The Crusaders

The Fifth Mendevian Crusade sealed the Worldwound at the conclusion of the war against the demon lord Deskari, roughly a year before this campaign's present. When the Crusade disbanded, Sera Voss's company scattered south through Avistan — guard work, caravan escort, employment that kept soldiers fed without asking them to believe in anything. They had spent six years holding a line against the Abyss. The line was held. The war was over. What came after was the work of figuring out what people like them do now.

Three weeks before arriving at the Citadel, all twenty-five felt the same pull, independently, without coordination. West. Then south. Then here. They converged on the road, compared notes, and followed it. Falwan identified it immediately: the divine residue left by the four-deity blessing still warm in the courtyard stones. The gods had arranged for a defensive force before anyone knew a defensive force would be needed.

Sera Voss

Human, mid-forties. Former paladin of Iomedae↗. The company's leader by seniority and temperament. Cropped grey-blonde hair, a shield arm that has carried that weight for years and found the angle that distributes it best.

She is direct without being blunt, measured without being cold. She introduced herself through a gate to a goblin and a halfling on a Hellknight battlement, stated her situation plainly, and waited. Whatever conclusion she drew about the welcome committee, she kept it off her face.

She voices fear as precise questions about contingencies. When Xerelilah laid out the plan — an open portal to the Abyss, held by one elderly caster, defended by whoever they had — Sera said: You are asking us to guard an open door to the Abyss. While you hold it open alone. And things will come through from the other side. She sat with it for a long time. She looked through the iron gate at her people drilling alongside goblins and kobolds. Then she stood, picked up her shield, and asked for the defensive plan.

She spent six years closing a Worldwound breach. It cost her people she loved. The distinction Xerelilah offered — this portal is held by someone who will close it herself; the difference is intention — was the thing she needed. She accepted it. She did not like the situation. She did the job anyway.

She takes injuries during the portal defense but remains on her feet.

Dorstan

Dwarf. Engineer and siege specialist. He had been looking at the Citadel's walls since before the gate opened, and he assessed the structural problems within minutes of entering the courtyard. The mortar on the eastern wall: poor condition, three or four months from failure in the lower courses. The south crenellations: patched with inferior calciumite, weather-sound but not siege-sound. He relayed this to Helba with the calm of a man reporting what he had already decided to fix.

He built fortifications at Drezen during the Crusade. The work Dorstan and Krezek did on the north and east corridors in three days — narrowing the north passage to a channel two defenders could hold indefinitely, resetting the east passage joints with proper mortar while Dorstan swore at the Hellknight calciumite in three languages — was the collaboration of two people whose professional vocabulary overlapped completely despite the language barrier between them. Dorstan pointed. Krezek understood.

His observations are actionable intelligence. The Citadel's fortification needs, the wall weaknesses, the sight-line gaps: he has catalogued them all. Whether those observations become a longer-term contribution depends on whether the party gives him reason to stay.

He fights on the courtyard floor during the portal defense. He is grey-faced against the eastern wall when the party returns, applying pressure to a wound, but sitting up.

Maren

Half-elf. Ranger. Former Worldwound scout, four years scouting inside the breach. She stands apart from the others at a distance that looks habitual rather than deliberate, watches treelines rather than courtyards, and did not introduce herself at the gate. She has not started watching the courtyard until Maren considers the treeline empty enough.

She does not talk much. She talked about this.

When Theo found her on the wall before the portal opened, she briefed him without being asked twice. The air tastes wrong. Copper and rot. Breathe through it, don't fight it — fighting it makes you tense, and tension makes you stupid. The plane works on your feelings like weather, not enchantment. Your anger has a history; the Abyss's anger doesn't. If you can't find the reason, the feeling isn't yours. Let it pass.

She told Nadira directly: the plane will hate her specifically. Holy sanctification in the Abyss is like walking into a dark room carrying a torch. Everything in the room knows exactly where and what you are. She did not say this to frighten her. She said it because a warpriest who knows the target she paints is a warpriest who can make tactical use of it. Good. You think like a fighter, not a pilgrim.

She said it to Theo last: he killed Bullbutcher on this side. The Abyss remembers. It will feel personal, and it will be. When he said mostly hot-headed, she allowed something that was not quite a smile. "Mostly is honest. I'll take mostly."

She is on the walls during the portal defense with her bow strung, facing inward — for the first time since she arrived, she is not watching the treeline. She promised nothing gets to the priestess.

Brother Callum

Human, late twenties. War-priest of Gorum↗. He joined the Crusade in its final year and carries the confidence of someone who participated in a victory alongside the awareness that others paid more for it. He read about the Bumblebrashers in Crusade intelligence summaries, which left Helba adjusting her mail in quiet satisfaction at being in the record.

He volunteered immediately to go through the portal. He was told he was needed on the Material Plane side. He understood the logic and stayed, which is not the same as finding it easy. The look on his face — hunger and discipline in equal parts — was the face of a man who has been told no by someone he respects and is choosing to honor that.

During the portal defense, Callum takes a significant hit. Ysma is tending him when the party returns. He is not killed. He got his fight. The cost was real enough to quiet the eagerness.

Ysma

Gnome. Alchemist and field medic. She is small even by gnome standards and carries more bandages than weapons. She assessed the Thornscales' nutritional deficits by watching how they moved and had already knelt beside the nearest one before anyone thought to ask her to. She told Falwan: You have other patients I should know about? Falwan described the garrison. Ysma unpacked her kit.

Her professional recognition of Nadira's work was specific, not warm — the respect of one field medic assessing another's results. Eight kobolds walked across a continent with arsenic integrated into their nerve tissue and arrived alive. She had professional questions about the field protocol. The acknowledgment registered and moved on immediately to the next problem, which is characteristic.

She offered a chelation compound she developed for Mendev↗ miners working contaminated seams, framed precisely: your patients, your plan, this is a tool not an opinion. She wants Nadira's recipe for the nerve symptom preparation because she suspects it is better than hers. The conversation was deferred until after the Abyss. It will continue.

She operates from the walls during the portal defense, providing alchemical fire support and treating wounded. The courtyard she tends when the party returns is battered but intact, and that outcome is partly hers.