Realm of the Dead

[Belial_the_Leveler]

Pain... The memory of pain. Images and recollections of the past flash through the darkness of the mind:
Fires devouring the sere grasslands of a blighted land. A blackened ruin of a building that could have been home once but no longer. Thousands upon thousands of bodies piled in a valley where two armies met. A river running red with blood. A black cloud covering the sun while the dead walk against a city in the east. A commander of the militia frantically ordering retreat. Shadows and mists dancing among the lightning bolts as a tide of dark spirits overruns the gate. Moments of frantic fighting and chaos and death, swords cutting off heads and limbs left and right, claws tearing out throats and armored men falling dead at a single touch. Darkness. Bound hand and foot, carried away by four men in red cloaks. A dungeon, painted in red, hordes of mice and flocks of bats scurrying around, people screaming. A man burned alive in a pyre. A woman dangling upside-down, blood draining away from a wound in her neck. Darkness...

Suddenly, the chaotic flow of images tangled so you can't recognise what is what ceases. You open your eyes and it is dark. It is pitch black, no trace of light at all, but somehow you can see in the darkness as if in a candle-lit room. You are in a tiny, windowless cell with rough stone walls and an old, rusty but thick iron door with a closed viewing hole. Apart from your sorry selves, dressed in the ragged remains of your old clothes no less, nothing is in the cold and empty room. Cold is the word. So cold you feel as if you're freezing to death, numbness already having settled in every muscle and every joint. Strange though-the air is stale and the stone walls slightly damp-you must be underground. Such places are supposed to be warmer than the open plains this time of the year. So why do you feel as if you stand in your shift, drenched in water and in the wind's path?

Faint sounds can be heard from above and almost imperceptible vibrations shake the walls. You cannot be certain but they appear to be sounds of a furious but relatively small battle too far away to discern anything else-in fact, too far away for you to have heard it in the first place. But you have bigger problems than a faraway battle to worry about. You're in a prison or dungeon of sorts, in torn and bloodied clothing that looks nothing like your own and you're alone in a 10-foot square room with nothing else inside. Most important of all, you have no recollection of how you got here-the last thing you remember is hearing talk of an impending disaster in the town tavern. You try to remember what town, what tavern and you fail. Your memories are all jumbled, faded, names and faces barely recognisable. You have a headache the size of Chauntea's backside you're surprised you're still standing. First order of buisness would be to find where you are and find a way out...

Spoiler

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Each character starts in a different such cell. You have no equipment at all and no knowledge of what's going on and how you got there. You barely remember your own name and a vague recollection of important events in your lives though the memories of old are becoming clearer. The characters have no recollection of their being forcibly turned to undead (the last month is a blank in memory) and they don't know they're undead yet. Though seeing in the dark, sharper senses and a numbed sense of touch should give hints that something is seriously wrong.

What does your character do now?

[The Great Skenardo]

Noj
Noj cries out in the abyssal blackness
"Marpha~!" He cuts off and hunches over, his fingers seeking the dirty bandage muffling his mouth. Moving along, the tall man feels with leaden fingers around the side of his face and the top of his head. Bandage, bandage, and more bandage. Had he been injured? Captured? Why couldn't he remember?
Lifting his hand once more slowly to his face, Noj grasps the edge of the bandages across his mouth and tugs gingerly on them. No pain, that was good...
Crackle khhhht
moving his other hand quickly, Noj catches the small objects that fall from beneath the bandage as it he tears it away with a crackling noise. Peering closer in the strange otherworldly light, he peers at the two objects in his hand. They were lips. Reaching with trembling fingers in the clammy silence, he feels the smooth enamel of his teeth, drying in the damp air. Before he can scream, he feels his fingers pushed aside by something, and two new lips now cover his teeth once more.
What's happened to me...?
"You're Dead."
With a crackle and rustling of bandages, Noj jumps to his feet, turning his head frantically from side to side as he looks for the source of the voice.
In the corner...he could almost imagine there was a shape to the darkness there. Suddenly, there were two yellow eyes, round and glowing in the darkness.
"Who are you?"
A crackle of straw like laughter, and the eyes fade away.

[Taffimai]

Suzette

Where has all the colour gone? Where is the light coming from?

Suzette looks all around her, taking in as much as she can of the ceiling, the walls, the door, the floor, and lastly, herself.

My clothes are dripping. Is it water, or blood? Whatever it is, the smell makes me want to retch. I should get out of them, before I get sick.

Carefully peeling off the many layers of cloth that used to make up her robes, Suzette is surprised at how light they are, especially since they're soaked. Nonetheless, it is a painfully slow process, as the rotting fabric sticks together like wet toilet paper.

What has happened to my robes? These are made from thick, tightly woven linnen, almost impossible to cut through and now I can barely look at them without tearing them apart. We used to have contests to see how many monks could hang from a single band and I have never seen it rip before. What have I been lying in?

Now that she has gotten rid of her clothes, she is at the same time relieved not to find any wounds and horrified at how pale she is, and at the foul smelling liquid that is seemingly oozing out of her pores.

Yuck. I must have caught some rare disease. Yes, that's it. A fever would explain my addled memory, and why I feel so... numb. Perhaps we all caught it, and were found by people who didn't know the Senue rituals. If they thought I was dead, this might be a tomb of some sorts. I must get out of here. But first I should probably cover up again. In my current state I don't think I should worry too much about catching a cold.

Reluctantly, Suzette wraps herself up again as well as she can and then investigates her cell, methodically working her way from one end of the wall to the other, up and down, feeling the stone with her hands and moving her lips closer to the cracks to catch any slows of air.

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spot - (1d20+15)[20](35)
She takes 20 on her search (no ranks, int modifier +3)
climb - (1d20+20)[11](31) (in case she needs to climb the wall to get to the top)

[Belial_the_Leveler]

Noj:

Noj is horrified to find the hands holding the bandages are blackened, decrepid and dry though moving with as much speed as he ever had in life. These weren't his hands! They couldn't be! He feels an itch in his mouth and letting the broken-off mummified lips fall, he slowly raises a blackened hand. Over his teeth there are lips again. They feel dry and age-worn but they are as supple as they ever were in life. Moving his hand, he finds a hole in the flesh at the other side, a hole closing rapidly within moments as the flesh regrows. He looks at his hands again. Burned off and ruined pieces of flesh begin to fall off and a similarly blackened and dry flesh regrows but one that is as hard as iron and not brittle at all. The cold sensation recedes until it is only a tiny reminder in the back of his mind and new strength flows through his limbs. Ashes and tiny pieces of rotting skin fall off his bandages as he moves, as his body adapts to the new state.

Suzette:

As Suzette focuses on searching the room, the crippling cold diminishes and her moves become faster, stronger. Her muscles seem to flex on their own accord, her skin growing even paler, almost completely while. Disregarding these changes to continue her search, she finds that her cell is truly empty and that the rusty iron door must be at least an inch thick, maybe even three inches thick. But the iron is rusty and old-perhaps she could find a weak spot in the lock or strike at heakened hinges. If only she knew something of a thief's art the old door might be easy to open.

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Undead Fast healing kicks in, slowly healing every bruise and wound and cut or other damage you had due to your capture and transformation ritual. Noj's flesh wouldn't peel that easily after fully regenerating-his damage reduction 10 equals the hardness of steel (also 10) in protecting against physical harm. Even if someone tried to gouge out his eyes it would be like hitting an iron statue.

[Taffimai]

Suzette

Encouraged by her returning strength, Suzette pummels the door, aiming for any visibly weaker parts (lock, hinges, rusty patches). When her hands get sore, she takes a short break and does some ritual moves to stretch her muscles until she feels ready again.

I am less ill than I thought. Rest rusts; I was probably stiff from lying immobile for so long. Squatting by the side of the road is good for mushrooms, but I must keep moving, keep the blood flowing. My only way forward seems to be through this door, so through the door I shall go.

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heal - (1d20+5)[11](16)An untrained heal check to see if she notices that her blood isn't really flowing anywhere anymore.
I'm not rolling for attack and damage, she just keeps hitting, even if it is to no avail.

[Belial_the_Leveler]

Suzette

Suzette strikes at a rusty part in the door and her fist makes the three-inch iron bend as if it was just a thick piece of clay, sinking fully half an inch into it. Pieces of rust fall off and the high-pitched screetch of iron grating on iron accompanies the gong-like sound of the blow. Suzette falls back a step, really susrprised. Against such a door, she should't be able to do more than a few scratches, even if the door was rusty. Either the door looks like iron but is not-unlikely-or Suzette is several times stronger than she used to be. Looking at her deathly pale hand she tries to grasp how her slim human arm could ever perform such a feat of strength, she realises that there is no pulse in it. Her arm simply follows her will-but there is a great deal more than muscles moving it.


Noj

Noj hears a gong or something similar pounding once from somewhere nearby-possibly no more than a couple dozen feet-and metal grating on metal...

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A strength increase by 10 points in DnD means four times as much actual strength (lifting capacity). The standard human strength is 10. Suzette having a strength of 25 means she's as strong as eight normal men, thus the description.

[Taffimai]

Suzette

Wait, what?

Suzette checks her pulse again. Then she looks for the arteries in her neck. Still nothing.

No wonder they left me for dead. Even I could swear I have no pulse. Yet here I am, stronger than ever before, my Ki fuelling my muscles where my body cannot. This can mean only one thing: it is not my destiny to succumb to this disease, my journey is not over yet.

She looks back at the dent she made in the door.

This may have seemed a dead end at first, but clearly, it is not!

With that, she attacks the door with renewed conviction until it gives way.

[Paladin Latham]

"Jail Again" Oathbreaker says to himself reflectively, though why he says it he can't remember. Pulling himself up from his troubled rest he moves to the door "Funny, I think this is the part where the hangover is supposed to keel me over" he thinks aloud. Moving to the cell door he calls out "Hey jailer! There's someone dying in here! Bring help hurry!". (Heh, dying of hunger more like it) he cackles softly to himself, somehow getting a familiar thrill from telling a lie. His mirth is stopped by some very important thoughts. (why did that lie actually come out right? How am I seeing in the dark? Why are my thoughts so clear? How am I crumbling stone with my bare hand?). He pauses in his thoughts to look to the side at the wall he'd absent-mindedly been clawing a deep gash into, then quickly turns back to the door and resumes his questions to himself as though nothing important had happened (who do you have to kill to get some food around here? Can I pick locks? No. Damn. My clothes look tattered. OH NO! CAN IT BE!?! No, no, everythings still where it should be. And I'm still a handsome devil *SHINE* <- mental shine effect. Geez, who do you have to kill to get some food around here? ...). For many long seconds Oathbreaker will simply stand there thinking and absent mindedly checking his clothes and clawing the walls.

[The Great Skenardo]

Noj
A sudden, intense feeling of claustrophobia seizes Noj, and with a rattling moan, he throws himself against the iron door, pounding on it with his fists.

[Paladin Latham]

Hearing jarring clangs and a scary moan Oathbreaker will snap out of his hunger filled reverie, stare at the door, and say "Hmm... thats probably not good, maybe if it comes this way I can reason with it. Yep, its probably best to stay here". After saying this he will Frantically attack the walls opposite the door trying to tear 1lb. chunks out of the wall that he can dual wield as improvised weapons.

[Lochar]

Virmas gives a low moan as he wakes up, holding his head. "Note to self. Make sure that you're not being snuck up on when sneaking up on a wizard." He gets up, brushing himself off.

As Virmas walks around the room checking it out, he talks to himself. "They'll probably fine me again for doing that, if I don't get out of here. Let's see what they left me."

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Assuming taking a 20 on Search turns up nothing...

"They well and truly made this place empty. Not even a catflap for food. Wonder how long I've been here, anyways?" Shrugging to himself, he moves to the door again. "Best try to get out of here before I enjoy the local jailers hospitality."

Grabbing at the lock, Virmas is shocked when his hand passes through it. "Umm, not a real lock? Does that mean the door is unlocked?"

Tenuously, Virmas pushes at the door, only to find his hand and then arm passing through the door as well.

"An illusion for a door? Umm, ok..."

Slowly, Virmas walks through the door, scared that at any moment the door will become real and then hurt him.

Once out, he hears and sees one of the doors being bashed in.(If I can see Suzette's work on her door) "Crap!" he whispers to himself, pushing himself up against a wall, trying to be as quiet as possible. He doesn't recognize himself either halfway phase through the wall, or turn invisible.

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Until he realizes he's actually dead, abilities and such are accidental and quite subconscious.

I'm assuming Natural Armor bonuses don't apply when manifested, as normal, so 23 AC, all touch.

Hide: (1d20+28)[35] + 40 for immobile invisible.
Move Silent: (1d20+28)[44]

[Belial_the_Leveler]

As Vilmas crosses his own door with ease, the door opposite his own in the room is blasted off its hinges as if by a rapid barrage of explosions and falls down ten feet away as if kicked by a giant. Neither Vilmas that walked through his door nor Suzette that simply kicked out her own notice eachother at all. All they have eyes for is the room.

A massive, cylindrical chamber or crypt, nearly two hundred feet wide, that seems to have been carved out of the very rock of a mountain or beneath the earth, with a relatively low ceiling-hanging a mere twenty feet above the floor-and an array of identical iron doors that must lead to identical rooms at its periphery. What lies at the center of the room however is what draws the eye-and has both Vilmas and Suzette very nearly trying to empty their stomachs.
Hundreds upon hundreds of corpses litter the floor, killed in any conceivable way from dismembering to frostbite to incineration to starvation, some rotting for weeks while others no more than a day or two old. Dried blood crusts the floor and walls, brown and brittle and barely distinguishable from the rusted iron doors. As before, there is no light though you can see well enough-if only you could not. The are does not look like the massacres you've heard of in tales of wars. It looks more like a mass grave or a crypt where the dead are dumped to rot. The stench assaulting your senses is much worse than anything else you've ever felt and you sense something else too-some sort of aura of power that presses down on you. At that exact moment, two more iron doors burst, two more prisoners walking out of the safety of their cells and into the nightmare of reality.

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The walls are magically treated to bar passage to incorporeal entities though the doors are not.
It is a good idea to describe your characters now, focusing especially in any inhuman appearance they might have as others might interact differently to a bloodlord that looks almost human and to a doomknight with a skeletal face and green fire instead of eyes (oooo Skeletor )
Also, always write your names at the top of your posts even if you haven't introduced yourselves yet, preferably in bold.

[The Great Skenardo]

Noj
Standing in the charnal gloom of the mass grave and framed by the open doorway to a cell stands a tall scarecrow of a man, easily six and a half feet tall and lean as a rail. His blackened fingers dig into the stone of the doorframe as he stares out at the grim tableau. His face and head are almost entirely covered in swaths of blackened and grimy gauze and bandages which spiral down to encompass his neck, shoulders and arms. Between the bandages on his face, twin yellow lights glimmer like sick glowworms in the darkness. Scraps of leather and cloth cling gamely to his chest and legs, and a large set of worn boots rest upon his feet. At his feet, shadows waver and twist like black candles on the grimy stone. He takes one wavering step forward, and there's a crackle like fried gristle peeled from the bone.
"What..." the word is choked out, like a muffled gunshot as the tall man with the glowing yellow eyes looks around at the hideous chamber.

[Lochar]

Virmas

Dropping to his feet, his body becoming visible, Virmas grabs his stomach. Had there been anything in there, he would be heaving it out now at the sights and smells.

As the man kneels there, he is suffused with a slight blue glow and quite translucent. The longer he heaves though, the more it seems that parts of flesh are appearing and building a body.

What is left of stringy blond hair falls down over blackened eyes, and chunks of flesh appear missing all over his body. Parts of his arms and legs are wholly missing, seemingly held together by the barest of strips of flesh.

His clothes are rags of the finest trash. What appears to have once been a vest covers at best half of his front, and only two strips of cloth hold it together in the back.

Finally he stops heaving, and sits down, pushing his back against the wall. "What happened?" he questions the world out loud, his voice echoing.

[Ramos]

Myriel

There is a low, hissing sound like a red-hot iron plunged into water and a small silvery tongue of magic pierces yet another door. The tongue moves along the door, slowly cutting open a round hole. There is a metallic groan and a large piece of the door falls outwards, revealing the inside of yet another cell. The woman that comes out of the cell does not look like a prisoner at all. Oh, she does wear a torn white blouse and a matching skirt but they are perfectly clean as if they were just washed. There is not a grain of dust on her, no grime or dirt, no blood at all. The long blond hair falling down to the small of her back seem just as clean as her clothes and she appears largely untouched by her imprisonment.
Moving as sinuously as a snake, she steps over a few corpses and frowns at them, distaste evident. As she closes, her otherworldly features become evident. The speed and grace by which she moves, her presence drawing the eye, her blood-red eyes. Pointed ears mark her an elf and her height-she's about six feet tall-and golden hair might mark her a sun elf if not for the pale color of her skin. Nails shaped like claws tip her hands but rather add to her image than spoil it. A supernatural aura draws every eye to her and seems to make her presence stronger, more important than that of others. Ofcourse, being as alluring as a succubus to begin with, she hardly seems to need the supernatural enhancement.
Her hand pointing in an arching motion at the corpses around her she speaks, seemingly not paying attention to whom she's speaking as if making a rhetorical question.
Rather crude, don't you think? I can't imagine this being a tomb-shows far too much irreverence towards these rotten bags of bones and flesh-nor does it seem like a necromancer's study. At least not a good necromancer's study-it's sloppy. So, where do you think we are?

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Beguiling Influence, Dark One's Own Luck and Cat's Grace active. Used Prestidigitation to clear self. Used Lesser Orb of Sound repeatedly at point-blank range to open the door. Still writing down background and description.
http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheets/view.php?id=28485

[Lochar]

Virmas

Virmas looks up at the voice, noticing the other people for the first time. Slowly he stands, his stomach still giving him a bit of trouble, but as there is nothing in it there isn't much of a problem.

At the ladies' words, he frowns. "I'd say have some respect for the dead, lady, but it doesn't look like anyone else has either." Looking over the room, he starts at the other standing people.

"Umm, is it just me, or are some of the dead still moving?" He points at some of the more obviously dead looking people that have just broken out of cells.

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Yes, he's oblivious. He obviously hasn't looked at himself yet, but hey, that's part of the fun.

[The Great Skenardo]

Noj
Standing half-hunched, the tall shrouded man gazes with detached horror at the other denizens of the dungeon.
"Who..." he rasps, his words muffled, "Who are you?"

[Ramos]

Myriel

Hahahahaha... oh, excuse me but that's rich. Mr mummy over there is terrified of us-you do know you look like a mummy right?-and you are complaining about him moving while it is you who are missing a limb or three!
The gold-haired elf takes a moment to surpress a fit of laughter then smiles at the others.
I hate to break it to you but you are obviously dead-or rather, undead. I may not look it but I am as well-I suspect we all are. I suppose for some this is a blessing and for others a curse-but the first order of buisness would be to find where we are and how to leave this place. I doubt whoever put us in those cells and turned us into undead did so from the goodness of their heart.

[Lochar]

Virmas

Virmas finally looks down at himself and curses. This goes on for a moment before he manages to calm himself down.

"Alright, so apparently it wasn't an illusionary door that I walked through, that was me."

Attempting to ignore the bodies in the center of the room, Virmas moves over to the door he came through and attempts to push his arm through it. It doesn't work.

"I did it just a minute ago, how'd I manage it?" Virmas punches the door a couple of times, denting it slightly, but not much else. He stops and concentrates for a minute. Come on, I wanna walk through the wall again.

After a moment, the meaty parts of his body disappear, leaving him glowing slightly blue and translucent again. This time, he manages to push his hand through the door. Alright, maybe I can walk through the walls then and find a way out?"

He then walks into a wall. And bounces off. "Oh come on, I know I managed it that time." Putting his arm through the door again, he moves it until it hits the wall.

He looks at everyone else. "Alright, the easy way is out. Something's keeping me from walking through walls. Guess whoever turned us didn't want to lose us that easily." He shrugs. "I'm Virmas." he introduces himself. And then looks around. Anyone else have an idea?"

[Ramos]

Myriel

I am Myriel, follower of Malcanthet. As for finding a way out, shouldn't we check out all those rooms that are still locked? Perhaps we'll find a way out there...
The elf lady frowns and looks at all the locked doors, her next few words barely audible.
And perhaps I'll find my sister...

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Anyone have Knowledge: Religion? If yes, you might know who Malcanthet is.

[Taffimai]

Suzette

With the sound of the other doors bursting open, Suzette drops down on all fours.

Curse this abyssal light that casts no shadows! Now where shall I hide?

She crawls back into her cell, like a cat moving backwards and pressing against the wall. She hears an unrecognisable man's voice mutter something, but before she can even consider whether or not to hail him, another man drops on his knees out of thin air, straight ahead of her. His appearance makes her blink, then blink again. He seems almost... transparent, for lack of a better word, and faintly glowing with a pale light.

Is this the light again, playing tricks on me? I wonder why everything is black and white.

Then she notices the missing pieces of flesh, hears the conversation, looks at her white, wet hands again and slowly, realisation dawns.

Necromancers... I am dead. That man must be a ghost and I am... something. How come I can still think? And feel, and see, and hear, and for all that is holy, why can I still smell?

Trying in vain to suppress her nausea, she stands up again and walks out of her cell. She looks over at the moving mount of rags and the neat, imposing woman, then back at the ghost. She reflects on how she must appear to them: a tiny, slim, sallow woman, drenched from top to toe with decomposing robes hanging from her limbs.

"My name is Suzette. Suzette Thompkins."

If I'm already dead, they can hardly kill me.

"If you want to rescue people, we can just bash the doors down. It isn't that hard."

[Lochar]

Virmas

Virmas nods to her. "And here, ladies and gents, we have another example of a grand undead. Welcome to the club." He says sarcastically. "I'm afraid it's not very lively around here though."

[The Great Skenardo]

Noj
There's a cackle of straw like laughter in the voice of Noj, but full-throated and raspy. In the corner stands a dark silhouette, almost the mirror image of Noj except outlined only in shadow, even in the strange black and white world. Its eyes blaze with a yellow light, and its arms are splayed outwards like a scarecrow.
Noj turns his head and regards it silently.
"Was I so evil in life that this is my reward...?" he asks the phantom.
Noj's voice answers
"Reward, punishment...it's all the same, isn't it? Ha-hah..."

[Ramos]

Myriel

So you do have a sense of humour. I was beginning to think it was gone along with some of the more important parts of you.
The elf lady walks towards the wall, turns to Virmas and smiles widely, showing pointed, elongated fangs. She raises her left hand and touches one of them and her smile turns miscevious.
If these are not just for show then I am vampire. Not that I wasn't expecting a necromancer to turn me into one-looks like mine would be wasted in a wight, you know. How about testing our abilities? If you can pass through objects like a ghost, perhaps I could display one of the powers of vampires. So, I am open to suggestions-which power would you like me to try for?

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First sentence is an intentionally lowered use of Bluff: innuendo.

[Lochar]

Virmas

"Well, as there isn't any running water going through here, and I don't think you can turn one already undead, I know that vampires have been able to turn into other beasts. Are you capable of that?"

[The Great Skenardo]

Noj
"What?"
As if from far away, the patchwork man returns his gaze to the strange sinister jezebel in front of him. So unlike Maggie, this statuesque creature.
Maggie...
"GWUOOOH!"
With a bellow like a scratched fog-horn, Noj howls and slams a cadaverous fist into the frame of the cell, sending chips of stone flying.
"Hee hee!" comes the scratchy laugh of Noj's voice,
"Now it's hit you, hasn't it? If you're very lucky, she's dead!"The voice of Noj clears its throat with a horrid rattle, and then whispers with a rasp "And if you're very very lucky, you're not the one who killed them...hope is a wonderful thing, isn't it, Noj?"

"S'not my name. I'm Jon. Jon the miller," he mumbles, indistinctly.
"You think so?" he replies, his tone bright and brittle like glass shards. "Well, take a good long look at those hands of yours, mister miller. Do those look like Jon's hands?"
The hunched figure shakes his head, mutely.
"That's right. You're about as far from being Jon as you can be. You're Noj now. And what will you do now, Noj, with your lips that grow back and fists that break iron?"
Noj looks away at the floor, "Die."
"No no no," comes the reply, somewhat peevish. "You're getting out of here. And these fine folk can help. Now, chin up."

[Ramos]

Myriel

And how do you expect me to know what to do to turn into a beast?! I am a mage, not a tree-worshipper!

Hmm, I remember my sister and I discussing the simplest form-altering magics. Perhaps it works like they do...

Myriel concentrates for a moment and her form seems to flow into the shape of a massive wolf with white fur and the same blood-red eyes. She stays in that shape for a few moments then turns towards her clothes, reverts into her true form and busies herself with getting dressed for a few moments. Turning back towards the rest of the group she smiles.

Did you enjoy the show?

[Lochar]

Virmas

Virmas nods and leers before smiling and laughing slightly. "I guess this happening isn't all bad. Just mostly."

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BTW, what's the stats on that wolf?

He then looks over to the scarecrow looking guy. "Although, I think he may be having a little more problem with it." Virmas shouts at him. "Hey, you're already undead. If you want to die, you'll have to find something capable of killing you. Just sitting there won't kill you. Come on out and talk. Best to figure out what you can do before we go attempt to 'entertain' our creators. Besides, if you want to die, you'll have to figure out what kills you first."

[Paladin Latham]

Realizing that the walls are pretty damn tough Oathbreaker tentatively creeps to the door and knocks "Hello out there! I'd be ever so grateful (snicker under breath) if you would open the door so we can (barely contained giggle) talk!".

[The Great Skenardo]

Noj
"You heard the man."
The rag man lifts his head, the dim gleam of his eyes showing through the wrappings.
"I can't die...but the man who did this to me can!" In the corner, the scarecrow silhouette opens its jagged mouth in a grin, dim yellow light spilling out onto the unclean stone. With a cackling noise, it spirals down into the stone and then back into space, now planted firmly in the stone by Noj's elbow. In the dingy gloom, it's still quite plain that this scarecrow shadow is just that; a shadow made vivid, and with glowing eyes and gaping mouth. It shifts to one side, and for a moment it overlaps perfectly Noj's frame before vanishing.
The lanky patch man stands up straighter, and the yellow glow in his eye flares.
"I'm Noj. And I'm getting out of here."