[User]
 Hercules   clenched the prodigious, semi-divine muscles in his forearm; his fingers, pulled by near-godly sinews, squeezed together in response.  Flamebug, the Fire of Justice, the hero of New Angeles, gurgled in his grasp.  The pyrokinetic jerked and writhed in the air, held firmly with his feet kicking in the air with Hercules' meaty fist around his neck.  Blades of flame sizzled and flared all around him as he struggled in the  demigod's  grip, but where Flamebug's fire beat against Hercules' massive frame, there was simply the sizzling sound of Hercules' sweat vaporizing.

Hercules simply grinned, stroking his curly ruddy beard with his other hand.   "If you tell me where she is, how to get her back, maybe I'll let you live.  Maybe, I'll keep you chained in my fireplace, to keep my chambers warm at night.  I'll roast marshmallows on you, and you can keep your miserable life."

Flamebug gurgled in Hercules' grasp.  "Gah!  I don't-  -know- ! -wasn't- -there-!"

An apocalyptic look passed over Hercules' face.   "Then  who  was?  Who attacked my beloved?  Who exiled her to the Negarealm?  TELL ME, WHO TOOK MY    STARNOVA    FROM ME?!

With each word, Hercules' grip had tightened.  He didn't notice over his explosive anger.  By the time he had finished his last question, he realized Flamebug's neck had been crushed, the hero limp and bug-eyed in his grasp.

 "Damnit, not again,"  Hercules muttered, dropping the corpse to the ground.  He gestured to the alien computer screen dominating the far wall.   "   Cortex   , get rid of this body.  I need to remember how frail the mortals are next time."
 Yes, Lord Hercules , the AI said.  Strange crystalline constructs sprouted from the rocky walls, vaguely humanoid, and picked up the dead Flamebug and dragged him off.

 We cannot give up, Lord Hercules.  Surely one of the heroes of Earth will know the temporo-spatial coordinates of Commander Starnova.  We must simply continue questioning them.
 "Agreed, Cortex."   Hercules strode to the large, clear crystal viewing window.  So many times, he remembered, he stood in this very spot and held his beloved Starnova in his arms as they both looked across the dusty lunar surface, into the black expanse of space and the shining blue orb that was the Earth.  They would talk about their plans of conquest, or else they would not talk at all and let their passions consume them; Cortex's constructs would dutifully repair all the damage to the Moonbase their romantic interludes would inevitably cause.

Now, he stood there alone, consumed with anger.

The sniveling mortal,    Phantom   , the third of their Triumvirate, had betrayed them.  Phantom and her team had exiled his beloved to the Negarealm.  He could not find Phantom, he knew that; the wily costumed mortal could not be found if she did not want to.  But there were others who witnessed Starnova's betrayal... he did not know who they were, but he'd find them, find them all, even if it meant bringing every single last hero from the Earth here to meet his wrath personally.

Which was precisely what he was doing.

 "Cortex, how many more are there?"
 Flamebug was #15 of 257 potential targets who could have-
 "Bah, this is taking too long.  Bring the next four in, at the same time."
 Lord Hercules, do you think that is prudent?
 "Am I not Hercules, son of Zeus, mightiest there is?  They are mere mortals.  They will answer for Starnova's betrayal."

 Spoiler

You are all about to be teleported to the Moon; what were you doing before Cortex' teleportation locks on?

[User] Coil, having just tied up some muggers, was swinging her way back up to a good vantage point of the city and was eyeing a particular gargoyle to hang from.

[User]
 In the very centre of the  Netherworld, Velaste  -- the abode of Supreme Overlord Amaryllis,  Castle Pandemonium ...

A mischevious, impish tango piece plays in the background.  A silhouetted wolf howls on a foreground cliff, brief telling the story of the high-spired castle in the distance, eclipsing a pale moon upon the blood-red sky.  The genteel hum of the fair, motherly Supreme Overlord can be heard from the Gothic balcony as she tends to her basil and oregano, which sits right next to the apocalypse chillis and hellbulbs, menacing with spiky-black thorns along their root.

" Overlord, Overlord! " croons a bobbling rotund hellbird, adorably cute with the red gem on its stomach and frilled capelet embroided with a loving ' K ' on the centre.
" Eh?~ " Supreme Overlord Amaryllis' voice is tender and pleasant.  " What is it, dear Kina? "
" It's time for your daily call to your daughter, kyu! "
" Oh~!  Goodness, it's that time already! "

She raises a tiny foreign object and encases it in a powerful scrying crystal.  Upon closer inspection, it's a  Vodafone (TM) mobile SIM card.  Several bobbling hellbirds carry french horns to helpfully play a demonic rendition of a dial-up tune...

 ...and a studio apartment fashioned out of a cheaply-refurbished motel,  Earth, San Angeles.

A clamshell mobile with a cute yellow and orange-checkered case starts to vibrate.  Drawn curtains barely filter out the light of the sun outside, further blocked by the stack of takeout containers and pizza boxes and an unwashed saucepan stacked ontop of a steel-bottomed pot stacked ontop of...

" Mm... " Dark Lord and Fourth Princess of Hell Zephyrantes rolls on her bed, very much still asleep and curled up around two additional adorable hellbirds, this time with an embroided ' N ' and ' M ' on their capelets.  The Dark Lord's pajamas are adorably pink with white polka-dots, with little ruffles at the hems and cuffs, though in line with her true devotion to twintaildom, her hair is still tied up in large poofy bedtime scrunchies to either side of her.

" N--nyu?! " squeakes the N-embroidered bird, perking up with panicked white eyes.  " Zephy, Zephy, wake up!  Your phone's ringing! "
" I'm  sleepy ... let me sleep  five  more minutes... mmm... " comes the slow, slumbering moan from the sleeping princess.
" It's your mother, nyu!  You should answer her! "
" Nina, let me sleeeep... "

The flip-top of the mobile suddenly pops up, along with a very sweet-sounding, "  Zephe-nee~!  I know you're really busy lately, but mommy really misses you~!  Oh, everyone's doing so well over here.  I'm so proud of the  baatezu , did you know they raised over thirty-thousand hfil with their bake sale last week?  The atomic brownies were a real hit with the attorneys down in 7th!  Oh, and I finished your Christmas present!  I'll be having Belial-sweetie send it over to you, mmkay?  Mommy really misses you!  Call back soon!  "

There's a loud groan from the Dark Lord, as she rolls over and tosses the pillow over the phone, which shuts with a 'bomf' noise.  " Mm... peace and quiet at last-- "

And then...   teleport  !!

[User]
 Caroline stares up at the ceiling of her spartan apartment from bed, pondering when it would be appropriate to get up. She rolls her head to stare at the blaring red digits of the alarm clock beside the bed.

 "Close enough " She mutters to herself, jumping out of bed. It was unlikely that her superiors actually were monitoring how much sleep she was getting like they promised, and she really wanted to get on her with morning, her shower beckoning.

After an extended stay in the Bathroom she saunters over to her closet, pondering the multitude of similar black outfits staring back at her from within.

" So much choice " Caroline sighs. She knew they had some theory about black allowing her to meld into crowds better, but some choice would be fantastic. Deciding on her usual outfit, not that their was much to choose from, she walks the 15 steps it takes to get from her bedroom to the front door, looking at the clock on her way out.

 "More then enough time to take the long way to the academy and still make it on time."  She confirms to herself, stepping out the door.

[User]
 "Well, the Transmission looks fine"   Clover said, brushing her hands against a spare rag  trying to clean off the acculated oil and grime.  "And I already gave the engine block a once over. The Spark-plugs are a little corroded, but otherwise fine, and the wiper-fluid is low. Nothing that would explain the rattling noise you've been getting"  The information was directed at Miss. Clairmont, an elderly woman who Clover would sometimes call upon to babysit June. The Septuagenarian had brought in her old VW, claiming that something was ratteling around and causing a fit whenever she drove more than a few miles at a stretch. On this particular day, Clover had intended to try and catch up on her finances, but she felt like she owed Clairmont a favor, and was more than willing to sideline her own plans to lend a hand.  "I've got one or two other idea's as to what the issue could be, but I'd need to have some time to work on her with my toolkit. Might take an hour or two...and I'd have to bring it down to the shop. Actually, hold on...there's one more thing I can think off. Just wait here a minute, I need to run upstairs"

Unfortunately for Miss. Clairmont, she'd be waiting for more than just a few minutes for Clover to return...


[User]
 According to the few remaining accounts, the Azlanti outpost of
Nal-Kashel was a shining testament to the glories and revelations of the old empire. A crowning achievement of engineering, the city served as an ancient observatory and center of learning, and a necessary pilgrimage site for the educated elite of Old Azlant. But even then, dark rumors hinted at forbidden astrological manipulations of alien realms, and whispers claimed a terrible force guided the minds of Nal-Kashel’s scholars. Earthfall brought low the glorious empire, and Nal-Kashel sank below the waves, its halls home now to sharks and eels. Only the highest spires and deserted streets of the elevated temple district remain above the sea, while broken tower tops float through the sky above in slow, elliptical orbits about the island, a forlorn testament to the city’s former glory.

Ships and sailors avoid Hellmouth Gulf for good reason. Sharp rocks jut from the waves all along its inhospitable coastline, like the gaping maw of some foul beast. A rough road runs the length of the coast, providing a safer choice for those averse to traveling across the sea.

The Hellmouth Gulf ’s coast is a treacherous stretch of craggy cliffs, torn from the side of the continent by the cataclysmic tremors of Earthfall, 10,000 years ago. A coastal road follows the rugged coastline atop these cliffs; some stretches are hundreds of feet tall, and only occasionally do breaks in the cliff wall expose entrances to small coves and inlets. Dark sand and jagged rocks cover the coast’s small, spare beaches, and the incoming tide carries with it a sulfurous grime.

A low fog hangs along the shore, refusing to release its grip in the pervasive gloom of an overcast morning. The surf crashes against nearby cliffs, and the cold wind carries a spray of fine mist. But then a cry of distress rings out over the briny current! Shouts of pain echo as a fisherman in an old rowboat wields a single broken oar against an enormous crab. The man struggles to reach the rocks and the safety of a small inlet nearby.

[User]
 The sun rose / a dream fades / a new day / Undine wakes
She gets dressed / as she hears / the wood snap / an oar breaks
Though fatigued / from last night / busking late / at "The Snake"
But her ears / did not lie / the man's Cries / were not fake.
She cries  "' Ey!    / "Ye need 'elp? /  Jus' 'old on! "  / the ground quakes.
She swims forth / to his aid,  / for his life / is at stake

 Spoiler: OOC
do NOT try this at home,  kids.😛 Poetry - not even once.

Clarion call to the man, others can probably hear it too. Undine swims to the man's aid.


[User]
 Party 2

I figured it would be better to separate the two parties after some folks brought up concerns via PM. So continuing...

The strange metal bars might provoke some curiosity, but no answers. You have never seen the like and neither has your somewhat-leader. 'Maybe it's worth something. Your find, your keep,' Co'av says. 'We have the correspondence. Let's head back to base and Zalo can take a look, see who and where our next target is.'

It takes about 40 minutes to wind through the slums into the sewer networks where the small Irshedai compound has sprung up. Throughout the maze of warrens and tunnels cookfires burn, spitted meat lied cracked and roasting, though it may be best not to think too hard on what in many cases. Some dark elves developed rather... unconventional... tastes during their ordeals during the war. The base is filled with music, both the old folk songs of a people in exile and the newer, cruder and darker ones that have risen to take their place.

For all of that, it has a lived in and home-like quality. It had sprung up during the occupation and was used by partizan forces during the war. Abandoned afterwards it was re purposed by Irshedai affiliated partisans whose war had not yet ended.

A cart full of weapons rattles by on its way to the docks as you cluster around a table lit by lamplight and Co'av lays down the papers. 'Not much,' he says, 'but I think we stumbled into something a little bigger than the usual camp guard.' As you look at the papers you note that they are written in gnomish, but the linguestic slips and tone are very clearly elvish, as if translated but only in part.

 All is not yet lost Mr Harris, you have more than enough opportunity to settle your debts. Simply guard the reagents with your life and do not let them fall into the Authorities' hands. By the time your anniversary rolls around you can look once more with pride upon the world.'

Vague enough to be utterly useless. The next it a little better, you had found it sewn into an inner pocket before relieving its occupant of material concerns. A number of passports, all with the same picture and different names.

Vance Harris, 87, Half-Elf. Nationality, Briadoch. Occupation: Roofer...

Mearen Galen. 124. Elvish. Nationality, Sorish. Occupation: Coach Driver...

They go on and on. 4 sets of false documents total, each describing an innocuous profession and a quiet, neutral and above all uninvolved country. Coav reaches into a drawer and pulls out a thick file, thumbing through it until he pulls out a dossier.

Herr Mearen Gealith. 124.
Unterlieutenant 12th Elfensturm

The pictures and physical descriptions are a dead match for the rapidly cooling corpse in the slums.

'Feanwe's right hand scum himself,' Co'av says as he pops the final few papers on the table. A ticket for an airship flight dated three days hence heading south to the jungles of Aretina. And a hastily scrawled note with the following: 10:45, fisherman's nook. 'So just who would be giving him orders, hmmmm?'

[User] "  I wonder what those 'reagents' are...He was instructed to guard them with his life and not let them fall into authority's hands... and then it seems that it fell into ours... or mine  " He takes those weird metal bars and examine them again, but closely and with more attention and less hurry now.

[User]
 Zalo stares at the scrawled note. Fisherman's Nook... Does that sound familiar to him?

 Spoiler
General d20 roll because I don't know which ability applies.  (1d20)[ 16 ] . If there is proficiency, add 3. If it's an intelligence ability, add 2. If wisdom, add 5. If luckstone applies, add 1.

[User]
 As Co'av finished his presentation of the papers, Jaken quietly had a closer look on them. He was delighted to have this chance to properly inspect them, and a little surprised since Co'av seemed to have a "finders, keepers" attitude. Unfortunately he had never learned Gnomish, but that didn't stop him from trying to look for clues in the documents. Comparing the handwriting in them to see if they were written by the same person, the age of the paper, the kind of ink that was used... anything that could potentially reveal where they had been made or other information that could not be found by reading alone. Meanwhile, he was already trying to recall if the maps of the area he'd read had mentioned any permanent settlements in Aretina.

 Spoiler: Rolls

Investigation:  (1d20+5)[ 24 ]

[User]
 Faera looks at the metal bars with renewed interest.   "Well, if I get in my hands those reagents, I can sell them in the black market for a hefty sum"  . She walks slowly to where the other are and watch them with a boring glance.  "Have you found something interesting,  loktriamen ?"  she asked flirty, while at the same time she had a closer look to the papers Jaken was studying.

 Spoiler: OOC
"loktriamen" is drowish for guys.
Investigation check:  (1d20+1)[ 11 ]

[User]
 Spoiler: Zalo
Fisherman's nook is very familiar to you. Down by the docks, but not quite part of them, it sees very little presence by law enforcement, making it an ideal place for shady business and smuggling, as well as the normal collection of junkies, dead drunks, and dead bodies. Given its reputation, you'd think the watch would have cleaned it up ages ago, but it isn't a blight on the wealthier part of town, so it isn't their problem. It's a knowledge roll, and i think luckstone applies.

 Spoiler: Jaken
Aretina is a developing nation that remained ostensibly neutral during the war, but offered shelter and trade to elvish forces. Permanent settlements could describe one of seven sizable cities, but only one has an airship strip. Bursos, the capitol. Dmurti has been running into a wall trying to get OSS and other international police forces in. Being a neutral nation, they were never at war with allied forces, meaning they never had to surrender. Which means sending forces in would be a violation of Aretina's sovereignty, and thus an act of war.

 Spoiler: Faera
Nothing. You know roughly where Aretina is on the map (you know, that jungle place southwest of here by a few thousand miles), but the geopolitics are not something you've ever really cared about

[User] Zalo turns to the lead investigator. "  This Fisherman's Nook is by the docks. Not a very safe place to be, señor, but nothing better if you've any unsavory business. Might be worth investigating, at least? Maybe find something.  '

[User] Jaken, having ignored Faera's tone, only briefly averted his gaze from the papers to address her:  "Nope. Nothing so far."  At this point he was admiring the quality of the forged documents as much as he was trying to study them.


[User] Reserved for campaign with Giota and George.

[User]
 (4d6b3)[ 13 ]
 (3d6+3)[ 14 ]

[User]
 (2d6)[ 1 ][ 6 ](7)
 (2d6)[ 4 ][ 6 ](10)
 (2d6)[ 6 ][ 6 ](12)


[User]
 About midway through first watch, Arcturus notices Nualia beginning to stir.  At first, he gives it no mind- she's bound and gagged, after all.  Over the next several minutes, however, it quickly becomes apparent that she's well and truly returning to consciousness, no doubt with quite the headache for the party's trouble.  When her eyes finally open, furious recognition is plain to see on her expression.  She immediately begins struggling against her bonds, to no apparent avail.

Grunts and scrapes divide Arcturus' attention between the hallway where he stands sentinel and the prisoner over whom he stands guard.  It's a little surprising when the priestess' raspy voice calls from the side, " What, they left  you  to watch me, and you can't even be bothered?  Such arrogance will be your undoing, " she snarls.  Arcturus' lack of a response seems only to add flame to the bound woman's ire.  " I'll kill you for this!   Answer me!  " she demands, from the floor.  She continues to struggle against her bonds, thus far making no discernible progress towards freedom.

Arcturus intones a simple phrase, and light appears- emanating from his dagger.  His expression is unkind, to say the least.  For the moment, at least, Nualia lapses into silence.  She continues to strain against her bonds.  The manacles hold fast, where the linen gag failed.

[User] Seeing the woman continue to struggle, Arcturus walks over to inspect her bindings, holding the  light  from his dagger aloft. He is cautious to avoid being kicked or tripped as he approaches to verify that her bonds are intact. " I have nothing to say to you. " he finally mentions as he looks around for the gag. " We will deal with you in the morning, and you will answer for your crimes. Whether you spend the time until then in silence, or in   pain  , is entirely up to you. " Once he has located the gag he attempts to reattach it, again wary of any attempts by the captive to bite him, or worse.

[User] Arcturus manages to retie the gag, avoiding the woman's snarling teeth in the meanwhile.  She does continue to struggle, her motions varying spasmodically between subdued resignation and furious activity.  It's almost an hour later, when Cade emerges from his borrowed chambers, to find Arcturus retying the gag for the third time.

[User]
 Appearing on the scene, Cade just sighs. He doesn't greet the sorcerer, nor does he say goodbye when Arcturus leaves the room. His focus is on the bound Nualia, just as it should be. Once making sure that all of the restrictions are in place, the young scholar leans against the far wall of the hallway.

 "I understand, you know. A few exceptions aside, Sandpoint is a hovel of miserable, small-minded people. I'm not condoning your slaughtering them, of course, but the impulse is not entirely foreign to me."  Making sure the chemicals are off of his hands, Cade rubs his eyes and chuckles.  "You know that I was locked up for your crimes? Deverin thought that I was responsible for what you had done; I spent a few nights in Sandpoint's jail. I mentioned it before, but our group was in the midst of a heated discussion at the time."
 "Of course, you can't say anything, but I thought it would be amusing for you to hear that. You'll be taking my place, naturally. But you knew that."

[User] Nualia returns Cade's stare.  For the moment, she makes no effort to struggle against her bonds.  Her eyes speak of hatred and condescension, and her shoulders remain back, in a poise of valiant defiance.  She resumes her struggles as soon as Cade's attention is diverted, rubbing against the stone walls and floor in attempt to break loose.

[User]
 Noticing the struggles, Cade pulls out a small dagger. Kneeling not too far away from where Nualia’s position, he takes the blade and jabs it into the skin above the hairline behind her ear, creating a shallow cut where it is less visible.

 "Did you know that some of the more barbarous Shoanti tribes actually take skin from their defeated enemies? It is a sign of dishonour."  Thinking about it for another moment, Cade moves forward and with some sawing, cuts off one lock of white hair.

 "Maybe if you keep this up, there will be nothing left."

[User] Cade's rather pointed interjection earns an expression of surprise from the bound priestess, followed shortly by a narrowing of the eyes.  He gets the distinct notion that if she could, she'd spit in his face.  A few minutes after he turns away, she starts moving again- more subtly, as if she's trying to hide her efforts, but Cade notices, regardless.

[User] "I can still see you, Nualia."  Cade tightens the restraints past the point of comfort, and takes a few more locks of hair as punishment.  "There really is no use trying to get free right now. Not much gets past me, I’m afraid."

[User]
 Cade's punishment earns him another snarl and glare from the still-gagged priestess.  She resigns herself to her fate- at least for now, and sits quietly against the wall.

When Ben arrives to take over from Cade, he notices the bindings being new (and over-tight)...

[User]
 Ben talks to Cade. " Wait. "

He checks the bindings and the gag. Then he checks Nualia's wounds for signs of sustained hemorrhage.

Once satisfied everything is in order, he nods at Cade. " Fine. Go. "

Whenever Nualia starts wriggling again, he kicks her in the ribs to take the wind out of her, then punches her in the face until she passes out again.

 Spoiler: OOC
Four gauntlet hits, for 1d3 damage each:   Helpless woman beating  - (4d3)[ 1 ][ 1 ][ 3 ][ 3 ](8) .


[User]
 --
  Overview:

The town of Torch has long enjoyed a singular claim to prosperity—a violet flame that burns atop Black Hill in the heart of the town. This flame burns incredibly hot, and while it’s usually the size of a bonfire, several times a year the fires spew up into the heavens in a brilliant beam of purple violence. These eruptions are presaged by about an hour of soft rumbling, giving nearby smiths a chance to retreat before the fires can consume them. At all other times, the violet energies allow for the smelting of all manner of skymetal. Torch is one of the only locations where skymetal can be worked with relative ease outside of Starfall, and its entire economy has risen around these purple flames, with traveling smiths coming from across Avistan to pay for the opportunity to work with them. Of course, Torch needs all the visiting trade and coin it can gather, for while the town’s distance from Starfall, the capital of Numeria, makes it inconvenient for the Technic League, a wicked and vile group of tainted spellcasters, to maintain a permanent presence here, the taxes and tariffs it charges the Numerian town on a monthly basis are significant. The town prospers, but the bulk of its income does not belong to it.

Which is why, when the fires atop the hill suddenly go out, the town is in trouble.

---

 The Expedition:

Weeks have passed since each of you were contacted indirectly by Dolga Freddert, a dwarven woman belonging to the Ruling Council of the Numerian town of Dustpawn. The sweat-stained letters given to each of you by drunken courier mentioned  you by name, and within the letters each of you received, a grim request was made. While the letters explained the need for a band of adventurers to assist in discovering the reason behind the extinguishing of the iconic violet pillar-flame of Torch, throughout the letters, an emphasis was put upon the need for skilled dungeon-delvers and tomb-raiders willing to assist in the recovery of one "Khonnir Baine", a Councilmember of Torch and local spellcasting celebrity. The letters explained that, not long after the violet flame-pillar of Torch went out, this Khonnir Baine discovered signs of unusual traffic on the banks of Weeping Pond, a small not-quite-dried-out lake in town. Following this discovery, the wizard brought to light a submerged tunnel which presumably provided access to several heretofore unknown tunnels under Black Hill, where the great violet flame-pillar once was located. According to the letters, this Khonnir Baine and a small band of volunteers ventured into the caves beneath Black Hill in order to perhaps reignite the violet flame-pillar himself. Not long after Khonnir Baine returned from his initial venture beneath Black Hill, battered and wounded, with a deactivated semi-humanoid automaton in tow, the wizard planned a second venture against the wishes of the Council, including Dolga Freddert, the author of the letters. The letters state that Khonnir's acquisition of the otherwordly automaton had sparked worries that something strange might be going on in the caverns, and when he failed to return from his second expedition a few days ago, those worries turned to outright fear. Apparently several other adventuring parties have gone missing in the caves beneath Black Hill since then, and now, Torch finds itself running short on new volunteers.

Fortunately for the town of Torch, you're to meet with Councilwoman Dolga Freddert herself within the town of Torch to discuss the extremely lucrative job opportunity mentioned within the letters. The letters were deliberately vague, but the promise of great wealth in exchange for the recovery of Khonnir Baine and the re-ignition of the violet flame-pillar of Torch was accentuated repeatedly. With the promise of wealth in mind, each of you packed up and began your expedition to the town of Torch. The journey has been long and hard through the Numerian wastelands, for the sun had shone down brutally over the reddish rock, each blistering crag and dried up river only accentuating the feelings of ruin and near-apocalyptic loss that permeates the blasted landscape. Each of you have continued your expeditions for days, your skin burnt and cracked, your clothes peppered with dust and sand, until finally, in the distance, a small, ramshackle town can be seen, nestled upon the top of a particularly rocky hill. Nightfall is approaching quickly, and the unforgivingly harsh sun that shines over the Numerian plains and wastelands is beginning to sink over the horizon, allowing darkness to gradually fall over the land. The dusty path through the rocky crags leading up to the gates of Torch is easily followed, and soon you arrive at the ramshackle gates leading into the only partially walled off town. After a moment, a faint snoring becomes obvious, coming from the ramparts atop the gate. A grizzled old man in a dilapidated navy-colored uniform can be seen snoring from a run-down wheelchair, fast asleep with a poorly-maintained crossbow in his lap.

The gates, however, are wide open.

--

 Town of Torch:

Though the welcoming arms of civilization may come as a relief to some, the town of Torch itself seems just as dry and dusty as the parched land its built upon. Unassuming buildings crafted of cracked wooden planks and rusted nails line dusty, well-worn streets which tangle through the town like the dried arteries of some forgotten carcass. Townsfolk clad in ragged gray and brown, with red faces shaded by straw hats wander through the streets sluggishly, glancing towards the band of outsiders with a strange mixture of both fear and hope. Doors shut as you walk down the streets, old men in rocking chairs glare in your direction, and all eyes rest upon each of you. These were not a people particularly tolerant of outsiders, it seemed. Finally, you arrive at the Town Hall, as distinguished by the crooked sign post just outside the building. It is a rather small wood-and-stone hall, with the only decoration of four large pillars on the exterior. It is not a model of architectural brilliance, but a hovel to those from greater cities and a practical necessity to those from around it. The wooden door, a strange change in color from the grey outlook of the front of the building, seems to be closed, but not locked. Creaky wooden stairs built upon the outside of the crumbling building lead up towards a dilapidated second floor, with a small, half-collapsed bell tower built into the roof. A bronze bell can be seen hanging from within the tower at a particularly dangerous looking angle.

For now, the door is closed, though unlocked.

--

 OOC:  Knowledge Local, DC 15: Torch takes its name from the violet f lame that burns atop its central hill. The fires ignited spontaneously in 4602 ar, and for nearly a year they lanced into the sky, forming a purple column of fire that could be seen for miles around. At the time, the Technic League was experiencing a period of upheaval in Starfall, and its agents were unable to investigate the rumors of the column of fire to the south. By 4604, the flames had died down to a man-sized bonfire, leaving the top of the hill blasted and blackened. Several industrious locals soon discovered the flame’s heat possessed two unusual qualities—it was hot enough to smelt skymetal ores and work with difficult materials like adamantine, and that the fires themselves radiated a strangely directional heat. A chunk of wood thrown a dozen feet over the fires would instantly burst into flame, yet a piece of paper set a foot from the bonfire’s edge wouldn’t even smolder. This unique combination of traits made the fire a perfect forge. After a few sudden flare-ups resulted in the tragic incineration of several smiths and their partially completed forges, the townsfolk learned how to interpret the flares and flashes that presaged such an eruption. Rather than build permanent structures around the fire, they came to rely upon portable workshops transported up the hill via wagon or carriage, so that when the fire began one of its unpredictable surges, the smiths could retreat to safety to wait for the blast of fire to recede.

In this way, Torch has sustained itself. By the time the Technic League sorted its internal politics out and sent representatives to investigate in 4612, its agents found a burgeoning village growing around the base of the hill. After a cursory examination of the fire, representatives from the Technic League met with the village’s leaders and worked out a deal—as long as Torch sent a monthly tribute of gold north to Starfall, the Technic League would not maintain an official presence in the region. In this way, the League turned what could have been competition (since at the time it still lacked the resources to effectively manage a remote site) into a source of income. Over the decades that followed, Torch grew steadily, yet has never truly prospered, because the Technic League constantly revises the amount of the tribute it requires. Frustrations with and resentments against the Technic League rightly have grown in Torch, yet the League’s been careful to never tax the town to the point of rebellion, keeping them in an uncomfortable but relatively stable place between freedom and oppression.

[User] Otto wanders up to the town hall building. He hasn't been here before but often passed it when getting dinner after a taxing time up at Blackhill doing the laborious task of forging bars for the other smiths. He waits around looking for the other adventurers who he understood were due to turn up. When he thinks no one is looking he starts spinning a pebble he found on the street in a lazy 8 through the air.

[User] Lydia goes to the door right after getting to the town. She had been traveling for some time to meet with Khonnir, on her previous mentor's orders, and she'd gotten the letter by chance as the caravan she'd been traveling with crossed path with the messenger sent for her. She'd agreed, of course, to talk to it and see what she could do. Naturally, she had no intention of risking herself, but hey, she didn't have much of a choice if it comes up. It was talk to Khonnir to finish her "education" or back to the street, and finding Khonnir seemed the better of the two options. She nods at the other smuck set up to find him, frustrated at how poor her choices were, and leans against the wall, careful about the rusty nails.

[User] The barbarian heads to the town hall after a heavy night of drinking. Which was basically every night. He grabbed a pint to go and sipped it while he walks. He walks through the door and stands near the other travelers, towering over most of them.

[User]
 Shog walks down the streets confidently. He had waited until the last minute to arrive but he was sure he would make it in time. He had lived in this town for years and he had a reputation to uphold. Never early always just making it on time or slightly late. That was his style. No matter how much he wanted to hurry up to get to saving his father, it wasn't like a minute would make a difference this late. He had wanted to join the earlier adventurers but apparently he has been to much of a "loose cannon" to join. With most of the other people having gone missing though, now was his chance. The town had finally got desperate enough to send him and he was sure with his superior intellect and specialization he would be the one to succeed.

He walks through the doors to his meeting confidently. He had considered entering while juggling bombs but while cool he was sure it wouldn't convince them that he was competent. He sighs maybe next time.


[User]
 Originally Posted by SlyJohnny

 She watches you awake, Stanley Brown, curled up in a cloak in her own "pod", and she sidles over as you rise, and cough, and splutter, and look around in fear or anger. She quietly asks if you have a lho-stick to give her.

The rest of you begin to break your stupor...

[User]
 Coughing, John sits up and turns to the strange woman.

 "What the hell just ha... uh, did you just say  lho -stick? I don't know what that means. Where... where are we?

[User]
 Saska glances at John, and then looks around at her surroundings as if seeing them for the first time.

 "Void ship."  She replies, eventually.  "Don't go outside."

She looks about her for any exits from the room other than the door with the note, and anything of interest. She wanders over to the note and picks it up, reads it. She wonders if the blood on it is dried. If it's fresh, or if there's enough that it hasn't all soaked into the paper, she'll taste some of it, wondering if it's human. She sighs. She  really  wants a lho-stick. She digs around in her pockets to see if she still has any. She's having trouble remembering a lot of things, but she knows she had two lho-sticks left. Two. The ones that are a uniform shape and already rolled so neatly, too. If they're gone, she'll definitely have to find some more.

As an afterthought, she checks to see if she's still carrying her psy-focus or her pistol or anything else, but these are secondary concerns to making sure she has her cigarettes. She holds the note up to the others, making sure they've seen it.

[User]
 John seems to be working himself into a panic, starting to hyperventilate. Then he whispers to himself;

 "The '39 crash didn't kill me, this won't either. Just stay calm, John."

After those near-silent words, he seems somewhat calmer - at least until he sees the bloody note in Saska's hand. His response to that is a brief obscenity.

[User]
 Stanley let out a loud phlegm-filled cough as he awoke from his stasis. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light in the room. His thoughts finally caught up with him as he registered the woman's question.  A lho-whatsit?  He said, not knowing what she was talking about.  I have no idea what your talking about. Are you a foreigner?

When the woman showed him the note, his indignity only increased.  Alright, I have had enough of this. I don't know what an 'inquisiton' is, and frankly I don't care. All I want to do is go home and have a nice cup of tea.  He walked over and started banging on the side of the door.  HELLO! IS ANYONE OUT THERE. CAN YOU LET US OUT?

[User]
 John hisses,

 " Quiet!  If we have any chance of escaping from this nightmare, it's now - before our captors know we're awake. Whoever they are."

He draws an unsteady breath.

 "I wish I'd never met that bloody... that  wizard . I want to go home..."

John reaches out to get a closer look at the bloody note Saska holds.


[User]
 The Black Dragon Gate.

In reality it wasn't as ominous, nor as dangerous, as its name would make it sound. The ink-like dragon was doubtless the most despicable of its kind, puerile among its more sporting brethren and with a turbulent temperament. It was foul enough to be deceitful and cruel in its victories, yet vile enough to be dishonest and cowardly in its failings. Eager to execrate and never hesitant for trepidation, its hatred and fear revolved around each other with its ego like a most evil perichoresis. The gate that was to endorse such a beast, then, would hope to represent a similar threat to the health and sanity of those who saw it. You would hope for it to project a ferocious peace and jealous security over the people from those who would do them wrong.

But the Black Dragon Gate was a portcullis. A fairly large portcullis, in its defence, and with an armed guard on either side. But even those pay-by-hour men, with their standard-fit scale mail on and their inspection-worthy weapons at their sides, didn't strike fear into the heart of a passer-by as a pitch-black draconic beast might. This is the first impression you get from the legendary city of Baldur's Gate as you top a crest and see it for the first time. Travellers of all sort go in and out, some with trade carts and others with families. The bustle is constant, and the marks are plenty. Few look over their shoulder in the city of Balduran.

The morning sun waits behind you, casting a shadow down the hill and towards the Black Dragon Gate.

What do you do?

[User]
 Shadow sighed with relief. He was glad to see his destination finally. He took a moment to take in the view. He knew the city was large, but it seemed bigger than he had imagined. He felt a little unnerved looking at the gate as if he had a bad memory but it failed to register properly.

He continued on, adjusting his backpack as he walked. Shadow had taken on the guise of a human male the previous night, with brown hair and eyes. He began to mull over names in the back of his head as he continued his walking. He still hadn't decided.

He kept an eye out for any shops or landmarks as he passed. Shadow was looking for an Inn, just about any Inn so he could get off his feet and take a break.

" one day all this will be yours " he mused to himself.  He wasn't sure he believed it, but time would tell.

[User]
 "Good morning, sir!"

One of the guards' proud voices brushes over you as you pass through the gate.

 Spoiler: Spot DC 10
On his pauldrons you spot a crest; a red triangle with the two bottom corners cut, and a clenched fist of similar colour in the middle surrounded by a burning yellow flame.

 Spoiler: Knowledge (Local) DC 10
You recognise the symbol of the Flaming Fist, a once-famous mercenary company who now act as the policing and military force for Baldur's Gate.

Baldur's Gate is big. Surprisingly big. The gate has taken you out of the patchwork field of farms and homes outside its walls, and into the Lower City, where you move among crowds of day servants and tradesman. You're surprised that nobody draws closer and tries to sell you something as you go by. Perhaps you can't hear them over the hustle and bustle. The many stone and brick buildings around you are square-shaped and hardly new, and all of the roads (but moreso the alleys) seem to be sloping downwards on your left and upwards on your right, heading respectively to the docks and the Upper City.

Regardless, it's not difficult to find much of anything inside the Gate. Very quickly you find yourself having to choose between a number of inns to lay your head.

 Spoiler
All of these are in the Lower City. The list may not necessarily be exhaustive.

 The Blade and Stars:  A middle-grade establishment with an interesting signboard. It depicts a scimitar held by a human female hand, with apparently enchanted twinkling stars drifting slowly around the blade on a black background. The inn itself is very long and tall, two stories in height. You can tell simply by the gruff and armoured dwarf standing outside with arms folded that this structure takes its security seriously.

 The Ruby Flask:  A smaller, less-maintained looking thing with no obvious security. The flaky beige walls are offset by windows of ruby red glass, impressively, though one of the panes is cracked and one of them is a normal glassy colour. This one you find slightly closer to the docks, and the door is a little bit unhinged.

 The Brass Shield:  This one is closer to the Upper City, and true to form, is painted largely in a nice deep brown shade. It's almost a longhouse; stretching across two lots, and at least two stories, though if so they're certainly very big stories. The door is large and heavy, there's a strict-looking fence on the outside, and everything looks prim and proper.

[User]
 The Blade and Stars in Lower City seemed to fit Shadow the best. It seemed to have the right combination of location and security that was (hopefully) at a reasonable price. Shadow tips his hat at the dwarf as he makes he way inside hoping to secure a room for the foreseeable future.

 "Morning."

[User]
 The dwarf didn't respond beyond a curt nod of his head, not fazed by your appearance as you push your way through the doors and into the Blade and Stars.

 "Ayy, here's a new one! Watch where you're swingin' them things, mate!"

The call, which came from an old and homely Elven woman from behind the bar, perked the ears of a few patrons. More than one turned to look at you as you came in, eyeing your weapons as much as your demeanour. The Blade and Stars is by its nature a haven of uncommon folk; the poor weren't so wealthy, and the rich adventurers of the world wouldn't settle for something like this after their first successful travel. In one corner of the floor, which was organised with a number of square tables that weren't perfectly lined up, two guardsmen similar to those you saw before are sitting, helmets off, playing some sort of card game. Elsewhere in the room an older man sits and drinks alone, while a far younger fellow sits close to the door in an unusual blue robe and scribes notes on a flowing scroll as he sips from the depths of a mug.

Doorways and staircases are to one side, while the Elf-run bar is on your right. Her attention remains on you as she waits for a response, smiling wide as she continues to fishhook the tankards at her bar with one finger, flip them numerous times into the waiting grip of her other hand, and deftly clean them out with a damp cloth. There are numerous stools in front of her, all free.

[User]
 Shadow nods towards the elf and makes his way to one of the open stools at the bar. He does his best to show her a smile.

  "Mostly for show. Mostly."   he gave her a sly winked.  "Adventuring and whatnot can requires some pointy tools of the trade."
 "You can call me Jimmy."  he offered.  "When you have a moment could I get an ale and a nice room say for about a  week? Please and thank you."  He asked.

Shadow hoped they had a vacancy. He liked that off duty guards were hanging around, an extra measure of security.

[User]
 She gives you a wily smile, seeming to lift her leg somewhat under the counter. There's a metallic chink as she hooks something with her foot and then kicks up, sending a mug up into the air where she catches it and moves to fill it.

 "Three gold, five silver, four...forget the coppers, if you're paying upfront. Need anythin' else today?"

[User]
 "You've quite a talent there. Fancy hands and feet. Equally fancy smile."  Shadow comments.

He pulls out the coins from his pack and lays them on the counter, including the four copper.

 "I think that covers my needs - thanks for the help."

Shadow waits patiently for his ale and sips it slowly. In the back of his mind he starts to plan out his next steps. He motions towards the young man in blue " hrm, an unusual color. Any idea what his deal is? tax collector ? magistrate ? adventurer ?"  Shadow asks the barkeep absently.

[User]
 "Oh, honey..."  She seems to brush you off.

 "Bills have to be paid. When you got enough years, you teach yourself some draw cards."

Your ale's done, and she hands it to you with a chuckle as you continue to talk. What follows is a most furtive whisper.

 "That's Ferntin, a Red Wizard in disguise! He's swapped his colours to throw us all off."

And then a little snigger, to the side.

 "Nah, dunno. He did say he was a Ferntin, but that's all. Looks like...yeah it does look like magic writing, hey."


[User]
 Palanquin was a city of pagodas and shrines, a city of art and philosophy, a place of culture and imagination, a wonderful place to spend a vacation so long as nobody thought too hard about where the food came from or where the sewage went.

It was, however, a less pleasant place to be besieged by a hostile army, particularly when said hostile army already had control of much of the all-important docks, complete control of one of the giants holding up the Palanquin, and a healthy advantage over the strength of men and steel.

The faeries had come for their trophy, and much blood would be spilled to deny it to them.

The Tannhauser Gate groaned under the strain of the great warbeast that was ramming into it, a mighty auroch that had been shrunk by wyld magics until it was of a size that could actually navigate the paths from the docks to the Palanquin. It was the size of a small house  now , however, with a fae cataphract cutting a dashing pose on top of it and gesturing with his sword each time it brought its immense skull against the gate. For the moment, the defenders of Palanquin were keeping their heads down; volleys of rainbow-feathered arrows would light the sky whenever they popped their heads up. The auroch was backed by a horde of hobgoblins, and although their aim seemed terrible individually, quantity had a quality all its own.

Then? Then  you  appeared...

[User]
 As the army of cacophonous colors assailed the city gates, Sable watched ten, twenty, thirty even, mortal men fall in the span of a few seconds. Her heart faltered as each soul fell, but she knew it was not yet time to end the siege.

Then, it came to her like a proverb; fight poison with poison. She felt the stars move into place, preordaining her victory. Now was time to strike.

Sable smoothed her wondrous silken robes, but to the world it was not she who did so. Rather, her soldiers saw Seven Embers Ascending straightening her robes before battle. With a sharp look from their commander, the soldiers instantly knew way lay in the heart of Seven Embers. She grinned wildly in a eighth way, and so they unsheathed their weapons.

With an order yell, Seven Embers Ascending led the Realm relief force to wipe out the raksha horde. Like an afterimage of their Empress, they would annihilate those which reality forgot.

 Spoiler: Big Block of Text

rolling Join Battle for Sable, and Join War for the Size 2 BG

activating Auspicious Sidereal Awareness Excellency (spending 4m; 1m of which is to add 1 die, 3m of which is to reduce the target number to 4) and activating Throne Shadow Form reflexively (6m). Total spent motes 10m (1/11 Personal motes remaining)

Join Battle, Wits (2)+Awareness (2)+ Excellency (1):  (5d10)[ 4 ][ 7 ][ 8 ][ 4 ][ 4 ](27)

stunt dice:  (2d10)[ 4 ][ 7 ](11)

Thanks to TSF (Throne Shadow Form), if my sifu's fingers are in a BG (which they are) I can substitute my MA for War one roll per turn

Join War: Wits (2)+ Martial Arts (3):  (5d10)[ 6 ][ 10 ][ 7 ][ 3 ][ 4 ](30)

[User]
 Among the chaos of battle, a rhythm arises. A silhouette advances, following, no, incarnating it. In the backdrop, a handful human figures, cowering away from the battle.
It's a woman, with long hair and garment that would hinder a lesser - mere mortal - dancer, twirling a direlance as easily as if it were a bamboo staff.
"The song of this battle isn't flowing smoothly at all", she shouts harshly toward the Fair Folk, "You are as poor entertainers as you are fighters. I would have thought your kind more artistically inclined. "
Her attitudes dictates that she's both, and even more; with a decisive step, the bells around her joints jiggling, she arrives dangerously close to the fighters.

 Spoiler: Rolls
Using Masterful Performance Exercise and Respect-Commanding Attitude (7m spent) before entering the fight.

Trying to Instill Minor Intimacy in the Fair Folk (Jealousy toward herself) using Cha + Per + 2-points stunt:
Join Battle:  (11d10)[ 3 ][ 1 ][ 7 ][ 3 ][ 8 ][ 1 ][ 2 ][ 4 ][ 5 ][ 5 ][ 9 ](48) +1

Join Battle:  (5d10)[ 5 ][ 9 ][ 9 ][ 2 ][ 10 ](35) +3

[User]
 The stage is set. The stars look down. The rhythm of bells rings out across the battlefield.

Then, from atop the wall, rises a blazing light. Against the pale sky a circle burns: a spinning, blazing, glittering arc of crystal swords and white-and-gold-and-azure fire. Out from the clash and clangor of the evanescent blades, Moon-in-the-Water leaps in a graceful wind-lofted arc, aiming for the wide back of the aurochs. Her long dark hair streams out behind her like a flag, and the sword in her hand gleams with a terrible light.

 "FOR PALANQUIN!"  she cries in a voice to shake the earth, slicing through the inevitable hail of rainbow-feathered arrows with a casual-seeming flick of her sword. The breezes that curl and gust around her catch them up, and spread them about her feet in a sunburst of bright sharp color.

 Spoiler
Join Battle!

Full Awareness Excellency and putting up Sensory Acuity Prana, 15m paid from Peripheral, so her anima blazes to Bonfire/Iconic.

So the JB roll is 10 dice from Wits+Awareness, 10 dice from the Excellency, 1 die from Fast Reflexes, 1 die from her specialty (because It's Not Paranoia When Your Evil Scheming Sister's Minions Really Are Breaking Down The Gates To The City - take off the last die if it doesn't apply), and 2 dice from a stunt, assuming it was at least 1 die. So that's 24 dice with double 9's, plus the standard 3 successes (plus any successes from higher stunt ratings).

This is my very first Exalted 3e combat, so correct me if I'm doing something wrong.

(Note that the stuff with the wind is due to Moon-in-the-Water having Stormwind Rider as her control spell.)

Join Battle roll:
 (24d10)[ 6 ][ 4 ][ 2 ][ 1 ][ 7 ][ 5 ][ 3 ][ 8 ][ 3 ][ 5 ][ 1 ][ 10 ][ 2 ][ 9 ][ 1 ][ 9 ][ 6 ][ 4 ][ 8 ][ 2 ][ 8 ][ 7 ][ 6 ][ 1 ](118)
EDIT: I make that 14 successes, plus any successes from 2+-die stunts, whether or not my specialty applies. Not a great roll, but I'll take it.

Moon-in-the-Water is a bit of a  Large Ham .

Personal Essence: 13/13
Peripheral Essence: 7/33 + 16 committed (5 committed to Sensory Acuity Prana + 5 attuned to Beloved Adorei + 6 attuned to Five Faces of Luna)

[User]
 The faerie commander brushed a lock of hair behind his ear as he beheld the spectacle of the two solars sallying forth in a pincer with Seven Embers' relief force. Although his men looked upon such a sight with a little fear and a little envy, he instead pulled a cup of tea from his sleeve and took a sip.

"Exquisite," he said, and took a sweeping bow to them, "alas that my musicians have succumbed to the slings and arrows of misfortune. In their absence, I shall endeavor that they shall sing our song until the world turns once more."

 Spoiler
Hey, we're back! Bodhisattva succeeds in instilling jealousy in both the faerie army, and its commander.
Initiative Order as follows!

17: Moon-in-the-Water
10: Sable Feathers Fall
9: Fae Commander
8: Fae Army (Battlegroup)
7: 1080-Steps Bodhisattva
6: Friendly Relief Force (Battlegroup)
5: Fae Warbeast
4: Beleaguered Palanquin Defenders (Battlegroup)

[User]
 "You seem better prepared for a waltz than a war,"  Moon-in-the-Ice chides the faerie lord, as she balances before him between the vast aurochs' shoulder-blades. Her blade flickers out, a questing viper's tongue scenting for blood, driving her opponent back toward his mount's lashing mud-stained tail. With her free hand, she taps the cold iron knife at her belt.  "But I must get the name of your teacup manufacturer; their chinaware seems impressively indestructible. Shame the same can't be said for your army."

Her blade cuts in toward the commander's flowing locks, as precisely judged as the razor-edged line of any barber or surgeon's blade; none of her strikes yet aimed to kill, but fast feints and probes dancing on the edge of danger, ready to turn at any moment to reveal a lethal edge.

 Spoiler
My count of 14 did already include the standard +3 successes, so I think MitW is at 14, not 17. Since she still goes first in any case, though, I'll proceed.

Let's begin with a Withering attack, enhanced by Excellent Strike and 2m of Excellency. I believe I have 15 dice base for Withering attacks, so 17 dice with the Excellency, and two extra dice if I have any kind of stunt, for 19 total. Excellent Strike adds 1 success and all 1s are rerolled. Total cost is 5m.

Again, first Exalted 3e combat, correct me if I'm doing anything wrong.

Attack roll:

 Spoiler
 (19d10)[ 10 ][ 5 ][ 10 ][ 9 ][ 9 ][ 1 ][ 5 ][ 2 ][ 8 ][ 9 ][ 8 ][ 5 ][ 3 ][ 4 ][ 2 ][ 4 ][ 5 ][ 6 ][ 3 ](108)  + 1 sux (Excellent Strike), assuming 1-die stunt


[User]
 No matter which direction the visitors came from, the trek to Besina certainly held more appeal than the region itself. The descent was clear enough, the monolithic tree of Oshenvar and Vinariun rose into the clouds, its boughs reaching for the heavens. Mist lapped at the crude stone face of the basin walls, its gray sheen thickening the closer they came to the basin floor. The day was overcast, the clouds containing a darkness that spoke of an outburst of rain that could begin at any moment. Not the nicest day for a peace agreement to be made, but it was to be made over a war of the same caliber.

Once the basin floor was reached, the delegations are offered new mounts to replace those that would be unable to travel down the stairways. The bodies of the offered steeds were bloated underneath their rubbery grey skin, their stubby legs just enough to support them.* The mist cloaking the region would have obscured the path if not for the luminescent blue mushrooms that gave off just enough light to see the next section of the path.

As the path continues through the forest, the trees that fill the basin begin to thicken, until after several streams are crossed and many roots are tripped over by any still walking signs of civilization begin to appear. Wooden huts roofed with thatch line the road, and bridges show up where there once was none. Finally, after several days of travel, the capital of the region is reached.

As the mist clears, the rain has finally begun to fall. The path before the travellers straightens out into an avenue leading all the way to the base of Vada Pahara, the peak upon which the Besinians' infamous tree, greater now than it had appeared from the rim of the basin. Its roots stretched over the city before impaling the ground at the outskirts, its branches sheltering the city from the rain that hat begun to fall during the trek through the region. The buildings were certainly nothing to write home about, simple wood structures lined the streets with roofs of fallen leaves. The streets were packed with Dhuda Loka civilians, but they all parted before the foreign leaders who all knew to be far greater than themselves.

Eventually the avenue ends at the mountains, a pillared building carved into the cliff face. To the right are the first few steps ascending the great mountain Vada Pahara, roots barring it off to the public. Several Dhuda Loka can be seen pleading with the roots, and they seem to be getting responses as they soon disperse and merge with the larger crowd. The structure itself has a dull appearance, pillars holding up a rock shelf from covering the entrance. The delegations are asked to leave any weapons at the door, and then they are ushered into the designated meeting place by Gnoll guards.** The room was a simple rectangle, shelves of scrolls and more modern books pushed aside to make way for a long table made up of the roots of the tree now resting directly above their heads.

At the far end of the room sits King Phnalus, placid and disregardable as ever with his woven grass tunic and crown of twisted branches. He sat upon a throne of the same roots that made up the table, flanked on either side by deformed humanoid sculptures of the same tree's roots. Stone stools are provided for each visitor, and the table seems to expand on its own to accommodate any new arrivals. Phnalus waits for either side to begin the discussion, wishing to sit back and wait until the leaders of each side began the debate.

 Spoiler: *In case my description isn't that great

 Spoiler: **Gnoll image

 Spoiler: OOC
And so, the end begins. If you have any plotlines you wish to resolve, feel free to do it here. But we're all here to come to a peace agreement, so we may want to stay focused on that.


[User] Buy here  Website www . BizFests . com


[User] I'm absolutely impressed by Vivrax . Sometimes you can report things that can actually hurt other insiders. This might be the most salient consideration of all. Vivrax is an unrepeated basic way to give an edge to Vivrax . It was a hot ticket. I will start with a little of this, a bit of that. Do you know how to get this on your Vivrax ? Here's a bonus. What is true is this one can achieve Vivrax easily. I surely have my fill of it. It is guaranteed to work. If you have Vivrax you can represent Vivrax .


[User]
 Any conversations that the entire group is not party to, post here with spoiler tags for who is allowed to read what.

=============

Use the following format:

=============

Title of Post: Name of Conversation

[spoiler=Characters Allowed to Read][B]"dialogue here"[/B][/spoiler]

=============

For example, see next post:

[User]
 Spoiler: Seamus Only
  "That's a crazy story, lad. Tell me more."

[User]
 Spoiler: Chadwick
  "Have you seen an eagle before?"

[User]
 Spoiler: Chadwick and Seamus
  "I haven't! What are they like?"   Chadwick said, playing along.

[User]
 Spoiler: Chadwick
  "I haven't seen one either. At least... not in real life. I've just heard about them."
There is a pause, followed by the sound of Seamus wetting his dry mouth.   "But in my dream, I saw one. But it was black, like a crow. Jet black. And its beak was silver,"
Seamus recalls, his skin begins to crawl up from his finger tips.
  "I saw a man with his back turned to me. Standing atop a hill. The black eagle was perched on him--its claws puncturing through his shoulders with such grasp!"
Seamus looks away from Chadwick.
  "And it was tearing the flesh from the top of his head! It's beak stabbing and stabbing through his hair! Then cracking through his skull like a walnut... Then ripping little shreds of his brain and gobbling them down."
Seamus looks back at Chadwick.
  "And the man just stood there! He didn't mind at all! I thought, at first, maybe the man couldn't feel it. Maybe he didn't know. But with every bite of brain the eagle took, his fingers twitched. As if... he were enjoying it!"

Seamus breathes heavily now, panicking once more. He looks above their heads in the tree, searching its branches for an eagle's black frame waiting to eat his own brains. But there is none.

[User]
 Spoiler: Seamus
Chadwick shifts uncomfortably.   "That's some screamer there kid, but I've been around awhile and I've never seen anything like that. Even down south, where there's all kinds of fantastic creatures you wouldn't believe. Besides, you're safe while I'm around, not to mention your wolf buddy. Try and go back to sleep."

[User]
 Spoiler: Gideon
Chadwick stares at Gideon, shaking his head.   "Oh ok, well I guess just pout."

[User]
 Spoiler: Chadwick

  "What do you want Chadwick? It's good to see you again, but I'm not the man you knew when we stood side by side in battle."

[User]
 Spoiler: Gideon
  "You're still the same pain in the ass, I see,"   Chadwick said, half-joking but with a twinge of irritation in his voice. He chose to swallow that in light his concerns.   "What the hell happened while I was back home??"

[User]
 Spoiler: Chadwick
 Gideon looked up at his old friend and smiled, looking out over the horizon, his face and tone changed as he talked about his past for the first time, ever,  "My kingdom and people were taken from me, my family was burned alive by some focking cult, and i almost died myself as I slew 40 of them with my bare hands. A rage took me that day. A rage that had never came over me before or since that day. But my family is dead. And my people are living under the rule of a usurper called Genji."

[User]
 Spoiler: Gideon
Chadwick listened with growing anger, hiding it poorly.   "All them? No one else got out? Your mother and father, Braya? Where did they come from? Where did you go? Are...*they* back?"

[User]
 Spoiler: Chadwick
 Gideon stood up, visibly enraged, though not at Chadwick, at an enemy neither of them could see, his languages started to mix between Ul Vadr and common as he spoke of the cult that murdered his family,   "It wasnt orcs, Chad! It was a group of crazed people following the focking god of fire! They murdered my father, my mother!"   he fell to his knees and punches the ground. He picked up a handful of dirt and tossed it to the ground in front of him,   "My sister, Chad, they burned Braya alive."   he got back to his feet, a renewed fire in his eyes, he walked right up to Chad, his face inches away from the paladin's,   "I killed forty of them, with my bare hands, and I will find the rest, the man called Unun, and wipe their fire worshipping cult from this earth. And then I will take back my kingdom. If you are my brother, now is when I would call on you. Help me reclaim my honor, Chadwick."   he extends his arm to the holy warrior.

[User]
 Spoiler: Gideon
Chadwick's eyes mirrored the fire in Gideon's. He pushed is hand away and embraced him,   "I am so sorry brother. I knew we declared victory too soon. It's my fault."   The words seemed to stick in the Paladin's throat. He stepped back and met his companions stare, the old air of determination slipping back into his voice.   "I no longer have an army on my side but I swear by Hyroneus, I will help you win your lands back, and end this scourge once and for all."

[User]
 Spoiler: Chadwick
   "You can keep your armies and your god, brother, but I'll take your steel, and your counsel.   he turns and stands shoulder to shoulder with Chad,   "Bring 'em home."   he mutters.

[User]
 Spoiler: Gideon
  "The lord'll sort em."

[User]
 Spoiler: Rolls to Wake from Sleep
All Listen checks take -10 penalty for being asleep.
DC to wake from Gideon's shouting: -5
 Spoiler: Bendron
Listen check:  (1d20-11)[ -2 ]

 Spoiler: Demryon
Listen check:  (1d20-1)[ 0 ]

 Spoiler: Seamus
Listen check:  (1d20)[ 18 ]

[User]
 Spoiler: seamus
 Gideon extends his hand and helps the youngster up. Beckoning Seamus to follow him, he leads him to the place where he was sitting on watch.   This is where I was standing watch Seamus, gives you a decent vantage point of the entire camp."   he turns to leave. Then over his shoulder he says, voice cold as ice,   "Where'd you learn to shoot that fireball, boy?"

[User]
 Spoiler: Gideon
Seamus opens his mouth, about to answer in full, but looks to decidedly abbreviate.   "A man I once knew and trusted. But you should get some sleep, I think."

[User]
 Spoiler: Seamus
 Gideon turns to face the boy.   "I'm not asking because I'm interested in your past. I'm asking for reasons of my own. Now please tell me where you learned that."

[User]
 Spoiler: Gideon
Seamus looks sternly at Gideon, as if challenging his mettle. Unsure of who to trust, and unsure of what Gideon might do with such information to belittle him or discount his character.   "His name was Emmett. He claimed to be my uncle. A druid like me. He taught me many virtues of the druids, most importantly not to trust others so quickly, evem himself."


[User]
 You step through the portal, the first to go through. A bright flash of light, and...

A sudden rush of wind. The portal was not perfectly precise-you're about 5' off the ground, leaving you to fall awkwardly. You manage to avoid any real harm, though, and take stock of your surroundings. A slightly snowy, forested mountain.

[User]
 Azura gasps at the sudden blast of wind.  She lands with a clatter of steel and picks herself up, looking around slowly, trying not to smile.  It seems inappropriate, but she's always loved forests.

She hears movement behind her and quickly strides forward, clearing the landing site for the others as she takes another look around.

 Spoiler
Anything interesting?  Perception if needed  (1d20+1)[ 8 ]

[User] Sutha steps out from the portal, and she too tumbles to the ground, as clumsily if not as noisily in her leather armor. She looks around. " Well, it's definitely not time to plant. " She looks around, surveying the surroundings more closely, and looking to see what is in the distance in each direction.

[User]
 Originally Posted by esorscher
 Sutha steps out from the portal, and she too tumbles to the ground, as clumsily if not as noisily in her leather armor. She looks around. " Well, it's definitely not time to plant. " She looks around, surveying the surroundings more closely, and looking to see what is in the distance in each direction.

There are a few more peaks, visible in the distance. The trees extend all the way down, far as you can see, and there's some rustling that might be animals, or might simply be the breeze. In one of the trees is an old beehive, probably dead.

[User]
 Yorg steps calmly and takes a look at his surroundings. He does not speak himself, but rather allow the other two be in charge of this operation. A leader is he not and does not claim or desire such a title. He spits on the ground.
 "Place looks good for me. Then again, I never cared for more space than a small hut for myself."

[User] Sutha nods her agreement. " Definitely defensible; my only concern is supporting the group under our charge. Give me a minute, " she says, as she begins the complex casting ritual to  commune with nature  surrounding them, which should give them a fairly complete picture of the surrounding area--certainly enough to know whether the population of settlers they are to care for will be able to survive and thrive, at least, and no doubt other useful things she has not yet considered.

[User]
 Azura nods as well.

While Sutha is communing, Azura takes a few steps off to the side.  When she finds a suitably clear area, she takes out her prayer book and begins casting a spell of her own.

 Spoiler
Casting find steed.  If it works, summoning a celestial war horse.

[User]
 Spoiler: Commune With Nature
Pick what facts you want.

As you start your prep, more of your volunteers come through. The first few take some initiative and start putting leaves and other soft(er) things beneath the landing spot. Luckily, when everyone is out, there are no major injuries-some cuts here, a bruise there, but bones are intact, and no one is complaining.

[User] "We should take a small group and scout around, see if there is no danger too close to new home."  Yorg says.  "Stealth's not my speciality, but lead a few folks. Who knows, we're lucky we might even hunt a dinner."

[User]
 Azura chuckles at the mention of stealth and taps her own armored shoulder.

 "I think it would be best if I stayed here,"  she says.   "Though perhaps once we know the lay of the land a bit better, I can help with dinner."

[User]
 Sutha continues to commune, seeking to better understand her environment.

 Spoiler
Reposting the questions here:

terrain and bodies of water
prevalent plants, minerals, animals, or peoples
buildings

[User]
 Yorg goes and picks up seven men from the group, preferably volunteers for a scouting mission.
 "I'm going north. You do North-East, East, South-East, South, South-West, West and North-West. We scout for one hour of a walk in a straight line, then return. You see a threat or pinkskins, you do your best to not be seen and come back. You see anything we should know about, you come back. You see food, you get it and come back. Understood? Then go."  He gives the orders, then sets off to do his part.


[User]
 Silver

Silver's visits to the old man Parthanaux had been less frequent lately.

The ogres were more and more active around Torman and they had even set up camps in the ruins of the villages surrounding the city. It was more dangerous than ever to adventure towards The Great Scar. The city guard had been reinforced and the atmosphere was more austere than ever. All these factors combined were making it difficult to leave the city.

Although the attacks of this horde on Torman had always been successfully repelled, the citizens were inevitably wondering if this conflict would ever come to an end. Some had lost hope; others were hypothesizing that they should seek the help of Aldharan.

The General Oswald Wigric was the holder of the executive power in the city. He was a very cool-headed and practical man who would not put all its eggs in the same basket. While he was forbidding the population to leave the city and firmly believed that he could free the country through military means,  he was also known to organize expeditions through the Treasure Bay to contact the city of Dundal and towards the desert of the Kiath'Shar to reach Aldharan. The last such mission, two weeks ago, was a small contingent of men among whom was Silver's brother Michael who had been forced to enlist. They were travelling toward the Great Scar by a river feeding the Emerald Lake which was pretty much the same path that Silver used to take to visit Parthanaux. The plan was to cross the mountain range before heading south towards Aldharan in an attempt to get around the Boiling Blood Highlands to avoid the Ogres. Like the previous missions, no messenger returned, yet.

At the moment, the sun was set, the curfew was rung, and a cold unpleasing rain was drumming on the roofs. Sarissa was not home, probably taken by... professionnal activities. She had left Silver with her three younger siblings. Celina was in the living room, staring blankly through the window. Daniel was probably playing in the common bedroom and Charity crying at the top of her lungs in her cradle.

  Tiras

With a generous mix of skill and luck, Tiras had managed to escape from the pirate Blandus “Burnt Nostrils” Hume and his crew on their way back from the Crab Fjords. The gnome had already been in much worse situations, but it was still pretty unfortunate to be there, alone in the night under a heavy rain right next to the Whispering Peaks, a little mountain range that would almost seem like an inviting shelter if not for the ghostly sounds of the wind on its walls. Tiras could also reach Torman in about one day of travel to the north while the desert of the Kiath'Shar was at least a few days walk south west (and then it would probably take him a few more before reaching a friendly civilization).

[User] Tiras resolved himself to go to torman maybe there would be a clue there and at the very least he would be able to go to an inn to rest. It really did seem to be impossible for him to find the answers he was looking for but that didn't stop him yesterday and wouldn't stop him now. He never visited Torman before but there was always something interesting eventually.

[User]
 Silver sighs, looking over to the cradle. She walks over to Charity and lifts her out, bouncing the little one gently in her arms.   There there, Charity, shoosh... Shoosh...   she says, trying to get her to stop crying.   Mom will be home sooner if you go to sleep. And big brother will be home soon...  I hope...

She continues bouncing Charity a little, heading over by Celina.   You okay, squirt?

[User]
 Recently, it had been increasingly demoralizing to live in Aldharan. One could have believed that the fact that the orcs were being less and less present around the city would have provided relief to the citizens, but a more insidious plague was afflicting most living creatures in the desert of the Kiath'Shar. People were dropping like flies and the temple of the Demigod Imhotep had, sadly, never been so popular.

 Groxan

On the contrary, the faith in The Platinum Dragon had never been so weak. People were literally fed up with anything that had to do with dragons. Thus, Zerthinrax, cleric of Bahamut, was spending most of his time helping Imhotep's priests. Besides, he had asked Groxan to meet him at the temple of Imhotep at noon. It was still early in the morning and the dragonborn still had some time ahead of him.

 Ashraf

Times were hard for the kobold. Pariah among its own and no less ostracized in Aldharan. At least the humans were allowing him to stay in the city... even if his wake was strewn with disdain and undisguised insults.

So far, the temple of Bahamut had given him refuge and peace as it was pratically deserted. Ashral usually saw only Zerthinrax, the head of the temple and sometimes a few crusaders or adventurers. Today, though, Ashraf was woken up by the footsteps of a few, apparently angry, citizens. Apparently, Zerthinrax was absent.

 Tiras

After a grueling trek through the plains of Darmania, Tiras could finally percieve some movement on the horizon. To his dismay, it was not the kind of civilization he expected. Across the ruins of the villages surrounding Torman, dozens of ogre encampments were set between the gnome and the city. They were still way too far to notice him. If he did not want to cross the warlike troops, he would either have to turn back, or to deviate from its path to get around them which would mean at least another day of travel.

 Silver

As Silver reached Celina, she saw that her gaze was not empty; it was horrified ! Outside, despite the curfew, there was a startling riot. People were roaming violently in the streets, breaking windows, vandalizing and plundering houses on their way. This had never happened before; the people of Torman already had enough on their hands with the dragons and their minion to take on each other.

Tonight in Torman, a growing chaos was in the air.

[User]
 Tiras figuring that ogres weren't the most skilled at detection. Decided to sleep till night fall and progress through the camps to the town of Torman. Thinking to himself  this better be worth it. And once the time came he tried to progress through the camps with his superior stealth skills and looking out for anybody that came near him.

 Spoiler: rolls

Stealth (1d20+28)[ 43 ]
Perception to detect if anyone came nearby. (1d20+5)[ 12 ]

[User]
 Celina, take care of Charity. Lock the doors, bar the windows, and make sure no one gets in.

She gulps.   I'm going out.

[User]
 Groxan

Groxan wandered towards the nearest tavern. While it was still early, it certainly wasn't too early for an Ale or three (and maybe some food). He was still in the process of taking his seat when he waved over the nearest server and grumbled a vague order.

Groxan tucked his glowing holy symbol under his breastplate and settled in to wait and try and wake up. It was nice to be back in civilization once again, where not everyone was out to kill you. Though the day was young.

He made a mental note to ensure all his gear was packed up and ready to go before the afternoon. Usually Zerthinrax didn't call on Groxan to just hand out flyers for bake sales, so it must have been serious.

[User] Ashraf got to his feet and donned his goggles, tinted eyewear allowing him to see clearly in the bright overworld. He focused on his meditation, " Bahamut is the Sun ," he chanted, " The Word is the Light, I am but a Mirror. " A nimbus of light coalesced around his head as he focused. In the right state of mind, he resolved to discover the source of the noise. Grabbing his staff, he headed off through the temple to its entrance.


[User]
 Images flash across your mind. Two large figures loom over you. Their shapes blurry but familiar. Progenitors. Sounds are intelligible. Words like the distant rumbling of thunderclouds over the sea. You’re submerged. Drowning. But there is no pain. Just a wash of cold and numbness and loss of motion.

“You’ve served your purpose.”

You awaken to a pain in your side and in your chest and on your back. Relatively all over. The light is blinding at first, but your eyes adjust soon and reveal a room of mostly white stone that smells too clean. Above you shines a light quite unlike a torch. A white point of light at the end of a rod on an arm of metal with joints that extends over you. Articulated into position. You are on a flat platform that is cold to the touch. You are naked.

The pain is more of a concern at the moment though. Should you sit up, you immediately feel a burning and soreness in your shoulders at your back and toward your spine. You can feel… nothing. Where you expect there to be weight, there is nothing. Your wings. They are gone. Your long hair mats with blood and there is still a red-metallic fluid slowly coming from the side of your head as evidenced by its warmth on your fingers of pale gray.

Any further exploration of your own body reveals you to have several spikes driven into your flesh. Like large nails, each two-inch diameter flat head is flush against your skin and inscribed with a symbol. Ones you don’t recognize. They do not hurt… until you touch one. Then, wherever it was, surges a sharp and burning agony that sends your entire body fat against the cold table once again.

Your vision is still blurry, and the room is hardly in focus. But, from what you can tell, you are at least alone.

[User] Once he is able to catch his breath again,   Right, don't touch those damn things, whatever they are   he sits up again carefully and attempts to get off/fall off the table he is on.  Surveying the room for a door of some kind, a way out.

[User]
 You can manage to stand up off the table. The room is still somewhat blurry, but things start to come into focus. The room is of a white stone floor about twenty feet on either side with six-sided, white tile up to the tall ceiling of white plaster some twelve or so feet above you. The grout in the tile is slightly darker. A very mild gray that gives the room a touch of depth. The table, a reflectively polished metal plate bent around the edges of something about two inches thick it is riveted to, sits in the middle of the room and is otherwise alone save for the stand of polished metal like the table with its articulating arm and white light source casting crisp shadows on the floor and walls. There are two sets of double doors on opposites sides of each other. Each door appears also made of metal though coated in white. They have handles made of the same polished metal. Simple handles like half-circles fastened to a plate that is riveted to the white doors.

The floor is white stone and scuffed with various markings that seem to come to and from one of the doors. There is also blood on the table and floor. A silvery, red blood that you recognize as being unique to your... kind. Whatever that is.

You know you are the combination of a being of light and a being of darkness. A dichotomy given form. And balance. Your right hand is clawed im simple form. And it appears bloodied. A short spike driven into your wrist limiting your hand's motion but otherwise only causes mild soreness when you move it too far on way or another. You know you had wings and that they are now gone. You feel... weak as well. Not just fatigues, as you certainly are, but also as if more than just your wings were torn from you. Things you could do are... lost. Forgotten. Out of reach. You know you could at one point see into the darkness created by the stark shadows from that one point of light, but you're having a difficulty doing that. Seeing right now is difficult as is. Hopefully that will return... along with everything else that you feel you should be able to do.

 Spoiler: OOC
OR LEFT HAND if you want, I'll adjust if needed.
Also, right now you have no darkvision. Your vision is blurry, as if you are nearsighted and can only see about ten feet away before they get too fuzzy.

[User]
 After assessing himself thoroughly Raphael   Is that my name?  I think it is?  Sounds right   makes his way over to the doors and tentatively puts a hand on one of the handles to first push then pull or turn, testing to see if it's locked.

The idea that he was naked never even remotely occurs to him, modesty just wasn't in his makeup, period.

Something was wrong, very wrong, and a sense of dread or maybe more a feeling that somehow this place was connected to what was wrong was filling his thoughts.

[User] Neither of the doors are unlocked. In fact, they don't appear to have any latches or fastenings. There is a clear though tiny gap between the two doors allowing in a small amount of air, in from the doors with the scuffs and out through the other set. The doors with the scuffs on the floor before them have a flickering source of light on the other side. There is a thick smell of blood coming from the air that moves through those doors into the room from which you awoke. The other door's gap is slightly more significant and has no light that you can tell.

[User] Raphael decides on a whim to try the door that at least appears to have had some activity and goes through the one with the scuff marks.

[User]
 The door push open to reveal a corridor running left and right. The floor continues its white slabs of smooth stone; though, this floor has plenty of blood pools and splatter. Five bodies lay scattered about toward the left of the corridor. Three of them are in white tunics and trousers, stained with their own blood from large wounds in the chest, arms, gut. The short sleeves expose arms broken and battered and torn. One of these figures is a woman. The two others are guards of some sort with armor of white plates curved and contoured for the body and seeming made of seamless pieces. Helmets are large and round with full faceguards that leave only small slits for the eyes. They appear both heavily armored yet as if it would be light. Black underarmor is seen between the pieces of smooth white that seem to have all done nothing to stop whatever slashed into them. Or pierced them, leaving the wounds to bleed heavily. Their weapons, polearms of some sort, lie fallen near their bodies.

The flickering light comes from a sconce on the wall where a point of light seems to hover just above the sconce. It seems to dim and brighten rapidly with no apparent pattern. The rest of the arched corridor is broken into segments with one of these lights at each archway separating the stretches of corridor. To the right, it continues one segment and then stops and ends in a door. To the left the corridor continues for several more segments before ending with a similar looking door.

[User] Bending down to inspect the bodies closer Raphael taps on the armor gently with a claw.   Curious stuff  . If nothing interesting seems to jog any memories then he will pick up one of the weapons and continue down the corridor.

[User]
 Your claw produces a dull thud as it taps against the reflective, white armor. It isn't metal, but something else. Nothing pops up to remind you of anything, though attempting to remember anything brings back a sharp pain in your head. One that is powerful enough to bring you to your knees. Recovering from that, you pick up one of the two armored figure's assumed weapons. It is about chest height to you with a long haft of a smooth material. Black and rubbery sections seem to indicate where hands are held, and the black substance there facilitates in maintaining a grip. The end of the weapon has a smooth transition to a cylinder set next to a blade. The whole thing is white, blade, cylinder and all. And it all seems fashioned out of one piece. A few etchings are on the end of the blade and the cylinder. It is a light weapon in your hands, and you feel a familiarity with it. Not the weapon specifically, but something of a similar type.

Down the corridor to the left are several more sections similar to the one outside your room with similar double doors. You make it half-way down this corridor when the far end's double doors open up to reveal six figures in that white armor each carrying one of the polearms you hold. The lead figure raises a hand and points at you and speaks to the others in a language you can't understand. That strikes you as odd, as you feel you should be able to understand them. Them and any living creature. They all raise their polearms and scurry to take cover as if from ranged weapons. Some backing through the door into the yellow-colored pathway behind them. Others rushing to the walls behind the archways and protrude in on the corridor just enough to hide them.

Then they begin to... fire. Raising their polearms up to the level of their eyes, pointing the blade's end at you, a white-ish light appears from the cylinder's flat end and rushes toward you and very high speeds. You feel you recognize this. You know that spells can do something similar. You can't determine the exact spell being used or if spells are being used at all... but you're being attacked, regardless.

[User]
 Alarmed I try and find cover, ducking behind it.  I raise the weapon in a similar style like them and try to will it to cast its spell.  Anger boiling up inside me, I can feel the demon rising...

 Spoiler: 3rd person

Switched to 1st person, figured I could do that here and see how it goes.

[User]
 The weapon does not respond to you in a similar fashion. It seems to be just a weapon at the moment. The guards down on the far end are taking turns firing and getting closer. One side of the corridor opens fire, sending numerous bolts of light your direction. Where they collide with the surrounding floor and walls, they produce a large spark and leave a scorched mark in black about the size of a hand along with the sound of stone striking stones. The men opposite these then move up. They seem to be repeating this, taking turns firing and advancing.

Though the demon within rises, you feel alarmingly weak and are reminded of the various spikes in your body, for which not all are accounted.

[User] I try and fiddle with the weapon more, mimicking any hand motions I see the guards using and feeling around on it for buttons of levers and such.

[User] The entire surface of the device seems smooth and a single piece despite having what are separate parts and pieces. The blade is made of the same white metal as the pole. Only the soft, black wraps for handholds are clearly separate in both material and piece. Lacking any way to make the thing do what the other soldiers seem to make it do, you're left with just a polearm and a blade. The soldiers' sounds indicate their continued advancement toward you. They lay down fire from these spell-like devices frequently in your direction to discourage your movements or your return attacks. You can flee back into the room from which you came. Or attempt to run down away from the soldiers toward the other door. Both would expose you to the weapons, though the latter would do so for longer.

[User] Fleeing seems like the best option, zig zagging across the corridor to make it harder to target.  To the other door, since the room seems like it would trap me there.

[User]
 Spoiler: OOC
Where do you go? Back to the room you awoke or to the other door?

[User]
 Spoiler: OOC
You saw I edited my retreat?

[User]
 As you make a run for the far door, you are still struck by bolts of energy even while zigging and zagging down the corridor. The impacts strike with the sensation of a red-hot hammer's head striking against your with no actual force. Accompanying that is a shocking sensation that overrides your muscles and makes you want to collapse. You push through the disabling side-effects of the damaging strikes and slam into the far set of double doors. A total of five of those blasts hitting you. Each one felt powerful and takes a lot out of you leaving you near panting on the far end. Just one of those strikes would have been enough for a normal man, you feel. You know you're far, fare more than a mere man. Though you know you are also weakened by something. These spikes? More for that later, perhaps. You dodge to the side as you pass the doors to put the closed one between you and the soldiers behind you. The sound of their odd-material'd boots clattering after.

The corridor beyond is not unlike the one in which you just were. Segments are the same, yet this time each one has a set of double doors. And there are two guards hunkered down several segments away behind the arch's protrusions. White, featureless and eyeless helmets peek around the cover before disappearing with surprise and haste as if they were not expecting you but merely taking cover from the commotion beyond. Other white, clothed figures disappear through doors further down this longer corridor upon seeing you. The sound of doors swinging shut and open again, back and forth, fill the hall as they vanish. This corridor ends with a t-junction heading left and right.

You distinctly hear one of these soldiers remark.  "Sovereign Lord,"  the man says as if swearing. His voice sounded muffled behind his flat, featureless and fully covering helmet.  "It's... it's the demon!"

[User]
 Snarling at the pain, the frustration of being weak, not understanding what's going on, all of it, I barrel down the corridor and take the tee to the left.  Phantom muscles flex for wings not there; to extend them and slice off the one who spoke's head.  More frustration...

As I run by them,   "Demon?!?  I am no demon!"    Startled that I can understand them I stop for a moment or two,   "What is this place?  What is happening?  Where am I?"

[User]
 Charging at the two soldiers prompts them to raise their weapons. One of them bringing the weapon level with their eyes similarly as the others and releasing a trio of blasts in rapid succession. The other raises the glaive-like weapon more for use of the blade and takes a swing as you pass. It strikes at your skin and pulls apart your flesh leaving a burning sensation there. Both the soldiers yelp as you pass but you do not see what is going on. You make it to the end of the corridor and turn to the left to find a pair of more doors just a few paces away and a frightened female in white backed up against the wall. She shrieks and drops something she was holding, a metal plate with papers, and presses herself against the crook of the door and wall as you blast through the double doors even further.

Beyond those doors is another corridor of the same format though it is less... pristine. The walls are only a slightly darker stone. The floor an off-white and the arching ceiling darker skill. Lights seem to hover in the air in the tall corridor high above and cast an even white glow all around. The corridor continues a dozen or more paces before ending in another t-junction. A branch off to the left immediately past the doors reveals a long corridor similarly as the one you just turned from. Here, there are five figures that stop and turn in surprise, four holding staves ending with a symbol at the top end. They wear dark robes trimmed in red and purple. The man furthest from you, who was leading the group before they turned around, has his hood down revealing an older man with a mostly bald head and thin white hair otherwise. He raises a frail figure toward you and the other four with dark cowls hiding their faces take up holding their staves more defensively.

[User] I hold both hands out in front of me, palms facing the hooded men,   "Whoa, easy!  I'm just trying to figure out what is going on and why people are shooting at me!"