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: Morithias: OOC:  http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=264499 
  
  In your village there is a portal that opens every year. In order to protect the village from whatever horrors lurk beyond it the village sends a party of "champions" through the portal.
  
  Whether they die, choose to stay, or whatever other reason, no champion has ever returned....with one exception.
  
  A female champion returned. She was driven mad, barely able to speak, and heavily pregnant, eventually giving birth to a half-fiend, which was executed.
  
  The portal closes when the champions step through. No one knows how she got back, and she was in no condition to tell you.
  
  You are this year's party being sent beyond the realms. You enter the portal and find yourself in a makeshift camp site. A fire pit, trees with date markers, even some broken equipment leftover. It's likely that a former champion set this up.
  
  You look back and the portal closes behind you. As far as you know, there is no going back.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Jormengand: Pedro walked through the portal with more than  little apprehension. Why did it have to be him?
  
   Half an hour earlier. 
   "...And Pedro Ignacio!"
  
  Pedro ascended atop the platform with the other four unfortunates. A well-balanced group, as it happened.  Perfection through balance, balance through perfection.  That had always been his motto, and so it always would be. He steeled himself for the inevitable, and waited through the long speech proclaiming his heroism. As though he had a choice.
  
  When it was finally over, he turned and entered the portal. After all, the Honour Guard always goes in first. 
   Now 
  Pedro looked around. Broken bows, shattered swords and snapped spears. Alliterative. Maybe, however, there was something worth salvaging.
  
  "One might imagine that it would be the most beneficial action to attempt to obtain any useful objects, devices and materials in this locale, in an attempt to better equip ourselves for whatever situation lies ahead in this mysterious place, for we know not what will confront us, although this area appears to be one of relative safety, or at least not of imminent danger."
  
  --&gt; Pedro: salvage!
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Doorhandle: "'One  might  imagine?' Finders keeper's Pedro, everyone knows as much!"
  
  Dr. Schlecht looked up to his honor guard friend, finishing his taste-test of the fire pit's ashes. The alchemist had walked though the portal without a second thought, having had little fondness for his town of origin.
  Oh sure, it was his home, and it wasn't exactly unwelcoming or charmless: but he found it's backwardness stifling, and their is only so much one can learn in such a place. Here, though, in this unexplored dimension, there was no limit to the possibilities: here he could discover and master arts unknown to man, dwarf, and elf alike, wonders unknown and unseen for centuries prior! What scientist could resist that?
  
  Also, they tend to find his habit of tasting everything and anything without permission somewhat off-putting. That always put a damper on things.
  
  Readjusting his goggles, Schlecht  stood up, shooting a resentful glance toward the remains of the portal, before taking a closer look at the tree and the markings on it's side.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Morithias: Most of the weapons would be repairable if you had some kind of mending spell or access to a smith. But they would also be completely mundane weapons a lot of them the wrong size. You think this camp has seen it's fair share of battle.
  
  The ashes taste like ash, nothing special.
  
  The tree marking seems to be days gone by, or something of that nature, some kind of calender. It seems to stop at 32, which is either when they left, or got killed, or something. A few other trees have similar marks few of them going above 30 marks.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Lentrax: A young woman rides through the portal in time to see one of her compatriots eating ashes from the fire pit.
  
   "Great. I get chosen the same year as a taster." 
  
  She flips Her long blond hair over her shoulder as she dismounts from her horse. She retrieves two scabbarded swords, strapping them onto her back with a fluid grace that belies her strength. Her strides are almost a glide as she walks over to the marks on the trees.
  
   "It is not just us three surely? They sent more in years past, yes? 