Korva knows, logically, that she can't make the teleport. She's never been able to spell kenning more than twice in one day, and it hasn't been for lack of trying. But Korva's magic has never been logical - not since Deskari's attack on Nerosyan, anyway - and the current situation is dire. Ember and Daeran are dead. She's called for the party to fall back, but their line of retreat is blocked by a bunch of demons that must have greater teleported in in the last couple seconds. Also, a Maralith has just cut the inside of her thigh, and the blood loss is going to fuck her right up if she can't fix it in the next half a minute or so. She should never have gotten her party into this position. It's her fault, and if she doesn't think of something, they will die of it. They may or may not be recoverable, if demons get to play with their remains after.

She needs help. She's needed help every hour of every day for six months, and never really gotten it; she's only ever really found herself, at the bottom of any of these holes that she digs. But she does, sometimes, find more of herself there. She's been this close to losing the entire party before. Half the time, it awakens some new power in her. 

Teleporting out, she says, over the still-active telepathic bond. Grab a friend. Arue, grab Daeran and get in contact.

She slings Ember's corpse across her shoulder, claps her spellcasting hand on Woljif's shoulder, and claps the one that holds Lariel's sword onto Regill's. Aivu skitters onto one of her feet, and she feels a hand on her own shoulder that she hopes to every god is Arue. She calls on the forces of Elysium, or on her own power, or on whatever the fuck it is she calls on when she does stuff like this.

The wind in the cave swirls around them. The butterflies that insistently follow her around these days flutter and land on her. She speaks a word - it's not the word she usually speaks - and she goes from the cave to somewhere else.



On the bright side, the place she lands sure looks like a crusader camp. On the not so bright side, it sure doesn't look like Drezen.

"We need a cleric!" yells Woljif, and that's about the last thing Korva hears before she collapses under Ember's corpse.

Korva knows, logically, that she can't make the teleport. She's never been able to spell kenning more than twice in one day, and it hasn't been for lack of trying. But Korva's magic has never been logical - not since Deskari's attack on Kenabres, anyway - and the current situation is dire. Ember and Daeran are dead. She's called for the party to fall back, but their line of retreat is blocked by a bunch of demons that must have greater teleported in in the last couple seconds. Also, a Maralith has just cut the inside of her thigh, and the blood loss is going to fuck her right up if she can't fix it in the next half a minute or so. She should never have gotten her party into this position. It's her fault, and if she doesn't think of something, they will die of it. They may or may not be recoverable, if demons get to play with their remains after.

She needs help. She's needed help every hour of every day for six months, and never really gotten it; she's only ever really found herself, at the bottom of any of these holes that she digs. But she does, sometimes, find more of herself there. She's been this close to losing the entire party before. Half the time, it awakens some new power in her. 

Teleporting out, she says, over the still-active telepathic bond. Grab a friend. Arue, grab Daeran and get in contact.

She slings Ember's corpse across her shoulder, claps her spellcasting hand on Woljif's shoulder, and claps the one that holds Lariel's sword onto Regill's. Aivu skitters onto one of her feet, and she feels a hand on her own shoulder that she hopes to every god is Arue. She calls on the forces of Elysium, or on her own power, or on whatever the fuck it is she calls on when she does stuff like this.

The wind in the cave swirls around them. The butterflies that insistently follow her around these days flutter and land on her. She speaks a word - it's not the word she usually speaks - and she goes from the cave to somewhere else.



On the bright side, the place she lands sure looks like a crusader camp. On the not so bright side, it sure doesn't look like Drezen.

"We need a cleric!" yells Woljif, and that's about the last thing Korva hears before she collapses under Ember's corpse.