The temple of lost souls, group 1, A, Wombats

[nysisobli]

The smell of musty air emanates all around you. An afterimage of a gigantic hand lingers in your minds eye. All around you, you can see only darkness.

This sensation goes on for several long moments, any spells you cast to gain perception or clarity have no effects. You see yourself from outside you body.

You are falling, you hit a stone floor hard, around you you see 3 others.
Feeling yourself being violently pulled into your body, you awaken. You are in a dark tomb, around you are stone caskets. The air is thick with the smell of must and decay, there is no pathways out of the room your in.

The stones of the walls seem to shimmer, as the provide enough light, marks appear to be moving across the stone.

ooc: Let player interaction begin

[Wraithkin]

There are a few curses and angry words thrown out in a variety of languages as one of the four moves around. "T, you still alive?" The words are flung out in celestial, abyssal, and snervneblin as the powers he has active finally come back to him. He slowly stands and feels around the room with his mind, trying to discern their surroundings in detail. He knows there are two strangers in this room, and he struggles to remember how they got here in the first place. Last he knows they were plane shifting to the material plane and got shunted here.

Shaking his head, he walks over to the walls and starts examining them visually, ignoring the caskets knowing Troce will likely look at those on his way to the walls. Or not.

To the newcomers, the speaker appears to be a lithe man, roughly six feet in height with a pair of gossamer wings hanging down off his shoulders. He moves with an otherworldly grace, something that is a bit unnerving given his height. His pointed ears do nothing to help you get at ease, for they are longer than any elf's. Adorning his body is a dark green ninja's hood, leaving only his eyes exposed. Those eyes are covered by custom-fitted pieces of crystal that are darkened and block all attempts to make eye contact with the man.

He wears a simple mouse-colored tunic and dark green breeches and boots, and a cloak of similar dark green graces his shoulders. On his back rest a pair of what appear to be short swords, hung in an x-pattern upside-down on his back, with a quiver and crystalline bow nestled between his wings. He has a pair of dark-brown bandoleers that look to be covered in sand, as well as a pair of a similarly-appearing pair of ovoids dangling from his waist. Each of his thighs holds a small box-like rig holding gods-know-what. You can't fully discern what else he has on him, though it would appear he's come prepared.

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Alrighty. Let's find out what's going on here. Walls! craft: Sculpting - (1d20+28)[35] to find out if this is magically formed or just chiseled out. knowledge: Architecture - (1d20+24)[25] to find out if we have any impending doom and where the exit would most likely be. With my touchsight up, I don't need to make any spot or listen checks, looking for a hidden latch or door or something. Taking twenty on search using my touchsight (total 35). And... Knowledge: The Planes - (1d20+24)[27] to see if we're actually still on the PMP. That should do it.

Edit: Wow, them's some crappy rolls.

[nysisobli]

OOC: you are still on the material plane, the walls were sculpted, and the knowledge architecture doesn't tell you where the way out is, you find no hidden latches.

[Forgotten T.S.]

Troce lays silent for a full minute as he brings together his powerful mental faculties. Inside he was a whirlwind, the careful gates of influence, patches of subjective thought, and shields of power were twisted in a mock-disarray of his former impressive mental defenses. In an instant, it was returned, but he spent the better part of the minute seething in rage in a way that none could possibly see. However, time waits for no man, and Torce felt the powers that be inside of him scream for action! While he retained control, he nonetheless agreed with every word they hissed, or shouted, inside of his soul.

Carefully he drew himself up to his full height of 6'4". His body frame appeared to be none to average, aside from the conealing affects of the bulky battle robes he wore. He held no items across his form, aside from a small silver dagger on his belt among the various spell-component pouches that littered his belt. Really what defined Troce among people wasn't the oddities he carried... but the oddities that formed him.

Troce has long sweeping black hair, currently pulled back in fine aristocratic knot. Hanging above his head, no more then half a foot, was a brilliant glowing halo. His eyes were solid black, with silver twinkling stars inside of them, though this was already hard enough to see in the dark roomHe had pristine pale skin, as if he had never stepped out into the light of day in a thousand years. That is, were it not for the image a seething ball of flames and power in the middle of his forehead shining off light all around him as if it were a torch. If not for this, Troce appears to be a rather simple, if not handsome man, of some low wealth judging by the tattered garments he wears.

He pauses as he looks around, first at his companion, "Yes... I seem to have made it through this happening with limited instability." The moment words leave the mans lips, everyone hears whispering begin around them. It's hard to make out, even if you strain your focus entirely. The whispers are soft, beguiling, with no clear form or direction. You look around, but nothing exists to give reason or place for the disembodied voices that come from all around. A few moments after he finishes speaking, the voices fade away, but their memory remains somewhere in the dark lost parts of your minds.

His eyes then swing to the walls, but he doesn't let the spectacle amuse him, before they settle on the two other people stuck in this room with him. He studies them a moment, as one would an insect under glass, before he smiles, "Hello humanoids. It seems my friend, and myself, were brought here against our will. Would you know why?"

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OOC Notes

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I'm not sure what sort of knowledge I will need to roll for the marks on the walls, or any markings of the caskets. I have Arcane Sight going on me at the moment. I will concentrate as needed.

[Kobold-Bard]

Krall

Sitting up at the sound of the voices, Krall was once again grateful for being a Gnome, his eyes specifically built for these conditions, the darkness posing him no concern whatsoever.

The man is barely 3 1/2 ft tall, and except for the fact that he is in this unusual place, he is completely unremarkable. Black travelling clothes, more akin to a rogues night fatigues. Looking around at the "sky-highs" as he called them, Krall checked himself over, taking a look into his magical haversack to esure his spellbook was still there, before he walked over to the nearest casket and began examining it for anything to identify it's contents.

"You alive quiet guy?"

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Knowledge Arcana: (1d20+31)[50]

[Killerloop]

Ichabod

A man in his thirties raised to his feet, he is completely covered in mithral plating and carries a spear which strikes fear and despair at the mere sight. Ravaging energies run through it and make it glow with different lights, from red to purple to blue and back.

The man is nearly six foot tall and it is clearly a cleric.

"For Cuthbert holy sandals! What the hell happened here?"

[Forgotten T.S.]

Troce quirks a brow, and looks to his companion, "Were their ears made non-functional? What slight did they perform to warrant such aggressive punishment? I will have to completely phase Sonic Arcanery out of my repetoire." A worried expression crosses his face as he steps towards the Cleric of St. Cuthbert.

He raises a hand, snapping a finger, and without a form, magic sparks inbetween his fingers. The sparkling embers of magic form out inbetween the man, spelling a message in the air:


Humanoid Worshipper of St. Cuthbert,


It is an aggregious unfortune that our shared Patron, and whatever Gods included, took from your ears the power to process sound. I am sure for your generation this is a normal thing, but I find it hard to come to terms with. Why, back in my day, everyones ears processed functional sono just fine!

I had asked you, and the other man over there (there is an arrow pointing to Krall), if you had any idea of where we currently were. I judge by your exclamations, which I wonder how you have learned to talk when you cannot hear, that you are unknowning in what exactly is going on this particular portion of the Prime.

You seem to be a member of St. Cuthberts order of divine clerics. My name is Troce... I am touched and gifted by St. Cuthbert for my works in Soul Prison Fabrication. A technique I developed back in my day, and gained great renown and honor for. You have probably read of me.

We are in a dangerous and ignorant situation at the moment, and I fear that without all our faculties, we will not make it out of here alive. Thus, I fear for your life, as your faculties have not be gifted upon you. However, due to your divine allegiance, I promise I shall do all I can to see you through this time of turmoil, as our Patron, would want of me. Afterall, when that stick isn't jammed very far up his arse, he is a very pleasant and talkative being.


The embers end off here... and Troce smiles at you, like one smiles at a child who has some disability or handicap, hoping to impress upon them, their good intentions.

[Robek]

Talbot picks himself up and tightens his cloak around himself. He is a little more than two and a half feet tall, and very lean. He is wrapped in a dark cloak, hiding his face from those around him. His right hand is resting on the hilt of his dagger, and he is watching the other four in the room intently.

"Oy, where am I? You two there, you seem to be fellow worshipers of St. Cuthbert, is that correct? Perhaps through the combination of our intellects, and a prayer or two, we can figure out why we are here."

[Kobold-Bard]

Krall

So they all follow St. Cuthbert. Good to know thought the Gnome.

[Wraithkin]

"Gods, if I have to hear you guys rant about how superior Cuthbert is, and how great his followers are, I might have to off myself." He rolls his eyes, and his friend picks up on the running joke that's been shared between the two for some time. He turns to look at Talbot, and shakes his head. "No. Why is not the first thing we should worry about. How to get out is. This is a sealed room made by mortal hands, and there are no ways out. There is no way for fresh air to come in here... meaning you might suffocate soon."

Leth'nil sighs, walking away from the wall and next to his friend. "Anything arcane popping up to you?" If the others didn't know any better, he doesn't appear to even seem to recognize their presence as he has yet to look at them directly. "More accurately," he turns to look directly at his friend, "anything that will blow up if we try to mess with the structure of this place?"

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Uhh... not to be a jerk, but we now have 5? Nothin' against you KL, but I thought that there were only four in here.

[nysisobli]

ooc: 2 more peeps jumped in

[Robek]

Talbot activates his Ring of X-Ray Vision, and walks the perimeter of the room, hoping to see anything on the other side.

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On command, this ring gives its possessor the ability to see into and through solid matter. Vision range is 20 feet, with the viewer seeing as if he were looking at something in normal light even if there is no illumination. X-ray vision can penetrate 1 foot of stone, 1 inch of common metal, or up to 3 feet of wood or dirt. Thicker substances or a thin sheet of lead blocks the vision.

Using the ring is physically exhausting, causing the wearer 1 point of Constitution damage per minute after the first 10 minutes of use in a single day.

I cancel it after I have walked the full extent of the room.

[nysisobli]

All you see is yourself walking around the room, like you are looking in a mirror

[Killerloop]

Ichabod scratches his head after Troce spell ends.

"I can hear you perfectly, sir." he said "and if I hear, or read, you again talking that way about my patron deity's bottom locations I will punish you."

"And about you" said Ichabod turning towards Leth'nil "I have no interest in talking to you about my god unless you are an atheist or in other words... a Faithless" he said this last word gulping, like it offended his mind and tongue.

[Forgotten T.S.]

Troce's face lights up with a genuine smile as he looks to his companion, "Oh, thank goodness. I was worried there, it would take me decades to adjust to this new phenomenon. However..."

He looks back to Ichabod, "I will speak of Cuthbert anyway I choose. If He has an issue with it, He may speak to me at our monthly discussion panel. He isn't your Patron deity alone, as I wrote." Troce reaches up, and flicks his halo, which wobbles a little above his head, before sitting crooked and still. His attention shifts back to his companion, "I don't think he is an Acolyte. I was sure we had weeded out this arrogant superiority and self-righteous abundance out before I left. I would of lashed a lad for this sort of attitude. He must be part of the Errant Guard, or perhaps that silly Inquisitional Brief I read about."

He seems to have grown bored, or unimpressed, with his fellow Cuthbert worshipper and moves over to one of the caskets, "L. You say this is a complete seal? How very drawl... have you attempted extra-planier movement? I doubt it will work... though, I'm curious how exactly someone is trapping us here. If you cannot come up with an escape plan in approximately 2 minutes, I will be forced to unleash the full destructive force of my power, in what will more then likley turn into, while impressive and flashy, a feeble attempt of insecurity."

[Killerloop]

Upon hearing the answer from Troce Ichabod smiles like he expected those words, but says nothing and keeps a satisfied smile for a good minute.

"I don't think we can teleport or planeshift while in there, I'm not ever sure magic actually WORKS in this place. I have a feeling of emptiness" said Ichabod, looking worried.

"Maybe we should try to find some hidden door or passage. If that fails we need to find a thin wall to smash"

[Forgotten T.S.]

Troce - Saint of St. Cuthbert

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Everytime Troce speaks, you hear whispering begin around you. It's hard to make out, even if you strain your focus entirely. The whispers are soft, beguiling, with no clear form or direction. You look around, but nothing exists to give reason or place for the disembodied voices that come from all around. A few moments after he finishes speaking, the voices fade away, but their memory remains somewhere in the dark lost parts of your minds.

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Troce raises an inquisitive brow, "You ponder that magic doesn't work inside of this room? After witnessing me cast a spell right infront of your face? Despite the obvious glamour effects upon my body?" Troce shakes his head as he looks to his companion, "Eyeballs has more intelligence."

"No... I have no doubt magic works. Perhaps a dimensional lock... or... just a simple trick of the mind." He shrugs at his companion, "Attempt extra-planier movement. I will be ready should something adverse happen."

[Killerloop]

"Don't cross the line" said Ichabod with a serious tone, not enraged but slightly irritated.

"I can accept that you talk to Cuthbert with your own 'point of view' about respect and deference, but I won't accept lack of respect towards me."

"As for the magic I can clearly see that we are able to cast spells, but you can't be sure if they will work correctly. A dimensional lock would be the best thing... what about a dimensional twist? Or a nice trick that sends you to Negative Plane instead of Ethereal or Shadow?

Anyway I won't stop you, try as you like. I'll see if there is some way to get out of here without using magic of that kind"

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Icahobod starts testing the walls, looking for hidden triggers or weak spots.

Search: 22

[Wraithkin]

Leth'nil sighs, more to himself than at the conversation between the two cudgel worshipers. He doesn't even look at the man as he responds to the godless part. "Despite my friend here being favored amongst your kindling-worshiping brethren, I only do one thing: Acknowledge their existence. They have done me no favors in my disgustingly long life, and thus I do not pay homage to them. It would be wise of you to let this matter of divinity drop." His voice is a whisper, and it travels around the room as if a light breeze could erase it from existence.

He walks to a casket and examines it. Troce notices a slight change as his friend moves. "You have to remember, T, that they likely haven't improved over the last few centuries that you've been cooped up. Remember my reports? War and contempt is all they know." He speaks as if he is reading from a report. The fact that he is reading from an image in his mind is absolutely beside the point.

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Okay... few powers going off here. First, fabricating the walls in various locations. If it doesn't work, then I won't go past one. Then, telekinetic force to move the lid off one of the coffins, each in turn if they fail as the duration shouldn't be a problem. If that doesn't do anything, then moving on to dispel psionics/magic dispel check - (1d20+20)[25] on the wall. If that fails, I'll give it a shot on one of the caskets dispel check - (1d20+20)[26]. Unless those are horribly ungodly rolls, I probably won't do it again. After that's done, will do Sensitivity to Psychic Impressions to see if there's something in the past that I need to know about. All of these powers are being manifested by my partition as I look around and physically examine the caskets with eyes on instead of my other powers. Also, do I sense any hostile intent?

[Killerloop]

Ichabod was seriously worried upon hearing that the man is one of the Faithless.

"I'll spend a few more words, because it is my duty to do it under any circumstance. I strongly suggest that you find a deity you like and worship him or her, otherwise when death will come for you there is a .... really nasty surprise added."

The mere idea makes Ichabod lips twitch a little as he return to the searching duty

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Search checks on stone caskets, still 22

[Kobold-Bard]

Krall

"Centuries you say, what exactly are you two then?" asks the Gnome as he sidesteps the now airborne coffin lids and moving to the side of the room that the militaristic...man(?) has already covered.

He then proceeded to pull out a pair of unusual silver glasses and donning them he floated 10f in the air, "sat down" and spoke a name before chuckling to himself.

[Forgotten T.S.]

Troce - Saint of St. Cuthbert

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Everytime Troce speaks, you hear whispering begin around you. It's hard to make out, even if you strain your focus entirely. The whispers are soft, beguiling, with no clear form or direction. You look around, but nothing exists to give reason or place for the disembodied voices that come from all around. A few moments after he finishes speaking, the voices fade away, but their memory remains somewhere in the dark lost parts of your minds.

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Troce looked to his companion, "He is correct you know. When you die... you'll become rather powerful, create a demi-plane, and have to put up with me for over half a millennium. That's a terrible surprise... it's almost as bad as two-week old pineapple-upside-down cake." He shivered in disgust, even though it had been centuries since his last piece of food.

His eyes shift to the gnome, "Us? Why, we are bipedal humanoids. Well... that's not terribly true. One of us is a large-bodied member of the corvus family." He smiles pleasantly, he seemed to enjoy this banter.

He looked to his companion again, "Still... it is as I said. I thought we lashed this supremecy out of the ranks. It's terribly shameful... I will need to bring it up in four days. I think new business is this decade. I hope so... otherwise, an addendum is in order next time." He shakes his head, the halo wiggling, but eventually self-righting.

[Wraithkin]

His grits his teeth at the crass behavior and rude questioning. He turns to look at the twig-lover with a flat look (though you still can't see it due to the ninja mask and sun lenses) as he is scouring the place in vain. "Clearly, Cuthbert didn't deem you fit to provide you with half a wit of intellect in that hollow case of a skull. If he and I have been alive for centuries, and he is on a first-name basis with your 'oh-so-great' stick of a god... " he looks over his shoulder at his companion, "no offense..." he turns back to look at the man, "you don't possibly think that we might have had a conversation or three about the topic?"

He sighs and turns around and glares at the floating short person. "And you, stay out of our personal business. We don't know you, and asking questions like that will not do you any good. Take this as your warning."

[Kobold-Bard]

Krall

Krall laughed at the answer.

"If your Humanoids I'm an Ogre. Fine, you may keep your secrets for now, I'm a patient man. But since you seem to know each other, perhaps you know where we are or why we're here."

[Forgotten T.S.]

Troce lifts his hand, "L. Please, calm down. That was absolutely uncalled for. That tiny bipedal creature did absolutely nothing to you. I believe he might be a gnome... you remember how nice that one gnome was. What was his name? Twinkletoes? Crazybread? Whatever it was... this one is rather polite."

He shakes his head and looks to Krall, "I apologize for my friend, he doesn't much enjoy being ripped out of a partially complete planier transfer, to be stuffed in a box with three unidentified, possibly dangerous beings. I'm not sure what the problem is... but, I would ask you excuse him."

He ponders the gnomes words for a moment and shrugs, "I have no idea. I would assume it is because we are creatures of power. Much like all of you, are more then likley, creatures of power. These sorts of situations tend to crop up."

[Killerloop]

Knowledge (religion) check to see if I recognize Troce as a Saint: (1d20+2)[9] It is +7 so 16.

Upon hearing the next insult and a threat to the life of another creature Ichabod gripped his spear firmly and put a hand on his full plate, despite all their claims he can feel that his aura was the strongest in the room and they deserve a punishment for their attitude.

Still, he wasn't sure. Killing for words is an evil act and they would sure answer with deadly force, making not killing impossible.
Furthermore there was something about the one who claimed to be a follower of Cuthbert.... something right.

So he pulled down the hand and loose the grip on the spear. Today is not a good day to fight, for now at least.

[Wraithkin]

"No." He shakes his head. "No!" A pause later and he sighs. "Fine." Reaching back behind his cloak, he pulls a small semi-opaque purple crystal no more than two inches across and an inch thick. Holding it up level to his eyes, he scowls slight. "Why? Why do you need to? You think you know something I don't?" Turning over to Troce, he shakes his head. "Can you think of any reason to give him flight? He's asking for it." It is quite clear he's speaking about the rock.

Glancing over at Ichabod grab his stick and tin can, he rolls his eyes and looks back at Troce expectantly.

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Yes. He's talking to a rock.

[Kobold-Bard]

Krall

"I can't help but notice that you're talking to a rock. Were you injured in the fall?"

With a chuckle the Gnome lands and readjusts his glasses, this time aiming the magic directly on the room's ceiling, looking down at them. He then tapped a red bead on the side of them, and the bizarre bird's eye view of himself and the others filtered out any magical illusions or barriers, hopefully revealing a way out.

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The glasses mimic Greater Scrying, with their lenses as the Focus Component Mirror.

Creating the Scrying sensor at the top of the room looking down.

Scrying Master lets me cast True Seeing through a Scrying sensor 3/day. So I'm doing that. Anything you guys want to admit to?

[Forgotten T.S.]

Troce - Saint of St. Cuthbert

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Everytime Troce speaks, you hear whispering begin around you. It's hard to make out, even if you strain your focus entirely. The whispers are soft, beguiling, with no clear form or direction. You look around, but nothing exists to give reason or place for the disembodied voices that come from all around. A few moments after he finishes speaking, the voices fade away, but their memory remains somewhere in the dark lost parts of your minds.

For Krall:

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You don't see Troce in your Scrying. He just... isn't there.

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Troce looks to his companion, "I told you before, I do not converse with rocks. It is a silly practice, with absolutely no outcome. Do you know how they say the True Name of a Rock? They don't... because rocks don't have True Names. The minerals that bind a rock together howe-"

He stops suddenly as he turns and looks towards the gnome, and casts his gaze upwards. He frowns slightly as he feels something tingle in the back of his head... violation. His friendly smile slowly slips away to a blank face as he looks straight to the gnome. "I am not immediately aware of what you just attempted upon my person... but, if you attempt it again, I will be very cross with you."

[Kobold-Bard]

Krall

Krall replies without looking at Troce.

"It's not aimed at you, you're just in the way. If you know a way out feel free to share it, otherwise please get over yourself and do something constructive. Or destructive as the case may require."

He is walking in small circles looking down at the floor.