[WFRP2e] The Power of One - Part 2 - "Transire Benefaciendo"

[MrAbdiel]

You turn to face the dwarf, interposing yourself; and the old stunty gives you a wild grin.

"Yeged stonesunya donglitz agiverdah!" he barks at you with mirth, in a string of what you think might be mostly Tilean so heavily accented it is completely impenetrable. You open your mouth to offer a reply, hoping perhaps to distract him long enough with an exchange of words instead of blows - wouldn't that be nice - but then he lurches forward at you with startling speed and starts swinging away with his meaty fists. It's all you can to do to defend yourself against the four foot, meaty menace!

Spoiler: OOC: The Menace!

Show

The Spudletter has to move to engage you, so his first attack is a single charge attack. I'm going to expect Taalia uses Full Defense for the following round of attacks on her.

Spudletter's charge:

Vs99 - (1d100)[88], for (1d10+3)[8]!

You may dodge/parry this attack normally.

A second round of attacks!

Vs69 - (1d100)[24], for (1d10+3)[9]!
Vs69 - (1d100)[73], for (1d10+3)[10]!
Vs69 - (1d100)[99], for (1d10+3)[13]!

You may dodge/parry these attacks normally; and we'll see how you shape up! Currently, you only have 1 point of armor - though the Spudletter's attacks are unarmed, so it counts double to two, on all locations.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


In an ironic twist it was almost the Dwarf that babbled nonsensically at Taalia in such a way that would have ensnared her mind and rooted her to the spot.

"Yeged stonesunya donglitz agiverdah!"

Narrowing her eyes within her helmet, a wave of puzzled text scrolled past the shepardess' eyes as the dwarfs incoherent babbling reached her from that deep, gutteral throat.

Then he charged.

Taalia only had experience fighting alongside dwarves, never against them, and so it was an...unusual sight for one of such shorter stature to come thundering down upon her like a heavy oaken barrel on short, but able legs. The Spudmeisters first swing would have been a painful one, but thankfully Taalia recovered enough of her senses to bring her club about and swat the hamfisted glove that would have smacked her hard in the knee.

But what came next was a relentless procession of hamemrblows - again and again and again. The dwarf punched and threw his considerable weight about, smashing his body up against the girl in an attempt to take her out of the fight in accordance with his temporary allegience. Such was his feorcity one blow even made it through her defences, the girl hissing through gritted teeth as she felt that thick fist impact her right thigh.

It had been one thing to see the dwarf in action from a distance, but it was quite enough to actually receive it in person. All in all, Taalia was a surprisingly skilled combatant, demonstrating both skill and vigor. But she recognised a superior opponent when she saw it and she knew she had to do something to buy Daniele time that didn't involve her attempting to knock the dwarf out senselsss. (as if such a thing were even possible)

And so, Taalia swung her club...but it was easily batted away. Then she stepped back...and back...and back, carefully using her long legs and footwork as she drew the dwarf away.


OOC:

Taalia is on 13/17 wounds.

Taalia is disengaging 3 squares in the safest direction.

Note that charging requires at least 4 squares to build up momentum. So next round the most the dwraf could do is hurry up to her and do 1 attack.

She can't beat him, so she's stalling for time.

[MrAbdiel]

On the dwarf comes, with fury in his fists. It's like nothing you've endured before; the muscles in the dwarf's arms and especially core thick and corded and disasterously strong. He's short, but not at all, slow; and given than you are defending Daniele's attempted steal of the spud, you are largely forbidden from using your superior stride to escape. So wham, on comes the first blow on the dwarf's short charge; and you swear you felt the stone mauls swung by the mutants on the Silo road hit as hard. Against most unarmed opponents, you could let their fists swing at your legs and just endure the bruising for a better vantage to win the fight. Against this wrecking machine, you have no choice but to lower yourself to put your shield up to take the blow, and the shock of the blow through the shield is painful in itself. Then wham wham wham he keeps swinging, one fist after the other; and in retrospect, you take a little pride in having manages to prevent his swift blows from getting around you shield, or his feet from kicking your knees sideways, or one furious headbutt that would have contacted your midsection hard enough to send you sprawling and throwing up. The blow that gets through is barely your fault; you see the fingers of his left hand clap on the edge of your shield, and then the right fist comes forth with such speed it actually buckles and snaps off a third of the shield's timber, scattering shards and splinters against your cheep as the blow follows through to thump into your shoulder and rattle your ribs.

And then all at once he has relented, and you see why - Daniele has snatched the spud away from its keeper and started legging it away; and the Spudletter is already haring off, cackling, to pummel his first pursuer. Glad to be on the dwarf's side rather than against him for once, you secure what is left of your shield and rush to catch up to Daniele as the game swings back toward the favor of the Lancers.

Spoiler: OOC:

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After all that, the Spudletter only got one blow through - for 9 damage, -4 Toughness and -2 for the armor for 3 damage. By my calculations, Taalia is 4 wounds down.

* * * * *

The crowd's roaring disapproval of your team's fight-back is consistent through the rest of the segment; Daniele and the other professional players offload the ball to one another skillfully to keep the Spudletter's wrath shared around and the enemy team on the defensive. But toward the end - what you hope to be the end, because time has become a spongey mess in this breathless contest - Luigiano gets cornered and the spud stolen from him, and the Reman who snatches it doesn't wait, but turns and hurls it high up into the stands; where a brawl immediately breaks out over the coveted pigskin. The Spudletter is after it at once, vaulting over the fence surrounding the arena and charging up into the stands, swatting aside enthusiastic sportsgoers in his singleminded quest.

"Damn! Damn, they know they're ahead on points!" Daniele interprets a clipped shout of some kind of team-argot you do not comprehend, from Luigiano. The Remans are locking up into a crescent of shields against one wall of the arena. You don't need Daniele to explain, but he does even as you rush toward them. "They're trying to run the timer down - and the segment will be over before the spud gets back! It's all in now - we have to put one of these Sun-lickers down, now!"

So it's down to this - and when you and Daniele meet up with the other lancers and crash into the enemy line, of course you're lined up against the big galoot who swung on you early on. He's battered from the exhausting contest; but squaring off against him, he gives you a simpleton grin and that wink again. Everyone is trying to batter everyone down, now; and to do so without being caught doing so in an unsportsman like fashion. It's hitting, and getting hit, and scrapping and striking - but you were raised in such circumstances. However frenzied these dying moments of the game... there is no fear in you.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

You are squared off against an enemy - and as soon as someone on either team goes down, it's game over. Time to prove your mettle!

You act first, given that they're braced and you get to charge in. No outnumbering bonuses either way.

On a 1-50, your opponent's shield is still intact. (1d100)[87].

At this stage in the game, he still has (1d10+1)[4] wounds remaining.

Open it up with a charge, and we'll see who falls!

EDIT: Well, he's pretty beat up, at least - and he has no shield, so he'll have a harder time fighting back. Go git him!

[MrAbdiel]

The last fight is a frenzy of blows, shoves, soaked impacts and desperate maneuvers that leave you lungs burning and your body aching all over. The big Reman brawler opposite you is brawnier for sure; but he looks to have been softened up considerably by your teammates, and the Spudletter. Perhaps that headstart will compensate for his familiarity with the weapons of the game, making it something like a fair match. Helpful is the two thirds of a shield you still have, which your opposite number does not; and whenever his club bashes into the splintering edge of that deflector, your return attack can only be opposed with a forearm or caught on the body. One good blow slips through and you crack him on the noggin, and he teeters back and to his knees; but he springs up and returns to swing at you before you can put him away. It's about thirty seconds of back and forth, spread over an eternity of low-lethality violence, before you are able to drive a knee into his stomach, empty all the air from his lungs, and send him to the ground, clutching himself. You crank back your leg for the kick to the head that would be needed to, hopefully, put him out of conciousness; but an attendant beside you blows sharply on a wooden whistle and brings the game to a halt. For a gut-freezing second you fear you've done something wrong; but the explosion of joy among the bloodied and battered gallants a moment later, the hurricane of backslaps and howls of victory, tell you the opposite is true. You put your man on the ground, and he was not fit to recover swiftly enough to satisfy the judgement of the attendants. The Reman team can no longer field six players; and given than this player has been taken out of action in the fair course of play and not through a foul deed, they have no recourse to replenish their reserve. The game is over. You have won.

"Hahah! See, I told you - I told everyone - hey, you did it!" Daniele, whom you have had one conversation with earlier in your life before today, is lit up with delight for you that shines out of both his blackened eyes. "Amazing! Amazing; they'll be talking about this one for years, ha ha! Luccini will still whip us in the final, but we've never final'd before! Ahh!" He pauses to lean forward holding his ribs, and catch his breath. Just like that, it's over. The Reman team is sullen, but not openly bitter; they mill between the Verezzans shaking hands and offering short remarks of congratulation in decent sportsmanship. The brute - now recovered enough to stand with some help from a friend and wheezing reparative breathes into his narrowed lungs, makes sure to offer you his big mitt to shake. He can't offer commentary in his state, but he does give you that simple grin that seems, in this new context, to appreciate your moxie.

It's good that the Reman team is appreciative. The crowd is not. Their home team has lost the fight in the grand colosseum, and they boo raucously. The bones of mutton shanks go sailing into the arena, scattering on the sand. The displeasure of the onlookers is not riotous, though it is uniform; except for a handful of scattered Verezzan die-hards, including one dark haired girl whose cheers for you are lost in the ballyhooing drone of the losing fans. You can't hear her, but you see her bouncing up and down on her chair, waving her yellow scarf about. Around her is a halo of grumpy Remans who might be inclined to shout down or even accost such a display of spirit; but something about Bella - perhaps her youth, her radiant gentleness, or the unroughened fact of her femininity - shields her from the initiation of crowd violence which breaks out in scattered patches elsewhere in the stadium. As the locals start filing out and off to local drinking venues to complain, she bundles her pack and yours left at the seats, and begins navigating down to the arena's side to meet you.

Luigiano and Daniele invite you for an after-event drink, and to join them as they check on their bludgeoned comrades to tell them the good news - but the sun is slipping from the sky, now; and as a tourist in this place, you have other places to be - parts to buy for Cestié, and then a walk back to the farm where the flying machine rests.

"Well, you really bailed us out of a bad pinch, there," Daniele says as he shakes your hand and prepares to release you to your errands; your personal things restored to you, the now sweaty, bloody borrowed uniform yielded with the armaments; "Luccini's team are incredible; so the chance that we'll swat them is slim to none; but the pot for the runner up isn't bad either. We'll cut you in for, oh, let's say ten percent of the outcome either way, and have it sent to your clerk friend in Bella Collina. It's a two hundred duri pot for the runner up; a thousand for the winner, so it's a golden gift either way. And hey - if you ever feel like travelling the world and fighting professionally more seriously... You're technically inducted to the Gallants, now; so don't let another merc outfit poach you!"

* * * * *

Back at the farmhouse, you find Cestié kicked back on a comfortable stack of hay bales; smoking from a pipe under the stars with an empty bowl that once contained stew in his lap. He seems happy as a clam - certainly, now that you and Bella have made it back safe with the things he needs.

"Ah! Welcome back! Our hosts put some stew aside for you, and it'll still be warm. Now you've seen the big city - are you impressed?"

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Two weeks from now, there is a 12% chance that the Lancers will will, and you'll have 100 durimailed to your name back in Bella Collina; otherwise, a more modest 20. Not bad, for fifteen minutes of frenzy!

And gain 150XP for your adventures in Remas!

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia's blood ran hot in her veins as the sun beat down upon her leather-protected skull and the burning ichor of fatigue gnawed at her muscles. She had barely managed to fend off the dwarf - no mean feat - only to watch him scatter away into the stands in a clever ploy by the enemy team to buy themselves time and run down the clock to secure the win through the collection of points, rather than by downed enemy combatants.

Hustling with her temporary squad, Taalia listened to the words spoken, breathing heavily as sweat clung to her sunkissed fair-skin and and the raucous bellowing of the crowd rolled around the arena like a storm.

The plan was simple and direct: form up and charge. The enemy team would hold their positions, so it was up to the Gallants to seize the day and crash through their ranks. All they had to do was bring low a single man on the enemy team and they would fall bellow the necessary numbers and would be forced to concede by default. It wasn't the most clean or glorious processions to secure victory, but Taalia was learning quite quickly that cleanliness in the arena was simply a mirage. For her part, Taalia was on the furthest flank. As she was so far an 'untested' member, or at least one who had not earned her stripes, so to speak, of camaraderie among the men, it was unusual to her that she would be trusted with such a deceptively important position - but it didn't matter. A handful of moments passed and she was stationed on the furthest right wing of their charge, her left arm still grasping her rickety, falling-apart shield in an attempt to employ it for her own protection and that of Daniele's, were she able to extend her aegis to his salvation in the necessary time of need.

The whistle blew, the time was now. The Gallants surged forward as the crowd roared in recognition of this final promise of desperate violence, as Taalia's tall figure crashed into her brawny, hulking compatriot. He was the stronger of the two of them, of that there was no doubt. Taalia, by virtue of her gender, lacked the formidable raw bulk and power of the male-build arrangement of shoulders and arms, with their muscle and tissue connections. Instead, her form was more like a predatory cat, sleek and agile, but possessed of enough strength that she could, with training, both resist the man and pose a threat to him. And training was exactly what she had received ever since her first mad brawl with the goblins all those years ago.

Her experience against the mutants, her practice with the knights, her battles with the pirates...they had all polished her form. She was less of an ape that wildly swung and hoped it connected, having become more refined and patient, parrying and deflecting with her weapon and trying to feint-out an opening or exploit one that arose.

The bruiser swung his weapon at her, its downward arc reflecting off of her own club before she focused its back-swing down with her shield. Another blow came was summoned from the momentum, and Taalia once again had to bring her own cudgel about to parry the blow away. A small opening presented herself and she took it - but the end of her stick grazed off the mans collar bone. That was when his own came through, using the pommel of his weapon to draw out a misplaced deflection from the shepardess so that the end of his club could strike her near the face, the girl hissing under her breath as the sharp, hot pain shot through her face and down her body as her right eye swiftly developed a dark, deep black-purple ring about it. Taalia stepped back, he stepped forward, swinging again, but this time he over-extended. Perhaps eager to follow up with his success, he swung his cudgel down in an attempt to strike her upon the helm - a ruthlessly vicious blow were it to land. But this time the girl was quicker on her feet, pulling herself to the side, using her shield to push against the back of his now down-facing hands in order to neutralise his weapon as a means of defence, and brought about her own club to strike him right upon the centre of his chest. It was a deep impact, a thick, hard whack! that resonated through his heavy chest and knocked the wind right from his body. She followed this with a quick knee to his belly, and the man toppled over onto his side.

The referee's whistle blew soon after. The Remans were one man down. They'd won!

Taalia joined the Gallants in an arms-across the shoulder huddle of celebration, her grin wide and her words mimicking the men around her as her spirit sailed off with their triumph before the boo'ing and rancorous whinging of the home-crowd who just watched a great upset defeat. Their favoured sons? A Verezan who just so happened to be there who could step in - and they go on to victory?! What should have been a respectable victory for the home team turned into a nail-biting upset loss, and Taalia offered her infectious grin and broad waving to the crowd in return, her eyes settling on Bella and blowing a kiss up at her friend who waved her beautiful scarf.

For the forwarding of future fortune from their up-coming finals match, Taalia only had one thing to say.

"Add to the letter that it is to be used for the school. Polo will know what that means!"

oOo

The trip back to the farmstead was filled with chatter as Taalia, still high on the euphoria of both the activity and sensation of winning, spoke endlessly of the experience to her friend. The insanity of even hoping into the arena. Standing there before thousands that cheered on your misteps and pain. THe rush of victory. The glory of prizes. IT had been nothing short of exhilierating, and Taalia chattered Bella's ear off about it the whole way back to the barn.

Emerging into the farm, Taalia smiled at the sight of the slovenly tinker and his luxurious spread across a comfortable bale beneath the beauty of a star-light night.

"Stew you say?" Taalia spoke, looking over to Bella and wideing her eyes with a grin to indicate she very much liked the sound of that!

"I think I might need two!" she spoke with charged energy, before Cestie doubtlessly noticed the dark ring around her right eye.

"Oh, this?" the shepardess laughed and shrugged, smiling bashfully as if she had been caught staring at a handsome boy in class.

"I'll tell you all about it..."

[MrAbdiel]

Signore Cestié is appropriately amazed and horrified and then amazed for your adventures; worried for your injuries, but given that it's not much more than bruising, not so worried in the end. He listens particularly to your arena encounter as you work on the small repairs and maintenance required for the machine.

"Well, if you were going to get into a fight - I'm glad you found the best possible fight in town. Haha! Prize and all. Too bad we can't stay in town for weeks to see the final. That would be more conflicting for poor Bella, though."

Bella shakes her head and offers a soft little laugh. She looks up briefly from the glass bottles of liquors she bought at the market in Remas, for the trip - heady grappa brandies, one bottle for when you cross the mountains, one for when you arrive in Parravon; one for when you arrive in Nuln. She swaddles them in cloth so they won't clink and chip on the journey.

"Hah - maybe a little. But I never have been to Luccini city, Signore Cestié. And always lived so close to Verezzo's border - I think I'm a full convert now, so Luigiano's Lancers still have my cheers."

Cestié's day of light work has not been without its own surprises. He introduces you to the discovery he made, when removing a stressed strut in the light frame of the machine - a little birds nest, tucked away behind the canvas. A plump little blackbird with a yellow beak, the kind that chirped at you with their curious, bell-clear tones in the forest, sits in the cluster of fine twigs and grasses, chirping once in recognition when Cestié pulls back the canvas to to show you.

"They must have started nesting before we left from Bella Collina - she must have some eggs under there, or she'd have abandoned it for sure. The male has followed us across the country, though I'm confounded as to how; he comes by to chirp at us and bring her the moths and bugs he catches. I thought to move the nest out and leave it here, but I'd have to break it to get it away from the struts there; and it feels cruel seeming they've endured this far."

The plump little mother songbird gazes up at you, and chirps its consonance with the idea. Strictly speaking, these are more occupants than the machine is designed to carry - but your keen instincts for the basic capacities of the machine suggest that you can probably get away with it.

* * * * *

Trantio

A few more days of easy skyborn travel punctuated by idyllic picnics on tall hills and the occasional stop-over at ammenable farmer's homes carries you north beyond the borders of Remas. Cestié insists that with the spyglass, you can see Pavona in the far east, even though you are not going that way; but either the old man's eyes are better than yours, or he is still so giddy with the success of the machine that he is convincing himself of even more perfectly clear and idyllic views from the sky that are possible. Or else he's playing with you. But Pavona passes by in the far east as you fly over the Trantine hills; rippling mounds of earth whose slopes are populated by olive trees and and whose flats are topped with neat orchards of citrus and fruits more exotic still. Cestié plan is to touch down outside of Trantio and find a place to hold and inspect the machine overnight, just as with Remas; but it's in these skies that the machine's first test of rigor is met.

Harsh winds blow from the west, meaning the machine creaks quietly as it is forced to 'tack' slightly into the wind to prevent being blown too far off course. Then the rain begins; light and passable at first, but then increasingly troublesome. The tightly organized farmland loses its grip on the hills as you are pushed further east, and now there are fewer, scattered farmsteads and structures visible below through the haze of downpour, hard to see in the premature dark afternoon of gravid clouds above.

"We've no choice! We have to put her down, Taalia - she can take the wind, but if we keep getting shoved east, we might end up pushed all the way to the river Bellagio, or the Tetroverde wood - either would be a disaster! Take the yoke, while I look for a place!"

The place you settle for is an unloved, but not unremarkable villa perched on a hill; with a nice flat landing and takeoff zone within the confines of a partly collapsed ring wall, surrounded by the disordered remnant mess of what might once have been a very nice set of orchards. The landing is acceptibly bumpy - good thing you replaced those parts, in Remas - but you are forced to spend a few minutes strugging in the rain with Cestié and Bella to detach the wings from the aircraft so it can be wheeled under the looming, creepervine-overgrown balcony above the main entrance without bashing the wings on the columns supporting it. The rain has stripped the remnant warmth right out of the air, and being now somewhat soggy doesn't help much either.

Bella pulls her cloak around her shoulders, glancing up at the big redwood doors, still partially ajar. "Such a nice home, to abandon - some young noble's place, perhaps. Why leave it? What I would give for such a place!"

Cestié darts about making redundant checks on the machine, after its trial; but is not so distracted he cannot answer. "Eh... Well, Trantio's often at war with someone - but this isn't exactly a strategic point for the Pavonans to stick a flag in. Lots of the rural merchant class moved west toward the city, these last few decades. Wild orcs raiding from the mountains, when the dwarf holds are frozen over and can't keep them thinned out, see..? But one thing orcs don't do is take up long term residence."

Bella checks the birds (they're fine - the mother and father birds tweeting irritably about the weather, the eggs presumably almost ready to hatch any day), but then glances to the large country villa, and back to you. It would certainly be warmer inside - safer, dryer. But as an unknown quantity, as a location of mystery and a certain amount of eeriness, she looks to you to instigate some kind of exploration effort.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia had a blast spinning her tale to Cestie, the older mans sometimes shocked or horrified reactions bringing out a little trollish sense of humor in the shepardess that rarely found the oxygen to emerge. She drew the fight out, exagerated her wounds and the enemies skill - all the more heroic that she and the other Gallants emerged victorious.

That Bella revealed her development loyalties lay with the lancers, Taalia would smirked and snort lightly through her nostrils in amusement.

"My beautiful Bella...no one is perfect," she'd grin in a gentle, affectionate tease.

When the most adorable little stow-aways ever were revealed, Taalia gasped in beloved warmth, her eyes widening and her mouth opening, as she brought her hands over to cover herself as she "Awwww!"ed in appreciation for their new feathery companions. The symbolism of the this particular species being here during both her arrival and departure from Bella Collina was not lost on the girl, and as much as she wanted to, she restrained herself from reaching out and stroking the little bird upon its soft chest for fear that she would contaminate the nest with her own particular odor that would confuse and drive off the parents from their precious cargo. After all, it was likely their particular scent that had served as a way-guide for the hard-pressed father bird whom had embarked on his own far-reaching, herculean journey to catch up with his family that had been unknowingly ferried off.

The shepardess also resisted the urge to provide the little nest with a small tear of cloth as an extra layer of warmth. Her time on the farm had taught her that the birds instinctively knew about the thermo-requirements of their little eggs, and that her gesture, however well-meaning, may tip that delicate balance in the wrong direction. So, instead she drew a small bit of cloth around the scaffolding of the machine where the birds had nested, applying it in such a way as to further block out any wind pressure that could have disturbed the little feathery family in their cross-continental flight.

oOo

Taalia's idea seemed almost clairvoyant, as it was only a matter of time until the troupe in their flying machine encountered their first patch of bad weather. The shepardess had been on board during some rough winds before, and they were certainly a frightening affair when they were first encountered, with the way the scaffolding of the machine would creak under the torturous pressures applied to it, or the rough turbulence would rattle the very much living contents about in stomach-churning jolts that made one question how safe it was to take to the skies in such a contraption.

Likewise, she had flown through rain once or twice before. Indeed, Cestie had insisted on it, and the girl had agreed. After all, if they had not tested the machine under such arduous conditions, how could they be sure they wouldn't be blasted out of the sky if they made such an effort and encountered this meteorological menace?

But combining both? That was a frightening affair, and what made it more enveloping was the rapidity with which the cloak of the storm was upon them. One minute they were sailing half a kilometer above the verdant green and yellowed fields of the Trantino landscape, and the next the ominous clouds, fat with rain and cold, slicing wind, came at them like a roiling specter in the sky.

"We've no choice! We have to put her down, Taalia - she can take the wind, but if we keep getting shoved east, we might end up pushed all the way to the river Bellagio, or the Tetroverde wood - either would be a disaster! Take the yoke, while I look for a place!"

Taalia had fantastic hearing, and even she struggled to piece together everything Cestie was yelling as the winds wrapped about them. Nevertheless, she registered enough and brought her left hand forward in a thumbs-up gesture of agreement, as she tried her best to look deep over her shoulder as she could to their inexperienced, first-time-traveler companion, Bella.

What must Bella be feeling right now? Myrmidia only knew. Being this high up with this storm bellowing down upon them, the contraption suddenly feeling more like a flying coffin than an instrument of free passage. The animalistic fear of insecurity was natural to all, Taalia remembered how it ate away at her insides and set her nerves alight the first time she encountered these things during tested, so it was her best guess that Bella would be putting on a brave face while internally regretting even taking to the air in this damnable machine. She could be enjoying a glass of wine and delicious gnocci in her warm little hovel back in Bella Collina now, another handsome gentleman caller soon to arrive to try his luck and win her heart, but noooo she just had to be adventurous...

"We're setting down!" Taalia yelled to her bestie, hoping that this would set her at ease, if even temporarily, as the shepardess' hands wrapped around the yoke and felt the churning power of the storms perimeter as she slowly inched it down and about to slice their way in a descent through the vast banks of cold rain and mist.

However, where the skies held violent turbulence and striking pyres of lightning, what awaited them down below was much more unsettling.

oOo

As Cestie busied himself tending to the machine, ensuring every gear, bolt and precious bit of necessity was still in place and functional, Taalia stared through the slightly ajar door and to that eerie villa not more than a few dozen meters away. Though once a beautiful and welcome dwelling, the domicile had since deteriorated in the absence of its prior occupants and now stood as a lamentation-filled mausoleum leering over its bleak, former lordship. There was something about its haunting misery, its lonely vigil in these disputed territories, that got to Taalia and slithered under her skin, for its hallowed walls could very well hide the residual aspects of whatever forces had once driven the prior occupants from its splendour.

"Such a nice home, to abandon - some young noble's place, perhaps. Why leave it? What I would give for such a place!"

Taalia didn't respond, but she had a few ideas that could answer the question.

"Eh... Well, Trantio's often at war with someone - but this isn't exactly a strategic point for the Pavonans to stick a flag in. Lots of the rural merchant class moved west toward the city, these last few decades. Wild orcs raiding from the mountains, when the dwarf holds are frozen over and can't keep them thinned out, see..? But one thing orcs don't do is take up long term residence."

One did not live as long as Taalia had beneath the lash of Skaven slavery by not developing a sixth sense for danger. Those who couldn't spot an arse-whopping coming didn't last long - Taalia lasted longer than most. It was this same extraordinary perception that was tingling across the girls shoulders and down her spine like cold fingers as she stared at that abandoned villa, her eyes fixated upon it and her face a hardened expression that would look out of place for the normally friendly girls average disposition.

"Wait here, with this," Taalia answered finally, reaching over to the storage of the flying machine and withdrawing her blunderbuss. She held it up for either Cestie or Bella to take, before gesturing to the container from which she had drawn it.

"My firearm is in there too," as she drew up the belt-and-holsters of her pistols, drawing them around her waist and buckling them secure.

"We have a total of a hundred shots. I don't like this place. I will check out the villa. Even if it is empty, we're staying in here tonight. There is only one entrance that we can barricade and bottleneck, and I will take tonights watch. If I'm not back in ten minutes, barricade the door and do not emerge until you're certain the coast is clear. I will knock as so..." and she held up her left hand, and then used her hand to 'knock' a three-stroke-double-tap sequence silently against her palm. "Do not open this door for any other signal and assume it has ill-intent."

It was clear by the look on Taalia's face and her tone of voice that she was not putting this up for debate. This was what was going to happen.

"It's probably nothing, but I didn't survive sixteen years trusting 'probably'."

With that, Taalia collected a few things and crept her way towards the Villa, long-forgotten creeping instincts returning to her with surprising ease.

ooc:

Taalia will take:
- Her shield, which she has out.
- Her sword, which she had sheathed.
- Her Good dagger, sheathed in her boot.
- Her pistols, one of which she has in her hand. She's got a pouch on her belt with a few extra shots.
- A rope.
- No lantern, she's got Night Vision, she doesn't need it.
- She's wearing her armour.
- Her lucky charm.
- Her backpack.

[MrAbdiel]

Bella takes the blunderbuss. She has limited experience; but it's not a wildly technical weapon, and it frees Cestié to take up the musket, when he is ready. Your raven haired friend listens as you make your wishes clear, and elects not to garnish your commands with questions for now, in this tense moment; she nods, and offers you only the small blessing she can as you slip through the doors...

"Be careful, Taalia..."

The interior is gloomy, but not unnavigable to your sharp senses. The entry hall to this villa is badly damaged by time, and interlopers; only scraps of a moth-eaten rug remain, and the splintered remnants of what might have been a rack for visitor's cloaks and capes. The rest has been stripped out and stolen by whoever has wandered this place before. But as you get past this initial room, you find the deeper places to be less looted - some intact vases, rugs, tapestries; some salvageable finery, and a crooked-hanging, time-saddened portrait of a broad shouldered man with greying black hair; looking sensible and strong behind his much shorter wife, and a girl who, in the rendition, must be a daughter not much older than ten or eleven.

The old occupants, you must assume; but the picture would be considered quite good; and the frame atleast worth some mess of silver.

Somewhere within the halls you hear a clickety rattle; and a rush of wind that might be a whoosh of air through a crack in the roof, or a great wheezing breath....

Spoiler: OOC: ROLLS!

Show

I demand some rolls!

- Perception Roll+0 (Hearing)
- Perception Roll+0 (Sight)
- Perception Roll+0 (Smell)
- Search Roll +20
- Navigation Roll +20 (or, lacking navigation, an Outdoor Survival Roll +0).

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia carefully stepped through the decaying monument to the previous inhabitants wealth and prestige, the inside of the villa hinting at the beauty it once possessed. As she disappeared between those weather-beaten doors, the world outside seemed to drain away as it was replaced by the quiet solitude of a lonely, abandoned house. The scent of dust was heavy in the air, and the girl made sure that she stepped both quietly and slowly, lest her size give away her position to some hidden occupant or her weight send her foot through the rotting floor.

When Taalia came to witness the painted portrait of, assumedly, the prior owners, the girl paused and stared at the dust-caked curiosity with an unusual interest. She had never really seen paintings of this quality before, and the captured essence of the family lingering in their decaying opulence struck something sentimental within the shepardess. Physically, the family may have moved on for whatever reason, but a part of them remained. As such, despite the evidence value in the frame or perhaps even the painting itself, Taalia chose not to try and profit from its current dubious ownership. Besides, it was unlikely she could fit it on the flying machine anyway.

However, the shepardess did slowly approach and brush the portrait aside gently, as if curious as to whether anything lay behind it.

Then the whistle came to the girls sensitive ears.

Whipping around on the spot, her shield up and pistol pointed ahead, Taalia's eyes scanned back and forth through the aged innards of the home, as she proceeded on with her inspection...

[MrAbdiel]

You whirl about, shield up, pistol up; tracking the barrel around the room and finding no target presenting itself.

Then what caused the sound? You strain your ears in the quiet that follows, desperate for answers.

The sound in the distance is... what...? Metal on something. Metal on metal, atleast; a clunky clatter of metal on floorboards, and metal on metal; and a softer, meshy slap within it. You would say the movements of an armored man - but the sounds are not heavy enough, and too hollow. Perhaps some kind of trap? An effigy using chain, and plate, somewhere further inside?

Your nose tells you that somewhere in this place is rot. You are familiar with the smell, certainly, from the worst parts of your life. And it's waning rot, at that; the kind of musty, unpleasant smell that follows the worst, ripest rot which sees all the moisture stripped out of a corpse as the scavengers get to it. Past that ripe rot is the waning rot when the skin and remnant flesh is moving to mummification...

...But even that amount of smell strikes you as too 'fresh' for the state of this house. Anyone who was killed when this house was abandoned would be rat-picked bones, by now; and cast almost no smell at all except for those leaning down to sniff them.

A long time ago, this villa suffered some calamnity.

Some time between then and now, someone or something came in and died, and lies still within the walls.

Another traveller seeking shelter? Some looter trying their luck? But how would such a traveller die, if not to be killed by something here? Maybe the something that made that wheezy rush.

Moving from this open living room you find a dining room with its skewed table and scattered, verdigris covered bronze vessels and pots and broken old crockery. But more than that, you find when you look back to the living room, you have mistaken its size - it's much larger, and you suddenly doubt you have searched it properly. Retreating a few steps, you stalk around the cavernous hall and decide, for a fact, this room must take up most of the villa.

But how could it? From the outside, the villa seemed to be a moderately sized afair built into a T shape. If this central hall was the junction, surely it was too large even then to fit in that shape...

This is the second most convincing argument to doubt your senses. The first presents itself when you turn around: a humanoid form of gauzy white vapor; the shape of a man with none of the substance, and fear in his eyes - contagious fear that seems to want to flood into you as he opens his mouth to release a ghastly, wheezing moan, and his hands fly up to reach for you!

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Zoinks! The Ghost of the Villa!

(1d10+4)[10] is his initiative. Roll Initiative, and also roll a Fear test - which is a flat Willpower check, or be frozen with fear on your turn.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


The more Taalia thought about this villa, the more that eerie sense of dread from external viewing slithered back into her skull. That sound - what was it?! And the smell! The girl had smelt foul before, she knew all the odiferous mélanges of death, decay and ruin from her time as a slave and in the aftermath of battles - the glamorous stories of combat leave out how dead bodies soil themselves as the muscles, free from their central nervous systems command, relax and empty the internal contents, mixing that stench with the vile odor of internal organs and bodily humors. But this was something else, far more advanced in its desiccation, a petrification that shouldn't be possible.

But furthermore, the dimensions of the house were not adding up. If she didn't know better she'd say her mind was playing tricks on her -

The shuffle. The groan.

Taalia spun about again, her eyes wide as some thing had shambled into the central area. Amidst the decaying ruin of dinner tables and rusted cutlery, rotting tapestries and a cold wind blowing in from a storm thundering outside the walls, stood a pallid, groaning corpse, its dead eyes wide in recognition of warm flesh and its filth-caked, clawed fingers reaching forth to seize it.

Fear crawled at the back of Taalia's skull like an infestation of maggots, a dozen wriggling little fingers that threatened to seize her senses and rob her of any action. But the girl pushed on; she cast aside the primal fear the brewed up from within and immediately squeezed the trigger on her pistol, the loud Crack! echoing off the walls and blasting smoke and shot forward.

Swiftly, she dropped it and crossdrew her other pistol and Crack! the second blast went off.

Perhaps it was the the fear eating at her system that put her aim off and caused the first shot to whiz past the things skull, while the cloud emitted from the first shot made landing the next one near impossible. Whatever the case, both charges missed their mark, the bullets blowing holes open in the mould-lined plaster behind the shambling corpse.

[MrAbdiel]

The terrible countenance is just a few feet away. In an instant, you bring your pistol up and fire! The report echoes through the house and the muzzle flash almost blinds you in contrast in the dark - but the shot must have somehow missed. You let it fall on the leather lanyard tethered to your leather cuirass, your hand shoots to the other pistol, and loose that shot too. This one finds the mark.

Or rather, both have found their mark. Blinking, you can see the impact point of both pistol balls in the plaster of the wall directly behind and beyond your target. They have shot through him, disrupting nothing of him, harming him not. This is no man - this is the transparent remnant of a man, some echo or spirit; nothing of the form that can fear lead or steel, but retaining some instincts of recognition, and you are forced to respect, hatred. You see now the way the spirit's 'hair', if it can be called that, falls; the set of his shoulders; the spitting image of the man in the painting... except for the hollow eyes, and the ethereal form.

Is this it? Have you come all the way from the pits of misery, embarked on this quest of hope and adventure, only to die here, in this cursed country villa because of a poorly timed storm?

The spirit takes a step toward you. As he does he reaches up with his hands - not to you, but to his own face - and with his fingers hooked into his mouth, pulls his jaw down to his navel, revealing a horrific, inhuman, ghostly cavity of a mouth filled with a whirlpool of sawing, shifting teeth.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

This creature seems immune to bullets.

He uses his action to produce his Terrifying Form.

Make a Willpower Test against Terror. Failure means you gain 1 Insanity point, and run at full speed away from this monstrosity. Success means ... you don't! But you might want to do so anyway!

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Crack! the first shot blasted out, illuminating the darkened chamber with the muzzle flash.

Nothing.

Taalia holstered her pistol and withdrew her other in a practiced, fluid motion - Crack!

Nothing.

The shots went right through it.

The girls eyes widened...and widened...and widened, until they were each the breadth and depth and glazed-over image of a silver coin as the true nature of the 'man' was revealed. He was no shambling corpse, no desiccated horror returned to a state of undeath with a hunger for the living. No, this was far, far worse, as the image of the man flickered with ethereal power and his silhouette expanded into its ghostly horrors: the mouth pulled wide and the inner darkness between stars manifested as an all-encompassing maelstrom of teeth and formless tentacles into which the soul would enter and disappear into the finality of oblivion.

Taalia fled. Shield and gun in hand, she fled, as whatever primordial instincts animated the human species from the swamp to the field seized control of her mind, turned in the direction of the entrance way and sent her body hurtling in its direction. Where once she had entered with quiet, steely curiosity, now she rocketed out of that house as fast as her long legs could carry her.

[MrAbdiel]

You cannot spare the motion to glance over your shoulder to see if you are being chased. You only run - through the too-big living room, through the entry hall, to the big double doors and then -

Into a new room, some kind of bedroom with rotten and shredded sheets and a ruptured feather mattress. Have you gotten turned around some how? You must have - but the howl is behind you again, and you know if you look back you will see it giving chase, so you charge on and away; over the bed and out the door into a hallway and another bedroom and another...

Finally you seize command of yourself, in a room you do not recognize. An impossible room - another bedroom, not like the last two; but it has no windows, and you swear you have been running in the same direction for half a mile. And what villa has bedrooms with no windows?

There can be no escaping the suspicion, now. Either the house itself is the vector of some dark, spatial magic ... or else the spirit has done something to you mind, making you unable to see your escape. You can't even hear the rain anymore. Somehow, once again, you are in an endless, sunless dungeon full of rot and ruin and monsters.

For a moment, you think you smell rat urine.

But the smell resolves, and it's that waning rot - and the source of it, here at your feet. The body of a young man in a black stain of old dried blood; who seems to have fled just as you did and dragged himself under the bed, only to be dragged halfway out. A piercing wound from a wide blade has gone through his back and ended his life; in the process, it has slid open his now-crusty backpack and spilled a handsome bundle of dusty silverware and petty treasures about his bloody resting place. A looter, or adventurer - but now, a dead man; his withered, rotten face still retaining a collapsed expression of misery and terror.

You can't hear the spirit, now; and this bizarre dungeon leaves you no trustworthy visual cues as to which way leads to 'out' if there is any at all. But your hearing is still good, at least; and the sound of that metal shuffle and scrape you heard before is present somewhere. Somewhere east of you...

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

You have fled from the presense of your Terror; though having failed the test, if you find it again, you will be oblidged to roll again or flee and gain another IP. In the meantime, you could try to find your way toward the sound you first heard (which seems not to have been emitted by the ghost, but something else deeper in this place); or fearing that to be another horror, try to keep away from it.

If the former, you may do so without penalty given your previous excellent hearing roll.

If the latter, make me another Navigation Outdoor Survival Check.

For other options, please make a suggestion and stay on the line!

[MrAbdiel]

Letting your breath settle doing something as mundane as checking over a long dead body, you examine the stricken looter.

Most of his petty possessions are degraded from time, especially those which have sat steeped in his crusting blood. There is a compact, decent dagger in his boot which he never drew in his desperation, it seems. At his waist, an empty leather scabbard suitible for a small handaxe lies empty and dust choked. The remnants of a tattered paper map sits folded in his pocket - it has a number of locations marked off which seem to correspond to other villas in the hills already looted, or marked with interest with smudged charcoal. Perhaps in his day, this fellow belonged to a band that was looting as many of this abandoned places as it could, and he merely drew the short straw for this particularly cursed place. Aside from these and his own decrepifying adventuring goods (a rusty grappling hook and old rope; oxidized lockpicks; a dry old leather bridle that must once have corresponded to a horse), there is his spilled haul; mostly silver and glazed goods from the house, perhaps a few duri worth.

You consider taking them; but you consider your conversations with Andreotto that transpired after your brief encounter with whatever mischief spirit tore through your home that fateful Mystery Night.

That had been some kind of roving mischeif spirit; which Andreotto suggested are not the same as 'ghosts' proper. Such spirits are the remnants of those who died in some terrible way, or were improperly committed to Morr after their death; or else were conjured directly from rest by a master of dark magics. In the latter case, they may be dangerous and deadly tools for wicked magicians given how impossible it is to do them harm with conventional weapons, and how - as you have experienced - some have capacity to invoke mind numbing, supernatural terror and shock. But other times, the spirits of the dead crave something - some wrong put right, before they can rest.

Could the looter have disturbed this ghost? It's unlikely robbing the dead man's house would make him happy, but given that the looter came to do his work long after the place was abandoned, it does not comport with what you know for a spirit to lay dormant in a place waiting for a reason to be restless. Surely he would have gone on to wherever they go when he died - or already been haunting, since his death's immediate event was the cause of his arrested departure.

So it seems likely this poor sod ran afoul of this cursed madness just as you did - you must hope to do better.

The wound that killed him seems to have been a single, decisive stabbing blow from a wide blade. A short sword, most likely; too wide to be a dagger, or the point of a sword without having stabbed two further feet into the floorboard. And too narrow to be a blow from the man's own axe.

You are rolling the body back slightly to check (the point of the killing weapon struck the board beneath, but did not overpenetrate - shortsword most likely, for sure) when you hear the shuffle of movement just outside the entrance to the room; the entrance through which you came. You hold still, glancing once to the second exit to your east rather than that southern one for a moment - and whatever moved outside the room has also stopped moving to maintain its own silence.

If it is there at all.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia's mind was a hive of activity as she inspected both the body and reflected on her knowledge of the arcane arts, and how they applied to her particular situation.

Her immediate and initial thought was that what she had encountered was a ghostly apparition, and decaying house was home to a necromancer who was using it as his haven of private research with the occassional acquirement of the odd tomb robber here and there.

But when given time to think and reflect on what she knew, on what Andreatto had taught her, the shepardess' mind started to change.

Ghostly spectres were terrifying. All who encountered them spoke as such. Yet the one she had received in that dining hall had been uncomfortable, until it actively performed a gesture of intimidation. One that, much to the chagrin of Taalia's pride, had worked.

Secondly, having reflected on her prior notice of the odd dimensions of the houses external apparent size compared with its internal space...such dimensional alterations were not really known this far south from the realm of chaos. Were she travelling in the north of Kislev, where Andreotto had assured her that magic and the touch of chaos was much, much stronger, then it would be little wonder that reality itself would shift and warp in fantastical ways. But this far south? No, her mind was being deceived.

And thirdly, the body of the tomb robber. Though she felt sympathy for the lad for having died in such a horrible way, as one human to another, she had a more neutral position on his demise, as he was, after all, a grave robber. The family that once inhabited this house had fled and this man had come in, armed with information and targets, to steal their possessions. He was a thief, profiting from others misfortune. Yet, he had died horribly, perhaps in a way that was disproportionate to his crimes. Therefore, Taalia had a more neutral disposition towards him, and as she inspected his body and noticed the killing blow being delivered by a short sword, she thought back to that ghost: it sure as Myrmidia's boots wasn't wielding a blade. Such wounds would not be caused by the ethereal, nor would a fresh cadaver be allowed to decay beneath the touch of time were an active necromancer in the vicinity.

With all of this considered, Taalia came to one conclusion: this was the work of Grey Magic, the Winds of Ulgu.

She needed to find a way to disbelieve or pierce the veil of the shadowmancers illusions in order to escape. But even then - was the shadowmancer still alive? Or was she encountering the residue of a trap or prior mind game that he had played, yet lingered on long after his own death? Either possibility was terrifying, but admittedly the latter could be more securely navigated due to the absence of an active antagonistic agent who wielded the most deceptive of the winds of magic working against her.

Hearing the shuffling nearby, Taalia froze, but chose not to look directly at the thing.

Once again, were it an ethereal spirit, why would it 'pause' ? Why would it fear her detection of its presence? Were it an actual ghost, it would simply phase through the walls, unimpeded by material barriers, and sink its ghostly hands into her body and rip her soul from within.

But that's not what happened.

It paused in its hunt, seemingly concerned that it was being detected.

Why would an ethereal, untouchable ghost be so concerned?

Unless it wasn't.

She had two options: find a way to escape, or confront the illusion, or at least, confront it in such a way that informed the nearby generator of her innocence, or at least, worthiness of being allowed to part. Afterall, what if she escaped this house, but the agitated wizard came after Cestie and Bella?

She still needed time to think, Taalia knew she did not have at her disposal the means to confront the wizard. Remaining quiet, she rose from her kneeling position and slowly started to make her way back to the opposite door, intent on vanishing back into the labyrinth, and search for a way to penetrate the illusionary terrain and make an escape.

[MrAbdiel]

You wrack your brain for the small conversations you had about spirits, with Andreotto. Mostly, he had advised you not to turn your attentions in that direction. Necromancy was a forbidden discipline that ran on dhar - twisted dark magic - and many an apprentice wizard had found themselves on the pointy end of an explication tribunal for what was, in most cases, just another expression of the kind of academic curiosity that made good wizards. But occasionally, those wizards discovered things about necromancy they liked, and then they were too far gone - other wizards could see or smell the dark magic, and before you know it they were hiding out in abandoned villas or petitioning even darker patrons for succour. True study of necromancy is left to the wizards of Shyish, the Amethyst Wind; the Death wizards forming an unusual alliance with their religious counterparts in the clergy of Morr, over policing the issue with the utmost gravity. You have some ideas about spirits - poltergeists are not ghosts, and neither are spectres, and none of those are wraiths - but a precision knowledge of these things, and especially a useful depth of knowledge to be able to tell what is usual or unusual about such a spirit, is unfortunately beyond you.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Academic Knowledge: Magic will take you a certain distance; but certainty belongs to those with Academic Knowledge: Necromancy!

You consider your options, based on your present theory: that this spatial distortion is a warping of your perceptions through the use of Ulgu, and that both that affliction and the hideous spirit (be it real or also an illusion) are likely the production of a single wizard being the source of both. Not wanting to confront your pursuer just yet, you stay low and slink out of the room using light, long steps to propel yourself away. In the quiet, even this would be audible; but you wait for another round of that rattle-and-scratch sound from deeper in the villa, and use it to mask your departure. As you gain some distance, your very keen ears hear a soft shuffle and thump in the room you departed - your pursuer is neither as quiet as you, nor as competent in darkness, it seems; and you are confident your skill at moving in dark places will keep you ahead of them as long as you don't run into anything to slow you down.

But how to penetrate the illusion? If you cannot trust your senses to find a way out, but you can trust them to move room to room and avoid a pursuer, then whatever magic this is must be limited - you aren't locked up in imaginary chains or falling down and imaginary pit, for example. They can bend the rules of the house's truth, but not entirely break it; and your instincts tell you that the way out must be found within - but that you don't have all the pieces of this deranged puzzle yet. You navigate stealthily through an unfamiliar hallway, and somehow find yourself back in the 'living room' - thankfully, with no unliving occupant. You gaze up once more at the portrait; even dare to examine it more closely. There is nothing behind it; and tentatively poking a corner of it with a blade, you find no billow of freed magic or obvious release from this place. Oh, to have the 'sight' Andreotto described - that skill, you hope, awaits you in Altdorf, if you survive this trip! But the portrait does not seem to be the source of things. Still, your inspection yields a new clue - the man in the portrait does have a short sword strapped to his hip. A curious thing; shordswords are not uncommon weapons in Tilea at all, but the style of his officious outfit would more suit a longblade like a rapier, or sabre.

And now that your eyes know what they are looking for, you see in the dusty dark on the ground near a cracked old urn and the withered, ancient remnants of what were once fresh flowers, the scabbard from the painting - but no blade. It's an old scabbard; wood bound with copper rings gently beaten into place to keep the carved halves together. The copper is now crusted with verdigris, but it seems more like something you'd see in one of the old paintings or on a statue like those you visited in the temples in Remas - a relic of the old Tilea, the Reman Empire, perhaps passed down to this family through time. The blade itself is missing - but you bet your socks a relic like that must be involved in this nonsense.

It was certainly involved, in all likelihood, in the death of the last explorer who ventured into these halls.

Three exits present themselves from this chamber. Back the way you came, your not-quite-quiet-enough pursuer slowly finds their way through the room you left. To the north, the shuffle-rattle of metal sound begins another round of its mysterious repetition. To the south, the wheezing groan of the spirit visits the extreme of your hearing.

You will have to confront one of these sounds - or atleast, have to try to sneak by them, trying your luck at evading encounter to see what more the guts of this awful place presents for you.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Well, you successfully stealthed, smart'd, and navigated - these are the fruits. Dare you confront your pursuer, or test your theory about the reality of the spirit?

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia felt her heart bash against her rib-cage as she quietly navigated that veritable maze of illusionary magic and make-believe corridors. That she couldn't hear the storm outside anymore was distressing enough, but when she re-emerged into the dining hall again, Taalia immediately swivelled her head about to see if the doors could be flew through to finally escape this mad-house.

Then there it was again - the shuffling!

Taalia could hear the "ghost" shuffling about, unable to fully see in the dark. What type of ghost could not do that? They were supernatural creatures, weren't they? What ghost had to stumble about in the dark inside an illusionary maze?

Unless...what if whatever that thing was, wasn't the shadowmancer? What if it was a pet or minion, or perhaps even some press-ganged creature of some sort, shambling about within the labyrinth of its masters own creation?

But it couldn't be. She had shot it! The shot passed right through! Now it was stumbling about, unable to see in the dark while poorly navigating its own illusionary home? But if it really was ethereal and matter phased through it, why did it need to shamble down hallways? Why didn't it simply move through the walls and straight to her?

But, naturally, the girl didn't try. She had already done so earlier, when seized of her terrified panic, and all it had taken her was down into a house of horrors. That left the painting, and the revelation of the short sword. had that robber been slain by this prior owner of the house? But why would his corpse be left there if such a thing had occurred?

Maybe that's what the Shadowmancer wanted, Taalia thought. Either the wizard was protecting something within this house, or he had gone mad, and her going through his little fun-house circuits was his solitude-based idea of entertainment. And, as the robber's corpse bore testimony, the wizard was already a murderer. Thus, her concern was with Bella and Cestie. If she simply escaped this house without dealing with the madman, he'd simply inflict his magics upon them, and they would all perish.

Suddenly, two ideas popped into Taalia's mind, one more severe than the first. Though she wanted to jump to the more extreme option, that was the last resort.

Taalia looked at two items in the dining hall. The first was one of the tapestries, or cloths available, that she went over to and retrieved. Wrapping it around her fist, she approached one of the windows and Smash! right through, using her protected, armoured fist to smash out the last vestiges of frame-bound glass, to make it look as if she had just smashed the window and escaped through it.

And then she quietly went back into that maze, in the opposite direction of the "spectre" and where she had come from.

She put the tapestry around her sword and used it like a stick to 'feel out' the walls as she passed them, the way one would use a long stick to check for the depth of water, the multiple layers of cloth diminishing any sound an otherwise metal stick would make clanging off the walls as the girl searched for any clues of 'hidden' doors or parts of the house that were shielded by the illusion.

[MrAbdiel]

You bind your weapon, and smash one of the tall windows in the living hall to simulate a recent escape. Beyond the window, you see the grey clouds above and their silent storm; but the ground outside plunges into a dark gloom your eyes have trouble penetrating. If you went that way, would you actually exit - or just get dumped somewhere else in the house? You don't know - but one way or another, it suggests your have passed that way, while you go another. The hall you creep down leans toward a disused ballroom, with parquetry floors now warped and discoloured with time. But you barely have time to take it in from the doorway before instinctively throwing yourself beside it in the hall. Beyond, in the ballroom, is the same spirit; though its mandible has been returned to its proper place on his transparent, morose face. In the moment you glanced him, he is pacing - as if his feet need the floor, or atleast respect it - in some ghostly pantomime of frustration. The wheezing wind seems to be his 'breath' or something like it; it hitches and heaves with the spirits agitation, and grows louder as it approaches the doorway. You compress yourself into the corner beside the door in the hallway; trying to make no noise, and to become as small as possible...

Spoiler: OOC: Unbidden Memories

Show

The cell was carved into rock by some nameless, cursed generation of slaves before you; and the work they had done is uneven enough to have profited you in that desperate moment. You recoiled even as your swift moments seem to cause the madman - the werething, if the Norscan rhymes have any truth - to take offense. He scrambled after you as you wedged yourself into a crevice in the cell's corner that may once have been the dream of escape for a predecessor; now, a hope of safety for you. And all this happened in the pitiful gloom of the cell, made discernible only by the murky gloaming of lanterns down the end of the hall where another shift of slaves did their part of the toil that waited for you. Screeching and snuffling, the man crowded against the crack in the stone and blocked what little light remained for you. Plunged into black, you felt cracked nails and fingertips pawing furiously to seize you, giving you no option by to kick wildly back to spurn and delay. Then his grip, iron-tight with insanity, cinched around your ankle and began hauling you out of safety. Your cunning and quickness, and mental fortitude had seen you through trials that had broken so many others; but locked in a cage with a madman, all these virtues felt insufficient. The brute reality of strength asserted itself on you like it had when you were first hoisted from the devastation of your village by the warrior with four eyes.

...And then comes the spirit, not through the wall to seize you at all but through the doorway - and having missed you flattened into that corner, proceeds down the way you came. Attracted to the sound of breaking glass? Something else, down that way? Was it drawn back to the scabbard, or the painting, or...?

Whatever its purpose, it seems to ignore you and go on its way. You might follow it at a cautious distance, now that it has overlooked you, and perhaps gain insight into that purpose... or you might search this now vacated ballroom, with its dilapitated Tilean grandeur, while it is unoccupied by any evil guardian.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

If you choose to follow the spirit back the way you came, you can coast on your earlier Move Silently success for a little while longer. If you want to stay and search this room, I'll need a fresh Search roll. +0, since you're doing it quietly.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia's breath seized within her chest like a cold, bony hand around her heart as that spirit drifted past, its otherworldly perceptions failing it at that most crucial of times, much to the girls advantage.

Allowing herself to exhale as she saw the spirit round the corner at the end of the corridor, the girl peered back quickly to the ballroom within which the spirit had dwelled in forlorn frustration. Was this area important to it? She had not seen this area before, its novelty an electric shock through her system that maybe she was making progress in pursuing whatever attachment tethered this spectre to the mortal world...if it really was as such.

Swallowing gently, the girl rounded the corner and headed into the ballroom, her eyes swivelling back and forth as she searched for something, anything, that could serve as a gesture for how to either escape this mental maze or put this ghost to rest. Preferably both.

[MrAbdiel]

You let the spirit go on its way, and use its absence to take a chance scrounging around this previously unseen room. A great rectangular hall, with a long table down one side and a shorter one along the short end of the room joining it to form a great L shape. It is not set out as if it had hosted a party recently, but moldering linen lies in bunches and snarls over the table surfaces where some ancient commotion has ruffled it from its patient repose. Opposite the corner of the "L", just to the right of the door by which you have entered, is a small stage made of wooden boxes pushed together, perhaps fated to be packed away after use but never quite making it due to some lazy member of the house staff. Three lonely wooden lecterns stand bereft of any sheet music; one of the dusty sentinels decapitated with its wooden tray laying on the ground beside it - the wood having split, you think, after some glue used to repair it in an even older time finally aged past its credible usefulness, in the house's abandoned languor.

You find in one of the boxes an old, dusty scrollcase featuring what you think are musical pages for what must have been very lovely and exciting parties - admittedly, however, the fanciest festivities you have seen have been the raucous country festivals of Bella Collina, so your imagination may run beyond your reason.

You are left wondering why the spirit (if it is real, and not a hallucination) lingered in this room; but your wondering is interrupted by a spinechilling shriek from backdown the hallway. It is not a sound you have heard before; but your instinctively place why it is familiar to you: It is Bella's scream. She did not scream in terror when the troll loomed over her, ready to smash her flat or puke a liquifying stream of acid over her; but she screams now.

Is this another trick? Has the curse, or the magic, or the magician, done some spell to make you hear what you most dread to hear - the sound of your best friend, in terrible peril? Or was it Bella's stumbling steps following you and pausing for stillness - unable to see well enough in the terrible gloom to know for sure it was you she was following? You told her not to come in - to wait for your knock. If she had become worried that something had happened to you, would she have respected that restrictive command?

If the situation was reversed... would you?

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Rummaging quickly through the ruin of a diminished bloodline, Taalia tried her best to spot something, anything, that could be of value. Maybe this wasn't shadow magic after all, maybe this was Necromantic or Amethyst weaving that had created some bastion.

Or, perhaps, it was genuinely a spirit that was simply the residue of agonized lamentation that could not yet pass on into the next life.

As Taalia moved through the ball-room, she came across the sheets of decrepit vallum that displayed the music of the bygone house-hold and the warm, festive atmosphere the singer-trained girl could imagine they would conjure when collectively manifested in the modest ballroom. For a moment, the girl felt a spark of hope that perhaps she had come across some clue, some lost secret that would grant her insight into how to banish or tame the wandering spirit, or banish it from her sight were it actually residual shadow magic.

But...no luck.

These were sheets that required the attention and work of multiple musicians, as the breadth of the music could not be summated by a single, lone operative like herself.

Taalia exhaled, disappointed, shaking her head as - the scream!

The shepardess immediately looked up towards the direction of that room. At first she thought that perhaps the spirit, or whoever conjured it, had devised some cunning scheme to manifest some great spell-borne illusion that dredged up inner desires from within the onlooker and turned it against them. However, were that the case, what did that say about Taalia if her direction was Bella, and secondly, that was doubtless the reason the spirit had suddenly wandered off in a shuffling daze: it had sensed the entrance of another into the house, Bella.

Dashing from her spot, Taalia barrelled down the hallway and to the rescue of her friend...

[MrAbdiel]

You pound back down the corridor, and in a matter of seconds (you swear, crossing less space going back than you did going forth...) you are back in the hall with the portrait. There, emanating enough dim light to silver the room in a quarter-moon's glow, is the spirit in the semblance of the man in the painting, though with his back to you, you cannot see whatever monstrous visage he is presenting. This is an oddity requiring thought at a later date, because the spirit is translucent - why shouldn't you see both sides of it, as you can see dust on both sides of a window pane? But this pondering will wait - through the translucent being, you see Bella; having emerged from the bedroom with the corpse from which you emerged not long ago. Her face is pale, her expression locked in astounded horror. She points the blunderbuss in her hands at the spirit, but her fingers shake and refuse to obey her. You know that pulling the trigger will not harm the spirit - though it might harm you, on the other side!

As of the moment, neither notices you - not because your approach was stealthy this time, but because Bella is paralyzed in shock and the spirit looks toward her with the same unhurried, wheezing malice it did towards you, on your first encounter.

Spoiler: If you pass a Perception test, +20%:

Show

...But along with these, another figure is present - you hear that shuffle-rattle of metal close to the northern exit from the room, on slow approach to the hall; hidden from your eyes around a blind corner, but not your ears. It will be in the room very soon, too; whatever it is.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia's heart bashed against her chest as she ran down that hallway, almost in as similar state of panic as when she had taken flight earlier. The thought of Bella, her bestie, in perilous danger from that thing, after she had offered her the chance to come on this trip, ripping at Taalia's heart-strings as her brain seemed to throb in her skull.

But what was she doing here?! Why hadn't she heeded Taalia's initial warning to not venture anywhere near the house? Why hadn't she listened!?

Barrelling around the corner, Taalia was confronted by the situation she had dreaded most: Bella was indeed inside the house. Worse yet, she was being borne down upon by that thing. Even worse yet, she was gripping that blunderbuss...which could potentially send its shot right through the apparition and straight into her own rescuer.

But oddly enough...Taalia felt no fright of the spectre. At least not when viewing it from this direction. Again - why? This thing seemed to defy all the rules what, admittedly little, she knew. It was not until it took on its monstrous visage that panic set in through the mind.

And why wasn't it attacking Bella? Why was it simply standing there and glaring down upon her? Was its ability to terrify a channelled effect, one it had to maintain focus and direction upon a target in order to sustain?

But then she heard the other shuffling - a second figure approaching from the north, the metal scraping upon the floor. Was it the spirits master? Was that the purpose of the apparitions apprehension of her friend, to keep her in place and at bay until some other fiend arrived to partake in whatever ghoulish delight it fancied?

The master - it had to be the source! Then Taalia thought of the corpse she had found, how it had been dragged out from under the bed, petrified with fear, and stabbed once with a short sword whose scabbard belonged to the prior owner of the house.

She couldn't escape this house. She couldn't find any clues that offered suggests of salvation - nothing. Just forever in this illusionary maze until she passed out from exhaustion, starved to death, or whatever this other thing was finally caught her.

Hating herself for doing it but feeling her prior slave instincts take over, Taalia said nothing and rushed up towards the centre of the room, right where she could face down and see whatever, or whoever, was shuffling down that hallway, her gun and shield up and ready...

[MrAbdiel]

You dash up to the middle of the room, thankful for the precious moments you had to reload your weapons and wishing you had a target that might actually suffer from shooting. As you track your pistol to the entrance where you hope such a target to emerge, you catch a little of the spirit's glow; and Bella's eyes -which know your shape in the dark as her dear friend, with atleast a little illumination - find you.

"Taalia..!" She croaks, her voice suddenly hoarse when it had screamed not long ago as the terror that freezes her limbs starts to thaw at the glimmer of hope your arrival provides. The spirit aborts its grasp to turn to see you; the mournful parody of the man, in his officious coat and uniform, seeming just dimly to recognize you from the earlier encounter.

Your name spoken in such a way chills you for a moment, dividing your tention away from the doorway; and in that moment, the source of the shambling sound reveals itself: another dead man.

This one, dead in a different way. Rusted scale male shuffles and clicks against the bare bones beneath, and the rotted remnants of a gambeson; a lipless, skeletal mouth clicks wide with a wordless cry of battle, and with the scrabble-click of skeletal feet on hardwood floors, the dead man rushes across the floor at a charge, its rusty blade held high.

You track your pistol back on it, trying to line up its skull and hoping that bursting that will be enough to 'kill' such a thing where shooting a rib off seems likely to do little. The last thing you need is TWO undead horrors chasing you and Bella around this awful place! But your night-eyes resolve a fact as you aim - the skeleton's blade is not rusty, but bronze; merely dirty with age and neglect. A leaf shaped bladed; a xiphos, as the classics call them; a weapon of the ancient times before the Tilean states.

To your surprise, the skeleton charges at the spirit, and swings the old blade in a vicious arc. It misses - but it misses because the spirit reels back from the swipe as if it has something legitmate to avoid about the blow, rather than allowing the violence to pass through it meaninglessly, as happened with your pistol balls.

This new challenge plays out infront of Bella's eyes as her sense comes back to her, and her shaking legs begin to activate.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

That low initiative worked out for you, since the spirit WHIFFED bigly and you got to witness the weird politics of the cursed villa play out in front of you. Do what you will with this information. Bella acts at the same time as you; she is likely to defer to your best suggestion, and try to get and stay near to you!

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

There was another of those wicked things lurking about within the house?! Taalia's eyes gawked at the sight of the lightly armored skeleton click-clacking its boney heels upon the floor in locomotion towards them, its deathless gaze a pitiless visage within which one would find no concept of mercy. Outside was the thunderstorm. The rain. The tapestries billowed gently against a breeze whose origins the girl couldn't even perceive should she look out the window, as if the house itself were conspiring with the newly arrived walking corpse.

Bringing her shoulder up and shouldering it, Taalia drew a bead on the things skull with her pistol, her finger about ready to squeeze the trigger - but the thing acted first, and in a way she had not anticipated. It surged past her as if she were not even there, it's deathly focus now revealed to be solely upon the menacing ghostly image of a man long gone who threatened Bella in mind and body, that sword it grasped swinging about. It looks like they had just met the individual responsible for the grave robbers death.

...and the ghost trying to avoid it.

Taalia narrowed her eyes. So it was afraid of things...it didn't bother avoiding her shots from earlier, but why now? That sword! The empty scabbared. Somehow, through the metaphysical barriers of life and death, that spirit possessed either a fear of, or vulnerability to, the sword that had once been its own in this mortal coil.

"Taalia..!" Bella's croaking voice broke the shepardess from her mystified stupor.

Acting as quick as she could, Taalia dashed over, consciously avoiding the two undead beings locked in apparent combat. She brought herself between Bella and the melee, bringing her shield up as a modicum of protection, for whatever good it would do, as she spoke over her shoulder, "stick behind me!"

[MrAbdiel]

Bella, reanimated by your call and given opportunity by the duelling monsters before her, skitters back two clumsy steps and then seems to find her feet again. She is operating by spook-light, but there is enough for her to race around the conflict and over to you, where she crowds in behind your right shoulder, the muzzle of Leonardo protruding past you.

"Taalia! Taalia, what are they doing?" Bella asks, her voice still dry, but lowered as if she fears calling attention to them. The bare answer is obvious - this spirit and this skeleton are fighting. The meaningful answer, the question of what they are accomplishing by doing this, remains unsolved. The skeleton takes another pair of furious swipes at the spirit; but it drifts back and to the side from the assault, and lashes out with its empty hand. The fingers of its spectral hand stretch and contract at the beginning and end of the blow, and the strike seems to pass through the bones of the shoulder and part of the rib cage. It passes through the remnants of the armor, and through the bones; but the blow does not seem to be without mass entirely - one of the rips cracks and splits off, skittering along on the floor.

...And as you watch the pair dance and strike at each other, you watch the detached rib skip and hop across the floor, pursuing its parent skeleton. It flops end over end like a bobbling, ossified leech; too slow to catch up, but utterly undeterrred. Perhaps, given the opportunity, it would skitter up to its point of departure and reattach by the same profane power it moves.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

It is Taalia (and Bella's) turn again. The enemies seem occupied with each other. Of the three directions exiting this room, the only one you haven't been through is hallway from which the skeleton just emerged.
The other passages lead back to the ballroom, and the bedroom (presuming they have retained their dimensional integrity!)

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia shifted her body to allow Bella to slip past and then behind her, the muzzle of Leonardo, thankfully, facing somewhere other than Taalia's body.

"Taalia! Taalia, what are they doing?"

"Not focusing on us!" she returned, watching in fascinated morbidity as the rib was scattered off the skeleton, clattered upon the floor and then seemingly animated itself to tumble-weed back towards its possessor with the assumptive purpose of restoring the skeletons full constitution. For a second, Taalia remembered the Troll of Bella Collina and the way in which its tissues would stich match together, regardless of grievous injury. Was this some...undead variety?

Knowing they couldn't stay here, Taalia spoke over her shoulder, "grab my back; follow me!"

Feeling Bella's hand grip the back of her armor between the shoulder blades, Taalia brought her shield about to form a barrier between the two moving girls and the duelling undead. They skittered around the side of the room and towards the corridor from which the skeleton had emerged.

It was the only area of the house into which she had not been, and now that it was vacated by the currently-distracted skeleton, maybe they could resolve the mystery of their illusionary imprisonment?

[MrAbdiel]

Bella follows you into the blind darkness, panting as the breath that was shocked out of her works its way back into her lungs on the run. But you see, at least; guided by the sourceless gloom that refuses to dip to pure darkness for reasons that do not present themselves. You round the corner and find a flight of steps going down to a floor below. The peeling-paint plaster walls of the interior gives way to mortar and stone retaining walls flanking the short descent on long comfortable steps. They force you to slow down a little so that Bella doesn't trip. On the steps, you encounter more dead - these, idle and thankfully inanimate. The first is a skeletonized carcass that seems to have died crawling up the steps toward the hall above. The ancient robe it once wore is flat and moth-mangled on its body, but you see the bloody stain turned black both in the remnants of the cloth and in a trail back from the cellar below. Two steps past this body is another, this one in decayed and ruined leather armor. This one has a loose crossbow quarrel embedded in the ribcage - shot dead as it rounded the corner, the first casualty of some ancient fight here. Beyond him is a small cellar with several ancient casks on racks; some long broken and dry, some still intact. Two more leather armored skeletons lie about, attesting their death in the same conflict. Past them is a huge, heavy door built into the stone and mortar archway. The blood from the robed skeleton stains the stone in a dusty, blackened trail all the way up to the door, where it seems to terminate (or rather, initiate) in a great arterial fan of the stuff. A fair amount of this room's floor is splattered with bloodstains, discolouring the dusty stone in the ancient conflict that took place here.

"I see nothing - where are we? Oh, Taalia - what is this place...? It's not even a mystery night..."

The room goes no further than this; the heavy door has no lock, but does not budge; it seems to be locked from the other side.

Above, you hear a frustrated, ethereal shriek; the battle between the dead men continues.

Spoiler: Succeed on a +0 Visual Perception Test...

Show

Even in the dark, your eyes pick out two things - one is that the floor in front of the door is scratched and dappled with what must have been years of pacing back and forth by the bone-footed occupant. The other is that the door is stained a little, too - right near the bottom, with what looks more like ancient smudges of blood than splashes; and some scratches over the top of that.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia hurried down those stairs, Bella in tow and grasping between her shoulders.

The...blood-stained area was macabre and off-putting, though the shepardess, with her background as a slave in the violent Skaven society, found it less unsettling than her more innocent-minded companion.

"Close your eyes!" she would say to Bella, hoping the girl would not see the more horrific offerings of this seemingly ritualistic sacrifice-orientated wing of the house.

However, the door they came to offered them a pass. At least, for those without one of these...

Taalia brought up her pistol, pressed it against the lock and pulled the trigger.