In the beginning...
It has been over a century since the death of the god Aroden plunged the world out of alignment and opened the Worldwound. The proud barbarian nation of Sarkoris was consumed by a demonic invasion, charging through the thinning layer of reality between our world and the Abyss. The followers of Aroden powerless and in dissaray, it fell to Iomedae and her clergy of priests and paladins to lead the counterattack in the first crusade, using the bordering nation of Mendev as the base of operations. Four crusades have been lead against the demonic invasion, the second being responsible for the creation of the vital wardstones, which have been instrumental in keeping the demons at bay.
It is 16 Aroden, late summer, and you are in Kenabres, a small border city in Mendev and home to one of the wardstones. The fourth crusade is dying. Although started with great intention by Queen Galfrey, it has slowly lost itself to supply shortages, in fighting between factions, and corruption brought on by the increasing numbers of exiled criminals and other social detritus sent north to join the ranks. Kenabres' own history has been troubled and noted for clashing factions, corruption, and a notorious, now shameful witch hunt lead by the city's current prelate Hulrun Shappok.
However, today that is forgotten. For several weeks, excitement has been building in Kenabres-Armasse is coming! Traditionally an opportunity for scholars and priests to come together to study the lessons of history from wars past, since Aroden's death, this holy day has become more about training commoners in weaponry, choosing squires, and ordaining new priests. Over time, Armasse has grown to encompass jousting competitions, mock duels, battle reenactments, and other festival events. In Kenabres, the festival 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. Armasse is a citywide celebration, but the majority of the event, including its jousting matches and other entertainments, takes place at Clydwell Plaza, just west of the cathedral.
The crowd roars as a lance splinters on a shield, scoring a joust for a popular paladin. The six of you stand amongst the thronged masses of Kenabres in Clydwell Plaza, the river to your backs and a the spectacular cathedral to St. Clydwell to your front. Thousands are packed into the plaza to witness the contests for the day. Around you people are laughing, clapping, cheering, and for the most part drunk. At the outskirts of the plaza a variety of merchants have set up, albeit with meager wares due to the ongoing supply shortage. Moving throw the crowd are a variety of street performers as well. It is currently mid-afternoon. The ruler of Kenabres, Lord Hulrun, is due to speak soon.
The young Kellid looks somewhat out of place amidst the crowd, but tries to make the best of his situation. He purchases a bit of roasted meat and some bread, and looks around at the city he hasn't seen in nearly six years.
Thora has a turkey leg in one hand and a chipped clay mug with only a couple sips of beer in the other hand, alternately biting and sipping as she tries to make her way through the crowd. She looks for a good place to watch the jousting action but it seems like everyone in the plaza is at least four times her height. The sound of the splintering lance reaches her ears and she slumps her shoulders, disappointed to have missed it.
"Kill him!" she shouts, waving the turkey leg vaguely, unsure of who hit who. Specks of turkey fly out of her mouth. "Give it to him! Right in the face!" She cackles.
I should have gotten a thicker cloak. It was late summer, but still cooler here than most winter days in Qadira. Still, the chill was quickly burned away by the sun, and the crowds lent more than a little excitement to the air. She had been told over and over by various people that she talked to how fortunate she was to have arrived in Kenebras for the Armasse.
The crowds don't seem to bother her as they do some of the others she watched. There were more people in Sedeq every day of the year than here at this festival...though not nearly as rowdy. Nor as varied. She watched dwarfs and tieflings walk side by side, saw a catfolk perusing the wares of a grippli, and even watched as an enormous barbarian from the north raised a halfling wagon clear off the ground.
Eventually, she made her way to the Plaza to watch the contests. She had a meat pie in one hand, and her other was on the hilt of her scimitar, pivoting the sheathed blade to be parallel with her body, the best way to move through the crowds. She moved lithely, avoiding contact with others when possible. No one had tried any deliberate contact since the drunk bearded man had grabbed her bottom, and then been thanked with her kukri through the offending hand.
What am I doing here, watching jousting and feasting as if on carnival day? Why did I listen to that old woman? This place is full of nothing but mercenaries and drunkards. The crusade is failing. How am I to achieve my goals here? Who here could heal a barren womb?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud shout from the crowd and a deep feminine voice shouting beside her, and flecks of food being sprayed across her. Grimacing in distaste, she looked down at the dwarven woman beside her and brushed the food from her clothes.
"I believe the food is meant to be swallowed, though from the looks of that half-cooked drumstick I would likely spit it out as well."
Thora regards the woman suspiciously for a moment before breaking into a huge grin.
"Oh, this old thing?" she asks, holding up the drumstick for inspection. "It used to be warm once upon a time. Probably yesterday morning. I think. Don't rightly remember now. To be honest, I'm gettin' a little bored with it."
She tosses it over her shoulder without a second thought, mindless of where it lands. Casting around for something to give her a better look at the action, she spies a bucket, dumps the contents on the ground, and brings it back. It gets overturned and she climbs on it, careful to keep her feet on the edges, rather than trying to stand in the middle.
"Nice day for a bit of the ol' rough-and-tumble, eh? Good spot of combat gets the blood flowing. If I were a bit taller, I like to think I'd be right out there with them. It's the blood of your enemies that keeps you young, y'know?" She chuckles to herself.
"Where are my manners?!" Thora asks suddenly. She looks around as though her manners may have followed her through the crowd. Clearly not finding them behind her, she licks the turkey drippings off her fingers and holds her hand out to the woman. "The name's Thora. Where'd you get that pie?"
Ronan watches the action around him, just out of the corner of his eyes he sees at the last moment a turkey leg flying at him. He steps to the side and lets the drum stick land with a thud next to him. He thinks to himself. Turkey legs flying though the air, well at least this time it was just the leg and not the whole turkey, remembering the last time and the guy that dropped the turkey saying "As god as my witness I thought turkeys could fly"
Sarkast watches in horror as the dwarf tosses the half-eaten meat to the ground. More to himself than to anyone else, he mutters, "Is this the way of the city? Discarding food just because it is 'boring'?"
As she climbs up onto the bucket and converses with the Kellish woman, Sarkast keeps to himself, continuing to watch the crowd. He fingers the carving of the butterfly on his wrist, hoping that perhaps he might spy the mysterious woman from his childhood.
Ayesha sighed and took the dwarven woman's hand in hers. "Charmed. I am Ayesha, and the pie came from a stall back that way." She waved her free hand to her right. "The stall is run by a woman as fat as you are tall. She must taste her own cooking quite heavily, and the results speak for themselves. It is a very tasty meat pie."
She took her hand back and surreptitiously wiped it on her cloak to get the remnants of grease and spittle off of it.
Looking at the crowd around him, the young human felt the depression that had swarmed over him since his arrival deepen even further. The people seemed so happy during the festival. Those who had any personal wealth were putting it on display, clearly contrasting the wear and damage of everything around them and even of some of the other things that they themselves wore. The foot soldiers were smiling and cheering, but much of their gear showed no signs of care or maintenance, a clear indication that morale and discipline were almost nonexistent. The Champions in the arena looked healthy and wealthy enough, tainting them as expressions of stage illusion to distract and mislead those looking for a reason to want to be alive. What have I gotten into? How is it that I am supposed to protect and guide any of these? What is it that you want me to do? As he spreads his hands apart, looking up to offer this silent prayer, something slaps the ground at his feet. Looking down he sees most of a turkey leg splattered in the street.
He stares at it for a second before reaching down, retrieving the leg and dusting it off as best he can. He glances around the crowd, then walks up to the hungriest looking woman he can find, and hands her the leg without saying a word. He moves away from her, thinking about what the smallest acts can mean, what impact they can have, but still uncertain how his presence can actually matter.
The nomad watches as the Kelesh man picks up the discarded meat and gives to another. He smiles, glad to see that there is thoughtfulness and kindness here. He muses that it could even have been Desna's hand guiding the dwarf to discard food that she could afford to be without, so that it could find its way to where it was needed. Thinking about the small fortune his tribe gave him for his trial, he decides he should honor his goddess as well, and finds another person to give his meal to. I shall know hunger today, and remember to remain humble. I do not know the dwarf's situation, so I shall not judge her actions, only my own.
"Never trust a skinny cook, Ayesha," Thora says gravely. Then she belches and smiles contentedly. "My Da always said 'if you can't eat your own cooking, then why are you feeding it to me?'"
A young, frightened looking teenage girl looks up at Meriui with huge eyes and takes the turkey leg wordlessly. She tears into it with glee.
The crowd quiets as Lord Hulrun takes to the podium after the set up for the joust is cleared away. There's been a great deal of interest about his speech, and some people are chattering about the possibility of a second witch hunt or another crusade.
Lord Hulrun Shappok himself is one of the most polarizing figures in the crusades. A brilliant strategist and military commander, he has saved countless lives and been instrumental in the fight against the demonic invasion. However, his hunt of cultists and witches during the Third Crusade brought both both the guilty and innocent to execution, which left a black mark on the church of Iomedae and the crusades themselves. Hulrun is a strapping, grey-haired man with prominent chin-whiskers. Despite his reputation for zealotry, he is a popular leader and his arrival greeted by a cheer. Solmenly, he raises a hand and clears his throat.
"People of Ken--"
You awaken with a pounding headache and many bruises and scrapes, though no serious damage. It is utterly dark and the scent of dust chokes your nostrils. You are on a rubble-strewn, hard stone floor that is somewhat damp to the touch. There are sounds everywhere; the clatter of rocks, distant rumbles and crashes, and the moans and groans of a small crowd of people awakening. The blood curdling scream of a man in utter agony pierces through everything else.
"AHHHHH AHHHHHHH! MY EYES! AHHHHHH!" The voice is hysterical, high-pitched, and distinctly male.
"Shut up! Gods my head hurts and... oh that's just great. This tunic cost six hundred gold! Ruined. I said shut up! Does anyone have a torch?" Another man, this one older, his voice gravelly and sarcastic.
"Please let's be calm. Shouting won't do any good. Just --ooh-- that doesn't feel right. What's going on? Where am I?" The third, lilting voice is that of a young woman, somewhat panicked.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!"
You are in a large cavern. The ceiling and far walls of this vast cavern recede into darkness. On one side, the wall has collapsed in an enormous mound of rubble. Here and there the arms and legs of victims who didn’t survive the fall protrude.
It appears that nine people survived the fall. The one who is screaming is a white-haired elven man in a good robe with a beautiful staff at his side. His face has horribly seared; his eyes are gone, just a mass of inflamed scar tissue remains. Lying relatively unharmed is an older human man, in extremely fine clothes and jewelry. A young woman dressed in dark leathers lies prone, wincing as she presses her hands against her leg.
Five others are around you, including a strange canine which obediently sits near a half-elf.
In the back of the cavern, a disturbing shape looms. Nearly the size of a horse, what appears to be an immense black spider crouches silent and still on the ground.
And so it begins ... and I am found wanting. Curse me for a fool for not having a torch in my pack!
The young Kellid rolls up into a crouch and begins feeling his way around, trying to figure out where he is without giving away his own position. He pulls one of his spears from his back and uses the butt end to probe around.
There is absolutely no light, just smell of dust, the sound of the people around you recovering from the fall, and the feel of the stone floor. You do your best to remain still and listen. You're fairly sure that you're underground as every noise echoes for a good long while and the air smells stale. There are around ten people here; none of their voices are familiar. The sarcastic, complaining man is right behind you, and the woman who spoke up is to your right. Most others are behind you. There doesn't seem to be anything in front of you aside from more uneven stone floor. As you try and clear your head you have vague memories of chaos, but it's all a confused jumble.
Checking by touch for his equipment, Meriui then pull his pack off and around in front of him, reaching into it and finding one of the torches inside of it. He places the torch on the ground between his legs, then he carefully closes the pack and puts it back on. As he works, he talks into the darkness. "Please, calm yourselves. It is dark, so there may be nothing wrong with your eyes. I certainly won't be able to tell until I can get one of these torches lit. After that, we can find out what our challenges are."
Finally, he reaches into his belt pouch for his flint and steel before positioning himself carefully (by touch) with the flint over the torch head and begins striking at it with the steel, waiting for Sarenrae to guide and feed the spark that the cries suggest is so desperately needed.
Ayesha sat up stiffly, and rubbed her eyes. When she was sure she was surrounded by darkness and not just injured, she willed a light into being on her shoulder. The area around them lit up, exposing the cavern and the people in it. There was the dwarf she had just been talking to, of course, and a few others.
"Here, I can make a light. Oh, dear Sarenrae!" This last was said as she saw the elven man's face. "What happened? All I can remember is darkness, some jumbled images."
Ayesha moved over to help the elf, not knowing if the wounds on his face were recent or old, but surmising from his comments that they were quite recent indeed. As she moved, she caught sight of the hunched form of the giant spider. She froze at the man's side, and slowly drew her kukri from her belt. "Beware the spider," was all she said.
Ayesha chants a small spell and a ball of white light appears on her shoulder, flooding the cavern. The spider has not moved yet and remains perfectly still, lurking at the edge of the light spell. This is joined by the torchlight from Meriui and the cavern is soon well-lit.
The brown-haired woman lets out a sigh of relief, but her face is pale and drawn with pain.
"Thank you. I'm Anevia. I ... well, I think I broke my leg." She tries to stand and promptly collapses with a gasp of pain. "Yes. Definitely broken."
"And my shoes! Bah, this is an outrage. Us Gwerms don't put up with this hogwash light--WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!" The older man lets out a shriek as he points at the hulk of the spider. Horgus then turns and looks at Jinxx. "And that?! Oh Gods we're surrounded by creatures of death!"
Thora grimaces and felt around for her axe.
"I hate spiders. Nothing good ever comes from spiders," she grumbles. "Best be taking care of it before it takes care of us. I, for one, have no interest in being hauled back to it's webby lair and drain of my sweet, sweet eye juices."
She runs at the spider and swings as hard as she can.
Jinxx go help that Dwarf with the spider
Battle Map - Please move your own tokens
Thora charges for the spider, but as she moves closer she notices that the spider is not moving like it should. Its legs remain perfectly still, but a bulge appears in its abdomen, wriggling wildly accompanied by a chewing sound. As she gets closer, the spider suddenly bursts open, and three enormous maggots crawl out to attack! Jinxx meanwhile has run up alongside Thora.
Round One
Rowena
Blue Maggot
Green Maggot
Yellow Maggot
Aravashnial
Thora
Anevia
Jinxx
Horgus
Sarkast
Meriui
Ayesha
Ronan
Rowena glances at Anevia's broken leg and then at the maggots. She could heal the leg later "Don't move! I'll heal you in a moment!"Rowena moves toward the cave wall and tries to get an angle on the maggot with her long bow. "Take that, you disgusting grub!"
Rowena draws her bow, takes a five foot step, and snaps off an arrow which pierces the blue maggot.
The maggots start undulating forwards, oozing with decay before they lunge out at Jinxx and Thora. Two of them gurgle for a moment before they spew the contents out onto Jinxx and Thora, covering them in rotting black slime!
Thora manages to get away from the most of the slime and hold her lunch in. However, Jinxx gets absolutely covered by the stuff and recoils before vomiting onto the floor.
The final maggot lunges out at Thora, but the stout dwarf batters it back with her axe.
Round One
Done:
Rowena
Blue Maggot (injured)
Green Maggot
Yellow Maggot
Up:
Aravashnial (near death)
Thora
Anevia (badly injured)
Jinxx (sickened)
Horgus
Sarkast
Meriui
Ayesha
Ronan
"What's going on? I can't see anything! Oh Gods I think I'm blind. What happened?! Please, my name is Aravashnial. Can somebody tell me what's going on?"
The elf has stood up, his eyes a ruin of scar tissue. He has his staff on hand and is poking around wildly, accidentally jabbing both Meriui and Ayesha.
Sarakast looks around as the lights come on. Horrified at the sight of the giant maggots bursting from the spider, he fails to react before they begin attacking the others present.
Once the beasts move up, he recovers his senses, and his battle training kicks in. He rolls up and runs a wide curve, trying to get into a good position, then jabs his spear at the creature.
There was no time for introductions as Ayesha leaped for the nearest maggot, spinning around the creature covered in black slime and wrinkling her nose at the smell. She circled out and around, coming at the maggot from the side, her kukri flashing in the light. The scimitar at her side was black as night in the cavern, and it remained in its sheath as the dancing elf slashed out with the curved knife. At the same time, her left hand glowed with arcane light that condensed itself into a pea-sized ball of acid that she flung at the maggot.
Move to side of topmost maggot, attack with kukri.
Sarkast and Ayesha both move in to circle the enormous maggots. With easy grace, Sarkast lunges out with a spear thrust that slams into the southernmost maggot. Although it wriggles horribly, it continues fighting.
Ayesha is more fortunate; taking advantage of the maggot's focus on Jinxx, she slashes it with her kukri and then slams a small ball of acid into the wound. The maggot collapses, twitching violently but most assuredly out of the fight.
Done
Rowena
Green Maggot
Yellow Maggot (badly injured)
Aravashnial (blind, near death)
Ayesha
Sarkast
Up
Thora
Anevia (badly injured, half speed)
Jinxx (sickened)
Horgus
Meriui
Ronan
Thora hacks at the maggot directly in front of her.
"That's for spitting on my best leg!" she bellows.
Jinxx attacks maggot(green)
Claw1 would be 9 to hit
Claw2 would be 17 to hit
Damage would be Claw1 Damage 3 and Claw2 Damage would be 4
Thora chops her maggot in two and Jinxx leaps over the dying maggot to slash the remaining one to pieces. The floor is now covered in bits of maggot and black ichor, but the fight is over.
END OF COMBAT
Jinxx sickened. Nobody else with new injuries or conditions.
It hasn't even been a minute since you woke up, and the chaos and confusion of the fall and then the combat finally starts to fade as the group gets a good idea of their bearings. It is here that the jumbled confusion of your thoughts sorts itself out and you begin to understand what happened:
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' greatest guardian, the ancient silver dragon Terendeleve, 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 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 spiralled 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 the 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 as the fall remained 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.
The ten of you now stand in this cavern with the stench of maggots filling your nostrils. Behind you, the horrors of the cave-in are revealed as you can see the bodies contained within the rubble. Those who were not killed by the fall were crushed beneath the rock and arms and legs can be seen sticking out from the rubble. Near the feet of Meriui, a slender arm protrudes from tons of rock, a turkey leg having fallen from its slackened grasp.
Amongst the carnage, six silver scales lie scattered amid the stones - each about the size of a human man's palm.
Ayesha cleaned her blade on the rubbery skin of the maggot before her, then slammed the kukri back in its sheath. She looked around the cavern again, with fresh eyes. As she saw the rubble, and the bodies in in, the memory of the last few moments above ground burst into her mind. The graceful dragon, dying to save them, the fall, the horrific demon ... it was an almost physical pain.
She moved back to the blinded elf, the elf called Aravashnial, and helped him regain his balance. "Please be still, wise one. The danger has passed." To the others she called "Can anyone perform healing magic here? He is blinded, and that woman over there looks to hae broken her leg."
As she was casting her gaze about, Ayesha noticed the scales. She moved to the nearest one and picked it up, marveling at its size and beauty.
Ronan goes over to Jinxx. "You did well" and starts to clean off the goo as best he can.
He looks around at the others.
"Please, restrain yourself! Some of our fellows attacked a dead spider, and had to fight gargantuan maggots that were apparently eating the corpse. We are standing in loose rubble stacked upon a large number of very recently dead people. If you move about unguided, you are very likely to cause more harm to yourself or to one of the other survivors." As the elf asks about healing, Meriui shakes his head. "I have neither magics nor training in mundane healing. Given the debris, we ought to be able to find something to make a splint from, though." Turning to the complainer, Meriui frowns. "Even as he himself was slain, Terendeleve found a way to save your life and ours. Without that sacrafice, we would be as dead as the others scattered about the room under this rubble. Your clothes are ruined, yes, but you can see that while he," pointing at the blinded elf, "can not. You can walk about this room while she," pointing at the girl with the broken leg, "can not. You breathe while none of these others do." Indicating the floor, and those on it. "Do not whine about scraps of cloth, but rejoice in your very breath. Look to find ways to repay Terendeleve for the opportunities that still lie before you!" As he finished speaking, Meriui readies his shield, grabbing the torch in that hand, preparing himself to move.
Then he moves to the blinded elf. "My name is Meriui. Reach out with your right hand, and feel my left elbow and my shield. Hold tight to either of them, and I will guide you as we move. If you will accept my help, that is."
As you grasp the scale, you feel the heavy sadness of the thousands of deaths and the fall of the great silver dragon. With that comes a resolute determination.
You are immediately aware of the scales' properties. This scale will allow you to cast align weapon three times a day. You may only make the weapon lawful or good, but can cast it on natural attacks and unarmed strikes.
As others tend to the wounded, Sarkast does what he knows: scout. He investigates the cavern, looking for any who might still be alive in the rubble, as well as checking the exits from the space for safety.
Once satisfied that there is no further immediate danger, he checks his compass and considers what he knows about their descent, trying to determine precisely where they might be and how best to escape.
"I am Sarkast, sometimes called Elk-Follower, of the Kellid people. I am a scout, and I will do what I can to help us find our way out safely. The mighty dragon sacrificed himself and saved us, let us make sure his action was not wasted."
Aravashnial holds out a hand, a weak smile on his face at Meriui's firm, but kind offer of support.
"I remember seeing Terenedelv slain. I think it was the balor's whip that caught me. I am lucky to still have my head, let alone my eyes. So we are underground. I smell no fresh air just... uch an awful stench. So unlikely there's a convenient route to the surface staring us in the face."
He pats Meriui on the arm and releases him. Aravashnial leans heavily on his staff.
"I a capable wizard and -- wait!"
With that, Aravashnial removes his pack and rummages through it, fumbling wildly. He produces a few bright blue vials and greedily drinks one. He falls to the ground with a groan of relief as the wounds on his face partially heal over.
"These won't bring my eyes back, I think I need powerful magic for that. But the pain is much better. Who had a broken leg? I can spare one." He rights himself. "As I said, I am a wizard and so can cast what spells I have memorized. Mostly summonings, which is good. Hard to aim an acid arrow like this."
Your knowledge of geography is of better help on the surface than it is below, but you can tell that you haven't gone very far. Kenabres' terrain includes a lot of rock like limestone which allows for extensive cave formation. You'd have to be a dungeoneer to really tell more.
However, your skills as a master tracker come in hand a little more. The tunnel you are in has not seen a lot of recent use, largely the giant vermin you've just slain. You do see some older evidence - weeks older - of boot scuffs on rocks.
As Sarkast explores more of the cave he see that it splits in two directions up ahead. To the left the passage is very narrow, and bends northwards out of sight. You hear nothing in this direction. To the right, the passage leads to a stone ledge, which just out at a right angle along the south wall of the cavern, fourteen feet off of the ground. The leather strap of a backpack hangs for the edge of the ledge, while above, a narrow fissure yawns up into the dark.
The grumpy older man sneers at Meriui.
"This is a Desendros cut garment, you lout. I imagine you wouldn't understand how valuable this is." Horgus sighs loudly. "But since I'm trapped down here with you people, we should be introduced. I am Horgus Gwerm of the Gwerms. I will pay you money - one thousand gold - to escort me out of here. I don't do fighting, but I'm sure to know something useful. Just don't listen to that mad conspiracy theorist Aravashanial, or little miss grabby fingers there - Anevia Tirablade! I know what you've been up to."
It is obvious this man is terrified and traumatized and trying his best to keep it hidden through a layer of bluster.
Aravashnial stiffens a bit as Anevia's name is mentioned again, but sighs and holds out the potion.
Anevia fumbles around her until she finds a bit of broken furniture from Armasse - what appears to be a beam in a stall. Leaning heavily on it, she limps over to Aravashanial and downs the potion.
"I thought you to be a little less generous Aravashnial, thank you." Anevia looks around at the group. "I don't know most of your names. Who are all of you? I'm Anevia. I suppose I can still be a decent archer with only one good leg... yeah, that'll take a while to heal. Oof."
"I imagine we are all going to get much dirtier before we find our way back to the surface. I am Ayesha Jalal, of Sedeq. I have some magics, as well as skill with the blade. If you like, Aravashnial, I volunteer to be your guide until we get out of this place."
Ronan Looks over at Lord Horgus 'What do you think of that bag of wind Jinxx'
As Jinxx is assessing Horgus he looks to Avevia and Aravashnial and says "I'm Ronan Black and this is Jinxx." gives Jinxx a scratch behind his ear"I too have skills in summoning, and some skill with this". he pats his crossbow.
As he is talking he wanders over to one of the silver scales and picks it up and looks it over.
Jinxx doesn't seem to have too much of an impression of Horgus, although Horgus recoils the moment Jinxx looks at him. You're unsure if its because of Jinxx's otherworld beastly appearance, or the fact he's covered in maggot puke.
As you grasp the scale, you feel the heavy sadness of the thousands of deaths and the fall of the great silver dragon. With that comes a resolute determination.
You are immediately aware of the scales' properties. This scale will cast levitate three times a day as a standard action. A pillar of roiling clouds will rise below the levitating object or creature, growing and shrinking with altitude. The pillar is 5' in diameter and will provide 20% concealment to anything wholly contained inside the pillar.