From Across the Multiverse to Barovia: Expedition to Castle Ravenloft (IC)

[Jeff the Green]

@al'Lan Mandragoran

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Arya roared in exultation. The enemy was broken and her knights were on the edge of victory: each charge had been thundrous and inexorable, each sword strike true and deep, each shield-arm steady and strong. The hideous creatures died by the dozens.

Seeing a massive, mutated grey render overwhelming two young knights, Arya leaped across the battlefield toward them. Jumping up onto the beast's shoulders, she hacked at the beast's thick neck. On the third or fourth blow, her blade cleaved through its spine, and it toppled to the ground.

Arya stood, bent with exhaustion and covered with thick, black blood. Around her the battle started to die down, the faster creatures retreating, the slower ones dying. It became almost dreamlike.

Gradually, a white fog settled on the field, despite the hot afternoon sun. Arya's knees buckled and she fell, slumping against the grey render's corpse. Her eyes filled with the fog and she slept.

@Stack

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Arthros had just gotten back to Taer Valaestas. An expedition into the Mournlands—one where his services, thankfully enough, had not been needed as much as expected—had rewarded him with a substantial sum, one that would allow him and his family to travel together for a while longer than usual. They celebrated by spending the day walking around the city, a sight Luthien and Carissia were finally of an age to appreciate. Of course, they were more interested in the horses than the food or the beautiful elven architecture.

At the end of the day they returned to an inn. For once Arthros was more sleepy than weary. His time with Marana and the little ones was usually like that. After laying the girls down for bed and kissing them each, Arthros and Marana crawled between the bedsheets and just held each other. It had been so long.

Some minutes—hours?—later Marana slipped into sleep, and Arthros's eyes threatened to shut as well. But as he drifted off, it was not the normal blissful blackness of sleep, but a clammy white moormist that surrounded him, so deadening his thoughts that he barely noticed the smell of gravedirt.

@Fireheart

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Idiots. Well, at least they paid in advance

T'rissaste returned to Cathyr without her clients. She had warned them not to go over the ridge. If they'd listened, they wouldn't have stumbled into the hill giant family reunion. (Hill giants apparently have very large extended families.)

At the tavern she ordered several glasses of wine. At some point she switched to tankards. The first drink was a celebration of payday. The rest... well, there was so much wine; someone had to drink it.

Eventually T'rissaste stumbled upstairs to her room. Normally elves don't sleep, but normally elves don't drink cheap wine either. She fell into bed without bothering to take off her shoes, and lay staring at the ceiling, her eyes half glazed over. Gradually the room dissolved into a white mist, and T'rissaste closed her eyes resignedly.

@Mahrke

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It was a frustrating day in the lab. The equations were right; it was the damned magic that absolutely refused to follow them that was the problem.

After a pint of decent, but definitely not good, beer at the Lamb and Flag, Professor Pellivander returned home. He made himself a quick meal—well, told his AI to make a quick meal—and settled down to read. Eventually his eyes began to blur. He set down his book, lay back in his chair, and fell asleep.

Some hours later, Isaac awoke gradually. The room felt cold, as though the summer had suddenly turned to a soggy English winter. He begrudgingly opened his eyes and saw not his room, but a solid white mist. Somehow, instead of becoming alarmed, Isaac slipped back into his dreams.

@The Fallen One

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Those... creatures had surrounded Aswin. They'd cut through his armor with their claws and their fangs. His arms were covered in minor wounds and his right cheek was cut, but it was the chest wound that was fatal, deep and long.

He fell to the ground, breathing hard as his blood spilled from his body. Just as the last bit of strength left him, he heard wingbeats, and then saw a face, at once fierce and angelic. The face spoke in words Aswin could not understand, and then everything dissolved into white mist.

@Sallera

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August was tired. He shouldn't have been tired; it was barely sunset, and in any case it was Artax doing the walking. Still, riding a horse with heavy eyelids could be dangerous, especially in this forest. He dismounted and tied Artax to a tree before arranging a place to sleep.

As she lay down, a white fog descended over the forest. It did not carry the chill damp August was familiar with, but instead made his urge to sleep inescapable. He closed his eyes and entered a dreamless sleep.

________________________________________

You wake slowly, your stomachs churning and your heads filled with half-forgotten nightmares. Fog surrounds you, and it feels damp and cold, not supernatural. You are arrayed in a circle, feet toward the center, where a large mass of white quartz stands. Above each of your heads is a small piece of jet carved in the shape of an arch.

The moon is full, and when you get a chance to look around, you see a forest to one side whence issue the occasional howl of wolves or croak of a raven. Near the edge a horse looks about nervously. In the distance opposite the forest, you can see firelight from what looks like a small village. Other than these, you only see the blank dark of the fog.

[Mahrke]

An old pan lays supine, dressed in well-pressed pair of black slacks, a warm-looking tweed coat (complete with leather elbow patches), and a long, white laboratory coat with nary a spot upon it. A pair of glasses sit pinched upon the bridge of his large nose, gleaming gold. Upon one of his temples, a silver disc, gleaming with tiny electric lights sits, partially obscured by his locks of grey hair, a few strands of black still visible here and there. Shoes are freshly polished, and an ornate oak walking stick lays beside him, capped with a silver ball. He speaks.

"Nnn...nom...chronotons....field radiation.....inverse of the...the...."

Suddenly, the aging man bolts up into a sitting position, "The inverse of Perfolly's Rule! That's it!" He shouts, seemingly oblivious to his circumstance. "I've just got to....to..." His excited demeanor wanes with his first real look at his surroundings, eyebrows turning down in confusion, and a bit of fright. "Vesper?" From somewhere nearby, a steel device, with several crystal shards protruding from its gleaming surface, floats toward the man. "Where are we?"

There is a moment of silence, before the device humms out its distorted, roughly human-sounding speech.

"Error: Geopositional Satellites not detected. Analyzing starcharts. Error: Local Star Configuration not found. Location Unknown, Professor Pellivander."

The man remains silent for a few moments, looking around at the other human...oids. He swallows nervously, and approaches slowly, proceeding towards the figure that seems least like some time-lost fairy tale. The irony is lost upon him, as he gently prods August with his walking stick. "Hello? Are...are you awake? What is this place?"

[Sallera]

August stands up slowly, looking around the forest in wonderment. Clad in simple traveller's clothes of brown that somehow seem to fit perfectly with his fair features and wavy black hair, he raises eyes of liquid gold to the professor. "I don't remember yesterday very well... but I do believe I've wandered into a faerie's circle." Gazing upward, he nods, noting the presence of the moon with some surprise. "Now, be this another illusion, or has the moon left the world for the woods of the Fair?"

"Well, perhaps my quest was not so hopeless as I thought. We shall have to see how long their tricks hold this time." Finally giving Pellivander proper attention, he inspects the man with some curiosity. "Ah, are you a metalsmith of some sort, led here to work your craft for the Folk? They are quite difficult to please with goods, I fear."

[al'Lan Mandrag]

Arya Skye, Catfolk Knight

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Fort: (1d20+7)[23]
Will: (1d20+8)[14]

Arya woke, feeling utterly drained. This isn't right. The monsters, we were winning...

But moments ago she'd been exulting in the battle, her sword arm strong, and even when her two of her brave company had been cut down she had avenged them swiftly.
She forced strength into her limbs, a force of will not to be defeated even by these foul sorceries. She glanced around and saw others scattered on the ground, a couple already rising.
Lithely, she stood, hands resting on Nehima's pommel, eyeing the pair.

[Mahrke]

The professor stares at August for a few, long moments of silence. Slowly, he reaches out with a wavering hand, and his fingers latch onto his shoulder, before prodding at him a few times. Strange gesture over with, he clears his throat.

"Er...right...sorry old chap. Just wanted to make sure I'm not dreaming..." He looks up to the night sky, and then back to August once more. "Metalsmith...no...no nothing like that. I'm a physicist at Oxford. Professor Isaac Pellivander. Pride creeps into his voice at this revelation. "But...as the evidence accrues, I fret more and more that you are going to tell me you do not know what Oxford, much less a physicist, is." He takes in a steadying breath, and closes his eyes for just a moment, concentrating. When they open, he shakes his head. "What is your name, boy?"

Power Use: Chronosense

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Cost: Standard Action, Expend Psionic Focus
Effect: Learn exact time and date, down to the second, as well as the time traits of the current plane.

[Sallera]

August laughs lightly, prodding at the floating metal orb. "Nay, I have traveled many days from my home in all directions, and although I have seen many ox fords, I have never met a man who called himself a physicist. But that is not so unusual. I have never met another seeker of the balance either, save my own teacher, and from the look of this strange creature you have tamed, surely your own art must be as esoteric as mine."

"I am called August, by those who know me." Noticing the odd mixture of cat and person behind Pellivander, his expression darkens slightly, and he takes a step to the side for a better look. "Ah, dear, did you fall afoul of the Fair Folk before even finding this circle? That form seems a heavy curse to bear. Can you still speak?"

[Mahrke]

The device is slightly warm to the touch, and vibrates constantly, held aloft by some unseen force, drifting slightly from side to side before the man.

"Seeker of the balance?" The aging professor begins, perplexed...but then takes the visual cue from August, turning around to be greeted by, perhaps the most unusual specimen amongst those laying in the circle. Oh, he'd seen elves before, though the black variety were somewhat sparse around Europe, tending instead to be congregated more in North America and Africa. And the giantkin...tons of those the further north you went. But...a catperson? He'd only seen those on the Net, or when some young student dressed up as one for a laugh.

He remains silently, examining her closely, gaze drifting from her overt feline features, to the armor she wore, to the blade she seemed ready to draw. It was a bit hard to grasp...a real...in-the-flesh catgirl. "We mean you no harm, there is no need to draw a weapon."

More and more, though, his suspicions were proving correct...this was another world, and another time. Had an experiment gone awry? Had he lost control of his powers?

[Jeff the Green]

@Mahrke

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3:49:06 AM on a Friday. You get the strange sense that people reckon the seasons and years differently here and you can't quite get a hold of the date, but you do grasp that it's the third day after the fall equinox. The plane has normal time traits.

[al'Lan Mandrag]

Arya Skye

The pair had finally turned their attention to her, though little more could be expected from the city-folk, yet they feigned not to know her.

"I am Arya Skye, of the Bladesworn sect of the Knights of the Far Plains. I bear no curse to which you attest, but let me promise you that no bear will harm your person if you are honourable and I still stand."
"Yet this place does reek of some fell enchantment, and I say we hold to courage and defy these malign arts."

[Fireheart]

T'rissaste Xorlarrin, Drow Swift Hunter

T'rissaste opens her eyes. Surprised to see a moon above her rather than the wooden ceiling of the room, she sits up slowing, bringing a hand to her head and looks around. Taking in the strange setting and the large white crystal, "Olot dos!" she curses.

Continuing to look around, her next sight was that of a strangly dressed old man, a catfolk and an aasimar, with golden eyes that reflected the light of the moon, and several others still lying prone on the ground. She rises slowly. As the drow rises, the light of the moon reflects off the silver accents on her form fitting traveling clothes and her white hair.

Rubbing her hands across her face and eyes, she blinks several times, No more mixing wine and ale, she thinks to herself.

[TheFallenOne]

Aswin opened his eyes, beholding the night sky. "Huh... It's darker than I expected", he said, shaking his head to get rid of some weird feelings he had before waking up. Evidently the pain of death left a mark.

He stood up, the gentle rustling of his Ravenfeather Cloak heralding his movement. "Greetings, fellow Chosen Ones", he adressed the others already standing, towering over them like a giant of his distant ancestry. "Did you just arrive as well or could you give me directions? I had expected to arrive right at Odin's hall, but it seems not to be within eyesight."

[Mahrke]

Five out of six awake...and with each of them, Isaac had begun to suspect that he was not the only 'foreigner' here. Yes...they all looked like something from the past...but -different- pasts. A viking? And someone that looked as if they belonged somewhere in England's industrial revolution... What about the feline medieval knight? Or the black elf that didn't speak the same language as these others...

"Chosen Ones...Odin's Hall?" He begins, shaking his head slightly. "Where is it you think we are, old chap. And by that token, where is it you come from?" His eyes move from the viking, to each of those gathered. "Where is it -any- of you come from? My name is Professor Pellivander. Last night when I went to bed, the year was 2089, Current Era. I hail from the country of London...on...on Earth. But I have a strong suspicion that most of you hail from some place, or time, far different..."

His little mechanical companion continues to hover silently over one shoulder, its crystal protrusions occasionally glowing with soft inner light.

[Jeff the Green]

@All but The Fallen One

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When you look at Aswin, you notice that his right cheek has a deep gash in it, though there isn't any blood and it doesn't appear to have healed.

[Fireheart]

As the Giant rises, T'riss reaches for her rapier and takes a step back, before she can do more, the old man speaks.

"Where is it -any- of you come from? My name is Professor Pellivander. Last night when I went to bed, the year was 2089, Current Era. I hail from the country of London...on...on Earth. But I have a strong suspicion that most of you hail from some place, or time, far different..."

Taking in the old man's words, T'riss looks around at the others and really notices how different everyone is...she crosses her arms, still glaring at the Giant, she directs her response to the old man.

"I am T'rissante Xorlarrin, from Drambrath, in the Realm of Faerun. The year is 1375 by Dale Reckoning." she replies eying the mechanical floating thing strangely.

OOC:

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@Jeff, picked the Random year of Risen Elfkin...if it needs to be earlier or later in the timeline let me know and I'll edit.

[Sallera]

August frowns at Arya, shaking his head slightly. "You do not remember being another way, then? My sympathies for your plight."

As Aswin rises, his cheerful demeanour appears to return as he waits for the... exiled faerie? to finish regaining her senses. "I've only just arrived myself, I'm afraid. Or, rather, I suppose I must have arrived last night without realizing it, since I woke up here. I've never been to the hall of anyone named Odin, although you can't be sure of names in the woods of the Fair Folk. Speaking of which..." August nods to T'rissante as she introduces herself.

"I don't suppose you know why we were invited, Lady T'rissante? Aside from your complexion, you do look like you live here, if you'll forgive the assumption."

Turning back to Aswin after a moment, he taps his cheek. "By the way, do you need a healer? That cut looks rather painful."

[Fireheart]

T'rissante

"I don't suppose you know why we were invited, Lady T'rissante? Aside from your complexion, you do look like you live here, if you'll forgive the assumption."

T'riss shakes her head. "I do not." she says, then realizing that could be taken both ways, continues, "I do not know why we were all called," she corrected, "I do not recognize this place from my travels across Drambrath."

She glances at her skin and back at the Aasimar as if trying to decide if he is commenting on her drow nature but hearing Faeryl in the back of her head, "Don't jump to conclusions," she doesn't say anything further.

[TheFallenOne]

"I'm not familiar with your calendars", Aswin answered T'riss and Isaac. "Everyone seems to count things differently. Are you from the lands of the east, perhaps? I think their year count was somewhere around twothousand." He furrowed his brow, trying to remember.

"Oh, this?" he asked August, touching his cheek. "Weird it hasn't healed like the rest, maybe I'm meant to bear a scar from my final battle?
Anyway, since you all seem to be confused where we are - this is Asgard, the realm of the gods. The warriors fallen bravely in battle are brought here until the end of all things. Don't you remember dying? I was battling a swarm of eyeless beasts with poisonous blood. I crushed many of their number, but when facing their leader, a huge monster towering over me, it pierced my chest with mighty claws and I sank to the ground, bleeding my last. Then the valkyries came down to carry me to the afterlife, and now I am here."

[Sallera]

"Dead?" August tilts his head in contemplation. "Well, I suppose I could have been killed in my sleep. And it's said that no one knows where the Fair Folk come from... perhaps we will become them, in time? This is clearly a faerie ring, you see, these standing stones. They are known to sometimes be ways to the woods of the Fair, although less often do they bring you back again."

Stepping forward, he smiles, carelessly tossing his head. "But if we have been reborn to join with the Faerie, then I think we can at least check this." Reaching upward to touch Aswin's face, he tugs a incongruously bright scarlet thread on his old and worn belt, and it briefly glows and turns black.

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Using a charge from the Healing Belt on Aswin's wound, as a test.

[Mahrke]

"I'm afraid it is highly improbably we are dead, old boy." The professor begins in a dull voice reminiscent of his sleep-inducing lectures back at Oxford. "Besides the few experiments that have indicated a lack of afterlife, even if this -was- Asgard, there is no reason I would be taken here. I am no soldier. Indeed, I spend my days teaching students about mathematics and the physical world."

He goes silent, pondering quietly for a few moments, before turning to August.

"August, was it? You seem rather sure of this idea we are in the world of the Fair Folk, but then, you seem surprised at the presence of the moon. What else would you expect to find here, or not, if it were these faeries that brought us to this dark place?"

Midway through his question, however, his little mechanical friends floats over to Aswin, humming out wavering, robotic voice from its resonating crystals.

"Asgard. The highest branch of the tree Yggdrasil in Norse mythology. It is a subject of which I have taken great interest. Are you a brave warrior?" Its tone, if it could be called that, grows more excited at that last question.

[Sallera]

"Ah, well, the moon vanished, you see! Just fell from the sky one day, and no one could say where it had gone. I set out to find it, and I seem to have succeeded, if that is the real moon, but I'm not yet sure how I'm going to bring it back with me. Especially if I'm dead." August shrugs, an easy motion that brushes away the concern. "But I'm sure I'll find a way. I always do; that's how things work."

"The woods of the Fair change from visit to visit, or perhaps I've just been visiting different parts, but they're easy to lose your way in. Fog is often the least of it. You have to be careful with the animals, too; they didn't always start out that way. Oh, and if someone offers you food, be careful of how you accept, if you do at all. Actually, I can take care of the last part for you, if we can just find a few berries. Any will do."

[stack]

Another man emerges from his daze. He is clad in a dark brown, rough-spun cloak, his blond beard showing streaks of premature white. He tosses and moans, finally forming a whisper of words. As he gains consciousness the air is filled with a comforting warmth. "Marana...Marana, you stole the covers again..."

His eyes open, gaining focus. He quickly shoots to his feet, brandishing an ash staff, heavily worn. "Who are you? Where have you brought me? Where are they?"

He assesses the situation carefully. It takes little time to see there is no threat in them, not at present. Indeed it was plain they were as confused at he. The staff lowers as he looks up at the sky. "I beg pardon. I see I am in like company. I suppose it is unlikely that any of you know anything about this? I was asleep, in Taer Valaestas, in an inn, last I knew. Have...have I, we been drawn into Dal Quor? Is this the realm of dreams?"

[Sallera]

"Ah, the woods of Faerie have oft been compared to a waking dream, but at least in this instance, they appear to be quite real - although none of us have yet stepped outside the circle, so there is no way of telling whether what we see is truth or illusion. Or rather, there is a way, but I can't do it very often, and it's often best not to suspect trouble before you find it."

Spreading his hands, August smiles. "But we will likely go searching soon, now that you have woken. I am called August, and my companions are Arya, Isaac, T'rissante, and... well, the brave warrior here has not yet given his name. How are you known?"

[stack]

"Of course. I am Arthros Silvereye. Now, I see a village in the distance there. As there is nothing else but fog, I suggest we make way towards it. If this is a dream, it will do no harm. If not, then perhaps we can find answers." I have to find a way home...I can't...I can't be lost in this place.

"Are any of you wounded? I am a healer, after my fashion."

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knowledge plains to guess at his location (1d20+2)[18]

[Mahrke]

"I doubt this world is a dream, friend." The old man steps forward, looking curiously at the healer. "Forgive the old quote, but it was Descartes that said 'Cogito Ergo Sum'. I think, therefore I am. I am not dreaming, and even a sim chip does not reproduce reality with such accuracy and detail." He shifts his weight to lean upon his cane. "Regardless, your suggestion is not without merit. It seems that none of us gathered are natives of this mysterious place, whatever it may be. A village will bring answers, though I expect it will raise just as many more questions."

He takes a few paces towards the glimmering light in the distance.

"Tell me, Arthos, when you speak of yourself as a healer; are your talents those of the surgeon, or the magician?"

[Sallera]

"A beacon displayed is a story to be told, in these woods," August replies, apparently in agreement. "But should we join a feast of the Fair Folk, it would be best not to come hungry. Wait here a moment." Taking a few steps into the wood, he returns bearing seven small, dark, berries, none of which are likely edible. As he places them in the palm of the small wooden hand hanging from his neck, however, they seem to sink slightly into the surface, and as he bends one of the fingers in to touch them, they shimmer and shift form into plump, orange gooseberries.

Taking them from the wooden hand, August offers them to everyone, taking one himself and giving one to his horse. "Eat one each. They will keep you from desire for several hours."

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Bother, forgot it was 2d4 berries rather than 1/CL: (2d4)[7]

Goodberries, anyway. A full meal for everyone. August only needs one meal a week, so he's good for a while, now.

[Mahrke]

Isaac takes the offered fruit, examining its orange skin, before biting it in half. He looks curiously at the flesh of it, before popping the other half into his mouth. It tastes good, and upon pondering what effects the enchantment placed upon it might have, he finds himself feeling full, and satiated, only now realizing that, since he'd fallen asleep before Vesper could fix him a proper supper, and he'd skipped his lunch to work on his calculations, he'd been nearly a whole day without food.

"Not a bad trick...like a food pill."

[Jeff the Green]

The Healing Belt has no effect on Aswin's cut.

@The Fallen One

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In fact, most of your injuries still remain, they're just painless and covered up by your armor, which is no longer damaged. You're at full HP, though.

@Arthros

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You get hints that you might be on Lammania or Mabar, but neither one fits all that well. You are almost certainly not on Dal Quor, since nothing about the place has changed all that much.

[TheFallenOne]

"Aswin. Aswin Vigunnarson is my name", the tall blond warrior answers. "No indication of an afterlife? That's a strange claim. I've seen the dead walk. Once I even saw one come back to life, the spirit returning to the once broken shell by the grace of the gods. Also, if I'm not dead, how come I have wounds that do not bleed, do not hurt, and can not be healed?"

He flexed his limbs and checked his body for further marks before trying the berry offered by August. "Tasty, would go well with a bit of dry mead to complement the sweetness."

He regards Isaac's floating mechanical device talking about Asgard. "Well, that little guy finally knows what I'm talking about! See we're from the same place after all. Just quite a bit removed from each other it seems."

[Mahrke]

"Regardless, does this look like the glorious afterlife given to a warrior?" Isaac queries with a bit of scorn edging his tone. "But...removed, yes. I will grant you that my knowledge does not extend beyond the bounds of my own world. It may very well be that your afterlife awaits you...but not here, I think, and not now." He smiles, nodding his head to the viking, moving to a nearby tree and touching its bark; simply examining their immediate surroundings and those in the direction of the firelight.

The little device continues to float near the viking. "Don't let him get you down." It humms, volume decreased. "Between you and me, I think he -needs- some of a brave warrior to rub off on him. He just spends all day reading and loafing about with his science. I've tried, but he usually just threatens me with the logic probe and then deactivates me."

[stack]

Arthros takes one of the berries with thanks. "Many days have I traveled on goodberries alone to sustain me. Though I can sustain us as well, should it become necessary. My wife says I can't cook, but it keeps you on your feet." His face falls for a moment at the memory, then his resolution returns.

"As for healing, I have some minor ability in chirgery, I bear the tools and unguents of a healer." He points to the satchel slung over his shoulder. "However, I have a...connection to Irian, I am told it is due my heritage, that allows me to channel some of its energies into the material plane. I fear my knowledge of such matters is limited, my studies of planar cosmology focused little beyond channeling Irian, so I fear I am of little help in discerning our location."

"Lammania, perhaps? The forest is grand. If so, we ought be on our guard, great beasts stalk those woods, so my teacher said. Though you speak of fairies, I do not believe this is Thelanis...though I cannot be certain."

"As for the dead returning and the afterlife, how could they not be so? Returning a spirit to its shell takes great power, but it can be done. I have not the strength, but I grasp the enchantment. And the afterlife, in all the planes, with all the powers, you would say that the spirit has nowhere to go? Then from whence does it return?"