"... Half-elf, dark hair, pale skin, snake pendant thing?"

Horgus Gwerm looks... tired. Like he already knows what answer his response will bring.

"Yes. Camellia."

"Well. My condolences, then. Her body's that way, if you'd like to recover it." He doesn't say it, but one can still nonetheless hear him recommend she not get raised.

Then he looks back to the man who he killed her to save, and asks, all detached professionalism, "Could I have my ring back, please? I'll go investigating topside."

Horgus Gwerm closes his eyes. "...no one will blame me, if I do not," he whispers.

     Aldo the wizard does not want to stop playing with the ring.

Anevia Tirabade the rogue and spymaster takes it deftly out of his hand, the motion smooth and immediate, and flips it Veronwards like a coin. "Desna smile on you."

Veron catches it and returns it to the finger it came from just as smoothly. He suspects Anevia's aware that he could also have just taken it back as easily as she did, but he's glad she spared him the social capital of being the one to take the poor wizard's shiny toy away from him. He'll get to see it again later, probably, whenever Veron finds something better, or gets his old stuff back.

He obviously does not recognize the invoked goddess, but well wishes are appreciated nonetheless.

"Thanks. You too. Try to stay safe."

And then he turns, inspects the crevasse above them critically, then disappears midway through climbing it as easily as some men climb out of bed.

All right. How on fire is everything up here? Moderately, yeah?

For values of moderately.

Everywhere he looks, there is either a demon, or a small group of crusaders standing guard, or a small group of crusaders murdering or being murdered by demons.

Except for a two-hundred-square-meter radius which contains a large group of crusaders clashing with a small group of very unpleasant-looking demons, Prelate Hulrun at the helm. "STAND AND FIGHT," he bellows as he impales a vrock on his blade, "OR I SWEAR TO EVERY GOD ABOVE NORGORBER YOU'LL WISH THE DEMONS KILLED YOU!"

Yeah, about what he thought.

"Well, you heard the man," says Veron blandly, assisting one of those small groups of crusaders that was on the wrong end of the murdering and then ushering them to join their obvious commander.

He will not be joining the tidy group of crusaders that are all neatly making a defensive wall, and it's rather hard to keep track of him, but, well. His presence is nonetheless felt. Look at all of these demons that are open to being flanked!! Truly, Tymora favors him. Or thinks he's great fun to kick around like the prized ball in a match. Or both. Could go either way, really.

Hulrun realizes pretty soon that someone's playing silly buggers, but it's not until the tide has been turning for a few minutes that he actually catches a glimpse of Veron.

It's not until several minutes after that that he notices that Veron has a very peculiarly shaped bag.

By this point, the battle has actually cooled enough that he can hand off the babau he's been hacking at off to a subordinate before stalking over to Veron's general location.

"Is that. Her head," he asks, breathing heavily.

He winces, even as he sends Camellia's dagger into a vrock's eye socket.

"Yes. I would like to submit it to your authority for raising. ... I'll need either a Sending or a Plane Shift to get the rest of her."

Hulrun has so many questions.

Hulrun is so practiced at not asking those questions at times like this. He reaches into a belt pouch and shoves a wand at Veron. "Sending. Do you also need a Raise Dead scroll."

"Nope, should be good. I owe her a diamond, anyway."

He is perfectly capable of activating a wand. There is, like, one person in all the multiverse that he can dump this nonsense onto and get the immediate reply of "WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG," and fortunately, that person knows Plane Shift. It's about time to call for backup anyway.

With the practiced ease of a man who is accustomed to the 25 word limit of a Sending, he says: "Hey Deeks. Got mugged, now in new plane. Fought some demon locust thing. Need help getting silver dragon corpse from shadow plane. Hope you're well!"

Boss getting quicker. Deekin not finish tea. Ksxksskrth make scones, very disappointed. ETA 12 seconds.

12 seconds later, there is a kobold with bright silver scales, a crossbow strapped to his back, and at least three Bags of Holding on his person. He hugs Veron's leg.

Veron beams at him.

"Hey, buddy," he says warmly, patting Deekin's little scaly head. "Good to have you here. Permission to scoop?"

Normally Deekin would refuse, but actually: paladins make him nervous, and there are a bunch of them, like, everywhere.

"Granted!" Deekin chirps. He stretches out his wings.

Thus, the little winged kobold is scooped up for an enthusiastic hug, spun around once, and then gently set back onto the ground.

"Ksxksskrth get you all set up with a scroll and, uh, stuff already?" He realizes belatedly he didn't explain anything to Ksxksskrth, just kind of. Dumped a beheaded dragon on him. Oops. Sorry.

"Yes. Also scones."

Deekin hands Veron a scone and turns to Hulrun.

"Excuse Deekin. Big holy man have place he want dragon coming back?"

Hulrun does not have time to spend gawping at this ridiculous man and his kobold jester, so he has been killing demons, and only incidentally listening in on their conversation.

That said, he immediately turns his head and says "Behind the shieldwall. We'll protect you while you cast."

"Kay!"

Deekin upends one of the Bags of Holding. Terendelev's body slides out of it, in exactly the condition in which it was appropriated. Deekin then grabs Veron's head-bag, removes the head, and lines it up with the body as appropriate.

Then he takes out the scroll and starts singing the magic out of it.

It's going to take a while.

Veron finishes his scone, pats Deekin on the head affectionately, then swaps his enchanted bag (not a Bag of Holding, for some reason Ksxksskrth gives those to Deekin instead of Veron, which is very unfair) for the now empty Bag of Holding. What kind of adventurer is he if he can't even stash everything not nailed down into a very large bag? A terrible one, that's what.

This reassured, he heads off to go assist in demon killing. Whee! Melee people to flank with!

Ten minutes later, a silver dragon's neck finishes knitting itself back together, and the once-corpse takes a large, shuddering breath.

"... Oh, that was a bullshit lucky hit," are the first words she hisses with that breath. "I had a Word of Recall ready to go once I'd drawn him out of the city and he just--!!! Ugh."

Deekin takes his first breath in ten minutes, and a sip of chilled water.

"Deekin relate. Scythes be like that."

"How can such a stupidly shaped weapon be so good at just the right angle! It's absurd, how doesn't he accidentally cut off his own... Ahem." She shifts to something a bit less taking up the square.

"Thank you very much for your service in raising me, sir, uh." She pauses, and has absolutely no idea how to continue. She... has been raised by a kobold??? With wings?? This. This is a very confusing day, okay.