Soar’s death save, rolled in avrae: 19

Jalt death save: 3

Bazavur’s grip on reality continues to fade…

he lifts his head slightly off the ground

looking for his companions. He hasn’t known them for very long, but he was ready to die to protect them the moment they took up arms together.

he sees them. Barely. The light from his sword barely illuminating the area. Lying on the ground ahead of him.

Soar, nearly laying on top of Jalt having done her best to protect him. He wonders briefly if this is one of her favorite things. Then coughs up a bit of blood as he remembers Jalt’s last words to him “Let then come to us.”

If only I had headed his words, maybe things would have gone differently.

Tangle beset by a pair of cultists. Unable to dodge all the their quick sword strokes despite her agility.

his eyes close.

thoughts drifting back to his family. Hoping they are safe. Hoping they will endure the consequences of his poor decisions.

his head falls back to the cave floor and for him (at this moment) all is quiet. 

Tangle rolled four death saves before dying: 7, 11, 7, and 8. For the record.

Soar rolled a 19 (one save), a 1 (one save, two fails), a 12 (two saves, two fails) and a 12 (three saves, two fails) and stabilized. She fell on top of Jalt, hadn't even had time to get off of him from her protective stance.

Bazavur rolled 6 (1 fail), 12 (1 fail, 1 success), 4 (2 fail, 1 success), 19 (2 fail, 2 success) and finally a 4 for three failed saves

The party fades to unconsciousness; and for Tangle and Bazavur, they fade further, away from life itself.

Soar and Jalt, you awaken at roughly the same time, in a new place. As you open your eyes, you see a rock ceiling above you, to tell you that you are likely in the same cave complex as before. It is completely dark, and Jalt, you immediately notice that the mask is gone and you have no darkvision.

You hear the faint sound of rushing water from the cavern where you fought the dragon, but it is distant. You hear the sound of movement; there is someone or something nearby, perhaps several someones. You are lying on the floor, and have not yet moved.

Soar lies there, and through cracked lids, she peers around. That was the worst nightm- 

Wait. 

That happened. They failed. She failed. She feels more than sees Jalt next to her. Listens for breathing. Okay. He’s alive. Tangle and Bazavur… they seem not to be here. Elsewhere. Perhaps the cult separated Jalt and her because of how long they have been struggling against them. She had to hold out hope that they were okay.

She closes her eyes again, and begins a prayer to Kelemvor. “I’ve failed. I feel like I missed a message or a sign. Maybe I should not have expected a sign, or grace from you. I tried my best and was not up to the task. … Maybe I need to make my own grace. Or I will make my own grave. Nothing but to do but take the next step. Do the next thing I can. Hold out hope for another step. The king of the grave calls for everyone. Perhaps that is what comes next. Until then, I can but try.” 

She opens her eyes again, all the way. Looks around. What does she see with her darkvision? How big is the room? Are there any items at all? Water? Stones? And as for the sound of people, movement, where are they? Are they moving things? Talking? Any sign of a dragon?

There is no response from Kelemvor. You do not feel that he has left you, or is with you more than usual.

Soar opens her eyes, and looks around. She immediately sees Jalt lying not far from her, chest rising and falling slightly, beginning to stir awake. To the other side, Tangle and Bazavur, not moving. Off to the side, a group of elves; perhaps a dozen, sitting on the ground in silence, regarding each other or regarding you. One is watching you keenly, a young woman. 

The room looks to have been a storeroom at some point in the past, though the wooden shelves against some of the walls are empty. The cave is more or less square, and thirty feet from side to side. There are some metal bowls on the ground near the elves, though all are empty. The elves sit quietly and mostly without moving much; they look tired, and afraid. 

No sign of the dragon.

Soar’s eyes dart to any opening - is there a door?

Her eyes fall on Bazavur and Tangle. She sits up slowly, looking for breaths, moving chests.

Assuming she doesn’t see any, she darts up and is at their sides, hands over noses to feel for the breath and ears close to chests to listen for a heartbeat. She’s seen this confirming part of the ritual of her faith many times. But never like this, not with fresh wounds, after disaster.

There is no door. There is an opening to one side that you expect leads to an exit, but not in line of sight.

No, there's no sign of breathing from Tangle or Bazavur. It's very clear that you and they have been stripped of all equipment.

As you inspect them, there's no doubt they are cold and dead. You can make a Medicine check if you wish.

One of the elves says, in a low voice: They told us to tell you that if you try to use any magic, we will all be punished for it.

Soar’s realization that Bazavur and Tangle are dead hits her, hard. Like a physical blow. She squeezes her eyes shut, and bows her head, teardrops flowing from the corners of her eyes. A breath. Two. She looks up a few degrees and begins a small silent prayer, the start of the ritual of the Passing.

She sits between the two, and begins to clean them up a bit, brushing stray hairs on Tangle, making Bazavur more comfortable-looking, vocalizing in low tones a basic prayer that they are not alone, that she is there with them. That Kelemvor may not be their god - he is not the god of many - but he will be ready for them, to help them on their way. That their lives were full of meaning, that they enriched Faerun, that they mattered. That he will walk with them to their destination, that he will allow them to feel anything they need to feel. That he has seen countless pass from one realm to the next but every single one matters. Part of the underlying meaning and purpose of her prayer is to alert Kelemvor to receive these souls.

Outwardly, it’s well-practiced, comfortable, something it’s clear Soar has seen and done many times, though not in a while, so while she may be a bit rusty on the  details, any discrepancy or gaps are filled with meaning specific to the individual as she knew them. The tears flow, mixing with the scabbed blood on her face, but she does not sob.

She does not allow herself to berate herself for her foolishness. For taking a chance that Talis would not be suspicious. For trying something. For starting the series of events that got her friends killed. For nearly getting killed herself. For ruining their mission’s goal. For allowing Tiamat’s minions to run wild in the Misty Forest. For disappointing Ontharr, and the king, and the Harpers, and everyone on the council. For being a failure. No. She had to get Jalt to safety. If there was a chance he could get free, continue the fight with someone more worthy, more dependable… these thoughts flow through her head in an instant. 

The actual prayer and ritual doesn’t take long at all, the actual words are few and quiet. But the intention and presence and meaning are palpable.

She looks up, ensuring Jalt’s chest still rises and falls, and then hears the elf speak. In response, she says,

“No magic left. What is your name? I would like to know your story. Do you know who we are? Do you know what happened?”

She looks at the wooden shelves, wondering if the there is a board she could remove and use as a weapon. Her ears are also trained on the passage out of here, listening for anything like movement, speaking, or breathing.

She may not live another hour but if she still had time, she would make use of it. 

Darkness.

A breath.

Darkness.

*cough*

Another breath.

Baha-mut?

Another cough. With another breath, his eyes begin to open but there is still darkness. Jalt takes a deep breath and finally opens his eyes widely but finds that the mask is no longer on him. Startled, he sits up but the pain radiates throughout his entire body. He hears a familiar voice and turns in that direction. Jalt listens to Soar’s faint voice as she starts to pray for the fallen. He immediately starts to check himself but he has been left with nothing but the clothes on his back. It has been a long time since Jalt has not worn the cloth of the clergy and the anxiety is growing at a fever pitch. As he starts to attempt to get back up, he sees Soar now and the fallen comrades. In Soar’s voice he can hear regret and sadness.  They must be dead he thinks to himself. He makes his way over to her and the others. What happened?

He closes his eyes again and he tries to convince himself that he is alive. 

Soar… are you ok?

Soar pauses when Jalt asks his question. A long pause. She takes a shuddering breath, and in a strained voice. “No.”

Then, a whisper. “What are we to do…”

Jalt stands up and surveys the scene. Whispering,  We find a way out. That is what we are to do...

He looks at the downed Tangle and Bazavur and then towards the group of elves there with them. Without my tools there is nothing I can do for them.  He points to the elves Who are they?

I am Grana, an elf replies. She swallows, and glances at the dark passageway leading from the cave. I am from Altand. We all are. We were taken when the dra... she hesitates again. We were taken, she says. I know nothing of you, or your comrades; she glances over now at the bodies of Tangle and Bazavur. I'm sorry - we were instructed to tell the guards when you awoke. I don't know what they intend for you, but we cannot disobey them.

Soar forces herself to lock eyes with Jalt, and a completely helpless look, one that possesses bottomless despair and guilt, and also perhaps the hint of iron determination to end their common enemies. She holds out a hand and if he holds his out in return she grips his forearm and attempts to stand, her stance a bit unsteady but she locks her legs under her and meets her tall friend at her full (much shorter) height. An understanding passes between the two longtime companions. This is not over. They will find a way. 

“Grana. I am Soar. We just walked from Altand, and came here to drive off or slay the dragon plaguing your forest. We arrived in this cave. I killed the dragon’s rider, who was he? Is the dragon still here? We- they- nearly slew it. Nearly. I will not stop you from obeying the orders from the cultists, I know you are scared. I get scared too. But if you want to hold on hope to seeing your families and your beautiful treetop village again, please tell me what you know of the situation out there. What happened. And if you have seen the Warden here. Even in the blackest night there are sparks.”

You killed... Grana gasps as she speaks in response to your statement, perhaps a little louder than she intended. But how...

(She cut off everything Soar said after that.)

What's going on? A voice calls from down the passageway. Are they awake?

Y...Yes, sir, Grana calls in reply. They just woke now.

You hear a shouted command, and four armed cultists, wearing familiar armour, walk along the passageway and arrive in the cave. You don't think you've seen them before; they're not the ones you fought in the cavern. The one in the front points at Jalt. You. Come with us, now. He beckons Jalt over with an arrogant wave of the hand.

Why? Jalt asks as he turns to face the cultists. Who are you? What is this place?