Godlings, Whispers in the Void [IC]

[BelGareth]

Godlings, Whispers in the Void

With a crooked grin twisting his grotesque features, Grakthar's gaze sweeps over the huddled prisoners with a predatory gleam in his eye. He tilts his head to the side, a mannerism reminiscent of the savage orcs of old, as he surveys his prey with malicious amusement.

But amidst the trembling masses, a few brave souls dare to defy him. Ileana, Varag, Everett, and Ilerien stand out among the crowd, their resolve shining through the veil of fear that grips their companions.

"Well, well, well," Grakthar growls, his voice like gravel grinding against stone as he fixates on the defiant few. "Looks like we have ourselves some brave ones here."

His words are punctuated by the crack of his whip, a warning to those who would challenge his authority. But the prisoners stand firm, their defiance a spark amidst the darkness that threatens to consume them.

"I trust you're all ready for a good time," Grakthar sneers, his grin widening into a twisted smile as he addresses the courageous few. "But don't worry, I'll make sure it's a night you won't soon forget."

With a cruel sneer, Grakthar's gaze shifts from the defiant prisoners to those who cower in fear nearby. His eyes narrow as he selects his next victims, his decision final and unforgiving.
"You there," he snarls, pointing a gnarled finger at a trembling figure huddled in the shadows. "You'll do."

The unfortunate soul recoils in terror as Grakthar's guards close in, dragging them forward with rough hands. With a flick of his wrist, Grakthar signals for the execution to begin, his expression devoid of mercy as he watches with cold detachment.

The crack of a whip cuts through the air, followed by the sickening thud of steel meeting flesh. The chosen prisoner falls to the ground, their life snuffed out in an instant, a silent testament to Grakthar's ruthless authority.

One by one, Grakthar selects his victims, his methodical brutality leaving no room for mercy or remorse. As the bodies pile up at his feet, the remaining prisoners tremble in horror, their fate hanging by a thread as they await the slaver's next decree.

With each swing of his whip and each life extinguished, Grakthar's reign of terror is reaffirmed, his power absolute in the face of their desperate defiance. And as the pit grows stained with blood, the prisoners know that in this hellish landscape, survival is a luxury reserved for the strongest and the most cunning.

[Archmage1]

Ileana watches with horror as the orc, rather than attacking those who resisted him, making a show of their deaths to drive fear back into the hearts of all who saw, instead went after those who were standing, trembling with fear.
Then she looks at the orc's eyes, sees the bloodlust and madness sparking within his eyes, and cold, iron certainty fills her heart.
He meant to kill them all, for whatever reason qualified as justified in his mind. Or simply madness. It mattered not. Only that she was soon to join her mother, but if she was? Why not take a few more with her before she went.
She felt almost unreal as he selected one of the prisoners near her, and she reached out, and grabbed the razor sharp, jagged edge of the whip, the brutal thing, already covered in the blood of others finding some of her coating it now as well.
She feels his surprise has he goes to swing the whip, but only the slack in the cruel thing moves, the look in his eyes as he turns, looking to see what had caught his whip.
As she calls out, her high pitched voice audible over the muffled horror filling the chamber. "If we're to die, then we won't go alone, and we won't go quietly!"
The defiance in her voice burns, seeking to turn the fear filling the prisoners into anger, to ignite their courage, their anger, and start something that should have been done long ago.
This? This was death already.
In the hopeful confusion, she goes for the knife on Grakthar's belt, hoping to get the chance to turn it on him, and maybe distract the guards for a few seconds.
A few seconds more for everyone to realize their option.
A few seconds for her attempted spark to start a blaze of death, for that could be the only outcome from her actions. The Orcs would not tolerate this.

[Tyrann]

Utterly humiliated, upstaged by a mere child. That was how Everett felt. Just when he thought he couldn't sink any lower. It was a blow to his pride he knew he would never live down.

Oddly, despite the terror that had gripped him before, witnessing his fellow slaves meeting their grisly fates had done little to shake him. However, when the girl fearlessly seized the whip, it was as if a switch had been flipped inside him. If she could summon such courage, why couldn't he?

His heart beat pounded in his ears, the periphery of his vision blurring while his focus intensified on the looming orc before him. Every twitch of the orc's grotesque features, every bead of sweat, became starkly clear to him. His breath grew ragged, teeth clamped together so tightly they threatened to break, nails biting into his flesh, drawing crimson lines as his knuckles whitened from the strain.

After what might have been a split second, or a full minute, he really wasn't quite sure, Everett launched forward with a primal roar that came from depths he didn't know he possessed, or could posess him. He lost all sense self, consumed by an overpowering desire to hurt the towering orc.

Every fiber of his being screamed for release as the dam broke on decades of pent-up frustration, his sole intent now to break, pummel, throttle, and tear with his bare hands and teeth. Tremors wracked his body as he charged forward, but he pushed through regardless. Nothing else mattered now. All that occupied his mind was the burning desire to inflict suffering, as brutally and painfully as he possibly could. Flashbacks of all humiliation he had endured over the years flooded his thoughts, but he couldn't spare them even a moment's attention as his fists surged through the air, about to ram into his tormentor.

[Ancient]

A spark of hope, like a flame ignited. The girl, THE GIRL, a mere slip of a thing, defied Grakthar, and sent fate spinning out of control. Like a wave, the crowd seem to still, to recede, and then, surge forth, crashing into the guards. Varag doesn't want to be there, he is more shoved than moved, into the precise location to be of use. He saw the child, he saw her gaze go to Grakthar's knife, and saw her plan. It would not work, she would be too slow, alone. Grakthar spun to confront the child and Varag stepped in, speaking into Grakthar's ear. "You will have much to answer for, Grakthar..." It was not much, but perhaps it was just enough of a distraction to tip the odds in the child's favor.

[Ilerien]

All the blood, the air was thick with it. It was maddening. They were just wasting it instead of allowing him to drink them dry! All of his instincts wanted him to gorge on the fresh blood.

The moments filled with screams and pleas and curses while Gideon fought in the uneven battle against his instincts, losing steadily, until a child, a mere child had acted. It was a proverbial bolt of lightning, or, perhaps, a sledgehammer to the forehead. Her desperation was almost palpable. And it seemed he wasn't the only one to be galvanized by it.

These stirring motes of bravery, would they be enough to start a fire? It didn't matter. He bolted to maneuver around the occupied guards and get behind Grakthar - to sink his teeth into the orc's neck.

This blood must be nourishing.

[BelGareth]

Grakthar's eyes widened in absolute terror and surprise as the unexpected rebellion unfolded before him. His grip on the whip slackened for a moment, his mind struggling to comprehend the audacity of the slaves who dared to defy him.

The roaring fury of Everett, fueled by years of oppression and humiliation, was a force of nature unto itself. Grakthar staggered backward, taken aback by the sheer ferocity of the human's assault. He barely had time to react before Varag's words pierced through the chaos, a subtle yet potent distraction that caught him off guard.

"You will have much to answer for, Grakthar..." Varag's voice rang out, echoing in the cavernous chamber, and for a brief moment, Grakthar's resolve wavered. His mind raced as he grappled with the sudden turn of events, his grip on control slipping through his fingers like sand.

But it was the decisive action of the young girl, Ileana, that tipped the scales irrevocably. With a swift and daring maneuver, she seized the opportunity to strike, her bravery igniting a spark of hope in the hearts of her fellow slaves.

In a blur of motion, Gideon, driven by primal instinct and newfound purpose, lunged forward with feral determination. His teeth sank into Grakthar's neck with a savage hunger, drawing blood in a crimson cascade that painted the air with the scent of victory.

And then, in a blinding flash of divine power, a surge of energy enveloped them all, transcending mortal limitations and transforming them into beings of godlike stature. Their forms shimmered with ethereal radiance as they ascended to a higher plane of existence, their mortal chains shattered and their spirits liberated.

As the echoes of their rebellion reverberated throughout the pit, Grakthar could only watch in stunned disbelief as the once-enslaved prisoners transcended their oppressor, ascending to the realm of the divine. In that moment, they were no longer slaves, but gods in their own right, their destiny rewritten by the flames of defiance and the promise of redemption.

In a flash, everyone in the room is incinerated, human, slave, Orc and master, all, incinerated in a holy white hot fire.

Except you. Floating above with ethearal energy swirling about, your form pulses with power.

Spoiler

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You immediately gain the Godling template:

Godling template:
HD turns to d12’s regardless of race and/or classes
Fast healing equal to your level
Perfect bonus to AC equal to level
Perfect bonus to Hit&damage equal to level (applies to anything)
DR equal to your level / opposed alignment
Domain of your choice
-use domain spells as SLA’s at will
+6 perfect bonus to all stats

[Archmage1]

With the burning in her hand from the jagged shards of the whip searing into her mind, Ileana could only watch as three of the nearby men went for Grakthar in his confusion, and she smiled, slightly, knowing that she was going to be able to say hi to her momma again soon, and hug her, and everything would be ok.
When the flash of light came, she felt almost content, almost glad that it was over, except for maybe the many, many other enslaved victims, just like her momma.

But then the light seemed to fade, no, become less overwhelming, and she was floating over that arena. She was flying! And her hand didn't hurt anymore! Giggling, she tries to flap her arms to move as she looked around for her momma. Surely, she'd be here, right? She wouldn't have left?

Then, as she spun around, she saw them. The same three men who had attacked Grakthar were also here, but... no one else? Wouldn't the people that the monster had killed have been here too? Or the people who would have died trying, or else some of the orcs? Her laughter fades as the sensation of something being wrong flowed through her.

This wasn't the afterlife. It was... something else. But what? When she finally speaks, still spinning around, slightly, by her momentum, her childish voice seems quite confused. "Where's Momma?" Almost without prompting, her plaintive question escapes her. "And everyone else?"

[Ancient]

"You will have much to answer for, Grakthar..."
The words echoed in Varag's head as the incredulity of his...THEIR new circumstance began to sink in. Some thing, foreign to him, coursed through his veins...was this power? He could almost SEE the tangles of fate, an angry ball of impossible complexity begin to smooth and calm. Something had happen, something beyond the order of things, a true miracle, Varag was sure, but somehow the scope of mundane miracles, this thing was truly a noteworthy footnote in the annals of the universe. One moment, the world was in chaos, blood, murder, and fear, palpable, and now, all gone, scoured by holy flames, and he was FLOATING above it all.

"What. Just. Happened."

[Ilerien]

A split second ago he was savoring the taste they denied him for... all these decades, apparently. Rats. Ew. Something profound flowing into him with the blood and instead of it. Once lost memories flashing before his eyelids. Clarity at last.

Gideon, duke Eiluned, the last Raven opened his eyes. He floated above the arena, now empty and licked clean by the blaze of white hot flame along with three more people - the same ones who attacked Grakthar. Am I finally dead? Will I see Esme, Iris and Ramiro?..

- I intend to find out, - he said, his voice echoing and reverberating. Gideon glanced over everyone on more time. The girl is the same age Iris was. And if her mother were here, she would've stopped it.

- They used to say the only difference between bravery and foolishness lies in the outcome. Wherever your momma is, she would be proud of her brave daughter. After feeling her heart stop the moment you've challenged the orc and, for all intents and purposes, doomed yourself, that is. But you're safe now.

[Tyrann]

Denied the satisfaction of breaking his fist on the orc's ample cranium, Everett found himself suspended in mid-air, a simmering fury radiating from his gaze as he beheld the ethereal dance of white flames that was once Grakthar.

As his breath gradually steadied, a disquieting realization dawned upon him - the very essence of his being was undergoing a profound transformation, fueled by this strange energy.

With each passing moment, he felt the contours of his form being perfected, the scars of humiliations long past fading into oblivion, and the persistent ache of old wounds evaporating into the void. Yet, amidst this metamorphosis, a disquieting question gnawed at his soul - were not those very scars and pains the crucibles that forged his identity? What if his wrath, fueled by the agony of his past, was the essence of him? Or worse yet, the cornerstone of his continued existence? Because lurking beneath the surface of this strange triumph was a haunting uncertainty - if his fury were to diminish, would he too be consumed by the conflagration? Would he, like the ephemeral flames of Grakthar, be reduced to naught?

The irony of his plight was paralyzing his thoughts, and so the path forward would remain veiled in mystery. All he felt, deeply, was an imperative to endure, to survive at any cost. Somehow, some way, if he just raged hard enough, there would be a happier conclusion, however faint its whispers.

And so, in a desperate bid to stave off oblivion, Everett clung tenaciously to his rage, allowing it to envelop him, to consume him whole. With a wild gleam in his eyes and a reckless grin etched on face, he was about to burst out laughing. Yet, as the tendrils of his fury coiled tighter around his consciousness, he was suddenly jolted from his solitary reverie by the realization that he was not alone.

The girl, who seemed to have lost her mother to the inferno, as well as the two figures who had played a role in provoking Grakthar, all now bathed in the same incandescent aura as himself. He swallowed hard, a heavy sigh escaping his lips before he addressed them.

"Are we safe?" he asked, his voice tinged with both concern and uncertainty. "And for the gods' sakes, man, have some compassion. I don't know what happened to your mother, girl. But it's probably not good, and I'm so sorry." He let that hang in the air for a few seconds. "As for you two," he gestured towards the others, "I do not know what happened between you and Grakthar, and I don't understand any of this. But I do know this - if there is a way to undo this, to un-inferno these people.. then I'll help any of you search for it."

[Archmage1]

Reminded by the black haired one, Ileana's eyes overflow with water, but, incredibly, she manages to keep mostly quiet. Only a few gasps escaping before she manages to get out a word. "Momma... she always said that I was... that I was..." She shakes her head as she loses her control, sobbing again.

It was a long ten seconds before she manages to resume speaking. "Maybe everyone's just hiding? We could find them?" Despite her earlier tears, this time, her voice is full of hope. She takes another look around at the empty arena, the total lack of life there, and starts trying to flap here way towards the ground.

[Ancient]

"I am sorry, they are dead, and we are not, this is what is known." Varag said with some grief. The scale of the destruction weighing on him. While he had not lost a mother, indeed, he was never allowed to know her, he had known many of the people here, had had kind words, a drink, a bet, a meal, with so many now piles of ash.

"This is sad, but better, better to die in a flash of light than groveling in fear while some sadistic madman slaughters your friends before you, making you wish that he picks someone else before he picks you. Grakthar would have killed us all...for what? Gods only knows."
Varag shakes his head in disgust. Sometimes the randomness of life disgusted even him.

"This is what we know, what we do not know, is if we are safe, or really what has happened to us. I feel...different, I certainly wasn't floating a moment ago. We must leave this place, those that survived will have questions for us, questions they are likely to skin us alive for to find the answers to."

Spoiler: OOC:

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Anything salvageable in the room?