The Blood War Boils Over

[Lochar]

Five years ago, the Dark god Val attempted to gain hold of the Staff of Entropy, hoping to use it to ascend to the status of an overdeity to take control of the world.

His efforts were thwarted, and Val turned to other studies in his bid for domination.

Three years ago, a ritual began, fueled by divine energy and dark ambition, it beckoned a lord of the infinite Abyss, a Demon Lord, to come to his aid in controlling this Material Plane. And a Demon Lord answered. Gruz, Demon Lord of the Glabrezu came forth, and for a time, it seemed that Val would win with Gruz's might behind him.

And then, only scant months after the summoning, Gruz broke the bindings placed upon him by the summoning and withdrew to the great southern continent and caused to rise a massive fortress made of Stygian Ice, so cold that it made the snow around seem warm by comparison.

And then Gruz began to summon his minions. Less powerful after breaking the binding, Dretch and Quasit were first. Those swept out from the fortress, overruning the few tribal lands that survived the cold, killing them. Each death brought more power to Gruz, and more of his minions were summoned.

The Gods took notice, and together, even Val, bound the Demon Lord's quickly growing power. The effort continues to this day, as the Demon Lord's minions grow in number and strength, stretching the new bindings he has.

The world has rallied together to destroy the demon lords minions, for each minion that is destroyed is one less that empowers Gruz.

But against overwhelming numbers, it seems almost a fruitless fight, but none wish to give up, for doing so means their souls will burn in the Abyss forever.


You are part of the Garrison at Mala Myrr, a few of over eight hundred stationed here to protect the surrounding area and destroy the demons that invade. Some of you have grown up here, others only recent arrivals. But you all know what lies ahead. Death. You can only pray it is for the demons that you face, and not yourselves.

You have been given this day of rest before you will be reorganized into a new unit, your last one disbanded, destroyed, or taken from combat for medical reasons. Make the most of it. You know your new unit, and who will be in it, you have been told and given a basic description of them. But with over eight hundred other warriors, and four thousand plus civilians, finding them today might be hard.

Your last command from the garrison head today was "Be wary, but be free today. Report at dawn tomorrow for your assignment."

It is mid summer, and it is dry and hot. Very hot.

[Greyen]

Thorg

Thorg turns and walks from the office of the adjudant who is currently in charge of him. Still covered in the gore and ichor of his last battle he walks through the fortified town to the tavern.

People parted ways for him, some even crossing the street to avoid his glare. His towering bulk and sofly clanking plate not unusual in the area, nor the stench or the dried caked on blood. His face spoke volumes, his softly scaled red skin and the evil look etched into his face cleared the way for him. As well as the huge curved sword hung across his back. This mongel had nasty written deep into his soul. The dried froth of his rages still not wiped off his chin, he strode swiftly through the town speaking to no one.

Stepping into the alley next to the building he walks around the back into the sluiceway. Taking the dipper from the barrel and sluicing off his face he pulls and old rag from his belt and wipes his face. Grunting slightly from the warm water he pounds on the back dorr to the tavern. After a moment the door opens and the withered face of a matron who has seen too much sun peeks out Oh, its you Thorg, you hostile bugger. What do you want? She asked him with a little bile in her tone, her face souring at the thought of him.

Just a pitcher of ale and cup Gerty, I'm going to clean up before I enter through the front since you asked me so nicely last time I was round here. His deep and gravelly voice replied. Turning on his heel he walked over to the stump in the middle of the yard after drawing a pale of water from the barrel. Sitting down on the stump he draws the blade with a quiet whisper. Using the rag he begins to clean the blade.

The door clacked open, the old woman hollering out Come get yer beer. Thorg stood and walked over to the door handing the woman a gold piece saying Keep it coming you old hag. Taking the pitcher as the woman snatched the gold he walked back to the stump and after sheathing the blade drank deeply from the pitcher. He began to take his gear off piece by piece, cleaning each piece as it came off. Over the course of the next couple of hours he had drank nearly a half dozen pitchers of the cheap beer and cleaned most of his gear. Now clean, mostly, he stood and walked around to the front porch of the tavern. Clearing the riffraff off of the porch with a snarl he sat on one of the benches and propped his feet up.

An old soldier going to fat opened the front door and looked at the mongrel warrior Gertie tol' me you was here. You want the usual Thorg?

Aye, and keep it flowing. Food too if ya have anything decent. I'll take it out here. Thorg handed the man another couple of gold.

Alright, but this time no fighting! The tables you broke last time took me more than a month ta replace. If anything I'll be calling on ya to be tossing out any rowdies.

Thorg just nodded, leaning back. Letting the shade cool him. The last few weeks had been rough. That's the second squad I've survived. I wonder where I'm going next.

[Moral Wiz]

Nathanial

As the ocean's tides crashed against the walls of Crogiolo, harsh as the demons that have started to ravish the world, the weathered looking ship, Ebon Favor was coming up to the end of it's intercontinental voyage. along with the end of the vast maze of defensive checkpoints that required their authorization.

The Capitan of the ship smiled as the crew got to work on the cargo hold, and two deck hands started lowering the docking ramp. Then his first mate tapped him on the back.

Sir? What about our passenger there?

Capitan Perbright sighed at the reminder.

Good point Mika. I'll go and remind him.

He wandered off in the direction Mika had pointed in. He couldn't help but be slightly uneasy at the prospect of speaking with the stranger. He wasn't from Senturia like the rest of the crew, he came from Thrace, one of the central duchies of the mainland. And didn't have the same relaxed attitude to the... well, the black arts as the natives of the island realm.

He came over to where the solitary figure was looking out. There was some sort of ball of light on his shoulder, but the black cloaked mage himself was looking at the city. He seemed fixated on the walls, and the sky, looking at something that wasn't there. The captain coughed gently, and tapped him on the shoulder

We're docked, sir.

This seemed to break the mage out of his focus, he turned and smiled.

Yes, of course. Thank you captain, for a most passable voyage

The black mage bowed in farewell, and wandered down the now placed docking ramp to a reception. Five armed guards stood to meet him, accompanied by a man that was an obvious clark in the orginization here. He was first to speak.

Welcome to Crogiolo friend. I am Garius Falkner, from the Strategic Authority. If I may ask your name?

Professor Nathaniel Darksmith; servant of the Tenebrous Cabal. Here on behalf of Senturia.

The robed bureaucrat scribbles as the crew begin unloading supplies, and then hands the Shadowcaster a small sheet of paper, and gestured to the guards, who promptly moved off..

Very good. You're at liberty to enter Crogiolo. You'll forgive my asking sir, but where, precisely are you headed to? If I know, I can find you a caravan headed in that direction.

Most considerate. I've been told to head to a place called Mala Myrr, and join the garrison there. Not quite sure what I'm expected to do, but the First Minister has... excuse me?

Garius looked somewhat suprised at the information, to say the least.

Err sir? That's... well, essentially, Myrr's on the other side of the continent. I could find you a pack train headed there, but the next one...

There will be no need, my friend, thank you.

The dark robed mage smiled at the baffled look of the bureaucrat.

As I say, thank you, Master Garius. If you could provide me with a map to Mala Myrr I would appreciate it. You'll find me at the Cabal's offices here. However, time is of the essence, especially if it is such a journey. I'll be in Crogiolo for about five hours, then I'll be on my way.

He walked off along the pier, addressing the celestial resting on his shoulder amidst the noise of the port and countless ships unloading

Come on Laern. Let's take a little look around, before we head out.

The familiar sighed, wistfully

If you wish, prof. I'd prefer to go now though. Don't feel comfortable in this place

The anchoring. Yes, I know.

He sighs, and pats the little twilight creature

We won't be stopping here, friend. But I need to visit the cabal headquarters, make sure there aren't any messages left there for me. And I'd like to take a glance at the town's defenses, just for my own curiosity's sake.

Ok Prof

With that, the two headed out into Crogiolo amidst the maelstrom of refugees, soldiers and clerks all going about the business of defense of the world.

[GimliFett]

Tynze Blackheart

The ancient old man stumbled through the streets of Mala Myrr, leaning heavily on his thin and creaking staff. He limped and winced with every step. Should he have stood up straight, he might have cleared six and a half feet. The old man's robes were white but soiled with the orange-brown dirt of the region, particularly the hem which dragged the ground. All of his clothing was white, from the fedora atop his head to the boots on his feet. Everything except the cloak hanging from his shoulders. The cloak was a black deeper than a moonless, starless night. More than that, it seemed to absorb light, drinking it in thirstily.

One woman, a camp follower looking to earn some easy coin from the old man, approached him with a wink. "What's yer game, gaffer? Need a hand?" the last word was clearly emphasized for effect.

The old man stopped walking. He stood perfectly still for just a moment, then slowly turned his head towards the woman and grinned. Perfect white teeth gleamed in the morning sunlight. Perfect predator's teeth. "Begone, wench, or I'll slake my thirst here in the street!" The woman stared for a moment, and sensing she would do so for too long for his liking, the old man issued a low, throaty growl. The woman felt the growl more than heard it, and scampered away quickly.

The old man chuckled to himself as he continued his trek to the barracks where his unit was stationed. "Idiots," he spat, remembering the fool paladin pair and their mounts being ripped to shreds by the bebelith. "Praise Val I managed to avoid being the beast's desert."

He entered the barracks and sniffed. No one had returned. No one should have returned. Fortunately, that dwarf was slow enough, and stupid enough, that it gave the old man time to move far enough away the demon couldn't easily catch him.

Then he remembers how the dwarf's blood had splattered onto him. It had tasted of earth and stone. I hate dwarf. No flavor at all! Well, one thing's for certain, war is hell. But it was damned fun!

[The_Snark]

Alison Stenning

Hats abounded in the dry heat of the town's streets, the better to keep the sun off one's face and out of one's eyes. The fact that the woman striding through the streets of the outpost wore none made her all the more striking.

And she was striking enough to begin with, golden-yellow hair falling down her back over a dark cloak; apparently, she has made some concession to the heat. Her skin is fair, a condition which seems unlikely to continue if she persists in going hatless here for long. She holds herself with a degree of pride, a natural self-confidence that is difficult to shake. Combined with her features—better described as handsome or striking than beautiful, but still eye-catching—she was hard to miss. Right now, her blue eyes are narrowed against the sun.

It was an irritation to her that she was not accomplishing anything. The garrison's system of sending out capable warriors on patrols in small groups made sense. Lone scouts could fall too easily to demons, and they couldn't spare large groups. For that matter, not many patrols could be spared; when the demons tested the camp, they would do so in force, and then Mala Myrr would need all the defenders it could get.

It was a difficult situation. If they did not wear down the demon lord's forces, they would be free to come against them in numbers. Numbers were something demons were very, very good at, and they couldn't afford major losses. But losses were inevitably sustained on patrol, too, losses they could ill afford. Half of her last group had died—one at her hand; he had been ensnared by magic, and turned on them in the midst of the battle. One of the others was now missing a leg, and was recuperating—unless powerful magic was found, he'd certainly never go on patrol again. Allison and the other were to be assigned new companions. For today, though, she had no assigned duties. Irksome. She could have gone out there anyway, keeping to the skies and using magic to conceal herself from unfriendly eyes. But some demons could see through her glamers, and many could fly. Alone, if she were unlucky she could be overwhelmed easily.

So she kept to the town, but leisure time did not suit. There was no point to it. Allison had always frowned upon shirking in others and didn't much like it in herself. Even if she technically was not avoiding any duties, she was wasting time that could be used to accomplish something useful. Besides which... time spent without anything to occupy herself was time that all too often would slip into brooding.

So she walked the streets and perimeters of the garrison, glancing over defenses she'd already seen. Perhaps she would find one of the ones she'd be working with—one of them would supposedly be arriving today. At least there was a reason for the delay.

[elkhantar]

Memnoth

A enormous sand sculpture silently patrols the desert around Mala Myrr. Above him, standing in the outer wall stands a thin, emaciated figure, enjoying the warmth of the new day. Despite having no eyes in his empty eyesockets, the two green sparks that shine where his pupils were focus on the barren land before him, enjoying the designs of the dust floating on the wind. Watching the everchanging patterns one could almost forget the threat that the Lord of the Glabrezu posed to the world.

Memnoth had lived and unlived many years, and seen the rise and fall of many powers while he fought to preserve the deserts he loved. However, this time was different. The land itself was crying for help after the desecration it was suffering. Under his white hood, the empty eyesockets frowned, remembering the last patrol.

Fifteen worthy men had left the outpost and fought the demon hordes for almost a tenday. It seemed that they had been quite successful, for the demon attacks had diminished the last three days. They were camped and preparing their return to Mala Myrr when the horde surrounded them. Led by two powerful demons, of types Memnoth was uncapable of identifying, they struck by surprise, killing off most of the patrol before they recovered from the confusion. Using his most powerful spells, Memnoth brought back to life a couple of his fallen comrades before being torn apart by one of the large demons.

His body reformed in the same spot where he had been destroyed, two weeks later. Around him he found dead bodies of both enemies and allies, broken weapons and armours. He remembered how futilely he kicked a dead cultist body. How could some humans side with the demons? he wondered. Was it out of fear, or they simply sided with the side that was winning at every moment? The sand golem walked into his visual field, snapping him out of his sad memories. Luckily, his trustworthy golem had retrieved his remains and carried it back all the way to the outpost, as he was instructed to do.

Some steps in the stairs leading to the top of the wall made Memnoth turn around. He saw a woman clad in black armour rising up to meet him. Her fiery mane of red hair allowed him to easily recognize her.

Josslyn he said with his whispering voice. There was a distinct lack of emotion in his words.
Noth? she replied. I had heard you returned, but I wanted to check it with my own eyes. the feelings in her voice were hard to tell, a strange mix of relief, joy, guilt, and fear all mixed.

Heh chuckled the lich. The members of the dusty conclave are difficult to get rid of he replied, shrugging. His empty eyesockets travelled back to the sand golem in its perpetual patrol. I've heard you've been assigned to another group he said.
Yeah, Virajh and I were assigned to another patrol. We thought there were no more survivors replied the woman.
Virajh. Said Memnoth. So he got resurrected he stated rather than inquired.
Yeah confirmed the woman. We wouldn't have made it if you hadn't raised him.

The woman stood immutable, despite the scrutiny of the lich. The temperature had risen several degrees while they were talking, though, and pearls of sweat begun to form in her tanned brow. Only then did Memnoth notice that due to the conversation he wasn't suppressing the supernatural heat that accompanied him anymore. A moment of concentration corrected that and the heat dissipated noticeably.

Look Noth, I know Virajh was supposed to... Forget it he interrupted her.
We are not as indestructible as you, you know? Josslyn tried to explain Forget it! he insisted.
Perth was laying there dead in all that madness and... Will you forget it, damn it! shouted the lich, perhaps for the first time in the decade.

Look, Jossy, Virajh saved you and for that I'm grateful. he said, recovering his usual calm. He never liked me, and the fact that you were of the few of the squad that even considered talking to me only made it worse. That was the problem he thought. HIS insecurity. I'm not alive, for the Scorching Sands!

Well, you can call that golem of yours and come with us. she offered. The new squad is great and... I'm not going Replied Memnoth. The red haired woman seemed surprised, and slightly angered. Why, you pigheaded pile of bones? didn't you tell me to forget about it? she inquired. I've already been assigned to another squad he explained. Both stood there in an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the sound of the wind. Josslyn, you are a good woman, and a worthy ally. he said. And Virajh will look after you, so you'll be ok. Memnoth nodded as he said those words, reassuring himself. The lich walked past her and begun to descend the stairs.

Josslyn stood at the top of the wall looking at the golem and thinking. Just as Memnoth made it to the bottom, she turned and shouted Did you ask to be put in a separate squad? Memnoth didn't turn around, and only lifted a writhed hand to say goodbye. Josslyn begun to chase after him. Answer me, you big pile of! The woman interrupted her pursuit, leaving the sentence unfinished. The heat was rapidly building up.

Memnoth wandered frustrated the streets of the garrison, and after a couple of enraged looks from the other inhabitants he recalled to lower the heat that always accompanied him. He did not need to sleep, nor eat, and the untimely woman had interrupted his thoughts, so he didn't really know what to do with his "free" day.

The lich tried to remember the descriptions of the other members of the squad, and with nothing better to distract him, begun to look for them among the five thousand souls of the town.

[GimliFett]

Tynze Blackheart

Tynze looks around, and takes off his hat. "What to do? What to do?" the man asks the empty barracks with a voice that is no longer that of a croaking old man. The image of the old man dissolves, every detail but one changing: the cloak of deepest night. The old man's walking staff was replaced by a guisarme that nearly scraped the ceiling. The white robes became a shadowed mithral breastplate with spikes protruding from strategic points. The biggest change came over the man's physical stature. Instead of a hunched old man, a powerful younger man - maybe in his middle twenties - moved to his bedchest and unlocked it, dropping his travel pack inside and relocking it.

The man's physique put an orc to shame. He was easily six foot six and solidly built. His square jaw was framed by a black goatee. Piercing, predatory blue eyes darted everywhere, as he moved, leaving no detail unnoticed.

"They call it free time, but it's not like I can hunt here! By Val. I crave blood and battle! Well, at least I'll be meeting my new squad in the morning. Hopefully they're made of sterner stuff than my last one." He grins a wolf's predatory smile, grabs his weapon and spins smartly around towards the barracks door.

To find it opening and a small boy standing in his way. "What d'ya want, runt?" he snarls.

The boy's bright green eyes widen as he takes in the man and the empty room. His tousled sandy blonde hair clung to his sweaty forehead. He stared for a moment, long enough that Tynze started to walk forward again, intending to move past him.

"'Scuse me, mister. I'm lookin' for my Pa! He shoulda come back yesterday from patrol, but he didn't come back to the room. Someone told me this was the barracks for his squad..." He trails off as he looks at the vacant barracks.

The big man snickers. "No one came back but me, kid. Who was your Pa?" he asks.

The boy's eyes somehow widen even further, but he manages to stammer out a reply. "L-l-linus. Linus Prentiss."

Tynze's lips curl back in a sneer as he recognizes the name. Prentiss? That bastard paladin had a kid? And no one's told the kid yet? Well, fugazi if I'll be the one to te-- Wait a minute. Val works in mysterious ways. Thank you, Lord!

The sneer is quickly replaced with a gentle smile -- or would have if the big man had ever seen such a thing in his life, so instead it's a feral, predatory grin -- as he kneels in front of the boy. "What's your name, boy?" he asks, his deep voice a rumbling near-growl.

The boy's stammer returns under Tynze's gaze. "L-l-lucas P-p-prentiss."

Figures. Idiot didn't have much imagination to begin with. Hopefully he didn't pass that trait along the line. Shaking his head slowly, Tynze reaches awkwardly for the boy's shoulders. Hands as big as the boy's head rest lightly on either side of his neck. So simple to just twist and be done with it, he muses. No, this is an opportunity! Use it! Increase the pack!

Tynze focuses on keeping the usual growling timbre from his voice. "Lucas. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but... Your father is dead. His god failed to protect him!" He says sadly, shaking his head. And he was an idiot! Tynze thinks to himself.

The boy stutters and his eyes well up with tears. He tries to hold them back, but is unable to and the finally flow freely down his cheeks to splatter on the floor of the barracks before nearly instantly drying in the hot, arid air. "N-nonononononono!" the boy cries and drops his gaze to the floor.He then tries to huddle closer to Tynze for comfort, but the big man resists, easily keeping the boy back at arm's reach and away from the metal spikes adorning his armor.

Tynze pats the boys head consolingly, then lifts his chin up so the pair stared directly at each other's faces. "Don't fret, boy. He died as he lived. But where his god failed, mine delivered! Val watched over and protected me from the same creature that took your father's life."

The boy sniffles loudly and tries to wipe his face with his shirtsleeves."N-nonononononono!" the boy cried again, this time longer and harder.

Tynze easily lifts the boy and takes him to the nearest cot. "Rest here, boy. I'll watch over you until you can face things." With that he retrieves his guisarme from the doorway and leans it against the wall between the boy's bed and the next one over, sitting down nearby to let the boy cry.

This is going well. First he's sad and crying, then he'll get angry and we can focus that anger. The big man grins his predator smile once more as he waits for the boy to cry himself out.

[Greyen]

Thorg

As the day goes on Thorg does have to earn his keep a little bit. Tossing out another drunk and belligerent wreck of a soldier into the street he grunts as the soldier skids to a halt at the feet of the sand lich. Thorg chuckles at his timing Next time ya cause any trouble here I'll feed ya to the sand lich, instead of just giving ya an up close view of his ankles, ya wretched little beast! Now get on with ya! Ya putrid example of a pointy eared waif! Be happy I don't take a bite outta ya myself! The huge red skinned half orc stands on the porch screaming further curses and obscenities at the elven trooper who had forced him to take action on behalf of the owners of the tavern. The only tavern left in the fort that would tolerate him. He knew he had to keep his good graces if he wanted a place to drink anymore.

He watches as the elven troop scrambles to his feet and glancing at both of the frightening visages, lich and orcish 'zerker, and runs off. Thorg then eyeballs the lich and nods before returning to his seat on the porch.

[elkhantar]

Memnoth

The dry lich halts his wandering when the elf lands face-first at his feet. He doesn't say a word and lets the red skinned orc continue with his threats until the unfortunate soldier runs away. The leathery skin of his face stretches with a malicious smile.

You know I don't need to eat anymore, don't you? he asks the towering half-orc. Memnoth studied the warrior, soon recognizing one of the members of his future squad. Scaly red skin, larger than an ox, accordingly large curved sword, it was difficult to mistake the barbarian for anyone else.

The dry lich let his hood fall and made a strange salute, touching his heart, mouth and forehead with his right hand. I am Memnoth he introduced himself and if I guess correctly you must be Thorg. he pauses, waiting for the half-orc to confirm or deny it.

[Greyen]

Thorg

Aye, and Aye. Thorg replies cutting off his words sharply. But it was a perfect time to use ya as a threat. He'll be a bit nicer to the whoreson's that run this place. Thorg lifts the sword and slings it I'm told you are part of my new squad. I think that the adjudant thinks I'm killing his troopers. Maybe this time the put me with you cause your unkillable.

Thorg steps off the porch to stand and talk to the lich, calling back to the tavern I'll be back later.

[Greymist]

Those who saw him standing there could have well mistaken him for a larger than life statue, his granite textured form stood head and shoulders over that of the tallest guards. All that distinguished him from the surrounding stone was a pair of grey knee length shorts and which blended with his skin and a crystalline sword, longer than the average human was tall, strapped to his back.

Mottle stood on the very edge of the garrisons walls, surveying the surrounding country side for any threats. He noted to himself that it was strange how quickly the families and warriors here had become his clan, his need to keep them safe added to the ones he had left behind.

Seeing all was well for now he dropped down off the walls and made his way into town humming while he walked.

I wonder who they've put me with this time he thought, I guess I should go find them. The sound of a lyre playing from a nearby tavern broke him from his reverie, cocking his head to the side he recognised Sam's style and decided to watch him play.

Mottle! Sam called out after he had finished a set of songs come play with me. Sorry, I don't have my instruments with me and anyway, I wouldn't want to out play you in front of your own audience. Sam grinned at the mock insult Don't give me that crap, I know you have an instrument whenever you want one. With that Mottle joined the young bard on stage and played and sang for the afternoon.

[Lochar]

The day passes without true issue, and people come and go in the fort town of Mala Myrr. At the height of the day, many people retire to buildings to keep out of the noon day sun, hot enough to bake one alive.

Although, Memnoth probably enjoyed it.

And when the day is done, night rises to takes it's place. And with the night comes the loss of the sun and the heat of the desert. Temperatures that soared beyond a hundred degrees now falls to freezing, but without moisture in the air, nothing is able to freeze.

As with the day, the night goes by without issue, the walls of the fort hold steady against the night and the enemies.

At dawn, you each report as required to a briefing room. A dwarf is already there, waiting on you. He sits at a desk made of stone at the front of the room, and watches as each of you enters. His face is impassive, and he marks down on a sheet of paper as each of you enter.

There are chairs and tables for each of you to sit at, and the dwarf waves you to them, not bothering to have you salute or any such nonsense.

As you all look around, you seem to be missing one person.

[Greyen]

Thorg

Thorg drags his hung over self into the briefing room bleary eyed but clean. He sits as indicated and props his head on his hand. Obviously under-thrilled to be here he is half lidded as he awaits the others.

[elkhantar]

Memnoth

Memnoth enters the briefing room with the hood covering his bald head. Glad to meet you again, Thorg he says, nodding towards the squad member he met the previous day. The lich sits near him and mutters Is this the guy that thinks you're killing your squadmates? obviously alluding to the previous conversation.

Although his face doesn't reflect the effort, the lich is concentrating continuously to suppress his supernatural auras of fear and dread, knowing that their effects would be highly undesirable inside the most populated areas of the town.

[Greyen]

Thorg

The half-orc grunts greeting at the lich. He replies in a quiet grumble I dunno, that remark was more of a hunch than anything else. I keep coming back from raids with the bits of my teammates, but not they themselves.

[GimliFett]

Tynze

After spending the night talking with Lucas and introducing the boy to some friends who would look out for him while Tynze was out of the fort, the big man managed to arrive at the briefing room before dawn.

He took in the members of his new squad. The half-orc. The dust-lich. The rock-man. What was it about dirt and earth with these people! He thinks to himself as he smiles -- more of a sneer, really -- at the others, taking a moment to wink at the woman. Only four, though. The other was missing. With a shrug, Tynze nodded to the dwarf and took a seat.

"Morn'." He growls. "Where's our sixth?" he inquires.

[Lochar]

Minutes pass and the dwarf looks up from what he is working on. He looks you all over, looks to the door, and then back down to his paper again.

After fifteen minutes of waiting, the dwarf finally slams down his pen. "Blasted mages, think they can take their damned sweet time, oh the world revolves them. Bah." He looks at the assembled group. "Welcome to your new team, minus the mage that was supposed to show up today. You were going to be sent out on patrol further out, but according to word received from the east coast, your mage is shadow walking here. Which probably means he got dropped off somewhere nearby, instead of here. So instead, gentlemen, your first patrol will be to look for the remains of your sixth, if he did get dropped off around here if he didn't survive. Otherwise, you're on standard demon hunting duty."

The dwarf drops from his seat and comes around. You can see he limps heavily to his right side, and that half of his body is horribly maimed, scar tissue and withered limbs. He ignores his body as he thumps over to a side wall, where a map of the local area is at. "Walls are dimensioned locked here, even if the city itself isn't, so he'd end up getting stopped at the wall. According to the mages, he couldn't end up more than a couple miles from his exit point at the city wall." He swipes his hand around the area east of the city. "So a couple of miles east of Mala Myrr, radial. Shouldn't be anything you all can't handle, if there even is anything."

[GimliFett]

Tynze

The big man growls, deep and so low that it's almost inaudible. "So if we find him whole, are we going to have to baby sit him or will he pull his own weight?" Tynze asks the dwarf. "Regardless, it shouldn't take us long to discover whatever bits of him are out there, so a hunt would be a nice diversion afterward." He grins ferally.

[Moral Wiz]

Nathaniel Darksmith

At this moment the "arrogant mage" was rather exhausted. He'd been walking for far too long, and even the quasi-real heat of the shadowpath still wore on him. The darkness of Shadow had not helped his primitive efforts in navigation. There was a reason he preferred to travel in reality, rather than using this spell.

This is taking too damn long. Why does all this blasted place look alike?!

Laern wavers up and down a little

We've been walking a lot boss

Right. Let's cut to the chase

He lets the path slide, coming slowly to rest in the darkness of Shadow. Then, concentrating, he and his familiar faded away as the barrier between Shadow and the Material breaks just enough to allow him passage..

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Uses the Shadowwalk to deposit him on Plane of Shadow, then Pass into Shadow to shift to the material, aiming at the fort. Only got a rough description, but someone drew a very vague map. (5d100)[256] miles Dislocation from Plane Shift.

[Lochar]

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256 miles, and I get to choose the direction, huh? If you read, going from the Material Plane is the 5d%, doesn't say anything about going TO the material plane. I think I'm going to evoke Rule 0 here, so you don't end up too much further west than you should have gone.

A wave of shadow ripples at the base of a near featureless mesa, the overhead sun creating shadow that deepens before breaking apart, a lone man and a familiar standing in the shade. The overhead sun bakes the land even in the morning.

Looking around, you recognize the land. You've made it into the painted desert. Now where is Mala Myrr...

[Moral Wiz]

Nathaniel

Well, that's a start.

Darksmith looked around the desert, trying his hardest to simply bear the heat, and greatful for the shade of the mesa.

Protection in shadow.. hah! Let the Pelorites doubt that.

He speaks aloud as he starts to squint at the horizon.

Now; if I can work out where we are, we should be able to get to Mala Myrr in... well, probably just a few hours.

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On the off chance

(1d20+18)[38] spot to try and work out where I am, relative to Myrr, combining a rough map and where the shadows are now cast (and thus, where we are relative to the sun

Or, if it's noticeable, consider it the spot check to try and spot Mala Myrr

[Lochar]

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Making up for Hist, aren't you?

The shadows fall to the west, so you can tell it is morning. They fall rather sharply to the west, so you can tell it is early morning.

A ways to the west, you can see another part of the terrace rising into the sky, so you're apparently at a relatively low level. Mala Myrr is at a medium level according to your map, sitting on top of a terrace, abutted against a plateau. The terrace you stand against rises, oh, three to four hundred feet up. If you were up there, it's possible you could spot the city you were sent to.



Back at Mala Myrr:
The dwarf shrugs, the scars on his right side rolling oddly as he does so. "If he's still alive, he'd better be able to help you all out. If he's dead, you're welcome to pick him over."

[Moral Wiz]

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Oh, yes. And... if ever there was a way to worry a player...

Darksmith is about to use a mystery to get to the highest spot before...

Wait. That's the highest spot. I'd be visible, shadows or no. And there are supposed to be demons around here.

He rummages around in his pack, and produces a red, spiked collar. He moved it around his neck, and, with a snap, buckeled it it.

Slowly, a dark tint seems to spread across his skin, like a drop of water in a misted tankard. His movements seem quicker, as though there was less weight to him. He laughed, quietly, with an otherworldly voice and whispered to his familiar

I knew this old thing'd come in useful.

With a few gestures, he uses a second trick. his shadow seems to stretch, climbing the mesa in his place. When it reached an available, and visible ladge, it stopped.

The two figures fell into it, and reappeared at the other end. Darksmith seems to meld into the shadow itself, and Laern quiets his light as best as he is able, before doing the same.

Stick to the shadows. We might have unwelcome company.

With that, Nat tries to make out anything on the upper part of the terrace

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(1d20+38)[56] Nat's hide check

(1d20+25)[29] Laen's hide check

Both now have Hide in Plain Sight

(1d20+18)[21]Spot check on the Peak

[Lochar]

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You do realize the reason I had you roll in the OOC thread was so I could have your rolls for hide/listen/spot and whatnot so you wouldn't know how well you actually were hidden/seeing/spoting things? So you're burning the dice.

The land looks clear to you, and in the far distance you can see walls rising into the sky. Hopefully that is Mala Myrr.

[Moral Wiz]

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Ah. Thought it was in case we weren't on, and able to roll

And... that means one bad roll takes us thru the whole campaign!

Darksmith

Well, Either that's Myrr, or some sort of demon hold. And at this point

He winces at the heat

I'll take either

A few more gestures, and he and his familiar descend to the ground.

Let's get going. We need to get there as soon as possible.

With that, he sets out in the direction of Myrr. He doesn't bother to remove his collar, and he seems to be moving faster in consequence. He's walking extremely briskly in the direction of the fort.

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40ft per round base rate. Keeping an eye out for Demons.

How far did it look like? A couple of miles? More?

[Lochar]

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No, once I'm done with a set of 20 I'll have the player reroll another set. And the walls are no more than 10-15 miles away. So no more than four hours of walking straight there.

[GimliFett]

Tynze

Tynze nods to the dwarf. "Seems fair." He turns to the others. "Ready to go? First off, what, exactly, do you folks do?" he inquires with an arched eyebrow. "I'm a hunter and tracker, mostly, but also a melee beast," he emphasizes the last word slightly and chuckles to himself.

[Moral Wiz]

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Ah. That's reassuring.

Risky, but Nat'll take it. Better that than another random place. At least now, he knows which way he's going.

[The_Snark]

Allison

The noble-looking woman—for such she appears to be; she is clean of dust, a difficult feat in the desert, and while she doesn't salute, she does nod politely toward the dwarven garrison commander—gives Tynze a briefly dismissive look at his initial "greeting", running her eyes coolly over the four others during the wait.

"Even a mage who can't fight is useful," she comments, rising. "There's always work to be done." She motions to the others to walk while they talk.

"A tracker may prove useful if we stumble on his trail before we stumble on the man himself. As for me, I am a mage of sorts. My studies have been limited in scope, but they are... useful, nonetheless." She glances at the others. The lich has to be a magician of some kind, and the other two both look like heavy hitters. Good, we can use both. Especially since they've had enough brains or skill to survive... or just got lucky.

In which case, it won't be much of a loss when that luck runs out.

[Lochar]

The dwarf nods. "Standard bounty on demon bodies applies if you find anything out there. If you've got no questions, get out of here."