conversations: human
conversations:  OOC LINK    
  Well, this is it. Here is the point that will change your life forever. Throughout your entire life, you waited for this moment. You heard stories of heroes, conquering dungeons and slaying dragons, saving towns and overthrowing evil emperors. Long ago, you made your decision to join their ranks, to join the ranks of those fabled heroes. And, as luck would have it, there was a town, nearby to your own, called Durmsvord, built around a great dungeon of ages past. This cave was said to spring up overnight, and all who entered it either never returned or game out gibbering in terror, their minds sundered. This is the place where heroes were born, where legends rose.  And here was the place where the game would take place.  You all met in the usual way- in a tavern, a lively bar brawl breaking out just after you sat down at the table, and you realized that you all had the same goal in common- plumbing the depths of the Dragon's Tomb. Gathered around the entrance now, you can hear voices whispering within, and doubt holds you back from entering, leaving you all milling around the entrance in ominous silence. A waylaid boot, pacing around the entrance passed through the precipice by just a hair, and it was like an electric jolt resounded throughout the cavern. A gust of wind shoots out of the cavern, blowing loudly, leaving behind in your ears one word, ringing-  Enter. 
   In the cavern, the dungeon did indeed begin to stir. Adventurers had taken a step into the cave, and the game was beginning once more. Swiftly, through the darkness, a serpentine shape swiftly moves down the hidden tunnels throughout the cavern, emerging down by the Hero's Entrance. They were going to enter the dungeon, and so they would be... tested, by her pets. They needed to be strengthened to take down her rivals, after all. It was time for the game to begin, and she had the first move. 
conversations: Fable Wright:
conversations: human
conversations:  Floating invisibly, Ravana looked down upon the next group of adventurers. None of the earlier groups had proven sufficient - but this one was different. This one was special. Rupert, one of his direct descendants, had joined it.
  
  Well, what fun was a game you couldn't exploit? This was going to be... interesting. 
  
  Far below, Rupert looked ahead and shivered.  "I guess this is it, then." 
conversations: sean_hyer:
conversations: human
conversations:  Humph... they are late. Don't they understand the importance of setting out on a quest a dawn? I mean there are TRADITIONS to these things... they couldn't have left town any earlier than 11 at the earliest. Really, I don't know what the world is coming to. 
  To himself John Smith thinks:
   Ridiculous contest... but I can't believe they set themselves up for failure... we are supposed to build them up into heroes. Unsettling but as long as appearances are kept up tolerable... barely. But I can't believe they thought they had a chance of winning against me in THIS fashion. Don't they understand that heroes kill VILLANS? You know... "Threats to the stability of the world"? That sort of thing? Where-as I am stability incarnate. I just want to keep things pretty much the same as they already are... furthest possible thing from the sort of person heroes slay as could possibly exist. 
  
  Rodger Wilcox shifts his shoulders under the too-heavy weight of his pack, his Ranseur held in his usual bizarre style, and his armor looking every bit as sharp (no, not literally...) as it always did outside the club (or inside it for that matter, since he did like to party down when his shift ended, and as an employee he was allowed the privilege of entrance).
   "So, anyone going to check for unwelcome mats, or should I just lead the way?" 
conversations: DracoDei:
conversations: human
conversations:  " I must say!  I'm rather terribly excited and frightened about this whole ordeal! " Arnold exclaims to his fellow comrades in arms.  " I've never gone delving into the deeps or the earth before in search of...  Stuff! "  He draws forth his whip and cracks it with prowess at the air.  A bright smile envelops his face as he raises his arm into the air, ushering you all along.  " I know nothing of traps!  But I fear such devilry not!  Our light shall prevail on our journey into the depths!  The light of our souls...  and the light of this torch... "  He says this trailing off his mind enthralled with his surroundings as he looks to and fro as though a child in play land.
  
  
  MEANWHILE...
  
   Long bony tendrils far far away writhe over the top of a scrying pool in a dark room showing only these to actors.  The scrying pool is filled with sand, and as the being standing over it known as Sysysphus casts his spell, the granular material takes form, to show the aforementioned party standing in mode just outside their current task.  Long dead eyes watch in silence as the scene unfolds. 
conversations: Hastur Avaddon:
conversations: human
conversations:  "Lead on. I'll be right behind you. No-one ever traps the doormat." 
   As the adventurers meandered into the cave entrance, Ravana gestured and was gone. Appearing deep below, he gestured over the scrying pool. Dropping a strand of hair in, he easily centred the view on the intruders. Now, he needed only to wait. But devils are good at that kind of thing. 
conversations: sean_hyer:
conversations: human
conversations:  " Entrances are choke-points. Defenses are often concentrated at choke-points. Basic guard tactics. Since we don't have anyone who can do anything about it however... "
  Rodger draws his Ranseur, holding it in a very awkward looking way, and walks far enough in to be sure to be out of the sun and the rain continuously, scanning for threats.
   
   Spoiler 
  In Readied Spear Stance (and will be every possible moment until further notice since I don't have any other stances at the moment).
  Spot:  (1d20+3)[ 13 ] 
  Listen:  (1d20+3)[ 4 ] 
   
  
   If he gets to a sheltered enough area without any drama and the rest of the party catches up, he will wait about 15 seconds more and  then lean his Ranseur up against a wall (making sure to be able to grab it quickly) and take off his backpack with the following words:
  " Just a second, this thing is too heavy, it slows me down, but I have no wish to catch the killing cough ((AKA pneumonia)), so I couldn't just leave the tent behind. Only be a second... "
conversations: DracoDei:
conversations: human
conversations:  Huffing and puffing, Odar hurried as best as he could to catch up with the rest of the group.    "Curse my short legs."   He thought to himself.  But the smile never left his face.  The magical scroll in his pack was plastered in his mind.  A very important scroll, that he must not lose, because that scrol was his ticket into the "Society".  It would be a joy to be a part of that illustrious group.
  
   But of course, they didn't notice the raven.  No one ever notices the raven.  It sits there, watching, at the entrance to the dungeon.  It's master wanted it there.  Watching.  Relaying.  A single caw, echoing down the paths of the cavern.  Ominous.  Foreboding.  But what our adventures do not realize is that the caw is not merely an echo.  It is a hundred thousand different ravens and crows, relaying the message, back to their master, the one whom they are a part of.
  Set.  Set Nadar, king of shadows.  And he has begun to awaken.  The iniquities of those who have entered the dungeon call out to him.  Their desire for blood.  Their greed.  The Murder in their hearts.
  Well, wherever there is Murder, there is also it's Shadow.  And Set Nadar was the greatest of the Shadows in this place.  And he would have vengeance. 
conversations: THEChanger: