Escape from Ironheart (IC)

[Voth]

Voth

And thus we go back to where we started

What do you mean? We could kill those guys without a second thought!

And risk her life? No, we best find someplace to sit her down and calm her.

With that, Voth moves slowly to towards the door that would lead to the Key Spire.

[The_Snark]

Mar

She stood there mutely as the guard kept the other guard from hitting her, gaze fixed ahead of her. He wasn't protecting her, he was making sure she was punished properly. That was what guards were for; finding people who'd misbehaved, and taking them to be punished. She didn't really know why Daddy needed them, since he'd know anyway; but maybe it was so that he didn't have to come and get her. Daddy shouldn't have to come running to get her just because she'd been bad, she realized, and for a moment she was actually glad the guards were there. If being bad had meant dragging Daddy all over the fortress to get her, she'd be twice as horrible as she was already.

That feeble flicker of gladness vanished, snuffed out like a candle in a hurricane, when the guard smiled. Mar trembled silently; people smiling at her meant something was going to hurt soon. She nodded, keeping her mouth shut. She'd be quiet as they went to see Daddy, like a good girl, even if she wasn't really.

She almost glanced over her shoulder when she realized what one of the guards had said to the man in the cage. He was going to be punished too? Cleaning wasn't bad, and neither was helping to clean—was it because he'd made her spill? No, she thought instantly; spilling was her fault. Maybe it was just because he was in the cage to be punished? She hadn't really understood his explanation of why he was here; Daddy did the same thing for her, and that was good, so that couldn't be wrong. Maybe because he'd told a lie. That was always bad. But no, she knew: it was because she had talked to him. That was bad, maybe for him but especially for her. It didn't seem fair that he should be punished because of something she did—talking to him was her fault, of course. Talking to prisoners always was. She wished she hadn't talked to him now, even though he'd been nice.

For a moment, she harbored the fancy that they'd be punished together. It would still hurt, but at least then she'd be with somebody. It would be like having a—a—she couldn't really think of a word for it, but it would be nice she thought. It wouldn't happen, of course, because she wanted it, and Daddy couldn't give her anything she wanted unless she was very, very good, better than she'd ever been, for a long, long time. It didn't seem like that would happen anytime soon. Besides, she didn't really want him to be punished, not when it had been her fault anyway.

She was having a lot of thoughts, Mar realized. Because she was trying not to think about where the guards were taking her, and what was going to happen when they got there. A shudder ran through her at that, which she tried not to show in case one of the guards got mad at her for it. She silently trudged along between the guards, bucket in one hand and brush in the other.

[Inspectre]

The Spires: Ironheart Research

Voth

Slipping across to the door, you open it as quietly as you can. Although the metal still groans faintly, the group approaching from below seem too wrapped up in their conversation to hear. Pushing the door open just enough to allow yourself to enter into the hallway, you slip inside and then shoulder the door shut.

You then lower the girl to the ground, setting her down beside you as you lean back against the door. You’d at least have a few moments warning then if someone was about to come through the door, even if it alerted them that there was an obstruction behind the door. An obstruction that could just be another body, or something that could tear the head off of the first person to walk through the door. And yet, the thought of tearing someone’s head from their shoulders was no longer as thrilling to you as it had been when you first woke up today.

You then try to calm the girl, and although she only now sobs quietly she refuses to look at you. “Why are you doing this? No one’s going to care if you take me hostage – I’m just as much of a prisoner as you. Is this some sort of sick game the Volesins are playing?”

The Prism

Lonna

(*Just ever so briefly considers “Luke” & “Leia”, but refrains)

For the briefest of moments the flicker of a smile passes over the Judge’s face.

ONCE, I WAS CALLED ADRIANNA.

The Judge lowers his hand, and although a few flicks of flame still peel off to burn down the sides of his face, the previous torrent has stopped.

ARLAN. AND NOW NO MORE QUESTIONS. THE JUDGEMENT COMMITTEE IS SURELY WAITING.

The Judge leans forward, gag in-hand, when he suddenly stops to shoot a hand up to his forehead.

WAIT. WHAT IS THE NAME THAT YOU WERE ONCE CALLED BEFORE IT WAS ERASED BY A CELL NUMBER?

You give the two your name – your real name, from before when you had entered the prison of your profession out of desperation to care for Ariella. And that had led you here, and presumably from here to the executioner’s block. But you swore to yourself that you would never let it get that far, “for the benefit of society” be damned. You had a younger sister to protect.

THIS IS EXTRORDINARILY RARE FOR ME TO SAY, BUT IT WAS A PLEASURE TO MEET YOU JAQUELINE. WHILE I AM SORRY NOTHING MORE CAN BE DONE BY US, I PRAY THAT ATHELION WILL SHOW YOU MERCY. THE LAWS OF THE GODS ARE MUCH DIFFERENT THAN THOSE OF MEN, AND PERHAPS YOU WILL STILL FIND YOUR WAY TO HIS HALL IN THE AFTERLIFE. MAY WE ALL BE SO LUCKY. GOOD-BYE.

The Judge then lowers his hand from his forehead and sets to work gagging you again. You don’t struggle, at least not violently, but you still try your hardest to subtly keep the gag loose. You manage to succeed somewhat, blocking the metal bit with your tongue and keeping it from going in much farther than your teeth. The straps holding it in place are still drawn tight, but you realize that they’re not as tight as they could be. In fact, they seem to be a few notches looser than when you were first locked up in the Prism – evidently the Judge was still concerned with doing his job, but not well anymore.

Finished applying the gag, the Judge picks you up and carries you over to the crystal set into the far wall.

GOOD-BYE.

The Judge then tosses you into the crystal, but instead of crashing into the hard wall you suddenly feel as if you’re being torn apart into a thousand pieces and your vision goes bright red for a moment. Then, as the brightness fades you find yourself on the floor of the circular stone room that you had been brought into all those months ago to be sucked into the Prism.

Looking around as best you are able chained up inside of a leather sack, you do not see anyone currently in the room. Where was this Judgment Committee that was supposed to be meeting you? For a moment panic creeps into your gut as you consider the possibility that there had been some bureaucratic error or time shift or something that would cause you to lying here waiting for hours or perhaps even days until someone arrived. But then that panic turns to a desperate sort of elation as you realize that this was also perhaps your best chance to escape.

You are just about to start wildly thrashing around in an attempt to escape when the iron door directly in front of you and across the room slams open. Through the open doorway you can see two men backed by perhaps a dozen guards. The Judgment Committee?

“So then I said, ‘No, this isn’t Hell, but I can transfer you there.’ *BOOM!* I tell you brother, sometimes it just pays to tear someone apart with magic.” The one man says to the other as they both stride into the room.

“Yeah, that’s great Edward. . . . What the hell is that doing on our office floor?” The other man says as he points at your prone form, and all eyes suddenly turn to you. You realize you must have made quite a sight, wrapped in leather from head to toe. The guards are immediately on guard, but the two brothers seem surprisingly nonplussed.

“Looks like a gift to me, Alphonse. It’s even wrapped for us.”

“But where did it come from?”

“Who cares? I for one feel like celebrating after getting rid of that troublesome idiot and proving that once again, the Prism is by far the best method of getting rid of prisoners. Short of killing them, of course.”

Together, the two brothers approach you, waving the guards dismissively back after they attempt to move forward in between them and you. The younger of the two, Edward, cups a hand to his chin contemplatively as he looks down at you, while the elder, Alphonse, reads the cell number painted on the leather across your back and then stares up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

“Hmmm. #17910. That number seems familiar to me for some reason. Maybe it was stored in the Prism, and was just sent back here as a prank? One of the Judge’s three-month reviews?” Alphonse said, moving to step around you and walk out of sight, presumably going towards somewhere in the back of the room behind you. At this Edward starts laughing.

“Oh man, I really hope so! I love how the Judge thinks we actually have room for them out here when the whole purpose of the Prism is to free up space! Pity how they never ask what happens to the prisoners they release from the Prism.” Edward snickers, leering down at you.

“I suspect they have an inkling by now. Pathetic idiots probably don’t want to know as then they’d be honor-bound to stop working.”

“Pah, I’d just start taking bits off the bitch. That’d motivate her brother again right quick. Anyway, instead of you going over there and looking it up in records, how about we just ask it what it’s going here?”

“Edward . . .”

“Come on, live a little. What’s this guy going to do, bite my toes?” Edward said, waving a foot in your face.

“Fine, do as you like. You get turned into a frog or something, I’m not fixing it this time.”

“Yeah yeah. That time it was toadily worth it. Heh.” Edward said, snickering as he looked up at this older brother, and then back down at you.

“Alright buddy, here’s the deal. I’m going to remove your gag. You’re going to talk. I don’t want your life story, and I don’t particularly want begging – that can come later. All I want is what you’re doing here and who sent you. Clear?”

A moment later, Edward snaps his fingers, and you can hear the small padlock holding your gag in place unlock. Edward then waves his hand dismissively at you, and looks over at one of the nearby guards. “Well, I’m not going to actually touch it.”

Getting the hint, the guard hurriedly rushes over to kneel beside you, undoing the straps and once again removing the gag from your mouth.

“Good. Now, come on, out with it. I’m a very busy man.”

The Cells: First Floor

The_Snark

Without another word, the guards lead you up, and up, and up to your Daddy’s office. You pass many, many guards on your way, most running about with a clear goal in mind. A lot of them pass you and your escorts, on their way down into the cells. That was bad, you knew, because it meant someone somewhere down there was misbehaving. You were sure that they would be punished, however, just as you were sure that punishment awaited you.

As the hallways around you grew more and more familiar as you approached your Daddy’s office, your legs grew weaker and weaker. You were going to be punished, you knew it, and you had been so good these past few days. For an instant you considered that maybe Daddy would have mercy on you for your past good behavior, but then realized that he was never merciful. If anything, he’d be even more disappointed with you for having failed so badly after having done so good. And disappointment meant punishment.

But you knew that if you fell down, the guards would just carry you: there was no escaping your punishment, and Daddy would probably think you were just being disobedient if you couldn’t even walk into his office. So you pushed yourself onward, one tottering footstep at a time, until finally you came to the thick iron door adorned with a strange symbol engraved into it: a circle with lines coming out of it. You had no idea what it was supposed to be, and Daddy never told you when you asked, just slapped you and told you to stop being so nosey. Daddy was always right, but he was especially right in this case: it was always your curiosity that got you into trouble.

With an evil chuckle the guard rapped on the door, the sound ringing through the metal. A moment later a familiar voice called out from the other side, “Come in.” Daddy was home. Your punishment would begin immediately, it seems.

Pushing the door open, the guard reveals Daddy’s Office beyond: a fairly spacious room with a thick red carpet covering the entire floor to dampen sound. Here and there on blank wall spaces hung various pieces of cloth with more symbols on them – whites, golds, and reds in particular. It was perhaps the one thing you did find pretty in Daddy’s Office. Set along the right wall and the back wall were several sets of bookcases, stuffed full of leather-bound books and scrolls. Daddy told you to never touch those, and you had quickly learned that he meant it.

At the back of the room was another iron door, this one completely unadorned saved for the heavy lock built into it. Beyond that room was Daddy’s work room, and where you usually went to suffer. Sometimes if he was particularly busy, Daddy would leave you alone in your agony, locking you inside. As if you that would you be able to somehow escape from your bonds; that you would try to leave the room.

You had never, ever tried to do that before. You had no idea what sort of punishment Daddy would inflict upon you if you tried that, but as he told you many times, while such a thing were impossible even the attempt would carry a severe punishment. Far, far worse than anything you had yet endured. Sometimes the thought of that happening, Daddy thinking you were trying to escape when you really weren’t, and punishing you appropriately, it kept you awake at night, trembling uncontrollably.

Speaking of Daddy, he was sitting behind his ornate wooden desk in the middle of the room, going over paperwork with Uncle Hugo. Uncle Hugo was as gigantic and muscular as Daddy was thin, although Daddy was not yet wizened or bent like some of the really old men you sometimes see in the cages below. Although Daddy typically carried out your punishments himself, sometimes Uncle Hugo helped him, picking you up and carrying you wherever necessary. Uncle Hugo’s thick prickly moustache and short beard tended to irritate your skin – you didn’t like it when he carried your around and accidentally brushed his face against your bare skin.

Daddy by comparison was clean-shaven, with pale blond hair that was starting to disappear on top but which allowed him to sweep the sides back, giving him a somewhat distinguished appearance. His eyes were bluish-grey, and seemed to be slowly lightening over the years into a pale silver. At least, you think so – it was hard to remember back more than a couple weeks. The past was full of pain – why remember that, except to serve as a reminder of what happened when you were bad?

“Ah, Mar. Hello my daughter.” Daddy said when he saw you shivering in the doorway. His voice was its typical hard, cold tone, although it didn’t carry the disdainful or angry tone it typically held when he was punishing you. But his previously smiling face from talking with Uncle Hugo quickly shifted down into a frown as he got a good look at you through the doorway.

“What’s wrong, daughter? Why do you have your bucket and brush still? You were supposed to return those downstairs to the cleaning overseer.” Daddy asked, his tone starting to drift towards angry.

Before you can answer, one of the guards sticks his head in the doorway. “Begging your pardon, Brother, but we caught your, ah, daughter conversing with one of the prisoners down in the cells.”

Now Daddy’s frown deepens into an outright scowl. “Really? Mar, is this true?” Suddenly, Daddy turns his head to one side, as if listening, as if he could hear all of your failures whisper out of you into his ear. He motions for you to be silent, head still cocked for a minute. His scowl deepens to a teeth-clenched grimace, and you knew now that he was very angry.

“Mar.” He said slowly, clearly working hard to keep his anger against you yet in check. “Hand the nice men your bucket and brush, and come in here please.”

While you are following his instructions, he addresses the others in the room. Looking up at Hugo, Daddy gives a hard smile, the kind you were used to seeing when you were really about to get it. “Brother Hugo, please prepare the blood extractors. I think a donation is long overdue.” Nodding, Hugo silently nods and turns away to walk through the iron door at the back of the room.

Then Daddy turns his attention to the two guards. “You two – go and bring me this prisoner. I want to discuss the matter with him personally. Close the door on your way out.” Snickering both guards looked at each other, and one grabbed the brush to wave goodbye to you with it. Then the door was slammed shut, and you were alone with Daddy.

Standing up, Daddy comes out from around his desk to stand in front of it, leaning back against it as he glares at you, arms folded. “Mar, I think you know that I’m very disappointed in you. I had hoped that you were finally becoming a good girl, a nice girl, and I wouldn’t have to punish you anymore. But, clearly, there’s still a lot of wickedness in your heart, wickedness which must be cleansed. So –

A broken bird tumbles
To the forest floor.
Wingless, it stumbles
And shall taste the sky no more”

As Daddy began to recite the little poem, you knew what was coming, but could do nothing but cower in front of him and hope it wouldn’t be as bad as last time. Your hopes were in vain. Instantly you find yourself on the floor, pain shooting through every part of your body. Your jaw locks up, denying you even the release of screaming as your body spasms wildly. Daddy doesn’t move from his position, watching you coolly as you buck and writhe on the floor, barely even able to moan from the pain overwhelming your senses.

But you could still hear, somehow, and make sense of Daddy’s words as he began to lecture you.

“There are many people in this world who are evil, Mar. Despicable, disgusting, unrepentant evil people who seek only to destroy. They will try to deceive you, Mar, and lead you astray with lies and false promises. And you must not listen to them. Not even hear their words, or even hearing the lies is enough to plant the seed of evil within you. I have tried to make you strong, child, and purify that evil from you. I have even brought you here, to this place where such evil people are kept as they truly should be kept: animals locked in cages. Are you an animal, Mar? Should I lock you up in a cage too, keep you on a leash? Or are you an actual person Mar, capable of doing good in this world? Time and time again you have proven to me that you are not worthy of being called a person Mar. Disappointment is the only thing you have ever given me. But I am patient, and I am merciful. I’ll give you another chance to prove to me that you can be good, that you are better than the filth we have locked up in the darkness below. However, before you get to earn that chance, you must repent. So –

I am your father and your god.
You will obey me in all things.
Or I shall smite you, and burn
Your heart until all evil is cleansed from it.”

Immediately after saying this second poem, the pain fades from your body, only leaving a dull ache and a few bruises from when you had fallen and from where your limbs had flailed too hard against the floor. Lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, you look up at Daddy, aware he could turn the pain back on anytime he wished, and just leave you there, as Daddy continues.

“Now then, it’s time for your repentance to begin Mar. I want you to tell me everything you did. And then I want you to tell me why what you did was wrong. And then I want you to pray to me for mercy and forgiveness, and convince me you deserve one more chance.”

The Mines

Burrito

(Awesome fight description )

You and Tattoos slowly shift through the wreckage, the fight replaying itself over and over in your mind. There was surely nothing more either of you could have done, and yet it is clear on both of your faces that neither of you really believed that. Four of your work mates had just died, and even though you didn’t really know each other all that well, mutual work and desperate fighting for survival still forged a close bond.

The lantern, having been sitting on the ground far out of the fight, was thankfully undamaged. It had perhaps two hours of light left in it, it having been almost time for you all to retire from the mines before the brutal attack. Many of the tools that had been used against the spiders in the battle were now useless or severely compromised: it seems now only the spiders’ saliva was acidic but their very blood as well. However, the blood was significantly less potent, a fact that both you and Tattoos are thankful for as you nurse your minor acid burns and shallow cuts inflicted by the spiders’ blade-like appendages.

The guards are nowhere in sight, although it seemed likely that they would be back sooner or later in force. While they didn’t care at all about you, they more than likely cared about whether or not these spiders were able to establish a foothold in these upper levels to the mine. Upper levels . . . the guards had been bringing you down to mine only along the few uppermost shafts these days, or so you heard. Was it because of these spiders, or something worse, coming up from below?

You weren’t really sure, and didn’t have the time to ponder the issue right now. For now, there was only survival, and perhaps even, escape, at least for a little while by hiding out here down in the mines. After you and Tattoos manages to burn through the chains holding your wrist and ankle shackles together, you consider your options.

You could go back the way you had come, back up towards the Mine Entrance and the rest of the prison. There were a number of cross-tunnels and the like between there and here where you could hide out, although that did greatly increase your chance of discovery by another slave team or guard patrol. You could head deeper into the mines, following one of the shafts down and down until you were as far away from the Entrance as possible. Or, another crazy idea – you could probably climb up into one of the holes that the Borrow Spiders had emerged from, and follow them back to wherever they led: which was probably more Borrow Spiders.

Torture Chambers

Dorizzit

“Very well!” Seraph shouts as you change places with him. As he flings himself at the normal guards, you focus on heating up the elites’s armor as you did before. Your technique proves to be as effective as last time, but only about as effective as last time as well.

One elite guard collapses with a shriek, tugging on the chainamil fastened around his torso as it cooks him alive. He seems to be quite dead, but the other two manage to survive your attack. One guard throws himself into a nearby trough containing a fair bit of dirty water in it. The water cools his armor down marginally – enough that he survives with severe burns. This still wouldn’t have helped him if you had been able to maintain your concentration and continued to heat his armor, but unfortunately thanks to the third elite you had more pressing issues.

Screaming like a madman on fire, the third elite guard rushes at you, charging directly into you and bowling you over. Carried along by his momentum, the elite follows you down to the floor, his nearly-molten armor pressing into your chest as he lands on top of you.

“Stings a little, doesn’t it?” The elite grunts, before whipping his head back and then forward, slamming it down into your face. “But don’t worry: it’ll all be over soon.” He groans, reaching down to his belt with considerable effort to draw his dagger.

Before he is able to work the weapon out of its smoldering sheath, however, the blunt end of a hot poker comes crashing down onto his back. “That’s right, it will!” Countess Amelia Ashargrin growls as she pulls the poker up for another downward swing. Unfortunately for you both, as the hot poker descends again the elite manages to roll himself off of you, leaving the weapon to crash down into your seared stomach.

“Sorry!” The Countess mutters, one hand covering her mouth in mute horror as your stomach muscles contract from the blow to double you up.

“Don’t be. I’m wouldn’t.” The elite snarls, pushing himself up on hands and knees to flail one arm out at the Countess, catching the hem of her dress and pulling her down to the floor beside you.

“I’m not sorry either.” Seraph’s voice calls out, and a moment later a handaxe goes twirling into the side of the elite’s neck. As the elite collapses with a groan from his numerous injuries, you look up to see Seraph standing over a pile of five dead normal guards. “You two alright?” He calls out, but before you can reply you hear another set of alarmed shouts coming from the room behind Seraph.

A moment later a shouted command cuts through the din: “Fire!” A swarm of crossbow bolts go whistling past and around Seraph, the bolts eventually embedding themselves in the torture equipment or skittering off the rough stone floor. A few more thud harmlessly into Seraph’s backpack, but one bolt does find flesh in the back of Seraph’s left shoulder.

Without hesitation Seraph reaches up and around behind his back to grasp the shaft, ripping the bolt out of his back with a shriek of anger. Turning to face the guards, Seraph holds the gore-covered bolt up with another shout of rage before throwing it to the ground. He then turns back to face you and flings himself further into the room, landing flat on his stomach as another angry swarm of bolts fly overhead.

Crawling on his hands and knees over to you and the Countess, Seraph risks a small smile as he throws himself down next to you. “Seems we’ve made them a little mad: over a dozen guards on my side now. How’s your side doing?” He asks you, and then turns to the Countess. “Help me get this backpack off.” Grunting in pain from disturbing his shoulder wound, Seraph slowly works his backpack off with the Countess’s help.

“Not too many of these left. But now seems like a good time.” Seraph says, pawing through the backpack to remove a pair of healing potions. He hands the one to you, and then pulls the cork out of the other with his teeth to pour the bitter brew down his throat.

OverWilliam/Adlan

Rolling around on the floor to search each guard’s pockets and belt in turn, Tare manages to produce a number of keys. Although guards rarely held keys to prisoner restraints, down here in the Torture Chambers things were a bit different.

The guards had required to occasionally remove their restraints in order to attach them to one torture device or another, and so keys to nearly all of their restraints were somewhere in that pile. The only exceptions to this were the key to Garm’s collar, and the keys to the padlocks locking the thick leather gloves into place over Tare’s hands. Neither restraints needed to be removed for what the guards had intended, and the risks of giving either of them their most powerful assets apparently outweighed them. Still, there was always the use of a knife in situations like these.

Although it was difficult to sort through the keys with his very limited tactile sense, Tare eventually finds what he believes to be the key to his manacles. With his wrists locked together and thick gloves over his hands, it should be nearly impossible for Tare to free himself. Yet, Tare is a thief, and despite his exhaustion he is filled with an indomitable determination to be free. Somehow, he manages to slip the key into the lock and turn it, and he sighs in relief as the manacles clack open and allow him to painfully slip first one hand and then the other out. It was good to be able to see his own hands again, even if they were encased in thick leather gloves. Removing the gloves might not even be especially difficult, as they are held in place over his hands by an iron clasp locked down around each wrist and held in place by a simple small padlock.

The Cells: Maximum Security

Baerdog7

You drive your knee several times into the acolyte’s stomach, completely knocking the air out of his lungs. While he lies on the floor gasping from breath after your choking and kneeing, you thoroughly search him. It doesn’t take you long to notice the silver medallion hanging around his neck and tucked under his tunic.

Pulling it out, you can see that it is a sunburst, a common symbol of Athelion. From somewhere off to your left your companion hisses in triumph. “Yes, yes! That is it, I can smell the faint magic coming from it! Clever little trick, but not quite clever enough for us, yes? Now take it off him, end his life and let’s get out of here. I don’t imagine you want to try fighting your way through the guard posts so we’ll need to think of a different route for you to take in order to get off of this level. But still, one thing at a time. Kill him.”

“I’ll . . . see you . . . in Hell.” The acolyte gasps, still too out of breath to put up any meaningful resistance.

The Catacombs

ubersquid

After a lot of internal debate, you decide that you’ve endured a lot of strangeness today already, and kissing a ghost probably wouldn’t be the last unless you died horribly moments later. And hey, at least then, you wouldn’t be around to worry about it anymore.

You lower your lips towards the girl, eventually making contact with something hard and cold. You try not to think about the fact that your lips were probably pressed up against the poor girl’s cold skull right now, and force yourself not to instinctively pull away. A moment later, your lips suddenly feel hot, burning hot, and you jerk your head back to break contact. But it’s too late now, and the searing heat is in your mouth, down your throat, and up into your eyes, your brain.

Staggering back from the bed, you catch a glimpse of Marv starring at you in utter shock, and realize that the room seems much brighter now before the light provided by your torches. A moment later you realize that it is you who are providing the extra light, a warm golden glow coming from your eyes, mouth, and nostrils.

You think you’re going to be sick – luckily you don’t have anything in your stomach to bring back up, so you end up just feeling nauseated for a brief moment. And then it passes, and the burning sensation follows a few seconds later, leaving you feeling pretty normally despite the strangeness that had just happened.

Looking around, your toe accidentally connects with the journal, and you instantly pull your foot back and look down to assess the damage. The damage to the journal is minimal, and your eyes automatically start reading the first page, which you had left the journal open to.

It is important to record these events for future generations – Wait. That page had just been in some strange ancient language that had probably been long since dead when you were straddling your daddy’s knee. And now it was in the common tongue!?

Yes. That is my final gift to you: the ability to read, write, and speak in our language. Only you and one other now remember, and the burden of carrying our past mistakes, sacrifices, and triumphs falls upon you. Only you can speak of us to others, and ensure that we are not forgotten; that our names are not used as curses when Oblivion comes. Now take the journal and the sword with you and *go*. Go and do not look back. Death is leaning over your shoulder to whisper into your ear: you must not be here when he comes. GO.

Leaning over the girl’s prone form once more, you finally reach down to grasp the hilt of the sword buried in her chest. As you pull up on the weapon, you can feel that the blade had clearly gone all of the way through her and into the bed beneath. It is therefore difficult to extract, but gradually the blade inches upwards, and the work becomes easier.

As the blade is slowly removed, the girl’s ghostly face contorts in pain, and you consider stopping for a moment. But then she forces her eyes open to look at you.

This is very painful, but it was much worse going in. You do not have the time to ease my suffering. Pull. HARD.

You give the sword one last hard tug, and it suddenly pulls all of the way free. The girl gives a loud bloodcurdling scream, thrashing wildly against her bonds before finally lying still. Where the sword once was, there is now a gaping wound in the girl’s chest, and as you watch blood begins to bubble up to stain the covers red. Shockingly, however, as the redness spreads across the sheets you realize that there it is not a ghostly illusion: the actual physical sheets are now soaked with blood.

Shifting your gaze over to the sword, you nearly drop it with a gasp yourself when you see that the blade is covered with a layer of fresh, dripping, blood. From her place on the bed, the ghost appears drained and breathing heavily if such could be said of the undead.

Blood . . . shed from a noble heart . . . pierced by betrayal. . . . It will not . . . be easy to . . . remove. There is nothing left . . . for you here . . . go. I will stay . . . to slowly die . . . the death meant for me . . . thousands upon thousands of years ago.

“Umm . . . Elkwin, I hate to interrupt something like this, but ah . . . I think we have a serious problem. See, there’s this oily black puddle forming on the floor over here by me, and uh . . . I think it’s growing.”

He is coming. You . . . must depart. NOW.

Sanctuary of the Prophets

Pwenet/WhiteKnight777/MrEdwardNigma

(Other than crates of various raw meat chunks, barrels of scummy water, broken slabs of stone and smashed iron perches, searching the room has produced nothing. Victor also seems a tad paranoid – Mellita is the only one who actively doesn’t like him at present. Nameless girl is fairly freaked out by all of you equally, but at least Akor saved her butt before becoming a crazy dragon-beast. And the kids love everybody. )

Mellita accepts the bloody knife back from Victor once the operation proves to be somewhat of a failure. She looks mildly disgusted as she takes the knife back, but after a sudden thought grins wickedly. Holding the knife up to her lips, she carefully licks Akor’s blood off of the blade, clearly savoring the taste.

The nameless girl for her part shivers and looks away – right into Victor’s face as he returns to whisper about her condition. Although the girl starts at suddenly turning away from one horror to stare directly into Victor’s stitched face, she appears confused at his statements. “Condition? I have a condition!? Is it serious!!? Fatal!!!?” She blurts out, fairly loudly at first but managing more of a hissed whisper towards the end.

Meanwhile, Umber examines the now-momentarily exposed gem. He identifies it as an Obedience Opal, occasionally used to train and control dangerous beasts. The device typically allows for divination magic to locate the creature that it is embedded in, and give the creature’s “owner” several options once found. There are generally four settings: Sleep, Pain, Kill, Activate/Deactivate, each one triggered by a separate phrase uttered by the owner within earshot of the implanted creature.

Once Deactivated, the gem can be safely removed, but most methods of trying to remove the gem before then result in a strong electrical discharge from the gem. If destroyed while activated, the gem is designed to release a massive electrical current sufficient to fry the brain of even the largest of animals.

While debate over what to do next continues, Victor assembles several more units of cannon fodder: walking masses of tentacles pieced together from the crates of meat. He also advises Cassandra to be cautious of the other current members of the “team”. However, she seems a tad skeptical as she looks down at her recently-freed hands and incredulously at the nameless girl.

“Her? Something not human? You serious?” She whispers, one eyebrow raised. “I understand about the vampires. We definitely shouldn’t trust them, but well . . . the Umber one did free my hands. He’s sorta handsome too – n-not that you aren’t too, well, er . . . looks aren’t everything?” She stammers out with an apologetic smile.

[Lonna]

Pyrene

Edward and Alphonse? Oh no... Given her recent conversation with the Judge, the names were both familiar and ominous. There was one comfort, however, and that was the fact that Edward was behaving exactly like the ideal candidate for seduction. It was a slim chance, but it was the only one she had. So you want to celebrate? Let me help you, master wizard. Even you are still human, surely you have human desires... I hope.

Pyrene cleared her throat quietly, then began to speak, sparing a split second to mentally thank Adrianna and Arlan for the chance to wet her mouth and throat earlier. Her voice was still a bit husky, but by keeping her voice slightly deeper and speaking a bit slower than normal, it sounded intentional and hinted at seduction. Above all, however, there was one quality she made sure to emphasize in her voice as she spoke: her femininity.

"My lords have surmised correctly. I was sent to Ironheart and later to the Prism for taking excessive compensation after I had pleasured a noble's son. I cannot tell you why I was sent back, because I do not know. I was dragged out, confronted by that flaming abomination, and returned with no explaination - at least none that I understood." Truths, half-truths, and lies all flowed out so smoothly that few would guess the statements were anything other than all truth or all lie. Foundation laid, she focused on Edward and prepared to lure him in. Knowing it would be difficult to capture him with her voice alone, she focused all her attention on the task as she spoke. Automatically, instinctively, she reached for that extra "something," that level of concentration at which she had never failed to seduce a target.

"My Lord, I- AH!!" The rest of Pyrene's words were cut off as she suddenly shrieked, doubling up in pain from the electricity shooting through her body. Too late she remembered the court magician's claim that she was a sorceress, and the collar intended to keep her from using any spells. She hadn't understood at the time; how could she cast spells when she didn't even know how to access her power? Evidently this was what had been meant.

Well, so much for seducing him into removing some of my bindings, she thought sourly when the pain had dissipated enough to allow thought.

[Dorizzit]

Korram grunts in response. "I've had worse. I also think that now would be a good time to switch targets again. One of the elites jumped in that trough over there, and I don't know how well he's doing. I'll deal with the bolt happies over there." he says, jerking his head in the direction of first the trough, then the storm of bolts. "Thanks," he says when Seraph offers the potion. "Alright, I'm going now." Korram leaps up and sends a curling tongue of flame that then expands into the doorway, blocking it up with fire. He then sends another to block the other doorway into the room the guards are located in, trapping them. He then begins to burn trails through the room, guards ducking and dodging in an attempt to avoid the thin flames. Korram goes nearer and nearer to his limit of control.
Nearer.
Nearer.
Nearer.
Past.
The effect is immediate and deadly. Every strand of fire in the room detonates with great power, incinerating every guard contained within. Korram clenches his teeth in agony as his arm flares in response. He turns away from the charred remains of the room. (This next section assumes Seraph is finished and there are no more immediate threats) "Let's go." He says this grimly.

[MrEdwardNigma]

Victor also seems a tad paranoid

((A tad? A lot! Victor doesn't have people skills. Well, cutting them up doesn't count, you know. Not being able to analyze things makes him very nervous. Also, it's doubtable Victor would have touched the gem if it is in any way identifiable as dangerous. He has very extensive knowledge of magic, after all. The only thing he doesn't have is the ability to use it))

"That's the thing, Cassandra. I'm not beautiful in any traditional way, but that's because nature did not design me to lie and to decieve. Vampires are handsome only so they could do this. I'd say this is a bigger part of their strength than any of their other powers. Don't trust them. Any of them"

Victor hushed the nameless girl.
"Calm down now. You mean to say you don't know? Look, there's something...in you. Power, great power. But evil too. I can see it. It's a gift, I suppose, my sight is more trained to notice anomalies than that of the generic individual. Now, it doesn't look like it'll be an immediate problem, but it's not a good idea to just leave it at that either. When we're out, or when we find me some equipment, I can likely help you. For now though, child, there's not much I can do. What do I call you anyways?"

To the others, Victor said "C'mon now, isn't anybody going to help in getting me those ingredients? I need them to deactivate the gem, people! Though, really, it's more useful to me like this... It's to be doubted if I'll still be able to get electrical charges from it after it's been deactivated. Well, if you want me to take it out, I'm going to need some potent blood. Ottherwise, we should really move on. The lower levels of the dungeon are extremely unsafe"

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber chuckled a little at the irony as he examined the gem. He remembered the original prototypes of these gems. There had been more than a few unfortunate accidents involving them activating without the proper trigger. Well, not always accidents - although he recalled Gilgaem had intentionally set the trigger on one batch to the word "Blood" - Which had, of course, quickly reduced that particular group of test subjects to charred ash. It had been irritating - acquiring new subjects became more and more problematic as time went on - but even Umber had admitted after the fact that it was fairly amusing, if a little base. But Gilgaem had been like that. He had been the most warlike and bloodthirsty of the seven, and it had gotten him into trouble in the end. He turned to Victor with a sardonic smirk on his face, his eyes sharp.

How curiously convenient for you. And how do you plan to use this blood to counter the gem's enchantments, exactly?

[Pwenet]

As the others bicker over the next plan of action, Akor let's his mind wander, touching upon memories both that were from the original host of this shell. The years of torture, of the pain and imprisonment. While he had put up a brave front for the host, trying to break him, it was worse for him. Being torn from his body, thrust into a tiny weak sac of flesh that wanted to reject him, being unable to fly.

Those few times that Incom had given in slightly, rampaging Akor knew that he could not escape, for his control was not yet fully settled. In fact freedom for Incom would have meant death for him, or worse, living like a ghost in Incom body for however long it took for Incom to die. Yet he remembered something about the gem. They could always find him through it, but the pain, or Incom going to sleep always required someone to be shouting the command word at him.

Returning to reality Incom smiles a sick smile, and turns towards Victor.

"I think we have a temporary solution. My host body remembers how they could track me through the gem, but the pain and sleep, they only came when one was in earshot."

Walking towards one of the empty barrels Incom tears off several pieces of wood, several of the pieces being sharp looking spikes.

"Time is limited. Unless one of you knows a quick way to get them out, drastic measures will need to be taken. And unless you have a quick way that I can't easily heal from Doctor, I will do it myself."

Turning his head over Akor points towards the back of his skull, where the bone is already starting to regrow along with the flesh around it. Smiling a bit more as he adjusts the grip on one of pieces, making it all the easier to use it to tear open one of his ears and place the spiked piece of wood into it.

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

A simple race for ultimate power? That's not all that's on my agenda. I've certainly planned things to do while on my way to power, and when I have power, but being imprisoned for an entire, precious year tends to put a damper on such plans... Sohssal responded to the other inmate in the body.

"This room is outside of time, and it takes absolutely no maintenance to keep it outside of time? That runs counter to everything I know about magic..." he said as calmly as he could as he retrieved the bottle of Donovale. However, the frown on his face still conveyed his frustration at the situation. Then he floated down to the desk and placed the bottle on it. Then he flared his nostrils wide, and inhaled deeply, calling upon what echoes he could of his demonic powers in his corporeal form, trying to see if he could detect the scent of any magic in the room.

"It also seemed somewhat wasteful of your creator to imprison me in a room outside of time. Surely even booting physical matter outside of the time stream where it belonged would suck up enormous amounts of energy, even if no maintenance was needed?" Sohssal said, placing just slightly more emphasis on the phrase "your creator".

[OverWilliam]

~Tare

The key was small. He could tell because it felt like his fingers were almost touching each other when he tried to pick it up. Worse, he could only use one hand at a time to try and get the key into the lock, otherwise he couldn't get an angle on it. Worse than that, he had to turn the key once it was in the lock, and that was like trying to open a bottle using your elbows. But finally, mostly by leaning his body weight against the floor in order to bend the thick casings around his hands further than they wanted to go, he got the manacles loose. He breathed a truly heartfelt sigh of relief as his arms came around in front of him, and the delicious sensation of his shoulders popping forward after their long restraint was the most reassuring thing he had heard since arriving in this foul place. "Oh, that's good..." he mumbled, stretching and rolling his shoulders and arms the way they were designed to be moved for the first time in too long.

The other thing was the Stimulants. Oh, those beautiful, beautiful stimulants. He had no illusions about their duration, and they were certainly not as good as sweet, old fashioned sleep, but his eyelids were staying open by themselves now. He felt his heart rate strengthen, and fresh, lifegiving blood surged through his veins, carrying with it the ever-potent healing drugs that were in the other bottle. It was painful, but it was a good sort of pain, a pain you knew was helping you instead of hurting you. The swelling in his face went down a bit, and the soreness in his ankles was almost completely repaired. Also, he felt more subtle healing in his stomach where the guards had been pounding before. All in all it was some good stuff, and now that he was as free as he had been in more days than he had bothered to try and count, he eyed the table of drugs eagerly, realizing that they would be his most potent asset for the time being. "How are you doing, Garm?" his voice did not grate against his throat anymore. He stood shakily and walked over to his companion.

[Baerdog7]

Ander Windrivver

With a grunt, Ander tightens his grip on the acolytes throat one last time. The acolyte flails around at first, trying to escape from Ander's death grip, but to no avail. Don't squirm, it'll only make it worse. The acolyte's flailing becomes weaker and weaker until, with a final shudder, he perishes. Say hello to Slevin for me.

Working quickly, Ander strips the acolyte of the medallion and puts it around his own neck. He gives the acolyte one more search for any keys or other items he may have missed. If he finds any keys, he'll try them on his bindings before gathering up any other items and throwing the acolyte's robe around his shoulders.

How do I look, he asks the shadow. Evil?

Having done everything he can do in his cell, Ander gathers up the lantern and ventures out into the hallway. He looks to the left and right and if he sees nothing to convince him to go one way or the other, he goes right.

[Adlan]

Garm
'Better when I get Collar Off Garm growled, as he still worked the knife against the steel. he whimperd a little as he slipped, and nicked his skin, but the pain and the effect of the silver was worth removing it, even if he risked slitting his throat for it, it was almost off.

'Weapons from the Guards, we Have. And Potions, so we try and escape?'

He was still concentrating on the knife edge, like a dog trying to see a treat on the end of it's nose it couldn't quite focus on.

'Too many people if we go up? Know Whats Down?

[OverWilliam]

~Tare

"Here, hang on..." Tare crouched next to Garm, looking closely at his mostly sawn-through collar. Knowing that even with his fine motor control dulled as it was that he would be able to get the last inch or so of collar off more safely than Garm, whose heavy fists were not built for such precision, he held out a gloved hand for the knife. "Here, let me try. We need to get out of this place as quickly as we can, but for a few minutes at least we are safe here." He glanced around at the fallen guards. "In fact, this room for the next few minutes will probably be the safest that we will find in this hole. After that it will be the most dangerous. We need you at full strength, or as close to it as we can manage."

[Burrito]

Not much to work with here... I thought to myself. All we had been able to scrounge up fromt eh remains of the fight were three tool handles with various ammounts of steel tool still at the end of them. One pick had only one and a 1/4 spikes still on it, and it seemed too brittle to be worked against stone. But flesh on the other hand. Tattoos had a shovel wtih about 2/3 of the orrigional spade still on it, but the handle was almost untouched. Finally we had another pick, but all that remained of the tool head was the heavy steel collar that attached to the wooden shaft. Both spikes had been eaten away. It would make for an effective club, but that was about it.

The lantern, with its limited fuel supply.

We broke off the last foot or so from several of the dead spiders legs. Carefully removing any innards or blood still on them. The legs were very hard and ended in a solid chitton protrusion that was tappered and blade like. So by the end we each had 4 "improvised" daggers.

Going back was out of the question. Not unless there were no other options.

My vote was for spider tunnels, at least for bit. We would explore them for a while. At the least we could head down them and find a place to rest, since nobody else would probably be willing to enter them to look for us.

With a last look around and a deep breath, Tattoos and I headed into the spider tunnels.....

(ooc, sorry this one was short, but two toddlers are not the best of ingredients for uninterupted computer time. I'm not complaing though. They are only going to be this age once, and I will take finding frog eggs in the pond, playing with LEGO's, and "camping" in the living room over D&D.)

[Voth]

Voth

"I'm not trying to take you hostage, so calm yourself." Voth says in the most calm voice he can manage. "You said you're a prisoner? How so?"

What is this accomplishing?

I'm trying to calm her down after what you put her through!

Me?! I did nothing but shut her up. She was getting on my nerves and as interesting as it would have been to kill her outright, I felt it was necessary to do emotional and mental damage. Its much more fun.

[Feralgeist]

"I think we're boned...." Lamont says nervously, backing up against the Tower, his good eye darting around. "I mean I could bail, but that'd leave YOU a charred corpse. I have an idea, but this will be HIGHLY gross, and kind of weird. Prepare yourself" As Lamont says this, his voice starts to gurgle strangely. He rushes forward, tackling Rawya off of the staircase, his flesh melting and warping around in the process. As they fall lamont wraps himself around Rawya, his distorted form twisting and melding around the fragile humans', toughening and hardening to resist the flames, dripping an ichor that makes it hard to catch on fire.
Lamont/Rawya lands on the grounds, an oozing humanoid figure with 2 large, scythe-like blades protruding from the arms. A grim visage of lamont's features are superimposed over Rawya's own looks, the skull fractured and poking out in places, giving him a freakish flayed look. Lamont's skeletal structure overlaps Rawyas' and pokes out of the flesh in certain parts, due to the shape of being around someone. A blue Gemstone glints just above his eye, and a toothy mouth forms on on the chest, speaking with a gurgling rasp"I'm not sure how much longer i can do this, so let's finish it!"

Darting forward towards the nearest Hellhound, Rawya/Lamont start hacking and slicing with wild abandon, Lamont's magically enhanced muscles complimenting the other fighter's seasoned technique, twirling and slashing the scythes like a dervish when they dart in, whipping out with the bone-blades with inhuman elasticity when they withdraw.

[The_Snark]

Mar

Mar shivered, tears beginning to leak down her face despite herself. It wasn't just the pain (though it had been bad, like always). He was disappointed. And he had said that she'd been close, too—or that he thought she'd been close. She'd been good for a few weeks, anyway, which was as close as she ever got. Daddy had hoped she would prove him right, and she had failed again. Made him—almost made him wrong, which was so bizarre a thought that it elicited a particularly strong shudder. He was never wrong.

She gasped for breath, not making any attempt to get up. If she looked at Daddy, she'd be able to see how disappointed he was, and how stern he looked right now. She could see it as well in her mind as well if she were looking right at him, even with her eyes shut tightly. "I'm sorry," she said, knowing that didn't make it any better. She had to remember that it was bad before she did something, and had to convince herself not to do it then. Why, why didn't she ever do that? She knew what was bad; Daddy's teachings on that had been very thorough. She just did it anyway. He was right about her, and she knew it, and that was what had her still whimpering on the floor even after he had taken the pain away.

"I—was cleaning," she began, starting from the beginning. "And when I finished, I cried," she remembered; it had only been a little, but it was a little better if she didn't leave anything out. "Just a little, and then I stopped. And then on the way back, somebody—somebody talked to me, and I spilled the bucket, and—and—I talked back," she finishes, gasping as tears started welling up under her eyelids again. That was the bad part, she knew. If people talked to her and she ignored them, she hadn't done anything; how could she stop them from talking? But if she talked back...

"Even though I knew I shouldn't," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut more tightly as if her wrongdoing would vanish if she couldn't see it. "And—crying was wrong, because..." She swallowed; she had figured this one out, and it hurt to even think that she felt this way. She didn't want to. "Because I'm not—as grateful as I should be," she finished brokenly. "To you and the others, Daddy."

"I'm sorry," she said again. She was always sorry, but she kept doing it anyway. Maybe Daddy was wrong about her, and she didn't deserve even that. "I don't know why I do these things. I don't want to be bad! I—please, help me," she begged, finally getting up as far as her knees and facing Daddy. "Forgive me."

[ubersquid]

Elkwin - The Catacombs

An ice cold shiver runs up his spine, as Elkwin notices the dark substance growing. He jumps up, runs over to the pile that once was the contents of his backpack and grabs two of the tabbards. Closeing the Journal carefully, he puts it on top one of them and then starts to wrap the cloth around it. Slowly at first, then faster as the layers of cloth get thicker and thicker. Elkwin shoves the book into the backpack and starts to enwrap the sword in the same manner. It is however far to long for the pack, so he just sticks it in, blade first, and ties the latch around it to hold it in place.

Finally he jumps up, grabs one of the burning torches and joins up with Marv, who was impatiently shifting his weight from one foot to the other while he didn't move away his eyes from the puddle.

"Done... Let's get out!"

After Marv slips out the doorway, Elkwin turns back one last time to have a look at the girl. Staring at her for a brief moment, he is lost for any last words. Then his eyes dart over towards the puddle as he notices a pitch black human like shape forming out of it. He finally decides that he shouldn't waste any more time, turns around and runs after Marv.

Spoiler

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Quick reminder - I'm on holiday till 13th - see you guys in a week

[Gygaxphobia]

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!

Kailess sets his mouth to a tight-lipped grimace, determined not to make a sound despite the pain in his arm and the claws of the spawn in front of him.

He leaps forward a step with the blade raised in front of him, and weaves the point back and forth to keep their attention. These things were dark and dangerous, but they relied heavily on the fear they inspired more than skill.

Before the two could co-ordinate an attack on him he begins a lazy thrust towards the eyes of one creature. He watches carefully how they react, locking eyes with them so they miss the wide arcing swing from his left hand as he brings the manacle chain around, smashing the handcuff against a head.
The sword suddenly becomes the focus again and steps forward to gain some reach, driving the sword down into the thing's gut immediately after the impact from the manacle.

Kailess moves his head a fraction to stare at the remaining Soulseeker, a sneer creeps into his face as his confidence takes over and he considers making this one suffer. The three guards needed to take some satisfaction in the act too, to replace their fear with loyalty and duty... to him.

[Inspectre]

The Spires: Ironheart Research

Voth

“I’m a collaborator.” The girl says numbly, waving her bronze-bracelet at you as if it were a charm that could make you go away. “Means I’m still a prisoner here, but I’m only locked up in a cage when it’s time to sleep. The guards leave me alone mostly, although a few still rough me up now and then. They know I belong to Mr. Volesin, and how angry he’d be if one of his . . . toys . . . got broken.” The girl shudders, face still pressed against the wall as tears slowly streak down her face.

“So what are you going to do with me now? I’m important enough to Mr. Volesin to be made into a collaborator but I doubt he’d lose any sleep over me if I just died one day. And I stick mostly to the Spires – I don’t really know my way around too good beyond the route to the Volesins’ office, Edward’s bedroom and my own “room”, so I can’t tell you anything. I’m just useless, and if you’re going to kill me now, could you at least make it fast? Please?”

Through the thick iron door behind you, you can suddenly hear loud shouts of rage. Somebody was very unhappy, and you had an idea just who that somebody might be. A few moments later, through the thick iron door you can hear orders being shouted.

“You three! Go down and check the other rooms! I can’t imagine how he got down there and past us as we came up, but it’s worth checking out anyway! Take this communication crystal and report in every five minutes. If you don’t, I’ll assume he found you and you’re de – in need of reinforcements! You two, go through to the Key Spire, see if the idiot went back to old ground. The rest of you, with me!”

You hear loud footsteps ringing off the metal as a large number of people in the stairwell beyond the door take off in various directions, as well as a pair of footsteps softly echoing in the direction of the door. You’d either need to take these two guys out, hide, book it to the other door at the far end of the hallway, or somehow trick them into ignoring you. But how?

The Prism

Lonna

Detecting your attempt to activate your magical abilities, your collar activates, sending a sharp jolt of electricity through your body. For a moment, your entire world is hot shooting arcs of pain across your body, but the feeling quickly passes even if your muscles continue to twitch and spasm for a minute or two thereafter. Unfortunately, the results of this incident were quite noticeable, and Edward was not a fool.

“Ha! Stupid harlot, think you were going to turn me into a toad, did you? Looks like you’ve got a lot to learn about Ironheart!” Edward says with a sneer, walking around to your side to deliver a hard kick to your midsection. The blow is not hard enough to break anything, particularly through the cushion of the leather sack, but it is still enough to drive most of the wind from your lungs. Gasping for air and shivering from the aftereffects of the collar’s jolt, you are unable to do anything but lie there as Edward brings his foot back for a second kick.

Before he can deliver such a blow, however, you hear Alphonse curse loudly and throw something that shatters against the iron wall. “Gods damnit!”

Lowering his foot and turning away from you, Edward addresses his suddenly-angry brother in a deliberately calm tone. “Now brother, what’s wrong? Whatever it is, I’m sure it wasn’t worth breaking our communication crystal, and - “

“Oh yes, it was! Do you know what I just learned!? The Judge sent release reports for two prisoners while we were out. And guess what? THERE’S ONLY ONE OF THEM HERE IN THE ROOM!!”

“Oh. Well, that is a prob –“

“And do you know who the other prisoner was, dear brother?! It was Prisoner #16,514!! The same one we just sent in there earlier today, who you assured me could not possibly escape! Now the Warden is going to have both our asses!”

“Well, ****!”

“So once again, dear brother, you have made a mess for me to clean up. But don’t worry, I’ll go catch him, again. And, after that, I’m going to take one of those two morons we appointed to be the Judge, I don’t care which, and I’m going to torture them until their mind breaks. And then I’m going to put the brain dead idiot back in there to keep their twin company, FOR ALL ETERNITY! YOU LOT, WITH ME!”

Alphonse appears a brief moment later, storming out of the room, accompanied by all but four of the guards. A moment later and the iron door to the room slams shut again, leaving you alone with Edward and the four remaining guards.

“Well. That could have gone better. Damn useless Judge. I knew I should have just killed one of them to begin with.” Edward mutters to himself, walking away from you to disappear out of your line of sight. A moment later, you hear a desk drawer slide open, and immediately slam shut again.

“Damnit! This is just not my day! Who. The Hells. Took. My. WHISKEY!” Edward shouts, and all four of the guards standing idly around nearby cringe. Sighing, he flops down into a chair, and begins drumming his fingers onto the table. A few moments later, however, he bolts back up to standing. “Alright, I’m bored out of my mind, my whiskey has been stolen, the Warden is probably going to throw me into a cell tonight to be somebody’s girlfriend, and we still have this bagged harlot lying on the floor. Let’s solve two of those problems right now, shall we?”

You hear Edward’s footsteps approach to just behind you, and then with another two snaps of his fingers the padlocks holding your mask and the rest of the sack to your collar fall open. “I want a good look at this one: see if she’s just a braggart or if there’s maybe some truth to her little sob story. Remove the sack and the mask.”

As one, the four guards look at Edward, out of sight behind you, with variations on the same theme of uncertainty. “Um, boss are you sure that’s a good idea? She did just try to turn you into a toad.”

“Yes, that’s right, I am the boss. And I just told you to remove the harlot’s mask. Now are you going to do it or do I need to turn you into a toad?”

Once again, the four guards react as one, and all of them spring towards you to start hastily unbuckling the straps and pull you out of the sack. Fear and not concern motivates them, so they are not particularly careful or gentle in extracting you from your leather cocoon. But after a few hair pulls and wrenching of limbs, they manage to set you free. Free to a certain point, of course, for the heavy collar was still locked around your neck, chains still adorned your ankles, and your wrists were chained behind your back.

Whistling appreciatively, Edward walks around to in front of you and kneels down beside you. Cupping his hand under your chin to pull your eyes up into meeting his, Edward grins. “Well, I guess you weren’t lying about everything, were you harlot?”

The Cells: First Floor

The_Snark

Daddy listens impassively as you give your confession, your voice breaking several times and hot tears forming in the corners of your eyes. When you are finished, he sighs and walks over to you where you kneel on the floor.

“Good, Mar. I am pleased to hear that you are beginning to understand where your faults lie. You are an ungrateful little harlot, although I can see the seed of goodness deep within you: buried until countless layers of sin and evil. We must simply continue to cultivate that seed, and perhaps one day however unlikely it will sprout. I forgive you.”

A moment later, and Daddy’s hand comes flashing down, striking you hard across the face and flinging you back down prostrate onto the floor, your cheek burning where Daddy had struck you. “However, now the time comes for your punishment, and I can see that if we’re ever going to make progress, I’m going to have to really beat the lesson into your heart. So the time has come for dramatic examples: I want you to remember today, Mar. Not what you did or why, but the consequences of your failures, to be burned into your feeble mind for some time to come! Now, mediate of these consequences, while I go to prepare the rest of your punishment.

A broken bird tumbles
To the forest floor
Wingless, it stumbles
And shall taste the sky no more

The cold snow freezes its feet
And the frigid air chills its beak
Today, Death is the one it shall meet
For Nature has no use for the weak”

With two sections of the poem, the pain is far worse this time than the first. It becomes your entire world, one long crescendo of pain that blocks out all other thought as your vision goes red and your ears become filled with the sound of your own rushing blood. But there is one small mercy you are granted this time, as your jaw is no longer locked, and you are granted the small release of screaming. You can’t hear yourself doing it over the rush of blood in your ears, but you know that you are doing it all the same.

For an instant, an image appears in your mind: you helplessly chained to the bottom of a shallow pool, the liquid coming up over your chin and threatening to drown you. Countless chains and shackles hold you completely immobile, the very touch of them burning where they press tightly into your naked skin. You are exhausted, having been kept awake for an unknowable amount of time. Every time you close your eyes, the guard watching you pulls tight on your leash, dragging your head forward into the liquid and nearly drowning you until you finally snap back into wakefulness, choking and sputtering. The liquid is thick and greasy, forming an unpleasant film over your tongue: it is most definitely not water. Water would have been far too much of a kindness, for like sleep it had been denied to you for far too long. Suddenly, something changes, as a man bearing a torch enters the room. Approaching the pool where you are chained, he cackles evilly, waving the torch in your face. Numb with lack of sleep, you dumbly stare at him, unsure of what he was laughing about. Then, he drops the torch into the pool, and the liquid catches alight. It is oil! Your world is nothing but searing pain then, stretching on endlessly as the entire pool of oil slowly burns itself out around you.

Then a wave of pain washes in to swoop you away from this scene, and you are trapped in your own misery again for an indeterminable period of time. Finally, mercifully, those lovely words reach your ears:

“I am your father and your god.
You will obey me in all things.
Or I shall smite you, and burn
Your heart until all evil is cleansed from it.”

As your vision clears, you look up to see Daddy looking down at you, smiling. Your punishment was far from over.

“As I said, Mar, your punishment this time needs to be memorable. So I think a demonstration of where your sins will ultimately lead you is in order.” Looking up from you, Daddy calls to the door leading out into the hallway, “Bring him in!”

A moment later, the door to Daddy’s office opens, and two guards drag in the nice preacher man, clad in his still-wringing wet shirt. He allows himself to be dragged in, frowning dejectedly until he sees you. Then his entire mood seems to change, as his eyes narrow and he pulls himself up as tall as his thin frame will allow.

“I’ll not have you make an example of me in front of her! She’s just a child!” The man shouts, struggling feebly in the guards as they continue to drag him further into the room.

“Here, make him kneel right here.” Daddy says, pointing down at a spot just in front of you. As if they were simply wrestling with a sack of grain instead of a man, the guards maneuver the nice old man to right in front of you, and then force him down onto his knees. Meanwhile, Daddy turns and picks up a crossbow up off the desk, a loaded one like the guards sometimes carried, and he chortles. “I think I know far better how to treat Mar than you do. She needs to be educated.”

“You have strayed far from your teachings, Brother. I do not know how you have done it, but know that Judgment waits for us all! The gods see all, and they will surely be displeased with what they see in you.” The nice preacher man says sadly, earning an even louder chortle from Daddy.

“Fool. You talk about the gods, but they are just a mad fantasy that you are using to poison poor Mar’s mind. I am God, and having tired of your heresy, I shall now smite you.” Daddy says, pressing the tip of the crossbow bolt into the back of the man’s head.

Looking down at you, the man smiles sadly. “It’s ok, Mar. One day you’ll understand. Remember, the sun shall shine! The sun shall –“ The man doesn’t get to complete his thought as Daddy pulls the trigger, and with a loud twang the back of the man’s head and his face simultaneously explode into a shower of blood. The bolt, continuing its passage, buries itself blood-soaked self into the carpet right next to you left foot. But you are not focusing on how close your foot came to being skewered, but rather stare in horror at the remains of the man’s face as something hot and wet splashes onto your face and the faceless mass of flesh slumps forward onto you as the guards let go.

“Thus always to sinners, Mar.”

Again screaming, you scramble out from underneath the remains of the man, staring down in mute horror at him, and then up at Daddy. The nice preacher man had lied, it was true, and he had been locked in the cages so he must have done something wrong. But it was your fault, always your fault, all your fault. If you hadn’t stopped to talk to him, none of this would have happened. You should be the one to be punished, not him. And although you had seen people killed here, it had never been so close before. Daddy had never punished you by killing you, and so why did this man have to be killed because of talking to you.

The unfairness of it made your face burn and your blood feel hot. For just the briefest moment, for the first time in your memory you were angry, and you glared up at Daddy in an unconscious attempt to show him just how angry you were. And for that briefest moment, looking down at your angry bloodstained face, Daddy’s face contorted into one you had never seen before either: fear. Paradoxically, for that one moment, your father and your god was terrified of you. But then the moment passed, and the natural order of things reasserted itself with you cowering in fear and Daddy angry.

“You filthy harlot!” He shrieked, dropping the crossbow to rush over to you, wrapping his hands around your throat and in a rare display of strength, lifting you up off in your feet to hang from his grip. “How dare you get angry at me! Oh, you think you’ve suffered before, just wait! This evil man has really planted wickedness in your heart, and it’s going to take a lot of work to burn it out! But we shall burn it out, Mar! We shall!” As if finally realizing that you could no longer breathe, Daddy throws you back down to the floor in disgust, letting you slam into the floor to crumple up into a heap. He takes several deep breaths, seeming to compose himself somewhat.

“You two, take this mess out of here.” Daddy says to the two guards, gesturing at the body of the nice preacher man, before turning back to you. “And you, Mar, you go back to your room. Wash yourself up and change out of those filthy, wet cloths that you’re in. Put on your dress, and then come out to the punishment room: we have a lot of work to do.”

A new icy hand of fear reaches up to twist into your stomach as you recognize his words. He only called one article of your clothing your dress, which was exactly the same as the set of burlap pants and shirt that you were wearing now, only the back had been removed from the shirt, leaving your back bare. You only wore it on two occasions: when Daddy whipped you, and when Daddy used the bugs on you. And judging by his expression you wouldn’t be lucky enough after your little scene to just get the whip.

Off to one side of the punishment room was an iron door leading into your room. It was small and cramped, most of it taken up by the iron cage that you crawled into and locked yourself in every night when you went to bed. Another good portion of it was taken up by the small wash basin that held some cold water and a rag for washing off the blood and filth that you tended to accumulate. And then there was your small collection of clothes, most torn or showing other signs of heavy wear. There were also sometimes a few small mementos you kept, little objects you picked up during your day and kept in an attempt to help you remember to be good. Daddy usually didn’t like it, but so far he hadn’t punished you for keeping a collection, either.

The Cells: Second Floor

The Arena

Frozen

As the fire spreads rapidly upwards, you come up with an utterly insane plan that still might just work. Not taking the time to explain to Rawya beyond “this is going to be really weird”, you tackle him off of the top of the Tower, shaping yourself around him like a suit of armor as you both fall to the soft ground below. The other prisoners follow shortly after you, not landing with nearly the grace that you exhibit as you/Rawya come up out of your landing swinging bone scythes in all directions.

As soon as you land the hellhounds are predictably on you, biting and spewing flames. Naturally, you absorb the worst of it, your flame-resistant skin managing to weather the worst of their fiery breath but still being torn now and then by their sharp teeth. But in the end, your combination of skills proves to be too much for the hellhounds.

As the last one falls into a pile of bloody pieces, the remaining prisoners fighting with you and the watching crowd shout triumphantly. Somehow, all of you had survived the following intense battle with the remaining hellhounds, although all of you were exhausted and covered in various wounds. You are therefore all too tired to fight as the guards descend on rope ladders into the Pit to haul you back to the Waiting Room, the towering inferno of the wooden frame still burning brilliantly behind you.

“Well my friend, you were right. That was quite weird – but an entertaining story to tell future generations nonetheless!” Rawya wryly comments to you as the guards drag him back up onto his feet to lock his hands in the same set of damaged manacles he had been in earlier.

The guards also lock a similar set of iron manacles around your wrists, although this was clearly just a formality, and both of you knew it. Still, your fight with the hellhounds had been draining, if not quite as life-threatening as your earlier fight with the chimera had been. And so you allow the guards to drag you all off, up out of the Pit, back into the Waiting Room, and from there into the Infirmary.

With all of you having fairly non-serious injuries, this time instead of being chained down to one of the tables all of you are simply led over to separate small benches along the wall which you are individually chained to. A few minutes pass until the robed figure of Healer Sara, who had treated your injuries before appears.

“I heard about your fight. I’m simply amazed that you’re still alive!” She says, frowning slightly as she examines Rawya’s injuries, beginning to bandage a gash running down his left arm.

“Lamont is amazing. I think I would rather have him than a hundred blades at my back!” Rawya says with a slight smile, wincing slightly as Sara pulled the bandage tight over the wound. He then turns to look at you, and bows his head.

“My friend, I surely thought that I was a dead man many times before and during that fight. The guards did not wish for any of us to live, and yet thanks to you we all live to fight again in the next battle. I do not think the guards will appreciate that, and harbor no illusions that we shall all literally fight to the death in this place. But you have bought us all at least a few more hours of life, and for that I thank you.”

The Mines

Burrito

(Oh definitely, definitely. Real life first, especially kids. Any post at all is welcome. )

With few other options that didn’t end in immediate discovery and death, you and Tattoos both agree that unfortunately the only option was using the spider tunnels. Several feet wide and high, the tunnels were able to easily accommodate you crawling through them, although there really wasn’t enough space to even crouch-walk through them. This was somewhat unpleasant, as it suggested that if you ran into more spiders while in these tunnels it would be a head-to-head fight, literally, and their faces are far, far better equipped to kill things than yours was.

But that was just one of the risks you would have to take, and so you and Tattoos crawl into one of the tunnels, following it down to wherever it led. The stone was relatively smooth, unlike the rough rock walls that you were used to dealing with when creating tunnels with pick and shovel: evidently the spider’s acidic saliva/venom was as effective on the hard stone beneath Ironheart as it was on anything else.

You crawl for what seems like hours, pushing the lantern out in front of you with one outstretched arm, while Tattoos follows along behind you with the occasional pained grunt. Finally, you seem to reach the end of your crawling trip, as the sight of an exit appears in the dim light ahead of you. Crawling forward a few more feet, you are able to see that your tunnel was indeed now at an end, and that it exited out into a more “normal” sized tunnel: much like the mining tunnels with several feet of clearance above your heads.

But, caution makes you hesitate, and as you look a bit more closely outside your tunnel you can see that here and there the walls are covered with thick milky-white strands. You were now most definitely entering the domain of the borrow spiders, although this section of tunnel at least did not seem to be completely covered in spiderwebs which suggested that perhaps, at least, your immediate area would not be crawling with them. Still, it was highly likely that at least one or two of them was lurking about nearby for there to be spiderwebs here.

“Whadda see up there?” Tattoos whispers, breaking the mutual silence you had maintained until now. Clearly the sight of your posterior no longer in motion disturbed him, possibly because he was worried that he was about to see a set of sharp-pointy legs emerged in a shower of gore from your back.

The Cells: Third Floor

Gygaxphobia

Now armed with an actual weapon and free hands, you confidently approach the two demons as they circle in towards you and the remaining guards. Seeing you approach, the two previously unhelpful guards fall back out of the way, giving you a clean space in which to deal with these two demons. Sensing you approach as well, the two demons ignore the other guards in favor of you, no doubt sensing your strong soul and clarity of purpose over these pathetic weaklings. But these creatures were not warriors, and despite their strength they were only truly capable of preying on the weak. That did not mean that they weren’t dangerous, particularly in packs, but despite their typical demon arrogance they were often unable to handle those with a strong and pure heart, such as the one that had begun to beat faster inside of your chest as you readied yourself for combat.

Suddenly stepping forward to the one on your right, you feint with your blade and then lash out with your free fist. Predictably, the Soulseeker sought the quick kill, leaping to one side to avoid your “thrust” and then leaping forward towards you – directly into your fist. As the thing fell back to the ground in a confused heap with a sharp yelp, you stab for real, plunging your sword into the guts of the creature.

Working your blade up along its chest, you tear its stomach open, disemboweling it and killing it in a flash of mist as its captured souls were released. Finished with this one, you turn to face the second one with a confident smile, considering on whether you wanted to drag this one’s much-deserved death a bit longer than the other one’s had been.

Before you can consider how best to accomplish just that, however, the remaining Soulseeker turns on its heels with a loud yelp and proceeds to flee into the darkness beyond the guards’ scattered lanterns. These pathetic demons were not particularly brave ones, preying on the weak despite their love for stronger souls, however even this one’s cowardice surprised you. Its master evidently had great need for those souls if it was willing to flee without even having tried to acquire yours and the other three guards.

“Um, th-that was impressive, sir.” The friendly guard called from behind you. “Ah . . . c-can I have my sword back now?”

Torture Chambers

Dorizzit

(For the purposes of making it more easy to decipher who is speaking, I'm going to color the speech of everyone. This is not necessarily the color that their speech will remain. Seraph will be green, the Countess will be blue, and Delran purple.

Seraph nods as you outline your plan, taking slow sips from his own healing potion. Tossing the empty vial aside, Seraph flexes his now repaired shoulder, and moves away in a low crouch. While he moves to deal with the remaining wounded elite, you move to deal with the squad of crossbow-wielding guards.

Throwing up a wall of fire in the doorway, you protect yourself from their bolts, and then use more walls of flame to seal off the other two doorways to prevent their retreat. Unable to harm you or flee, the guards cannot do anything but await their fate as you send trails of fire in after them, which ultimately detonate in a fiery explosion to consumes the entire room.

The blast from the sudden explosion knocks you back a step, throwing you into the heavy rack just behind you. Fortunately, you are not seriously injured, and as you push yourself back firmly onto your feet you look at the room you had just destroyed to find only a thick carpet of black ashes remained: nothing was left, even the torture equipment and cell bars was consumed.

In too much of a hurry to be amazed at your own dangerous power, you turn to find the Countess picking herself up and brushing the dirt from her already stained-dress out of habit, and Seraph entering the room with a blood-stained sword. As all of you turn to go, however, more guards pour into the adjoining rooms. A few are armed with melee weapons, but most use their crossbows to fill the air with deadly projectiles.

Once more, all three of you dive for cover, but this time none of you are given a chance to plan. Instead, a few moments later the crossbow fire trickles to a halt, and an all too familiar voice calls out, causing both you and the Countess to reflexively wince. Captain Delran.

“Ah, Seraphan! How nice of you to come visit us today, of all days! How’s the wife?”

“You tell me! And quickly, before I come out there and beat it out of you!” Seraph snarls, his grip tightening on the hilt of his weapon until his knuckles turn bone-white. For her part, the Countess’s already pale face goes ashen with fear, and she begins to shiver uncontrollably. But it is not at the guards outside that she is staring at in stark terror, but Seraph kneeling next to you.

“Seraphan. Oh gods, Seraphan. How could I have not thought of it . . .” She whispers to you, as Captain Delran shouts back his own reply.

“Since I’m a peaceful man that doesn’t want anymore bloodshed, I’ll tell you that she is safe – for the moment. Probably not for much longer, some of the fre – holy men – have taken a shine to her. You’ll be glad to know her death won’t be a vain one though.”

“Then I suppose I had better make your death a quick one, so I have plenty of time to go crash this ritual of these “holy men”.” Seraph spits, starting to rise when another wave of crossbow bolts shoots over your heads, forcing him back down with a curse.

“That’s all well and good, but your wife isn’t what I came here to talk about. I think on your journey through here you picked up a few things that don’t belong to you. Things that I want back.”

“Come in here and get them there!” Seraph growls.

“I . . . I should have made the connection sooner. Seraph? Short for Seraphan? So obvious!” Countess Amelia mutters, still staring at Seraph. Suddenly, she turns and looks at you. “Korram, this man we’ll been following is Seraphan Gast! As in, Seraphan Gast, son of the Baron!” Finally hearing the Countess, Seraph turns away from shouting at Delran to affix her with an icy glare.

“S-stay away from me!!” The Countess shrieks, crawling back several feet away from him. “He’s the enemy Korram! We’ve been helping a son of the Baron all this time!”

Before Seraph can respond, you hear Captain Delran call out again.

“Well, I can see you’re not going to be a big help in turning over your willing hostages, Seraphan, so I think I’ll just address one of them directly. Hey Korram! You still alive in there!? I think we have something to discuss you and I! About a certain young girl who was on her way down to see you when this whole mess got started! Interested?”

OverWilliam/Adlan

Working quickly but desperately, the two of you manage to saw the rest of the way through Garm’s collar without causing him any injury more serious than a shallow cut or two when the knife slips. No hideous jugular-rending wounds here, and within a minute the shallow wounds slow to a trickle and then halt. All that remains of your restraints now are the leather gloves locked around Tare’s hands, and the cell numbers burned or etched into your right arms: a memento of your time here in Ironheart that likely would never go away.

As you are gathering your wits and considering your next moves, an agonized scream breaks the previous silence that had settled over the room. But rather than just a scream of agony like so many of the other ones you had heard during your stay here, this one seemed to also contain grief, loss, rage. And it was close-by, no more than one or two rooms away from your own.

Although it was difficult to judge due to the open nature of these rooms, flowing from one to the next like an endless maze of rooms, the scream seemed to have come from the eastern door. After a moment’s silence, the scream comes again: no longer agonized but full of wordless rage and hatred.

The Cells: Maximum Security

Baerdog7

“Well on your way, Lord General.” The shadow replies with a laugh as you finish stripping the acolyte’s corpse of anything useful. In addition to his robe, lantern, and magical holy symbol, you find a simple dagger in one of the robe’s deep pockets. You also find a ring of keys with two keys attached, although neither fits into your restraints: likely keys to a door or some such.

“Might I suggest you hunch yourself over or something? Anyone looking too closely is likely to notice the fact that your hands are locked together. And except for a few rather . . . peculiar . . . sects of monks, I can’t think of any acolytes who wander around with their arms bound.” The voice suggests, as the shadow merges back into the normal shadows covering the walls of your room.

“I think it’s time for me to continue my earlier discretion, so you won’t be seeing me for awhile, Lord General. But rest assured that I am still here, and will answer any questions you may have, assuming we’re alone of course.”

Satisfied with your appearance for the moment, you step out into the hallway. As you enter the hallway and leave the room behind, you can feel some of your strength slowly return. This was not giddiness over having escaped from your cell, but an actual physical feeling of strength. You realize after a moment’s thought that your natural god-granted abilities, the angelic powers which had been engrained into your new celestial body, were slowly returning as you moved away from the unholy symbol you had been chained to for so long.

Eager to be even further away from your cell now, you hurry down the hallway to your right. The lantern throws a feeble amount of light into the pitch-black gloom which otherwise fills the hallway, and it in such an environment it is difficult to tell whether or not you are going the “right” way. Complicating this fact is that you seem to be inside a maze of sorts, tunnels frequently leading back into themselves or leading to a dead-end with a single heavy adamantite door.

You come to several such dead ends and pass by a number of heavy adamantite doors without seeing anyone. Every dozen feet or so up on the wall at about eye-level is a small diamond-shaped crystal, which flicker and gleam in the light of your lantern as they break its light down into all the colors of the rainbow: the magical sensors you would assume.

You are passing by the mouth of a downward sloping tunnel which stretches out beyond the light of your torch when a sharp feminine scream pierces the deathly silence you had been enduring for several minutes now. It seems to be coming from down the tunnel, and as you stand there a second loud scream echoes up from the tunnel.

“This isn’t good. In fact, anything down this far is probably very evil and very, very dangerous. Granted, I have no idea what’s down there, but it seems like a safe assumption. I think the path up to the first guard station is a little way further ahead, although I’m not sure you would want to go up that way either. Unless the guards are incompetent or used to crazy acolytes passing through, they’ll probably search or examine you, and they won’t be as easy to fool as these stupid sensors.” The shadow whispers in your ear.

The Catacombs

ubersquid

Using some of the tabards, you quickly wrap up the old journal and the sword, tossing both of them in your backpack, and struggling to ignore the dark stain slowly seeping through the tabard wrapped around the sword. Noticing a figure starting to emerge from the inky black pool, you spend just one more second looking back at the ghostly girl before nodding at Marv and bolting from the room.

As you do, you hear behind you the girl apparently addressing the dark pool, in the ancient language that your mind now instantly translates into a language that you understand.

Hello brother. You are too late to take this last thing you wanted from me.

A few moments later, you hear an unearthly shriek of rage, an unnatural bellow of anger and hatred that nearly deafens you and threatens to freeze your heart. But then it fades, to be replaced be a sound perhaps no less chilling: the shrill screams of the ghost girl.

“Come on man, I know you may have had a thing for her and she for you and all that, but right now, something in there is really pissed. We need to get as far away from here as we possible can, right now.” Marv says, noticing you momentarily starting to slow as you consider the ghost girl’s fate.

Behind you, the shrill screams of the girl gradually fade away, and yet another horrific sound rears its head: chanting. The voice is cold and gurgling, but carries a commanding weight of power behind it. It speaks in the same ancient language as the ghost girl, and your mind also translates the words into your own tongue.

Ancient servants of the Master, your Hierarch calls to you! Thieves have dared to steal from the most holy of our sanctums, and this blasphemy must not be allowed! Arise from your slumber, my loyal brothers, arise and find these heretics! Seek them out, and retrieve what was wrongly taken from me!

From all around you, you can hear wild, evil shrieks as some new but yet unseen horror awakens, called forth by whatever it was that the ghost girl had just called her brother. As you run, Marv shakes his head, groaning. “Aw man, we are so screwed right now.”

The Labs

Iethloc

“Maybe you don’t know as much about magic as you think.” The construct says with a smile as he pops open the wine bottle, pausing momentarily to sniff before pouring it out into a trio of glasses. Setting the now half-empty bottle aside, he offers you one of the glasses. “I’ll have you know that I am a very powerful wizard. After all, I trapped the two of you in here, didn’t I?”

Taking a deep whiff of the room, you can immediately tell that the entire room radiates with the strong scent of magic. However, unlike you could normally, you weren’t able to decipher its exact nature. It seemed to be temporal magic, but something about it was not quite right. Much like the rest of this whole situation since you have woken up today.

Perhaps this creature is not aware of its own nature? Or perhaps has been instructed not to let on to its “guests”. Omega observes as she accepts her own glass from the man.

“So, why don’t the two of you tell me a little about yourselves. Stories tend to be a good way to pass the time.”

Sanctuary of the Prophets

Pwenet/WhiteKnight777/MrEdwardNigma

(So what sort of thing does “Gilgaem” mean in Engrish? )

Cassandra nods at Victor’s argument. “Alright. I have insurance in the event it becomes necessary.” She whispers, lifting up one side of her shirt slightly to reveal the jagged piece of wood sticking out from the rim of her pants. “Salvaged from one of the crates the dragon guy brought down for cooking. Figured it might be useful to have a weapon now that I have hands again.”

At Victor’s reassurances, the nameless girl seems slightly relived, although perhaps not quite as much as he would expect. “I wonder if that’s what she saw in me. My Mother that is.” She adds as she shivers. “Maybe I really am the worst of her children. I don’t want to become a monster – would you kill me before that happens? Please?” Then the girl frowns, staring up at the ceiling in thought. “Umm . . . I don’t really have a name. Most people just called me “You” or “Harlot” or some other derogatory thing.”

Meanwhile, discussion over how to disarm Akor’s gem continues, and Akor is driven to the desperate act of breaking off two shards of wood to shove into his ears. As he is preparing to do so, Victor lectures the others that remaining here for much longer could prove dangerous. As if to underline his point, from upstairs the iron door presumably leading to the hallway outside screeches open. Ears cocked, everyone listens as something shuffles into the room above, growling obscenities in some strange language none of you recognize. It seems you had visitors already.

[Lonna]

Pyrene

Just when the muscle spasms faded enough that Pyrene was certain she would regain full use of her limbs and could begin to re-consider her escape options, Edward's boot connected with her side, knocking the wind back out of her. For an instant she flashed back to the day her mother was killed, and began gasping from more than lack of air in her lungs. It was with great gratitude for the reprieve that she saw Edward turn away in response to the sound of something shattering outside her narrow range of vision.

Alphonse's rant about the other prisoner gave her hope. If one prisoner had already managed to escape, however briefly, perhaps her goal was not so impossible as she had thought. Briefly she considered trying to find the other escapee, but quickly realized that by the time she managed to get away the other prisoner would be long gone. Besides, first she had to get out of this accursed bag.

Pyrene's train of though came to an abrupt halt when the still-unseen Alphonse began making threats against the twins. Fury blazed up in her, and she was shocked to realize that her earlier sympathy had somehow become a protectiveness nearly as fierce as what she felt for her own sister. Perhaps it was merely the constrast between them and these brothers, but a part of herself she had thought long since dead (killed by the life she had lived) now shouted for justice, demanding that the twins be allowed some measure of peace after all they had suffered.

First things first. Pyrene reminded herself as Alphonse left with the majority of the guards, I can't do anything while I'm trussed up like this.

Though her mind raced, she had yet to come up with a viable plan when Edward ordered the mask and bag removed. Silently she rejoiced, for once grateful for the mask that hid any expression of excitement that might have slipped through her control. As the guards pulled her out of the heavy leather wrappings, she surreptitiously tested her bonds, pleased with the amount of chain between her wrists. Casually, she leaned and manuevered so that when the guards released her and backed away to let Edward approach, she was kneeling, sitting on her heels. So hurried were they that they hadn't even noticed she had slipped the chain connecting her wrists under her toes. When she stood, the chain would be on the other side of her body. It wasn't perfect - she would still be chained up - but at least her hands would be in front of her. With a little luck none of the men would remember that they had been behind her when she first emerged from her leather cocoon.

Whistling appreciatively, Edward walks around to in front of you and kneels down beside you. Cupping his hand under your chin to pull your eyes up into meeting his, Edward grins. “Well, I guess you weren’t lying about everything, were you harlot?”

"Of course not, my lord," answered Pyrene steadily but not defiantly. "I was called the Temptress, not the Fool." With a well-practiced expression of admiration, she glanced up and down at what she could see of Edward's body, ending by looking coyly through her lashes at him. "You've seen the truth of my appearance, despite the contradictory rumors." She smiled suggestively. "Would you care to test another rumor? A more... pleasant... rumor?"

[Gygaxphobia]

Kailess the Purifier

He stretches, working out cricks in his neck and arms, rotating his shoulders, enjoying the race of his heart and the slightly deeper breaths.

He bends carefully to take a sword from the grasp of a dead man on the floor, keeping an eye on those about him. When he straightens he rubs the blades together, enjoying the screech of the metal on metal.

"Take it." he intones, pausing for a moment so it is unclear if he will release it willingly. Then he drops it to the floor.

"Are you all cowards then? Craven pups that run back to their masters? Or have you decided that there is a better way? Together we can seek out these devils. The ungodly must leave the way clear for the righteous, we must make them stand aside."

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

The unknown language was more disturbing to Umber than the slithering shuffle. Umber was a virtual polygot with languages both mundane and esoteric. Something completely out of his frame of reference was likely to be... dangerous. He swore under his breath, the task at hand taking on a sudden urgency. No time for subtlety anymore - the Alchemist's request had given him an idea. He could no longer perform sorcery, of course, but there were other ways of shaping magic, and other powers to draw upon. And he knew better than most the potence of blood. He smiled grimly, putting his thumb in his mouth and biting just hard enough to draw a small pinprick of blood. He put his thumb over the gem, his mind scrambling to remember the original construction of the gem. No doubt they had made some alterations to the design, but perhaps his knowledge would be enough to break the enchantment or at least weaken it.

His thumb hovering over the gem, he let the memory flow through him, breathing deep. He remembered how they had originally crafted the binding enchantments - the nine concentric circles of binding, nestled each within the other. He began to chant in a deep, resonant voice, his eyes closed. Nine times he intoned, each time his voice echoing like a bell, and each time he let a single drop of his blood fall onto the gem with a noise like a clear crystal chime. Nine words of power he spoke, each one the counter to one of the original runes that formed the circles. And at the end he spoke, in the old tongue, the one used before the Castle of Seven Spires had fallen and his kingdom crumbled to ash, these words: Blood for blood, and debts repaid. Let what my hand helped to form now be undone. Begone!

[Dorizzit]

((Wow. I did not see that coming.))

Korram's mind races, his thoughts turning to all of the things that just didn't seem quite right about Seraph, now all explained. But all of these thoughts are swept away when Delran talks about his daughter. Katrina...no... Korram's response is more of a bestial growl than a coherent statement: "Delran...if you hurt my daughter....if you so much as touch a hair on her head...I swear that I won't stop hunting you until you lie screaming at my feet in wordless, burning agony. And I always keep my oaths. Oh yes, I also got off that ridiculous glove! Care for a demonstration?" Korram focuses for a second before willing a shot of fire to emerge from his arm and lash towards Delran's voice...but nothing happens. S***! I forgot that when I pass my limit my arm shorts out for ten minutes... powerless, Korram hunkers down deeper behind cover. He thinks for a few seconds before he whispers at Seraph(an) "Seraphan. I know absolutely nothing about you, other than the fact that you're the son of my enemy. But from what I've heard Delran is no ally of yours and I find it unlikely that either of us will live through this if we don't work together. Are you my ally, or my enemy?"

[Voth]

Voth

"If your really a prisoner here that why don't you come with me? Together we can escape this forsaken place. Listen carefully. Can you hear that? The guards are coming even as we speak. I have a idea but I need your help. Are you with me?"

[Pwenet]

Turning to see Umber standing behind him, Akor turns to look down to where the noise was coming from along with the foul language.

"I hope that you are successful."

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

"Haha! Yes, of course. A mage who is over 100 years old and intelligent enough to know how to turn people into demons obviously knows little about magic. And your creator has indeed put me in here, but remember...I have a lot of time to figure it out. And I have many tricks up my sleeves..." Sohssal stated joyously as he accepted the offered glass, once again playing up the phrase "your creator", trying to read into the reaction of the one before him. Then he casually took a whiff of the glass of wine and pondered over the smell, wanting to make sure it didn't have any nasty surprises waiting to happen.

Both of those are interesting scenarios, though I can't think of many ways they could be directly useful at the moment, sadly... Sohssal responded to Omega. Then he rubbed his chin with his free hand as he tried to think of a way out, though he had little more than raw gut feelings, since the nature of the room was so nebulous to his senses. However, the first idea that came to mind was to inhale deeply through his nose, seeing if he could siphon away any of the magic permeating the room, and then stayed alert, seeing if anything reacted to the change in the distribution of magical energy.

[Burrito]

Askov

I carefully and quietly steped into the main tunnel. Taking out one of the spider-leg "knives" I cut one of the strands of spider silk. Then, with a nod to Tattoos, we creep back into the tunnel we just came in from. We pulled the strand back with us as far as we could, but still leaving it attached to the main group of webs in the tunnel. Then, being carefull with what little lamp oil we had left. I set fire to the strand...


plans..
Once the fire is clear in this area, we will continue down the tunnel, whichever direction seems best (if we can tell). If some of the strands seem slower burning than others, we will collect some and wrap them on the tool handles for makshift torches for when the lantern starts to go out. I will also be talking with Tattoos to get his story, and see if he has any info/knowlege that can help. We will also keep on the look out for other tunnels, some sort of clues to the spiders behavior, whatever we can.

[OverWilliam]

~Tare

Relief at getting the collar off of Garm was cut short by the sudden noises. Tare, still holding the dagger, listened closely for a second, then quickly picked over the room looking for other weapons. Never a fan of crossbows but taking any port in a storm, Tare loaded one and stuck any other daggers or knives in his belt, including the hated silver ones that had been used on Garm earlier. Then grabbing several vials from the desk of potions and securing them inbetween fabrics of his shirt where they would not rattle together or fall out, he motioned to Garm and then moved toward the door that the sounds seemed to be coming from, carefully opening it and scanning the room or hallway it opened out into as quietly as he could in his current state.

[The_Snark]

Mar

The icy pricking of fear gave way to a slow numbness as she changed in the cramped room. It was awkward to do with so little space, but she never noticed anymore. She was used to it. More importantly, she was distracted. The bugs were maybe the worst of the things they did to her (if there were worse, she'd forgotten them), managing to be both painful and repulsively nausea-inspiring; even thinking about the things attached to her back—

She shivered. But even the thought of that was dimmed by a numb horror as she recalled the sad smile the nice man—Joseph, she remembers his name was, feeling as if she was doing something wrong just by knowing the name—had given her. She tried not to remember what had happened immediately after that. The blood had been initially scary, but what was worse was that he was dead because of her. She had done something wrong, and he'd been the one who was punished. It wasn't wrong of him to be nice or help clean... was it? She hadn't even said that he had been why she spilled, and even then, Daddy wouldn't have killed her for that, would he? He'd been nice, although he had defied Daddy. For a fleeting instant, Mar saw herself doing the same (Memory? Imagination?), and shuddered. Perhaps Daddy would have killed her for doing that, too. But she felt like he wouldn't. Hoped he wouldn't. After all, he was doing all this to try to help her. Because really, Daddy did love her... surely nobody who didn't would put up with her misdeeds. Her wickedness.

But she did wish, with all her heart, that Daddy hadn't killed the preacher (was he really a preacher? Daddy didn't seem to think so). He... Joseph... had been nice. And that must count for a little, she thought, and hoped.

Reluctantly, she stops thinking his name. That was probably bad, and would get her in even more trouble. But she wouldn't forget him, she promised herself... and twitched in fear at that thought. How could she think things like that? Daddy had punished him—said he was wicked—even knowing that, she wanted to remember him?

Yes. She found she did. No matter how he'd been wicked, he'd managed to be nice afterwards. Even to her, who didn't deserve it. That meant he cared a little, and she didn't think that was bad. She didn't know what part of him had been wicked, couldn't really imagine it, and that was good; she wanted to forget that part anyway. Guilt and fear continued to wrack her—what she was thinking was very close to defying Daddy. Perhaps the nice man had managed to plant some of his badness in her.

Rather than think about that, she wraps up the memories of him being nice and stows them in a tiny little corner of her mind. It was like her keepsakes, she told herself; they weren't right, but they weren't really wrong. And the rest of her would be good and obedient for Daddy, and he would understand. Because he did love her, and when she finally deserved it, they could both be happy. She clung to that.

The thought made her almost smiling as she crawled back out of her room to meet Daddy, but she couldn't actually smile; and as she pushed open the heavy iron door to the punishment room, the hope took a back seat to fearful anticipation.