Escape from Ironheart (IC)

[Inspectre]

Elsewhere . . .

Drumming his fingers on his desk out of boredom, the Warden considered yet again having a prisoner dragged up here for his amusement while he waited for the Hierarch to make his appearance. The Warden was not a patient man, a flaw he had recognized in himself long ago. These servants of the Master, however, were the exact opposite and it was only now that the work of millennia was coming to an end. The successful end of this grand project, the Warden knew, would bring them all untold power and riches.

It seemed that the Warden would not have much longer to wait, however, as a blackish substance began to seep up from the floor stones of his office. As it started to form into a roughly circular pool in the center of his office, the Warden turned to his lieutenant, Captain Delaran, who was currently standing at one end of his grand window looking down upon the entirety of Ironheart. “He certainly knows how to make an entrance, doesn’t he?” The Warden remarked, earning only a noncommittal grunt from Delaran.

Although certainly his most effective subordinate, Delaran had not always been his most loyal. If the Warden’s flaw was simple impatience, then Delaran’s were arrogance and stubbornness. It had only been a short time ago that the fool had been convinced he would do a better job as Warden, and attempted to murder him. He might have succeeded as well, had it not been for the interference of the Prophets.

Previously the Warden had discarded them as yet another useless cult that had only recently begun to infest Ironheart like rats in a granary. However, their timely aid in thwarting Delaran’s plans, as well as convincing him to remain as a loyal and therefore useful subordinate afterwards, had opened the Warden’s eyes. Now, their Hierarch and he were, if not friends, then at least close allies in this grand endeavor.

The pool on the office floor had stopped growing, and after sitting still for a moment, began to ripple and bubble as something began to emerge from its inky depths. Slowly floating up from within the puddle was an iron crown, then a cowled head, and finally the rest of the Heirarch’s shrouded body. Drops of the black liquid slowly dripping off of his form, the Hierarch floated up until a few inches above the surface of the puddle, and then stepped out and down onto the dry floor in front of him. As he walked towards the Warden’s desk, the black liquid continued to drip off of him, and as the droplets hit the floor they wiggled their way back to the main pool, which even now was beginning to drain away into the floor. As usual, the Hierarch was succinct.

We have a problem.

“Do not worry. There are always little problems that crop up in projects as large as yours. I am sure whatever the problem is, we can fix it. How can I help?”

Several key sacrifices have escaped. Including the dragon-soul.

“Prisoner Prime? Yes, I remember you wanted him for the final sacrifice. The dragon cultists didn’t hand him over as instructed?”

No. They have betrayed our trust. I suspect they are aware of our plans. They too must be dealt with.

“Of course. But surely, wouldn’t your own men be best in capturing Prime again? He is very strong and thus difficult for us to contain once he gets loose and goes on one of his rampages.”

No, you must deal with him. He has somehow developed the ability to call forth dragon-fire, something you assured me was impossible.

“It was! The dragon cultists assured me such a thing could never happen.”

“Cleary then, they didn’t tell us everything.” Captain Delaran replied, turning away from the window to join the conversation at last. “Just before coming up here, I was also informed by one of my men that we have a major disturbance in the torture chambers. Apparently someone is cutting a swath through my men down there, and several prisoners have escaped. I’ve already dispatched more men to prevent a riot, but the situation could still spiral out of control quickly.”

Sighing in annoyance, the Warden waved his hand dismissively at his lieutenant. “None of it will matter after the ritual. Still, I have an idea on how to bring Prime to heel, and so perhaps your talents would best be served in managing the prison break. Although it shouldn’t be necessary to crush this riot before the ritual, keeping it from becoming a full-fledged prisoner rebellion would be best. Assuming, of course, that the ritual can be completed now?”

Do not make the mistake of patronizing us. The ritual shall be completed one way or another. Perhaps it would be best to dispose of the dragon-soul altogether before he becomes a greater threat. We have other sacrifices we could use.

The Warden nodded, a wicked smile forming on his face as he considered the best way to deal with his problem. “Do not worry, Hierarch. You may return to your rituals confident that we shall deal with these minor problems and any other threats that pop up to threaten our success. Now if you will excuse me, I need to make preparations for recapturing Prime, and my subordinate needs to go deal with the prisoner riot.”

Good. See that we are not disturbed any further.

With that, the Hierarch turned to go as the black liquid once more seeped up from the floor. Stepping into the circle of inky black, the Hierarch began to sink down into it in a reverse of his previous entrance, quickly disappearing into the blackness before the liquid once more drained away into the floor, leaving Delaran and the Warden alone.

“I will deal with this riot personally, sir.” Delaran said, idly reaching up to scratch at his chest with a grimace.

“Go. Relay to my adjutant that I require some keys for the Eternal Prison level.”

“Eternal Prison level? Sir, are you sure unleashing those individuals is wise?” Delaran asked, his shocked expression taking on a pained one a moment later at a glare from the Warden.

“Yes, they are perfect for this. And again, even if they attempt their own escape once released, it won’t matter after the ritual. Nothing will.”

“Very well sir. Anything else?”

“No Captain. Dismissed.”

???????

Voth

Without another word you step through the portal, grateful for the chance to get out of the sight of the Judge(s?). Immediately upon stepping through, your brain is filled with the painful sensation of your body tearing itself apart, only this time you also have to endure the following sensation of it putting itself back together.

Forcing your eyes open, your visions is momentarily filled with a swirling red light, but this quickly dissipates to leave you standing directly below the hanging crystal, back in the circular room that you had been in before. So, the idiots hadn’t even teleported you back into a cell. Perfect. There weren’t any guards waiting for you, although you imagined it was possible that the Judge(s?) had some way of contacting them to inform them that a prisoner was being sent back, so you might not have much time.

Looking quickly around the room, you note that there does not appear to be anyone in the room, aside from a very startled young woman with short fiery-red hair and clad in a simple white dress. Bolted around her right wrist is a bronze circlet inscribed with various arcane symbols, which she holds up in front of her like a shield as she skitters back towards the wall. Still staring at you in amazement, she cries out, “What? T-they sent a prisoner back!? Um, don’t move! You just stay right there! The, uh, guards are right outside, and if you come any closer I’ll scream! And you wouldn’t want that, right!?”

MrEdwardNigma

“Well I . . . suppose that’s a noble goal. If a bit icky.” Cassandra replies, wrinkling her nose in disgust at your newest creation and guardian.

Walking into the library, you quickly approach one of the bookshelves. Now directly beside it, you can see that it is even fashioned from the bones of humans, having intimate knowledge of several of these bones and how they looked from your work. The tomes were almost certainly likewise fashioned from human body parts, the covers and pages appeared to be made out of some kind of leather, likely made from human skin.

Set into the cover of the first book that you randomly pull out from the shelf, is what appears to be a miniaturized human skull, jaw opened as it screams soundlessly. Shrugging, you tuck the book under your arm and grab another which you tuck under your other arm. Both books are quick thick and heavy, and so you quit after only retrieving a third book which you hold in your hands. You consider having your guardian carry the books, but figure carrying such things would reduce its fighting effectiveness, as well as increase the risk of the books’ disappearance being noticed before you had gotten far.

Not stopping to page through any of the books’ contents, you make your way back to the door where Cassandra and the zombie await. As you near the door however, both the undersides of your arms sent out pain signs as something tears into them, causing you to reflexively open your arms and dump both books onto the floor. You discover the source of your pain a moment later as the skull on the cover of the book in your hands comes to life, biting down hard on the index and middle finger of your right hand, tearing them both off completely. This causes you to drop the third book as well, and as it clatters to the floor all three of them open their bloodstained lips to shrilly scream.

The piercing shriek persists for a moment, causing you and Cassandra to both wince, Cassandra sadly not having the luxury of being able to press her hands against her ears in a vain attempt to block out the high-pitched sound. Then, the screaming subsists, but it seems your troubles are not quite over as the blue flame on the brazier begins to move and shift. Flaring up in overall size and height, the blue flame begins to resolve itself into long coils of fire, piled one of top of another, with a snake-like head at its top. Through the flames, you glimpse what appears to be the skeleton of an enormous snake, complete with sharp fangs, but most of the time the entire skeleton is obscured by the blue flame.

A thin tongue of flame spurts out from the creature’s “mouth”, and then it springs out of the brazier with surprising speed at you, jaws agape.

Private Torture Chambers

Dorizzit

Dima does his best to stifle his own cries, although he still does cry out several times during your operation – but each time only weakly. It is clear that his strength has left him, and death is not far away. Still, he manages to mutter a “Thank . . . you.” As you rise with the patch of tattooed skin in hand, he falls over onto his stomach again, stretching out a limp hand to half scrawl a design onto the floor. Growling softly, the tiger refuses to accompany you before moves over to beside Dima, lying down in the blood next to him and slowly lapping at his wounds.

At your words Countess Amelia nervously bites her lip, but nods in understanding as she moves to follow you. She stops at the doorway to look back at Dima one last time, sniffling as she wipes more tears from her eyes. Then she exits out into the corridor after you, bringing up the rear as you and Serpah quickly move off down the corridor back the way you had came.

“It sounds that once we have found my wife, our goals shall be the same.” Seraph comments as he walks down the corridor. Suddenly he freezes, motioning for you to stop just before reaching a pair of curtained doorways, directly across from each other in the hallway. Padding silently up to the floor in between the two doorways, Seraph suddenly draws his bastard sword with a loud yell and plunges it into the curtain to his left, earning a scream from the room beyond. As the curtain on the right swings aside to reveal a guard, Seraph leaves his bastard sword hanging in the curtain and whirls to confront the guard, grasping his sword arm and slamming it into the door frame. As the guard drops his weapon with a surprised yelp, Seraph catches it in his free hand, twirls it expertly around until he’s holding it firmly by the hilt, and then drives it up into the guard’s chest before allowing him to fall back through the curtain dead. Retrieving his sword from the curtain, Seraph uses it to clean the blood from the blade, and then sheathes his weapon.

“We shall need to be careful of prepared ambushes from this point forward. I have been lucky so far, moving quickly and evading discovery until recently. Now, however, I fear that the full might of this prison shall be employed against us. Are you familiar with the territory ahead at all? Perhaps this was where they were keeping you?”

Although you were certainly familiar with the torture chambers, you were not quite certain about their layout other than that they were a seemingly endless series of interconnected rooms. It would undoubtedly be easy to become lost within the maze-like rooms, but at least it should likewise be fairly easy to sneak about in the poor light, loud screaming, and the fighting of any remaining released prisoners against the guards.

The Labs

Iethloc

Rising once more off of the floor, you float along towards the door that the assistant was hiding behind. Directing the keys with a wave of your hand, you use them to unlock the door, and then pull it open with another gesture. Beyond is a long, wide corridor, the walls lined with large crystals on both sides. Within the red-tinged crystals you can see blurry figures moving about within. At the far end of the corridor stands a young man who you can only assume is the research assistant Omega mentioned. He is currently standing in what appears to be a control booth, shielded by a pane of glass and his lower half blocked from sight by the control panel he is working at. Looking up, he sees you and Omega charge into the room, and seems to smile.

“Ah, I was wondering if you would be coming for me. I heard Zarov’s death screams, so I imagine he’s already been dealt with. And since that’s an impossibility for you, my dear, I imagine that duty was left to our interloper here.”

“Father’s directives don’t apply to you. I imagine he thought it might become necessary to kill you one day. Enough talk.” Omega replied, glaring at this man for a moment before winking out of existence. Instead of teleporting to a point directly behind him, however, Omega reappeared several feet in front of the control booth.

Cackling with delight at Omega’s annoyed expression, the man explained. “You see my dear? Because we’ve dealt with numerous demons in our work, it has become necessary to put in certain safeguards, like a line of wards across the room here. Demons can’t come any closer to this control booth, no matter how hard they try. And now my dear, I believe it’s time to introduce you to our methods of demon containment. Of course, we still need a place to store the demons we were aren’t harvesting their organs, and so we use those crystals you see along the walls there to contain their essence when they’re not needed. Very interesting magic from experiments up in the Spire over how to compress prisoner holding space. We’ve modified it a bit for our own uses, but the principle is the same. So, why don’t you see for yourself how it is to be utterly helpless, instead of coddled for once, my dear?”

Tapping a button on the control panel, the man smiles as one of the crystals closest to Omega begins glowing. An instant later, a brilliant red beam lances out, striking her directly in the chest and seemingly disintegrating her. Omega manages one angry scream, and then is gone.

Tapping another button, the man turns to regard you with an equally wide smile as the door swings shut behind you and locks. “So, now it’s just you and me, interloper. I don’t know who or what you are, but I’m sure it’ll be entertaining to watch you die. Now, let’s see you dance, shall we?”

The research assistant taps a few controls into the console, and three of the crystals nearest to you come to life. From each a single beam lances out to strike the floor, and the red light quickly resolves itself into three hunched over creatures with bulging eyes and mole-like claws.

“Drak’nei aren’t very smart or fast, but they are fairly strong and excellent diggers, whether that is through earth or flesh. I hope you’re fast on your feet or this dance isn’t going to last very long at all.”

Ritual Chambers

Pwenet/WhiteKnight777

The unconscious boy still does not stir, and smells wonderful to Umber. Although his time here had undoubtedly put great strain on his body and mind, his blood still smelled fresh and vibrant, full of life at its peak with no hint of accumulated bitterness.

Akor was quickly able to tear apart the chains holding the children captive, earning numerous ooos, aaaaahhhs, and other praises from them, including a few unsuccessful copy-cat imitations from the youngest children. Akor’s “little morsel” attempts to collect the five children, which is fairly amusing considering she is really but a child herself. However, the eldest girl refuses to go, and remains by the unconscious boy’s side.

As Umber approaches, she pleads with him, “Please sir. Help my brother! He’s hurt!” With a few insincere assurances from Mellita, the girl allows herself to be lead away to join the others, but screams when she looks back to find Umber’s fangs in the boy’s soft and just slightly cooked neck.

Breaking away from Mellita, the girl rushes at Umber, swatting at his back several times with her fists before an annoyed Mellita appears to hoist the girl up into the air with one hand. “Shall I deal with this other one, Lord Umber?” Mellita asks, grunting as the girl manages to kick backwards into Mellita’s chest. “We really don’t have time for this. Ross is probably finished with that Bone Golem by now, and surely one of his men will check this passage out. We need to keep moving, fast.”

Looking around the chamber, it is clear that there is another passage leading out of it other than the one that you both used to enter. However, now with new allies, perhaps you could instead return to the intersection and overpower a weakened Ross. This may be your best chance to eliminate a serious potential threat, unless he had reinforcements waiting in the wings in which case you would essentially be walking directly into an ambush.

[Iethloc]

"Crystals, hm? This makes the way I imprisoned my demons seem so...old fashioned..." Sohssal commented as he hovered by the crystals, the electricity still crackling in his hand. However, he stared at the assistant, clearly not as amused at the sight of him as he was at the crystals, especially when he seemingly disintegrated Omega. "Oh, dear. That one could have been useful, you know!" he complained aloud.

Sohssal sarcastically clapped when he brought forth three Drak'Nei, the orb of lightning merely crackling louder when his own hand passed through it. "Ooh, Drak'Nei. I think I used to summon those, but they were too dumb to help me with my quest," he explained. Then he discharged the lightning bolt at the middle one, and flew, somewhat awkwardly, up to the ceiling and past them, to the line of wards. "I've met a lot of people who present to me magical wards. Most people...don't expect me to be able to do...this..." Sohssal said arrogantly, sniffing deeply during the pauses, trying to detect the magic of the wards. Then he immediately dived at them, staying in contact with them just long enough to try to suck out some of the magic, exercising his innate demonic powers.

[Dorizzit]

Korram raises his eyebrows at Seraph's show of skill. When asked, he replies: "Sort of...past here are the torture chambers. I know the general layout of them since I spent about half my time there, but I'm not to keen on specifics. It probably wouldn't be too hard to avoid detection though, and we might lose our pursuers. Me and Dima left things in something of a state of disorder." He smiles, rather unpleasantly. "It seems likely that there would be a way down from there, and we may be able to lose pursuers in the chaos." He begins moving towards the torture chambers.

[MrEdwardNigma]

As the snake jumps the gigantic zombie construct grabs it in mid-air, swing it round above it's head and smashes it into the wall. He makes another swing and tosses it away towards the far off wall. The bones crunch and are (very likely) broken in places, leaving wome much shorter bits of snake lying around.

Meanwhile Victor had smashed the facebook (best name I could think off ) into the wall as well a couple of times, face first. The thing let go off his fingers and Victor tossed the book at the snake after making a few spins for extra force. He then quickly sewed his fingers back on, took another book (this time making sure not to go anywhere near the face with his fingers) and he, Cassandra and the zombie made a run for it.

Well, they stayed calm and such, but they left anyways. there was no reason to stick around with the dead snake and those annoying books.

[ubersquid]

Spoiler

Show

sorry for the delay, i know, should have said something

Would Elkwin have held the torch, he would have dropped it as well. Recovering from the shock and now cowering against the wall, Elkwin spills the contens of his backpack on the floor and frantically fumbles around in the pile to find a piece of flint.

The sudden loss of any visual impressions heightens the other senses to maddening levels. The two escapees' movements, sliding across the floor, rummaging through the pile of emptied backpacks, the high pitched rattling of their chainshirts and of course the continues ghostly whispers of the woman fill the room with an unbearable amount of noise.

The moments it takes him seem like an eternity to him, searching for this little bit of vital equipment, while Marv crawls around to find the torch again. At this time, Elkwin wasn't even sure if he threw a piece in when they geared up at the storage room. Of course he would have? Wouldn't he? You can't pack torches without a piece of flint, right? Was he that old and forgetful already?

A multitude of sensation rushes from his fingertips. Cold as ice, wet and musty the wall of the room. Sandy and dusty, sticking to his fingers, the floor. Soft and comfortable, just a piece of cloth and then... alive! moving and warm! ... just Marv's ankle.

Finally Elkwins hands grab onto a small piece of cold rectangular shaped stone. Both are to scared to talk aloud and communicate only in hissed whispers for the moment.

"The torch! Over here... Quick!"

Somehow acquiring the torch, Elkwin leans against the wall and strikes the piece of flint against it.

*Tick*

Lighting a torch in total darkness is harder then one might think, but with every strike, the tiny sparks that spray from the flint lighten up the room in a bright flash.

*Tick*

Marv's scared face, staring at the torch, his eyes wide open.

*Tick*

The armor in the corner, reflecting even the faintest ray of light.

*Tick*

The girl, still chained to the bed, or was she? Sword through her chest.

*Tick*

Finally... the Sparks fall onto the right spot on the torch and relief spreads through Elkwins body like the flames on the torches head.



They look around, everything seems to be in place still. Elkwin slowly stands up, his knees still shaking. Looking at the woman, he whispers.

"Poor lass... what crime has she commited to deserve this torment?"

Then, taking all his courage, he takes a step towards her and stretches out his head to get a closer look.

"Hello?"

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber grinned and gave a little sigh of pleasure as he finished draining the vessel. Such sweet, pure sanguine as he hadn't tasted in far too long. The boy obviously hadn't been tainted and weakened by long imprisonment, and his youth and vigour were refreshing in the extreme. Umber stretched, feeling strength and dexterity flowing back into him, another step on restoring him to his normal state of godlike power. He grinned with the familiar feeling of euphoria as he contemplated his future - oh, but he would feast once he left this place. He was not limited by time's slow march to restore and increase his powers like the pitiable leaches he was going to destroy.. All he needed was enough blood. And when he tracked them down... he shivered a little.. He would drain them of soul and vitae to enhance his own potency. He gave an evil little chuckle, then nodded once to Milletia Yes, deal with her as you see fit, my dear. If you're a bit parched feel free to indulge. He turned, looking back down the tunnel where Ross would be, then turned to his new ally. He contemplated the possibility of ambushing Ross... he was stronger now, and he had allies... perhaps.. hmm.. Well, it all depended on whether or not this... dragon-thing would go along. He gave a suddenly vicious grin

Tell me... Do you feel up for a bit of a quick hunt... or perhaps pest extermination is a better word. There's a rather irritating paladin named Ross whose entirely too hammer-happy and with a penchant for crusading and smiting the wicked in the name of some cretinous mortal deity back down the tunnel a bit... But he just finished engaging in a rather tiring fight. If we ambush him now, we can eliminate a potential thorn in both our sides... He's hunting me, but believe me, He'd be perfectly willing to murder you as well...And besides, he might have valuable equipment or information we can... extract from him.

[Pwenet]

Akor

Watching the vampire feed upon the young child, Akor feels a slight twinge of guilt. The promise he made to his host to save the humans here, the innocents, yet his nature was brutal and efficient. The child, already badly wounded by his attack upon the foul creatures would not have survived. He would have been a liability, while the others were still mobile, and who knows what would happen in the future.

Listening to the lead vampire Akor nods along with him.

”I saw that bone golem you mentioned previously. At the time I thought it would be a nice diversion for those chasing me, but if you have one who is hunting you is now also hunting me. And it would be nice to test out this new body properly. In addition I too have those now hunting me, seven of them to be specific, and the time will come when I may call upon your aid facing them.”

Turning to face the little humans that were saved, Akor grabs the bits of chain and starts wrapping them around his wrists and hands as a crude protective cover. He smiles as he sees the puny human flesh already changing slowly, becoming tougher with red scales starting to grow, muscles growing and fingernails toughening, turning more into talons than proper fingers.

Turning towards his “little morsal” he smiles at her and tilts his head at her in a gesture of respect.

”Little dragon-rider, I leave you the care of these little ones to you. Follow us until we reach the chamber, and keep the little ones back away from the battle. We have some pests to take care of before we again work on our escape. Can you do that?”

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber smiled, pleased. He had expected that future favors would be demanded, but he was optimistic that he could find some way to profit from that. The individuals hunting this fellow would likely have some potent vitae indeed... something he could definitely use at the moment... and if he was right, he would be able to eliminate that cretin Ross once and for all. It was just a shame he wouldn't have more time to teach him the error of his ways. He nodded the affirmative, grinning a predatory grin. He could feel the strong, youthful blood restoring him, putting a bit more spring back into his step, his senses sharpening as well as his reflexes, another modicum of his old strength flowing back... Hells, but it felt good.

Most excellent, most excellent... let us deal with the wretched god-bothering vermin post haste. I thank you for your assistance, and I will gladly repay in full when time comes to settle accounts with your own hunters. He smirked, nodding to Milletia Prepare yourself... we go to deal with Ross.

[Voth]

Voth

Sighing, Victor stands there looking at her. "Please don't. Really, what have I done to you that wants to make you yell out for guards?"

[Inspectre]

The Catacombs

ubersquid

The sounds of frantic searching filled the room, and nothing else mattered to you or Marv but reacquiring light. Not the ghost, nor any other monstrosities that could be descending upon you in your vulnerability right this very second, nor even any of the ghost’s rambling whispers, still continuing but drowned out by the sounds of your search.
You knew you had packed some flint and tinder in your backpack somewhere, and finally your hand closed around the reassuring piece of flaky stone. Producing a fresh torch, you press it into Marv’s shaking hands, and then with great effort, managing to produce a spark sufficient to light it.

Breathing a collective sight of relief, Marv retrieves his own torch from the floor, re-lighting it off of your own. “Two better than one, eh?” He says with a nervous chuckle, stealing a glance over at the bed and gulping. Following his gaze you see that the ghost has not moved, resettling into the exact same position it had been when you first entered the room with a faint clatter of chains. Her literally empty eyes seem to be fixated on you, however, as she seems to answer your greeting with more gibberish.

The hero has already left, he should not be here. Or perhaps he has not yet come? To know all things is to know madness, and to see all is to see the death of hope. Oblivion cannot be denied! His footsteps herald the end of all! He is coming, he is coming! Oh gods, why!?

For a moment the ghost grows agitated, flailing around against its bonds but failing to even disturb the skeleton it left behind or the bed it now rested on. Giving up, the ghost collapses back over the skeleton, shrieking a heartrending scream that embodied despair and grief. For a moment then the ghost is silent, safe for sniffling and choked back sobs. Tears of blood form at the corners of her eyes, silently rolling down her face to dip off but leaving no sign on the bedsheet beneath. But then the ghost continues.

Love is a horrible crime. I am guilty, sentenced to remain here until released from my sin before Oblivion. I didn’t understand then, couldn’t see. They say love is blind, so how could I have seen? But is my punishment truly unjust compared to what I have wrought? I have damned us all. Oh gods . . . it is all my fault!

Apparently the ghost is unable to control herself anymore, and lapses into a fit of sobbing, stopping only to spit out a few more incoherent lines of whispered madness.

. . . the great tree falls from the rot within, but it was I who bored the hole . . .

. . . it is all my fault, truly the root of Evil is me . . .

. . . oh brother, you fall. You fall and I can’t catch you. No one can and you fall, fall forever . . .

. . . mine is the hand that placed the key in the lock, his is the one that turns it. But it is the other’s duty to open the door . . .

. . . oh gods, why . . .
???????

Voth

“W-well . . . you . . . you’re a prisoner, aren’t you? One of Mage Volesin’s prison experiments? You would have to be if you just got t-t-transported, or whatever, out of the crystal.” The girl nods at the gigantic red crystal hanging above you, wincing and giving a sharp yelp of surprise as she backs into the wall. “So uh . . . y-you just stay right there, b-because the guards are going to be coming right in to take you away. And they wouldn’t like it if you m-misbehaved.” Her eyes still fixated on you, the girl slowly starts to slide along the wall towards the door.

MrEdwardNigma

Displaying an amazing amount of dexterity for a zombie, your new guardian is able to catch the snake in mid-leap with one arm, spinning the creature around to slam into the wall, before twirling it around and throwing it against the far wall with bone shattering force. This effort is not without cost, however, as the heat from the creature’s body-covering flames is enough to sear most of the flesh away on the hand used to throw it; you are now very glad you took the time to give your construct a total of six arms. Seared to the bone even from its brief contact, that hand of the zombie’s would now be largely useless, although certainly pain had no meaning to the dim-witted construct.

It was certainly possible for an animated body to retain its sense of pain, a fact which you took advantage of in many of your experiments and used on those rare occasions that your “children” disobeyed you. Pain was certainly one of the most effective training methods known to man, but it had no purpose for what you needed right now: an unstoppable killing machine.

Although immune to all forms of pain, even including having a hand seared to the bone, the effectiveness of the zombie as a killing machine was in doubt. Although the flames covering the snake creature winked out upon its impact with the wall, revealing a number of large bones which scattered all over the floor from the impact in an impressive fashion, the fire returned a moment later. Slowly, the burning pieces of bone began to lift off into the air and swirl back together as the creature began to reform itself.

Having no interest in remaining long enough for that reformation to be complete, you pry your fingers out of the book’s mouth, reattach your fingers, and throw the book at the thing. Neither book nor snake seem to have any effect on each other, and as the snake’s body begins to move about of its own accord again you snatch up one of the other books and decide now would be a good of time as any to flee.

Again as you attempt to leave the room the book begins to shriek, an unholy tone that is matched by the other books lying on the floor and even still on the bookshelf, an infernal choir providing music to your rather shameful exit. Of course, only a fool would think of your exit as shameful, as he who runs away with information on his enemy is generally the only one who lives to lead a long and happy life, and you really had no idea how to deal with that undead fire snake thing. Cassandra right on your heels, you dash out into the hallway – only to be clotheslined by one of the black robed figures.

Intruders found, attempting to escape library with one of the texts. Augmented human male, human female, and six-armed zombified construct. Engaging, but will try to leave the humans alive for sacrifice.

As the figure reaches a hand down towards you, Cassandra skids to a halt, nearly falling onto her back in her desperate attempt to halt forward motion. Your zombified guardian, however, actually accelerated, lowering its shoulder and driving it into the black-robed figure. The loud bone-shattering impact momentarily stuns even you, sprawled on the floor behind the two clashing titans. It also serves to throw the black-robed figure back against the nearby wall, whereupon the zombie dashes forward and crashes into him again, crushing him against the wall and trying to pin him in place.

Yet it is only a moment before the figure strikes back, simply shoving the zombie away from him with brute strength. The zombie stumbles back, nearly tripping over you but managing to retain its footing. Bracing itself for the figure’s inevitable follow-up attack, the zombie swings its arms up in a defensive position, but does not anticipate an attack from behind as the flame snake reappears, springing through the doorway to chomp down on the zombie’s torso. As it bites down, you can see the bony fangs of the snake skeleton underneath the flames penetrate the zombie’s flesh, and there is a bright gout of flame as it seemingly injects liquid fire into the wound.

Crawling forward on your hands and knees, you move far enough away from the wild melee that you aren’t in immediate danger, and begin to push yourself back up onto your feet. But your right foot suddenly is yanked out from underneath you as you make it about halfway up, once again crashing to the ground. Looking behind you, you see that the black-cloaked figure has bent down and now has one hand clasped around your right ankle. As its grip begins to tighten considerably around your ankle, sending considerable waves of pain up your leg, the figure continues its usual addresses to some unseen party.

Mildly crippling injury shall now be inflicted upon the human male to prevent further flight.

Before the creature can grind your ankle bones to powder, however, Cassandra reappears, delivering a hard kick to the side of the creature’s head. The blow throws it against the wall and weakens its grip considerably, allowing you to twist your ankle out of its grasp.

“Come on! Let’s get out of here!” Cassandra shouts, jumping back just in time to avoid a scything swing of the creature’s other hand. Undoubtedly it was trying to repeat the same trick on Cassandra as it had on you, but all the thing earned for its troubles was a second hard kick to the face from the monk.

Beyond your own immediate fight, the zombie had managed to rip the snake off of its back and bodyslam it into the ground, spraying pieces of bone everywhere as before. But once again the pieces were starting to reassemble, and the zombie was starting to look the worse for the wear with severe charring of the skin on its torso and the slow oozing of liquid flame from its bite wound.

Private Torture Chambers

Dorizzit

“Very well. You shall lead, and I will follow.” Seraph replies, stepping aside to allow you to take the lead position of your little band. Sweeping into the room where you had first met the Countess, you found things exactly the way you had left them, dead elites and all. Creeping over to the secret entrance connecting the room to the main torture chambers, you crack the door open and listen. Aside from distant screams and the low crackling of braziers, you hear nothing else and so grow encourage to open the door a bit wider and peep through. Although it is hard to see the dark corners of the room, you are able to make out the dark forms of the two guards where you had hidden them, seemingly undisturbed.

With no guards in sight, you open the door all of the way and step out, sweeping the room one last time for any sign of a potential ambush, then step all of the way through. You wave your two companions through the doorway and then carefully pull it shut behind you, trying not to make a sound in doing so despite the loud ambient noise all around you.

You start to make your way across the room to the northern doorway, the one doorway you had not crossed yet, when the loud clomp of approaching guards sends you scampering across the floor to press yourself up against the wall. The sound is coming from the direction of your own torture chamber, and you and Seraph both make ready to fight as voices reach yours ears, close enough to clearly make out.

“Look, I told you, two of the prisoners are still unaccounted for. Now, we’ve checked off all the markers on all the bodies we’ve found so far, and none of them are those of the prisoners that were supposed to be down here in the very same cells where this little riot started at.”

“So? Maybe they both crawled off in some dark corner to die from their wounds. Or more probably, they’re with the little band that’s got themselves holed up in Chamber 154, thinking they is somehow going to escape beyond there.”

“I don’t care about those people. It’s the ones that started this whole mess I’m concerned with, and for all we know they could be hiding in some dark corner somewhere, not dead. Doesn’t hurt to check some of the nearest chambers, see if any of the guards there saw anything.”

“Ha, sure right. Unless those guards are already dead and we’re about to walk into our own deaths!”

The two voices are very close now, and with an agreeable nod from Seraph you prepare to leap out at the guards when they appear at the doorway, keenly aware that there could be more, less-talkative, guards with them. Just as a pair of shadows crosses the doorway, however, a gruff third voice calls, “You two! Stop!”, followed by a “Yes, Sergeant?” from the two of them. The third voice then continues.

“We’re about to smoke out those rats we’ve cornered in Chamber 154. And you two have just been enlisted to help. Just remember not to kill any of them: attempting to escape earns special treatment around here, and we don’t want anyone missing out on their reward!”

The three of them share a nasty laugh, and then the shadows move away, presumably following the sergeant to go help deal with the last chaos caused by you and Dima’s distraction. For a moment you are tempted to breath a sigh of relief, but the knowledge you are about to try to sneak through perhaps dozens of guard-infested rooms cautions you against relief for the moment. Moving over to the northern doorway, you look back at your companions to find Seraph only one step behind you. The Countess, however, was kneeling beside the concealed doorway, arms wrapped around her and staring at her appropriate short sword, now lying on the ground in front of her. Rocking back and forth gently on the balls of her feet, the Countess seems to be fighting back tears.

“I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry” She whispers, repeating the apology over and over as if in a trance.

The Labs

Iethloc

Lifting off into the air, you easily avoid the disorganized Drak'nei stumbling towards you. As you begin to ascend, you throw the ball of crackling electricity at the lead demon, striking it directly in the chest. It crumples to the ground, twitching erractically as the energy plays over its prone form. But then the lightning fades, and the Drak’nei stubbornly pushes itself back up onto its feet. What the beasts lacked in intelligence they certainly made up for in endurance, making them ideal foot soldiers.

Ignoring them for now, you fly up to the ceiling, far out of their reach as you begin to make your way down the hallway towards the research assistant. As you continue to approach you can hear him clapping and laughing behind the glass as he tracks your progress. “Oh very good, truly! You dance quite well! I think it’s time to find you a new partner!”

Two more crystals light up as you pass them, each disgorging what appears to be a swarm of moths with brilliant red and brown coloration, speckled here and there with white spots. The white you knew was their coloration at birth for the rest was actually stains. These were Blood Moths; swarm based predators that were one of Hell’s few native fauna. Released from the crystals, the two swarms flutter about a moment before moving in separate directions. One swarm descended on the Drak’nei as they lumbered along after you, obscuring them from sight in a fine red mist almost instantly. The other swarm, however, began to flutter after you, picking up speed as the moths doggedly pursued you.

And unfortunately for you, you were quickly running out of space to move as the wards loomed ahead. But you were out of room only momentarily, as you had a skill that this cretin surely did not anticipate. Reaching out your senses to the line of wards, you are quickly able to determine the exact magics involved in its construction and attune yourself to them. Then darting forward into direct contact with the wards, you begin to siphon their magical energy into yourself. All of this spellcasting was starting to get draining, so this little pick-me-up was quite welcome.

It was dangerous to fully absorb powerful magic all at once however, a fact that failed to bother you upon gaining immortality but was important in this specific case as you were borrowing someone else’s body. Pulling back away from the wards, you enjoy the stolen power flowing through you and judge the wards to now be at roughly half strength.

Before you can reach out and drain the other half, however, the research assistant grins and touches a button on the console. “Well, you’re certainly an interesting specimen. Most human mages can’t absorb magical energy, and there are only a few demons that can. Which means if you are a demon, I should be able to do this!”

Touching a final rune on his console, the assistant activates the crystal closest to the line of wards and directly across from the one he used to imprison Omega. As before, a red beam lances out to envelop you, but instead of disintegrating you remain surprisingly intact. It still feels like you’re being torn apart, however, as your soul strains against the magic holding you within your appropriated body. The runes covering your fleshly prison’s body begin to glow, slowly brightening from their usual ink black to radiant white.

This was clearly not the reaction the researcher had intended, and for the first time since you had seen him he was frowning. “Impossible! At first I thought you a mere human, then a demon possessing one, but clearly you’re neither or the crystal would have torn your demonic soul from its resting place! Perhaps simply more power is required?”

Tapping more commands into the console, the researcher activates the trio of crystals that had been imprisoning the Drak’nei and Blood Moths, all of them spearing you with red beams of their own. Slowly, you felt your soul begin to slip free, torn in four different directions by the four crystals skewering you with rays of hellish light. The Blood Moths were likewise still approaching, and their barb-covered tongues would be able to rasp every inch of skin off of your body in seconds, even if these crystals didn’t kill you by tearing your soul apart first.

Ritual Chambers

Pwenet/WhiteKnight777

Mellita smiles as Umber gives permission, and lowers the girl close enough to whisper into her ear as she brushes the girl’s hair away from her neck with her free hand. “If we were not in a hurry, I would turn you into a feast that would last for days. But since we are, I guess you’ll be seeing your brother . . . immediately.” Melitta then opens her mouth and bites down hard onto the girl’s neck, carefully sucking up every last drop of blood that bubbles up from the wound until finally Melitta allows the lifeless and pale form of the young girl to collapse onto the ground. She licks her bloody lips, and smiles widely in the direction of Akor’s charge and the other little children who had all turned away to clutch at the young girl’s legs.

“Are you sure we can’t have another one, Lord Umber? I’m still feeling a little . . . parched.”

Surprisingly, Akor’s charge somehow managed to return Melitta’s smile with a harsh glare. “No!” She cried, looking to the slowly transforming dragon-man for support. This earned a laugh from Mellita who shook her head as she turned back to Umber. “Nevermind. I’m sure there will be a few tasty thralls with Ross. But are you sure that you are ready to face him, Lord Umber? He had killed many of our kind.” A note of actual fear seems to enter Melitta’s voice, but after a moment she nods. “Very well, let’s us go quickly.”

Together, all of you make your way back up the passage to the intersection, where you can hear the loud voice of a certain paladin continuing to berate his followers. “Alright lads, let’s see if you’re anymore useful searching passageways than you were with that bone golem. Ha! I should hope so, otherwise I might as well done everyone a favor and put you useless slobs out of your misery right here and now. Oh ho, what’s this!?”

Emerging out into the cavern, you can see that the bone golem has finally been destroyed, its pieces ground into small shards that cover the floor of the chamber. Four vampires remain standing, along with the tall plate-mailed form of Ross, seemingly looking none the worse for wear.

“Ah, I see the good vampire lord has found some playmates! He’s even got a traitor with him! Helion’s going to be most displeased with you when he finds out about your betrayal, Mellita my dear. I might not even kill you just to find out what sort of hideous punishment he’ll inflict on you when he finds out! Unless, of course . . . he already knows. It would take a pretty powerful mage to break through all those defenses around the dear lord vampire’s prison, especially without being detected . . . or just an insider with explicit knowledge of every ward and seal. I have to admit I don’t know what sort of game Helion is playing, but even if I have to admire the audacity of a vampire that would bite his own friends in the back!”

Narrowing his eyes to squint at Akor, the man chuckles as he waves at hand at him. “And you. You, well I have no idea what sort of thing you might be or what sort of hole these two found you in, but I’ll tell you what! You help me pound these two filthy vampires into dust, and I’ll let you go. I have no quarrel with you, unless you want to start something with me. And then, by gods, my warhammer will finish it!”

Brandishing his warhammer, Ross slowly swings it down towards the ground, undoubtedly pantomiming splitting Akor’s skull open. Lowering the head of the weapon all the way to the ground, Ross leans on it for a moment, smiling pleasantly. “So, what’s it gonna be?”

[Voth]

Voth

You could just slice her up and move along you know.

True but if that Judge character is watching me somehow I don't want to have anymore reasons to be put in stasis for the rest of eternity.

"Listen," Voth says to the girl as she slides along the wall. "I'm not here to hurt you. Yes I'm a prisoner, but that doesn't mean I'm a bad guy. So could you not call the guards down here? Please? I just want to get out of here. You can understand that right?"

[Pwenet]

Akor

Listening to Ross make his little speech and swing his hammer around mimicking crushing skulls, Akor can’t help but chuckle at him and shake his head at the display of bravado.

”Your gods have abandoned you foolish meatbag. You smell tasty, I shall enjoy feasting upon your flesh. But matters of honor demand that my companions here get first dibs on you.”

Turning to look at the four vampires standing around Ross, Akor narrows his eyes at them and leans towards Umbar.

”Matters of honor demand you get first dibs on Ross. I shall take care of the trash, you deal with Ross, scream if you need help.”

Without waiting for a reply Akor pulls away from the group and walks in a circle around the enemies away from the children and Umbar and Millita. Crackling his neck loudly he smiles broadly at his soon to be victims.

”I shall enjoy testing out this new body on you all.”

Not bothering with a stereotypical roar, Akor rush towards the closest two vampires, aiming to grab them by the throats. His body moves with grace and speed that surprises even him, and he takes a moment to mentally smile as his body starts to move quicker. One of the vampires is quick enough to turn and move a dagger, but the blow is feeble and poorly aimed and slides against Akors developing scales and slices a few of them off.

Grabbing the two Akor does not pause but flex and slams the two vampire heads together. Roaring he pulls them apart and smashes them again, and again, and by the third time the badly crushed and bleeding heads burst like overripe fruit, covering Akor and those around him with gore.

Looking to see the other two vampires Akor smiles and throws what he hopes are the corpses of the two he just dealt with at them before rushing towards them with visions of tearing them apart flashing through his mind while also wondering how vampire flesh would taste.

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber grinned as they stalked back down the passageway, and he laughed at Ross' words as the pathetic little sack of flesh tried to stare him down. He had faced down lords of the Nether Planes, and entities far more ancient and terrible even than these. The paladin was a challenge for him, yes, at least in his weakened state, but he was still just a pathetic, simpering little god-botherer. He just shook his head and circled, expecting Milletia to be wise enough to flank the paladin. He began to speak, his voice a low, silky tone, but his grin and the gleam in his eyes revealed a vicious sadism that was matched by his words as he stalked around the paladin. If the vampires came too close, he would tear them open - and perhaps save them for later. Their vitae would be refreshing... but his first priority was Ross.

Gods? Let me tell you about your gods, you pathetic little whoreson. Your gods are no less parasites than I - moreso, for they hide their nature. They and their so-called clergy live off the fat of you stupid, arrogant cattle, performing petty little tricks to confound and amaze credulous buffons like yourself. The power they grant you is just a little morsel, and you nothing more than a simpering puppet. But the best part of the arrangement is that you just dreamed them up. They're merely constructs - reflections of your own meager imaginations. All that gives them power is the slavish adoration of morons like yourself. Despite their supposed omnipotence, even they cannot evade death - they're just powers, and they will pass. I remember a time before your precious gods, paladin, and I'll be here long after they are nothing more than mewling voices on the wind, scattered and broken for lack of worship, the only sign of their passing the dust that was once their temples... and you? You'll be less than a memory. I'm going to take great delight in making sure everyone with an ounce of your blood or a shred of memory of you either dies an excruciating death or simply forgets you altogether. I won't merely kill you, Ross, I'm going to erase you. Look at me, Ross, and know that I won't merely end your life... I will make it as if you were never born at all.

Umber smirked, still stalking around the paladin like a hunting cat, using his words like barbs.. He prepared, all the while keeping careful watch that he should not be flanked himself, preparing for the paladin's charge... and when he did, he would tear that accursed hammer from the fool's hands and break his body. He wondered what the little bastard's blood would taste like.

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

"Ack!" Sohssa cried out in surprise when the first red lance hit him. However, a wide grin crept across his face when it failed to do anything significant to him. Interesting. These tattoos have proven themselves to have some worth, after all! he thought to himself. Then he turned towards the ravenous moths coming to consume him. However, he roared out in surprise and pain when the four lances struck him. "GAH! Insolent human! You must be put in your place!" he growled as ethereal feathers appeared and began dancing all around him. He waited just a few more moments for the blood moths to get closer, then willed the spell into existence. Hundreds of icy, extremely sharp feathers burst into being, swarming other the swarms of moths and most likely beating them at their own game.

However, he did not wait to see the results of his effort. Instead, a gentle force radiated outward from him, but in this case did little more than make his clothes flap around slightly. However, a much more conspicuous blast of blue light erupted from his fingers, and he directed the beam of force at one of the crystals trying to imprison him. Then, he turned the beam briefly to the ground as he aimed it at the next crystal, continuing the process until each was smashed by the beam of force. "I will not let these toys take me down!" he declared as he worked to free himself.

[Dorizzit]

Korram breathes out a sigh of relief (very quietly) as the guards leave. The last thing that the group needed would be a fight that might attract attention. Turning and seeing the Countess, he holds a finger up at Seraph to communicate the desire for a pause before crouching next to the Countess. He puts a hand on her shoulder. "What is it? What's wrong?" he asks softly.

[MrEdwardNigma]

Rotten creature won't die. I hate it when my knowledge of magic isn't sufficient. Back to good old clichés, I guess. You kill the head, you kill the creature

"Cassandra, head back into the library and take out anything that might be fualing this creature, the brazier, the bookstand, anything! And hurry up! Zombie, take out the head! Take out the head first!"

The zombie groaned. It quickly too hold of the snake's tail and use it'sshard end to pierce the cultist, straight through the torso, into the hump at the back. He wouldn't be able to kill the snake while this bastard was bothering him. He then took hold of the snake's head with one hand and pushed it into wall, shattering the bone head. Victor ran up to the fight and quickly dug hishand inside the bulge at the cultist's back, taking out the core once more. Sure, the zombie a pierced it, but it never harmed to make sure.

[ubersquid]

Elkwin looks over at the door for a moment. For one thing, he is contemplating to just walk away, for the other, he wants to make sure it was still open and not suddenly shut close like in so many ghost stories he had heard and told.

Then he takes another step towards the girl. And another. Noticing the chests next to the bed once more, he throws Marv a nod, telling him to check them out.

He squats down next to the bed and looks at the girl. His head shakes and his eyes squint while he watches her. On the one hand his consciousness forces him to look away. The state she was currently in, made a horrid sight. On the other hand, Elkwins curiosity let him see through that and admire the beauty she once possessed.

Then, very slowly, he reaches out his shaking hand and carefully strikes over the blade and hilt, watching out not to nudge it and cause the woman any more pain.

((OOC: If Marvin doesn't find anything in the chests which could influence this (i.e. if they just contain clothes and stuff), Elkwin will try to slowly pull out the Sword))

[Inspectre]

The Catacombs

ubersquid

Checking over your shoulder, you notice that the door is thankfully as you left it, so clearly this ghost either has little control over its environment or perhaps simply has no wish to prevent you from leaving. With at least reduced fear that you would become trapped here, you direct Marv to search the chests while you approached the bed.

One shaking foot in front of the other, you slowly approach the bed to kneel down beside its head. Looking down at the ghost of this woman, scarcely older than a girl, you are initially repulsed at what she has become. But gradually you are able to ignore what has been done to her, and see the beauty she once had. And she was beautiful, perhaps even regal looking, like someone you might picture as the proud queen in one of the fairy tales you had been told as a child, and had always intended to pass on to your own children someday. But someone had obliterated all that: covering her face and body in scars, removing the lower two fingers on her hand, and ending with tearing out her eyes and running her through with a sword.

The sword. Now close enough to touch it you can make out more details of the weapon itself. It seems to be made out of the same bright silvery metal that the suit of armor is made out of. Gold plated hilt, shaped like the wings of a bird – or perhaps angel? The winged hilt ends at the pommel: a large sky blue gem that sparkles brilliantly in the light of your torch. The entire length of the blade that you can see is covered in elegant etchings that appear to depict the creation of the world, while some sort of ancient runes run through these etchings down the exact middle of the blade. You have no idea what the runes say, but they seem to match in style with the ones covering the walls and floor of the hallway outside.

“Just found some clothing and a couple personal effects in the chests. Oh, and I think this is a diary or journal or something.” Marv says, holding up an ancient leather-bound book that has long since yellowed and grown withered with age. Still, a tarnished brass binding holds the pages together, for the moment at least, and a brass clasp holds the book closed. “This thing looks old though; I dunno if we’ll be able to open it up careful enough to avoid messing up the writing. Most adventuring types I know seldom bother with taking books when they found them on account of it being too hard to avoid ruining them when trying to open them up to read. Want to give it a try all the same?”

Seeming to sense your intent, the ghostly woman stops crying and seems to offer up a faltering smile.

Yes, take your weapon Hero. You will need it in the time ahead. You and the others you have already met. Or perhaps will meet? Seeing so much results in events blurring together, all sense of order and time and place lost. It is such a burden, one my brother sought to relieve me of among so many other things. In him I saw too late, did not wish to see. Was it love, or simply folly in refusing to acknowledge my mistake? But such is the punishment for damning us all. I would suffer more, gladly, if it would hold the door closed for even a few hours more. But it is too late for that now, too late for all but Oblivion, for it is at the door and the key is in the lock and all that’s left is for the one to turn it.

For a moment it looked as if the woman might collapse back into sorrow and her even madder ramblings, but she seems to mentally shake herself and returns to the topic at hand.

Take the blade as you were meant to, Hero. You will need it to fulfill your destiny. You and the others shall fight, must fight, as Oblivion comes and all falls dark. And you shall fall, and die in failure, for that is what I see and what I see is true. But not to fight would be a worse failure, and so you must take your weapon. Arm yourself, Hero, and prepare for Oblivion.

The Spires: Ironheart Research

Voth

Pah, we don’t have time to coddle some stupid girl. If the guards show up in here, we’ll be trapped, and then it’s back to meet that Judge character or something worse.

While Shadow belabors his point inside of your head, the girl pauses, looking down at the bronze bracelet locked around her wrist. “I . . . I suppose so. But, if I don’t get them, then they’ll blame me. And then it’s back to the Mines or the Guards Barracks to work as “entertainment”.” The girl shivers, and then looks down at her feet, clearly unsure of what to do.

Oh, screw this. She’s going to start screaming.

Suddenly, you feel Shadow’s presence shifting inside of your mind, and for a moment you fear that you are about to transform, something you thought was impossible without your consent. However, your fear does not come about, but perhaps something even more disturbing happens: you start to speak. But it is not your mind or will behind the words that your mouth now forms, but Shadow’s.

“Look me in the eyes when I’m talking to you girl!”

Startled, the girl looks up, and for the first time since your sudden appearance in the room, your eyes lock. Instantly, a horrified expression crosses the girl’s face, and she crumples against the wall, arms wrapped protectively around her body.

As quickly as it had come forth, Shadow’s presence retreats back into the usual corner of your mind, his hideous laughter ringing throughout your being.

There, problem solved. I wager she’ll be too scarred from seeing you butcher those guards earlier to even move, let alone call out of help. Shall we be on our way now?

???????

MrEdwardNigma

“Right!” Cassandra shouts, nodding at your direction and dashing back into the room. Also under your direction, your zombie scoops up the snake bone golem thing as it finishes reforming, spearing the black-robed figure with the tail and pinning him to the ground just as the snake re-ignites.

Neither zombie or cultist is severely burned by the snake, however, as a moment later your zombie smashes the snake’s skull, once again causing the creature to fall apart into hundreds of bone fragments. Yet again it begins to reform, although at a somewhat slower pace if your eyes could be believed. Clearly the abuse your zombie was dishing out to it was starting to have a drain upon its ability to regenerate, although it is clear from the damage already done to your zombie that a battle of attrition against the thing would be unwise.

As you approach the downed figure with the intention of finishing him off, you hear Cassandra shout from within the library room, “Found it! It’s the brazier, it must be! The thing is glowing like crazy!”

However, her shout distracts you for just a moment, a moment that the figure manages to nonetheless take advantage of as it reaches up to bat your hands aside and lay one of its own on your chest. Instantly your mind is filled with immense, irrational, child-like terror as you feel the presence of an immense and all-consuming evil form into being behind you. Paralyzed with fear at the thought of what this evil could do to you if you misbehaved and angered it, you cower within your own mind as the black-robed figure continues to take action.

With a hideous chuckle the creature swats you aside, and you have the dim sensation of flying back through the air and crashing into the wall to land in a heap on the floor several feet away. Still paralyzed with fear, you helplessly watch through half-closed eyes as the cultist reaches down with one hand to tear the snake’s spear-like tail out of his chest, and gesture emphatically with his other hand while uttering the vocal components of a spell in some foul tongue that would be impossible for a normal human to reproduce. A smoldering ball of black energy flies out of the cultist’s outstretched hand a moment later, striking your zombie full in the face and rotting away all of the flesh covering its face in an instant. It staggers back from the impact of the energy, although seems to be unaffected beyond the loss of its facial skin.

The attack does provide the cultist with enough time to regain his footing, however, and a moment later he lashes out with one foot, driving the momentarily stunned zombie back into the wall and away from him. Lacking further instruction from its master, the zombie begins to lumber after the cultist as he moves away to approach you, but the zombie stops upon noticing that the bone golem is almost finished reforming once again. Carrying out your last given instruction, the zombie drives its fist down onto its nearly reformed skull, crushing the heavy bone back into dozens of small shards and causing the snake golem to once again collapse into separate fragments.

That still leaves the black-robed figure, however, who even though he now appears to be staggering and doubled-over from the injuries given to his human body and a few to the hump on his back, is still a very real threat. Spear-like tail of the snake golem still clutched in his one hand, the cultist comes to stand over your prone form, clearly enjoying the look of terror in your eyes from the effects of his spell.

Fool! I am eternal! I have existed since before the birth of your ancestors! I exist despite your best attempts to end me! I will continue to exist after your body turns to ash and your soul writhes in agony inside the gullet of the Forger of Oblivion! Know this, and die!

Before the cultist can deliver on his promise, the snake golem’s brazier appears, twirling end over end to smash into his head, sending him crashing into the wall. A moment later, Cassandra appears in the doorway leading into the library. “Yeah yeah, we’ve heard it before. Come up with something original if you’re going to pontificate.” She taunts, before rushing over to your side. “Victor! You ok!?”

As a matter of fact, you were, as the fear effect of the cultist finally wore off and you felt that it was safe to move, let alone breathe, again. Unfortunately, you knew you still weren’t safe yet, as with a bestial shriek of rage the cultist rent his black robes, revealing the two massive clawed arms that were also on the back of the first one you had fought. Flailing about, the two claws found the brazier, and clamped down on it, proceeding to twist, grind, and slam it against the wall until with an eerie bright blue glow, the brazier exploded into a hail of hot black stone.

As the cultist wobbly got back onto his feet, snapping the claws of his back-arms menacingly, you heard several shouts from further down the hallway. Clearly, the others in the room you had passed earlier had become aware of the fight, or at least that this singular cultist would likely prove unable to stop you from escaping. On the plus side, at least the stupid face-book ( :smallgrin: ) was no longer screaming from its place on the floor, where you had dropped it at some point during the fight.

Private Torture Chambers

Dorizzit

Seraph nods, although he emphatically gestures at you with his index and middle finger, suggesting that you had two minutes at best before he moved on with or without you. As he glides over to each of the doorways in turn, presumably to see which way would be best to travel to avoid being seen by guards or prisoners, you approach the Countess.

She starts at your touch, blinking her teary eyes several times at you in confusion before shaking her head. “I’m sorry.” She says a moment later, echoing her previous repeats of the phrase. “I must have zoned out there for a minute. Ah . . . the screaming, it seems to be reacting with the drugs. For a moment there, I was back in my own little room in this hellish place. And . . .” The Countess sighs and shakes her head. “I wasn’t entirely honest with you when I said I was kidnapped from my estate. I wasn’t the only one they took that night. There were others . . . my butler, my cook, several of my personal guards. All of us were taken here. And that horrid man, the Captain, he . . . he killed everyone else. Tortured them to death. In front of me. H-he . . . he said that if I agreed to marry, we would all be free to go. But I had better hurry and make up my mind before it was too late. He said this, over and over, as he cut into my servants, some of whom I had known since I was just a little girl. Oh I cried, and screamed, and pleaded, but I never agreed to give him what he wanted. And my stubborn refusal got them all killed, one by one, until there was only me left to torture.”

Throughout her story, Countess Amelia’s tone gradually hardened, and her hands tensed into fists. Grimacing in frustration, she now raises both fists and raps them against the sides of her head.

“I got them killed, Korram. Just like Dima got killed trying to protect me. And I can’t help but feel now that I’m going to get you killed too.” Lowering her hands, the Countess grabs onto the hand you have left on her shoulder throughout her story. For a moment she simply holds onto it, but then removes your hand from her shoulder and instead of using it for reassurance uses it as an anchor to pull herself back up onto her feet.

From his position at the north doorway, Seraph suddenly motions for silence, and then abruptly ducks out of the room through the doorway. A few moments of silence pass, and then over the backdrop of far-off screaming you hear a faint cry of alarm come from somewhere several rooms ahead. Instead of the sounds of battle following, however, you instead hear what sounds like civilized talking, mixed with a few harsh laughs. You can’t make out what is being said as you are too far away, and the distant screams and clinking and clanging of various torture implements drown out what little sound could reach your ears.

The talking seems to persist for a minute or two, and then fades into silence once more. Several more moments pass this way, and for a fleeting instant you wonder if Seraph has somehow sold you out. But then he reappears, alone, and looking as if he has just done something unpleasant.

“Let us depart and move quickly. I have cleared the next several rooms to the north of guards, so we should have only ignorant prisoners to worry about discovering us.”

The Labs

Iethloc

Although somewhat distracted by the painful sensation of having your soul slowly ripped apart, you nonetheless manage to summon your crystalline feathers again, tearing the blood moth swarm heading your way apart. Turning your attention to the real source of pain, the handful of crystals attempting to supposedly trap your soul inside of them, you conjure a beam of force at the nearest.

Apparently these crystals are not particularly durable, as it instantly shatters into thousands of fine pieces upon being struck by your force ray. This lessens the strain on your soul and the assistant’s body, and enables you to twist around enough to blast another one of the crystals.

Cursing your efforts loudly, you see out of the corner of your eye the research assistant hammer the console in front of him. One by one, all of the crystals lining the hallway begin to shoot red beams down at the floor, disgorging their contents: more Drak’nei; first one and then a second three-armed demon known as Azuru; a succubus, looking even more human with the apparent surgical removal of her bat-like wings; and finally Omega. Then all of the beams swing up to strike you, forcing a scream from your lips as the sensation of your soul being torn in a dozen different directions intensifies to an almost overwhelming level.

Noticing your predicament, Omega leaps into the air and flies up to slam a fist into the crystal overhead. It cracks, and then shatters from Omega’s second blow, cutting off that red beam even as the research assistant starts to open several more crystals and bring the capture beams up to spotlight on you.

You need to bring down the wards protecting the assistant immediately. We cannot stand against all of the demons contained here and him at the same time. Omega cautions, immediately coming under attack by a pair of Drak’nei as she lands from her attack on the crystal that held her moments ago.

Fending off their blows, Omega glowers at them for a moment, and then telekinetically hurls both of them through the air, slamming each of them into two more of the crystals that were currently attempting to capture your soul. As the second swarm of blood moths approach her, Omega looks at them with an expression of annoyance for a moment, before they all suddenly burst into flame, glowing pinpoints of light and heat that quickly fade into black ash that rains down into a small pile on the floor. One of the Azuru then leaps at her, backhanding her and sending her flying back into the wall, while the second Azuru looks up at you, snarls in frustration, and then leaps upon a nearby Drak’nei to begin tearing it to pieces.

Hurry before we are overwhelmed.

Easy for her to say, given that she only has demons to deal with on the ground. You, meanwhile, where up in the air, pinned in place still by four of the crystal beams, with another half dozen preparing to disgorge their contents before tracking onto you. Half a dozen was enough to nearly succeed in ripping your soul to shreds, and you don’t want to contemplate whether or not you could survive ten.

Ritual Chambers

Pwenet/WhiteKnight777

Gritting his teeth throughout the verbal barbs thrown his way by both Akor and Umber, by the end Ross had lost his jolly façade and nearly his composure altogether. Jabbing a quivering finger at Umber, Ross snarls, “Forget taking you back whole! I’m going to grind you into dust, leech. And then I’m going to piss on your ashes and spread them onto a farmer’s field as fertilizer! Let’s see if they can bring you back from that! Miriam grant me strength!”

Raising one hand off his hammer to lift it overhead as if imploring the heavens, Ross casts a quick spell, suffusing his whole being with a soft golden light, before returning his hand to the haft of his warhammer. As Akor rushes forward to deal with Ross’s vampire allies, doing so silently, Ross leaps at Umber, screaming a wordless battlecry loud enough for both of them.

Prepared for Ross’s charge, Umber nimbly dances back as Ross’s first hammer blow crashes into the floor. Umber then darts back in, grasping the warhammer and twisting it out of Ross’s grip. Any thoughts of an easy victory over the disarmed paladin are short-lived, however, as Ross lets go of the warhammer to swing one meaty fist up in a backhand to Umber’s jaw. Holy energy races from the paladin’s fist into Umber’s face at the point of impact, blackening the undead flesh there.

As the vampire lord reels back from the blow, Ross follows it up with another blow from his other hand, a brutal jab that catches Umber directly in the nose. With a dry crack Umber’s nose breaks from the force of the blow; then disintegrates as holy energy races into the already damaged flesh.

Still not finished, Ross now wraps his hands around Umber’s neck, but instead of squeezing the paladin merely uses his grip to swing the vampire around in several wide circles before throwing him, head-first, into the nearby cavern wall.

As Umber struggles to collect himself and brush the dancing stars out of his vision, Ross bends down to snatch up his warhammer once more. With another bestial cry he flings himself at the vampire lord once more, the hammer crashing into the wall and breaking off a sizeable chunk of rock as Umber leaps aside just in time.

“I’m going to make you *beg* Miriam for forgiveness before I send you back to Hell. Not just for the hurtful things you said a moment ago, but for all the evil things you’ve done in your hideous centuries of stolen life.” Ross grunts as he rips his warhammer out of the cavern fall in a shower of stone chips, his typical cockiness slowly returning to smooth at his momentarily berserk rage.

Meanwhile, Akor moves to engage the four vampires present. Not bothering with peasantries or technique, Akor simply leaps upon the nearest two, snatching up one of their heads in each claw, and slams them several times together. As with most any other creature, living or undead, smashing its head against something with great force tends to be fatal. However, Akor is somewhat disappointed to find that upon their skulls finally giving way after the fourth smash, instead of being showered with gore he is simply covered in ashes as both vampires instantly crumble into dust.

The two remaining vampires stare at the dragon-man in shock for a moment, then immediately turn heel and run for one of the nearest exits. Mellita, previously circling around to strike at Ross from behind, sees their flight and dashes after them, drawing her concealed dirk as she runs. Closing with the rearmost one, Mellita throws her knife into the calf of his left leg, effectively hamstringing him.

The vampire stumbles for only a second, but that is enough to doom him as Mellita closes the remaining distance in a tackling leap. It then takes her only a moment to rip her knife out of the vampire’s leg, swing it around to place the blade underneath his chin, and begin sawing at his neck until his head finally rolls off of his shoulders and he crumbles into dust.

The last vampire, caring nothing for his companions or perhaps simply wanting to get away so he can come back later with friends, continues running on heedless of this. As he continues running for the exit, a dry clatter from one corner of the room suddenly directs everyone’s attention to the newest arrival to this battle. Although badly beaten with most than half of its bones missing or cracked, the bone golem nonetheless drags itself forward on three legs from the dark corner where it had been silently reassembling.

One of its scythe-like arms and lower jaw missing, the bone golem appears to be a fairly pathetic instead of fearsome sight, but it quickly proves to remain dangerous as it lashes its whip-like tail out at Akor, slicing open his chest with the broken ends of its tail spurs and flinging him back against the far wall.

“Why won’t you stay down!?” Ross shouts incredulously as it slowly lumbers towards him, apparently no longer considering Akor a threat. “No matter, I’ll deal with you as soon as this vampire “lord” is merely lord of dust!”

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber groaned in pain as the paladin sent him spinning back through the wall. He rolled to his feat, his face aflame with pain from the holy man's fiery strikes. He rose, the tattered, stolen clothes hanging off of him. The vampire lord's ancient eyes blazed with fury. Before he had been playing, but the pain and the threat of Ross' power. He hissed, his voice oddly distorted by his missing nose, the sound of which merely added to his fury as he spat out a thick gob of blood that hissed as it hit the stone.

Dust? Dust is all you are, little fool... dust and ashes. Strike me down and I shall rise again... but all you are is a bag of walking meat and water. Soon enough death's hand will sieze your heart. You will die, Ross, and you will be nothing. Less than a shadow of your memory. And so too shall be your pathetic little godling. A forgotten whisper on the wind... and you even less than that.

Umber laughed chillingly, dancing aside from the paladin's blow and, as he dislodged rock from the cavern's wall, Umber's hands snapped out to grab it, spinning with lightning speed the paladin could not match and sending the stony missile hurtling straight at the holy warrior. He slipped into a combat stance that had been dead for five hundred years, a form of unarmed fighting practiced by an esoteric order of monks... one that focused on the redirection of the opponent's force against them. Having seen what the bastard could do, even unarmed, he had no intention of letting him get his hands on him again... with a taunting grin, the vampire lord feinted forward with several quick jabs to various pressure points, all easily deflected... but just enough to get inside his guard and force him on the defensive. Though wounded painfully, the damage was superficial and would be healed, though the holy energy would require more than the normal expenditure of blood to heal... but the point was that his fighting prowess was no worse for wear. He moved with lightning speed, resolved not to underestimate Ross again... his goal now was to keep him on the defensive, avoid his blows, and drive him back into the oncoming Golem, if not to let his allies get their own attacks in on the paladin. But above all, he would not let the little cretin win. He had to avoid his deadly hammer and holy strikes at all costs.

[ubersquid]

Elkwin Holmanson

While the girl talks, Elkwin slowly retracts his hand again and reaches it out towards Marv, taking the Journal. He puts it next to him on the ground and starts to carefully fiddle around with the binding. Unsure if the girl could comprehend or even understand a word he is saying, he nevertheless looks alternately at the girl and the book and calmly talks to her.

"Hmm... I don't suppose I am the hero you are looking for... You see... I mean if you could see me..." - He lets slip an embarrassed smile at his blunder - "The ravages of time haven't spared me, especially around the belly area... I have given up the whole hero thing a long time ago, and as for now, I am just an Innkeeper, and I'd like to stay one. Of course there isn't much use for an Innkeeper in this hellhole of a prison... but we will get to that in time... And on top of that, I wouldn't even know how to properly wield a sword like that. An axe or a mace maybe, but not a sword. I am truly sorry lass, I will try my best to ease your torment, but I guess you will just have to hold out a little bit longer, because the hero you are looking for, I am not."

With that, he suddenly throws Marv a startling look and tilts his head towards the Sword.

"Are you?"

The brass binding screeches and slides off the book, leaving only a small pile of rust. Elkwin can already feel the pages inside falling apart as he slowly turns the cover.

[Dorizzit]

Korram nods his understanding to Seraph at the gesture. He then listens patiently as the countess explains her troubles and then her previous bending of the truth. When she stands, he begins to speak. "It may be true that you could have saved them, but it may not have, as well. Ironheart is a cruel place; people aren't sent here to be imprisoned, they're sent here to die. Horribly. Had you consented, likely as not they would have been killed anyway. Captain Delran is a vicious and cruel man, and I doubt he would have let them go so easily. And I doubt your involvement would have made one whit of difference in Dima's death. Now let's get moving. We have a lot of ground to cover." At Seraph's odd actions, Korram does nothing more than quirk an eyebrow. He decides to let it be, for the moment. He begins walking the direction indicated by Seraph, however he remains on his toes and alert to the area around him.

[Pwenet]

Akor

Caught by surprised of the resurrection of the Bone Golem, Akor goes flying as he looks down at his chest. The dull impact sends a new wave of pain through his changing body. Shaking his head he sees that the Bone Golem has shifted targets, no longer considering him a threat as he notices several internal parts emerging through the slash.

”Typical, get a new body, have to get repairs made already.”

Thanks to his unique nature he reaches towards the damaged sections and shuts off the pain receptors. Smiling to himself at the sudden lack of pain from the wound he quickly goes about the task of reach towards the parts and pushing them back in. The wound itself is already starting to heal, and after everything is placed back inside it seals itself to keep everything there. Granted it would take some more time for it to fully heal but at least for now he was not in danger of spilling out into the floor again.

Standing up he sees that one of the vampire was taken out by Mellita while the other continues to run. Flexing his legs he leaps up into the air, his shoulder muscles flexing as if something was missing. Soon the great wings would emerge, soon, but for now the jumping would suffice. Twisting in mid-air he turns and lands in front of the last fleeing vampire, smiling.

”Why leaving so soon? I want you to enjoy your last few seconds here.”

Grabbing the vampire by his throat, Akor flexes his legs and leaps once again. In mid-air he observes that his ally is now using some strange art that he saw ancient humans once practice. He watches for a few seconds then shakes his head at the absurdity of learning it. Throwing the vampire as he comes in for a landing, he sprints towards the Paladin named Ross, coming in at an angle to him so that Umbar still has his full attention.

”I like your hammer. May I have it?”

He then reaches out for the hammer, preferably in mid-swing for he is fairly confident that when it comes to out-muscling the paladin he would win thus making his plan to catch the hammer, then let Umbar finish his work with the fool.

[Voth]

Voth

What... What did you just do?

Simple, I exercised my control over your body to make you speak and thus having her look into your eyes. Its quiet simple really.

Never do that again.

Whats wrong? Have you suddenly gained a conscience?

She did nothing to us! What reason was there to do that to her?

Simple. She was in our way. Now, shall we carry on?

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

"I...WILL NOT be stopped by a HUMAN...and his DEMONIC WHELPS!" Sohssal managed to declare between screams as he prepared to expend a large amount of magical energy. Blue lights danced around him, and, before long, a dome of blue light blasted its way into existence. Expanding rapidly from Sohssal, it moved out to crush any and all nearby crystals (and anything else in the way), including the ones currently trying to imprison him. Argh! What frustrates me most is that I have to keep the assistant alive for directions! Oh, what I wouldn't give for a spell to speak to the dead... he thought to himself.

After attacking the crystals, Sohssal quickly dives down at the wards again for a large gulp of magical energy, then ascends once more to stay out of the reach of the angry demons below. Not satisfied with simply hoarding magic energy, Sohssal prepares to quickly cast a spell. Fire danced around his hands as he made several intricate gestures, and then he covered his eyes. Soon afterwards, a bright light flared into existence in the middle of the demonic brawl. It was soon accompanied by a large, fiery explosion. Don't want to have to deal with so many demons...and if it destroys a couple crystals, all the better... Sohssal thought with great anticipation as he uncovered his eyes to look at the carnage.

[MrEdwardNigma]

Damn these cultists with their visions. Yugh, flowers, bunnies, the sun and yellow all over the place. I hate that colour. It seriously freaked me out... If only these guys would send some nice torture visions...

Victor glanced at Cassandra for the briefest of moments. She was a good distraction, at least. Most zombies weren't this agile... It gave Victor some bone chilling ideas. But then the huge looming form of his warrior, his protector, overshadowed the cultist and Victor snapped back to reality.

"Now!" he shouted, though his voice barely reached the pitch of a whisper. Performing surgery on your own vocal cords was never a good idea.

The zombie's muscular arms grabbed on to the bony arms that portruded from the cultist's back and ripped the towards him, the zombie's fleshridden face digging into the cultist's neck. It wasn't an attack, not really. Victor had killed one of these creatures before, and it had been a tough battle, but certainly worth it. Especially for fighting them again. Victor knew exactly what would kill the creature, or a least it's husk. He'd studied it while moving, while fighting, while dead, and even from the inside, while alive. His last kill had been rather messy, but he knew wat to look for now.

Without hesitating a second his hand tore into the flesh of the cultist, right at the weak spot. His zombie was the perfect distraction. He tried to grab the parasite inside the being now, squeezing his claws into it so it could't escape like the last time. He pulled the thing out and with one last look his razor-tipped killed the thing once and for all (Hopefully...).

"I'm always okay, darling"

[Inspectre]

Fresh Meat

The Cells: First Floor

smartaleq

Jagged lightning streaked across the obsidian sky, and a heavy wind drove the rain full into your face. Yet doggedly you advanced up the steep hill, growing closer by degrees to the sharp cliff spearing up into the sky ahead of you, visible only when the lightning crashed around you. Now and then a pitiful voice was carried by the howling wind down from the cliff to your ears, driving you forward, faster, faster!

“Daddy . . . help! . . . slipping . . . can’t hold on!”

Finally reaching the apex, you look down to see the slender form of your daughter, hanging off the side of the cliff and struggling to maintain her hold on the slick rocks. Throwing yourself down onto your stomach to reach a hand down to her, you nearly slide off the top to go plunging into the endless blackness below you. But heedless of the risk you worm yourself further off the edge, lowering your arm down closer to her hands inch by perilous inch, calling to her, pleading with her to take your hand.

But as the tips of your fingers brush against hers, your daughter looks up at you, her once lively eyes utterly dead. “Too late.” She whispers, and then releases her grip to go tumbling down into the darkness below. Screaming, you hoist yourself off the edge, falling after her without a moment’s hesitation.

As you fall, you suddenly realize that you are not falling down into the canyon below, but the gaping maw of some hideous beast. The sounds of the storm cut out, and instead your ears are filled with shrill, mocking laughter as you fall closer and closer to the thing’s waiting gullet, until finally its teeth crash together, and only your sudden start into consciousness saves you from being skewered by a massive tooth.

It was the dream again, the one you had been having ever since you had been locked away in here. You didn’t have the dream every night, which was a tremendous boon as you weren’t sure you could take the experience every time you closed your eyes. But you had the dream often, and every time you seemed to start further and further away from the cliff, and your daughter’s voice was fainter. Did that mean you were slowly losing her in the real world as each day dragged by? You didn’t know, but were terrified that it was the case, and it seemed to be supported by your occasional conversations with Giles.

Giles . . . the Ironheart administrator who had locked you away in here. You still weren’t sure whether he meant good or ill, but at least he was forthright in his dealings with you after ordering you locked up and gagged, and he seemed genuinely concerned for your daughter. But it was clear that all the good intentions in the world meant nothing here, and if something wasn’t done soon you feared it would indeed be too late for you and your daughter both.

But you were powerless in here, locked in a cage, manacled and fettered, and gagged to boot. Thanks to Giles the guards largely left you alone except for the occasional impromptu beating, but you could see in the eyes of some of them that they wanted to do worse to you; drag you away to the Torture Chambers below or the Guard Barracks above, from which nobody would ever see you again. For now the only thing you could do was remain strong, so that when the day hopefully came to see your daughter, you could be strong for her.

Hearing the heavy tread of footsteps approaching, you pull yourself up and paw away the drool that had come to cover your face during your nightmare. Rotten gag – it also frequently got in the way when you tried to slurp down the thin gruel the guards served for food. Hmm, gruel – was it breakfast/lunch/dinner time already? You had long since given up trying to keep exact track of time, sleeping in bursts between feedings.

As the approaching figure reached the door to your cell, you saw through the bars that it was Giles and not the cooks. A little disappointing that you would not be getting food to quiet your rumbling stomach, but at least the man typically had food for thought.

Giles waited until the two guards accompanying him opened the door to your cell, then stepped in alone while the guards shut the door and waited outside. Typical procedure, including Giles’s usual manner of greeting you by shouting an insult and driving a fist into your stomach. His eyes delivered the apology his mouth could not, and pulling a key from his overcoat pocket he undid the padlock holding your gag in place.

Pulling the filthy strip of leather free from in-between your teeth, Giles let it drop to the floor, then delivered a half-hearted backhand to your face. “Worthless cur! I demand that you speak and tell me what I want to know, so that I can stop sickening myself by coming down here to look at your filthy face!” He added as he slipped the gag’s key back into his pocket, and then whispered, “So, ah . . . how are things down here friend? Your daughter’s condition, um . . . remains unchanged from last we spoke.”

Although this was how your short conversations usually went, today you sensed that Giles was uncommonly nervous, as if he was trying to hide something from you.

The_Snark

Humming a soft melody to yourself, you dropped the red-bristled brush back into the wine-colored bucket of water for the final time. This cell was finally clean again, at least as clean as things got around in this place: there just was no removing some bloodstains. But you had done a good enough job, and now it was time to turn in your bucket and brush and go see Daddy.

Hooking the bucket’s handles under your right arm, but not where the number “2” was seared as that sometimes hurt, you push yourself unsteadily up onto your feet in preparation to leave the empty cell, still humming softly. You don’t remember where you heard the song before, but it always comforted you and reminded you of your Mother, of whom you had no memories. There were just memories of Daddy, and the horrible things he sometimes did in order to discipline you.

But you always deserved it, oh yes, because you were a stupid girl, a bad girl. If only you could also be calm and quiet and obedient, the model little girl for Daddy. But every now and then you messed up and got angry or frustrated or curious, and then Daddy would have to punish you. Sometimes the punishments lasted for days; hideous, horrible, soul-crushing punishments that just went on and on.

For not the first time you caught yourself wondering if the punishment was really equal to the crime, but quickly forced it out of your mind. Thoughts like that got you punished too, so it was best just not to think at all, just focus on the work at-hand.

Unbidden, a tear slipped down your cheek to splash into the bucket. Gasping in fear, you scrubbed at your face with the back of your free hand, covering up the tear’s trail with the grime that covered the back of your hand. Crying often got you punished too, especially if it wasn’t asked for by Daddy or didn’t happen in the middle of a punishment session.

Slipping out from the cell, you gently close the door with your left hand, the bronze bracelet enclosed around your right wrist clattering against the iron bars of the door. Then you set off down the hallway, still softly humming to yourself.

You pass several more empty cells, all of which you had cleaned earlier today, and then you started to pass by occupied cells. Occupied meant people were in them – bad people, who demonstrated that they belonged in their cages by cursing or catcalling at you as you walked past. Daddy didn’t like it when you talked to them either, and since there was rarely anything to talk with them about, you often ignored them entirely besides shrinking back in fear from some of the more angry and violent ones. But sometimes you were a bad girl, a stupid girl, and talked to them anyway out of curiosity over why they were locked up, disobeying Daddy and common sense and earning yourself a horrible punishment session.

Suddenly, off to your right a figure burst from the shadows within his cells to press himself up against the bars. Startled, you stumble back away from the cell, nearly spilling the bucket of dirty water everywhere which would have definitely earned you punishment. But you manage to balance the bucket again at the last second, and stare in astonishment at the figure pushing himself up against the bars.

It wasn’t some hooligan, but a nice old man with kindly blue eyes.

“Forgive me for startling you lass.” He croaked, his voice rough and altogether unpleasant unlike the rest of his serene face. “I was just hoping that, perhaps, I could have a little bit of that water you’re carrying?”

The Cells: Second Floor

Burrito

You had suffered in work camps, in prisons, and a dozen other permutations of hellhole for nearly two decades now. But none of them, not a single one, was even close to being as bad as Ironheart. The Warden was right when he had said he was selling you into the bosom of Azguloth, as you really had no idea how much closer to hell this place really could come.

The guards had absolutely zero respect for the dignity or health of their prisoners, and the working conditions seemed to be purposely designed to push the slave laborers one step closer to the grave every day, until finally they died in mid pick-swing. You tried to attack the brutally hard work down in the Mines with as much gusto as you usually did, but the support just wasn’t there. The guards still beat you, the food was less than malnourishing, and day by day even you grew weaker and weaker. You had to figure out a way to escape this place, and fast, before it broke you and ground you to death underfoot as it had so many others.

From further up the hallway, you hear the low rumble of the food cart and the steady tromp of the guards assigned to escorting it. Reaching your cell, the lead guard raps his club smartly against the cell bars, apparently in an attempt to jar you awake, or just irritate you since your eyes were already open.

“Wake up, mole. It’s feeding time for your worthless carcass before we throw you down into the hole to dig.”

Most guards were aware that you worked down in the mines, and typically greeted you with some sort of insult related to digging. You knew that you had perhaps ten or fifteen minutes after they left to eat your meal in peace, before the next group of guards came to hook you up with a slave chain and drive you all down into the Mines for another back-breaking day or work.

The Cells: Third Floor

Darkadvice

Sometimes you wondered if you should have done some things differently. Definitely not anything related to tracking down and finally having your revenge on your family’s killer. Oh no, you would not have given that up, even if it meant spending the rest of your life and all of whatever eternity awaited beyond in this place. But, well, you could have always moved on after watching the killer starve to death, making sure she was dead, and then turning her body into ash along with the house she had been trapped in, and the entire forest besides.

Then again, it wasn’t as if you had anything better to do, and honestly, your life had no purpose with the killer dead. That didn’t mean that there was nothing to do, however, as you had been happily writing a mental list down of every guard that had beaten you since your arrival here, with the intention of one day paying each back at least threefold. How exactly you were going to accomplish this, you had no idea, but you had waited years for the chance to end the killer’s life. Waiting days or weeks for the opportunity to avenge yourself on some guards when they got careless would be child’s play compared to that.

And that might be happening sooner rather than later, as your ears picked up the approach of a large group of guards. The slowly approaching light from their torches also tipped you off that you might be having company in a few moments, as even your reduced eyesight through the goggles could pick out the growing brightness.

As it turned out, the guards were coming for you, as a large blurry mass of figures stopped right outside of your cell, the light from their torches pouring into your room from the small peep window set into the door to your cell. The sudden fall of darkness into the room informed you that someone was blocking out the incoming light by peering through said window. A moment later that hunch proved correct, as a gruff voice said, “Prisoner #17,841. There has been an incident down in the Mines that we feel could make adequate use of your abilities. If you accept, you’ll be let out of your cell until the incident is resolved. Quite frankly, that is all you’ll be getting out of this deal, but at least if you come willingly we won’t have to enforce compliance.”

At the word enforce, you heard a loud guffaw of laughter from the other men standing behind the faceless figure, so there was no doubt a beating was the least in store for you if you refused. Then again, did you really want to help the swine keeping you prisoner, even if it would apparently give you the chance to get out and stretch your legs a bit?

Gygaxphobia

Filth.

That was the thought that consumed your every waking moment in this place. The filth that sent you here. The filth that worked to keep you here. The filth that you could sense lurking in the darkness, whether you were awake or asleep, the secret filth that had become so engrained in the aura of this place that you could even sense it, feel it radiating off the walls and into your very soul, corrupting even you. Now you were filthy too, and it would take a great deal of self-purification before you ever felt clean again. That could wait, though, wait until after you had purified the rest of this place.

There could be no half-measures taken once you were free, either. This place had become so encrusted with filth that not even burning it to the ground and killing everyone inside would likely purify it. But you had to try, would try when you broke free. It was inevitable. You were Miriam’s chosen, the one she picked to cleanse this world of the filth you now sensed all around you. Purifying this place would be your greatest achievement yet, and even if you died in the attempt you soul would be carried directly to the feet of Miriam herself, to recline triumphant as her champion.

A wracking cough stirs you out of your thoughts of triumph, and injecting a note of doubt into your beliefs. You had never been sick before, it had been one of the many things that showed just how high Miriam had already elevated you above the sinful cattle of this world. But now you were sick, perhaps deathly ill even – you had no way of knowing.

All you know is that your throat was sore, periodically clogged by the same thick slime that ran out from your nose at a nearly constant pace. It was altogether disgusting, and horrifying from your perspective. You knew it was some foul trick, yet another indignity inflicted upon you by the filth that ran this place, but in the deepest corner of your heart you nurtured the blasphemous idea that Miriam had abandoned you. You had failed her in some incomprehensible way, and she had cast you from her sight down into this filthy place to die, alone and forgotten.

No, it could not be. You were her chosen, her champion, and this was just a test. Even stripped of everything you once were and still are, even as nothing more than a sick broken man helplessly chained to the damp walls of a pitch-black cell in the bowels of an inescapable fortress consumed by filth, you were still Miriam’s chosen. You just needed to continue to endure all of these petty torments of the flesh and mind, and one day your chance of vengeance would come.

It was inevitable, and on that day you would show Miriam your gratitude for the chance to serve her by exterminating every last piece of filth in this place, or dying in the attempt.

The sudden brightening of the peep window of your cell door as a group of guards approaching with torches threw fuel onto the fire of your hope. Was this your chance at salvation? Seeing to confirm this, the light grows brighter until it is almost blinding as the guards gather around your door. It had been some time since you had seen actual light down here, but all to quickly it was gone as one of the filthy guards shoved his filthy face into the peep window, blocking out most of the torch light.

“Prisoner #17,767, you have been selected for a special project. We’re here to drag you down to the Ritual Chambers, and hand you off to some black-robed freaks. And while I’m not too sure what they’re going to do to you, I’m sure it’ll be unpleasant, painful, and probably fatal as they sacrifice you to some dark god of theirs. So shall we get going?”

No no, this was all wrong. You were going to be a sacrifice for a bunch of filthy cultists? No heroic escape, no grand act of devotion to Miriam by purifying this place of its filth? Just being killed like some pig or goat on an altar by a filthy cultist, your blood anointing their altar in praise to their dark god. No, it was impossible!

And yet the door swung open as the lead guard unlocked it and pushed it open, bathing you in bright light for perhaps the final time as guards began entering the room to remove the chains holding your legs to the floor and your neck to the wall, so that they could drag you off to your fate.

The Cells: Maximum Security

Baerdog7

You had lived a long, noble life of service to the Valkyrie. You had seen many things, both soul-crushingly awful and soul-buoyantly beautiful. You had even spoke to the Valkyrie and her husband yourself, being personally sent back to this mortal coil by them to finish what you started.

And yet you had no idea where being chained upside down to a giant holy symbol of one of your hated enemies, the devil Slevir, fit in with the Valkyrie’s plans for you. It simply made no sense to you, and for the hundredth time you started to wonder if you had somehow offended your god badly enough to warrant being thrown to the wolves in this way. For surely, the gods had no part in this place, this den of heinous evil.

You had seen very little of this place, having been hurried through the upper levels of the prison to be chained in your current position where you had been for quite some time now. Still, you got the impression that this place was an intolerable den of suffering and malevolence from the soaring heights to the very depths where you were personally incarcerated. Once again, you resolved to yourself to impress upon the Valkyrie and the Lightbringer just how vile this place was and that something needed to be done about it when you saw them again.

And perhaps, actually, that was why you had ended up here, as a spy for the gods to determine just how badly this place was in need of smiting. But even for all your suffering, you knew that it may be years or decades before you saw your gods again. Despite being ravaged by disease, and regularly bled, you knew that your captors were very careful not to accidentally kill you.

No, they were quite skilled in the art of inflicting pain and suffering, and you had resigned yourself to the knowledge that no matter how brutally they pushed your ailing body, it would never be far enough to bring you into the arms of your god. You would probably have to wait for old age for that, and you truly had no idea how long this divinely-given body was yours was intended to last. A few years, until just after you had completed your appointed-task? A full lifetime, intended to reward you with a peaceful life after accomplishing your final mission? Forever until your death again in battle?

You cough weakly, wincing as your involuntary movements press your strained limbs taut against their restraints and send waves of pain wracking through the rest of your diseased body. As if that was some sort of signal, you watch as the bolts to your thick adamantite cell door unlock, and the heavy door swings open to admit three robed figures into your room. Walking on the ceiling, according to your upside-down vision, they approach, the two in the lead carrying the familiar bloodletting implements: one the sharp kris knife, the other the ointment and silver bowl into which your blood would be poured. The third, cowering in the back as he usually did, was Brother Adamus Crane, one of but not the only Church official operating as Church representatives within Ironheart.

“Ah, Ander. A peaceful dawn be with you.” Brother Crane says, a familiar greeting said within the Church that he clearly had no right in uttering. As his two lackies split up, one beginning to set the bowl up directly under the tip of the sword where you blood would slowly drip off of, the other went to fetch the ladder located in one corner of the room.

Watching the proceedings without getting involved as he usually did, Adamus looks up at you and smiles. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that, due to a recent strong advance by the demons and the loss of the fifth and fourth levels, the Church has managed to rally a great deal of new young suckers into the war of purification. And as I’ve no doubt already told you many times before, that’s truly a win-win situation for everyone involved. The Church gets many vibrant young men to join in the Crusade and a great deal of gold to flow into its coffers, and the demons get new recruits as well because you know what happens to people that die in Hell, don’t you?”

Here, the Brother pauses as his acolyte finishes setting up the ladder, and climbs up to rub the ointment all over your arms. It initially stings against your inflamed flesh, but gradually cools and soothes your nerves somewhat. You knew that it acted as a colaguant, eventually stopping the flow of blood before it killed you. Very efficient they had gotten at this part, such that after cutting your arms open they would all leave, only for one acolyte to return sometime later after you had passed out and the bleeding had stopped to retrieve the filled bowl of fresh blood. What they did with it after that, you had no idea.

As the acolyte reaches up with the kris knife to make the incision along your right arm, following the ragged scar running all the way down from the crook of your elbow to the palm of your hand, Adamus speaks up again, “Why yes, their souls are trapped in Hell for eternity, never able to escape, never able to find their way up to heaven to receive their just rewards. Instead, their souls remains there, writhing in agony until finally they give into the torture and depravity inflicted upon them, and become demons themselves! It’s a beautiful, unending cycle, isn’t it? Well, don’t you have anything to say today, Ander? Or are you just going to glare silently at me like you usually do until I leave? Oooohh, so scary!”

By this point the acolyte has finished his second cut down your left arm, and with nothing further to do begins climbing down the ladder as your blood begins to run freely down your arms, down past your fingers onto the blade of the symbol, and from there down to the point where it will drip off into the bowl below. At first the incisions along both arms spew out blood, leaving a stream nearly the entire width of each arm running down, but the ointment quickly slows this to a thin trickle that would continue for hours. And there was nothing you could do about it, except endure, and pray for death.

The Prism

Lonna

You dream endlessly, one flowing ceaselessly into the next. But all of them are wrong, horribly wrong, wrong enough that it would make you want to tear your eyes out if you saw them in anything but the dream world. You are adrift on a sea of nightmares, and you have no idea if you will ever wash ashore again.

Many of the nightmares involve your half-sister, following her in intricate detail as she lives out the life you never wanted her to experience, and often ending in tragedy. A few are reenactments of the worst moments of your own life, including the harrowing night when your mother died at the hands of man lacking any speck of decency. Yet in the end, they are just dreams, some of which you had suffered through numerous times before. The tiny speck of your mind that was conscious and self-aware therefore rebelled against the lies being fed to it, and struggled to keep the rest of your mind whole and afloat until the nightmarish flood finally subsided.

It was a long time coming, but then as if a switch were flipped, the nightmares suddenly stopped. In its place was a falling sensation, which like the nightmares before it abruptly ended with your impact against the floor. Your hands chained behind you, you could do little to stop your fall, but still were able to twist about at the last second so that you landed heavily on your side rather than your face. The leather sack wrapped around you absorbed most of that impact, and so little more than your pride was hurt from the unexpected fall.

Waking up from your long sleep, you open your eyes to regard the seemingly endless red crystalline tunnel stretching out before you. The floor was a smooth flat plain, with blocky crystals jutting out from the walls and ceiling. Slowly, the memory of being thrown into one of those crystals surfaced in your mind, as did memories of the massive being that had put you there, and was now once again standing before you. Looking much like a normal human, if twice as tall, one and a half times as wide, with glowing blue swirls running all over his body and flaming blue eyes, the creature you knew as the Judge was hardly a welcome sight.

Upon seeing your personal jailor, other memories came flooding back, leading from your capture up to this moment. You had spent a frightful first night in Ironheart going through the same prisoner processing as everyone else. You had been a big hit amongst the guards, all of whom assured you that they would be paying you a personal visit once you got tucked away in a nice dark cell, but none of whom seemed interested in doing anything for you.

Afterward your processing was complete, you had been sent up to meet with Administrator Alexis Winthrop, one of the few female staff members. No doubt they thought that a woman, particularly one as viscous as Alexis, would be immune to your charms and would promptly hand you over to the guards a new toy as she had done with some many others before you. But not this time. No, they really had no idea how skillful you were, and you actually somehow managed to convince the administrator that you two were kindred souls. And so in the hopes of preserving you long enough for you to meet again, Administrator Alexis Winthrop promised to keep you safe.

You later really had to question her judgment as to how chained you up inside of a heavy leather sack and shoving a leather mask over your face was really helping, but it did keep the guards away long enough for the next step to be taken. Apparently the Volesin Brothers, a pair of mages, were looking for “volunteers” for a new experimental restraint method, and you were “volunteered”.

And so you were brought into their laboratory in one of the Spires, where after zapping you with a red beam from a gigantic red crystal hanging from the room’s ceiling, you found yourself lying on the same smooth red crystal floor that you were now lying on. The Judge had found you only a few moments later, proceeding to re-iterate your crimes to you, and after patiently listening for your defense, which you obviously couldn’t give because you were freaking gagged, and shoved you into one of the crystals into the wall, which apparently put you into some sort of nightmare land which you had been brought back from only now. How long has it been since, then? A week?

PRISONER #17910, YOU HAVE BEEN TEMPORARILY RELEASED FROM STASIS IN ORDER TO PERFORM THE QUARTER-ANNUAL EVALUATION OF YOUR PRISONER STATUS.

Quarter-annual evaluation? Did . . . did that mean you had been locked away in that crystal for THREE MONTHS? Aside from an empty stomach, a parched throat, and memories of all the horrible nightmares you had just experienced, you felt pretty good for three months having just passed in the blink of an eye.

YOU STAND ACCUSED OF MULTIPLE COUNTS OF IMPROPER SEDUCTION, THEIVERY, CREATING A PUBLIC DISPLAY OF NUDITY, AND ONE COUNT OF MURDER. FOR THESE CRIMES YOUR SENTENCE HAS BEEN DECIDED TO BE INCARCERATION UNTIL THE TIME OF YOUR EXECUTION. HOWEVER, SHOULD IT BE THE EVALUATION OF THIS COURT THAT YOU HAVE REMORSE FOR YOUR ACTIONS, IT IS POSSIBLE THAT YOU WILL BE MOVED TO A MORE COMFORTABLE CELL TO AWAIT EXECUTION. DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY THAT MAY INFLUENCE THIS COURT’S DECISION ON YOUR STATUS FOR THE NEXT QUARTER-YEAR?

For a moment, you simply stare at the giant mutant, not even entirely sure what he was talking about, or that you would even want to be moved out of here. On the one hand, here was safe, but it was also secure enough that escape appeared to be impossible if you simply dreamed the time left until your execution away.

DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY TO INFLUENCE THIS COURT’S DECISION?

Clearly, this Judge was not the brightest of his class, as he clearly as failed to notice that it is impossible for you to say much of anything. However, he seems to redeem himself a little when a moment later when he seems to take the grunted hint and makes a bold pronouncement.

IT WOULD APPEAR THAT PRISONER #17910 IS GAGGED. IT SHALL BE TEMPORARILY REMOVED IN ORDER TO FACILITATE COMMUNICATION.

The massive being simply snaps his fingers, and instantly you hear the lock holding your gag in place snap open, allowing you to spit the hateful thing out onto the floor. Working your jaw back and forth a moment results in it popping several times, but at least now you were free to speak assuming your sand-filled mouth and thick tongue could form the necessary words.

OverWilliam/Adlan

It has been a long two days. A full forty-eight hours, the guards have gleefully reminded you on several occasions, since a group of them decided it was time to finally break the wolf-man for real. Forming some sort of perverse betting pool amongst themselves, the guards had made bets on how long it would take to break Garm Ranah for good, and force him to beg them for mercy. Beg them the way a real dog would, whining and yowling that he would be a good dog, he would obey them in whatever they said, even fetch sticks for them.

And so had begun a long two days in which they had forced Garm to stay awake, strapping him tightly into a chair before beginning the torment. Sometimes they would slap him or dump buckets of water, both freezing cold and boiling hot, onto him whenever he appeared to start dozing off despite himself. Often, however, they would cut into his flesh, slicing shallow cuts into his flesh with a silver blade, or ram silver needles into his flesh, even working some of them all the way until his skin, where it slowly blistered and burned from the unending touch of the silver.

And, as Garm’s closest friend and self-appointed protector, Tare was there too. Theoretically he was there to help convince the wolfman to break, urging him to do whatever the guards commanded so they would both be let go. Tare the guards pretty much just beat, one holding him steady like a practice dummy while a second unloaded a flurry of punches, kicks, and slaps into his face and torso. While the guards primarily focused on Garm, whenever one’s predicted time past and the next hour of torment began, the losing guard would vent his frustration on Tare. By this point, seven of the guards had already lost, but it was hard to tell if the two were really coming out ahead with Tare’s right eye starting to swell shut and his normally pretty face marred by dried blood and overlapping bruises, and Garm starting to look like a pin cushion.

“Come on doggie, I’ve only got another couple minutes here! Break already, damn it!” One of the three guards in the room shouted, snatching up a silver needle from a nearby tray. “Yeah, that’s right, it’s just a little needle, isn’t it doggie? Shouldn’t hurt all that much, huh? Guess again!”

Grasping the needle tightly between thumb and forefinger, the guard rammed it up under the fingernail of Garm’s right index finger, working it all the way back until the tip was completely out of sight, buried in the flesh beyond the beginning of Garm’s nail. As the wolfman howled in agony, the guard snatched up another of the needles, holding it up clearly in front of his face.

“Come on doggie, just say it already. ‘Woof! Woof! Yes master, I’ll fetch your sticks for you! Bow-wow! SAY IT!”

Before the guard could continue, however, one of the other guards looked up from his pocketwatch with a grin. “Time. You lose Nate!”

“GODS DAMN IT!” The torturing guard shouted, jabbing the needle he was just showing Garm into the back of Garm’s left hand, leaving it there as he turned away. Still clearly angry, the guard slapped the tray of silver needles, knocking it off its stand and sending the silvery shards flying everywhere, including more than one in Tare’s direction, who could do little else but simply close his eyes and pray none of them flew into his eyes.

“Screw this, I’m outta here. You guys can clean up the mess.” The angry guard growled, storming out of the room through one of the open doorways leading into the adjacent, nearly identical room.

“What’s his problem?” The third guard asked, already moving over to start slowly picking up the silver needles one by one and drop them back into the tray. The timekeeper guard simply shrugged at the question. “Heard he had an entire month’s pay riding on this, so I can understand why he’d be pissed to get so close and then still fail. Speaking of which, if Dog boy over there holds out for much longer, we’re going to have to go find some more suckers to keep betting, or hold a new round of predictions entirely.”

“I dunno if Dog Boy is ever going to break. It’s been forty-eight hours and still nothing.” The third guard groused, now snatching up needles two or three at a time, which simply earned a noncommittal shrug from the timekeeper.

“Maybe not, or maybe we just gotta raise the stakes a little.” The timekeeper said, looking thoughtfully over at Tare.

[Inspectre]

Old Meat

The Catacombs

ubersquid

As soon as the question leaves your mouth, Marv is empathically shaking his head no. “No no no no no! I am most definitely not the hero-type Elkwin!”

From her position on the bed, the ghost tilts her head around to look at your directly with her empty eye-sockets, leaving the top-portion of her skull visible and separate from the ghostly illusion. As she speaks, she seems to smile, and would could pass for warmth creeps into her dead voice.

I see you and have seen you, Elkwin Holmanson. I see you growing up, dreaming of leaving home for the adventurous life, but not shirking your duty to family in spite of your ambitious dreams. I see you managing your tavern, serving all equally and not turning away any entering your tavern in need. I see you standing up to a drunken guard, refusing to allow him to assault another of your customers and earning imprisonment in exchange. And I see you delivering the sword to the one who will use it in the final battle of all, despite the horrors and sacrifices that come to block the way. You have already learned that a hero is not simply a man who can swing a sword, for even tyrants and monsters know how to do that. A hero is someone who is willing to sacrifice for the good of others, and stand strong in the face of evil. That is who you are, Elkwin Holmanson, and that is why you are the Hero.

“Woah, that was eloquent. I’m almost in tears over here.” Marv mutters, winking at you and rolling his eyes. Immediately, the ghost twists her head around to skewer Marv with a glare, who wilts and grows paler with each new word that now flows from the ghost’s lips.

And I see and have seen you, Marv Radelskin. You are right when you say that you are not a hero, for your heart is a cowardly one. I see you playing with the other children as a boy, giving away any secret whispered to you as if it were nothing. I see you betray a young girl’s trust, valuing the trinkets she gave you as a sign of her love more than her love itself. And I see you betraying the hero in your darkest hour, not out of avarice but cowardice, hoping to extend your life beyond its last fleeting moments!

Now nearly as pale as the woman’s bones, Marv opens his mouth once, shuts it, opens it, shuts it again. Then when he opens his mouth for the third time, he seems to finally have found his voice as the words come pouring out in a torrent.

“Come on Elkwin do you really believe this fortune cookie bull**** and you know that I would never betray you right and maybe I’ve done some things I’m not proud of in the past but come on I would never outright betray you I may really be a coward but I’m not freaking stupid.”

Turning her gaze back to you, the ghost woman’s voice returns to its normal tone.

Regardless of what he is and will do, he will prove a very useful and stout ally to you in the journey ahead up until his final hour. Then you must be prepared, for it is your foreknowledge of his betrayal that will save your own life.

“Oh come on! Look Elkwin, I want out of here as bad as you do, but if you think it’s for the best, we can just split up here and go our separate ways. I may be a coward, but I’m not a traitor damnit!”

Unsure of who to believe at the moment, you look down at the book, which your hands have been unconsciously opening. With great care you direct all your attention now to gently flipping the catch the rest of the way open, and opening the book. Immediately a small cloud of dust arises from the pages as some of them crumble into dust entirely, but most remain intact for now, including the first page. Although the faded ink barely stands out against the yellowed pages, you are able to determine that it is legible, and seems to be in the same runic language as everything else around here was.

It is important that you read my journal, although some thoughts have inevitably lost from the written word. I can and will give you the ability to read our language, but you must not tarry here for much longer. Death itself flies here on swift wings, and you must not be here when it arrives. Ask what remaining questions you have time to ask, take the sword Hero, and depart from this place and move onward to your destiny.

The Spires: Ironheart Research

Voth

Oh. And I almost forgot the most important reason: because it was fun! Heh heh, come on Voth, don’t you remember the fun we’ve had, reveling in the slaughter? Frightening some ignorant COLLABORATOR is hardly the worst thing we ever done. Would you have preferred that I disemboweled her and hung her corpse from the ceiling with her own intestines as you just did to some guards only a little while ago? Uh oh, I warned you about taking too long. Here comes company!

At Shadow’s warning, you see the door leading back out of the room slowly start to open, and drunken jeering float in from behind the door.

“Ah, new Ah shoudan’t got outta bed dishmorning.”

“Voleshin shgonna keel yew boi! Hea’s gonna shuck you up in his mashine!”

“Ah shushup! Ai ain’t that drunk!”

As the door swings further open, you can see the shadows of two apparently very drunk guards stretching into the room as they prepare to enter.

???????

MrEdwardNigma

“My hero. Now, can we please get out of here?” Cassandra quips as the creature advances towards you.

But you were not quite finished here yet, as you commanded your zombie to direct its attention onto the cultist. Throwing itself clumsily onto the thing’s back, your zombie protector manages to grasp its powerful back-mounted arms and wrench them aside. But then the creature demonstrates that along its badly wounded, it’s still very, very strong, throwing your zombie off with ease. As your zombie crashes back into the wall, both of the thing’s clawed arms stab out, tearing one of the zombie’s arms and a huge chuck out of its side.

But it was only the distraction that you required, not incapacitation of the creature, and darting in quickly this time you manage to reach it before it can react, wildly stabbing your hands into the hump on its back. Once again it deployed countless thin tentacles in an attempt to slow your assault, but you were prepared this time and cut them asunder with quick shifts of your fingers within the creature’s body as you worked ever deeper.

Finally reaching the center, you felt your fingers close around the parasite that was really directed the show and dug your razor-fingertips into its surprisingly well-armored flesh, as if the creature had a carapace as a final layer of protection. Still, it wasn’t enough to ultimately stop your assault, and the creature’s human host gave an inhuman shriek of agony as your fingers burst through the real thing’s shell. Then, certain you had a good grip on it, you ripped your hands back out, dragging the real parasite with you and allowing the human host’s body to lifelessly collapse.

Blinking its singular eye at you, the thing clacks its pincers together angrily several times and flails its whip-like tentacles about, but can do nothing as you force your fingers deeper into its side. You had had about enough out of these creatures, and didn’t really care if you destroyed this thing in the process of killing it. There really was no shortage of them around to study, and right now this was about some good old-fashioned righteous vengeance for what you’d already been put through today.

Suddenly, the little bastard clacks its mandibles together one last time, and with a blink of the eye, melts away into formless ooze that slips through your fingers to plop onto the floor. You aren’t really sure if you actually had killed the creature this time or if this was yet another escape mechanism, but as the ooze begin to seep away into the floor you released that you didn’t really have time to reflect.

Rushing at you from further down the hallway were two more of the black-robed figures, accompanied by the still apparently human initiate, blood streaming from the countless cuts carved across his chest in the shape of the arcane symbols all of them seemed to have on their bodies.

Torture Chambers

Dorizzit

At your comments, Amelia nods with a sigh. “You are right. I would not trust that horrid man to keep to anything he promised.”

Although you greet Seraph upon his return with a raised eyebrow, you make no comment of his actions for now, and follow after him as he once again leaves the room by the north doorway. Right on your heels is the Countess, staying as close behind you as she possible can without invading your personal space. Clearly, she had no desire to be left behind in this place. As she moves, her face is tense, and she winces with each upswing in the volume of screams from elsewhere in the complex, but she continues moving forward all the same.

You slip through the next several rooms without incident, as they are abandoned by both guards and prisoners. When you come to the room where you believe that Seraph spoke with the guards, however, you find it still occupied.

A man, his back more blood than intact skin, hangs by his arms from the ceiling in the center of the room, the blood-covered thorny whip that inflicted his injuries looped casually around one of his arms. Somberly, two prisoners watch your entrance from their holding cell built into one wall.

Ignoring all of the prisoners for now, Seraph walks through the center of the room. “We must move quickly, for the guards will return shortly.” He says, stopping only when the whipped man stirs and croaks at him, “Mercy!”

Without another word Seraph draws one of his daggers, plunging it into the man’s throat and slitting it wide open. The man gasps once, shakes violently for a few moments, and then goes limp.

“We should eliminate the other two prisoners as well. They may involuntarily give the guards information about who we are and our passage through here.” Seraph explains, already walking towards the other two prisoners in the holding cell.

Looking back over your shoulder, you can see that the Countess is watching all of this intently, a horrified expression frozen on her face. “No . . . we can’t do this!” She whispers, eyes fixated on Seraph as he approaches the holding cell, blood still slowly dripping from his dagger.

The Labs

Iethloc

Summoning up a magical dome, you expend a great deal of your remaining magical reserves to send it racing out in all directions. The effort proves to be worth it, however, as a majority of the remaining crystals shatter under the assault. For those crystals still occupied, however, this ends up with them dumping out their occupants, which only adds to the escalating mayhem below.

Swooping in towards the line of runes once more, you manage to weaken them still further, regaining a fair bit of your drained magical strength in the process. The runes are clearly beginning to fade and fail, and as if aware of this several nearby demons thrown themselves against the invisible wall, clawing and scratching at it. From his position within the control booth, the assistant stands in mute shock, watching the proceedings now in simple terror.

On the ground, Omega is taken by surprise as the wingless succubus flings herself onto Omega’s back while screeching, “Give me back my wings, bitch!” The demon is no match for the augmented humanoid, however, as a second later Omega stares up at the ceiling, willing herself straight up while leaving the succubus behind. As Omega spreads her stolen wings and flies over to join you, your bolt of magical fire streaks down to obliterate a number of the demons, succubus included.

“Um . . . ah . . . is there any way I could just convince you two of leave?” The assistant asks from the control booth, now no longer even attempting to input commands. “Seriously, I’ll do whatever you want, just let me live, and remain in one piece.”

Ritual Chambers

Pwenet/WhiteKnight777

Unable to avoid Umber’s sudden missile, Ross instead simply endures it, taking it full on in his plate-covered chest. Although the rock fails to penetrate the armor, it does leave a small dent and throws the paladin off-balance long enough for Umber to regain the initiative. Sliding into an ancient fighting stance the vampire lord dashes forward once more, driving the paladin back with a flurry of blows that are all deflected, but nevertheless slowly drive the paladin back towards the bone golem.

Meanwhile, with a single powerful leap Akor manages to get in front of the last fleeing vampire, picking him up by the throat and dragging him along for the ride as Akor takes to the air with another leap. This time the dragon-man heads for the conflict between Ross & Umber, throwing the vampire in mid-air at the bone golem.

As if it had been planned between the two of them, the bone golem flicks its tail out, skewering the vampire through the chest and then using its remaining bone scythe arm to tear the vampire apart into a cloud of ash.

Although Umber is nearly successful in driving Ross back into the waiting arms-scythes of the bone golem, at the last few feet the paladin suddenly holds his ground. Swinging his hammer to one side and reaching down to his belt, the paladin leaves himself wide open, allowing Umber’s latest strike to jab into his side. Even through his plate-mail, the impact of Umber’s blow carries through, eliciting a grunt of pain from the paladin and from him to suddenly cough up a small quantity of blood. But even through the pain, Ross smile madly as he tugs a glass vial from his belt with his free hand.

“Perhaps today is the day I die. But first how about a drink to your health!?”

With Umber so close in to deliver the blow, he is unable to move back in time as Ross brings his hand around and down, catching the glass vial between Umber’s forehead and his armored palm. Caught between the two hard places, the vial shatters, showering Umber’s face with holy water.

The vampire lord screams as the acid-like substance streams down his face, and momentarily falls to his knees stunned. Shouting in triumph, Ross lifts his warhammer high in preparation to bring it down for the killing stroke, but is stopped in mid-swing by Akor.

For a moment the two have an intense contest of strength, but the clear winner after a few seconds is Akor, twisted the warhammer out of Ross’s grasp with one hand and giving him a hard shove with the other. Thrown off-balance, the paladin stumbles back . . . right onto the bone golem’s waiting bone scythe.

The amazingly resilient bone spear slips through a joint in Ross’s armor, penetrating the flesh of his left arm and emerging out the same crease in the armor in the front. The paladin screams the bone golem clearly flexes his scythe within the wound, opening it further, but as it brings its tail around for a finishing blow Ross looks over his shoulder at the thing.

“I will bathe you all in holy fire!” He screams, casting another spell that causes a massive burst of holy energy to rain down from the ceiling. Fortunately the radius of the spell’s effect is not particularly large, catching only Ross and the bone golem after Akor drags Umber back a few paces. There is a brilliant flash of golden light a few seconds later, and as the light fades a kneeling and heavily-breathing Ross is revealed while the bone golem appears to have been finally reducing to nothing more than finger-long bone shards and dust.

Pushing himself back up with a loud grunt, Ross chuckles as he examines his wounds and Akor, still in possession of his warhammer. “Well now, it seems that you and your little fanged friend have the advantage for now. But we’ll see if that holds true when next we meet. You had better keep my warhammer in good condition: it’s a family heirloom with a lot of pleasant memories for me. I’ll expect it returned to me, next time!”

His parting taunt apparently delivered, Ross turns and runs for one of the nearby cavern exits at a lumbering pace. Mellita, just now pushing herself back up and brushing herself off, seeing the paladin approaching and moves to cut him off. That effort is stifled, however, as the paladin pulls another flask of holy water from his belt and lobs it at the vampire, causing her to jump back out of the way long enough for Ross to charge past. Despite his heavy armor and numerous bits of gear, the paladin seems to be fairly quick on his feet, making good time in reaching one of the exits. It might still be possible to catch him, but with Umber’s increasingly serious injuries it seems likely that chasing after him would result in a fight solely between Akor and Ross, with Mellita potentially offering minimal assistance.

[Adlan]

Garm
Thick Red blood Oozed from his wounds, cuts and the needles marks that coverd him. But Garm's Eyes were still alive and hateful, still full of malice and defiance. These were not Phrayhom, they were not real men, not even halfmen like his friend, and they would not break him. He could Ignor the Hunger and Hardship of prision life, a Wolfling might go without food or company on the tundra for a long time before he returned to the clan. He could stomach the torture, pain passed.

It was the insults that really stung.

'If I had my Bow, I would make you fetch some sticks...'

[Lonna]

Pyrene

As she worked her jaw, a single fear rose in Pyrene's mind. Alot could happen in three months. And while more than a few of the nightmares had contradicted each other, who was to say what was fact and what was fiction? What was happening to Ariella? Compared to that, Pyrene's own safety and comfort were insignificant. Wasn't that why she had begun the bold and, in retrospect, risky plan that had ultimately landed her here?

"My Lord." she began to speak in a rasping voice, then stopped, risking a few precious seconds of relative freedom to work a bit of moisture into her mouth. Those few seconds also gained her an instant to think, so there was no hesitation and only the barest hint of pleading in her voice as she tried again to answer with a throat that was still a bit rusty but no longer held the same harsh rasp as before."My Lord, I am not guilty of these charges. The first three result from misinterpretation of my actions, while the last was not murder but self-defence. I would have told you this as you required of me when I was first brought before you, but as you have seen, those who sent me to you left me bound and gagged, and thus unable to obey your commands."

[Dorizzit]

Korram's eyes widen in shock at Seraph's actions. Thinking quickly, he dashes around and puts himself between Seraph and the prisoners. "No. Don't. Give me sixty seconds to work with them. I was a revolutionary, I'm very good at concise persuasion." Assuming Seraph allows him the time, Korram swings around and begins talking to the prisoners, at a low volume. "I have just saved your lives. Now listen. If the guards ask, you didn't see us. That man-" he points to the man who Seraph just killed, "-was killed by a homicidal guard getting off on it. In the confusion, a prisoner with a cudgel broke the bars to your sell. Now stand back." He gives the prisoners time to move away from the bars of the cage. Then he slams his fist into them, shattering the bars. "Now go." when the prisoners have left, he turns back to Seraph and the Countess. "Let's go." He continues on.