciousness. "Myself, I feel that we must all be very -lucky-." She ventures, her Common charmingly accented but quite clear. "It would be very easy to be dead after such a thing as that." Attempting to sit up, she discovers that her trailing sleeve is actually trapped under the piece of rubble she is lying beside. It really had been a close one. She tugs a few times, trying to get the fabric free. "I am Shoko Kinyama and I will be with you as soon as I am able..."

The cloth will not come loose. Shoko runs her other hand over her weapons. Her hanbo is it's place, she can feel it digging into her back. The polished length of bamboo won't be very helpful right now, though. Instead, she shakes the elaborately painted cream and gold fan out of her other sleeve and opens it. It's a very pretty thing, but her mind is not on it's aesthetic qualities right now. Each of the fan's slats is made of steel and sharpened to a wicked point. She jabs the points into the trapped sleeve, dragging them through the fabric. In a few moments, she appears around at the edge of the light, a delicate asian woman in strangely layered leather armor that looks very foreign. She bows punctiliously to the two men and puts the fan away. One of her sleeves is raggedly trimmed along the side.

[Eddas]

Marcus Taim Marcus bows his head to the woman as she enters the sphere of light his sunrod is giving off. "Are you injured Lady Kinyama?"

[Ehlana]

Shoko gives the tall man a small, sweet smile. She tips her head up and the light glimmers over her strange eyes. The irises are blue, but the pupils are gold and shaped like a hollow sunburst with an oddly shaped slash across it. "A very great many little pains but not any large ones." She answers, vision adjusting back to normal light. Her glance moves over the two men with both curiosity and concern. "You two appear well also. Our gods were watching over us, it seems so to me." She glances upwards. "I am not sure....where is it we are exactly?" She remembers the fight and the dragon and the fall... but where exactly did they fall to?

[Eddas]

Marcus Taim He was amazed that the woman could smile like that at a time like this. She must be tougher than he first though. Then there was the fact that she bestowed the smile on him... "Other than a few bruises, I am as well as can be expected. Anyone alive after that attack must have someone looking out for them." He looks up into the darkness above, surely there must be something up there, out of the reach of his light. "I would guess that we are about a hundred feet below the city streets. Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine. Some kind of cavern it looks like. Hopefully one that has a way out. I hope."

[Medesha]

Your voices echo in the underground chamber, telling you that wherever you are, it is a vast place. Piles of rubble and chunks of masonry blocks lie all around you, and your light barely illuminates the natural rock ceiling some 20 feet above you. In one direction you think you see a more solid darkness indicating a wall, perhaps the edge of the cavern; shadows obscure whatever lies in the opposite direction.

Five figures other than yourself stir in the chamber. Some have spoken, others still gather their bearings. A human woman huddles nearby, her shoulder pressed against a rock pile. An elven man lies apparently unconscious in a sprawl. The most noticeable individual is a middle-aged human man who slumps against a large stone block. He presses bloody hands to his side and his eyes roll back in his head. "OwwWOOoow..." he cries.

[Cedric]

Menkel Hells, not again.... he awakes with a whispered curse on his lips, coughing and spitting dust as he clears the rubble to stand up, a quick stretch of limbs tells him nothing is broken, a quick pat down reveals his bow is missing Sh*t! Kneeling down he uses his hands to search through stones and dust, finally finding what can only be his yew bow beneath his fingers, right next to his shiver. Someone strikes a sunrod, creating enough light for him to better see; string is cut, stave is whole. A good thing he carries a spare string. With a grunt he restrings his bow, checking its pull as he listens in on the people around him, eyes scanning his surroundings. Putting away his bow he ignores the wailing man and heads over to the elf, kneeling down and gently easing him into a more comfortable position "This man needs help." he says in a low voice, eyeing the people around him for someone who looks versed in th art of healing.

[Eddas]

Marcus Taim Spotting the injured man for the first time, Marcus rushes over to his side. "I don't know the greater arts of healing yet, but I'll see what I can do." Marcus whispers a prayer to Iomedae. "Goddess, guide me, I'm not ready for this." He places his hand over the injured mans hand, "Easy man, let me Dice Heal First Aid: 1d20+1 (2)+1 Total = 3 take a look at your injury."

OOC: That was a 16 on the preview. I hope I didn't kill him :-/

[Sassafrass]

Hm. A dragon. He had expected it, but the sight was another thing entirely.

In distant Cheliax, dragons are not seen often. Well, not unless they themselves are diabolists, and there are few dragons willing to swallow their pride for Asmodeus' sake. But then, he wasn't in Cheliax. Nor was he in Andoran, or Lastwall, or anywhere except where he oughtn't to be: home. It had been some time, almost a generation, since he had been so close to the Worldwound. His parents had stopped corresponding long ago: for reasons beyond him, truthfully, but the money kept flowing until only recently, on the return trip: after the brutal epiphany. They often came, in the night, in the middle of writing down formulae that might help, something that might heal another.

He had returned to perform a gruesome working, but it was not quite enough.

The demons came, and when they came, they came with a vengeance. His pack on his back, weighed down by the many tools and trinkets a surgeon might need, Alessandro Telvan had little choice but to stand his ground. He didn't stand out, not a terrible lot. Blond hair, frayed and blown by the wind, with a single white streak down the left side. Spectacles of finest Gnome make, purchased recently in Augustana. A coat, made for fencing, over a Chelish scholar's outfit, more fashionable than even Taldan scholars might hope to be; the edges of his cuffs were stained, a light brown color that didn't seem out of the ordinary, for a stain, and yet might make most men's stomach roll. But now, in the face of the demons, and as Sandros' face showed his surprise, his concern, he couldn't help it, even as he fell.

He couldn't help but smile.

And then, darkness.

Terendelev was dead, Khorramzadeh had come, and now, Sandros found himself in a pit. The darkness: that killed his smile. Though he could Darkvision up to 60 feetsee in any darkness, it concerned him; his tail, previously hidden behind his coat, came out, dancing, digging into his bag, looking for something: a tool worthy of a surgeon but one that had once tasted brigand. A knife, of a sort, razor-sharp and suited for his occasion: placed in his hand by Like this, but pink instead of blue and furry
a barbed tail. He

Dice Perception check on this bad boy:

1d20+5

(17)+5

Total = 22

looked about him, as those the dragon had... chosen, was that the word? to spare. Or save, slowly, whatever means. The thought left him with a nasty taste in his mouth, though part of him suspected that the taste was more from the contents of the pit than anywhere else. And of course, there were those voices.

"Yes, thank you for pointing out the painfully obvious," notes the surgeon with a sigh, at the dragon's sacrifice. Introductions, obvious questions, not enough observation. Speaking does little to alleviate the stress, the annoyance he feels: Sandros tries to make sense of this, of this place, of a plan, Knowledge Arcana is Trained, the other two are not

Dice Knowledges (Arcana, Religion, the Planes):

1d20+9	(10)+9			Total = 19
1d20+5	(14)+5			Total = 19
1d20+5	(5)+5			Total = 10

of anything, really. Data, data: there must be more data beyond rocks and fallen bodies.

But that in and of itself is distraction enough.

"Bring anyone injured or hurt to a general proximity, then I want everyone to form a parameter and make sense of this place: have we any scouts?" Sandros barks these without realizing it, used to having complete and utter control in the middle of surgeries. Having come only recently to the Worldwound to serve as a medic in a higher calling, it was not his goal: healing was merely a hobby.

And then, there's the painfully obvious man again, about to mangle a job. "Please, do not touch my patient unless I give express order. Assuming you're remotely competent, I'll need you to assist me." He sits beside the injured man, expecting everyone else to fall in line and bring to him the others, injured. "Don't get too close, give him some air: that applies to all of you." His tail opening his bag, beginning to pull things out, it is not strong enough on its own: he turns and begins to pull out a kit full of balms, of ointments, of various healing medleys and also of tools: sharp tools, meant for incisions, and stitches besides. At his side is a tool for injection (or otherwise), vials aplenty, and a dozen or more liquids at his side that might do something dangerous, if mixed: but only he knows the code, based on color, smell, and placement on his hip.

Dice Heal check, one per injured person, plus one more for flavor:

1d20+10	(1)+10			Total = 11
1d20+10	(19)+10			Total = 29
1d20+10	(15)+10			Total = 25
1d20+10	(16)+10			Total = 26

And then, to his patients.

"When I ask you to give me something, find it and give it to me." It doesn't occur to Sandros that no one here has medical training, but he doesn't much care.

[Eddas]

Marcus Taim Marcus frowns as the rather rude individual steps into the light. His hand instinctively found the hilt of his sword once he saw the strange mans tail, but came off it when it became apparent that he wasn't a demon about to attack. "I have some battlefield first aid training, but this looks beyond me, nor was I prepared, as you seem to be." Marcus bows his head to the man. Attitude and personal feelings aside, he recognized a trained healer doing whats necessary in a tough situation.

[ShadowcatX]

Gideon wracks his brain for a moment seeing if anything in his learning of the knowledge: Arcana

Dice Roll:

1d20+8

(1)+8

Total = 9

arcane arts, knowledge: religion

Dice Roll:

1d20+8

(15)+8

Total = 23

religion, or the study of other knowledge: planes

Dice Roll:

1d20+8

(6)+8

Total = 14

worlds helps explain their circumstances while the lady introduces herself and the other man calls for help for the wounded. It is only when the doctor steps forward that Gideon snaps himself out of his temporary reverie turns towards him. "It seems that the demon has sent us into some natural cavern, no remnant of its magic lingers on the walls. But are correct, we do need to form a perimeter and explore our surroundings. If you and Marcus can handle things here the rest of us can scout a bit."

With that he turns to the lovely woman, seemingly from the human stock of his homeland, offering her his hand. "Would you care to accompany me on a slight stroll my lady?"

[Ehlana]

"I have no knowledge of how to heal." Shoko's face is regretful and for a moment she indulges in one of her too-frequent wishes that she had studied things more useful to war. How to smile at someone in a way that just made them feel inexplicably happier was...a -good- skill but it won't save anyone's life. Her eyes move regretfully over the two people yet unattended to...but they are best left to Marcus and the healer. While his manners are more than usually uncouth, the later seems to know what he is doing and the former seems kind-hearted. He will talk gently to those who need that treatment rather than anything more physical. "So it seems that I am better suited to scouting." She smiles at Gideon and places a one of her small, almost child-sized hands in his. "I would be most honored. The day is so fine and the weather so beautiful." Her other hand gestures at the darkness surrounding them and her smile is wry. "Can your eyes see in the darkness?" She adds the question as they step towards the edge of the light. "I know of your people, of course, but they are rare in Tianjing and my knowledge is far from completion."