conversations: human
conversations:  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.
conversations: An Amy:
conversations: human
conversations:  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.
conversations: Lioslaith:
conversations: human
conversations:  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.
   
conversations: An Amy:
conversations: human
conversations:  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.
conversations: Lioslaith:
conversations: human
conversations:  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.
conversations: An Amy:
conversations: human
conversations:  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.
conversations: Lioslaith:
conversations: human
conversations:  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.
conversations: An Amy:
conversations: human
conversations:  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.
conversations: Lioslaith:
conversations: human
conversations:  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.
conversations: An Amy:
conversations: human
conversations:  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.
   
conversations: Lioslaith:
conversations: human
conversations:  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.
conversations: An Amy:
conversations: human
conversations:  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.
conversations: Lioslaith:
conversations: human
conversations:  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.
conversations: An Amy:
conversations: human
conversations:  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.
conversations: Lioslaith:
conversations: human
conversations:  Spoiler: OOC 
  Where do you go? Back to the room you awoke or to the other door?
   
conversations: An Amy:
conversations: human
conversations:  Spoiler: OOC 
  You saw I edited my retreat?
   
conversations: Lioslaith:
conversations: human
conversations:  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!" 
conversations: An Amy:
conversations: human
conversations:  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?"  
conversations: Lioslaith:
conversations: human
conversations:  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.
conversations: An Amy:
conversations: human
conversations:  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!"  
conversations: Lioslaith: