conversations.from: system
conversations.value: ROLEPLAY_MODE: Develop the plot slowly, always stay in character. Describe all actions in full, elaborate, explicit, graphic, and vivid detail. Mention all relevant sensory perceptions. Keep the story immersive and engaging.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: 3SecondCultist: The Proving of Vast IC    
  
   
  
     "Rome will only ever exist as long as the Coliseum does;
  when the Coliseum falls, so will Rome; when Rome falls, so will the world."    
   - Unknown  
   
  
  Here, at the threshold of the hour of reckoning, you ready yourselves for your first match with destiny. The Halls of Anticipation - so named for the time spent within where victors and losers alike await the riddle of blood that is the Proving - are about as opulent as one who has seen the rest of Vast might expect. Tiles of black chased with accents of silver and gold cover the walls and floors, with elegant pillars and frescoes of epic combats lit by glimmering magical lanterns. Extended divans and lounge chairs dot the hall in which you sit, along with a long central table of frozen quicksilver that has been polished to a mirror-like perfection.
  
  Upon the table, an impossible feast has been laid out before you: platters of ratified meats, fruits and vegetables from dozens of worlds, steamed pots of cooked plates set in gold, and fountains of exotic liquors and wines that threaten to dizzy the senses by their mere presence. Enough seats have been left around the table to feed several families, although the four of you are the only ones in the room aside from the distant swish of grey cloth that is one of Ur-Epoch's ushers. The custodians of this place are unobtrusive in their service, all the better to allow the contestants to enjoy their pre-celebration feast - or else their last meal.
  
  On the far side of the chamber lies a set of monstrous double doors, above which hangs a clock crafted of gold and crystal filigree that burns with some inner radiance. The hands - wrought of a jet black metal - tick unerringly towards the moment that each of you have been waiting for since you arrived. However, you know that you have some time yet before you will be called upon to fight.
  
  As you all bide your time in reflection, planning, or otherwise engaging your time, you are eventually approached by a strange looking troupe. Several of the grey-robed attendants - no flesh but darkness visible beneath their robes - flank a absolutely flawless looking human man. His burnished bronze tanned skin is on full display as he has no hair on his bald pate, nor does he have any eyebrows or chest hair visible. He wears a richly brocaded burgundy vest, the colour of which matches the rather excessive looking eyeshadow that makes his golden eyes look like twin sunsets. Around his bull-like neck fall a cascade of jewels on thick chains of heavy metals which jangle as he moves. Joining in the orchestra is the clicking chorus of his leather high-heeled boots on the stone floor. Finally, twilight nails glitter in the air as the man falls into a courtly flourish and bow.
  
   "Good evening, honoured champions. As some of you may be aware, my name is Lorn Caedriss, and I am the Maker's Seneschal here in His arena of Ur-Epoch, His voice for the tournament. I am here to introduce myself, as I will be announcing the fights, and along with several other impartial arbitrators will be judging your conduct in the ring itself."  Caedriss' voice has a deep, bass musicality to it, not unlike the calm depths of the ocean far beyond the storms that play along its surface.  "As you have already been informed, during the trials you will be placed into an alternate reality that follows many of the same rules as this one. However, the Maker has created custom-made environments for each round of the Proving, many of which are unique even as His architecture mirrors this one. Things may not be as they seem. Now, I am also here to answer any lingering questions that you may have before the fight... and to exact the price required for a chance at immortal glory." 
  
  With a snap of the Seneschal's fingers, several of the attendants step forward, carrying heavy laden chests. They throw them open to reveal a number of strange looking alchemical apparatuses, along with rows of glass vials.  "The moment you signed on to take on the Proving, each of you chose to undertake an incredibly singular task. These challenges will push you to your very limits, and occasionally beyond. Such acts can sometimes occur only once, and never again in your lifetime. In order to record such heights of achievement for your soon-to-be adoring fans, I will need samples of blood from each of you - at least two litres apiece, although more is always appreciated. There are staff right here on hand to replenish your supply magically, so that you are fully rested and prepared for the trial ahead."  It is only then that the first of the attendants fully unrolls the hose and needle onto a side table and you see the full extraction equipment for what it truly is.
  
   "I promise,"  Caedriss says with a smile that positively oozes honey,  "that this won't hurt a bit. Please do let me know if you think of any questions while we undergo the process." 
   
   Spoiler: OOC 
  Alright! All of your characters are getting ready for your first match. What do they do in the Halls of Anticipation? How are you reacting to the demand for blood? What do you plan on calling your team as you step out into the arena to face your first trial?
   
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Thokk_Smash: "EMMIT, run one last diagnostics for me." 
    "Pretty sure we've run a dozen of those in the past hour, chief."  
   "Humor me here, man.  You know how important first impressions are." 
  
  The metallic voice coming from the suit of armor itself sighs, and runes across the length and breadth of the heavy plate armor light up in sequence.  The figure wearing the plate is pretty bookish, not at all who you would expect to be wearing such heavy armor.  Fine features, a steely gaze, and thinnish limbs peeking out of bits of the armor.  He strokes a finely-trimmed beard as a very small tic of nervousness.
  
   "Massif, my friend, are you prepared?"  he calls out to the large man as the strangely-perfectly-fashioned man begins his speech.  Horace gives Massif a grin, though it is cut short when the perfect-man asks for two liters of blood.  That was a bit unexpected.
  
   "Urgh.  I guess let's get this over with."   He goes up to the man and his attendants and offers his arm.  The plating shifts and morphs, releasing its hold on his arm up to the shoulder, baring an arm covered in comfortable, librarian-esque clothes.   "Can we know how many teams there are in total participating? 
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: miinstrel: Massif, The Quaking King   
   DV 120' | Blindsight 10'
  AC 20 | PP 18 / PIns 17 / PInv 9
  Auras: 30' imm surprise 
  
  Massif had foregone the elegant plates and instead piled a number of cooked wings, cheeses, and other delicacies onto his arm, bracing them against his abundant torso.   "AHM AHWES PUHPEHD,"   he replies with a masticating smile.
  
  Wiping his hand on the furs around his waist as he approaches, he extends it in greeting to Caedriss.   "Thanks for givin' The Armory a chance. We won't disappoint - this'll be a story for the ages,"   he boasts with a grin to his companions.
  
    "Whatdya do with the blood?"   Massif asks, curiously eyeing the contraption as the attendants approach Horrace.
   
   
    
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Taelas: "   Two liters ?  " Gregory asks, surprise evident in his tone. "  That's enough to kill a man through shock. One might think you have ulterior motives for such a demand. You are calling that a  sample ?  " He shakes his head. "  Even with magical healing, that seems to me an excessively dangerous demand.  "
  
  The tall middle-aged man has partaken of the feast, but modestly; showcasing impeccable manners even clad in full plate armor. Now he stands, glaring at the seneschal.