Escape from Ironheart (IC)

[MrEdwardNigma]

Victor von Ravenstein III

"Noise. We might want to get out of here, it seems whatever dark force is running this labyrinth wants to drive us further down into this dungeon. On the other hand, with your skills combined you should be able to kill whatever that is..."

[Baerdog7]

Ander Windrivver

Ander comes to a halt at the crossroads as first one scream, then another echo through the dark halls. He stands, chewing his lip as if unsure about what to do for just a split second before turning to run down the tunnel toward the female scream.

Ugh, I need to be going up damn it, not down, he mutters under his breath. Still he runs, however, toward whatever awaits him down in the darkness.

[Inspectre]

The Spires: Ironheart Research

Voth

“I . . . I don’t think anyone can escape from this awful place.” The girl whimpers, although she does make some attempt to wipe tears from her eyes. “The guards will be very unhappy if they find me with you and think I’m trying to escape. What do you want me to do? Will it hurt?” The girl asks, turning at last to look in your general direction but still keeping her gaze far away from your face.

Through the doorway, you can hear the guards muttering to themselves and each other as they reach the door. You will only have a few seconds to enact your plan before they push it open, or at least try to with your weight against the door. But any resistance would definitely tip them off that something was very wrong, and given the havoc you had previously wrecked through here, most of the guards would likely be on a hair trigger before shouting for help.

The Main Tower

Lonna

“Um . . .” Edward says in reply, clearly unsure of what to say. Eventually, he nods decisively. “Y-yes. Yes I would. Let’s retire to a more private place, though, shall we? S-Say, my q-quarters?”

“Ah boss, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Alphonse might come back, looking for you, and –“

“Quiet you!” Edward snarls, jabbing a finger at the responsible guard. “Toad, remember? If my brother shows up, just tell him I’m busy with a, ah “side project” of mine and that I’ll be unavailable for the rest of the day. You will be able to last that long, wouldn’t you my dear?” Edward asks, smiling idly as he turns to look down at you again.

“Alright sir. Your brother will probably turn me into a toad.” The guard mutters sullenly.

“Excellent! Now let us depart my dear!” Edward giddily shouts, reaching down to touch you when he suddenly frowns. “Oh gods damnit, I always forget that there’s no teleportation within Ironheart. Alright then, I guess we’ll just have to do this the hard way. You, carry her. The rest of you, stay. Off to my room we go!”

The guard Edward singles out bends down and throws you over his shoulder, carrying you in much the same way he would a sack of potatoes. As he does so, you slip the last of the chain connecting your wrists under your feet, allowing you to comfortably drape your arms over his back.

Edward in the lead, you and the chosen guard exit the room, going down through several flights of stairs and across several rooms before coming to a large set of double iron doors. Pushing them open, Edward reveals a very wide and extremely long hallway.

“This is the access hall over to the Main Tower, where my quarters are located.” Edward explains as he enters the hallway that would allow four or five men to walk abreast. Finally, you come to the end of the hallway, to find a heavy iron gate blocking your path, behind which four guards stood, dressed in the black chainmail of Ironheart’s elite guards.

“State your business in the Main Tower, Edward.” The guard grunts, one of the others in the back giving a knowing nudge to a third elite.

“I’m returning to my quarters, what does it look like?” Edward snaps, clearly having gone through this part innumerable times before.

“That’s of course acceptable, but I think your guest is going to have to wait outside. No unauthorized prisoners allowed inside the Main Tower.” The lead elite says, even his stern face starting to break out into a knowing smile.

“Oh here we go again! Do I need to turn you all into toads or something? Come on, I give you my personal assurances there won’t be any trouble, either for the Warden or you.” Edward says as he leans in to close to the gate. He whispers something to the elites on the other side, which your sensitive ears are able to pick up: “Look, same as always, after I’m done with her she’s all yours, alright? I need some fun after today’s stressful events.”

“Yeah, I heard about that. The Warden’s already unhappy with you. Are you sure you want to risk angering him further with your little dalliance here?”

“Yes! Would you look at her? Of course I’m sure!”

“Alright, on your own head be it. Just remember our arrangement for what happens afterwards.” The elite hisses back, and then with a loud cough says in his normal voice, “Alright, if you’re willing to take responsibility that’s fine. Here, sign here, here, and there.” The guard says, sliding a paper form and quill through. Pressing the paper up against the wall, Edward hastily scrawls his name on the indicated lines, and then hands the paper and quill back through the gate.

“There, now can we get on with this?” Edward says, a real note of irritation finally entering into his voice. After a few moments of deliberate pause, the elite nods. “Sure.” He says as he opens the gate, allowing your entourage to enter into the Main Tower.

Here in the Main Tower, everything appears to still be made out of black iron, but some clear attempts at making it ostentatious have been done. The floor is carpeted with thick red fabric, here and there wooden paneling has been installed – even one or two paintings of the Baron are hanging off the hallway walls.

But it’s still a prison, as you pass several patrols of elite guards hustling about as you, Edward, and the guard pass down the hallways. Your most firm reminder that this is a prison, however, is the wild, loud, feminine screaming coming from behind one of the iron doors that you pass. Rolling his eyes, Edwards says, “Oh don’t worry, that’s just little Mar. She must have done something to piss off Brother Corwin again. Of course, he is always looking for ways to punish the little brat – filthy pervert if you ask me. Ah, here we are, my room!” Edward says, brandishing a large brass key with which he opens the door in front of him.

He then enters, motioning for the guard to follow. The guard carries you inside, and you get your first good look at Edward’s cramped bedroom. While it may have once been a fairly large room, now much of it was taken up by the ornate four-post bed, the numerous closets and bookshelves lining the walls, the writing desk shoved into one corner, the various chests taking up a fair bit of the remaining floor space, and all of the trash scattered messily about on the floor.

“Just drop her on the bed and get out of here, will you?” Edward says, and the guard deposits you on the surprisingly soft bed before departing, closing the door behind him. “I’ll be right outside if you need me, sir.” The guard says, and Edward angrily scowls.

“No, go! The elites won’t take kindly to you just standing around idly outside my door, and you wouldn’t be able to hear me calling anyway. I had this room soundproofed, remember?” Edward growls, before turning to you to politely add, “Unlike some people, like Brother Corwin, I value privacy. Whatever is said and done in this room won’t go beyond it, I assure you.”

Edward walks over to the door after the guard leaves and relocks it with his key, pocketing it before turning back to grin at you. “So milady, where shall we start? Oh I know, how about some wine!” Edward says, walking past the bed to the nearby wall, where a small wine rack was installed at roughly eye-level.

“Let’s see . . . Besail . . . Crendle . . . where’s my Donovale at? Don’t tell me somebody, somehow, stole that too!?”

The_Snark

You change quickly, not wanting to keep Daddy waiting. The cold damp air of Ironheart is chilling on your bare back, but you know the feeling will be replaced soon enough by something hot and sticky as your flesh is cut open by Daddy’s whip. And then that will be replaced by itching and burning as thousands of insects crawl over your back. And what came after that, you didn’t really want to think about as just the thought made you sick.

Comforting yourself with memories of the nice preacher man – Joseph, you remember now – and thoughts of Daddy one day no longer needing his punishments to keep you good, you finish dressing and exit the room. Although feeling a little like smiling with the thought of one day being Daddy’s perfect girl, you suppress the urge as you exit the room: you didn’t want Daddy to think you were smiling about being punished; he might get mad. And the sight of Daddy standing by the sandy pit off to one side of the room, arms crossed with a loop of rope in one hand and a metal-studded whip in the other, helped replace any remaining hope you had with fear.

“Get over here.” He snarls, momentarily setting the whip aside in favor of the rope as you reluctantly approach. Once within reach he grabs a hold of your right wrist and drags you into the middle of the sandy pit, carefully positioning you between the two iron shackles that sat half buried in the sand.

Satisfied, Daddy then takes both of your wrists and uses the rope to tightly bind them together, pulling until the rope bites deeply into your flesh. It was far tighter than it needed to be, for even though what was to follow was always extremely nauseating and painful, you rarely struggled anymore. Just part of your punishment, you imagined as Daddy took the remaining length of rope and threw it over the ceiling beam directly overhead.

Grabbing the dangling end, Daddy pulled down, and your hands started to be dragged up over your head. As before, Daddy overdid it a bit, pulling until your arms were stretched taut and you were standing on your tip-toes. “I had Hugo add twice as many eggs this time. It still shouldn’t be enough to drain you dry, but I imagine you’ll be sick for days. And if you think being sick is going to save you from further punishment, well, you’re wrong.” Daddy growled as he knotted the rope off and bent down to attach the shackles to your ankles to hold your legs still.

Eggs. You knew that they mixed the bug eggs in with the sand, and when blood from the wounds on your back dripped down onto them the eggs hatched. Hatched into thousands of vicious little beetle-like bugs with an insatiable appetite for blood. They would lick the sand clean, and then begin to swarm up the chains holding your feet down onto the ground, and from there up your legs, their microscopic mouths pinching as they removed the thin blood trails running down your legs. They would work their way all the way up to the wounds on your back, and continuing to follow the trail of blood they would enter your wounds. And then they would crawl off underneath what was left of your skin, your back writhing of its own accord as thousands of hungry bugs crawled around just underneath the skin, their tiny mouth parts pinching as they licked up blood. And when they were finally full, the bloated beetles would seek to return home to the sand to digest their meal. But their incoming brothers wouldn’t let them exit back out through your wounds, so they had to find another way to exit. Often, these bloated beetles would take the path of least resistance out, crawling along under your skin until they could squeeze their way out from under your eyelids, out of your nostrils, or burst out into your throat. Blind and choking, you would spend the next hour or two periodically vomiting out the bugs as they cycled through your body to collect their meal. And today, apparently, the experience was going to last at least twice as long.

Finished securing your feet to the floor, Daddy stands up and snatches the whip from where he left it. Walking around behind you, he crackles it against the floor several times, the metal-stubs sparking where they strike the iron floor.

“I want you to remember this, Mar. I want you to remember what happens when you get angry with me. What happens when you disobey and disappoint me. What happens when you’re wicked!” To underline this last point, Daddy flicks the whip up and forward, cracking it against your back. A line of sharp line shoots across your shoulder blades as the whip tears a ragged line into your flesh. And the blood slowly begins to flow down your back.

“You little harlot. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep you in line? How hard it is to endure your constant failings? Your constant wickedness?” Daddy pulls the whip back for another blow, but before he can add another line of blood to your back he is interrupted by the iron door to the study slamming open. No, not slammed open, torn partially off of its hinges as it flies aside to reveal the black armored figure beyond.

Stepping out from Daddy’s study into the room was a tall man, clad entirely in black armor. Twisted spines and small blades of metal jutted out from every conceivable angle on the armor, and its gauntlets seemed to end in blades rather than fingertips. The helmet was the worst, however, shaped to be that of a leering demon, carved fangs merging together to form a grated mouthpiece. Long upright points horns jutted up from top of the helmet, and its eye sockets were covered by glowing green jewels. For a moment, the figure simply stood there, a thin green mist steaming out of its mouthpiece.

“Who the hell are you!?” Daddy asked, taking an involuntary step back and raising his whip defensively in front of him. Meanwhile, the warmth of your blood has spread down to the back of your knees. A moment later, the creature responded, it’s voice ringing and hollow from within its suit of armor.

I am a Hell Knight, one of five living suits of armor assembled by our master. We have been sent forth to locate and retrieve Marisiel the Protector. I understand that she is being kept here. You will tell me where she is. Now.

“I . . . um, well ah – I . . . I don’t have any idea where she is. You’ll have to look elsewhere.” Daddy retorted, his voice faltering but finally regaining its usual strength.

That is unfortunate. I may have been inclined to be merciful if you had known and spare your life long enough to show me where she is. Now you both simply die.

The Hell Knight begins to stomp towards both of you, as Daddy begins to scream. “Guards! Guards!”

Do not worry. You will be going to join them shortly. Perhaps they will do a better job protecting you in the afterlife.

Suddenly, the figure stumbles forward as a fireball erupts across his back. As he turns to face this new threat, both you and Daddy can see that it’s Hugo, a mess of stoppered vials cradled in his arms!

RRRAAAAAGGGGGHHH!!

The figure charges forward towards Hugo, horns lowered like that of a bull, pressing on despite the barrage of vials that crash against it. Finally, the Hell Knight reaches Hugo, and the horns stab into and through his body in a fountain of blood as the Hell Knight pushes him back into the wall, pinning him there for a moment before tearing its horns out and leaving Hugo to slump to the floor a bloody mess. By now your blood has dribbled down onto your ankles, and as the first drops hit the sand you can feel it being to writhe underneath your toes as the first bugs begin to hatch.

While Hugo is grievously wounded by the armored intruder, Daddy has moved to beside you, hurriedly trying to untie the knot holding your wrists above your head. “I want you to get out of here, Mar. It’s not safe!” He hisses at you. Suddenly, with another loud bellow of rage the Hell Knight reveals that he’s back on your side of the room, and both you and Daddy scream in terror as he swings a bladed fist wildly at Daddy’s back.

Stumbling away and falling to the ground at your feet, Daddy manages to dodge the blow, and as luck would have it the Hell Knight’s bladed fist instead finds the rope, slicing through it neatly and leaving your wrists no longer attached to the ceiling, but still bound. The sand beneath you has by now turning into a writhing carpet, and a few hungry frontrunners have begun to crawl the chains onto your ankles.

“Mar! Use these keys to free your ankles, and then get out of here! Run!” Daddy shouts, digging in his pockets to pull out a key ring which he tosses into the sand by your left foot. He then rolls away from you, the Hell Knight’s plated boot slamming into the iron floor with a sharp crash a moment later. As you watch in stark terror, the Hell Knight crashes his other foot down on the other side of Daddy, bracketing him and preventing him from rolling further away.

Die.

Leaning down, the Hell Knight drives a fist down into Daddy’s chest, sending a stream of blood spewing out of Daddy’s mouth an instant after the blow. Choking and sputtering, Daddy still manages to claps a hand around the creature’s armored wrist, holding it there while he brings his other hand around. Wrapped several times around Daddy’s other hand was the tip of the studded whip, and sparks flew as the metal studs gouged a series of thin scratches across the Hell Knight’s helmet.

Already off-balance from leaning down to drive his fist into Daddy’s chest, the impact of the blow to the side of the Hell Knight’s head threw him off of his feet, crashing to the floor next to Daddy with a hellacious racket. Pushing himself unsteadily up onto his knees, Daddy looks at you, blood dripping off of his chin.

“Damnit, I said RUN!” Before he turns and throws another weak punch down at the Hell Knight, which this time it blocks by raising a gauntleted fist up to block the blow, one of the blades jutting from its wrist burying itself into Daddy’s own. By now the bugs beneath you had gotten really agitated, and a thick covering of them had formed over your feet, pinching as their mouths and legs dug into your flesh. You did not have long before they were working their way up your legs and onto your back.

The Mines

Burrito

Cutting a strand of the webbing free, you dip one end into your lantern, allowing the other end to remain attached to the rest of the webs surrounding the tunnel entrance. Although it does not catch fire nearly as fiercely as you were used to, the spider web still eventually catches alight, sending a flick of flame out into the tunnel. Within a minute or two you can see a dim blaze burning immediately outside the tunnel, and hear an unearthly shriek as a spider lurking outside bursts into flame as well. It falls lifelessly to the ground with a wet splat, and a few minutes later the fire has largely burned itself out, leaving the way clear for you to proceed.

Exiting out into this main tunnel, you find that although your choices are limited to right or left, both appear to be roughly the same in the light of your lantern. Setting off to the left, you and Tattoos cautiously make your way down the tunnel, painfully aware that many more Borrow Spiders could be lurking just beyond the light of your torches, waiting to strike.

But after a few minutes of proceeding down the tunnel without coming under immediate attack, the two of you begin to start quietly talking. “Me? I was a sailor once. Kinda a long way from the sea now though, aren’t we?” Tattoos seems to hesitate for a minute, clearly wrestling with some decision. Finally, he sighs and continues. “Actually, let me amend that. I was a pirate once. Scum of the seas, killed anyone who looked at me funny. Compared to this place though, I was a saint! Have to admit though, my old life, I don’t really miss it save for the salty wind in my face and the boat gently rocking underneath my feet. How about you?”

A minute later, you come across your first side branch, another tunnel that slopes gently downhill. Like the tunnel you were in, this side tunnel appears to be man-sized, with high ceilings and square corners unlike the spider’s low circular tunnels. However, you can see the faint shining of sticky white strands covering the ceiling at the edge of your lantern light, so the spiders clearly didn’t mind converting the human tunnels to their own uses.

(The tunnel you are currently in are continues going straight ahead, so you can keep going that way or go down the side tunnel, taking your chances with the webs and potential spiders up ahead.)

The Cells: Third Floor

Gygaxphobia

The three remaining guards, already badly shaken by the recent attack, wince as you rub your two appropriated blades together with a loud screech of metal on metal. Disdainfully, you drop the helpful guard’s sword onto the floor for him.

“Um . . . thanks.” The guard says, skittering in close to you just long enough to snatch up his blade and back away, eyes always nervously on you.

“Man, he’s right. Screw this ****, those *******s just tried to feed us to demons! The Warden doesn’t care about us, remember Charlie? I’m with you, let’s go chase down that freak in the cloak and make him pay!” One of the two previously unwavered guards exclaims, gesturing emphatically with his sword.

“Hey, don’t you two idiots remember? This guy is a prisoner here. He’s the enemy!” The last guard says, jabbing his sword at you to emphasize his point.

“H-hey come on, let it go. We would have all been killed just now if it wasn’t for him.” Your most helpful guard says, clearly unhappy that the situation was starting to degrade dangerously close to another fight.

“No! I’m glad he saved our lives, good for him. He was a paladin, that’s his job. Now I gotta do my job, and lock his sucker back up in his cell. Come on, prisoner, drop the sword and get marching back to your cell. D-don’t make me force y-you.” The guard says, sweating starting to bead on his forehead as he realizes that with the two remaining guards seemingly converted over to your side, he would have to try to convince you, alone, to return to your cell and resume your life of imprisonment.

Torture Chambers

Dorizzit

“I am your ally! My relationship with the rest of my family is complicated, but all I want right now is to find my wife. If you don’t want to help me with that now then stay out of my way!” Seraph snarls, moving to stand again but ducking back now as yet another wave of crossbow bolts fly over your heads.

“Don’t trust him, Korram! They’re all nothing but vipers!” Countess Amelia spits, still staring at Seraph with an equal mixture of fear and hatred.

Seemingly unaware of this sudden conflict in your midst, or perhaps quite gleefully aware but ignoring it for now, outside the door Delran chuckles at your threats. “Oh Korram, Korram, Korram. Such a fiery temper. What would your daughter say if she saw you like this? Would you like me to ask her?” Delran pauses a moment to let you ponder his words, and then continues. “Now, the way I see it, I’ve got a lot of men out here, and you’ve got yourself and Seraphan in there. So we’re in a bit of a standoff right now, and once the fighting breaks out a lot of good people will die. Good, innocent people like Countess Ashargrin, who isn’t a warrior like the two of you and won’t be able to defend herself. I’d rather not see that happen, but since I doubt you selfish bastards are going to just send her out here where it’s safe, I instead propose a trade. Your daughter for the Countess, Korram. You should know by now that I can’t harm her, so she won’t be harmed – much. Now, your daughter on the other hand is a different story. And while I’m sure you could eventually cut your way through my men to make me die burning at your feet, or whatever, I’d still have plenty of time to cripple your daughter. Cut out her eyes, break her knees, that sort of thing. Is that how you want your last meeting with your daughter to be, Korram? Or would you rather see her whole again? I’ll give you a couple minutes to think it over!”

“I . . . I-I’ll do it.” The Countess whispers, closing her eyes and grimacing, but opening them again as Seraph hisses in irritation.

“No. She’s the only one important in here, the only one Delran wouldn’t mind seeing dead. As soon as she leaves, Delran will send his men in to kill us all.”

“And if I don’t go out there, Korram’s daughter will be tortured to death! I can’t have one more person’s death on my conscious, I’m going out there.”

“No you’re not. Listen! She’s dead already, Korram. Whether she dies out there alone or in here with us doesn’t really matter in the end, does it? She’ll still be dead either way. At least as long as she is out there, we’ll have time to figure out how to get out of this mess.”

OverWilliam/Adlan

(In the torture chambers, all of the rooms are connected to each other directly by open doorways. No doors, no hallways – so make sure to be discrete if you don’t want the dude torturing someone next door to notice the unauthorized guard beat down. )

Arming himself with appropriated weapons from the guards and potion vials from the stand of drugs, Tare quietly moves over to the doorway, peering through. The next immediate room adjoining your own was currently empty, although that could certainly change if guards passed through the room, crossing through to the doorway on the other side en route to wherever it was that they were really going.

However, Tare could see through the open doorway directly across the room from him into the next room, and there he saw the source of the screaming. A male elf was strapped into a heavy wooden chair much like the one Garm had been sitting in a few minutes before. However, despite a few bruises and superficial cuts he appears to bear, he appears unharmed. Instead he is staring at something in the room out of Tare’s line of sight, following it with his eyes while continuing to bellow in helpless fury.

Suddenly, the source of the elf’s distress is made plain, as a guard sweeps into Tare’s view from the left side of the doorway, twirling around and dancing. In his arms the guard is cradling an elf maiden, who appears to be desperately trying to follow along in the dance as the guard drags and twirls her around the room. Before they pass through out of sight again on the right, Tare does manage to notice the source of the elf woman’s trouble: both of her legs were broken, leaving the guard to carry, more than drag her around the room.

(There’s a total of three guards in the room with the two elves. Go bust some heads. )

The Cells: Maximum Security

Baerdog7

“Paladins. So predictable. It’s probably some horrible monster that’s luring you in to tear out your spine and suck out your brain!” The shadow calls after you as you run down into the side tunnel. Down and down you go, the tunnel spiraling around and down before you as you try not to trip and fall on something that your dim lantern doesn’t reveal until it’s too late.

As you run, you heard a third sharp scream, followed by a fourth, and then nothing. Nothing for a few moments, anyway, until an even more chilling sound reaches your ears. Laughter. Cold, maniacal, joyous laughter. And it was the same feminine voice as you had heard earlier, you were sure of it. But before you could change your mind about the whole thing, your forward momentum carried you down and around the final turn, and you found yourself standing at the entrance to another dark hallway.

Here, instead of the rough stone the walls and floor seemed to be made out of solid adamantite, magical wards and warnings etched into every inch of metal on and on down the hallway. A short distance from where you stood, one of the heavy adamantite doors stood open, and perhaps a dozen guards, clad in the black chainmail of Ironheart’s elite guards stood clustered about just outside the door. Several of them were carrying torches, and so it was easy to see them all as they shuffled about, their attention focused on whatever was going on inside this room? - Cell? – that they were clustered around.

As you watched, you saw a tall man exit, accompanied by a woman with long brown hair walking with a drastic limp. She carried herself with pride, however, and in the lantern light you can see markings covering her skin not covered by the traditional Ironheart burlap shirt and pants. They appeared to be some sort of branding, ugly burn scars that covered her entire body, over which lay an angry latticework of red lines crisscrossing up and down her limbs.

The tall man turned her over to one of the elite guards, and with her leaning slightly on him the two began to walk up the hallway in your direction, while the man and his entourage of elites turned and proceeded further up the hallway. Suddenly, the woman looks up, and her brown eyes lock with yours as she smiles. “Well, well, what do we have here?”

The Labs

Iethloc

The wine appears to not be drugged, and is exceptional, as most Donovale wines tend to be. For a moment, a flicker of confusion crosses the man’s face. “Why do you keep saying “your creator” when talking to me? And forget it, escape from this room is just as impossible as it is to escape from Ironheart in general. You two might as well just accept that.”

Ignoring the man for a moment, you inhale through your nose, trying to siphon off some of the magical energy. For an instant, your senses go haywire as the entire room seems to blur and shift, descending momentarily into chaos before everything snaps back into focus. Or does it?

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

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

What just happened?

It seems we just went through a time loop. Interesting.

(You are both back over by the door, and the study is exactly how it was when you first entered, including yourself – i.e. no wineglass in your hand anymore.)

Sanctuary of the Prophets

Pwenet/WhiteKnight777/MrEdwardNigma

With Victor’s own plan giving Umber an idea, he reaches into Akor’s skull, smearing the small gem with drops of blood from his own finger. Even as one of the people who had created the prototypes for these things, Umber was still not sure that his plan would work. As it turned out, however, Umber’s plan did as with a quiet sizzle and small flash of electricity, the gem burnt itself out. Now nothing more than a blackened hunk of fused silica, the gem was worthless and Umber easily plucked it out.

As it turned out, this was done just in time as a black-robed figure appeared at the top of the stairs leading up onto the first floor. Although its garbled voice was calm, it clearly was alarmed as it rapidly stepped back out of sight immediately upon noticing all of you.

Contact. Multiple intruders detected, including two of the potential Sacrifices. Situation is extremely dangerous, withdrawing until reinforcements can arrive.

“Come, let’s get the sucker before he can go get all his friends!” Cassandra shouts, clearly energized by her newly freed hands as she bounds up the steps after the black cloaked figure.

[Dorizzit]

Korram's answer to Seraphan is simple, delivered in a dull monotone that somehow makes the words that much more powerful: "If you're wife was out there, about to be tortured to death, would you look at it like that?" Seraphan cowed (presumably), Korram says: "Good. Now let me think." Korram puts his hand to his head, thinking. He has seven minutes until his arm restarts. Then he thinks of an idea. "Delran! You're a slimy b****, how do I know you even have my daughter?" Korram settles down behind his cover. that should buy some time... he thinks. Six minutes left.

[Baerdog7]

Ander Windrivver

Ander hunches down in his robes trying to hide his manacles as best he can.

My apologies. I seem to have gotten lost while trying to find my prisoner's cell, he explains, his voice low and raspy. I'll be on my way now, if it please you, of course.

Provided that nobody in the group objects, Ander will turn back up the tunnel and go back the way he came.

[Voth]

Voth

"There won't be any pain, I promise. Now quickly, grab my wrists and pretend like you've captured me." Voth quickly tells the girl with only seconds to go.

[Lonna]

Pyrene

When the mage hesitated, Pyrene feared that she had misjudged him and raised his suspicions. He spoke before she lost control and showed her worry, however, and she realized that he probably wasn't used to prisoners being willing to bed him, much less suggesting it themselves. Quickly she realized that this worked to her advantage, and that she must appear to be the picture of cooperation - a willing slave, as it were - until she found the perfect moment to escape. Thus she neither struggled nor spoke as Edward arranged for the two of them to be alone in his quarters, though what she overheard at the gate left her blessing her unknown father for the keen hearing she had inherited from his elven parent. Now she knew exactly what awaited her after Edward was done - and thus exactly how slim her chances of escape would be if she waited that long. She pretended not to hear, however, and held her peace as she had since Edward had taken the bait she offered, waiting and watching.

Only once before they reached the bedchamber did Pyrene nearly break her silence, when Edward mentioned "little Mar." Unbidden, an image rose in her mind: a picture of Ariella as she had been the day their mother was murdered. Angrily, she bit back her instinctive protest. Damn it! I can't get sentimental about folks I don't even know! The girl isn't my responsibility; she'll only slow me down, and that's assuming I could even get to her! Nevertheless, Pyrene carefully noted the door from which the screams had come, marking it on the mental map she was making of the fortress. I may not know the way out, she told herself, but I definitely know where I don't want to go. Still... those screams... Though she never made a conscious decision to that effect, on some level Pyrene knew that if she could return to rescue "little Mar" without getting herself killed, she would. No matter what arguements she presented herself with, nothing held up to the simple combination of her years-old memory and the casual reference to cruelty toward a girl-child.

Fortunately, her thoughts were almost immediately distracted as they entered Edward's bedchamber. It seemed like a normal bedroom, nothing largely out of the ordinary. However, she doubted that many of his guests here were as willing as she was, which meant he must have some way of restraining them - and thus her. The fact that the room was sound proof was helful to know also. It meant that she need not worry much about keeping quiet when she had the opportunity to neutralize her captor.

After a split second of hesitation, she lay down on the bed, turning on her side and draping the chain connecting her wrists across her chest so that it emphasized the curves her rough clothing would otherwise have hidden. Watching the mage search for the wine, something that had been nagging at her suddenly clicked into place in her mind. He's been getting more and more polite towards me since his brother left. Is it possible he's less of a threat than I thought? Then she remembered his bargain with the elites guarding the main tower. However politely he's treating me now, he intends to give me to them after he's done with me. I don't dare treat him as anything other than an enemy, and a dangerous one.

OOC: Pyrene intends to proceed as if Edward were a normal, paying customer (aside from her chains). Then, as soon as she has an opportunity, she will wrap one of her chains around his neck, choking him, while simulatiously using the other chain to immobalize his hands (which chain does which depends on the opportunity). Given the opportunity she might also use the chains to immobalize his hands and then force his head into a pillow or even the matress and start suffocating him that way. The idea is that he can neither speak nor use his hands to cast a spell, and hopefully will be too busy trying to breath to spellcast with sheer willpower. Unless he has, by this time, done something to make her think he would actually kill her, she won't quite strangle him to death. She'll just choke him until he's unconscious, steal the room key from his pocket, and start carefully searching the room for anything that might allow her to get the manacles and/or the collar off. Of course, if he does something entirely different than Pyrene is expecting, this whole paragraph is moot.

[Pwenet]

Akor

Closing his eyes, Akor feels his body grimace as the sensation of someone reaching into his head, to touch the cursed gem causes his stomach to twitch and churn. He forces the stomach to keep its contents within, breathing in and out, in and out as the gem sparks and sends sparks of energy into his brain. His body twitches and he gasps out loud.

Floating within a void, Akor smiles as he looks around the chamber he now stands in within his mind eye. His birthplace, so similar to the chamber his physical body now sits in except the fires burn brightly, the stones are polished and smooth, and the perches are intact. Looking down at his hands he sees that they are soft and fleshy with pink fingernails.

”Hello Harvey.”

Spinning around he turns to see the entire back end of the chamber filled with the hulking mass of a dragon. The head is inches away with scalding hot air washing over him every time it exhales. Eyes shining with a sinister intelligence blink slowly, trapping him within his body which is frozen with fear.

”You thought I was dead.”

Wanting to scream, wanting to run, wanting to punch the dragon in the nose Akor eyes start to tear up as he realizes what has happened. His body starts to shake and twitch and his teeth start to grind against each other as he tries to push against the forces holding him in place.

”You thought I gave up. I didn’t give up when they tore out my eye, when my wife betrayed me, when YOU were placed within me.”

The dragon exhales and flames shoot out, burning Akor, his pink flesh blackening and cracking with red blood leaking from the wounds. He falls to the ground whimpering, his arms managing to work through the paralysis to hold himself against the pain of a lifetime of tortures. He prayed for healing, to the old gods and new, to his kin beyond this land, to death itself to take him away, yet nothing happened.

”Thank you for getting rid of that gem. It will make escape a lot easier.”

The scene shifts and rocks fall over the entrances to the chamber, Trapping him within it. Turning around Akor sees the large dragon slowly starting to turn into mist.

”I condemn you to be TRAPPED here. Farewell Akor, thank you for the lifetime of agony.”

Blinking his burnt eyelids Akor finds himself alone, Trapped in the ruins of his childhood home with the dim sensation of moving.

The gem, cracked and burned is pulled out of a skull in which it has resided in for a lifetime of a man. The body it was within twitches and falls facedown to the ground, kicking up a wave of dust.

”Back to work.”

Incom Morgan

Gasping with sweet oxygen Incom lungs expand, and he starts coughing violently. Retching as he pushes himself up off the ground he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Looking around he sees faces that he barely remembers, memories that are clouded with a taste similar to a hard night of drinking and drugs followed by entertainment.

A pale man stands behind him, holding a gem in his hands. A hand reaches around to the back of his skull and feels flesh and bone knitting together. The hand then moves back over and he looks in shock at the scaled fleshed and talons that have replaced his fingers. Muscles that have been shifted twitch and Incom turns behind him to see his wings fluttering.

”What has that foul creature done to me?”

Looking around he then sees the one face he recognizes. A face that he sacrificed almost everything to save, one that he senses has a destiny, one without a name. Standing up he stumbles as he gets used to the changes in his body, being taller, stronger, bigger and faster than before. One shaking step after another he approaches the girl he saved before falling to his knees.

”I don’t need you to kill me anymore little one. I’m back, and the dragon is gone. He is GONE!”

Saying those words, something within Incom snaps, and he starts laughing and crying at the same time as years of tortures and agony, the sensations of his body being twisted for a foul purpose, come rushing through his mind with the relief that it is over fills him. Looking up at her he smiles through the tears, still laughing and crying at the freedom he feels within himself, the emptiness within his skull, the lack of the overbearing presence that had taken him over.

Picking up the little girl in a giant hug Incom spins her around drunk on joy and happiness when a voice that stirs memories fills the chamber.

Contact. Multiple intruders detected, including two of the potential Sacrifices. Situation is extremely dangerous, withdrawing until reinforcements can arrive.

Turning to see the fleeing form of the cultist Incom smiles a sick smile. He sets the little girl down on the ground gentle and cracks his neck. Turning towards the others he bows to them as Cassandra chases after the figure.

”Ladies and Gentlemen, I am Incom Morgan. I am Prisoner Prime, and I have been here for too long. I aim to get out of this hellhole and I plan on going out through the front gate with the head of the Baron leading the way. Shall we?”

Seeing the Warhammer of Ross laying on the ground Incom picks it up and smiles as he is easily able to hold it within his hands. Turning he sprints after the cultist, his body moving with a fluid grace and speed that should easily allow him to catch up and pass Cassandra, where plans of attack against the cultist fill his mind.

Spoiler

Show

Meanwhile within Umber hand
Within the burnt and cracked gem Akor screams a scream of agony as he pounds against the metaphysical walls of his prison. Whomever his holding it might hear the screams, the whispers of power and promises to aid him. The begging for salvation and hints of knowledge, all so that he can escape the prisoner he is now Trapped within.

Plus the gem would make a nice centerpiece for a necklace or amulet.

[OverWilliam]

~Tare

A thick, syrupy rage began to boil up in Tare's chest at what he saw. It was like Magma, heat from the very Earth's core, having never felt the cooling air and without it's touch it remained hotter than anything else on the planet. But Tare choked down a scream that would have almost reached the indescribable bloodlust on that elf's face. He could not give his mind over to blind fury, because he, unlike his friend, did not gain a hide impenetrable by arrows and unfeeling of pain-- he had to think through his fights, or die in them.

Plopping down noiselessly to a cross-legged sitting position, Tare formed a triangle with his muffled hands, thumbs and index fingers touching. His mind sharpened to the keenness of the daggers he had gathered, and his focus came to a finer point than even they. His breath became irregular as deep in his throat a series of clicking and grumbling welled. The sounds, however, held back by willpower alone, gathered in his closed mouth until he could feel them on his tongue. He continued like this for maybe a minute, obviously longer than Garm wanted to wait, but finally he steadily pulled the two halves of his finger triangle apart and breathed the invisible smoke of sounds out whispering into them the whole time.

They drifted quickly, more quickly and with more purpose than had they been real smoke, across the gap between him and the guards. They dissipated until they covered most of the room, and then collected next to the guards ears. Then they poured back into real sound; the barely audible and easily ignorable click. Maybe of a crossbow's latch. A startled shout from several rooms down on the opposite side that Tare and Garm were lurking. A shuffling noise, followed by cries of "Escape! Escape!" Suddenly, a clattering unmistakable of a spare Crossbow bolt falling to the ground. "Die, Pigs!" Again on the side away from Tare. And then the distinctive metallic snap of the heavy release on every standard crossbow in the place as they fired.

[Adlan]

Garm

Garm Watched it with narrowing Eyes and a Growing Snarl. His Teeth Lengthend, and his Dark Hair seemed to grow thicker, his eyes, a disturbing yellow deeper, more animal as he saw the screams, and their cause.

He Longed for one of his peoples Axes, but all he had was what was on the guards.

He tensed, ready to rush in, weapon in hand.

But Tare, Tare was upto somthing.

Garm watched in astonishment as Tare manipulated sound. But he was ready, Tooth Fang and Claw to follow a path of violence the moment the guards set foot out of the cell.

[MrEdwardNigma]

Victor von Ravenstein III
"Cassandra is right, we should head after him. Kill him now, before he warns any others, and then quickly head up to the library, and beyond. I know the way"

Hmmmm, looks like the dragon will take care of the cultist. He should have no problem killing him, he is one of the potential sacrifices after all. It must be their blood. It's always the blood, isn't it? I probably should have spent more time on hematology. But really, after two years of studying the stuff it just seemed interesting to branch off into adenology, and it was! But their powerfull blood is clearly what sets them apart from me. Anyone knows any good sacrifice needs some potent blood. I wonder what exactly they are setting up here? It must be grand, to need two, and very likely more sacrifices of their potential...

Their obsession with blood does seem to have as a consequence they have no real interest in me. They'll kill me, sure, but I'm of no real use. It must be my human heritage. A very unfortunate affair, but I'd say I've been able to make the most of it. The two buffoons will be great distraction this way though. I miht just be able to slip under the radar when the time comes. I'll probably be of more use to them as an advisor than as a sacrifice, and an advisor generally has access to many secrets... Escape does offer some great opportunities too though...

Victor's mind was racing. It always was.

"Umber, could you give me that gem? I might be able to use it to make some more homonculi"
He was careful to avoid giving the vampire direct orders. He knew very well how proud these creatures were, and this Umber seemed like a case example. He then ran after Incom, up through the hallways he had come through.

[The_Snark]

Mar

She stared in shock and terror as Daddy tried to hit the thing, and one of the sharp spikes pierced his arm. This thing was—it was somehow hurting Daddy... she'd never seen anybody do that. She'd never thought anyone could or would (except bad people, and this thing clearly was bad), and she winces in sympathy, as if her own arm had been stabbed too.

His snarl jerked her into action, though, and she fumbled with the keys, trying to obey. He was right, it wasn't safe. Not at all. She leaned down, to unlock the shackles—and actually saw the bugs. Not even the shocking interruption had been able to distract her completely from the crawling feeling under her feet—and now on them. She hated that feeling, always wanted to try to shake them off or brush them off. She wasn't allowed to actually do that, so she never tried—until they were already covering her, and then she couldn't resist, flailing about as much as she could in tight restraints as they crawled over and in her. But at least she never had to look at them. Her hands jerk back, and she nearly drops the keys—that would be bad, since she'd have to reach into the bugs to get them back.

Trembling and trying not to look at the crawling sands, she tried a key on one shackle—it didn't fit. She didn't know which key was which. Desperately, she tried a second, feeling the bugs crawling up her shin, and a third: that one went in better, and produced a click! Relief was short-lived; she had another shackle still. Hoping, she tried the same key—and it, too, went in. As she turned it, though, her hand brushed against the insects still crawling out of the sand.

She jumped, and overbalanced, falling half out of the sand. And half in, unfortunately—she could feel her legs lying on a living, writhing carpet. With a small shriek, she scrambles up, the shackle catching at her ankle before twisting loose, and ran for the door.

Mar had not run anywhere in a long time. Instinct screamed at her not to do it as she reached the door, not to disobey and leave, but fear and the knowledge that Daddy had ordered her to were enough to spur her past it. And in the outer room, she ran, legs carrying her surprisingly fast through the office, as if she had been waiting to do this a long, long time.

Outside, another instinct took over. The bugs that had gotten on her were still crawling up her, front and back—they were getting very close to her back. Hands shaking with a combination of terror, nausea, and anticipation, she brushed frantically at her legs, especially behind her—trying to dislodge them. The ones that were already under her dress were hardest, but they were also closest—she hit at them while stumbling away from the door to Daddy's office, blindly. He had told her to run, not to try to avoid her punishment, and she knew she shouldn't be doing that, but she could no more have stopped herself than she could have flown. Nor, in truth, would she really have wanted to even if she could.

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber looked at Victor curiously for a moment. He had watched dispassionately at the sudden reversal of fortunes that had taken place within the... creature. Very interesting indeed. He looked at the gem, now blackened and damaged, but he could feel the heat within it, and through his fingertips a sort of electric tingle of power caged. He gave a slow smile as he regarded the sphere slowly.

I'm afraid I'd rather hang on to this. It has certain value to me. The original design is one of mine, and I'd rather like to have a look at what they've done to my creation. When I'm finished with it, though, I'll happily let you have it.

So saying, the vampire's hands moved rapidly and suddenly the gem was gone. He'd palmed and pocketed it somewhere, but it was hard to see just where. He'd spent a mortal lifetime learning the arts of thiefcraft, and the old reflexes still worked. With a nod to Mellita and a gesture to follow, he turned and began to follow Incom, or whatever he chose to call himself now at a brisk pace, a small, confident smile on his face.

[MrEdwardNigma]

Victor von Ravenstein III

"It's no use to you right now, while I might still be able to use it to help us. You'd better hand it over. Trying to hide it is no good either. My gift, above all, is an analytic eye. I know every move the human body can make and my brain is trained to analyse it instantaneously. I have the gift to see how things work, no matter how fast. Creatures are easier to analyse than machines or other things though, but you, my friend the vampire, you are a creature, and thus very well within the realm of my expertise. I'll return the gem to you once we're out of this place, don't worry, but it currently makes more sense for me to have it. Left pocket, friend vampire"

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

"No, I don't want a drink at the moment," he decided to comment this time. Instead, he floated farther into the room, and then turned around to face his "captor". "So now we're supposedly trapped forever, eh? You can start timing how long it takes for me to escape, if you want. Maybe I can compete with everyone else trapped in eternity. Won't that be fun?" he ranted.

Having said that, he promptly floated over to the bookcase and began looking over the titles, on the off-chance that one of them would be related to the situation...or at least a book that an old creature such as himself had not read before. However, he didn't bother looking for the donovale this time. "It's a bit strange to have your office right next to the entrance of your area. Unless it's that desk that is what's keeping all of us here, isn't it?" he hypothesized.

[Inspectre]

The Spires: Ironheart Research

Voth

“Um . . . what? O-okay.” The girl says, scrambling away from the wall to stand behind you, wrapping her hands around your wrists in what could barely be called a mud, let alone iron, grip.

“I, ah, got you prisoner! There’s no escape!” She cries with a slight quaver in her voice, wincing as she probably remembers those same hands that she was now holding to be the ones that tore organs from people’s bodies in her vision.

I really hope you have a plan that goes beyond base stupidity here. Because ever since we tricked our way past that Judge guy, you’ve gone softer than a baby’s eyeball on me.

A moment later, and the iron door swings open, giving you no chance to revise your plan now that you had committed to this course of action. For a moment, the two guards simply stare in outright astonishment at the scene before them, and then one steps forward into the hallway.

“What the hell? How’d this little tramp manage that?” The guard asks in bewilderment, still staring at the scene before him.

“Yeah, I thought this guy was a beast. And some half-wit collaborator manages to catch him?” The one replied, stepping cautiously into the hallway behind the first as he pulls a set of manacles off of his belt.

“Um . . . magic?” The girl replies uncertainly, wincing again at the incredulous stares from the guards, but managing to maintain her tenuous hold on your wrists, at least.

The Main Tower

Lonna

(I’ll let you decide when/if in the following sequence of events that Pyrene will attempt to strangle Edward, Jabba-style.)

“Ah, here it is!” Edward says, finally pulling out a dark blue bottle from the wine rack. Cradling the bottle in one hand, he stands up on his tip-toes and blindly flails his hand around on top of the wine rack. Finally, his fingers seemingly find what they’re looking for, and as he withdraws his hand you see that he now has two wine glasses.

“Little magic trick!” Edward says with a note of pride, as he holds the bottle of wine by the bottom in the palm of his hand. Veins of ice race up the sides of the bottle a moment later, spreading out and covering most of the bottle in a thin layer of frost. Humming happily to himself, Edward then pops out the cork and pours out two glasses of wine before turning back to you. Upon seeing you curled up in your new position on the bed, Edward momentarily pauses, blinking several times before proceeding.

“Well! Even in rags, you certainly look like a queen!” He exclaims, setting the partially-empty bottle of wine down on the nearby nightstand and handing one of the two wineglasses over to you. Before either of you take a sip, however, Edward scowls and shakes his head.

“No no no, this simply will not do.” He says, setting his own glass down next to the bottle and turning away to walk over to one of the closets on the “far” side of the room. “You need to be wearing something more appropriate. What’s your favorite color, love? I think you’d look positively ravishing in blue.”

Reaching the closet, Edward pulls open the doors to reveal that it’s full of silk dresses, a rainbow of colors and an assortment of styles from elegant to downright scandalous. Continuing to hum happily to himself, Edward begins to dig through the closest, occasionally pulling out a dress to show to you before stuffing it back inside.

“I promise, while you’re changing I won’t look – well, not too much anyway. I’m somewhat of a gentleman.” Edward explains, his back to you as he continues digging through the closet, apparently looking for that elusive blue dress that would look perfect on you.

The_Snark

Eyes wide and hands shaking in terror, you nevertheless manage to eventually free yourself from the shackles holding you to the floor. A thick carpet of bugs relentlessly crawling up your legs, you break into a run, fleeing the room as the struggle between the Hell Knight and Daddy continues.

Picking Daddy up bodily, the living suit of armor hefts him overhead before throwing him across the room. Daddy lands with a sickening crunch, but you don’t dare look back as you make for the door. Behind you, you can hear the rumbling footsteps of the Hell Knight as he chases after you.

There will be no escape. You will die here along with the old man.

The creature intones behind you, its rumbling steps mounting to a crescendo as it closes the distance between you. As you reach the door, expecting to feel its clawed fingers slicing through your back at any moment, you hear the crack of Daddy’s whip and a loud clatter behind you as the Hell Knight crashes to the floor.

Still not pausing in your flight, you dash through Daddy’s office, passing through the equally torn-apart door to the hallway outside, nimbly leaping over the bodies strewn across your path in front of the door. Shivering in revulsion, you pause momentarily here to try to brush off the thick carpet of bugs covering your legs. Not nearly as many of them were on your legs as there had been in the study, most of them having had relatively tenuous grips on your flesh and so were flung off during your mad dash out to the hallway. Perhaps that was why you had to be so tightly restrained, to keep you from being bad by throwing the bugs off you as you struggled?

Part of you was afraid that brushing the rest of the bugs off was wrong, as it was avoiding your just punishment, but you knew that if you didn’t, the bugs would crawl up into your wound and temporarily incapacitate you. Then you wouldn’t be able to run away very good, and you’d be disobeying Daddy that way instead. In the end, revulsion cast the tie-breaker, and you hastily swat the bugs off of your legs.

It was difficult with your hands so tightly tied together to reach around behind you though, so a handful of bugs that had managed to climb as high as the backs of your thighs escape being brushed off. But that many would probably just make you feel ill, and not actually incapacitate you. Now more or less bug free, you start to stumble off when a loud rumble indicates that the Hell Knight has returned.

Exhaling a large cloud of vile green gas, the Hell Knight looks at you with its leering face in contempt.

You cannot escape your fate.

Those words suddenly take you back to a different time, as another memory bubbles up unbidden to the surface of your mind. You were kneeling on a cold, iron pillar, your arms stretched taut above you. Heavy chains held your ankles and knees down onto the floor, and kept your hands pinioned above you, the backs of each hand pressed together. Something large and heavy hung from your back – wings? – bound together and pressed up against your back by a thick web of leather straps.

Your entire body ached, having just returned from one of your usual torment sessions. They were trying to break you, to push you beyond your limits, but you were not so easy to break. You had long ago stopped resisting, not seeing the point in giving them the amusement of watching you struggle, but things were different now. You had overheard something important, something dangerous that threatened the survival of the entire world. You had to escape, had to warn them of the danger before it was too late. Or die in the attempt.

Although exhausted, you were not weak, and over all this time your captors had steadily grown more lax. Perhaps it was simple human arrogance, or perhaps they simply wanted to see how what exactly you could manage to escape from. Whatever the case, you were about to show them that they had grown too lax, just before you killed them all and escaped to report your horrifying discovery.

Your divine abilities had long ago been suppressed, but for now your immense strength remainned. Summoning all that was left of that strength, you lean forward, pulling down against the chain holding your wrists up. While the shackles holding your wrists were too strong to give, their anchor point into the ceiling was not. With a small rain of debris from above the anchor point breaks free, and your wrists fall back down in front of you. Now no longer suspended above you but free, your arms are able to put a bit more pressure against the restraints holding your wrists together, and you eventually manage to twist the metal apart, freeing your hands. From there, it’s a fairly simple matter to pull apart the chains holding your feet and legs, and reach around behind you to free your wings from the net. Ah, your wings: it had been so long since you have been able to stretch them to their full majestic length.

With a single powerful stroke they throw you up into the air, holding you aloft as you swoop down from your high pillar to the door below. You are careful not to touch the floor, for you had overheard the guards mention alarms whenever someone stepped onto it. Flying down at maximum speed, you crash your shoulder into the adamantite door barring your way. Although you gasp in pain from the impact, it’s the door that gives, a significant dent appearing in the metal where your shoulder had struck it.

Backing up again, you dive down into the door a second time, a third, a fourth. By the end your one arm is hanging limply at your side, but the door with a final screech is torn from its hinges to collapse into a pile of twisted metal in the corridor beyond. As you fly out into the corridor you see the tiny gems lining the hallway flash, and hear shouts of alarm from up ahead. Knowing that they were the only thing left between you and freedom, you sweep forward, preparing to crash into the enemy at full speed.

But then something tar-like and gooey strikes your back, thick viscous tentacles flowing out to engulf your wings and sending you crashing face first into the ground. Pushing yourself up with your good hand, you try to continue on-foot, breaking into a run down the corridor. But behind you, you can feel the blob of tar throwing out tentacles out at the walls, ceiling and floor, slowing your forward momentum. Finally it throws a tentacle around your feet, sending you crashing down onto the floor. Determined, you drag yourself forward a few feet with your good hand, until finally even that form of locomotion is denied to you as the tar spreads to cover your arm, pinning it to the floor. Held immobile as the tar blob surges to engulf all but your head, you are unable to do anything but lie there as the guards come to collect you. You had failed.

And at the guards’ head was your chief tormentor, his short-cropped red hair bobbing as he grins and shakes his head at you. “Ah Mar, Mar, Mar. You don’t seem to understand. You cannot escape your fate. You refuse to grasp the simple fact that you’re no longer an angel: you’re a worm. A feeble, helpless worm that’s supposed to just lie there in the dirt while we bleed you dry. And since you just can’t seem to grasp this simple fact, I guess we’re just going to have to work harder to pound the notion into you. Gentlemen, why don’t we start Mar’s new education with a little cosmetic surgery. Break her legs, and then break off her wings.”

Smirking at you, your chief tormentor turns and leaves you to the mercies of the guards, who approach you with sledgehammers, hatchets, and saws, grinning wickedly. The pain that followed was considerably worse than perhaps anything you had felt so far, and with the shame of knowing that you had failed, you allowed yourself to slide into unconsciousness.

Now back in the present, you stare up at the towering Hell Knight as it slowly stomps towards you. Once again, you had failed. Failed Daddy, although this time you doubted that you would survive to experience his wrath. Would death hurt?

Suddenly from further on down the hallway, a loud voice shouts, “FIRE!” And a hail of crossbow bolts harmlessly pepper the back of the Hell Knight. It seemed that you wouldn’t be dying just yet, as the monstrous suit of armor turns with an annoyed growl to face the line of crossbow bearing guards further on down the hallway.

Die, insects.

It shouted as it once more lowered its head like a bull and charged down the hallway to the distant line of guards, leaving you temporarily alone again. Looking in the opposite direction, you can see that the creature must have come this way, as a trail of bodies and wreckage litters the floor. At the far end of the hallway, the broken remains of an iron gateway reveal a long, wide hallway stretching off into the distance. That hallway led to the Ironheart Research Spire, you knew, which wasn’t really anywhere you were supposed to be, but it was in the opposite direction of the thing chasing after you, which would be back to chasing after you shortly unless the guards somehow manage to destroy it. Time to keep running until you could find a place to hide.

Torture Chambers

Dorizzit

For a moment, Seraph manages to meet your steely gaze, but eventually he looks away with a sigh. “No. I would be out there already, even if it meant my death.”

Unfortunately, your plan to buy time does not seem to impress Delran. “Hah! I thought you might say something like that Korram, so I came prepared. Bring the little tramp out here boys, I think she’s got something to say to Daddy.”

You hear loud murmurings, which grow more intense until they suddenly end in a sharp screech of pain. “Wench! Just say something already!!”

A moment later, you heard a voice that you did not think you would ever hear again. But it was different somehow: older, huskier, and you realized that the little girl you knew, that you left behind, was gone. “Daddy? If it is you, don’t give this man what he wants – AH!”

“Hear that Korram? I’d show you the little bitch too, but you might be inspired to heroics, and we don’t want that now do we? So I guess you’re just going to have to trust me when I say that this is most definitely your little hellion of a child. Now, I think I’ve been more than patient here, so I’m going to count to ten. After that, the only thing you’re going to hear is your daughter screaming. One . . . two . . .”

“Let me go Korram. I’ll expect a rescue afterwards, but I won’t allow another person to come to harm if I can help it. I’ve just been a burden to you all this time anyway. This is my one chance to help you.”

“We need to stall them some more. I doubt the Captain will be easily distracted, but we must try.”

“. . . three . . . four . . .”

“Korram, I’m going out there on eight unless you physically restrain me. Please.”

“Come on, Korram, think. Hey Captain! What do you think my father’s going to say when he finds out you’ve killed me? The Baron’s not a merciful man at the best of times, what do you think he’ll do to the man that killed his son!?”

“I imagine after I tell him you’ve been slaughtering my men and making a mess of things, he’ll congratulate me for slaying a dangerous traitor. But this isn’t about your family, it’s about Korram’s, so do kindly shut up. . . . five . . . six . . .”

OverWilliam/Adlan

(I’m assuming you want to lure the guards away from you guys, and not [i]towards[i] you. If I have it backwards, feel free to ambush the two guards as they approach to investigate. )

Focusing his tired mind was difficult, but the stimulants and general lack of doing anything besides hanging around upside down for the past couple days helped Tare gradually tap into his power. Concentrating, he manages to produce the desired illusion: the sound of a prisoner escape and struggle in one of the nearby adjoining rooms on the side directly away from Tare & Garm.

Tensing at the sound, the guard dancing with the wounded elf maiden stops, and motions towards the door. From their positions elsewhere in the room, the other two guards draw their weapons and cautiously move to the open doorway, peering nervously inside before proceeding into the room. If it wasn’t in the next immediate room, the sound must have come from the next room: surely, somewhere, a prisoner had just escaped and was about to cause a ruckus.

While his two companions search the other rooms for this illusionary prison break, the remaining guard in the room draws his own weapon, holding the short sword loosely in one hand. With the other, he holds the elf maiden tight up against his chest, likely intending to use her as a shield if a prisoner bursts through the door. Focused on the doorway from which the sounds of battle came from, the guard’s back is to both Tare and Garm as they stealthily approach.

The bound elf’s attention is also on the distracted guard, his eyes filled both with hate for the guard and concern for the elf maiden. As the two of you enter, however, his sharp ears detect your approach and his head snaps around to focus on you. His eyes widen at the sight of you, but he remains silent as you both creep farther into the room.

Still focused on the external danger that doesn’t really exist, the guard never realizes the danger he’s in until Garm strikes, killing him. (Feel free to describe how you accomplish this in your next post if you so desire.) As the guard falls to the ground, so too does the elf maiden, but her landing is considerably gentler as Tare manages to catch her and lower her softly to the floor.

Now up close, Tare can see that her wounds are horrific; both legs broken, her body a mass of cuts and bruises, and her burlap tunic soaked dark red from several grievous stab wounds to the chest. Eyes fluttering, she weakly murmurs something then passes out, clearly on the verge of death.

“Da! Neeka mei! Neeka mei!” The male elf shouts at you in a strange tongue, apparently believing it was now safe to shout and thrash wildly against his bonds. He was, unfortunately, only half right, for sooner or later the two guards that left would return, confused at first, and then angry once they discovered your work here.

The Cells: Maximum Security

Baerdog7

(You don’t get away that easily. )

As the tall man and his entourage of elite guards moves further on down the hallway, the woman and her elite escort move closer towards you. “Oh, I can think of a few things that would please me more right now. Hey, stand still when I’m talking to you! It’s rude not too! And I do so hate rude people.” The woman replies, continuing to limp towards you.

“Now then, what I want to know is what a holy man like you is doing down here in the first place. Aren’t we the untouchables down here, the unforgiven sinners that everyone has forgotten about; that no one visits? I would have loved for you to have gotten similarly lost yesterday, Brother.” The woman is now about halfway to you, and her tone has taken on a dangerous note. Coughing, the elite tries to interject.

“There’s a level of cells above this one. Occasionally useful prisoners located there are visited, like that wretch Ander. As he said, he probably just got – “

In a move that belied her apparent weakness, the woman’s hand flashes up, grasping the elite by the neck and forcing him down onto his knees as he struggles futilely to breathe.

“Didn’t I just say I hate rude people? The acolyte and I are having a conversation, one which you are not part of. I am not the sort of nice bitch that lies at the Master’s feet in front of the fire. I am the mean bitch that is released to hunt down and kill the hare the Master has marked for death. The Warden is smart enough to know this, which is why he’s set me free only now. And I must assume that the Warden doesn’t like you very much, or he would never have assigned you to escort me. The only thing I need you for is pointing out where to go to find this dragonman. And if you annoy me again, I will break your pathetic neck and leave you here in the dark for the rats and find my own way to my prey. Understand?”

With a sniff of disdain the woman releases her grip on the man, allowing him to gasp for air again, massaging his throat with one hand. And apparently done with this lesson, she turns her attention back to you.

“Now then holy man. Why don’t you tell me which prisoner you were trying to visit? Maybe we can find it together on our way back up. Unless, of course, you don’t want to dirty yourself by traveling with a lowly prisoner? Or even a woman?”

Although polite and sweet-sounding, you can tell that there is a warning undertone to the woman’s words, as if she were looking for an excuse to throttle you in just the exact same way as the elite guard a moment earlier.

The Labs

Iethloc

The man construct shrugs at your ranting. “Time has no meaning here, so I really don’t see how we could record how long it would take you to escape. I’m the only one that can let you out of here, escape is impossible.”

Flying over to the bookshelf, you scan down through the titles, hoping to find something you hadn’t read before. Interestingly enough, none of the books seemed to be about temporal magic: most were on illusions, the power of mind over matter, suggestions for self-improvement, and even one book that appeared to just be full of colorful, simple illustrations about a dog’s journey through a small rural town.

“That’s always a favorite of my more, shall we say, simple-minded guests? I hope that one day, given enough time, if you’ll pardon the pun, my guests will learn how to be better people and they won’t need to be locked up anymore.”

How touching. Someone dumb enough to try to reform instead of punish. Never imagined I would see that type of fool in this place.

“Of yes, that’s why I’m down here in the basement, locked up right next to all of the hardened criminals. Personally, the only reason I think the Warden keeps me around is that he likes to watch my less unfortunate guests slowly go insane rather than accept their situation and try to amend their ways: the idea of being trapped beyond time is really too much strain for their simple brains.” The man replies to Omega’s thoughts, smiling easily as he watches you both move about the room.

“And in answer to your question, what you see if all that I have. Of course, with the ability to make countless copies of this room outside of time, what need do I have of extra space? And yes, I suppose you could see that the controls for splitting rooms off are located inside my desk, but smashing it isn’t going to magically send us back into the time stream. Only my will can do that.” The man replies with his damningly easy smile.

Sanctuary of the Prophets

Pwenet/WhiteKnight777/MrEdwardNigma

The dragon banished from his mind, trapped in the burnt-out remains of the restraint gem, Incom Morgan returns to control of his own body. His first act in his new transformed body is to approach the nameless girl, trapping her in a tearful hug as he spins around and around. Understanding the meaning of his words and the fact that the real man who had saved her was back, the girl laughs happily and cries too, returning Incom’s embrace. The children, not having any idea what’s going on but recognizing that their two newest (and considerably kinder) caretakers were back, laugh and cheer as well.

Unfortunately, this happy reunion is cut short by the sudden appearance and disappearance of one of the black-robed creatures everyone had previously encountered. As Cassandra dashes up the stairs after it, Incom re-introduces himself to the rest of the group and gathers up Ross’s hammer, preparing to follow the female monk. Yet Incom can feel a certain heaviness to his body that was not there before, and in a flash of insight he realizes that he has done away with the goose that laid the golden eggs: whatever power the dragon had imbued into his flesh before being kicked out was all that there was left of his power for Incom to use. And he had better make the most of it in his escape before it was all gone and he was nothing more than a normal man once more.

Meanwhile, Umber and Victor have a brief stand-off over the burnt-out gem’s fate. Sensing that it might have a power useful for further study at a later and safer date, Umber pockets the gem over Victor’s protests. As Victor continues to belabor his point, following after the two vampires as they likewise follow after Incom, Mellita turns to bare her fangs at the man.

“We had better hand it over or what, human? You’ll watch us walk away, analyzing our ever step? Sic your feeble pets on us?” Mellita sneered, gesturing at the three masses of writhing tentacles and flesh waiting patiently for commands off to one side of the room.

As he walks after his new dragon-human friend, possibly considering a retort of his own to Victor’s petitions, or perhaps just a rebuke at Mellita, he feels a sudden presence enter into his mind. The presence is powerful yet subtle, settling into his mind with the grace of a cat. Yet there is something wrong here – there is a distance between them that does not exist in most normal telepathy, as if there were some sort of barrier in between their two minds. And, however faint, Umber could also detect fear from the presence.

Hello my friend. It seems that I have been betrayed by my host. The miserable ingrate – he would not have lasted more than a week in here without my support! And without me he won’t last very long at all against the black-robed freaks. We must devise a way to rectify this betrayal if you want to get out of here alive. After all, if this is how he treated me after all I’ve done for him, how do you think he’ll treat you in the end, an abomination in his eyes?

Reaching the top of the stairs, Incom arrives just in time to watch as Cassandra catches up to the black-robed cultist with a flying kick to his back, sending him stumbling forward into a row of barrels. As the cultist attempts to stabilize himself and turn to face this threat, Cassandra manages to land several more punches and kicks before the cultist sending her flying away from him with a backhand. The female monk slides several feet along the floor, eventually coming to a stop. As she rolls backwards back onto her feet, a barrel smashes into the ground where she had been laying a moment before, a heavy missile thrown at her by the cultist.

As the wood shatters from the impact to leaving a huge burst of water to soak into the floor, the cultist reaches down to pick up another nearby barrel.

Reinforcements have arrived.

At the far end of the room, partially obscured from sight from the top of the stairwell, the door to the hallway outside opens, revealing two more black-cloaked figures. Their black cloaks whipping around them, they both dash into the maze of barrels and crates standing in between the stairwell and the doorway, slowly approaching.

[MrEdwardNigma]

Victor von Ravenstein III
"Keep your pet calm, Umber. I merely need the gem to assist in our survival. Surely that is a noble cause?"

Victor's neck twisted 360 degrees. He had been walking backward, an easy feet for a man with limbs that can bend any way, but he had heard noises behind him now, or rather, in front of him, it was hard to tell. He watched as Cassandra succesfully landed a bunch of blows on the creature.

Such grace, such delicacy... and that in a human. Imagine if she was one of the eternals. A fine specimen she would make...

There was another noise. Victor's brief moment of distraction ended as the cultist spoke.

"Reinforcements have arrived"

Too late, too late, if only we'd left when I suggested we should! These oafs'll be the death of me... I can't believe they made it to this age. Then again, despite their amazing power they were stuck in Ironheart, that should have been a clear clue... No matter. Too late to get out now, I'll just have to take charge more in the future. Less suggestions, more actions. Right now though, more killing would be in place

Victor took out two sharp ends of wood. He didn't really need them, his hands were much sharper, but the advantage was that these could be left behind in the wounds. Well, so could his hands, but they would be missed. Victor darted towards the cultist Cassandra was assaulting, dodging barrels at every turn, and he jumped him.

A stake into the sensory perception unit, take out visuals, take out the primary danger, the other stake tossed at the two others, they shouldn't have seen that one coming. No danger for them, but distraction still, extra time for the others to make their move. We're in a team now, Victor, let's not forget that. It will take some time getting used to, but this seems to be step in the right direction

Victor's mind was moving quickly, almost on automatic. he had already faced the cultist, studied them. He knew how they reacted, he knew how they worked. He could predict their every move by a flex of the muscles. He jumped off a mere second before the extra arms came out of the beast's back to throw him off. Victor's claws dragged the black cloak with it, without touching the creature's flesh. It couldn't even perceive it's clothes being pulled off.

Easier to predict if the cloth doesn't veil the moves... Threat temporarily taken out. Let's kill it. No, wait, what are the others doing? We're a team, Victor, a team.

Victor almost laughed at his own thoughts. He watched Mellita. He watched everyone, as he always did, but he especially watched Mellita.

An inferior vampire. Not a team player. A dolt too. Conclusion: threat to the team. Consequence: probability of escape failing rises. Remedy: fix her.

[Dorizzit]

((Gah!))

Five minutes left. Five minutes that Korram just plain does not have. Left with no recourse, he nods to the Countess. "Countess...I won't stop you. I will do everything within my power to help you, but I can make no promises about how soon or if I will be able to help you. If you walk out there, you will be back in Delran's hands. If you still want to go, I thank you. But if you don't, then you can't be blamed." If she chooses to go anyway, after she leaves Korram projects his voice over the barrier. "Very well, Delran the Cowardly. Give me back my daughter!"

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber smiled serenely as he looked Victor up and down, speaking in a soft voice. Perhaps you do, perhaps you don't. You're not the first person to think that you can read me, and you won't be the last. As I am not you, I cannot with certainty ascertain the verisimilitude of your claims. He shrugged a bit, the gem suddenly appearing in his hand again and walking across his knuckles as they gently undulated. Suddenly the gem vanished again, and he smiled at Victor as he moved swiftly along the corridor.

But still... for my own reasons, I must say that I think that the energy stored in this gem is best kept in reserve, rather than in the creation of your... pets. Umber gently put a hand on Mellita's shoulder's and gave it a reassuring squeeze. peace, my dear. I'm sure that we are all on edge after our unfortunate captivity... but we cannot allow temper to get the better of us.

He did not allow his surprise to show at the telepathic message, though he was, in fact, only half-surprised. He had suspected something like this. He smiled inside, and sent a brief message to the presence in the gem. Indeed. He seems... problematic. as I've said, I'll repay the aid you gave me... you shall have flesh again, if I have aught to say of it.

Their arrival at the end of the hallway and the arrival of the other cultists, however, cut short the conversation. The gem safely stowed, Umber lept into action, running atop the barrels and crates with feline grace. Seeing one of the robed things skulking through the maze, he began to launch missiles at it, dropping crates and barrels with swift kicks, jumping between them to keep out of the creature's reach, always mobile.. and, of course, checking the crates for anything that might be useful as he moved.

[Pwenet]

Incom Morgan

Racing after the girl Incom breathes easily, the Warhammer held easily in a single hand. To the casual observer nothing would be amiss however within himself he can feel heaviness within himself. A sense of tiredness that creeps through his veins and into his muscles that rushes through him with every beat of his heart. The power of the dragon had fueled him, kept him alive far past his natural age, and with it gone only the power that he had at the moment he won his victory remained.

Too long I was dependent on that foul creature. No More!

Ahead he watches the woman named Cassandra attack one of the creatures with no weapons or magic, but with a well-tuned human body. Amazingly enough she was effective, driving it into a row of barrels with a well-placed flying kick. A furious rain of blows follows until she is thrown away and the cultist starts throwing barrels and speaks.

"Reinforcements have arrived"

Gripping the Warhammer of Ross tightly Incom prepares to rush into the fray one of his fellow prisoners darts past him towards the cultist. Flashes of memories clouded with distant from the time he was dormant, a man with scars running over his body, parts moving that shouldn’t and a skill with flesh that would be most useful. Yet judging by the comments he overheard a prideful man who quite possibly had issues with Umber.

Yet at the moment their common enemy is the target for his attack and as Victor moves around him, attacking gracefully to tear away the clothing he takes several long seconds to watch and observe.

If I am to have my revenge, I must learn patience. The final “gift” should not be squandered.

Choosing his moment Incom braces himself and rushes past Cassandra and towards the cultist as it’s robes are being torn away, letting the Warhammer of Ross trail behind him hovering slightly off the ground. Approaching the cultist Incom pushes his weight against his right foot and spins and lets the Warhammer of Ross take over.

The heavy Warhammer is a deadly weapon, which Incom recalls from his days in a war long since forgotten. The sheer weight could crush through armor and shatter bones and organs. Yet what was even more dangerous was one a hammer was moving in the hands of one skilled with their use. He saw masters of the Warhammer spin them around in a cascade of death to any enemy that got too close. Those memories of the distant war were clearer than many from the past several decades and the enhanced strength gave Incom the confidence to try his hand at the dance.

Completing his first spin the Warhammer arcs up towards the jaw of the cultist. Continuing the spin, his wings flexing by instinct Incom bows as the wings spread out and away to free his arm to spin the hammer, while their razor-sharp edges slash out at the cultist before they retreat at the Warhammer spins his back and he feels it trying to tear itself from his hands to go flying through the air instead of arcing for the cultists body. Listening to its song as it rips through the air he lets a smile stretch across his face as the hammer races towards where the face of the cultist should be. Hit or miss he continues his deadly dance and shifting the arcs of the spinning hammer to cover his front and continues to accelerate the arcs as he starts aiming for the central body of the cultist. Hit or miss he will continue to use the Warhammer momentum to launch quicker and even more powerful attacks on the cultist, moving his body to keep up with the cultists movements and adjusting the arcs to avoid any of his allies. If the fates smile upon him for once in his life and the cultist is knocked down Incom envisions the dance ending with the Warhammer smashing against the hump on the back of the cultist.

[Baerdog7]

Ander Windrivver

"Holy man?" It'd be a joke if it weren't actually true.

Ander turns back around to face the Lady, bowing in apology.

My apologies, Ander says, doing his best to sound cowed by her lecture. I was sent down to check on Prisoner #17,777 by Brother Crane. The prisoner is frequently bled, but it is another acolyte who actually performs the ritual. He has not returned and I was sent to see what the matter was. Since I do not usually visit the Prisoner myself, I lost my way. I must really be going now though, Brother Crane would be most displeased if he had to waste the time of another acolyte to see why I was taking so long.

[Feralgeist]

Lamonts' crispy, blistered face twists into what could be construed as a smile, breaking open a few of the scabs that had formed.

"Healer Sara" he rasps wetly. "So nice of you to join us again. I had myself all dressed up for you, but the dogs around here sure get a little rough when they play.."

He looks down at the remains of his tattered, burnt rags, gathered about his waist and tied in a crude loincloth fashion, to protect modesty. As the healer moves away, Lamont leans slightly towards Rawya and whispers quietly.

"talk to some of the other survivors, see if they know anything useful...We need to get out of here."

He leans back against the wall he is chained to, closing his eyes and relishing the feel of the cool stone against his back.

Getting so comfortable not being in combat, lamont unwittingly dozes off to sleep....

[Lonna]

Pyrene
{{OOC: Ok, this is my third attempt to write this without the computer going on the fritz and causing me to lose it... let's hope it works this time. More on topic, I don't think Pyrene's going to get the "opportune moment" I was looking for, so I'm changing tactics a little.}}

Edward had not yet gotten quite close enough for Pyrene to put her plan into action when he suddenly became preoccupied with finding her a dress. Having just seen a small reminder of the fact that he was a mage, Pyrene trusted neither the wine nor the offered dress. On the other hand, the difficulties of putting on a fine dress while wearing chains were such that he might remove them for her, and that would only help her later. Carefully Pyrene set her untouched wine glass down next to Edward's, shifting them both around so that it would be impossible to tell which had originally been hers and which his.

"I've been told I look good in both blue and green, my lord," she replied as she slid off the bed, "but I've never worn anything so fine as these dresses." She approached the closet as if wanting a better look, but stumbled slightly, the chains between her ankles tripping her as she tried to take too large a step.

[The_Snark]

Mar

She stared at the charging monster for a full second after her reprieve, then looked the other way and began to run. The thing's words had struck something strange in her, like a dream that didn't make sense. Or rather, they made sense while she slept, but as soon as she woke up, they started to dwindle away, and she couldn't remember how they'd made sense. Soon after that, she forgot what they'd been at all.

Now, however, was not the time for contemplating something funny out of her imagination. She had to get away before the thing came back to killing her, and her bound hands made running slightly awkward; she was afraid she'd stumble and fall. In fact, she did half-stumble going around the metal-clad body of a guard; fortunately, she didn't fall all the way over, and righted herself to continue running more carefully.

And maybe, she hoped, she could lead it away from Daddy so that it wouldn't kill him—if it hadn't done that already. That would be a good thing to do, she was sure—he'd been fighting it to let her get away, even though she'd been being so bad... tears start to blur her vision, as she realized how much he must have loved her anyway, so much he'd fought the monster armor for her. Maybe died for her. Perhaps one day she'd be that brave—but not now; she felt too afraid... and besides, she was supposed to run. He'd told her to.

She obeyed.

[Inspectre]

The Main Tower

Lonna

While Edward was busy looking at dresses, you set your wine glass down next to his, switching them around several times so that it was impossible to tell which was which: he’d live to regret it if he was trying to drug you.

“Hmmm . . . green. I suppose we could try that next. How’s the wine?” Edward asks, a note of amusement creeping into his voice.

With him across the room, your initial plan to just strangle him seemed unlikely to succeed, so you decided to switch tactics. Sliding off the bed, you begin walking towards him, ostensibly for the purpose of getting a better look at the dresses. As you do, the chain between your ankles unexpectedly goes taut, and you begin to stumble.

Before you can consider the idea of throwing your hands out to catch yourself should you fall, Edward has turned and crossed the remaining short distance between you. He catches you, holding you up by the arms until you can get your feet firmly under you again.

“You alright? You really shouldn’t have gotten up – I would have brought the dress to you.” Edward says, a note of - concern? irritation? - creeping into his voice.

“Well, no matter.” He says, sliding an arm around your back to guide you gently over to beside him in front of the closet. Now close, you can see that the closet is packed full of dresses – so much so that Edward actually has some difficulty in pulling individual dresses out to look at them. All of the dresses appear to be made out of a high-quality fabric: silk or satin being predominant. A shelf running along the top holds small glass jars of some kind of ointment, and the closet’s floor appears covered in silk scarves and shawls. But along the ceiling of the closet, you discover something both interesting and most disturbing: a curved mirror that easily displays the rest of the room.

“Yes, that’s right. I was keeping an eye on you even while my back was turned. I can’t tell you how many women have tried to snatch up the bottle and smash me over the head with it. Suffice to say, the evening had an unpleasant ending for them. Treat me with respect and I’ll do the same. You might not believe this, but despite my great love for women I do respect them. I . . . I’m always a g-gentleman.” Edward concludes, a slight quaver appearing in his voice at this last comment. For a moment Edward stares straight ahead, but then he shakes himself and returns to the present.

“Anyway, I was thinking this one.” Edward says, pulling out a simple but flattering azure blue silk dress, holding the top of it up against your throat. After looking at it for a moment and nodding, he presses it into your hands.

“Why don’t you try it on. Tell you what – you promise to behave, I’ll even make it easy for you by removing your manacles. But they go back on the instant you start misbehaving, alright?”

Without waiting for your reply, Edward turns back to the closet and plucks one of the small jars of ointment up from the top shelf, pressing that into your other hand. “Here, after you put on the dress, spread this over your arm where your cell number has been burned. It won’t remove the numbers, obviously, but it’ll cover them up for a couple hours: neither of us needs reminding that you’re a prisoner here.”

(Assuming you agree to “behave”, regardless of whether or not you’re actually going to do so).

With a simple gesture and magic word, as before Edward unlocks both of your manacles, catching the chains before they can clatter onto the floor. He then waves you off towards the bed, leaving your side to move over to his desk, dropping the manacles into a drawer.

“Do you like music?” He asks, fiddling with a large dull-colored crystal lying on one corner of the desk. A few moment later, the crystal lights up from within, and suddenly the room is filled with soft music, as if you had been transported to a concert hall: quiet high-pitched strings mixing with mournful brass horns.

The_Snark

Running down the corridor away from the armored monstrosity, you can hear the screech of metal upon metal and shouts of pain behind you. You don’t look back, afraid if you looked back you would trip and fall, and then that would be the end for you. Focusing on skirting around the bodies of the fallen guards, you manage to make it to the entrance of the hallway leading over to the Spire.

As you reach the broken remains of the iron gate, pain flares in the wound on your back: the handful of bugs left on you had crawled inside and were now making their way under your skin. Although painful, it was not crippling as you had feared, and your desire to obey Daddy and get away from the monstrosity allowed you to overcome the distraction and continue forward into the hallway.

Dashing forward into the long hallway, the sounds of battle start to fade somewhat behind you. However, something perhaps even stranger awaits you about halfway down the hallway. A brilliant circle of light covers a section of the floor in the middle of the hallway. Looking up, you can see that the source of the light seems to be coming from somewhere beyond the ceiling, and that the light was streaming down into the hallway from a man-sized jagged hole in the ceiling.

You approach the circle of light fearfully, expecting something else horrible to happen to you just for getting too close. Fortunately, the circle of light didn’t take up the whole width of the hallway, and so you were able to skirt around the edge of it. You weren’t sure if you should look up to see what was beyond the ceiling – Daddy had never told you. But such curiosity had gotten you punished before.

(Feel free to describe whether or not Mar looks up into the hole, and if she does her reaction upon seeing the outside sky. It’s late afternoon, and there are a few clouds present).

You didn’t have much time for such sights, however, are quickly proceed around the outskirts of the circle of light, continuing to move on down the hallway. Eventually, you reach the end of the hallway without further incident; the skin around your neck starting to itch as the satiated bugs begin to move towards the exit of your eyes, throat, and nose more out of instinct than necessity since the exit of your back wound was not clogged with fresh bugs this time.

Your breath was coming in ragged gasps now – more from exhaustion than fear, you had not run this much ever, as you never had cause to before today. This was a bad day, a very bad day, and you were sure at the end of it you were going to be held to blame. Daddy – assuming he was still alive – would have to find a new horrible way to punish you for all this, something even more horrible than the bugs after this mess. In some small way, the idea that Daddy was still alive, even if he was going to punish you fiercely, comforted you. And at least you were obeying him currently, by getting as far away from the living suit of armor as fast as possible.

Hopefully you had run far enough, now you just needed to hide. Fortunately, the iron door in front of you was not locked, and you pull it open easily. Quickly ducking through into the room behind, you pull the door shut behind you, and only then look around to see where you were now. Another nightmare it seemed, for hanging in mid-air in the middle of the room was another suit of armor!

Although your initial reaction was to scream and run, a moment later the apparent differences between this suit and the one that had been chasing you entered your mind. This new suit was made out of a silvery metal, and appeared to be quite smooth: the one chasing you was black with sharp blades and spines. And unlike the black one, this one didn’t appear able to move freely – thick iron chains hanging down from the ceiling and stretching out from the walls held its arms and legs out, keeping it immobile.

Still, even with this knowledge in your mind, the desire to bolt and continue running only grew when the suit actually began to talk to you, its voice ringing like the Hell Knight’s, but definitely also sounding much more human.

“Hey! I-Is someone there? C-Could you let me down, please? I-I don’t want to be turned into a metal statue!”

The Arena

Frozen

At your comments, Healer Sara smiles, reaching out to gently probe your wounds with her fingers. The worst ones she wraps bandages around, speaking while she works. “I did not think I would see you again – either of you. So few survive their first match, let alone their second – or third.” She concludes, turning to focus her attentions on Rawya after becoming apparently satisfied with your treatment.

“I dipped these bandages in water mixed with curative herbs, which is fairly rare around here. I fear for you both – the Arena Administrator is not happy with how that last match went. He may do something rash, I do not know, I have never seen him so angry. He told me to patch you both up as best as I was able; you especially Lamont.”

“Do not worry, either of you. I will make some inquiries with the other prisoners, and we shall see who is running this prison by the end of the day.” Rawya says with an easy smile, grimacing as he breaks into a coughing fit. “Ugh, I think some smoke got into my lungs. Ah well, I shall survive. I doubt I would have if not for you friend, you definitely took the brunt of it. Rest now, I will handle this once we get released.” Turning to Healer Sara, Rawya smiles, wincing only slightly as she pulls a bandage tight over a gash running down his arm.

Reassured by Rawya and perhaps a little bit drugged from the herbs, you slip off into sleep. Your sleep is a dreamless one, a dark restful void that you were sorely in need of after the torturing blackness of your coffin and the brutal battles you had already fought in rapid succession today. Unfortunately, the sleep ends all too soon, as you are prodded awake by something round and hard being jabbed repeatedly into your ribs.

Snapping awake, you see that a guard has prodded you awake with the butt of his spear, holding it up near the tip so he can stand several feet away. With him are perhaps another dozen guards, and the administrator who brought you up here in the first place.

“Ah, Lamont, you’ve certainly done well today. The crowd loves you.” The administrator says with one of his easy smiles. “Now, I think we should do a big finish for today – one final match for you. Give the crowd something really special to remember you for next time. What do you say?”

Torture Chambers

Dorizzit

“I . . . I h-have to do th-this Korram. Th-thank you. And Please, p-please hurry to my rescue.” Stuttering, either from the drugs or fear of being back in Delran’s clutches or both, the Countess nevertheless manages a brief smile. Then, hardening her face into an impassive mask, she pushes herself up to her feet.

“I am coming out! No one shoot!” She cries, walking towards the doorway with her hands stretched up over her head in the universal gesture of surrender. As she reaches the doorway, a guard momentarily appears, grabbing one of her raised arms and wrenching it behind her back before dragging her rapidly out of your line of sight. A moment later, you hear the smug voice of Captain Delran again.

“Ah, Countess! How good of you to join us again! Escort her out of here, will you men!? Release Korram’s little harlot too, she’s no longer of use to me!”

A few moments pass in silence, and then a lanky figure stumbles into sight, framed in the doorway. Although perhaps a bit spindly, the young girl’s arms have some wiry strength to them, and despite the shackles on her ankles she moves with a confident grace. And despite being streaked with grime and hardened by years of unimaginable adversity, her face is somewhat familiar to you. Her emerald green eyes and long black hair are certainly unmistakable – it’s your daughter.

“Dad?” She calls softly, sliding further into the room and scanning it with her eyes.

The Cells: Maximum Security

Baerdog7

“Oh, bleeding. How positively thrilling. What’s his blood used for? This Brother Crane a vampire?” The woman asks, she and her escort now practically within touching distance. Suddenly, the woman’s eyes drift down to your hands, and she smirks. “Nice bracelets.”

His attention also attracted to your wrists by the woman’s words, the elites eyes widen as they catch a glimpse of your shackles. “Prisoner!” He snarls, reaching down to draw his longsword, but the strange woman beats him to the punch. Literally, as her right fist flashes up in a punch that demolishes the elite’s jaw in a spray of blood and bone, throwing him against the wall. As he rebounds the woman catches him, placing one hand on top of his head and one against the remains of his jaw. With a sharp twist, she snaps his neck and nearly twists his head off. Smiling, the woman lets the body of the elite drop to the floor, spitting on him as she says, “I told you to speak only when spoken to.”

Then the woman’s attention is back on you, her brown eyes glittering like the edge of a knife in the light of your torch. She crosses one blood-soaked arm over the other, and smiles. “Now then, why don’t you tell me what you’re really doing down here. And why I shouldn’t just repeat my little trick there with you.”

Sanctuary of the Prophets

Pwenet/WhiteKnight777/MrEdwardNigma

Arriving at the top floor, Victor and Incom move to engage Cassandra’s creature while Umber hops up onto the walls of crates, moving along atop them to try and intercept the reinforcements.

Armed with his pair of stakes, Victor wastes no time in hopping onto the cultist and driving one of the spikes into its face. He is sure he got at least one of the creature’s eyes, but before he can drive the other stake in he hears the ripping of the cultist’s robes as its large arms emerge from its back. Hopping back away from the cultist, Victor narrowly manages to avoid being grabbed as the tentacle arms twist and bend out from behind the cultist to snatch at him. As he leaps back, he grabs the cloak covering the creature, ripping it off to reveal it’s rune-covered and disgusting form.

As Victor lands several feet back from the creature, he watches as the creature flicks one hand out to point at one of the nearby crates, and then at him. Unsure what this new movement on the part of the creature was meant to accomplish, Victor pauses for just an instant to think before moving away. As it turns out, this moment costs him as the crate that the cultist pointed at suddenly flies up into the air and zooms towards him. The crate catches Victor full in the chest, sending him flying backwards several feet to the floor, shards of wood and slabs of bloody meat covering his prone form.

Distracted with Victor and the emergence of its third eye from the nose hole in its face, the cultist doesn’t notice Incom’s approach until the first hammer blow strikes it in the side of the neck. The cultist is twisted around by the blow, and whirls back to face Incom just in time to take the second hammer blow in the face, crushing the alien third eye and causing the thing to shriek in rage. Blindly, the creature’s back tentacle arms flail out, trying to strike Incom, to grab and crush, but before it can find him Incom’s third hammer blow finds its side. This third blow, with the speed of the past two blows behind it and more, was significant enough to cave in the creature’s side and send it tumbling to the ground.

Landing on its stomach, the creature’s disgusting hump is clearly visible, and Incom brings his hammer down to attempt to finish the creature. The armored hump caves slightly at this first blow, but manages to hold. This blow appears to actually hurt the creature, as it shrieks in pain as Incom raises the warhammer for a second and hopefully final blow.

Before he can bring the hammer down once more, however, tentacles erupt from the cultist’s back, lashing out until one manages to touch Incom, and then as one they all slither up over him, wrapping around him in an attempt to hold him still. However, these milky white tentacles are thin and not particularly strong, and so without too much difficult Incom breaks free of most of them. But the tentacles did serve the purpose of slowing him, and a moment later the two large clawed arms on the cultist’s back lash up to clamp down onto the warhammer. Lifting Incom up about a foot into the air, the arms shake him like a ragdoll as they try to violently shake his grip off of the warhammer.

Meanwhile, Umber successfully manages to locate one of the other cultists moves along below him, and kicks several crates over the side to drop down on top of him. Caught unaware by the first one, the heavy crate shatters on the cultist’s head, dropping it momentarily to the floor. Like all of the others before it, this one is full of butchered animal parts, and the thing’s once black cloak is now stained more of a dark red. As several more crates rain down onto it, the creature’s large arms emerge from beneath its cloak, swatting aside the crates descending towards it before stretching up to snap at Umber.

Dancing nimbly from crate to crate, Umber leaves the tentacle arms to smash only crates, but so focused is he on his pair of ugly partners that he forgets to watch his step. Gesturing at one of the crates Umber is approaching, the cultist telekinetically rips it out from under his feet, causing him to stumble. A moment later, one of the clawed arms slams into his side, pitching him off the wall to the floor nearly ten feet below.

Scarcely has he landed before one of the clawed tentacle arms clamps down around his foot, lifting him up into the air. Whipping him up and around, the cultist pitches Umber up over its still-prone form, tumbling through the air to land back at the mouth of the crate-lined corridor. As both cultist and vampire push themselves back up onto their feet, the third cultist emerges from a corridor right next to Umber.

Chanting dark words of power, this third cultist holds up a hand to display to Umber, black streams of energy flowing into the palm of its hand as it continues to chant. Before it can finish this attack, however, a nearby shadow detaches from its fellows, driving its shining knife into the armpit of the creature’s outstretched hand. Mellita.

“What does it take to kill you!?” She hisses as she wrenches the blade out of its flesh, narrowly managing to duck under its wounded arm as the cultist swings it at her in a backhand. Suddenly, Cassandra appears, one hand clamping down onto the cultist’s right shoulder to hold it still while her other hand drives itself into the cultist’s back like a piston.

“Hit the hump on it’s back!” She cries, continuing to demonstrate such by pounding the same spot through the creature’s black cloak.

“Shouldn’t you be helping your dog of a master? I was here first!” Mellita snaps, nevertheless dancing around to back behind the creature again, driving her knife into the small of its back. With an angry shriek, the two clawed arms emerge from underneath the creature’s cloak, one arm each swatting Mellita and Cassandra away from it.

[Burrito]

(ooc, wow I missed a lot. Anyway, I got back this weekend to find my modem is a piece of crap, so I need to pick up a new one tonight)

Askov

After relaying my story to Tattoos, we take a bit of time studying the entrance to the man-mad side tunnel. I take another end of web "Lets see if this will clear them out again." and set fire to it. Once the fire had died down we began to proceed down that tunnel. Weapons ready, and unfortunatly realizing that our limited lantern supply was becoming even more limited.
"Keep your eyes and ears open." Tattoos whispers. "We've come this far, I don't want a slip-up now."

[MrEdwardNigma]

Victor von Ravenstein III

I told them, didn't I? I told them, I gave them an elaborate anatomy lesson on the subject, and did they listen? No! These vampires just storm at the black cloaks blindly, flailing their arms about! They think they're so smart, but they can't even follow a simple instruction... Too proud, and it'll be their downfall. Only this Incom character, he seems to have picked something up. Pity he couldn't quite carry it through, but he made enough of a breech to facilitate surgery...

Victor raced to the cultist among the crates. Cassandra wasn't around to help anymore, as she'd gone off to help the vampires.

Two vampires, two of them, and they need help from a human to kill that thing! Cassandra leaving me to prevent those pompous bastards from being squished, I don't like it one bit. They are turning against me, I can feel it. Maybe they need some enhancements? Life sucked out of them, power in return. Can you even zombify a vampire? It would prove an interesting experiment... No, Victor, we can't think like that, we're a team now.

His razorsharp fingers dove into the cultist's open back. It was even easier than before. He'd had practise, the shell had been shattered. Still Victor couldn't resist the urge of pulling the thing out and looking at it.

"Hello there, little fella. Tell your masters we're coming. Tell them we're gonna smash our way right into the centre of this ritual they're having here and have a chat with them. A good long chat. Not my idea. It's these guys. Something about not liking this whole sacrifice business?"

Victor's fingers squished the little ball.

They'll believe that. I can look like a pompous bastard if i want to, and the others are crazy enough to try it, they know that. They won't expect us running. Not for a while. It'll give us a chance.

Victor threw the stake he was still holding at one of the cultist's the others were struggling with and then cut Incom free.

We're a team now, Victor...

[Dorizzit]

"Katrina...?" All thoughts of safety fly from Korram's mind. He runs out from behind his cover and wraps her in a large, one armed bearhug. Remembering the circumstances of the reunion, Korram takes Katrina and gets back behind cover. He looks her over, shaking his head. "So many years...you're all grown up." a few tears fall from Korram's eyes, although he blinks them back quickly. Taking a breath, he assails her with questions. "What happened to you? Are you alright? Did they hurt you?" (also, for posterity...3 minutes left.)

[Lonna]

Pyrene

Pyrene's mind had barely registered the surprise of her small stumble when it was presented with a much greater shock: Edward had caught her. And more than caught her: he steadied her, sounded concerned about her, and helped her over to the open closet.

The sight of so many lovely garments was amazing, but not half so interesting as the mirror that showed the entire remainder of the room. Well that explains the comment about the wine, and how he knew I was going to fall, she thought, raising an eyebrow, but even so he's fast, to have caught me almost before I began falling.

Just then the slight quaver in Edward's voice caught her attention - an oddly hesitant end to what had otherwise been a firm warning, followed by a moment in which the mage's attention seemed oddly distracted. Before Pyrene could turn this to her advantage, however, Edward was pressing an elegant blue silk dress into her hands and offering to remove the manacles. Since this is exactly what she had been hoping for, Pyrene hastened to assure the mage of her good behavior, though she was sure Edward trusted her assurances about as much as she trusted his assertion that he was always a gentleman.

Nevertheless, after noting the mage's excellent reflexes when the chains fell from her limbs, Pyrene returned to the bedside and, turning her back to Edward, quickly shed her standard prison garments in favor of the mage's dress, revelling briefly in the sensation of the silk sliding over her skin, so smooth as to seem heavenly in comparison to the rough sack-cloth. The ointment too was cool against the skin where she had been branded as a prisoner, and the shade Edward had picked was almost identical to her natural skin tone.

"You seem so different here than you were in front of your brother," she said, turning to face Edward again. "You've gone to great lengths to create the illusion that I'm not a prisoner, and you've given me an extraordinary amount of freedom, especially considering I tried to use magic on you." Her fingers brushed the collar at her neck as she added softly "Even if I didn't realize it was magic." At a more normal volume she continued. "You're a mage, and from what I can gather you have the Baron's favor. You could have any woman here and she could not say no, or would dare not. In front of your brother and the guards you acted as if you like it that way. So why are you so different here? Why do you go to such trouble, and why do you hide it?"

[Pwenet]

Incom Morgan

As the foul creature spins around screaming an unearthly scream that shares many traits with Incom’s own screams as the memories of torture wash over him, Incom smiles at the reversal of roles. Not a happy smile, not a sick smile but a smile of the insane. Giggling at it crashes in a heap he slams his Warhammer of Ross down onto the back, the sweet crack of bone singing to him like a fine bard. Raising the Warhammer up high evil tentacles erupts.

Caught slightly off guard Incom finds himself becoming covered with him and the sensation of being licked flashes him back.

Several Years Ago
Hanging upside down bound in thick heavy chains that prevent him from moving yet leave his flesh intact enough to work on, Incom coughs blood and teeth as one of the cultists steps back and sets several feet of intestine on a table. The pain only gets worse as the flesh burns as it tries to heal, however the cultist had placed several objects to hold the wound open. The pain is even worse now that he can’t heal yet his fragile mind struggles to hold itself together.

”AHHHH-HaHa! It tickles, it tickles like dog tongues on a warm summer day. Oh please the chair give me the chair and sing me a song of pain and love that you hold for me. Can you give me that oh sweet sons of mine?”

A veteran of the many years that Incom has been trapped in this hellhole with the presence of a dragon trying to throw him out of his body, the cultist reply is silence. He walks over towards Incom and lowers several more chains, wrapping then around his forehead. The chain then are drawn taunt and Incom’s head is forced to rise. Returning to the table the cultist starts to work on the intestine that was removed. After several long minutes he returns and Incom catches the glimpse of movement within it, as if something is wriggling. The cultist then gags, chokes and coughs as if he is dying, yet then slowly words come out as if it has been an age since the last time he spoke.

”My Lord, I am sorry but you shell is stubborn. Forgive me.”

Reaching into the wound the cultist carefully replaces the missing intestine and removes the metal separators. The wound then heals with pink flesh filling in the hole. Nodding to himself the cultist wanders out of eyesight, leaving Incom alone.

Time passes. His stomach hurting from hunger and his neck development a nasty crimp from the angle it is held at, Incom feels his guts twitching. The flesh over his stomach roils and boils and then the pain hits. Biting through his tongue Incom gives up and screams out as pressure builds and then with a splatter of a small hole is punched through his stomach. Wriggling in the hole is a creature, thin like a spring yet as it moves out his flesh burns. Another spurt of blood, and another and another and yet another as more and more of the string creatures emerge from his body, slithering down his body leaving painful burns over it as their wetness acts like acid.. Screaming as his body is a host for unholy creatures Incom can only watch as more keep emerging.

Death would be an escape, a victory yet the Dragon within him does not want that. Along the ride as a passenger he feeds Incom with power, pushing against the barriers Incom set up, forcing his body to stay alive, to regenerate despite the creatures eating their way out. A few brave ones even make their way back into Incom mouth despite his best efforts.

”Relax and give in and this will all go away. Give in a little and this body will reject these creatures and make itself anew.”

Yet for all the times that Incom gave in, the Dragon took more and more, never giving back. It was a war of wills where even minor defeats were leading to the grand failure of his life. And so Incom looked up at one of the string-like creatures and screamed at it as it burrowed into his left eye.

Blinking slowly Incom finds himself wrapped in hundreds of tentacles from the cultist, holding him in place and restricting his movements. Their icky oily feeling reminds him of that torture, of the image of them emerging from his stomach and how they burned trailing their way down.

Unable to even form words, he struggles violently, twisting his body sharply and even biting down on several of the tentacles. Breaking through the creatures two strong arms then emerge and grab the Warhammer of Ross. The two engage in a tug of war and Incom let’s his mind run free.

”Not again not again NEVER AGAIN YOU HELLSPAWNED BASTARDS THAT MADE ME DANCE WITH OBLIVION!”

Yanking back Incom notices Victor rush forward and dive his hands into the shattered armored shell. The arms go limp and the remaining tentacles fall to the. His Warhammer, held above his head is free to fly and it strikes true and pulverizes the remains of the chest of the cultist.

”NEVER AGAIN!”

Cut free by Victor Incom uses his newfound freedom to twist the Warhammer, he stabs the heavy oak spike into the small of the back, driving it completely through. Lifting it up he drags the corpse of the cultist up.

”NEVER AGAIN!”

Turning he sees two cultists remaining in a sea of red and purple. One is facing the vampire of honor, the other is assaulted by two woman. The chivalrous part of Incom takes over and he charges the third cultist who just threw away the two girls with it’s clawed arms, leaving it open for Incom to close the distance and stab out with the spiked end of the Warhammer, driving it into the stomach of the cultist and throwing the corpse further down the shaft.

”KISS YOUR FATE FOR ME!”

Pushing the corpse and the cultist Incom rams the end of the Warhammer into a crate. Letting go at the last second he ducks under the arms of the cultist and spies the armored shell as they collide with the crate of supplies, impaling the cultist face to face with its dead comrade and a Warhammer shaft sticking out of its guts.

”THIS IS FOR THE BOY!”

Twisting around he slams one of his fists into the back of the shell with the resounding crack of breaking bone. The cultist shifts forward down the shaft of the Warhammer from the force of the blow and it wiggles dangerously.

”THIS IS FOR KILLING ME!”

Another powerful blow and his fist dives deeper into the shell. Sliding further down the shaft of the Warhammer the corpse reaches the heavy hammer end. Tentacles flare out but Incom shoves through them as he winds up for a final blow.

”AND THIS IS FOR MAKING ME RELEASE THE DRAGON!”

Roaring Incom throws all his strength into the next blow and punches the shell and the contents apart as the Warhammer emerges from the crate and the corpse of a cultist crumples to the ground, dragging the now-hopefully a corpse of the other cultist to the ground as well.