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  1. - Top - End - #271
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    WhiteKnight777's Avatar

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    Default Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)

    Umber

    Umber, too, smiled at the riddle. He was still pondering it when the dragon grinned and began to speak in his thunderous voice. Certainly Umber had chanted some terrible, tongue-twisting formulae in his time, but he had to admit the the dragon's voice was damn impressive. He waited for a moment to see what effect it would have, and while he did so he gave a long, drawn-out chuckle as he quickly translated the words from a language he had not read in centuries.

    My my... that IS clever, if you're right... and a very good guess, I might say... though the line "Ruler of all things am I" bothers me a bit... though I suppose it could be metaphorical, ruler of all things within it... Hmm.. but we shall see. I was thinking of death or time.. Umber grinned again. Which I suppose says more of me than it does of the riddle. But your answer makes more sense than mine.

    Umber sat back for a moment, waiting to see what effect the dragon's words would have upon the door before taking any action himself. The draconic vitae was still burning within him, a heat far more plesant than most flames he had experienced in his time. Those words seemed to resonate within the gifted blood... He nodded thoughtfully. It was good that the blood had been given. Gifts given freely were ever more potent than those taken by force, particularly when it came to things of an arcane nature. That was one of the first rules every novice learned, but it grew ever more true with time.

  2. - Top - End - #272
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Default Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)

    Korram lunges forward with a sudden catlike leap, his flaming arm snapping up into a brutal uppercut at the middle guard. A sickening crack resounds around the chamber as the man's neck snaps under the force of the blow. Korram turns to the other guards, smiling sadistically as he allows the flames around his arms to dance higher and farther, hightening his already intimidating appearance. "Evening, gents," he says, leaping towards them, crushing a sword in his flame fisted grip. "Not that I actually know if it's evening, what with the fact that we're locked in a doom fortress. Still, it's been a long 'day,' so you catch my drift." He catches the remaining sword on the flat of the blade with a blow from his left hand, deflecting it from a slash before grabbing his opponents wrist and forcing him to drop the blade. Meanwhile, he plunges his right hand into the chest of his other opponent, before heaving the man off of his arm, red mist floating through the air as blood evaporates around his arm. Finally, he moves suddenly, his left hand flicking from the guard's wrist to his throat, the windpipe crushed. The man falls, gurgling, before Korram puts him out of his misery with a blow to the head. Korram waits for the remaining blood on his arm to evaporate before looking to see how Seraph fares.
    Truly awesome Ark Tamaeus avatar by Bryn. Full size version here.

  3. - Top - End - #273
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    Gygaxphobia's Avatar

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    Default Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)

    Kailess the Purifier

    While his head remained lowered the presence of the demons pulls Kailess' gaze upwards to look on them. He breathes in deeply, inhaling their intoxicating vile smell and feels the exilhirating the rush of energy coursing through him.
    His muscles pulse and bulge, and his rage simmers - clenching his teeth tight together he scans about the room trying not to meet their eyes.

    The battle happens quickly, though he new it was coming. Those creatures were hungry for any soul and he cranes his head left and right to see if any of the guards get away.

    When his bond are released he cannot quite believe it for a moment, the shock is the only thing that stops him snapping the neck of the stupid guard immediately.

    Instead he lunges for the weapon on the nearest corpse and looks for the cultist, trying to assess if he left the room or is merely hiding.
    He would be a powerful hostage and Kailess would dearly love to grasp him by the neck and see how much these demons loved their master.

    ((Can he grab the cultist to use as a hostage?))

    Keeping track of the demons from the corner of his eye he points to his neck and whispers roughly to the guard, "Collar."
    ---------------------------------------------------
    The Black Shield Transforms! - from Beyond Myria campaign
    Wolvun avatar by kind courtesy of Kain_Tempest.

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    Requiescat in pace: the "Sweet Hat Bro" bird.
    Can nothing survive the jaws of THE BEAST? Even the innocent cute and fluffy?


    Quote Originally Posted by sikyon View Post
    Sometimes people forget all the benefits we reap from the sacrifices of our soldiers.

  4. - Top - End - #274
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    Lonna's Avatar

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    Default Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)

    Pyrene

    Well, it's progress at least. So far honesty has been my friend, aside from the fact that he took my explaination as a confession. Still, maybe I can make that work for me now...

    Though Pyrene's mind was racing, she spoke at a steady pace, describing the general topics of her nightmares, and in a few cases, one or two of the more horrific details, emphasizing her feeling of helplessness, her inability to protect Ariella. At several points she felt herself begin to cry, remembering the horrors she had seen visited on her half-sister, and did not try to prevent the tears from falling. At last she ran out of nightmares to describe and took a couple shuddering breaths to get herself firmly back under control before she spoke again.

    "My Lord, if repentence is wishing I could somehow go back and change my actions, I do indeed repent. My mother's daughter means far more to me than my own freedom, happiness, or even my own life. As you said, I have freely confessed the ill-considered and criminal actions which resulted in my imprisonment here, where I cannot so much as know if she is still living, much less help and protect her. I acknowledge my guilt, and that my punishment is necessary under the law, regardless of the circumstances. I can only pray that my half-sister, who is entirely innocent, will not come to harm because of my foolishness."
    I started a blog!
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    Thanks to Kasanip for the great avatar of Pyrene!
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  5. - Top - End - #275
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    MrEdwardNigma's Avatar

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    Default Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)

    Victor looked up from the crates and barrels he'd been checking the contents of. he held out his hand, signaling Cassandra to be quiet.

    "Some sort of noise. Sounds like someone's trying to penetrate a magical barrier... It can't be one of the cultists, can it? They practically own this place, any barrier that has been set up they must know how to circumvent... As I previously saw it we had two choises, Cassandra dear. We could quickly make our return to the library and the room where that cultist was being initiated, or at least that's what I assume they were doing, or we could head down that flight of stairs, hoping it won't be a dead end"

    "See, the black cloaks'll be back here soon enough, sticking around is not an option, neither is going further down the hall, as we might run into them. Going back they'll never expect, and I could use the corpses lying around there. The initiation room would be interesting to study as well, I'm sure. It would have made the best choice, but I have come to reconsider this now. There is bound to be something or someone down there facing a barrier. A barrier the black cloaks don't want broken, and which I can break. They could have a creature locked up there, dangerous enough to tear one of them to shreds. Brilliant distraction that would be. It could be a prisoner, like us. I always welcome a bit of help"


    When Victor said "help" he off course meant cannon fodder. Regardless, whatever he found down there it was likely to be usefull. After checking the contents of the barrels and crates and taking anything of use to him, he descended the stairs. Victor took the book with him, and Cassandra as well. He didn't want anyone to find out he'd been here.
    Avatar by the illustrious Dr. Bath.


    The essence of a riddle is that it states facts by means of a combination of impossibilities~Aristoteles

    Help me run my very first campaign.

  6. - Top - End - #276
    Orc in the Playground
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    Default Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)

    Sohssal

    "...oh..." Sohssal responded after Omega displayed her powers of deduction and head-explosions. Then he simply let the raging winds around the assistant's corpse dissipate, letting it fall indignantly to the floor. "No guards? That's either very good or very bad. Either way, I'm up for it. Let's go!" he said enthusiastically, clapping his hands together once. Then, just in case, he began weaving a protective spell. Pebbles floated up towards him as he weaved magic, and soon chunks of rock were torn from the nearby walls and floor, and began orbiting Sohssal, ready to intercept any attacks against him (though they weren't made any stronger by the spell, so it is still possible to break them, and thus negate the spell). "I can feel the spells coming back to my mind. It feels...good..." Sohssal commented, having started to recover from his incarceration.

    "Wait, this guy is manipulating time? That is a very dangerous occupation...and I want to see his notes, if he has any. Let's not kill him the first opportunity we get; these experiments sound fascinating!" Sohssal decided. Then he started flying towards the door, but then swooped down towards the remains of one of the crystals, and carefully picked up some of the shards. "I should study these later; they look like a better way to keep demons still than older, traditional methods..." he said off-handedly, then continued on his way.
    Last edited by Iethloc; 2008-04-20 at 12:44 AM.

  7. - Top - End - #277
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)

    Voth

    Silently cursing himself, Voth drags the girl under the desk, hopping to stay out of sight.
    The Emperor Protects

    Go Here! Please? Me love you long time.

    Of course you can click here and I explode.

  8. - Top - End - #278
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    OverWilliam's Avatar

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    Default Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)

    ~Tare

    While the crossbow itself did not fully penetrate his leg or his conscious mind, the second offense, the twisting blasted Tare back to alertness. It also instantly sparked an explosion of rage. Rage at what they had done to him. Rage at what they had done to Garm, Rage at how indifferent they were. There was even rage there that didn't have a specific reason. All of that anger flashed into the muscles in his chest, and he slammed forward as hard as every drop of pain, anger, fear, and willpower in his entire body would allow. The muscles in his chest cramped immediately, but he forced them on. Needles, his hand still on the bolt in Tare's leg, only had time to let his head drop to notice that Tare had begun to move before his forehead, powered by the last 48 hours of torture, crushed into the yielding flesh just under Needles' nose. The guard's head was snapped back upward and Tare's now bleeding battering ram continued on until it almost touched one of his legs. But the vengeful thief was not finished.

    The gloved, manacled together hands that had been on the side of his body away from Needles was now, with Tare bent almost in half, pointed toward him. On impulse and without former planning, those hands shot forward blind towards his tormentor and latched onto the first thing they came in contact with, belt, chain mail, tunic, anything. The muscles in Tare's hands went into overdrive and pincered through the stiff leather with as much power as he could muster. Had Needles been given even a single second more, he might have reacted. Had he not been reeling from the blow to the face, such a desperate gamble would certainly have failed. As it was, Tare had a chance. He threw the rest of his body weight back down, pivoting against his arms, and hauling as heavily as he could against the handhold he had found. There was something that Needles had forgotten when he had stood so close to the upside down and obviously 'helpless' prisoner. Beneath Needles' boots, a not-so-thin layer of vomit slicked the worn, stone floor.

    ((OOC: I hope to cause him to slip, and then hold whatever I have grabbed onto long enough to cause his head to hit the ground first, taking the full brunt of his fall and Tare's force. With a little luck, this will split his skull or break his neck or both.))
    Last edited by OverWilliam; 2008-04-20 at 08:28 AM.
    Deo Soli Sit Semper Gloria

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    Quote Originally Posted by Innis Cabal View Post
    Its offical. Overwilliam is Duke Devlin.

  9. - Top - End - #279
    Bugbear in the Playground
     
    Adlan's Avatar

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    Default Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)

    Garm

    As 'Needles' twists the quarrel in Tare's leg, 'timepeice' is approaching the downed figure of Garm, who, despite internally whimpering at the pain of the bolt, woke with enough sense not to show his awareness.

    When Tare makes his Move, 'Time peice' is still reaching to do the same to Garm, but momentarily distracted by the commotion gives the wolfman a chance.

    Which Garm takes, with a savage bark he rips his hand off the quarrel, trying to ignore the pain and the increased bleeding. If only it weren't for the silver, he could turn, become a wolf, heal his wounds faster, and hurt these 'guards' properly.

    Instead, Garm makes do with brutal uppercuts and sheer barreling determination, as he drives with his shoulder and fists, pushing 'timepeice' into 'random', while 'leash' is too confused to try and restrain him. He only has a few moments, but he uses them to smash into both guards with force, and in the scrabble on the ground, tries to crush whom ever's windpipe he can.

    Then, despite the commotion, 'Leash' reacts, and trys and haul a very angry and violent wolfling off his prey. This is not a wise move, though it works to get Garm away from 'Random' and 'Timepeice'. Instead, Garm runs across the short space of the cell, smashing into 'Leash' Grappling with him on the floor, snarling, biting, Punching, Kicking, trying again to crush his windpipe.

    ((OCC: I think I phrased that in the right tenses, and I hope thats okay, in assuming what would happen))
    Necromunda Total War:IC
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    Brair Freeman of Tariola, 4 levels of Ranger.
    Amiri Pakeha Khan, M.Eng Ship's mechanic.

    And I'll dance to Tom Payne's bones,
    Dance to Tom Payne's bones,
    Dance in the oldest boots I own,
    to the rhythm of Tom Payne's bones.

  10. - Top - End - #280
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    Burrito's Avatar

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    Default Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)

    The excitement of tonights endevors was finally wearing off. I was one, very, large step closer towards my goal. But I have many more to go after this.

    I have to do this right, I have to do this smart. I thought to myself. I sat down for a minute or two, just trying to calm my rushing thoughts, and think of a next step. I started off by reciting a prayer I had learned in my last place of incarceration.

    "Athelion, Bringer of Light, Bringer of Life.
    Help us, Your humble servents,
    In our time of Darkness.
    So that we may Bring Forth the Light,
    And drive out the Shadows from our Hearts."

    After I had whispered that a few times, I felt much better. I also had a clearer picture of what I needed to do.

    There was too little time until the next guard shift. I could almost imagine them getting the "slop wagon" ready with my morning gruel.

    I took off the guards chain shirt, and folded it up in the corner. On top of that I placed the boots, torch, and club. Thankfully the guards uniform was black, I shoved him into the corner, with his back to the door, so that his body was hiding those items. I adjusted his clothes so that there was no skin showing. Until he looked like just another black shawow in a dark shadowy cell. The guards belt, I cinched around my mid-section, under my burlap tunic. The cell key, I tucked securely into that belt. I also tied it to the belt with some string from the guards uniform. I don't want to loose this! Finally, I pried out about 8 nails from the guards boots, four from each. They were the small little nails all cobblers used to attach the thick, heavy sole to the boot. They were about 1 inch long and fairly thin. Nothing my skills could make use of, but maybe someone else could. I secured those into the fabric of my burlap outfit. I also stuck the grate from the toilet, and the small wooden shank into the belt. I cleaned up best I could, but still kept myself looking like a filthy prisoner. Too clean would be suspicious. Everyone here seems to have some sort of blood on them.

    One more day of mining...you can do this I don't want to rush off, and screw this up, since I'm gonna probably only get one chance at this.

    With that I went up and stood at the cell door, to await the morning and my fate. Hoping that with me being right here, they would not look past me into the cell, but instead just focus on me.

    (OOC Askov is going to wait and try to make his break tonight, after this days work. He is going to pass 1 nail to each of the guys he is chained with today, that come from his section of hallway, cell block whatever. He isn't expecting anything like a mass break-out to happen with that, but maybe some of them are Thieves, who can pick a lock with them. And if they are close to his cell, he can get out tonight and get the manacles off, without resorting to plan B.)
    Last edited by Burrito; 2008-04-21 at 06:49 PM. Reason: Horrible horrible spelling
    ...still keeping my jack boot on the neck of the little man...

    Quote Originally Posted by Don Julio Anejo View Post
    ...Your life isn't going to get any worse...

  11. - Top - End - #281
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Default Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)

    Ander Windrivver

    Ander laughs despite himself, a rasping, wheezing sound, at the fiend's offer.

    Dear Gods, I never thought I'd see the day when a fiend would be seeking my help. You are correct, of course. I have already sworn an oath to purge the Church leadership of its fiendish corruption. If I must only reaffirm that oath to you in order to gain my freedom, then so be it. I, Ander Windrivver, former Lord General of the Crusade, do swear to destroy the fiendish corruption infesting the Church of Light.

    Ander closes his eyes and focuses himself in prayer.

    Athelion, forgive my congress with this vile creature. It is my hope that the deeds I may commit will help me fulfill my oath to you. I have hung in this vile prison for too long and if I must temporarily ally myself with this beast to escape then I must do so.

    Athelion, Bringer of Light, Bringer of Life
    Help me, your humble servant,
    In my time of Darkness,
    So that I may bring forth the Light,
    And drive out the Shadow from my Heart.

    Miriam, Hand of Justice, Protector of the Meek,
    Help me, your humble servant,
    In my time of Darkness,
    To guide my hand with Righteousness,
    So that I may drive Evil from the Land.


    Finishing his prayers, Ander stares the beast directly in its eyes.

    I have sworn my oath, now let me down.
    Last edited by Baerdog7; 2008-04-21 at 01:07 PM.
    Quote Originally Posted by PhoeKun View Post
    Baerdog: super genius.

  12. - Top - End - #282
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    Default Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)

    Mar

    She shivered, lying on the floor. There were so many bad memories here that she usually just tried to forget them all. Daddy was right to punish her for being so stupid; she must be stupid and bad, else why would so many bad things happen to her? She was being bad right now, just by talking to this man. Even if he was nice, and she didn't know why it was wrong to just talk to him, she knew it was.

    Treacherously, her feet do not pick her up to flee, to confess her wrongdoing or even try to conceal it (that never worked, Daddy always knew when she lied, but sometimes she was afraid enough that she tried anyway). Instead, she sits up a little, staring. "My mommy used to sing that to me," she confides quietly, eyes round. She thought that was right. She didn't actually remember anything more than the tune and a sense of comfort and happiness, but the words did remind her of... something...

    Then she realized what being wet meant, and saw the overturned bucket. That was bad! She had to clean that up, before anybody saw her. Maybe they would think she was supposed to be cleaning here. No, there was too much of a mess—and Daddy would notice when she wasn't back when she was supposed to be... if he hadn't already...

    Mar begins trying to clean up some of the spill, working the brush as if it were a rag that could soak up some of the reddish water. It wouldn't work, she needed a mop. And she was wet. There wasn't any way out of it—when they found her, she was going to be punished. "No, I'm not," she half-moans, half-whimpers, "I'm not all right. I'm not supposed to spill, I'm not supposed to mess up. I'm not supposed to talk with you, Daddy doesn't like it." But she was talking with him anyway. It felt like it helped a little to talk to somebody who didn't have to hurt her, and if she was going to be punished anyway, it didn't matter as much.
    Avatar by GryffonDurime. Thanks!

  13. - Top - End - #283
    Troll in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)

    The Spires: Ironheart Research

    Voth

    (Ok, Metal Gear Voth. )

    You’re not quite sure how you manage it, but somehow you manage to slide the girl under the desk and then squeeze yourself in after her, all without disturbing the chair too much. Overhead you can hear the distorted voices of the guards still talking.

    “Now werez thath whiskay!?”

    You hear clumsily banging from the other desk, following by loud curses and angry slamming.

    “Iths not here. Musta be ina tother one!”

    You hear footsteps approaching, and then a pair of legs make themselves visible right in front of you. Right by your head, the loud scrape of the a drawer being pulled open echoes through the wood, followed by clumsy rummaging.

    “Aha! Founds it!”

    “Great, great. Now let’s take it and get the hell out of here before the Volesins come back and catch you standing there holding their whiskey.”

    “Alright!”

    Loudly the drawer is pushed shut, and then the legs disappear from the front of the desk and you listen as two sets of footsteps recede, followed a minute later by the iron door clanging shut. Once again, you were alone, save for the seemingly comatose girl.

    The Prism

    Lonna

    The Judge listens to your occasionally-tearful descriptions of your nightmares, waiting patiently and silently until you are finished.

    THE ACTUAL CONDITION OF YOUR SISTER IS IRRELEVANT AT THIS JUNCTURE.

    The Judge slaps his forehead.

    HOWEVER, IT IS NATURAL FOR YOU TO BE CONCERNED FOR HER. PART OF YOUR PUNISHMENT WITHIN THE PRISM IS TO SUFFER FROM NIGHTMARES. BUT THESE ARE SIMPLE TRICKS OF YOUR OWN MIND: WHAT HAS BEEN, AND WHAT MAY BE. THERE IS NO ESSENTIAL TRUTH IN THE DREAMS OF THE FUTURE, AND THERE IS NO CRIMINAL INFORMATION ON FILE FOR YOUR SISTER AT THIS TIME.

    The Judge removes his hand from his forehead with a wave.

    REGARDLESS, THIS COURT IS NOT ESPECIALLY INTERESTED IN YOUR SISTER UNLESS SHE ALSO ONE DAY COMES BEFORE US. HOWEVER, GIVEN THE REGRET FOR YOUR ACTIONS THAT YOUR TIME SPENT HERE DREAMING OF HER HAS INSTILLED IN YOU.

    The Judge rubs his temple.

    AND THE POTENTIALLY MITIGATING CIRCUMSTANCES SURROUNDING YOUR CRIMES, WHICH HAVE ONLY NOW COME TO LIGHT.

    The Judge removes his hand.

    THIS COURT OFFICIALLY RECOMMENDS THAT YOU BE REMOVED FROM THE PRISM TO SERVE OUT THE REST OF YOUR SENTANCE ELSEWHERE IN IRONHEART.

    Here the Judge raises his hand to his temple one final time.

    ALTHOUGH YOU MAY HAVE SUFFERED GREATLY IN YOUR DREAMS WITHIN THE PRISM, THEY ARE IN THE END SIMPLY REFLECTIONS OF YOUR OWN MIND. IN THE REST OF IRONHEART, THE HORRORS THAT YOU SHALL WITNESS WILL BE REAL, AND NOT OF YOUR OWN MAKING. ARE YOU SURE THAT YOU WISH TO BE TRANSFERRED OUT OF THE PRISM UNTIL THE DATE OF YOUR EXECUTION?

    The Cells: First Floor

    The_Snark

    Fear acting as a powerful motivator, you push yourself up and begin to frantically push the water around on the floor with the brush. But the brush couldn’t soak up the water, and the water wouldn’t go into the bucket again no matter how hard you tried to push it back in. Already chilled by your soaked clothes, you begin to tremble uncontrollably as your mind starts to focus on the thought of being punished.

    You had really done it this time: you hadn’t managed to do a single thing right except clean out the cells. And that would be all forgotten after all the things you had done wrong, totally and utterly wrong because you were a stupid girl, a bad girl, and no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t stop being a horrid failure. Daddy might really punish you this time, you knew. He had made you suffer for days after failing far less than you just had today.

    He might even use the bugs on you. You hated the bugs, and just thinking about them made your skin crawl as you tightened your grip on the brush to a white-knuckled grip that started to hurt your hands as you dragged it frantically all over the floor, pushing the water around and around.

    Suddenly the man started talking to you again, his voice still croaking but taking on a soft, pitying tone. “You poor, poor child. I do not understand why Athelion allows such suffering in this world. Or why anyone would mistreat a little angel like you. Here.”

    Suddenly, something falls down into the water in front of you, settling and starting to soak it up. For a moment you instinctively recoil, and then realize that it wasn’t going to hurt you and take a closer look. After getting a second look at the object dropping in front of you, you see that it is the man’s burlap shirt, which while not nearly as good as a mop is still better than your brush.

    “Just push whatever water it doesn’t soak up into my cell. I’m so thirsty I think I could lap up even this . . . disgusting mess. Then I wouldn’t mind having my shirt back, it’s very cold in here.”

    Wrapping his thin arms around himself, the man shivers, and you can see that while he may have once been jolly and fat like some of the guards, he has since withered into a thin-mockery of what he once was. But still he was a really nice man, trying to help a stupid girl like you escape being punished. Clearly he didn’t realize it didn’t matter, the deed had already been done, and Daddy would know.

    The Cells: Second Floor

    Burrito

    Hiding the guard’s body in the darkest corner of your cell, you make your preparations as best you can. Sure enough, shortly after you have finished your preparations the morning gruel wagon comes squeaking through, and breakfast is served.

    Following along shortly behind that is the slave chain, which they chain you to the front of by a single manacle locked around your right wrist (the guards have keys to the manacles on the slave chain).

    They then drive you and the five other unlucky prisoners down into the entrance to the Mines with a few half-hearted cracks of the whips in their hands: the real whipping and beatings wouldn’t commence until you started to “fall behind” while mining. As you move towards the mine entrance, you can see that it is an unusual hive of activity today. Normal guards are everywhere, bustling about or dragging prisoners here and there along with them.

    Passing through one guard post, you watch as a team of elite guards descend from the upper level, and then set out in the direction of the nearest guard post with a set of stairs leading downward. That can’t be good, you know, for the elite guards rarely if ever bothered themselves with the day-to-day operation of the prison. They only time they seemed to appear was during a prisoner riot or escape attempt of some sort, which they tended to put down quickly and efficiently, or so you had heard.

    But then you are past, and it’s no longer any of your concern. Instead, mining, and preparing the next stage of your escape plan is. Arriving in the cavernous entrance to the mines, you are lead over to one of the nearby stands of mining equipment, which only contain dull shovels or rounded-tip picks. Still, it’s better than being forced to dig through the hard rock with your bare hands, like prisoners with broken tools were pretty much forced to do.

    “Get your mining equipment and get ready to work, scum.” One of the guards snarls at you, cracking his whip over everyone’s heads to imply that you had better hurry up and pick whatever tool you wanted to use for the day. The other members of your slave chain hurry to do as they were told, two selecting shovels and the other three picks.

    The Cells: Third Floor

    Gygaxphobia

    (The cultist has disappeared into the darkness, so short of running past the demons to chase after their master, no.)

    As the screams intensify as the soulseekers abandon the drained husks of their initial two prey to move on to the rest of the guards, your little convert busily removes the straps holding your arms immobile. “I don’t have the keys to your chains! Andrew does!” The guard shouts at you, before turning to the hateful lead guard. “Andrew, come on man! He can help us with these things!”

    Turning back to look at you both, the guard sneers at you as he always has. Jaw set, he shakes his head. “To hell with him. To hell with all of us! Umph!” An instant after his declaration, one of the Soulseekers crashes into him, carrying him down to the floor. As Andrew rolls over to defend himself, the demon screams, the petals covering its face peeling back to reveal a skeletal human face with glowing eyes.

    A moment after witnessing this frightful sight, Andrew also screams, and as his mouth opens you know that he has eternally damned himself, for out through his open mouth comes a pale mist that the Soulseeker greedily inhales. The mist is Andrew’s soul, converted into such by the foul magic of the beast.

    “****!” Your convert exclaims, before grunting, “Ok fine, hold very still.” Drawing his sword, he works the blade down in between your wrists, down through the loop of metal rigidly holding your two manacled wrists together. “On three . . . one . . . two . . . three!”

    The guard then throws his entire weight against the blade, nearly sending you tumbling to the floor with the impact and causing fire to race along your left arm where the blade bit into your flesh. But with a sharp crack the metal also gives way as one of the hinges breaks, setting your hands gloriously free. Before the sword manages to fall to the floor, you catch it without looking or even thinking, the weapon a comfortably familiar feel in your hand.

    Bringing your hands around in front of you, you can see a deep scratch running down your left arm where the blade had bit into your arm from the impact, as well as a nasty bruise starting to form around your right wrist where the metal shackle had been pulled before starting to give way. Still, you were free, gloriously free for the first time since your arrival here, and there was demon filth for you to smite.

    Even slightly wounded, sick, and cut off from your powers, you were still more than a match for two filthy servants of the underworld. As if realizing the far greater threat you now posed, both Soulseekers turned towards you as one, blood from their latest meals slowly dripping off the sharp tips of their jaws. Now it was just you, your convert, and two other guards against the two demons. And you knew it was going to be you that would walk away from this confrontation, for now you knew that Miriam had not abandoned you, and today was the day of your liberation, and vengeance. Let the Cleansing of this foul place begin!

    Torture Chambers

    Dorizzit

    Having been on the lookout for you, the guards do spot you as you leap out from your hiding place at them. Their reactions are all the same: eyes-wide, jaws agape with fear. “Oh sh-“ The lead guard manages to exclaim before your initial blow nearly takes his head clean off, yet nevertheless snapping his neck and leaving him to collapse messily to the ground at the feet of his two companions.

    Before the two can mobilize a counterattack you press your advantage, reaching down to melt one of the other guard’s sword before he could use it against you. As the last armed guard flings himself at you with a wild cry, the disarmed one turns to run.

    With practiced skill you deflect the armed guard’s blow away from your body, grabbing his wrist and twisting until the sword falls out of his hand with a dull clatter. Now safe for the moment, you lash out at the fleeing guard, shoving your fire-arm through his chest in a burst of flame before he manages to get more than a few steps away. As his chest violently explodes into ash upon contact with your arm, you release the other guard’s wrist to flash your fist up into his windpipe. Weakly gargling and choking, the guard falls to his knees, where you finish him with a hard blow to the temple that renders him unconscious and allows him to die peacefully.

    Turning back to see how Seraph is faring, you watch as he and the elite guard exchange a furious series of sword blows, all of which the receiving party parries before launching a counter-counter-counterattack. Finally, Seraph locks blades with the elite’s and forces it down and to one side, giving Seraph enough room to turn his shoulder and ram it into the elite, knocking him back. Fighting so close to a rack, Seraph’s shoulder barrage knocks the elite back into it.

    Rolling with the impact, the elite attempts to use his momentum to flip himself up onto the waist-high table. Amazingly, he succeeds, and as his back crashes down onto the table the elite pushes his hands down against it, kicking his legs up into the air and rolling off the rack and down onto the far side. Yet this impressive acrobatic move proves to be the elite’s undoing, for as his feet touch the ground on the far side, he suddenly realizes his sword arm is caught. While his hands had been down on the rack, Seraph had leapt in and snapped one of the headboard shackles to his wrist.

    The elite has only a moment to register this before Seraph leaps up onto the rack, kicks the sword out of the elite’s hand, kicks the elite in the face, and then hops down next to the elite, grabbing him and slamming him into the edge of the rack again. As the air is forcibly expelled from the dazed elite guard’s lungs by this last impact, Seraph grabs the elite guard still free hand and slaps it down onto the surface of the rack. Holding it there with his free hand, Seraph then stabs his sword down through the elite’s hand and several inches into the wood, pinning the now-screaming guard in place.

    “Talk.” Seraph says simply, leaving the guard in his painful predicament as he walks around to the headboard where the winch is located.

    “Screw you – ARGH!” The guard snarls, immediately regretting his decision as Seraph works the winch, pulling the chain connected to the guard’s one wrist tight. As Seraph gives the wince just a little extra turn, the chain pulls the guard slightly towards the winch, and with no slack left in the chain or his arms, his pinned hand pulls against the sword embedded in the middle of it.

    “Talk or lose the hand.” Seraph persists, again getting an angry refusal followed by a piercing shriek of agony from the elite guard. Looking up momentarily from his work, Seraph nods at you. “Nice work. Did you have any questions for our friend here other than the quickest way out of here?”

    OverWilliam/Adlan

    As Needles twists the bolt within Tare’s leg, he is finally rewarded with a scream. But this is not a scream of agony as much as a scream of rage, as Needles was about to learn. With every last bit of his strength, and fueled by the adrenaline now coursing through his system thanks to this newest painful injury and indignity heaped upon his body, Tare swings himself up.

    His forehead cracks against Needles’s nose with bone breaking force as the guard’s blood shoots out to run down both of their faces. This time it is Needles who screams, doubling over to clamp both hands protectively over his nose as he slowly stumbles back away from Tare.

    But he is not quite fast enough, and as Tare swings back the other way he twists his hands violently about, struggling to work his stiff leather-encased fingers closed onto anything Needles-related. As it turns out, this anything would be a fistful of hair, and as Tare swings back in the opposite direction he drags Needles, head first, with him.

    At first he stumbles after Tare as he is dragged along, his screams somewhat muffled by the present of his hands. But then his feet touch the slick-stone where Tare had been vomiting periodically for hours now, and Needles can no longer keep his footing.

    He goes down, face-first, and his forehead meets the hard stone floor with a wet crack as Tare lets go of his hair and allows him to fall freely.

    Kneeling down beside Garm in preparation to twist the bolt around inside his hand, Timepiece looks up in shock at the sudden reversal of fortune. This momentary distraction is all that Garm needs, however, and then he is awake and howling. Howling in pain as he tears his hand up along the crossbow bolt until it is finally free, howling in frustration as his exhausted and battered body protests all of his actions with pain, and howling in rage at what has been done to him.

    Garm’s first blow, a rising uppercut, catches Timepiece totally unaware and jerks him fully back up onto his feet. As the guard turns his attention back to the wolfling, Garm drives his torn and bleeding fist into the man’s gut, howling in pain but still driving the torn flesh into the guard’s body until the air is forced out of his lungs. Then Garm shoves the stunned and gasping for air Timepiece back at Random Guy, who even now is bringing his crossbow to bear on the angry wolfling. But he is too late, and as he fires, Timepiece stumbles back into the path of his bolt, screaming as it penetrates his back, before the two crash together and tumble down onto the floor in a heap.

    Then Garm is on top of both of them, snarling, biting, punching, kicking. He manages to get several good blows in on Timepiece, even going so far as to grab the crossbow bolt sticking out of his back and shoving it further into the man. But it is the relatively unharmed Random Guy that Garm focuses the great of his attention on, and he just manages to drive his fist into the man’s windpipe, hearing a soft crack as the flesh gives way under the blow, before Leash finally wakes up from the sudden horror to yank Garm back off of the two guards.

    But this was not a particularly good survival strategy, for with the other guards down Garm is free to tear back up onto his feet and charge into the sole remaining guard now reminding the wolfling of his existence by pulling on his leash. The two go down in a tangle of limps, but despite Garm’s exhaustion and injuries, he still proves fierce enough to kill this remaining guard, grabbing his head and wrenching it viciously to one side, breaking the man’s neck.

    An instant later a crossbow bolt clatters against the ground next to his head, and Garm turns to find that Timepiece has managed to haul himself back up to his feet, leaning heavily against a table. In his hands are the crossbow he left on said table, now empty as he has fired it at Garm and missed.

    Spitting out a ward of blood and a curse, the guard slowly attempts to reload, his fearful breaths coming in short pained gasps as his dead friends lie on the ground amongst him and the crossbow bolt buried deep in his back begins to burn, feeling like a hot poker in his flesh.

    The Cells: Maximum Security

    Baerdog7

    “Very well Lord General. I trust a paladin knows how to keep his word.”

    The shadowy face on the wall shifts and dissipates into nothingness, and for just an instant you wonder if this isn’t some cruel joke by Crane or mad delusion of your own mind. But then you hear a foul voice speaking, its quiet but haunting word echoing in your ears. It is chanting the words to some sort of spell, you realize after a moment’s concentration: the words nothing more than meaningless syllables save for the magic power they called forth.

    A moment later, there is a bright flash, and one of the chains wrapped around your thighs, holding them down against the blade emerging from the skull, snaps apart. You hear a low hiss of irritation, in the same voice as before, and then it speaks to you once more. “My apologies Lord General, but the chains holding you have clearly been enchanted to be resist against breaking, magically or otherwise. This may take a few tries.”

    Again, your would-be rescuer starts chanting once more, and another one of the chains, this one wrapped around your waist, shatters. Over and over again the rescuer chants his spell, and at last of the chains covering your body fall away to the floor in pieces. All that remains are the manacles locked around your wrists, the collar around your neck, and the chains holding your legs inside the eye sockets of the symbol’s skull.

    “Prepare yourself, Lord General. After I remove these last chains you will slide off and begin to fall. It would hardly be conducive to either of our efforts should you fall and break your neck.”

    The figure then chants his spell a final time, and you feel your legs break free of the chains holding them to the symbol. Slowly, you begin to slide down the blade as your legs slide out of the eye sockets, and then you are falling down along the blade as your feet exit the sockets completely. Prepared for the fall, you are nonetheless a bit taken aback by the suddenness of it, and disease and blood loss has taken its toll.

    Twisting in mid-air, you manage to land heavily on your back instead of your head, your back instantly covered in something hot, wet, and sticky as the blood bowl clatters over underneath you, and then rattles away until it comes to rest a short distance away from you upside down.

    Beginning to feel dizzy from the loss of blood, you look down to see that your hands are still manacled and covered in blood, but the flow of blood from the cuts in your arms has slowed to a trickle, the flesh slowly resealing thanks to the salve. But it would be too late, and in a few moments you would pass out as you always did, and the acolyte coming in to collect your blood would instead find you mysteriously lying in the pool of it created by you flipping over the collection bowl.

    Suddenly, a glass vial tinks to the ground in front of your face.

    “Drink it, now.” The voice urges. “It will heal you of your wounds somewhat, enough that you will not pass out at least. I unfortunately cannot remove either the manacles around your wrists or the collar around your throat, at least not right now. They have been more strongly enchanted, and we don’t have the time for me to summon the necessary power right now. So drink the potion instead, and get ready to deal with the acolyte when he comes to collect your blood – he’s already on his way, I imagine. I trust even with your hands manacled together in front of you, you can still handle one surprised human?”

    The Labs

    Iethloc

    (For future reference, Omega thoughts shall now be in pink, while research assistant whose body you’re borrowing thoughts will be in blue.)

    Preparing yourself for combat just-in-case and pocketing a crystal shard, you follow Omega back out into the main laboratory. Crossing over the wreckage, the two of you arrive at the locked adamantite doorway sealing you off from the next laboratory. As you move, the familiar presence of the research assistant’s mind returns, evidently driven to the back corners of your mind previously by Omega’s sudden entrance.

    You know, this is why I hate you mages. Playing with time; the essence of life; the fabric of reality itself: none of it is sacred to you. You just keep poking around inside the essence of the universe, as if one day it’s not going to turn around and bite you for it. You’re already nigh-immortal: do you really need to be monkeying around with time too?

    For a moment, Omega stares at the annoying obstruction, but instead of using your usual solution of smashing through a locked door, she instead seems to opt for finesse. From the door there is a loud clank as each of the adamantite rods holding it the door shut recede into the doorframe, and then the final lock itself clicks open. Perhaps as a final show, Omega then telekinetically pushes the door open, allowing access into the room beyond. A thin trickle of blood begins to flow out of her right nostril a moment later.

    That is the last of my power I am willing to use at this time. Hopefully we will be able to overcome this next challenge without brute force.

    Looking into the room inside reveals a startling contrast to the one you were just leaving. Instead of a cluttered arcane laboratory filled with beakers and man-sized tubes of frosted glass, the room beyond the door was set up much like a comfortable study. A thick soft carpet covered the floor, and along the left wall from ceiling to floor was a bookshelf stuffed with leather-bound tomes, the titles would which you could not read from the entrance. Positioned in the middle of the room, between you and the door was a large wooden desk. Sitting in a well-padded leather bound chair behind the desk was a slightly-pudgy, balding man.

    Looking up from his book at the two of you, he blinks in surprise. “Oh ****.” He whispers, before quickly reaching out and tapping a button of his desk. A moment later, a bright flash fills your eyes, and the world goes dark for an instant.

    Looking into the room inside reveals a startling contrast to the one you were just leaving. Instead of a cluttered arcane laboratory filled with beakers and man-sized tubes of frosted glass, the room beyond the door was set up much like a comfortable study. A thick soft carpet covered the floor, and along the left wall from ceiling to floor was a bookshelf stuffed with leather-bound tomes, the titles would which you could not read from the entrance. Positioned in the middle of the room, between you and the door was a large wooden desk. Sitting in a well-padded leather bound chair behind the desk was a slightly-pudgy, balding man.

    Looking up from his book at the two of you, he smiles. “Welcome to eternity friends. Can I get you both something to drink?”

    Sanctuary of the Prophets

    Pwenet/WhiteKnight777

    As Akor begins speaking in the ancient dialect of his forefathers, the letters begin to glow with a bright intensity. This intense glow only increases, and by the time Akor nears his roaring conclusion the letters are almost blinding. Then the light suddenly dims back to its normal level, and the letters melt away with ribbons of light that stream towards and splash off of the still-visible magical seal over the doorway.

    Like the letters before it, for a moment the door’s magical seal glows with greater and greater intensity, until it too suddenly dims and melts away into the frame of the doorway itself. A moment later, another set of green letters appear where the first set had, but instead of shifting this set remains solely in ancient draconic.

    Welcome, descendant. A true child of the protectors, with a heart of iron and a resolve of steel, is always welcome here. Rest within until your burden is suitably eased to continue your journey.

    The words remain only long enough for the both of you to quickly read them, and then melt away. Then with the soft scrape of stone on stone, the door swings open before you. Inside you can see a large room stretching out for some distance before you. Along the left wall a large iron fireplace is set, with several long slabs of heavy stone arranged in a neat semi-circle around the front of the fireplace. Age or vandals have cracked a number of the slabs apart, leaving only piles of rubble behind.

    Several thick iron bars hang down from the ceiling, elaborately carved crosspieces fitted onto each beam hanging straight down from the ceiling and giving the whole thing the appearance of a perverse forest of skeletal chandeliers. A few piles of twisted iron strewn about the floor below corresponding missing chunks of the ceiling suggest age or vandals have also played a decaying role here as well.

    Finally, near the back of the room sits what was likely once a shallow pool, although now it is simply a bone-dry pit several feet deep and many feet wide.

    Hearing the soft rasp of foot upon stone, your eyes turn to the immediate right of the doorway, and you can see a set of stairs sharply ascending up to a second floor. Standing about halfway up the set of stairs is a man, dressed in the same drab burlap clothing as you yourselves are. Numerous stitches criss-cross along the flesh of his body that you can see, and continue out of sight beneath his clothing, suggesting that his entire body was a stitched-together patchwork of flesh. (MrEdwardNigma)

    In one hand he holds a parched leather book that seems to be made of human skin, with a small skeletal face on the front cover that periodically attempts to energetically shifts its jaw around enough to bite down on the man’s flesh. With the other he is grasping the elbow of a tall woman with long flaming-red hair, leading her down the steps. She is dressed in similar garb as the rest of you, and a thick metal chain wrapped around her waist and the fact that her hands are out of sight behind her back suggest her hands are bound.

    Blinking her eyes and cocking her head towards you slightly, you hear her whisper to the man, “I just heard a door slide open Victor. Please tell me you did that, somehow.”

    MrEdwardNigma

    Although the loud booming of the magic seal activating monetarily distracted you, you didn’t dwell on it for long. You had been in the midst of breaking open one of the crates when it had happened, and before moving to investigate or flee altogether you wanted to see what was in these stupid things. Fortunately your razor-sharp fingernails were very useful in acting like knives, allowing you to slide a fingernail into the gap between the lid and the edge, and then pry upwards. Unfortunately the act of opening a crate was fairly noisy, so hopefully there were no black-cloaks hiding in the room or some other scary monster they had set up to guard this place.

    Nothing descended out of the darkness at you, however, and finally you manage to get the top all of the way off. Looking inside, you see a disgusting tangle of bloody chunks of meat, filling the entire crate up to the brim. Having made some studies into the field of grafting animal parts, you are able to quickly identify enough of the random chunks packed into the crate to identify its species as pig. Evidently these . . . “people” . . . didn’t particularly care how their pigs were butchered, as you can see hooves, a few heads, and a hefty amount of entrails from a number of different pigs all jammed into the crate. Popping open a nearby barrel in the same way, you see that it is full of water, although perhaps covered in a bit more scum than you would have preferred drinking personally.

    Having satisfied your curiosity for the moment, you turn back to Cassandra, telling her to keep quiet and get ready to follow you. As you carefully replaced the lids to both barrel and crate, Cassandra wearily struggles back up to her feet, leaning back heavily against the crate for leverage as she pushes herself up. Snatching up the book in one hand, you use your other to grab the blind Cassandra by the elbow, guiding her along behind you.

    The two of you then quickly move over to the set of stairs at the back of the room, beginning to descend to investigate the noise you had previously heard. From the top of the stairs you can make out the faint outline of a door in the wall right next to the bottom of the stairway. Wondering if perhaps you could peek out through a keyhole or crack to see who was attempting to entry, you begin to make your way down the stairs, still carefully leading Cassandra (now really wouldn’t be the best time to allow her to fall headlong down the stairs, snapping her neck or splitting her skull open, and thereby forcing you to begin immediate emergency zombification).

    You are perhaps halfway down the stairs when the door swings open with a soft scrape of stone upon stone. Although you are unable from your position to entirely make out the hallway beyond the door, you can see that you now have quite a bit of company. From the loud but quickly hushed complaints outside, you deduce that some of your company is . . . a group of children?

    However, you can also barely see through the door a female vampire, who herself seems to be deferred to the tall, almost regal-looking vampire now standing just outside the doorway. (WhiteKnight777) Could this be the one from your dreams? But perhaps even more fascinating than him was the creature standing directly next to him, which while humanoid appeared to have some draconic features. (Pwenet) But dragons had been extinct of thousands of years, sadly, so how was this even remotely possible?
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

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  14. - Top - End - #284
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    Umber

    Umber slowly looked around the chamber. The words, if they were not a trap, seemed to indicate that the place was some sort of sanctuary, either put here by the original architects of this place, or by their descendants... but it was apparent that either it had sat unused and unmaintained for far too long, or else vandals had destroyed much of what once was wrought. The place had a faintly meleancholy air of faded grandeur that Umber had felt many a time when entering ancient ruins, a feeling that was intensified by the fact that Umber often held in his own memory a picture of such places before they fell victim to such fading. But Umber was not one to let such feelings bother him. He was about to step over the threshold, cautiously, before he heard the soft scrape of a foot on rough stone, and he turned, looking up the stairwell at the oddly matched pair of man and woman.

    He looked at them keenly, noting their attire... It was probably safe to assume that they were fellow prisoners on the run, though possibility of a trap must always be kept in mind. He drew himself up, speaking in a calm, authoritative tone, cool and collected as he slowly ran his eyes over both of them. Good day to the both of you... and what, might I ask are you looking for in this quaint little hellhole?

  15. - Top - End - #285
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    Voth

    (OOC: Finding a cardboard box, Voth hids under it and contacts Oticon for instructions on how to find Metal Gear.)

    That was close.

    If you had just killed the girl when we first got here, it wouldn't have been a problem.

    Yea yea, shut up already.


    Turning to the girl, Voth attempts to wake her up.
    The Emperor Protects

    Go Here! Please? Me love you long time.

    Of course you can click here and I explode.

  16. - Top - End - #286
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    Victor had been taken in by the sight of the two vampires and the half dragon, all very interesting specimens, and his sense of reality had faded slightly.

    "Fascinating..." he mumbled. He let go of Cassandra's hand, having completely forgotten about her, and circled round the creatures.
    "Truly fascinating..."

    Only now did Victor notice the male vampire had spoken. Only now did he register his face. He'd been an anatomy study to Victor up until this point, but now he became a person.

    "I found you" he said, smiling.
    "I was giving up hope. I'd become hopelessly lost. Your map was of no use where I was. You do remember the map you sent, right? The dreams, that was you, no?"
    He laid one hand on Umber's skull, his icy cold metal fingertips tracing every bulge and irregularity.

    "How did you manage it? And the aversion to sunlight, how does it work exactly? I've only ever studied vampires under narcosis, at the academy. They wouldn't let us question them. Too dangerous, they said. I once caught one myself. Had him in my cellar for three months, but he refused to give me answers and I decided it would be more usefull to analyze him internally. Perhaps I should have given questioning another chance..."

    Victor's head tilted as his attention turned to the female vampire.
    "Ah... A more common breed? A fine specimen, I must say"
    He licked his lips.
    "I have ever so many questions..."

    Cassandra stepped into the room hesitantly, staying close to the door so she could run if necessary.
    "Victor? What's going on?"

    "We're escaping, Cassandra, that's what's going on. And these nice gentlemen here are going to help us" "

    Now, I assume you can use the help, or else I wouldn't have received that dream, and even though you have already managed to escape your cell with the help of this group..."
    ,
    Victor indicated the vampiress and the half dragon, "I am sure you could use one with my particular skillset. I can get you up to the third floor from here and I know of some very interesting locations we should visit. Furthermore I am an excellent medic and a master alchemist. I am the only man ever to have achieved zombification by the use of science, and not crude magic, and I am well on my way to achieving the two other, ultimate goals of alchemy. All I ask in return for my aid is some assistance with a couple of matters and permission to investigate the three of you, though not at this particular time and place, off course. And by investigate I do not mean cut open, in this case. Merely some interviews and some simple, harmless tests"
    Victor took a deep, wheezing breath.
    "Also, have you seen any corpses around perhaps? Or chemicals of any sort? Medical equipment? Any of that could prove very usefull""
    Last edited by MrEdwardNigma; 2008-04-22 at 07:27 PM.
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    The essence of a riddle is that it states facts by means of a combination of impossibilities~Aristoteles

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  17. - Top - End - #287
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    Umber

    Umber's eyes flashed for a moment, but then he smiled. The man's manner irritated him, but only briefly. He was good at reading people. And if this wasn't just an act, he thought he had some measure of the man - he was a scholar. And a particularly.... say... dedicated one. Probably one who didn't let the little things get in his way. Like, say, empathy, or the mobs with torches pounding at the door. He gave a small signal to Mellita not to take offense at his words. After the patchwork man had finished speaking, Umber replied once again, his voice faintly amused.

    Sunlight is not something I enjoy... but then again it is not fatal to me, either. I am... hmmm.. call it a different breed of the undead. A superior breed, even if I do say so myself. My metamorphosis is, o rather was, the result of an extremely long research process. My life's work, back when I still breathed. He chuckled, his eyes momentarily hazy with memory before snapping back to the present. I could tell you a great deal about both my own condition and those of several of the variant species... some of which were the results of our earlier, imperfect work... but I'm afraid I have a policy not to share the genesis of my own condition for reasons of personal security... besides which, such knowledge carries a price that few are willing or capable to pay.

  18. - Top - End - #288
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    OldWizardGuy

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    As the magical barrier starts to pulse and glow brighter and brighter, Akor watches with wary eyes. As the letters start to melt away he smiles towards Umber as the barrier fades away, before turning and seeing new letters floating in the air. He translates the words by instinct, and stops in shock as his primitive brain processes the information.

    Welcome, descendant. A true child of the protectors, with a heart of iron and a resolve of steel, is always welcome here. Rest within until your burden is suitably eased to continue your journey.

    The door then swings open, and Akor sees a sight he has not seen in ages long past.

    The large iron fireplace with the slabs of heavy stone:
    Memories of curled up on the slabs, basking in the heat with his fellow whelplings. Looking up he saw other dragons, several with peeling scales and worn drawn out expressions watching the last generation.
    His eyes gaze over the chandeliers:
    Learning to fly, perched on the iron, watching the elders converse in their ancient tongues.
    The empty pool:
    Resting the cool water, enjoying the steam coming off his scales.

    Taking a step forward, while he never had been in this place, he knew at once who had created it. Not paying attention to what is happening behind him, he takes a step forward, lost in nostalgia.

    ”My brethren, my ancestors, they built this place….”

    Turning around to look at his companions he sees that they are joined by others. A man who smells of death and one who smells of blood and sweat. The patchwork man is apparently enthralled by Umber and Akor chuckles at Umbers slight discomfort. As they speak he remains silent and looks back into the cavern before speaking up.

    ”We can rest here, it will be protected. If only there is some food and water here for the rest.”
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    Quote Originally Posted by Inspectre
    I'm good at making you fear the unknown. Pwenet is good at making you fear the known, which had been the unknown five minutes before he pushed you off screaming into the abyss.
    Quote Originally Posted by Kalirren View Post
    I'm feeling this real hard now.
    Curse you, Pwenet. Curse you.... You had my hopes up there...

  19. - Top - End - #289
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    Ander Windrivver

    Ander grunts in pain as he slides off the accursed symbol and lands on his back. He rolls over onto his knees just as the vial lands in front of him. He uncorks the vial (somewhat awkwardly, what with his hands manacled together) and greedily sucks down the healing potion.

    Oh, I can take the acolyte, he growls, his voice already stronger from the healing potion. Just you watch.

    Ander hides in the corner next to the door, poised and ready to unleash some indiscriminate justice on the next thing to come into his room.
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    Sohssal

    Well, since I'm nigh-immortal, what do you expect me to do with the vast amount of time I now have? Hug puppies? I think not. And why not play around with time? If I do manage to master time, I'll be pretty much unstoppable. And that's good insurance just in case someone, oh, I don't know...tried to put me in a prison of mirrors set into silver and chain me into a bowing position? Turning back time would indeed, be useful in such a situation..." Sohssal ranted.

    However, Sohssal was taken aback at the flash of light, though he did not relax after nothing appeared to happen. In fact, he seemed even more distressed as he flew forward and grabbed the man's collar. "No, but you CAN tell me what the hell you just did!" he growled menacingly. Then he let go and floated for a few moments, one hand covering his eyes and forehead. "All right...what drinks do you have?" he finally inquired. It's not often an incorporeal creature gets to drink... he thought to himself as he said this.

  21. - Top - End - #291
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    "Oh, unless I find... another way, I'd be more than willing to pay the price. One should never put personal interest over the ever marching progress of science, after all. And it would bring me one step closer to my goal. A leap, actually. Is there any magic involved in the process though, or is it a purely physical matter? I'll have to take blood samples once we get out of here..."
    Victor twitched, and his attention was about to turn to Akor when he remembered something.
    "Oh, and do you drink animal blood too, like the lessers? There is quite a supply of meat, just up those stairs"

    Victor now circled Akor once more. He then extended a hand.
    "Very pleased to meet you. My name is Victor von Ravenstein the Third. The girl is Cassandra, a monk, but I know little else about here. She's proven a useful enough companion though. I wonder, does your condition bring you eternal life?"
    Victor bends forward to whisper something in the halfdragon's ear.
    "Why the kids? Sacrificial victims? Slaves to some strange desires you have?"

    Looking at Umber he says "It's the speaking variety, right?"
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  22. - Top - End - #292
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    Umber

    Umber smiled grimly Power such as what I have claimed carries a heavy price... magic was the means, but what differentiated myself from others who have attempted such feats was the will to carry through and the willingness to do what was necessary. And, though he did not say it, he certainly had no intention of giving this... person any of his blood. He would never be so foolish.

    He turned to Akor, nodding That is good... I am not particularly needful of rest, but no doubt those not of undying or supremely poweful constitution are growing weary by this point... and their weariness would only slow our progress.

  23. - Top - End - #293
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    Pyrene

    ARE YOU SURE THAT YOU WISH TO BE TRANSFERRED OUT OF THE PRISM UNTIL THE DATE OF YOUR EXECUTION?

    Pryrene thought for a moment before answering. She was no fool; she knew a little of what happened in Ironheart proper, and that her knowledge was incomplete at best. The fact that there was no record of her sister was some comfort, but not, ultimately, enough to counteract the determination inspired by her nightmares. The vast majority of the horrors she had dreamed her sister living through would not have put her in even a town jail, much less Ironheart. And while the visions her mind had conjured did not necessarily indicate what was, the Judge had admitted that they still might come to pass in the future. The only way to be sure of Ariella's safety would be to escape, and the only way she would have the slightest chance of doing that would be if she were outside the Prism. She would just have to risk the dangers that waited outside this red rock prison.

    "I'm no stranger to the suffering inflicted by others, she said at last, "but here even my own mind is not my own. My Lord, I thank you for your concern, but I think I would prefer to risk the physical dangers outside this place."
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    ~Tare

    Tare reveled in the sickening crack of skull on stone for a moment longer than he would have been comfortable with had he been completely aware of himself. His eyes slid shut in victory, but he did not allow himself more than a temporary reprieve. Dragging one eye back open was harder than it sounded, but once he finally registered what was going on in the room, he was surprised and full of pride with Garm. However there was still one standing. His eyes closed again, but his mind was chugging along dutifully.

    "Look, buddy," his voice was smooth as someone who hadn't had a sip of water in two days could be, but was definitely slowed a little by how tired his mind and body were. "You can't win. Look at what the man has already done to two of you, single handed, and that was when you were armed. Now you've got, what, an unloaded crossbow and your good looks?" He took a breath or two to stave off the tingly feeling under his eyelids. "Now I can't make any promises it'll really do you any good, but I'm going to try to help you out of this one, though I don't see why you deserve it. If you sit down in that sturdy chair you've got there and strap yourself in as best you can, I will do my best to talk the wolfling you've been giving reasons to make you die slowly for the past few days out of killing you outright." His other eye opened for a second. "Or you could go it on your own, your choice."
    Last edited by OverWilliam; 2008-04-23 at 08:00 PM.
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    Garm
    Panting through a Snarled Grin, Garm heaved in Breath as his Companion spoke, looking at the luckless Guard with a Hungry Fire.

    Garms Eyes spoke volumes of hate, anger, rage and the full intent to sping into action, ready to kill as soon as it looked like Timepiece was half done reloading, the moment a threat appeard.
    'Yes. I would like to Kill you. Eat you. Feast.
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    Brair Freeman of Tariola, 4 levels of Ranger.
    Amiri Pakeha Khan, M.Eng Ship's mechanic.

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  26. - Top - End - #296
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    Korram thinks carefully, trying to come up with any information he might expect the guard to have that would be useful. Finally, he shakes his head slowly. "No, I have no questions for him." turning away, he starts as if remembering something, before walking over to the torture device behind which he left the Countess. He walks around it and does his best to look less grim than normal. "It's safe now, Countess," he says. "You can come out now."
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  27. - Top - End - #297
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    OldWizardGuy

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    Looking down at the strange one who is clearly insane, Akor glares at him until he hears him mention food, at while point he nods slightly and turns towards Umber.

    "Agreed. Let the mortals rest here for a bit, I will return with the provisions."

    Looking down at the children Akor shakes his head, the words of the one who smells like death sticking in his mind:

    "Why the kids? Sacrificial victims? Slaves to some strange desires you have?"

    Part of Akor views them with apathy, a desire to let them fend for themselves, yet the bonds of the rituals that bound him to his new form forced him to protect them, a feeling that he knew if he willingly abandoned them would lead to intense pain, and probably death.

    "Little ones, we will rest here. Go into the chamber and rest."

    Turning to walk away he passes close to the scarred one.

    "Your curiosity will lead you to paths many have taken. Tread lightly."

    Sniffing he detects the aroma of packed meat. Grabbing one barrel that smells fresh with blood and meat, and one that sloshes around like water his hunger fuels his strength, allowing him to carry them down and into the chamber where the children should be waiting.

    Assuming that nothing strange happens he will tear open the tops of the barrels. Looking at the ancient fireplace he grunts and picks up several of the broken ledges and moves them into the fireplace. Stepping back he clears his throat, struggles and spits out dragon-fire onto the ledges. The ancient stones, designed to retain heat comfortable to dragons (capable of causing serious burns to humans and similar races) soaks up the fire, until several seconds later Akor stops and the stone ledge is a dark cherry red. Tossing several slabs of meat that look like the kind that humans heat, Akor lets them sizzle and burn before turning to all.

    "Those that need cooked food, consume."

    Reaching into a barrel he picks up several pieces, not caring what they are and starts to consume them.
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    I'm good at making you fear the unknown. Pwenet is good at making you fear the known, which had been the unknown five minutes before he pushed you off screaming into the abyss.
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    I'm feeling this real hard now.
    Curse you, Pwenet. Curse you.... You had my hopes up there...

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    Quote Originally Posted by Pwenet
    "Your curiosity will lead you to paths many have taken. Tread lightly."
    "My curiosity has led me far beyond that, friend dragon. I'm taking a path none have taken before me. It's a difficult one, but I assure you, I'll get there!"

    Victor picks up one of the pieces of cooked meat and tears off bits of it with his teeth.
    "Beats the broth they used to feed me"
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    Mar

    She took the shirt, using it to scrub up some of the water. It did help, a little, although once it was wet it didn't do much more than move the water around a little. She wrung the shirt out over the bucket, staining it faintly with red. And it wouldn't help her, because she'd already spilled. It didn't matter if she cleaned it up afterwards. She'd messed up and spilled, and talked to someone, and—

    She shivered harder, experience keeping her from crying, and pushed some of the water over towards the man, sweeping it through the cell bars. "It's dirty..." she whispered, though that was obvious. She wasn't supposed to give him any water, not even dirty water, but she'd done so much wrong already that it didn't matter. Besides, he was cold because he'd given her the shirt, and it would be wet when she gave it back. She should give him something for being that nice. That couldn't be very wrong. Except it was, because Daddy had said she wasn't supposed to do it...

    "I'm not supposed to," she muttered, wringing out the shirt over the bucket again. It didn't matter, but she had to clean it up anyway, just to prove to herself that she could do one thing right. Maybe after she was punished, in a few days, Daddy would tell her she'd done that thing right. Besides, the longer she took cleaning up the longer it would be until she had to go see him. And she could talk to the man in the cell, too, even if she wasn't supposed to.

    She wondered why he was here. He wasn't bad at all, he was nice. Wistfully, she wondered if giving her his shirt had been wrong. Maybe it was wrong to try to help her if she was being bad. Maybe he'd done something like that and that was why he was here... but she secretly liked him for it, even though she knew that was very bad, almost worse than anything she'd done today. She shivered convulsively, both from cold (the stone floor was cold and hard, especially through her wet dress) and fear.

    But she spoke up anyway. "Why are you here?" she ventured in a timid whisper, looking up from her spot on the floor. "You're not mean, like—like a lot of the other men in cages..." She hunched and shivered again, trying not to remember some of them. A lot of them threw themselves against the bars, as if they wanted to hurt her themselves, but that wasn't really very bad, because most of the time she had done something to deserve it. She didn't really know why they were in cages... but he wasn't like the rest of them, anyway. Even she wasn't in a cage; what could he have done?
    Last edited by The_Snark; 2008-04-24 at 03:52 AM.
    Avatar by GryffonDurime. Thanks!

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    The Spires: Ironheart Research

    Voth

    (He tells you that you need to go into the hot foundry on the ground floor for an hour, followed by traveling to the cold meat storage locker in the basement for another hour.)

    At first the girl is non-responsive, but eventually by softly shaking her and even more gently smacking the side of her face with your hand you are able to rouse her. As if groggily coming awake out of a dream she stirs, but immediately upon recognizing you she becomes fully “awake”. Loudly screaming, she flails wildly within the narrow confines of the space underneath the desk, ultimately managing to knock the chair over onto the floor and push it out of the way.

    She then crawls out from under the desk as quickly as she is able, making for the wall where she stops, huddling against it. “Stay away from me!” She shouts, looking back briefly at you, before hurriedly turning her gaze back to the section of wall right in front of her. Shivering with fear or perhaps revulsion, she remains cowering against the wall, no longer screaming but softly crying.

    Ok, you were right to stay. Her reaction just now was totally worth it.

    Overhead, the giant red crystal suddenly thrums with life, and begins to glow with a familiar inner light.

    Uh oh. Time for us to get out of here if that thing is powering back up. Maybe the Judge had second thoughts about sending us back. Talk to the girl, pick her up and carry her with us, abandon her, whatever. We need to get out of here.

    The Prism

    Lonna

    AS YOU WISH.

    The Judge then lowers his hand from his head, instead reaching down to pick you bodily up by a strap hanging loosely from its buckle along your back.

    IT IS THE DECISION OF THIS COURT THEN THAT YOU BE REMANDED TO THE CUSTODY OF PRISON OFFICIALS OUTSIDE OF THE PRISM, PENDING THE DATE OF YOUR NEXT EVALUATION OR EXECUTION.

    As the Judge concludes speaking, a reddish glow suddenly fills your sight, blocking out the hallway with a featureless sea of red. As quickly as it had appeared, however, the sea of red fades away, and you see that you are now lying on the floor of a roughly circular room, the Judge still towering over you. Although the walls, ceiling, and floor are still made out of the same faceted reddish crystal, a large pillar stands in the middle, running from floor to ceiling. This large singular crystal is more purplish-blue in nature, and transparent enough to see easily inside. Inside the crystal is not one, but two prisoners, entwined together in an eternal embrace. One is male and the other is female, and the skin of both of them is covered in faintly glowing blue runes that extend down to underneath their modest clothing. Both of their eyes are closed, but it seems there is enough room within the crystal to allow their mouths to move, as you see the male’s begin to move as the Judge addresses you.

    YOU WILL NOW BE SENT BACK TO IRONHEART. THERE A JUDGEMENT COMMITTEE WILL ASSIGN YOU TO YOUR NEW CELL.

    The Judge waves his hand at a large red crystal standing at the far end of the chamber, and its edges begin to twist and bend rhythmically, and within its surface you can see the beginning of a reflection. Although your memory was not perfect, the reflection seemed to be a depiction of the room you were brought into just before appearing within the Prism three months ago.

    HOWEVER, PRISON POLICY MANDATES THAT ALL OF A PRISONER’S RESTRAINTS REMAIN ON THEM EXCEPT WHEN AND AS NECESSITY DEMANDS. THEREFORE, YOUR GAG MUST BE REPLACED. IT WILL BE UP TO THE JUDGEMENT COMMITTEE WHEN OR IF THE GAG IS REMOVED AGAIN.

    With a wave of his hand again, the Judge suddenly produces the hateful little tangle of straps, kneeling down beside you to silence you once more. But then he stops, and with his free hand he raises it to his temple. Within the crystal, the woman begins to speak.

    DO YOU HAVE ANY FINAL QUESTIONS OR COMMENTS BEFORE YOU ARE ONCE AGAIN SILENCED? A FEW SHORT COMMENTS COULD BE FORWARDED ON TO THE JUDGEMENT COMMITTEE TO ENSURE YOU ARE HEARD, EVEN IF YOU CANNOT SPEAK.

    (Note that even if I limit people at certain times to just hurling insults at their captors, I very much prefer that the players can do something every post. So rest assured that the rest of Ironheart will still be very interested in what you have to say for yourself. )

    The Cells: First Floor

    The_Snark

    “That’s alright my child, I am thirsty enough to make do. You are already far kinder than the guards who have ignored my pleas for water more than once.”

    While you continued trying to sweep up the rest of the water and wring out the man’s shirt over the bucket, he bent down, licking at the stone floor and kissing it, trying to suck up every last bit of moisture, even if he did make numerous faces while doing so. Finally finished with the water, the man grimaces and shakes his head, pawing at his now-dirt covered tongue. Giving up even with that, the man grimaces one final time and then relaxes, lowering his hands to gently grip the bars as he sits down next to them.

    For an instant your mind is filled with past images of the man who tried to choke you, and others who had madly flung themselves against the bars at you, but this nice man does none of that. He simply sits there as close to you as he can, holding onto the bars and looking at you with sadness in his eyes. He sits thinking quietly for a moment, and then begins to answer your question, his voice no longer quite so gruff.

    “No, I suppose I’m not mean. I’ve always wanted to be someone who helps people, not hurt them.” He begins with a quiet chuckle. “People are so easily lost, led astray by the darkness in their souls. I wished to be beacon for those people, so I became a preacher. Do you know what a preacher is?”

    Here, you had to shake your head: Daddy hadn’t taught you that word yet.

    “Well, a preacher is someone who teaches people about the gods. Do you know about the gods?”

    Here, you did know something. Daddy was your god, and often you would have to pray to him for mercy and forgiveness, usually several times and with a good amount of agonized screaming mixed in, before he would relent and stop your punishment. You weren’t really sure why this nice man had to go around telling people about God. The image of him punishing people, blood-stained whip in hand, just didn’t mesh with your previous image of him as a nice, gentle man. Seemingly oblivious to your confusion, the man continues.

    “I taught my people about Athelion the Lightbringer, of his infinite mercy and compassion for humanity. I tried to instill in them what strength I could, and the faith to hang on until the black clouds of darkness over Gast departed and the sun shone forth again. Unfortunately, not everyone agreed, too afraid of the Baron to even imagine a world without him. Some of them listened to the darkness in their hearts, and reported my teachings to the Baron’s men. I swiftly found myself in here. But I still hold onto the hope that Athelion will deliver me, and I will see the sun once more.”

    Coming out of his memory, the man blinks and smiles at you. “You know, I don’t believe we ever properly introduced ourselves. My name is Joseph. What’s yours?”

    As you momentarily hesitate to answer his question, your mind screaming at you that if you didn’t hurry up you were even going to be late meeting Daddy, you see out of the corner of your eye two guards appear in the hallway from a nearby intersection. On patrol, they turn down the hallway to face you, and you hear one of them exclaim, “What the hells?” Angrily, they both begin to stomp towards you, and you realize that you only have a few more moments with this nice man.

    Torture Chambers

    Dorizzit

    Seraph nods as you answer his question, and then returns to interrogating the elite guard. Remembering the Countess, you return to the hanging device you left her behind, finding her crouched down where you had left her, hands clamping over her ears. At a sudden, particularly agonized cry from the elite behind you, she visible winces.

    “Good. Can we get out of here now?” The Countess asks in reply to your comments, lowering a hand from her ears to offer it to you so you could help pull her back up onto her feet. As you help her back up, you notice that the screaming behind you has suddenly gone quiet.

    Leading the Countess out from behind the torture device, you see Seraph leaning in close to the elite guard as he whispers something into Seraph’s ear. Pulling his blood-flecked lips back, the elite sneers as Seraph pulls away from him with a grimace of anger.

    “My thanks to you.” He says, reaching off and ripping his sword out of the rack and the elite’s hand. As the guard throws his head back to scream again, Seraph grabs a handful of the man’s hair, holding it up while bringing his sword around to slide it along the man’s throat. As a second red mouth appears below the one that the elite was born with, Seraph releases the man, allowing him to collapse in a heap next to the rack, his hand still held above the rest of his body by the chain.

    “We have what we need. Let us depart this place.” Seraph grunts, wiping his blade off on the back of the elite before sheathing it. “This way.” He says, walking through the doorway that the guards had used to enter, stepping over the bodies you had left strewn in front of it.

    OverWilliam/Adlan

    “F . . . f . . . f . . . fu . . .” Timepiece wheezed, desperately trying to reload his weapon as both Tare and Garm tried to convince him to surrender. In his haste, the guard’s blood-slick finger slips on the weapon’s trigger, pulling it early before he had finished properly loading and cocking back the bowstring. As a result, the bolt flipped out over the stock of the weapon, tumbling end over end through the air to land on the floor just a foot or two in front of the stand.

    Visibly disappointed as this turn of events, Timepiece frowns as he begins to tremble uncontrollably. Raising one shaking hand, he manages to shape it into a hand-sign which completes his earlier attempted comment. A moment later the guard winces and stiffens, his eyes rolling back into his head as he falls over onto his side on the floor. There, he continues slowly and quietly dying like the rest of his comrades littering the floor.

    For the moment, Tare and Garm were alone, although that may not remain the case for long. There were other members of the guards’ betting pool, and one of them might stop by at any minute to see how things were progressing. And they would undoubtedly be displeased at what they found.

    On a nearby stand away from the others, a dense forest of glass vials sat. Most were empty, their contents already having been used over the past 48 hours. But some were still full, containing poisons, pain enhancing drugs, stimulants, even a few healing potions in case the guards overdid it. Garm wasn’t especially familiar with the various alchemical brews, but he knew from experience that the guards had them color coded to prevent mistakes, and he had gotten several whiffs of each of the various concoctions, so he knew what they smelled like for sure, even if he didn’t remember which color meant what.

    The Cells: Maximum Security

    Baerdog7

    (OOC: Considers sending in a mime first but realizes that would probably lead to an even more brutal beating than the one about to be given to the acolyte. )

    You greedily suck down the healing potion, and instantly the blood flowing down your arms stops, the twin wounds running down your arms resealing entirely and even fading entirely back to faint scars. The dizziness you’ve come to associate with severe blood loss disappears as well, and you feel stronger than you have in a long, long while.

    Still, it fails to cure the diseases still ravaging your body, and here and there you can still feel a dull ache as your body continues to rot away. But as you assure your new infernal associate, you were still strong enough to deliver a long-overdue righteous beating.

    You creep into the shadows next to the door, and it turns out you don’t have long to wait as a minute later the bolts holding the heavy admantite door shut begin to loudly slide open. With a metallic groan, the door swings open towards you, blocking you even further from the acolyte’s sight as he steps into the room.

    The fool even takes several steps into the room, mockingly calling, “Oh, Ander? Lord General Ander? Are you still awake?” But then the light from his lantern fully illuminates the symbol where you had been hanging a moment before, and the acolyte gasps. “Oh no. Oh no no no!”

    Turning to flee, the acolyte finally catches sight of you near the doorway, and with a soft cry stumbles back. Stepping onto the patch of floor slick with your spilled blood, the acolyte slips and falls heavily onto his back. He manages to keep hold on the lantern, however, and holds it in front of him like a holy symbol to ward you off as he uses his free hand to push himself back away from you, moving even deeper into the pool of blood and staining his robes.

    “P-Please, Lord General, have mercy! I-Isn’t th-that w-what A-A-Ath-Athelion would want?”

    The Labs

    Iethloc

    And what is all this additional power going to do for you? What is it going to cost you and the rest of the world? You’ve already lost your body, do you want to lose your soul too? What’s it going to take until you stop?

    Meanwhile, you rush forward and grab the man’s collar, demanding answers. Like some kind of annoying idiot, the man actually smiles, gently trying to break your grip. “*I* didn’t do anything, friend.”

    He speaks the truth. I do not sense the noise of a normal mind from him – he’s a projection or construct of some type.

    “Now then, since we’ll be spending the rest of eternity together, why don’t we just sit down and share a nice drink? I have a fine bottle of cognac here in my desk, and there’s a fine bottle of Donovale 338 behind one of the books on the bookcase. And of course, water, if you would prefer something nonalcoholic.”

    As a magical construct, I do not believe I will be able to manipulate his mind. Or perhaps even read it as there’s not really a mind per se in there. How do you wish to proceed?

    Sanctuary of the Prophets

    Pwenet/WhiteKnight777/MrEdwardNigma

    Mellita initially bares her fangs at Victor’s comments, slipping her hand into the concealed pocket of her dress. “Touch me and you’ll lose more than a hand!” She snarls, although at a hand signal from Umber she relaxes with a frown, crossing her arms over her chest.

    Meanwhile, the nameless girl holds her flickering torch high, leading the gaggle of children into the room. They all gasp appreciably upon entering the room, still only able to see a tenth of its glorious splendor (to Akor and Umber, at least) in the dim light of the girl’s torch. Busy talking with and examining the vampires and the half-dragon, Victor only gives the girl a brief pass with his eyes, but suddenly they are forced to do a double-take as Victor realizes there’s something . . . wrong with what he was seeing. The girl was clearly human, and yet there was something that Victor’s decades of experience in working with human anatomy told him was off about her. There was a lightness in her steps, a natural gracefulness in her movements Victor had never seen before in a human. It was virtually undetectable, even to Victor’s trained eye, but he had seen it and knew it was there.

    Victor was suddenly interrupted from his thoughts and comments with the others by a sudden insistent tug on his pant leg. Looking down, Victor sees that the youngest of the children, a small little girl, has actually come over and was trying to get his attention. “Mister?” She whispered, her voice full of innocent curiosity. “What’s wrong with your face?”

    With light now in the room, Cassandra is able to easily pick her way down the steps, and actually greets the group of newcomers with a smile. “Nearly sacrificed by cultists to zombies, nearly killed by those same cultists, and traveling with a skilled necroman – alchemist, excuse me. I thought that was madness enough for one day, but now I get to meet two vampires and a . . . . dragonman? With children?” She shakes her head in amazement, although winces a little as the movement pulls on the expert stitching holding closed her previously-gaping shoulder wound. “Quite a day so far. Maybe it’ll actually end with the impossible after all – Escape from Ironheart! . . . But that might still be holding for too much.”

    Apparently losing interest in the continuing conversation over the means to acquire eternal life, Cassandra goes over to sit near the empty fireplace, plopping down on one of the nearby piles of rubble.

    Hearing about the presence of food, Akor goes upstairs, quickly returning with the crate full of slaughtered pig-parts and the barrel of scum-covered water. Starting a merrily blaze going in the fireplace with his breath, Akor uses several broken slabs from the resting stones next to the fireplace to cook what pieces of human-edible meat there are out of the mess packed into the crate. With the delicious and unusual in Ironheart smell of cooking meat filling the room, everyone then settles down to lunch, the girl helping to distribute pieces of cooked meat to all of the children with a smile.

    The only ones who don’t eat are the vampires, although at one point Mellita leans in close to Umber and whispers, “Lord Umber, I believe there is a quantity of pig’s blood at the bottom of the crate. I really don’t like animal blood, especially if it has been sitting at the bottom of a crate for awhile. Couldn’t we just eat one of the children, it’s not like anyone would miss them?”

    Cassandra also doesn’t eat, staring wistfully at the slabs of meat as they cook on the hot stone. “I don’t suppose anyone here is good with a lock pick, and could free my hands?”

    Apparently hearing Cassandra mumbled question, one of the children shouts, “Uncle Akor! Do the chain thing!” He then holds up one manacled wrist, trailing the few links of chain that were left behind after Akor mangled the chain to free the child. This prompts the rest of the children to join in, shaking their freed hands and shouting, “Uncle Akor! Do it! Come on, show us it again!”
    Last edited by Inspectre; 2008-04-24 at 04:35 PM.
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

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