You tumble together out of the night onto a carpet of stone on the face of a mountain.

The cave, as it is, is shallow and dry, little more than an overhang carved into the side of the dark stone cliffs. Rustling twigs and dried leaves cover the floor, and decades worth of guano cake the back wall.

The leaves crackle and crunch under boot as the walls open all around you. A ghostly form appears in the darkness. Dressed in the guise of a court jester or fool, giggling madly as it capers about, the fool seems ignorant – or blind – to your presence.

He holds one or two handfuls of ivory plaques and deals them in the air before you.

Bells jingling, he first reveals the Two of Swords, then its duplicate, followed by the Sorceress, draped in a crimson dress and doublet. When he draws her, he places her at the head of the first column with one of the Swords beneath it. Next, he produces another Two of Swords which hovers in the third column.

"The Wizard," he trills, placing the sickly yellow personage at the top of the second column.

Yet another Two of Swords, the fourth of such cards depends in the third column yet to have found its head.

The next draw provides its head: The Magician, a cerulean blue.

Three more cards finish the draw: the Ladies in Waiting, The Prince of Swords, and The Hierophant from first to third in columns, with each taking the color of its head.

During the draw, the air about you hums, nearly buzzing, and you detect the whiff of an open wound.

The jester, cardless, strums the air before him and sounds, as if generated in foreign lands, crash the cave. He sings:

A lifetime in this plane seems quite in the cards
But if my analysis of the position is right
Within the manor and the lake,
There seems a glimmer of light
For all of a sudden indescribable things
Have shattered the sleep of both heroes and magi.
Strange as it seems,
There's been a run of crazy dreams
And a man who can interpret
Could go far - could rule them all.

With a rousing flourish of trumpets, he vanishes and the air clears. One of you beholds the vista beyond the cave:


This message was last edited by the GM at 23:03, Sun 03 Nov 2013.

Bill stands in awe at this strange jester or creature as he would think. He looks upon the wide expanse of the open meadow below them and asks his companions." So do we make our way down to the lone house on the range there, or try and find that card dealing fool that was just here?"

Omm's jaw hangs agape as the mysterious happenings unfold before the group. When Bill finally speaks, it drags the warrior from his reverie and he stammers for a few moments before finding words.

In a spell-bound, hushed tone, Omm replies, "Yes. Let us journey to the house upon the meadow. Ware, friends!"

Omm draws his sword and boldly steps toward, and perhaps into, the landscape suggested by the vista seen at the back of the cave.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:42, Sun 03 Nov 2013.

Sidd peers afar. ''Say... isn't that the silhouette of a mighty tower? There? Behind the moon?''

''Rubbish,'' Zar harrumphs, ''behind the moon. That is not possible. Hm... uhrm... it appears to be so though... Say, how close is that moon?''

''Let's go to the house at the lake then.''

Several times, Arnie opens his mouth to utter some words of wisdom and guidance, and each time shuts it again as one of his companions cuts in before he has his chance.  Eventually he just gives up, sighs, and follows the others down into the meadow.

That's okay man, Felix says as they walk.  It's better to let them keep thinking you're some kind of moron than to start talking again and prove it to them.

You step from the darkness covered in gray cobwebs that stink of sulfur. Even as you wipe the webs and strands from your face and limbs, they dissolve into smoky wisps that drift down into the tall, dewy grasses.

You and your companions stand atop a high ridge, looking down upon a darkened vale. Above, a fat, gibbous moon sinks slowly below the horizon. Below you can spy the lights of a manor house and trampled fields, all set upon the shore of a glassy lake lit by dancing fireflies. And beyond the manor, obscured by the setting moon, you see a lonesome tower, awash in waves of moon-lit clouds.

Having sunk until it can no longer sink, the moon bows before the sun. Atop its throne in the sky, the sun lights the vale before you -- with a cool, starry-blue light, the same blue hue of the wizard on the ivory plaque, infusing the sky with unmistakable symbolism. The light does not dispel the pervasive haze, and it's through this haze, you trudge, your feet sinking just perceptibly into the tall, dewy grasses.

Between yourself and the manor, the air becomes simultaneously too sweet and too sour, and, because of the gray mists, your feet find the source before your eyes:

The long, plowed furrows are trampled into mud. Bodies litter the field, half buried and crusted with bloodied dirt. Shattered spears, splintered shields, and crushed helms are scattered all around. Cackling crows, their beaks wet with blood, hop about, making a feast of the slaughter.

Arnie's the one who stepped in it, it being the half-filled brain pan of pikeman, his polearm snapped in twain much like his neck. There, the cold warmth of the man's deliquescent cerebral matter soaking his left boot, Arnie curses. It's a good thing young, sweet Del's not there to hear them.

Time: Dawn
Location: Field of the Dead

The conflict in Arnie's mind spreads to his whole body - the foot that stepped in "it" is trying to leap out in a panic, while the other remains firmly planted.  Arnie struggles to retain his balance, takes a moment to slow his breathing and keep control over his stomach, and then addresses the group (heedless of Felix's earlier warning): We must find out who these men were and who did this to them, and then we must avenge their deaths.  My Lord would have it no other way, and certainly He will bless all of us if we all share in doing His glorious work.

In reply to Josh (msg # 7):

Bill nods his head in agreement to Arnie's wise words and points at the lone dwelling on the range and says to his friends "Should we start at the dwelling there? It is still standing for some reason among  all this destruction and dismay. Maybe it is for a reason. Hopefully it holds clues there to be found. What say you all?"

Omm nods in agreement with Bill and Arnie's statements. Kneeling down to examine the livery of one of the men, "Perhaps we may learn something of their liege..." Omm searches for any heraldic devices which might adorn a discarded shield or perhaps even a battle standard.

Turning a bit later to address Bill, "Yes. We may yet find answers there. Let's approach. Perhaps get a better look at the place up close before announcing our visit."

Should the group agree, Omm will lead the way, sword at the ready, but not unsheathed.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:59, Sun 10 Nov 2013.

Zar glances at the sun full of distrust. ''Did anyone notice that the symbol on the blue mages robe, on the card, looked pretty much like the sign of chaos? Arcane symbols can be difficult to read though... Anyway, if the sun is his, I do not like it.''

''Do the dead wear any colors?'' Interjects Sidd. ''For all we know they serve different masters and killed each other. Especially if there's some three sided contest going on here?''

''Yes, I believe so. And if the blue mage is Chaos, then the red sorceress might be his noble opposite. We ought to be on her side! Except maybe you, Sidd, you might rather belong to that sickly yellow guy,'' Zar adds snidely.

The two former friends glare at each other.

Then they suddenly turn away and help searching the battlefield. Sidd is not above taking up a used bow, if he finds one, and some arrows.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:16, Mon 11 Nov 2013.

The mist, the mud, and the early morning chill and decomposition, they all frustrate would-be heraldic seekers. Splotches of yellow, blue, red, more red, and yet more red, these you spot across the battlefield. Sometimes the red is wet and sticky, staining your clothes. In a complementary fashion, sometimes the yellow forms small pools. Such is the glamor of battle beneath the cerulean sun.

Sidd and Zarr dive in, forgetting momentarily their quibbles, for with the loss of sweet, sweet Del, life tastes of dust and grit; that's what they remember when they forget to squabble. Miraculously, Sidd locates a 10 foot pole, uncompromised, from which a shredded banner depends. What shreds remain sport red spots. Zarr grins at discovering a footman's headless body, the body still perfectly swaddled in hide armor.

You could stay here or continue to the manor house.

Time: Dawn or thereabouts
Location: Field of the Dead

Omm examines the battle standard for a moment, contemplating what armies might have waged battle in these idyllic meadows. Pulling himself from the reverie induced by deeper thought than he is accustomed, Omm comments to his compatriots, "Not much longer yet to the manor house. Let's continue..."

Zar lets the hide armor be. Recently he is feeling inklings of the arcane and higher secrets and all that, and armor is just not meshing too well with this. He is interested in the banner though.

''Give me that,'' he barks at Sidd. Blue being Chaos, red Order, and yellow the scallywags in between is currently just a theory without much grounding. But just in case, a red banner might be the thing to have later. Or is it just blood on the shredded fabric?

''The sorceress' column sported the ladies in waiting,'' Zar muses. ''I only recently dreamed of three women most wise and fair, keepers of all that is destined and good. I wonder whether these are the same?''

Sidd just eyes the former farmer and his hen. ''Or you are just getting lonely? Anyway, let's do as Omm says. He has some sense.''

Zar rolls what is left of the banner around the pole and binds it with a bit of rope, or a belt, whatever's handy, and trudges along with the others towards the manor.

If no one else grabs it, Bill does not miss the chance at decent protection and he pauses for a moment to don the hide armor. A small amount of protection is better than none he thinks. He then continues to follow the others..

Upon seeing Bill in his newly acquired armor, Omm comments, "Looks to fit fine enough. A nice find indeed!"

Arnie approaches Omm and says We must be respectful of the dead.  If you take his belongings, see that you use them to help aid in his mission.

Further back, Felix rolls his eyes and mutters It's gonna be a long quest if he keeps taking himself seriously like this.

It may just be the general state of anxiety, but it sure seems to take Bill a long time to shrug off his everyday clothes and replace them with hide armor. Thing is, it's tight in some places on him, especially around the thews of his thighs. As he tugs, pulls, and curses, the midnight blue sun inexorably rises to its zenith.

Only after he has tightened the last strap and clasped the last buckle, do you resume your march through the field of the dead and to manor house with a lake one one side and a tower in the distance.

No guards ask your business (did they all die beneath another day's sun?), so you decide to take the first steps to making yourself at home.

Worn stone steps rise to the ruined manor house. The once-mighty door hangs ajar, covered in moss and vines. Above, a weathered arch bears the relief of three sigils: a crown, crossed wands, and a star.

Just inside the gate is a large rain barrel (half-full of stagnant water), a muddy iron bar used to seal the gate, a sheaf of six spears, and a shield.

When you're not stepping in a puddle, you're crunching fallen plaster or masonry beneath your boots. The noises hang in the air without the bustle of a busy house to absorb them; you don't hear servants clicking their heels or maids swishing their mops.

To the right, there is the door leading to the tower. In front of you, a set of double doors leads to the interior of the first floor. To the left are stairs leading to the second floor. Everywhere else is rubble and decay.

Time: Beyond Dawn
Location: The High Gate

Omm runs his hand along the sheaf of spears before grabbing the final in the line. "A fine weapon. I claim it as my own!" he says while examining the spear tip's edge.

The warrior then approaches the shield and examines it for a moment before adding, "I could make use of this, if nobody else has eyes upon it."

With each passing moment, Omm was beginning to look more like a warrior. He was now decked out in a chain hauberk, a long sword, spear, and perhaps even a shield. He certainly looked the part.

Glancing at the three options for exploration, Omm recommends checking out the first floor of the manor house first. Of course, this is just a suggestion and he does not feel strongly about any of the options.

Zar examines the gate's lintel carefully. ''The crown of the golden wizard, the wands of the red sorceress, and the star of the blue magician. This house harbored all of them. Before they started a quarrel, most likely, and all this destruction ensued.''
He looks balefully at the sun and its unnatural light.

Sidd sighs. ''That's all guesswork for now. But if I am allowed to utter an opinion about your construct of cards, I would hazard that the golden wizard is standing in for order, and the red sorceress for neutrality. Figures, a man at each sides, a woman in the middle.''

Zar mumbles a bit at that, but then pushes the pole with the ruined red banner into Sidd's hands. ''Yours then.''

In regard to the best next venue, both only shrug their shoulders. ''Sure, Omm, the first floor is as good an option as any to start searching the manor.''

Assuming no one vetoes the plan to explore this floor, Felix presses his ear against the double doors to determine if there might be anything for them to worry about on the other side.  If it is clear, he will then walk back and encourage someone else to be the first to actually open the doors.

The spears, though mildewed, can serve and Omm adds one of them to his armament. The shield, far more heavily mildewed and pitted in places with rust, can also serve. It wouldn't serve for a high tournament in its current condition.

Felix leans against the double doors and listens. Snoring! Scandalous at this time of day. What time is it anyway? Long past dawn.

The great creaking and clattering of the doors fail to waken the slumberer, and the sour fumes exuding from him explain why, as do the empty jacks of wine about the throne. With distaste, you notice a sharper, more pungent smell in the air and damp slick along the man's well-oiled leathers. His raiment has the cast of bile, yellow and viscous. You whisper amongst yourselves: he's the spitting image of the Prince.

The great hall is dominated by a large throne set atop a high dais. Flanked by statues of white marble lions, chased in silver and jewels and sheltered by a canopy of the darkest velvet, the opulent throne is fit for a sorcerer-king.

For all its grandeur the throne sits abandoned. Cobwebs hang from the canopy and dust has gathered on the once majestic lions. To the left of the dais sits a much simpler demi-throne of dark, polished wood, carved in the likeness of rearing lion. A warrior sits sprawled atop the throne, his head hung with melancholy. A discarded broadsword rest against the throne.

Time: Dawn no more
Location: The Throne Room
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:22, Wed 20 Nov 2013.

Omm draws his sword and silently crosses the distance to the demi-throne, senses keenly focused on detecting any sudden movement within The Throne Room. Perhaps closer inspection of the Prince might shed light on this unfolding mystery...

''Omm!'' Zar hisses in hushed tones. ''Put that sword away. The man will think you have come to slit his throat. We do not want a fight.''

Felix creeps toward the throne, not to approach or examine the man sitting in it, but rather the bottles sitting around him.  Perhaps one bears the mark of a vineyard or merchant and can thus shed some (figurative) light on the party's current location.  Or perhaps one will turn out to have not been consumed yet, which is always nice to know.

Bill brings up the rear of his troupe and eagerly watches the seemingly sleeping warrior upon his chair. With the dust and cobwebs about, it appears the warrior may have been in this slumber for quite some time, however even a confidence artist knows that not all is always as it appears to be.. Bill's hand rests easily on his dagger, hoping its not needed yet none can ever be certain....

Omm turns around, a wry grin plastered to his face, and raises a single gloved finger to his lips. He proceeds forward nonetheless, with sword drawn, but not in an overtly aggressive manner. While Omm appreciates Zar's well-reasoned admonition, if ever there was a time for caution, it was now!

Brandish his sword as he might like, Omm's not like to wake the swordsman from utter stupefaction. And were he even to land a heavy foot, the thick, woven rug that leads to the throne and covers too much floor would absorb the impact. The rug depicts a party of mounted warriors pursuing an enormous serpent.

Felix examines one empty flagon and then another, first of Medoc and then of De Grave. From there he can espy a larder to the side of the throne room.  It has a pipe of wine, 130 gallons, and doubtless many not quite spoiled foodstuffs, hard cheeses, salamis, and the like. It's one of the few unruined rooms in the manor that you've seen besides the throne room.

On the other side of the throne room, opposite the arbor, is a set of descending stairs.

Time: Unknown
Location: In the Throne Room with the Stupefied Prince

Omm shrugs his shoulders and turns back to address his companions, "He's out. Cold."

He takes a couple more steps toward the slumbering warrior and examines the broadsword resting beside the throne. "Maybe the feel of steel in his hand will awaken the warrior trapped within?" he asks aloud.

''Hello, Sir Prince!'' Sidd booms. No apparent reaction. ''You know, Omm, I think you are right.''

''Still, I would not touch his sword. Let it be. Hmm, with the throne vacant and the prince stupefied, obviously things are ill in this realm. I suggest we go outside again and take a look at the first floor?''

Omm, in his characteristically oafish mannerism, shrugs his shoulders and replies "Okay. Sure. Not like he's going anywhere anytime soon."

Glancing over his other shoulder, at the provisions stacked up against a distant wall, "Maybe we check the larder before moving on?"

Then to the stairs, "What about down there?"

Zar shrugs. ''Sure, let's check the larders. But I would search the floors above first before descending down the stairs.''
He shudders a bit. ''After our recent experiences at the keep and all that.''

Bill moves over to the larder and begins to look through the contents there, hoping to find something useful. He can't remember when he last had good, hearty food but with this stockpile it looks like he is about to remedy that. He calls over his shoulder to his companions " Not sure about the rest of you , but I could sure go with something to eat. Shall we munch a bit while we look about?"

Arnie is struck by sudden inspiration, courtesy of still getting used to his recently increased competence in the priestly arts.  He does not touch any of the swords, as per Zar's suggestion, but he does look closely at the unresponsive prince.  He even moves his hands over the still body, not making contact but no more than a centimeter away.  Perhaps he can gain some insight into the man's condition, if not how to cure it.

Sidd  booms, his voice stentorian. Verily, it must have parted the grey mists across the vale.

The prince of swords, as you know him to be, rubs his eyes wearily at the start of yet another day. He gapes at the melange before and about him: Arnie gesticulating in a ritualistic manner; Omm grandstanding with his blade; and Bill in the larder, his hand thrust in a barrel of pickles. The capering of fools, really.

"I dream?" he asks. He wrinkles his nose as Arnie leans in, the smell of Arnie upon him. He answers himself, "No, I do not."

He stands and towers over the tallest of you. His long lengths of black hair offset a pale yellow cloak. He pays no heed to Omm fiddling with his broadsword.

He addresses you, "I, Captain Kaschei, welcome you to Vale of the Three Magi" -- with no welcome in his voice, only the weight of days. "You, who have just arrived, must be weary with travel. See to your needs. The larder is full. Unlace your boots. Find a couch for repose."

"Share with me my wine and my doom, and, tonight, tonight, we hunt."

You look around. You don't see any couches.

Time: Unknown
Location: In the Throne Room with the Captain
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:26, Mon 25 Nov 2013.

Hold on now buddy, Felix responds.  I'm happy to share this wine and cheese, but I've had enough doom for one life already.  You can keep that for yourself.

Arnie chides the little man, saying Worry not, Felix.  Surely he meant it metaphorically.  He does not intend to doom us, merely to... hm.  He looks at the prince with an expression that is certainly not pleading for help but might be mistaken as such.  He's still having a little trouble adjusting to this whole "wisdom" thing.

Omm jerks backward with a start when the prince booms in greeting, nearly dropping his sword in the process. Once his heart has returned to its rightful place, Omm stammers a response, "Th...th...thank you kindly, my lord, b...b...but I am quite full indeed."

Standing there with sword held limply, Omm calls out to his companions, "Lads, let's not trouble the good prince for his wine..."
This message was last edited by the player at 07:07, Tue 26 Nov 2013.

''Yes, well, as you can gather from my friends' answers we are actually well rested. Couldn't be better, thanks.'' Replies Sidd amiable.
''Now, once it is night, who or what is it you intend to hunt? And why wait until dusk? And what of the yellow wizard? And the two other magi? You see, we have quite a few questions.''

"Questions, so many of them. Why waste them all today when we have all of the tomorrows?"

"Fate chooses the hunted." He sticks a finger in his mouth and scrapes a length of gristle free. He tosses it on the rug where it sits, just long enough not to ignore.

With the same finger, he points around the room. "It could be you or you or you -- or me." With a princely flourish, he attains his full height, his yellowish cloak snapping to attention. Fate should choose more wisely, you aver.

"Today, I serve the wizard, Darjr -- as do they."

Two swordsmen step out of the shadows and into your view. Have they been here all along?

"He is not currently here to serve, making the tower by the lake his retreat. There he sees to his droll pursuits."

"Or it could be none of us," Omm calls back in response. "For we are hunters, all of us, to a man. Our lot is to hunt!"

Head held high, the warrior's posture assumes a more commanding posture, his chest now prominently displayed in a show of dominance.

Zar's head rises as the Fates are mentioned. He has had dreams... ''Are these the ladies in waiting?''
He is refering to the cards the jester revealed when this all started.

''Anyway, so your own wizard is up to droll pursuits, whatever that means. What are the others doing? There are three of them, ain't there? And the signs of all of them grace your lintel. Where are they?''

As the two swordsman appear, Bill decides that now is probably not the time to have his hand in the pickle barrel. He quickly trades the pickle for his dagger and moves in at an angle behind the throne. He has only heard snippets of the debate going on and wants to hear more. As his companions continue to talk, he keeps a weary eye on the swordsmen...

Arnie listens to the prince's explanation (or close enough) and replies And the men laying in the field, who did they serve?

About the other two magisters he produces no more then that they must be "plotting."

Captain Kaschei fixes Omm with what at one time must have been implacable eyes. "Agreed. Tonight, we hunt," he replies to the warrior, a twitch of a smile about his lips. "Until then, we drink, and then -- we drink as well."

He addresses Omm, "Have your man bring fresh skins," his man plausibly being either Bill, just now sorting himself out, or Felix who, due to his stature, seems more boy than man.

You have a chance to get a closer look at the two swordsmen. They wear mud-caked boots, much like your own from having tromped through the furrows. Also, they have a feeble yellow gleam to their eyes. One of them, a grizzled chap, answers Arnie's plaintive question.

"They serve whom they served. We all do until we don't."

Omm shoots a glance back to his companions while fumbling for his own wineskin.

With a quizzical look, he asks Captain Kaschei, "Haven't you any goblets or mugs we can drink from?" He surveys the room once more for a serving table where these things might be found.

"And," he interjects, "What shall we drink to? The hunt? If so, what shall we hunt?"

''Uh, Omm, let's not dally. We still have business to attend to. Let's not pester our hosts. We can always go hunt later.'' Old Zar pats Omm's hand while unobtrusively pulling him away.

Sidd takes up the cue, and for once agrees with Zar. ''Ah, yes. I think we should move on. We will make sure to be back for nightfall though, with the hunt and everything! And if not, I am sure we will meet again nonetheless.''

He tries to usher out Arnie, Bill and Felix, too.

Arnie walks out with Sidd, whispering I don't think I like this fellow.  That nonsense about "they served whomever they served?"  I'm an ordained priest, well, I think I am anyway, and even I thought that was too vague.

Felix doesn't have much to say at this point, but he knows he doesn't want to be left behind with these weirdos if the rest of his group is leaving.

Bill has a strange feeling about all of these events taking place.. He does know that it one of the best pickles he has ever eaten. Matter of fact, he could spend more time in the larder yet he knows it would not be best to stick around in here as his companions are heading out, he has no quips about following them. He asks the group as they leave "Well now does not this whole place just seem a bit odd? What shall our next move be? I am sure by exploring the rest of this manor, we can add even more mystery to our lives. I am up for anything. I am curious about this hunting taking place around dark howeer."
The confidence artist simply tags along with his friends, all the time wondering what is around the next turn...

''Yeah,'' Sidd whispers back at Arnie, ''he's completly meshugge. I will make sure to cover as big a distance away as possible before this loon opens the doors at nightfall and decides to kill anything that crosses his path.''

If they make it all outside, Zar agrres with Bill. ''A bit odd? This place is absolutely bizarre. Interesting though! Shall we take a look at the upper floor?''

Taking a step back, Omm comments to the captain, "Well, as much as it pains me to delay our toasts to the Gods, it seems my companions are looking to move along."

He slings the wineskin over his shoulder again, "Fear not, we will be back, to avail ourselves to your generous offer." Then, noticing he was still clutching his longsword, he sheathes the blade back in its scabbard.

Turning to Zar, "Second floor it is..."

Bill nods his agreement to Zar and says " Yes that is a better way to put it, absolutely bizarre for sure . I say let us find out what the top floor has to offer. "

You leave the Prince of Swords to what promises to be a long day of succor-less debauchery and return to the entrance hall to gain access to the tower stairs, bypassing for now the stairs to the second floor of the manor. Shafts of chalky, blue light, tendrils more like, slant or worm their way through the open gate.

The door opens to reveal three ladies seated around a glowing brazier. All three wear pale half-masks and diaphanous carmine gowns accented with silk. Slender keys hang around the necks of each lady-in-waiting.

Behind the trio stands a dour woman, her round face framed with a black mantle, girded in a long tunic dress the color of midnight.

And finally there is the Fool: siting atop a tall stool in his striped hose and gaudy tunic, casting clever finger shadows on the wall and entertaining the ladies with a bawdy tale.

At the sound of your entry the seated ladies look up from their needlework, devious smiles flashing beneath their masks. The matron crosses to stand before them, moving with sprightly speed in spite of her considerable frame. The Fool watches on, bemused.

Time: Midday
Location: In the Tower with the Ladies in Waiting
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:36, Mon 02 Dec 2013.

"Ladies," Omm booms out in greeting, "we come from beyond the veil, seeking counsel with the Lord or Lady of this Manor, as the case may be."

Omm finishes with an awkward bow. He was a cobbler after all and not accustomed to courtly mannerisms.

Zar's head whirls. He has had dreams recently. Visions. Arcane secrets whispering in his head. Sigils and runes. And among those, appearing recurrently, the forms of three women. Arbor, loom and scissors. The Fates? Are these women before him those from the dream, just in another guise?
To be safe, he goes down on one knee. ''Are you the Three Fates,'' he asks in awe?

Sidd is entranced, too, but that might have more to do with the translucency of the women's gowns than anything else.
''Err...,'' he says, in another kind of awe.

"Oh, no, we're not the three fates, we're the Ladies Signe, Nyx and Morai," the three respond in near unison as they stampede not towards the questioner but towards the bulging personage of Omm.

Signe arrives first, curtseying so deeply as to reveal breasts of marmoreal smoothness, or so he might understandably imagine. Nestled within, he jealously observes, is a key of iron. "Will you be my champion, oh, my immortal war--"

Nyx, possessing breasts no less classic, arrives second and speaks over her sister, replacing her word with her own, as if she has posed the question. A key of copper offsets the whiteness of her bosom.

The slinkiest of the three, Morai, slips between her two siblings and smiles at Omm, the same question on her lips. Sheathed in her more modest endowment is a key of gold.

Before Omm can consider a reply, he finds himself not addressing any of the three "ladies" but the matron who has uncannily interposed herself between the hulking man and his three suitors, her disapproval writ large, larger than even her capacious urns.

Arnie may not have been the subject of the three maidens' requests, but he observed them nevertheless.  Their requests, that is.  And while Omm is still trying to straighten out his thoughts regarding all the different women vying for his attention, Arnie states, in the most gallant voice he can manage, My lord Gorhan would demand it of us.  Now, what is it that you need champions for?

Felix, who is far more straightforward about things, follows this by asking simply And what are the keys for?

"Well met, ladies, all," Omm finally replies, his eyes darting cautiously here or there. Mostly, there.

Turning back briefly to his companions to sneak a coy wink, he continues, "Don't worry ladies, there is more than enough champion to go around."

He then awaits any answers the maidens might give Arnie and Felix.

Bill stares at the women in awe. Just before drool would drip down his chin, he comes out of his stupor and says to the ladies "I would more than happily be one of yours champions. Or all of ye for that matter. "

''Not the fates then... just some harlots courting strength and steel. I will have nothing to do with it!'' Moping, Zar turns away.

Sidd is upset about him. ''You cannot leave Omm alone with this,'' he argues and waves his hands in wide gestures. ''He has no clue at all what's happening!''

Zar does not turn around. ''Then you explain it to him. I am out of here.''

''Huffy old man,'' Sidd grumbles, and rises his arms in exasperation. Then he turns to Omm.

''Ok, big guy, here's as it is. It's a magic thing, so you should trust me. I think.''
''You have three choices in front of you. There's a sizeable chance that all three are traps and lead to death. But possibly only two are traps, and one is the correct one. I would go with the latter. And be it just for the breasts.''
''Anyway, in that case, pick Signe. She is iron. The warrior's metal. Pick copper or even worse gold, and you will find yourself with a blade which is shiny, but easily hacked in two. You won't want that. There, settled. Explain it to the matron.''

Speech delivered, Sidd does not quite manage it to dissociate himself from the scene though. Hoping that the fearsome black-clothed guard dog is busy with Omm, he sneaks to the side of the woman named Nyx.
''Say,'' he whispers, ''don't you want to forget about that whole immortial warrior business and make out with a promising young mage instead? Honest, I am a way better lover than Omm.''

Omm stands there with a dumbfounded look plastered on his face. "Where did you get all of that from, Sidd?" he whispers as an aside.

Still, he was not one to turn down the offer of a pretty maiden. Addressing Signe, "I will be your champion, milady."

After all, she asked him first. That was about as much complex thinking he could muster. Philosopher, he was not.

"As my champion at the High Fete, you may request a token from me," Signe positively radiates, her triumph all but blinding.

Arnie doesn't need his question directly answered after all. It's curious. When he spoke, he didn't observe any recognition from any of the ladies in waiting, only a twitch from the nose of Nyx as if it had scented something distasteful in the room. The little man, Felix, he doesn't even get that. He doesn't meet the minimum height requirement for a champion.

Nyx's sly dip of a shoulder suggests she knows exactly which favor Sidd will choose. But as he leans close to admire her declivities, the matron wedges herself between them, establishing a one-foot rule, before he can choose, room enough Mary, Jesus, and their baby, or something like that.

Sulking, Morai awaits her most ardent suitor  -- who will fight for her honor at the High Fete?

A jingle of bells draws your eyes to the fool who sings with delight.

"There once was a lady from the manor
 who pledged to spread for knights who would clamor
 All crimson did her cheeks bloom
 and hasty did she flee the room
 when the pleas never beat a stammer."

Outrage! The ladies' cheeks burn with it! Defend our honor, they demand as one, their bosoms heaving in solidarity.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:35, Thu 12 Dec 2013.

Ignoring the earlier rebuttal, Arnie steps toward the jester and says loudly You slander these good ladies, sirrah!  You must apologize and make penance to them for your unkind words.  As the cleric speaks, his words take on a booming echo, seeming to come from all around the room rather than just from his mouth.

Josh rolled 21 using 1d20+1. casting roll (Word of Command)
  Will save DC 22 or else the spell lasts for 1d6+1 turns.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:04, Thu 12 Dec 2013.

''Ha!'' Zar calls out and turns around again. ''You were wrong, Sidd! Warrior's metal, phhht. Omm just gave himself to the blue mage. Which for all we know represents Chaos! Fools all!''

''Yeah, yeah, I get it, ok. So I erred by lending more importance to the symbolism of the metals instead of going merely by their color. Could have happened to anyone!'' Sidd shoots back.
''Anyone with enough brains to get symbolism, that is,'' he continues under his breath.

He then addresses the matron. ''Actually, uh, I wonder, did I already de facto agree to joust for the sweet lady Nyx here? Or is it all yet, uhm... negotiable?''
''Not that it wouldn't be totally worth it,'' he hastens to add, with one eye on beautiful Nyx's cleavage.

Zar shakes his head. ''Of rather more importance is, who is willing to pick up the cause of the golden maid? Who will represent the yellow wizard? Who, for all we know, might symbolize the noble and higher order of things. We cannot fight for Chaos against Order! Omm! We only now come from a great victory of Order against Chaos! Remember who you are, my friends!''

Omm beams proudly at the attention now being lavished upon him by Lady Signe.

"Very well, milady," he says while effecting a clumsy bow, a pathetic attempt to mimic courtly etiquette.

After pushing the brim of his over-sized helm out of his eyes, he continues, "The key, what does it unlock?"

"Would that be a worthy token for your humble champion?"
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 23:05, Sat 14 Dec 2013.

Boom as it might, Arnie's voice does not silence the jester who only scampers around the room as if dodging the strumpets' withering glares. He ceases his scampering only to alight on the matron's back after vaulting himself off of a high-backed chair -- just as she is about to establish the one-foot rule between Sidd's bulging eyes and Nyx's copious bounty.

Even as the three ladies bewail their besmirched honor, they splatter it further. Signe scandalously tells Omm that the home of his key (Omm gains the Iron Key)is the only secret with him she won't share, providing that he prevail at the High Fete. And with the matron distracted by the fool, Nyx presses her advantage, "You do know how to lance, good sir?"

"There once was a sage new to the vale
Who saved his feculence in a grail
daily adding to his store
Avowing his offal galore
proved the sagacity of his tale."

The three ladies howl in merriment, already forgetting the mortal offenses to their character.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:32, Sun 15 Dec 2013.

In reply to Autarch (msg # 64):

Between all the bountiful bosom present in the room, the jester hopping about as a frog with feet afire and the spectacle of his companions, Bill is just mesmerized as if under trance or spell, not quite sure what to do or where to go in all this. He continues to be nothing more than a statue among living beings. He is keeping most of his eye and concentration upon the jester though, he just does not trust this fool....

"So, when's this High Fete?" Omm asks while examining the key, his eyes only barely dancing over Lady Signe's loveliness.

When asked about the lance, "Big pointy spear while astride a charger?" He places the key around his neck, tucks it beneath his mail shirt, and continues in a flippant tone "Sure. If not, I reckon I will figure it out."

''Actually I would better dispense with any comments about my skills in lancing, since all which comes to my mind are witty things too lewd to be uttered in the presence of a lady,'' Sidd explains smoothly.
With the black matron such distracted by the fool, Sidd boldly extends his hand to lightly pick up the copper key (without removing it from its place), his fingers softly caressing Nyx's soft creamy skin. Really, his head is turning and if he had a question about the key in his mind before, he is unable to articulate it anymore.

Zar meanwhile critically reviews his companions. Who has the stern stuff to be a champion of Order? Omm would have been his first choice, naturally, but that fool Sidd has already maneuvered him towards the blue mage. Bill is a scoundrel. Felix too short. Arnie, though, hmmmm.
''My good young man,'' Zar begins, laying a hand upon Arnie's shoulder. ''I watched your approach of Del with kind eyes. A fine young man, I told myself. Principles. High standards, beyond his outward sheen of bearishness.''
''Do you want to expose yourself to these vain little creatures to champion the cause of Order? Because someone might have to do that. I am considering to do so myself, but my bones are old and aching, and I would offer a younger man the chance to prove himself first.''

Then something the fool says is catching his attention and his head whips around. ''You are talking about the hierophant! The ladies first, and now the hermit! Even though we never met him yet. Do you also have a rhyme about the sodden knight?''

Arnie's eyes are suddenly aglow, perhaps distracted by visions of himself as a Mighty Champion of the Good and Just.  It's enough to easily ameliorate the disappointment of his failed spell from a moment ago (and he thought he had done so well!).  He opens his mouth to respond in eager agreement with Zar's suggestion, but doesn't even make it through the first syllable before the elder man cuts him off with his attempt at solving the fool's riddle.

Felix, meanwhile, rolls his eyes and says nothing.  It occurs to him that he has been doing a fair amount of that lately.  It also occurs to him that not being the center of attention might be a good way to not get himself killed, so he makes no change in his current tactics.

Nyx whispers to Sidd whilst his hand nestles in her ivory plumage, "The token's for me to give, not for you to take," but she makes no move to evict her new tenant (Sidd gains the Key of Copper). In no ways as bold a manner, Arnie also gains his token (Arnie gains the Key of Gold).

It would have seemed that you would have escaped the tower without another rhyme until Zar baits the jester. Never encourage a fool.

For this rhyme, he adopts a melancholy air which you know has just enough insincerity to be insulting.

"There once was a knight not from around here
who found in battle his grenadine cheer
until Sisyphus chained death
leaving his valor tooth-leth:
endless debauchery and him still sere."

Edified, you retreat from the ladies with some if your virtue intact and ascent the stairs to the second floor of the manor which you discover to be a place of worship (of the spirit, not the flesh).

The small chapel stinks of mildew and blight. The walls drip with mold, and the pews are spongy with rot. At the far end of the dark chapel, three steps descend to a low altar. A tattered white tapestry hangs behind the altar, stained black and green.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:27, Thu 19 Dec 2013.

At last, something to suggest this place might once have been respectable.  Arnie strolls to the altar in back to see if anything there indicates a specific deity being worshiped.

Felix slinks around to a shadowy corner.  Arnie's welcome to walk into all the traps and ambushes he wants; the halfling is determined to play it safe.

Omm walks down the three steps and approaches the tapestry with sword drawn. Using his sword, he pushes the tapestry aside to determine if anything might lie hidden behind.

"Riddle after blasted riddle..." he mutters to himself, but still loud enough for others to hear.

Sidd has a somewhat besotted expression as he is lead away from the ladies in waiting. In his hand is the key of copper, but in his mind he still imagines the bulges of soft white flesh.
''Congratulations,'' Zar quips disgruntled, ''you just agreed to let your head be smashed in by Omm in some melee type event. Very clever.''
Sidd only sighs, not really listening. ''Soft,'' he whispers.

''On the good side,'' Zar continues, ''The jester's words might imply that death holds no sway here? So you might survive. Perhaps.''

He then takes a good look around the chapel. Seems rather run down. No wonder, if this is really a place to worship Chaos. That sun is kind of unwholesome.
''Hello?'' He asks aloud. ''Anyone here? Hermits in particular?''

It is, all things considered, the third chapel you've visited today, the first devoted to the bottle, the second, the body. And the third? It's good to know the recipient of a chapel's devotion. Standard operating procedure.

With a mind to this, Omm crosses the smallish sanctum and draws the tapestry to discover a sleeping nook with its occupant, unmistakably a hierophant, devoting himself, or more accurately, itself, to prayer. For the figure absorbed in obeisance looks more mantis than man. Hunched over a hymnal, he traces the words with long, spidery fingers that extend from rotting sleeves. His back (thorax?) arches to absurd heights, all of them angular and gaunt. At least, you assume it's a thorax for a black robe covers him from head to its metasoma.

Joint by joint, he rises, climbing, after a fashion, a 12' crosier, the head of which sports barbs and short spikes and blades. His frame clicks and sizzles all the while. The second sound disturbs more than the first; he's not exuding acid, is it? Maybe not, but there's no question about him exuding a malefic, predatory air.

About his sleeping area, you can discern various oddments of worship, its candles and ceremonial bowl.

You are, he informs you, just a trace early for the black mass. You can prepare by tainting yourself and then assuming the group lotus position.

Location: Chapel
Time: Dusk
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:04, Wed 01 Jan 2014.

Omm is repulsed by the creature takes a step backward from the insect-priest, his sword held aloft to keep the creature at bay. "I will take no part in any such rite!" he spits back in defiance.

Once he has regained his composure, he will press the advantage to gain an attack against, should the priest show any hostile intent.

OOC: Sorry, not really sure whether this thing is a threat or not, but reading the text, it sounds like something Omm would attack.

Arnie is incensed and says What do you mean, black mass?  In the name of all gods that would take interest in such matters, I demand to know which is your patron.

Felix creeps closer, hugging the wall.  He is getting the feeling that someone may need to benefit from that contagious halfling luck, and soon.

''I think killing that monster is a waste of time,'' says Zar. ''I am sure it will rise again with the next day. That said, be gone, foul creature. None of us will sink so low as to join in your depravity.''
''However, you seem to be a monster of learning. So tell me, where are your respective masters? And what are they doing? And what is the role we are ought to play? Even if we sure won't do so.''

''Heavens, time sure flies on this plane,'' remarks Sidd as he catches a glimpse at the sun setting outside. ''Say, when is that drunken knight's hunt again?''

The hierophant whips himself to his full ungodly height, his black robe flapping with gale-like intensity.

"Begone, you insolent weevils," he blasts you, the looky-loos, in its chapel.

He slams his crozier into the stone floor, and one shockwave after another rids the chapel of your importunity.

Outside the chapel, you figure you might be able to explore some more before any one of your three prospective social events kicks off. Could you squeeze them all in? Wouldn't the Black Mass start after the Hunt? No, there is no way you could juggle them all? Unless you delegate...

Location: Outside the Chapel
Time: Dusk

''Uhm, yes. That's that then. And the sun is setting.'', Zar says.

Sidd only sighs, his thoughts at a soon reunion with alluring Nyx.
Zar hits the back of Sidd's head, and not too gently. ''Ouch!''

''Anyway, what now? Our token-bearers could revisit the tower, I guess, and bash their respective heads in for their favor. Does anyone feel a particular urge to go hunting? Or whatever that knight calls his nightly killing sprees. No one of us, not even Bill I suppose, wants to join that mockery of a mass at least.''

''Or we leave it all behind and search out that spire?''

Arnie opens his mouth to start blathering, but Felix cuts him off before he has a chance.  I'm for checking the spire, the halfling says.  We might as well get the lay of the land as much as possible before things start going even crazier.

Omm gazes at the spire in the distance while chewing his lower lip. "I don't suppose traveling there will make anything clearer. No," he says while kicking at a loose bit of flagstone, "it'll only muddy the waters more is my guess."

The warrior exhales through the gap in his front teeth before adding, "The hell with it though. I am ready to hunt when called and I don't suspect that opportunity will disappear once we visit the spire. No, we will likely just be give some other choice once there."

Omm has no strong feelings about any of the group's choices. All seemed to carry about as much weight as the next. He was no complex thinker and was not relishing the opportunity to mull over the hidden symbolism or portents that each new riddle presented.

He draws his sword again and gives a few practice swipes before shouting, "Damn the Master of this Realm and these blasted riddles!"

Zar raises a stern index finger and points it at his compatriots. ''You all. Wait here. Just. A moment.''

Then he quickly shuffles up the stairs to the tower and opens the door a small crack.
''Tell, when and where did you say is this High Fete of yours?''
It's not that Zar does not trust his allies. But... well, he has seen Sidd, and Zar does not want to expose him to those women any more than strictly neccessary.

Timing, you've deduced, is anything except exact here. Zar returns to the tower of the three ladies and discovers a sign hanging from the door:

*****A High Fete!*****
In your Dreams
After Moonrise
Tea on Request,
Crumpets by Demand

Anxiously, you await the cresting of the moon. If one or more of you sneaks off to the captain's larder for some "liquid courage," you couldn't be blamed. When the ice-blue crescent nestles in the crook of the sky, the tower door swings wide and you behold a ballroom bedecked in rapturous shades of red -- as are the three ladies. You consign yourselves (or launch yourselves into) a night of civilized debauchery: courtly dances, rich red wines, and clandestine scheming for a moment's private canoodling.

At the height of the night, the revelers howl for a triple minor dance. And by revelers, I mean the jester and several overly drippy redswordsmen. The three champions and their three partners caper and whirl in the center of the room until, by feat of feet, the three ladies form the corners of the triangle and the three champions, its center.

Signe, her bounteous bosom still reverberating with kinetic majesty, reveals that she and the other two omitted one "teensy, tiny" detail.

There can only be one champion.

"Defend my honor," they beseech as one. The orchestra falls silent for the first time and only the buzzing of flies can be heard.

If there's one thing Arnie loves more than being in the presence of a lovely woman, it's having all of his body parts where they belong.  He bows to Morai and quietly says Milady.  He then turns to Sidd and Omm and says Gentlemen, the law of chivalry states that a woman must have a champion to defend her.  It can further be inferred that the champion must be the best available.  However, it says nothing of how many women may be represented by a single champion.  I submit to you that I am not the best champion available here, and so I relinquish my title to whichever of you is best suited for it.  This is the only just thing for me to do, and I am certain that the fine Lady Morai will benefit by it.  He follows up his little speech by fumbling to pull the gold key from his pocket, hastily putting it in the closest hand to his own, and then backing out of the triangle and off of the dance floor, bowing at everyone as he goes.

Omm had been enjoying the revelry and was somewhat startled by the abrupt way in which it ended. He glances about the room dumbly, throws up his hands in a placating gesture and asks, "What has happened?" Looking around wildly now, "Has any trespass been said to warrant indignity?"


Omm has heard nothing of the sort and will be hard-pressed to come to blows with any of his companions just to satisfy the whims of a huffy, impetuous Lady. Her bosom was nice, but not that nice.

Should some actual offense be enumerated, Omm will suggest a wrestling match to determine a champion. He is open to other options, provides they are non-lethal, but his first choice will be one which he holds a measurable advantage.

''Haha, a wrestling match! Why not a game of chess instead? But, truth to tell, I think you are not up for a tourney anyway. You seem to be half asleep already...''
Shameless, Sidd attempts to take Omm out of the contest before it even begins and weaves a charm of sleep against his friend.


OOC: Yay, Sidd's first spell is a success! Now Omm has to roll a save. With what bonus or against which difficulty I cannot tell yet, alas.
13:53, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 15 using 1d20+1. Sidd casts Sleep on Omm.

"Why he .. Why he .. ," sputters Signe, wheeling about with her finger extending obscenely. "He mauled me with his eyes like I was some spitted suckling pig, my juices hissing and spitting on the coals."

Her finger has finally settled on Arnie. She beams with ecstasy.

"And he ... he ..."

She swivels her finger till it implicates Sidd.

"He's having impure thoughts. Can't you tell by his licentious leer?"

So that's how it is.

As if validating her claim, Sidd weaves mysterious magics and Omm starts to sway to from more than the wine (DC 15 will save check for Omm to stay awake). Leaning over his shoulder, Nyx whispers something breathily in his ear.

Meanwhile, the ambient buzzing rises ever so imperceptibly in intensity.

Init: Arnie, Omm, Sidd.

Omm begins to yawn, but fights off the sudden wave of drowsiness at the last moment.

"I am quite alright!" he counters, now crossing the floor toward Sidd. "Check?" he says while arching an eyebrow, his body now crouched low and arms held in a wrestling pose.

18:16, Today: Omm rolled 17 using 1d20+1. initiative.

18:16, Today: Omm rolled 18 using 1d20+1. will save.

''If with 'Check?' you mean 'Ready?', I say, bring it on!'' Sidd replies, going into what he thinks might be a combat stance.

08:28, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 12 using 1d20. Sidd initiative.

Arnie waits to see what the other two do.  As they prepare for combat, he is hit with a flash of inspiration.  He approaches Morai, and as if his previous actions had never occurred, he says to her You see how they fight like brutes?  By this action alone, they show themselves to be unworthy of the phrase "defending one's honor."  A true champion is perfectly capable of settling such manners in a civilized manner.  As I am the only one of us three willing to do so, then perhaps I might be considered the only honorable one here.  He raises his eyebrow to try to emphasize his point.

Felix meanwhile, mutters Sod all that nonsense and grabs some snacks from the tray of the nearest servant while he settles in to watch the imminent wrestling match.

Josh rolled 18 using 1d20+1. initiative.

If one thing is clear by now, the ladies' spurious application of the concept of honor is just a means to an end, your end, two of yours anyhow. Your posturing only sharpens their appetite.

OOC Init Order: Arnie, Omm, Sidd. Go ahead and post Round 1 actions. If you intend to withdraw from the High Fete, make that clear, so we don't overstay this scene.

Arnie looks at Morai and the other ladies, then at Omm and Sidd, then back at the ladies.  He leans in to Morai again and asks Just out of curiosity, what happens to the champions who fail?  Depending on the answer, he likely gulps nervously and then asks about what happens to the winner.

Omm turns to face the three ladies in waiting, draws his sword and proclaims, "I pronounce myself the undisputed," he casts his companions a reproachful gaze, "champion of the High Fete!"

Brandishing his sword aloft, "There is no need for the farce of competition. Behold your champion, now!"

Omm silently hopes none of his companions contest his claim. Not because he is fearful of battling any of them: he is not. He would just as soon put this all behind them and has no desire to beat down his companions.

Sidd looks flabbergasted at his flailing friends. Arnie losing himself in meaningleass talk, and Omm posturing like a circus strongman without even an attempt at doing something for his claim.
''You two are such... windbags! And Arnie, you already handed over your token, you ninny-hammer!''

Glorying in his newfound arcane powers, he tries to put both Omm and Arnie out of their misery and into deep sleep to finish this his way. He's sure he ought to win this just because he's the only contestant with a spine, apparently.


OOC: You two, up for two Will saves against DC16?
11:40, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 16 using 1d20+1. Sidd, Sleep again.

Arnie turns to Sidd with just enough time to put on a look of indignation.  Then his eyes flutter, his mouth droops, and he collapses to the floor.

Will save = 8

Catcalls greet Omm's strongman display...the loudest of which issue from the jester?

The collective breasts of the ladies verily heave with anticipation when Arnie succumbs to Sidd's sorcery, slumping to the floor after bumping his chin on the cheese table. A solitary hunk of Gouda follows him to the ground and has its fall cushioned by his recumbent corpulence. The breasts seem to ask as one, "How might he finish the fallen champion?"

OOC Omm, your save?
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:44, Tue 14 Jan 2014.

"Stay your tongue..." Omm collapses to the floor, mid-sentence.

17:13, Today: Omm rolled 8 using 1d20+1. saving throw.

Staring at the alluring breasts, shaking in their partially transparent wrappings, Sidd is under the impression they might want to tell him something. Bleary eyed he considers their intent...
and is then ripped out of his trance by his conclusions.

''Wait. You want me to kill them, don't you? Putting them senseless is not enough for you. Binding them up or knocking them out won't do either then, heh?''

''I know what is happening here! All of you! The knight and the hierophant, too! Want to come with onto a drunken hunt? Let's go kill one of your friends!''
''Want to join my black mass? Let's go sacrifice one of your friends!''
''Want to kiss and fondle some? Let's go kill two of your friends!''

He reels back. ''Nyx, you are sweet and all, but too much is too much. The High Fete is over now, I think. Declare a winner or not.''

Sidd's eyes have turned from bleary to quite incensed.

In another demi-plane and time, one where denizens with a sense of humor were the norm and not the exception, Sidd's summation might have elicited a sheepish shrug of the shoulders or two, as if to say what's the harm of a wee bit of ultra-violence followed by some of the jungle sex? You wouldn't deny us that, would you? Harmless fun for us gits and bitches.

As it is though, the six breasts heave with displeasure. As if a double nap could have satisfied the offense to their honor. Now, if Sidd had planted his staff, tossed Omm in the air such that he impaled himself after falling, and then Sidd had decapitated the spitted Omm, that would have been satisfactory, if, and only if, he had then stuck the head atop the staff. It's the finer things that count in the end. Not just any simple fatality will do.

The High Fete doesn't end; it just becomes a disappointment. You slink from the tower with most of your honor still intact and contemplate your next move.

"Well, that sucked," Omm says, not being able to think of any other way to put it.

"I'm of a mind to march right back in there and lop off all three of their heads. The jester too!" he spits out.

The warrior was in a foul mood now and was becoming quite annoyed at all the nonsense he had encountered since passing through the portal.

"What next? Anyone have any ideas, because if you leave it to me, there will be blood!"

''No, no, this was quite enlightning. We have their measure now. And, to be honest, that is just what had to be expected from those hussies.''
And, to be honest, Zar might have a misogynistic streak.

''I wonder though... there had been stairs in the Knight's room. Would we be allowed to make it down there? Or is he guarding them? Hard to tell. It might be his equivalent to the keys - a promising venue only to be taken after spilling blood in his name.''


OOC: Are there any other doors/stairs/options we have left in the manor?

Felix is with Omm on this one.  Sure, let's try the knight's chamber.  There's a lot more of us than there are of him.  We could probably win that fight without me even losing my good looks.

Sidd sighs, still mourning about the lost chance with the ladies in waiting.
''I dunno. This is all about choices. Deciding to kill one of those jerks might be as much a choice as deciding to kill someone on his/her behest. I dislike making a choice here as long as we know so little about the three spell casters behind it all. How about trying to go down those stairs, but to simply retreat if he says no?''

''We could also go and look what is happening on that battlefield near the manor. At night it might look completly different than at day.''

Felix throws up his hands and exclaims Everything we do here is a choice!  If we want to fight, that's a choice.  If we want to not fight, that's a choice.  If we want to spend the next hour standing here and arguing, that's a choice.  Anything you do is by choice.  You can choose not to decide, you'll still have made a choice!  If these mysterious wizards care about what choices we're making, we still have to make some choices just to find out what their game is.

Arnie responds more calmly at the suggestion of checking the battlefield.  Suppose the dead soldiers come to life at night?  If they are truly alive, they may provide valuable information.  If they are undead, we will be there to destroy them.

Omm shrugs his shoulders with indifference. "Doesn't make a lick of difference one way or another. This whole blasted realm makes no sense so it's not like thinking's to do us any good anyway. Might as well just pick any thing at random, like a card from a deck, and go with that."

At this point, Omm is ambivalent about any course of action. He will go along with whatever the group decides.

One of you can't resist a glance outside as you pass through the foyer and its direct access to the high gate through which you entered the manor house. Outside a thick midnight blue mist cloaks the vale and the sky above holds true to midnight blue. Somewhere in the distance, you hear the exultant cry of the captain as he corners his quarry. Overseeing it all is the moon with its jester's cap and curling lips.

Shaking your heads, you traipse through the throne room, sidestepping more spilled flagons of wine, and off to the side opposite the larder follow the stairs down...

...The walls of the stairwell are heavy with moss. A rivulet of water trickles down the steps, pooling on the flagstone landing below. A rusted stone gate rests against one wall. Beyond the low stone lintel, you can see marshland running down to the lake.

The faint scent of rotting meat hangs in the air.

''Ah, the Knight is outside, hunting. I even think he might slaughter right now the men we have seen dead on the battlefield! Anyway, that's good for us, because it means the stairs might be unguarded.''

And indeed that's the case, and the party files down the stairs.

''An exit? That's all? We could have taken the front door instead. We could have avoided the stench this way.'' Sidd takes a look for the source of the smell. More corpses, no doubt.


OOC: Is it just the exit, or are there some more rooms, doors or corridors in the cellar?

Nevertheless, it is good to know if there are extra entrances to the place, Arnie opines.  One never knows when such information may become invaluable.

Felix chimes in Is one planning on another valiant escape at the first sign of danger?

I shan't dignify that with a response.

"Shan't?"  Since when do you say "shan't?"  You're really letting this cleric nonsense go to your head, you know.

Omm exits through the stone gate and walks into the marsh. "Might as well have a look around," he calls out.

The warrior looks at the ground, expecting to find decaying bodies within the tall grass.

The source of the stench is not obvious. With some experimentation, you can tell that it grows weaker when you exit the room. Noting that, you slosh across the marshland, pretending all the while that the moon is most certainly not making obscene gestures at you.

It's a long slog. But the hazards that typically populate fens (vipers, gasses, sinkholes, corpses of the damned) do not inhabit this one. Just mushy ground, reeds, and piping frogs.

At the very edge of the marsh, you find the limit of the world, beyond which swirling mists play host to oblivion. Detached from the marsh, upon its own island of rock, sits a diabolical tower. Into its sides are carved the massive faces of devils, and the maw of one serves as the tower's entrance.

But you are here and it is there with nothing to span the gulf.

There is a small signpost where the bridge should be.

Time: Near Dawn
Location: At the edge of the world

''Oh. That is why the tower is even behind the moon. It's beyond the edge of the world...''
Sidd says, and steps up to the signpost to read it.

Arnie also goes to read the sign.

The sign reads:

Tower Beyond the Moon
Hours of Operation
For us: Always
For you: Oneways

Do not dush to cross
on the dust but traipse
On the dusp of night. 

Now, what does that mean? Everybody turns to Omm for his answer.

Omm throws up his hands in exasperation after hearing the sign read aloud "I haven't a clue what this means. Maybe we can walk right across?" he says while looking across the vast emptiness.

Omm then gives the sign a shove, hoping it will activate a bridge of some sort. Barring that, it is a good way to blow off frustration.

''Well, obviously,'' Zar explains, letting his friends come into the benefit of his superior - or so he seems to believe - intellect, ''we can cross the bridge at midnight only. Particles in the air will probably be enchanted by the moonlight. But we can do so only once, so we should make very sure that we have done all we can on this side of the moon before trying it. Not now.''

''I suggest we start strip-searching the whole landscape, and return to the manor afterwards.''


OOC: On a customary RPG map I would beging walking through every hex now. ;)

More than one of you longs to return to the Fields of the Fallen, a melancholic wind in his sails. But it's on the other side of the manor (as the tower is on the other side of the gulf). The lake's closer and you haven't been there.

"Just a lake," you comment to yourselves, perhaps a bit irregular in form (like an internal organ) you would discover were you to circumnavigate it. And its estuary, were you to follow it, instead of meeting the ocean, meets the ceaseless tide of the starry void.

Like the tower before it, it has a signpost which you quickly read.

Firefly Lake
Hours of Operation: Dusk
Warning: Excessive Fireflies

Huh. Why couldn't the the other sign have been as direct?

Shrugging, you begin the long trudge back to the tower and its field. Your steps assume a regular, if soggy, rhythm. The rise and fall in volume of the buzzing of insects lulls your senses. As if in a waking dream, you share the following vision:

The jester, his silk motleys' greasy sheen just all that much greasier after the night's revels, performs the daily deal:

Al-Hazred, The Scribe
Prince of Swords
Nine of Swords

Darjr, the Magician
The Ladies in Waiting
The Hierophant
Seven of Swords

Erodiade, The Sorceress
Ten of Swords
Eight of Swords


In a stately tone, he proclaims: "Magician Ascendant" and then gives you all a good, long leer before vanishing.

Above you, the sun, a sickly yellow, rises, casting its pale gleams thinly about.

A swordsman in ruined yellow livery greets you at the edge of the fields of the fallen, having separated himself from his less ambulatory fellows to do so.

"My master bids you pay court to him at the Tower of the Moon."
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:48, Tue 17 June 2014.

Arnie steps forward, puffing out his chest in a vain attempt at noble bearing, and says Tell us who is your master, good sir, that we may pay our respects appropriately.  He then drops the act and says, in a more regular voice, And would you happen to know anything about a magician?  A yellow one, perhaps?

''Arnie, don't play dumb,'' the cleric is rebuked by Zar.
''The Prince of Swords' master today is the blue scribe. With whom we probably do not want to have to do anything anyway.''

''From our vision I further conclude that our actions on the previous day did cost the red sorceress precious points. We declined her, and now she does not even have an important card to her name anymore, just a few unnamed ones. Whose significance we have not worked out yet, by the way.''

Sidd bulges in. ''So we can choose the yellow magician simply by not choosing him, but by declining the blue scribe? Hmmm... we have to tread cautious.''

Omm twists one side of his mouth and his brow knits into what might be perceived as incredulity. Or maybe, just utter confusion.

"What actions on the previous day? Points?" he asks Arnie while throwing his arms out wide, hands turned upward.

"I don't quite get what you mean by points, but I can't see that anything we did here so far as made one inch of difference in anything..."

"We talked to a dozing prince, were turned away by a monstrous priest, and were all caught up with henpecking hags. We didn't do nothing, leastwise that I can see."

Omm finds something to sit on, anything, removes his helm and awaits the group's decision about what to do next.

At Omm's summation, you hear the jingling of bells and peals of raucous laughter. You even catch a waft of spoiled cinnamon buns, but the jester must have found himself a fine hidey hole for you can't spot him.

"I serve," the vassal replies, checking his livery for certitude, "Darjr, the Magician."

While you don't trust his pronunciation, you have no reason to doubt him.

"And so should you," he appends, but with little conviction.

Omm briefly looks to his companions for guidance as to what to do with the vassal's revelation before blurting out, "What makes Darjr," his handling of the wizard's name was ham-fisted, "so worthy of our devotion?"

Sidd scratches his beard, which has gotten a bit tangled due to neglect by now. ''Uh. So you still serve that yellow guy, and are inviting us over. Across the bridge, I take it. Can we return from there? Or will this end our time here?''

And how come you're not even sure who you work for?, Felix adds.  Seems like they keep shuffling you around.  What kind of crazy system is that?  You don't even know what uniform to coordinate with from one day to the next.

"Things seem to take care of themselves," he says, doing nothing to dispel your nebulous notions of the demi-plane.

You peer a little more closely at his tabard. Beneath the spattered blood and what you hope are just egg stains (what else could they be?), you can make out enough of the number seven to conclude that he is the Seven of Swords, sworn to fealty to the magician--for today.

"Across the bridge at dusk and then return then as well."

"And enjoy your time therein," he offers, noncommittally.

A few amber finches land and begin pecking in one of the field's furrows for their morning nourishment. Not enough to make up a charm but enough to remind you of the deal.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:57, Sun 09 Feb 2014.

"Back to the tower then?" Omm asks his companions.

''Zar,'' Sidd laughs, ''you have gone blind in your advanced age. This is not the Prince of Swords we have met. It's a lower card, the seven. That one's indeed yellow today.''

''I wanted to try the lake at dusk, but sure, that one won't go away, and I am sure eager to talk with one of the three. Let's be at the tower at dusk then! Now is still morning however, lots of time yet.''

''Shall we recheck on the manor? Or search the countryside? There might be more surprises like the lake around.''

Omm shrugs, "Sure. No sense hanging around here I suppose."

He begins to depart, before turning and asking, "Wait, what difference does it make who is what color at any given time? Is there some sort of combination that allows us to leave this accursed place?"

''I guess so, yes. This seems to be some game of supremacy between the three magicians, maybe about dominance over this plane, or maybe over some greater prize. I imagine gathering all cards, major and minor, into one hand or color might have significance. But let's not be too hasty about such things yet. There might be more at stake than just getting out of here.''

Arnie nods at Sidd's last suggestion and says Yes, if we must lend our support to one of these magicians in order to escape, e should make some effort to determine which is the most righteous.  Or at least the least un-righteous, which is probably the best we're going to get.

You leave the Seven of Swords to his solitary station for the hospitality of the manor, for the clarity of your speech belies your wariness. In the throne room, you find Prince of Swords, Captain Kaschei, slumped in the demi-throne next to the other throne, the one fit for a sorcerer king. His cheeks have the rotten hue of a forgotten plum.

With the larder unguarded, you help yourselves to hard salamis and an exceptionally tangy cheddar which calls to mind dreams you cannot yet grasp.

Still some hours until dusk. Still some hours before you have to leave the manor and your cheese to arrive before dusk.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:51, Sun 16 Feb 2014.

Felix stands and watches the slumbering man while polishing off a salami sandwich.  He swallows and then says to his companions Anyone got some rope?  This guy's allied with one of the other wizards today, so maybe he can give us some info on that one once he wakes up.  And I want to make sure he's going to stay cooperative when we wake him up.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:40, Sun 16 Feb 2014.

Omm pulls out a shoehorn from his tunic pocket, "Will this help?" he says with a smile.

Shoving the tool back into his pocket, he quickly adds, "Nope. No rope here."

Assuming nobody else produces a coil of rope, Omm will search the premises for anything which might be used to successful bind a person.

''Is that a, uh, wise idea?'' Sidd asks. ''If he is drunk, we won't get much of an answer out of him anyway. If he is sober he is too dangerous, maybe even bound. I mean, he cut down most of those guys out on the battlefield, didn't he?''

''I think I would rather just talk with the hierophant.''

''While I cannot help but notice that everything here is... sick. Yesterday the knight was sickly yellow. Today he is sickly blue. This realm is not healthy.'' Zar adds.

It seems to be a staple of such enterprises, the question of "Do we have enough rope to tie Person X up?" It's bound to be asked at some point in the evening, or in this case, the afternoon, with the lack of ligature presumed to have a dampening effect on the night's proceedings. Anyhow, in its current state (crumbled in some areas and swampy in others), the manor offers no ligature closet, if it ever did.

Tying up the Prince of Swords probably wouldn't be a good idea, you decide upon further consideration--even if you had the rope.

The chapel of the hierophant is on the second floor of the manor. You remember the debacle of your first visit and contemplate a change in tone.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:11, Sat 01 Mar 2014.

Once it has been established there is no rope to be found, Omm finds somewhere to sit down, takes off his helm, casts his sword to his side and leans back against something solid.

"Well, let's wake him up then and see what he has to say this time."

Felix is still a little worried about the man waking in a hostile mood, so he does his best to make this a happier moment.  He waits until everyone else is ready, whatever that entails, then stands close to the sleeping man's head and says loudly I heard those three wenches are all upstairs, waiting eagerly for the Prince of Swords!

''Well then, I would have preferred the hierophant, but if you all prefer a drunken wreck of a killer who happens to be the pawn of an evil chaos mage today...''
Zar's voice has a nagging tone. He also makes sure to stand in the general vicinity of the door.

At first insensible to Felix's japery, the formerly insensate captain comes to, coughing and hacking tectonically.

"Wine, boy," he bellows after clearing his throat of various and sundry. The shortest among you hastens to offer a bottle of sherry which he drinks down.

He stands before you now, his midnight-blue great cloak billowing in the absence of a wind, and declaims, "Al-Hazred, the Scribe, the Tempest of Infinite Space, awaits you below."

''Oh shit.''

''Ha! Today everyone wants to speak with us! Yes, why not? Let's head below.''

"Talk, talk, talk. All we do is talk." Omm grumbles as he shuffles toward the direction the drunken captain has indicated.

"Let's go see what the scribe has to say..."

With that, the warrior descends down the stairs.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:41, Sun 02 Mar 2014.

Arnie, being the most valiantly cautious of the group, asks When you say "below," you do just mean the cellar, right?  That's not a metaphor or a euphewhatsit?

Ideally he will receive an answer from the captain before deciding on a course of action, but he's not going to wait around long enough to be the last one left with him if the rest of the group walks out.

Felix is happy enough to just leave with the others, after complementing the captain's cloak and snagging a bottle of wine on the way out.

It's agreed. You've all decided. Down the stairs you will go. You go down them.

Wait. You know this place. There is no scribe here. Just stagnant water pooling on the flagstone landing. A rusted stone gate keeping the rest of the marsh out.

And the scent of rotting meat hanging in the air. That too.

You take stock of the matter. The Scribe awaits you below, but where is below?

Felix, struck by inspiration and perhaps the inherited instincts of the small folk, looks around the flagstones for a hold where he might be able to pry one up.  No harm checking, right?  It's not like this place is going to get much shabbier.

Omm assists Felix in his search, though mostly that just entails staying out of the lad's way, for the warrior is not terrible gifted in such matters. Still, what was the old saying about such things...

Omm wracks his head over this for a moment or two and then meanders to some other thought, "So, maybe a secret door or something down here?" he asks aloud.

He picks at a few loose stones...


14:33, Today: Omm rolled 6 using 1d20. find secret door.

There is only one stone to pick at, the flagstone, which even the slight Felix has no trouble lifting clear. It's a passage, alright, no longer secret if it ever was. Too narrow for any but a dwarf in armor, it drops an unsafe distance (20') to some noxious landing below. Felix, or anyone who stoops near, can hear the droning wings of legions of flies, no respite to the odour of the abbatoir, now wafting unobstructed from below.

As he peers below, Felix grips the lip more tightly than the occasion would warrant.

From the throne room, the Captain asks, "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" but in an elocution richer with imprecations.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:07, Tue 11 Mar 2014.

Omm responds to the Captain's query, though perhaps not loud enough for the man to hear him, "Trying to bloody well leave this doomed realm!"

Peering down into the darkness, he asks, "So, whose going in?" while looking over his shoulder, perhaps expecting the Captain to appear at any moment.

I nominate Arnie - he used to spend all his time up to his knees in shit, before he decided he had some holier business to attend to.

There is a world of difference between the smell of shi- the smell of excrement and the smell of death, my diminutive companion.  And clearly the hole calls for someone more, shall we say, diminutive than I?  Worry not, I can ensure that the might of Gorhan protects you as you venture forth.

"It's in here, you bloody fools, it's in here," the Prince of Swords shouts back. "The devil take you if you want to plunge into that pit. And he will..h-"

He reverts to muttering to himself about fate's cruel jest.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:42, Wed 12 Mar 2014.

''A secret entry under the flagstone?! Did we not search the place for exactly such things when we were here before? And another secret door above in the Knight's room, leading to his masters' whereabouts? What did we do here all the time?!'' Zar is nearly frothing.

Sidd pats him on a shoulder. ''Alas, yes, it might just be we forgot about it. We certainly did not look under the flagstone. Though I remember that I intended to look for secret doors, I actually think I forgot about it and then we were out in the march.'' He shrugs his shoulders.
''Anyway, Felix, excellent thinking!''

''I am pretty sure that are not excrements down there, but a multitude of corpses. Our predecessors in this plane perhaps? I will check. Do we have a rope?''
Sidd proceeds to saturate a piece of cloth with strong booze and bind it around mouth and nose. Anything is better than the smell wafting up from below.

If there's a rope, it will be fastened to the iron bars of the marsh gate, and then down he goes.

Arnie is pretty much one to stick to his word, so while Sidd prepares for his descent, the cleric puts a hand on his shoulder and speaks a quiet prayer.  An angelic crown appears over Sidd's head, and he feels more confident in the awful task he is about to undertake.

Josh rolled 18 using 1d20+1. casting Bless.
Effect: Sidd receives a +1 bonus to all attack, damage, save, skill, and spell rolls for 1 turn

Someone produces a pile of rope which is tied to the least rusted bar on the low gate and then attached to Sid with fabulous feats of ligature.

The narrow descent yields to a crag-walled crevice cut into the rock beneath the manor. Hundreds – no, thousands—of black flies crawl along the walls, creeping in and out of cracks spider-webbing the wall, the drone of their wings filling the air.

The stink of rotting meat is nearly overwhelming. Water is pooled on the floor, rising nearly to Sid's calves. Sid can spy broken swords and the occasional spear half-submerged in the inky waters.

There can be no logical explanation for this.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:43, Fri 14 Mar 2014.

Omm calls down, "So, what you see down there?"

Meanwhile, he was still wondering how they missed another exit from the Throne Room and why the Captain had been so dodgy about previously relinquishing that information.

''Uh... crevice... lots of flies... broken weapons... more flies...'' Sidd's voice is muffled from the cloth before his mouth, but even so the stench is just barely bearable.
Cautiously he searches for a way through the pool without stepping into a broken blade, deeper into the crevice. He brought the group's lantern and lights into the cracks to see what's in there beside flies. Are some of them even large enough to enter?

This time spent with befouled water saturating one's boots, with pink strands wending their way between one's toes -- What! Are they crawling, worming, swimming? Propelled by tiny hooks? -- is not good time.

Good or bad time, definitely bad, Sid spends enough of it to espy a passage, lit by the one or two lantern beams that can penetrate the cloud of flies, an egress from his current position. It's at a point where the walls don't completely meet, the juncture not completely formed. Filling the gaps before his eyes (too close for comfort really) are thousands of black flies, their buzzing filling his ears (again too close for comfort).

''Er... guys? This feels real bad... might be a bad idea...''
Sidd returns aghast to the others, because he certainly will not continue alone into that mess. He shivers, and tells what he has seen in detail.

''So, uh, do we want to head into this?''

''We might learn something vital... but I really dunno...''

Omm glances down the shaft once more an studies the inky darkness. "Perhaps we should have the Captain lead us to the Scribe first," he says with a gesture of his head, indicating to head back to the throne room.

"That hole isn't going anywhere. We can always come back."

''Er, yes. I think we will have to go down there sooner or later, but for now let's make it later. Perhaps we can learn a thing or two about it before.''

Zar leads the others back up the stair to the drunken Knight.

''So! Sir Knight! Tell us. What's that fly-crawling stench-ridden bloody hole below? What the hell is down there?''

You return to the throne room (and the demi-throne room) to find the Captain Kaschei engaged in one of his daily rituals, The Oiling, having completed the first one in a ruined corner of room given over to a crumble of mossy stone.

A woven rug covers the floor of the throne room, depicting a party of mounted warriors pursuing an enormous serpent, upon which he now sprawls. Jars of thick brown and black oil are at hand, along with rags, both gauzy and thick. Already off are his knee-high hunting boots to receive the black. Conscientiously, he has covered an area of the rug with papers to prevent staining.

He looks up at Zar's intrusion, irritated.

"Fly-crawling stench-ridden bloody hole? You let me know. The sooner the better."

"Where is the scribe?" Omm bluntly asks the Captain. Assuming the Captain does not cooperate, or readily offer us the scribe's location, Omm will begin by lifting up the rug to look for a possible concealed trap door. If that doesn't work, he will begin tapping various walls in search of a hollow space, which might indicate a secret door.

This, he will do in the presence of the Captain, assuming no assistance is given.

Zar glares at the polishing Knight. '''The devil take you if you want to plunge into that pit. And he will...' That has been your exact words. So don't play dumb now! What is down there?''

Arnie stands near Zar and Sidd but does not say anything yet.  Felix will assist Omm in searching for secret doors, tunnels, etc, if things go that way.

In one of life's small miracles, the corner of rug that Omm pulls back reveals

a rectangular capstone, some 6’ in diameter, set flush with the floor. Chiseled into the capstone is the crude image of a decapitated, three-headed dragon. The capstone is locked in place with three rotating stones, set with keyholes. The keyholes are set with plates – iron, copper and gold.

without disrupting his daily ablutions of leather.

Omm stabs his finger toward the trapdoor and turns to address his companions, "Hey, I think we found a home for those keys the dames gave us!"

Omm retrieves his iron key and holds it aloft with pride. "Who had the copper and gold ones?"

Once the keys have been retrieved, Omm will insert each into their respective receptacle to presumably, open the trapdoor.

Omm slides his key into the corresponding slot. Holding his hand back he says, "Alright, let me have the others..."

Sidd hesitates and stalls. ''Uhm. Uhm. Should we really be doing that? Unlocking things does not automatically mean you are able to lock them again afterwards.''
''I would rather speak with that yellow wizard first? He seemed a bit more amendable than the blue scribe? His mantis-priest wanted to celebrate a black mass and everything.''

Omm sets his jaw, tilts his head downward and motions with his hand once more for the keys to be produced.

"Are we Men, are we mice?" he asks aloud. "This here is the first solid, anything, we have stumbled across since arriving, and now we are going to leave it to go talk to another person who will give us the run around?" he asks incredulously.

''Er...'' Sidd, being cowed and bulldozed over by the big warrior, hesitantly hands over his copper key. Oh, memories of sweet Nyx!

Omm nods and gives Sidd a warm smile, "You're doing the right thing," he says. There was really no way to say whether that was indeed true, but Omm did not think in those terms. Here was lock. They had the keys. It was a no brainer situation to his way of thinking.

"Next..." he says when the two keys have been placed into the lock.

''What if...'' Zar suddenly says, ''what if there is also a set of three locks at the wizard's gate? Perhaps we can only set free one of the three. And that one wins... whatever is at stake here. And we are handing victory to the one of them who is thouroughly evil?''
''I say no. We don't open that lock. And take our keys back. We do not know enough about what's happening here yet.''

Omm sighs with disappointment and awaits others' input. Whatever the case be, they needed to accomplish something, anything, whether for ill or good. This running around in circles thing was getting old.

If one of the wizards' servants called for a black mass, then surely he must be the most evil of the lot.  And just how evil can a "scribe" really be anyway?  What's he going to do, write some dirty words into a bible?

In case he hasn't made his point sufficiently, Arnie proceeds to take out his key and put it into the lock himself.

Omm smiles broadly in response to Arnie's action. "Right, let's see what lies beyond..."

With all keys inserted, Omm attempts to pull the door open.

Lost in his working of the leather, now, specifically, the largest and thickest, and it must be said, the driest, of his many belts, the captain reacts to the grinding of stone against stone as internal mechanisms disbar the capstone with nary a nod.

With an even more satisfying rumble, the capstone slides into a recess, exposing stairs descending into the manor's undercarriage.

The stone stairs wind down to the base of a domed vault. Fractured skulls and bits of dried bone litter the worn steps, and gossamer cobwebs drag at your boots and sandals.

Peering into the darkness below, you can see the vault ringed by six archways. Bright mirrors hang on chains from the ceiling, each suspended at different heights, spinning slowly in the flickering torchlight.

As soon as you set foot on the floor of the vault, the stone sconces along the walls spring to life. The magical light is caught and reflected in the mirrors, brightly illuminating the vault.

In the amplified light, the dome beguiles. Elaborate mosaics stretch from floor to ceiling, depicting complex geometric patterns. Polished gems are set within the mosaics, flaring in the light. Astrologers, sky-seers and sages are quick to recognize the ceiling and the jewels as constellations. The constellation of the Dragon stands most prominent, bright in the southern “sky.”
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:50, Mon 31 Mar 2014.

Omm stares up at the play of light in the hanging mirrors and comments, "Alright, smart guys, what do you make of all this?"

Having voiced all that came to mind, the warrior then proceeds to scour the chamber for any exits which might be found, or more importantly, the Scribe. Calling now louder, "Al-Hazred, we seek audience with you, show yourself!"

Arnie stays near the others, presumably in the middle of the room.  He's never thought much about star patterns, so while the jeweled ceiling is certainly impressive, the arrangement doesn't mean anything particularly special to him.

Felix has other things on his mind.  Six archways means six opportunities for something to pop out while they're distracted.  He picks the one farthest on his left, gets as close to the opening as he can without making himself obvious, and peers through to see what's there.  If he has time and doesn't spot anything interesting, he will gradually make his way around the room with the same sneak-and-peek routine.

Zar and Sidd are lost in their contemplation of the strange apparatus of mirrors, lights and gems, examining its workings and guessing about its functions and applications and occassionally muttering in awe. If the owner is around, he will show himself soon enough.
Or not. It might be a matter of the right time and constellation - even the Yellow Wizard asked for them only at dusk.

You busy yourselves in the manor's planetarium.

Omm circumnavigates the base of the dome, calling out for their summoner, who for the moment proves unsummonable. Amidst the dust of ages, he spots a large scale, with the appearance of rough stone flecked with mica. With his gauntleted hand, he scoops it out from the filigree of ancestral bones and threads of shrouds.

In between one of Omm's throaty expostulations, Felix hears the sound of slithering from one of the archways. Like all disturbing, and most certainly threatening sounds, he can't place it with any accuracy. It could be very well emanating from the furthest portal or the source could be just inches from his nose.

For lack of anything better to do, Arnie experimentally snuffs the air, one of his longstanding habits. It smells cool and damp. Its tertiary signature piques his interest: cracked eggshells discovered beneath a boulder in a parched vale.

Unable to locate the source of the sound, Felix walks back to the others and nervously informs them of the coming threat, vague as it may be.  He then draws his crowbar to be ready for its arrival.

''Er... egg shells and slithering? Did some kind of serpent or basilisk hatch in here?''
Zar and Sidd slowly retreat into direction of the stairs, prepared for a hasty flight, but not quite willing to do so yet.

Omm pockets the scale while drawing his sword in his right hand. Glancing now slowly about the room, sweeping his vision here and there, the warrior calls out again, "Show yourself fell serpent, and may you harbor no ill will toward our lot, for if so, by the Gods, I will lop your head off!"

Omm paces slowly through the mirrored hall, poised to strike anything that makes a sudden move.

It occurs to Arnie that some divine assistance might be good if any sudden moves are indeed directed toward Omm.  He walks over to the warrior and begins chanting softly, but in his nervousness he flubs the rhythm of the chant, and the spell fizzles.

The serpent, like so many other entities of this demi-plane of the damned, does not seem to respond to verbal entreaties -- if there even is a serpent to respond or not.

Omm shrugs his shoulders while turning to regard his companions, "So much for that. We don't see to be doing too good here..."

The warrior continues his search of the room, looking for any other exits or portals. If he finds none, he suggests the group go somewhere else and will solicit input as to where that might be.

''Er... no snake? But we heard something, did we not?'' Zar sighs.
''Perhaps it is small yet, and does not dare approach us. Or is that too much to hope for? Either way, we are here, so let's take a closer look, and see what it shall bring forth.''

Zar and Sidd start a systematic search of the hall, checking every nook, sending light into every hole and exit.

Arnie and Felix stay close, neither one complaining about the wizards taking lead on this search.

When you try to illuminate the passages, you observe that the light doesn't travel as far as it should, just a few feet in front of you instead of ten's of feet.

You really can't tell if one passage is any more promsing than another. Nothing is physically preventing you from trying one of them or leaving the star chamber.

Omm glances around the room once more, pulls the brim of his helm a bit lower and the strides toward and through the nearest archway. "Let's see what lies this way..."

He walks through the first archway and will continue to walk through subsequent archways, testing what happens with each.

OOC: Omm starts with archway #1 and move his way to #6, assuming nothing happens before then. What archway is #1? Doesn't really matter which one is chosen. Closest to the entrance we initially walked through, starting with the one on the left.

''That's the spirit!'' Sidd encourages Omm, and he and Zar fall in line behind the warrior, joining him in the exploration of the dark hallways.

Omm turns back, nods his head to acknowledge Sidd's encouragement, and boldly (perhaps foolishly) steps into the darkness ahead...

Arnie boldly takes up the rear position.  Felix squeezes into the middle more easily.

Taking one of the six egresses, Omm leads the party further into the manor tomb, what must be some manner of sprawling cavern. Your lanterns, which would normally supply 30 feet of lush illumination (or 80' if hooded), halt at half that, and whoever's holding a torch has his 40' halved to 20'. There's no reason the cave should be so Stygian, let alone oppressive:

The inky darkness seems to press in on all sides. You can hear the sounds of dripping water and smell moisture on the air, mixed with a faint, acrid odor.

Before long, you find the cavern's true inhabitant:

The stone drake that lives here is over 15’ tall when standing upright, with the head of a featherless rooster, the scaled body of a theropod, and long, drooping claws atop vestigial arms. The lizard-thing’s thin scales are the color of stone, flecked with mica.

It blinks a few times, probably trying to remember what a theropod is.

OOC If your init's > 7, you may act before the stone drake.

Init Table
Stone Drake: 7

Without any thoughts of self-preservation, Omm races further into the cavern, his long sword held at the ready. The warrior closes the distance in hopes of quickly neutralizing the stone drake by lopping its head off.

While he might deserve some credit for the attempt, the execution is sorely lacking, due largely to the fact the beast's head sits so high off the ground. Once the drake stands fully erect, Omm can only look up in trepidation at the sheer size of this monster.

"Whoa...this thing is big," he says, stating the obvious.

Then a thought occurs to him. "The dragon! This is it!" again stating the obvious.

17:07, Today: Omm rolled 9,1 using d20,d3. Mighty Deed of Arms: Lop off its Head!

Zar and Sidd instantly launch into arcane tongues, trying to outdo each other with incomprehensible gibberish. Maybe they should have concentrated more on the dragon than on each others performance, because both attempts at magic come out rather garbled. The effort is clearly taxing Zar and he looks downright famished, but still the best the old man can do is to summon some weakly flickering flames and to blacken his fingertips. ''Ouch!''
''Fool!''
''No, you are!''
''Dotard!''
''Imposter!''

Zar: Casts Flaming Hands, fail and spell lost
Sidd: Casts Sleep, fail and spell lost

18:41, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 9 using 1d20+1. Sidd: Sleep.
18:41, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 4 using 1d20+2. Zar: Flaming Hands.
18:37, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 17 using 1d20+2. Initiative.

Arnie, seeing what is about to happen, quickly moves forward to place his blessing on Omm.  It's hard for him to put enough confidence into the spell for proper casting, but having a halfling nearby subconsciously helps him feel better.  Omm soon has the power of Gorhan guiding his sword (although maybe still not enough to help this round - +1 to all attack rolls for 1 turn).

Felix then whispers to Arnie Hey, give me your trowel.
Arnie whispers back No, I cannot travel safely without it.
No, that's towels you idiot.  I sad "trowel."
Oh, alright.  Reluctantly, the cleric takes the filthy trowel that remains from his old life and hands it to Felix.  Felix, taking advantage of the darkness, sneaks up close to the drake and starts looking for a good spot where he can strike without getting in Omm's way.  Armed with two weapons and shielded by shadows, he is feeling awfully brave at the moment.

Josh rolled 20 using 1d20+1. initiative.

Josh rolled 13 using 1d20+1. casting Bless. - Felix burns 1 luck to raise it to 14

Josh rolled 20 using 1d20+3. sneaking.

The question for Felix is, does the stone dragon have any clear anatomical vulnerabilities? Does a stone heart thump within its chest? Failing that, does a stone lower intestine convey fecal matter to its egress? Felix does not know; he will have to have faith.

While the rest of you sensibly avoid making eye contact, Ohm, by virtue of his attempted heroic feat of arms*, has to raise his eyes (DC 10 Reflex save, pls). He can probably be forgiven in his excitement. Here he is with a dragon - for reals.

Before Zar can sling another insult, the dragon proves itself draconic by immediately clawing him (3 dmg to Zar).

OOC All players may act. Beware of inadvertently subjecting yourself to its gaze attack. Precautions might be warranted.

Felix is hidden and may attempt a backstab.

*Think in terms of a trip or a knock down for this ability.
*A halfling doubles the bonus of a Luck check. For every 1 point of Luck expended, a Halfling gains a +2 to his roll.

"The eyes! Don't look it in the eyes!" Omm cries out in alarm.

Having already looked into the dragon's deathly orbs, Omm redirects his efforts to its feet and legs, and those terrible talons...

Omm attempts to lance off one of the dragon's foot, all the while avoiding looking the creature in the eyes. It's harder than it might sound, and his attack is little more effective than last time.

19:40, Today: Omm rolled 10,2 using d20,d3. mighty deed of arms: knockdown.
18:50, Today: Omm rolled 20 using 1d20+1. reflex save.

Arnie follows Zar as the latter retreats to a safer position, then puts a hand on his wound and speaks a quick incantation.  Nothing happens.  It seems the great god of valor and chivalry has no desire to heal some sniveling wizard.

Back at the front, Felix now springs from the shadows, wildly swinging his crowbar in one hand and Arnie's trowel in the other.  He strikes the monster with considerably less force than he had imagined.

Josh rolled 6 using 1d20+1. lay on hands.

Josh rolled 16,11 using d16+1,d16+1. two attacks. - the 16 might have hit, but I'm pretty confident the 11 didn't
  Josh rolled 2 using 1d6+1. damage. (just in case)

Zar retreats out of the melee, hobbling and bleeding, and sends an arrow in the rough direction of the dragon, just to show his irritation.
Sidd meanwhile realizes that he has run out of offensive magics already and reaches for his trusty shovel. His strike is a bit on the weak side though, and unlikely to incapacitate the dragon.

12:55, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 4 using 1d20+1. Zar: Bow.
12:55, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 16 using 1d20. Zar disengaging.

19:32, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 10 using 1d20. Sidd: shovel vs dragon.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:56, Sat 26 Apr 2014.

Of the second volley of attacks, the clank of the crowbar announces the only success. Felix's first attack has dislodged a chunk of mica-flecked stone (AC 15)(2 dmg to stone dragon).

Arnie feels the prick of Gorhan's disapproval (+1 to his daily disapproval), which is little worse than a pebble lodged in a sandal. But it's thinking just such as this that transforms the pebble into a burrowing weevil.

Undeterred, the osseous dragon snaps its jaws at the cleric who faints dead away at the descent of the crashing cuspids, leaving naught but air where the cuspids meet. Arnie recovers in time to prepare his retaliation (+2 to A's next action) while the dragon begins to track its gaze across the ants, preparing to petrify one of them.

*S/Z: you only need to make the disengage roll if you wish to move from close to medium or far.

What is not shining favorably upon Omm, for he continues his bumbling ways and is unable to land a single blow!

The intent was to slice the back of the dragon's hind leg, thereby hamstringing the monster. The execution is something else altogether. Perhaps his sword was not weighted correctly?

Fate's Fell Hand indeed.

16:17, Today: Omm rolled 5,1 using d20+3,d3 with rolls of 2,1. Mighty Deed of Arms: Hamstringing.

Arnie might be facing a bit more disfavor than usual in the eyes of his patron god, but that doesn't feel like as much of a threat as the stone maw that's right here in front of him.  The quick prayer that follows doesn't seem to help matters much though...

Felix, on the other hand, makes a far better show of valor as he continues bashing away at the dragon with both of his weapons.  Once again, the trowel leaves little more than a scratch, but the crowbar makes a good gouge this time.

Josh rolled 7 using 1d20+1. casting.

Josh rolled 16,11 using d16+1,d16+1. two attacks.
  Josh rolled 6 using 1d6+1. damage.

From his relative safe vantage point halfway up the stairs Zar tries to shoot the dragon with an arrow, but his attempts are seriously inhibited by him closing his eyes. It is no wonder that he misses the dragon - it is rather remarkable though that he manages to not hit any of his friends either.

Sidd, swinging his trusty shovel right at the front line, has more luck (or ability). He is also avoiding the dragon's eyes and concentrates on its feet, viciously denting a toe with the blade of his spade. He might even have severed the little appendage!


22:11, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 3 using 1d4. dmg.
22:10, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 12 using 1d20. Sidd: Shovel.
22:10, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 3 using 1d20+1. Zar: Bow.

Even with Felix's demolition work, you're starting to think there has to be a better way.

The stone dragon attempts to make eye contact with Arnie (DC 10 Ref or turn to stone). Does Arnie have the cunning of Theseus?

Stone Dragon: -8 hp

OOC: You're not in the planetarium but in a cavern beyond, reached after taking of the portals out of the room. After some wandering, you encountered the stone dragon.

"Maybe we draw the dragon out into the mirrored room, let it get a good look at itself!" Omm suggests while effecting a measured withdrawal. "Get behind me boys, let's draw it out!"

With that, Omm holds his sword aloft in a defensive stance and slowly backs out of the  tunnel, hoping to lure the dragon into the mirrored chamber.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:23, Wed 30 Apr 2014.

Zar looks at the group's warrior in astonishment. ''Why the heck did I not think of this? Yes! Retreat to the mirror room it is!''
Since he has already disengaged he uses the opportunity to waste another arrow, and then hurries away through the cave tunnel.

Sidd is a bit slower on the uptake and hence needs all his concentration on pulling off getting away, and has none left to get in another strike with his shovel. Soon enough he is running back through the tunnels, too.

21:23, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 4 using 1d20. Sidd: disengage.
21:22, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 4 using 1d20+1. Zar: bow.

Felix makes a last quick attack that glances off of the stony scales, then runs back with the others.  Arnie, though normally a great proponent of any plan that starts with "move valiantly away from the enemy," is currently preoccupied by something in the dragon's eye...

Josh rolled 2 using 1d20+1. Ref - time to find out what this gaze attack does

Josh rolled 10 using 1d20. F - disengage.
Josh rolled 14,9 using d16+1,d16+1. attacks.

The cavern, not a tunnel, does not allow for a "measured withdrawal" in the same manner a sloping valley might. It's sprawling and preternaturally dark. Really, it only allows for a madcap dash, preferably through one of the portals and not into one of the walls or, worse, the waiting point of a stalagmite, just to mention a couple of hazards.

Arnie won't be facing any of them. He's a monument to the perils of petrification. After his all too few years on this earth, he has finally caught the eye of something more majestic than himself, and just his luck, it's more basilisk than vixen.

A few minutes later, the rest of you, gasping, return to the manor's subterranean planetarium.

Omm comes to a stop in the planetarium with shield and sword at the ready, more than half-expecting the dragon to be hot on the party's heels. When he doesn't see the dragon he breaths a sigh of relief, but then notices a missing companion.

"Anyone seen Arnie?" he asks aloud to his other companions. "Arnie?!" he calls out in desperation, perhaps suspecting what might have happened. It could have been any of them: they got lucky.

"Dammit!" he spits out in frustration. For the moment, he waits for the dragon to appear, while shielding his eyes and relying more on his sense of hearing to detect the dragon's presence.

Felix, ever the master of tact and respect, says Yeah, I ran past him on the way out.  Let's just say he's looking a lot more cultured these days.  Better dressed, too.

''Let's worry about poor Arnie later!'' Zar calls and comes to a stop.
''Douse the lights! Douse the lights! We want the basilisk or whatever to be hit with a full broadside of itself - once it is here! Not before.''

Omm shoots a look to Sidd, who had been carrying the party's lantern. "Close the shutter!"

Perhaps the shutter could be closed to just provide the bare minimum of light and then placed in a spot of the cavern which would draw the dragon to it, with the party hiding in the shadows nearby?

Either way, Omm tightly grasps sword and shield and prepares for the dragon to emerge into the planetarium.

Felix makes sure to keep a little distance between himself and the others once it goes dark.  If they have to fight the creature again, he might as well be able to hit it from a different side than everyone else.

''I carry the lantern? I carry the lantern!'' Sidd, who has been too much occupied with survival up to this moment, remebers the lantern and closes its shutter. Preparing himself to pull it open again once he has an indication that the dragon-basilisk is near. Probably by the death screams of one of his companions if not his own, but well.

Having re-assembled yourselves in the dungeon-level starscape, you hushedly await the stone-footed pursuer. Either it doesn't have an abundance of self-esteem or it has enough sense to avoid inimical environments. The latter, of course.

Omm waits in suspense, expecting the dragon to appear at any moment. When it does, he sighs and comments, "Well, if the dragon won't take the fight out here, on account of the mirrors, maybe we take the fight to it...armed not with swords, but MIRRORS!"

The warrior then attempts to remove one of the suspended mirrors from the chain. Worse case scenario, he will hack one of mirrors free of its chain with his sword, but he will first attempt to finesse it. If the mirror breaks, so be it, there can't be much to that old wives tale anyway. The goal is to secure a sizable shard of mirror and use it against dragon.

Done! The warrior also recalls from his training how a phalanx could harness the very power of the sun. Could he do the same?

Felix follows Omm's lead and looks for a mirror that is both small and low enough for him to remove from its fixture and carry back to the field of battle.

Zar looks thoughtfully at Omm. ''I dunno. Without light a mirror is pretty useless. And the light out in the caves was pretty dim.''
''It is pretty bright in here though. Perhaps we need to channel the light out of the planetarium, along a series of mirrors?''

"How do you suppose we do that?" Omm asks with curiosity. He then checks to see whether the light of Sidd's lamp provides enough illumination to see his own reflection in the mirror. It had been a while since he had last seen his own mug and it was undoubtedly as handsome as ever, but still, it paid to know for certain.

Both Sidd and Zar follow Omm's example and equip themselves with mirror shards.
''Allright! Let's go avenge... Heck, what was his name?''

19:11, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 8 using 1d20+2. Initiative.

Arnie?  Sure, I guess we could dedicate this to avenging him, as long as it gets us out of this place.

Josh rolled 5 using 1d20+1. new init roll.

Omm can see every detail of his handsome mug in the dechained mirror.

"His name was..." Omm starts to answer while walking back toward the location where he last saw the dragon, and then, silence. "Felix? Franky? Froderick?"

Omm then feels badly about not remembering the chap's name, but not for too long. Truth is if the same happened to him, he was not so sure his companion's would remember his name either. He intended not to test out the theory.

With that thought in mind, and with mirror pointed in an angle to navigate by, Omm steps forward...


00:46, Today: Omm rolled 10 using 1d20+1. Initiative.

Arnie. It's chiseled into one of the faces of the pedestal on which his statue stands. A few cave pigeons have already settled on his bent shovel, but they flap away before any of you get too close. They don't fly away too far; there might be scraps. Even petrified, Arnie emits the odor of offal, no doubt tantalizing the pigeons.

Patrolling around is the stone dragon. When the party violates the perimeter of its sculpture garden, it levels its three unblinking eyes, all set in its forehead, at Omm -- seconds before the fighting man thinks to raise his mirror (DC 10 reflex save to avoid petrification).

OOC all surviving pc's can act and can roll the dragon's reflex save for it.

Felix, having been briefed on the plan ahead of time, quickly raises his mirror as soon as he sees the dragon coming.

Josh rolled 4 using 1d20. dragon's reflex save? did I understand correctly what I'm rolling for?

Omm is ready for Old Stone Bones, and quickly draws his mirror into position as the stone dragon reappears. "Get a good long look at yourself why don't you!?" he calls out in a taunt.

Holding the mirror in his shield arm, the warrior does his best to position the mirror at an angle that will allow the dragon to see itself.

He's not a complete fool however, for in his other arm, a sword is still at the ready.

07:56, Today: Omm rolled 21 using 1d20+1. Reflex Save.

Unfortunately Zar and Sidd are mostly busy directing their mirror at each other, maybe in misinterpretion of the task at hand.
''Imbecile!'' ''Git!''


OOC: Assuming that rolling high is bad, because the dragon manages to succeed in his save. If rolling high is good, Zar and Sidd are on a killing streak. ;)

15:35, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 15 using 1d20. Sidd: dragon save.
15:34, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 17 using 1d20. Zar: dragon save.

With Felix's brandishing of his unchained mirror, the population of the subterranean sculpture garden doubles. Following him, Omm, Sidd, and Zar each try to petrify the stone dragon with its own gaze, but it gazes no longer.

A trickling of water from the southern recesses of the cavern suggest an egress away from, and not back to, the dome of the mosaicked drake.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:47, Sun 18 May 2014.

Sidd, discovering a solid core of bravery, knocks with his hand against the mica dragon, to check whether it has really turned into solid stone. Awesome.

Zar turns to Arnie though, checking on his unfortunate compatriot. ''Poor fella. I am dabbling my way into mastery of magics, but against this I am powerless. Let's hope that any consequences in this dire realm are only temporary and that Arnie will be returned to us.''

''Shall we explore the course of the trickling water? Sidd! Light the way.''
And Sidd complies.

Placing a hand on the statue of Arnie, Omm replies to Zar, "Well, he isn't going anywhere, that's for sure. So maybe we can find a way to bring him back to his old self. Maybe some wizard scroll or somesuch?" he adds while shrugging his shoulders. Such things were beyond his knowledge, but knew wizards were able to tap into the great power held within the strange sigils they wrote on their scrolls.

There wasn't much to do now, but explore further. With that thought in mind, and no dragon running around, he leads the way to where the trickling water is heard.

Felix gives the petrified dragon a good whack with his crowbar for good measure before following the others out.  Then a thought occurs to him and he quickly runs back and hits the dragon a couple more times, hoping to break off a small piece that he can keep as a souvenir.

Felix's thwacking of the stoned dragon obliterates it. Thwacking might be inaccurate; it was the first thwack that did it. Mica is, after all, little stronger than shale, a sedimentary rock.

Amidst the pebbles and dust, Felix finds an onyx, banded with white stripes and opaque even in the brightest lights (60 gp value).

Feeling more lucky than rich, you follow the sound of trickling water out of the stone drake's cavern and discover:

A small grotto is set into the wall of the cavern. You can make out a wide stone basin emerging from the floor like a stalagmite. Oily black liquid is pooled within the circle, glowing with a faint violet hue in the dim light.

Omm cautiously approaches the liquid and takes a closer look in an attempt to discern what it might be. He then sniffs the air.

"Hey, what do you make of this here?" he asks aloud, hopeful his companions will have a clue what it might be.

Felix doesn't have any idea, but he decides that for a first test, he will lower one of the many gloves he carries into the liquid to see what happens.  Just a finger-length, if that, and without his hand actually in it.

''The color, my young friends, of this oily liquid lets me assume that this is the medium we use to interact with our host, the scribe. Some kind of scrying basin perhaps.''

''So how does it work?''

''A moment.'' Zar mulls this problem over. If neither staring into the bowl nor one of Felix's glove fingers shows any result he will have to become inventive.

It's a scrying bowl. Peer within and behold the object of your whimsy. Some things are harder to capture than others, and some are best not captured at all.

OOC Will Check for success for those who wish to peer. Variable DC.

Felix steps back to let the wizards take care of using wizardly devices.  In the meantime he tries to get as much ink as he can off of the glove - this one might be beyond salvage, but no reason it has to ruin the others when he puts it back in his pack.

''Aaaah!'' ''Ooooh!'' Zar and Sidd, both dabblers in the arcane arts, are drawn forward by the alluring promise of the scrying pool. Knowledge!

Zar is searching for a solution of their current conundrum. How to escape this demiplane and to savely return to the normal world? If possible though he looks for a way which does not only bring them back, but also lets them benefit from the experience. It must be possible to increase his knowledge and mastery of magic in this place?

Sidd is more practical. He remembers his joint labor with Arnie in the shit drenches of A Thousand Sands. He won't leave him here as a mica souvenir of the three mages! So he looks for a way to turn their friend back to human flesh.


17:45, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 19 using 1d20+1. Sidd scrying bowl.
17:45, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 14 using 1d20. Zar scrying bowl.

As dabblers in the arcane arts, both Sidd and Zarr know that scrying pools eschew the abstract, so within them, they won't find concepts such as "escape" or "restoration" or even "nourishment." They're strictly a person, place, or thing sort of deal as long as the thing's not an idea, nouns for the literal-minded perhaps.

They could gain a vision of the larder or the Tower beyond the Moon. If they were so inclined, they could even peek in on the Ladies in Waiting or the Hierophant. The Eye of Al-Hazred cannot behold virtue or sin, only their vessels or stages.

OOC Person, place, or thing. Lower DC for better known locations or persons.

Omm watches on as the others view the divining pool, sword at the ready in the event some menace leaps out of the dark, swirling liquid.

He could not think of anything to think about while using the pool, at least nothing concrete that would secure the party's passage out of this doomed demi-plane. Not that he knew what that word meant, but he had maybe overheard Sidd and Zarr talking about it at some point earlier.

"So, what d'ya see?" he asks after a time.

Stymied by the scrying pool's (or their own) limitations, Zar and Sidd concentrate on more direct things to research. Zar settles on the tower beyond the moon - surely there are many secrets worth seeking in that monumental abode. Sidd however sticks with a more obscure topic - namely the Fool himself. A trickster if he ever met one, and poised at the core of this mystery.

Felix listens as the two wizards mutter and bicker about how the scrying pool works and what they should use it for.  When he gets an opening he asks them Any chance we could use that thing to show us the rest of this "basement?"  Maybe find some other way out, without having to go back to that stupid knight?  Or at least let us see if there's going to be more trouble ahead like the dragon?

Zar gives the litle man his 'you are probably just stupid' eye. ''It's dark in here - not much to see. But go ahead, try for yourself, young man.''


OOC: Really, my guys' Will save, which is what we are required to roll, is probably not better than Felix' own. ;)

Given that invitation, Felix steps up onto a conveniently located rock and looks into the bowl.  He thinks real hard and twists his face into various positions (certainly not in mockery of any proper wizards, of course not!), hoping some image will show up...

Josh rolled 18 using 1d20+2. Will.

Heads a-bobb'n, you crowd round the scrying pool, each of you secretly convinced that Al-Hazred will only have eyes for you.

Each in turn has his own vision except for Felix who bethinks of nothing more or less than hope since he has no especial place in mind.

The Tower of Beyond the Moon stands in momentary solitude. But then as the last full light of day fades and the grays of early evening spread, a silvery span materializes and crosses the chasm.

Sidd, in his turn, beholds a canopy of flies which form the recesses of a cavern. The jester appears to be checking the contents of one of the fissures beyond the wall of insects, probably a 16th-century volume of maritime-themed limericks.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:57, Thu 29 May 2014.

Zar and Sidd continue to stare into the basin. Sidd, inding the jester to be in the cave of flies, takes this as a pointer and searches those terrible crags with the help of the pool. What might there be beyond the veil of terror and flies? Other than books about maritime-themed limericks.
Zar stays with his original topic and shifts his point of view into the topmost room of the tower of the moon. Belatedly he wonders if there might be any kind of cost connected with the pool, and what it might be. It quite messes with his concentration.


21:14, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 14,2 using d20+1,d20. scrying pool, Sidd, Zar.

Sidd, having technically seen the object he wishes to espy from a distance, has sufficient will to control the pool. However, as in some three-penny farce, the jester's big butt keeps obscuring the pool's view. Each time the eye pans to the left for an angle on the contents of the crag, the joker's big back swivels in turn. It's diabolical.

Zarr, having also technically seen the location he wishes to espy from a distance, although with an absolute stretching of said technicality, cannot muster sufficient will to command the Eye of Al-Hazred and for that he must drown.

An inky violet ichor animates and immediately upon animation plunges towards Zarr's open mouth, even it is open to no more than the smallest of o's, Zarr being a rather pinched personality.

OOC Init for the Eye of Al-Hazred: 23. Match or exceed it to act first, even Zarr.

Omm suspected something awful might come of messing around with the inky pool, and now his suspicions were being confirmed.

"Draw back!" he cries aloud while drawing his sword in a defensive gesture.


OOC: 17:20, Today: Omm rolled 20 using 1d20+1. Initiative.

Zarr is busy gurgling for air.

11:14, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 13 using 1d20+2. Initiative.

Felix is too busy rolling his eyes at the sudden appearance of yet another weird attacker to actually respond to being attacked.

Josh rolled 4 using 1d20+1. init.

And just like that, Zar nearly dies. The violet appendage-like thing ropes through the finite space between Zarr's piping mouth and the scrying pool & plunges through the dime-shaped orifice. It's a wrenching, if not catastrophic, experience (5 dmg/ 6 sta loss).*

*the sta loss would result in further hp loss, reducing Zarr to zero hps at which point in time he would be considered "bleeding out." If he is not healed in some way before the end of Round #2, he will die. Or continue to drown. It's hard to say.

Omm is uncertain what action to take against the violet tentacle that is burrowing inside his companion. He can't rightly attack it. How would that even be possible?

So he does the only thing that comes to mind, he draws off his cloak and throws it over the scrying pool.

Perhaps if the pool goes dark and cannot see the outside world, it will have no power to interact with said world. It is a long shot, but it is the best Omm can muster under such circumstances.

"Somebody help Zar!" he calls aloud while shuttering the scrying pool. He doesn't know what someone might do to help him but it made him feel better to yell it. It's the small things in life.

OOC: Hopefully Omm's cloak is big enough to cover the pool, if not, and I misunderstood the size of the pool, I will need to do something else that actually makes sense.

''Zar! Man, hang on!'' Frantically, Sidd pulls Zar away from the aggressive pool and tries his best at reanimating the old man. Fumbling in haste Sidd pours some of the green powder he once found in the Chaos temple into his waterskin and administers the makeshift potion to Zar.


OOC: Zar was at -2 hp. Is he at +2 now, or like in DnD at +4 ?
19:27, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 4 using 1d4+1. healing potion.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:28, Wed 11 June 2014.

Felix and Sidd drag Zarr away as he drowns on dry land. Omm finds sealing the pool to be impossible with his adventuring cloak; there will always be a fissure through which the Eye of Al-Hazred can shoot forth. It is a very active ichor, and in its rush to kill Zarr it has left its booty exposed: two ivory plaques.

The pool proves implacable if not competent. Extending itself, it once again launches itself at the spasmodically breathing Zarr who twists to the side reflexively to avoid drowning twice in the space of seconds.

Even with the dramatics, you can't but gaze with wonder at the violet extension, reaching all the way from the stone basin to the edge of the grotto. It may be liquescent but it's also tentacular and tentacles can be chopped & clubbed & burnt.

OOC There is no need to make checks for withdrawing from melee range because the Eye only attacks Zar.

Omm quickly scoops up the ivory plaques and places them within his now wet cloak, wraps them, and draws back away from it before the tentacle has an opportunity to retaliate for the transgression.

"Retreat! Everyone out!" Omm cries out to his companions. The warrior then follows his own advice, carrying his newly gained bundle.

Felix briefly thinks about swinging his crowbar at the tentacle once he gets a better view of its semi-solid form, but decides that it will likely be better for everyone if he just keeps his hold on Zar's feet to carry him out to relative safety.

Sidd, with the help of Felix, gives his bloody best to hasten with the befuddled Zar to safety. To the planetary at least - even better yet up the stairs and into the drunken knight's presence.

Omm snatches the two ivory plaques from the basin and joins a hurried, stumbling exit from the grotto and into the stone dragon's cavern. The cards themselves do not feel cold or wet or smooth; they feel like puissance, and Omm has it now. He feels like he could command the captain to fight by his side and he would!



Implacably, impossibly the violet extrusion extrudes, each step of Zarr's adding a step to its length. At the end of one of these steps, the first out of the grotto, it slams itself past the compressed lips of the wizard, the blocking tongue, and the already ravaged throat. Mercifully, Zarr blacks out (tentacle hits Zar for 3 dmg and 5 sta dmg; Zar now has only 1 sta, giving him a -3 hp modifier. His max hps are 2).

OOC DC 10 luck test to find your way back to the planetarium because of the darkness.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:05, Tue 17 June 2014.

Omm only glances at the ivory plaque for but a moment, because out of the corner of his eye he sees the violet appendage still attacking his companion. He had assumed they could run away from it: apparently not.

No. This thing would have to be killed. Pure and simple.

Omm resigns himself to this task and swings his sword in a wide arc in an attempt to sever the appendage. It is a good thought, but thoughts do not equate with execution.

23:37, Today: Omm rolled 7,3 using d20+1,d3 with rolls of 6,3. Sever the appendage (Might Deed).

There simply must be a maximum range for the pool's stretch attack, so he helps Felix dragging Zar back all the way, contend to let the halfling choose the course.
''Hang on!'', he tries to cheer Zar, who is drowning and dying all over again. Sidd administers another dose of their makeshift healing potion.


15:53, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 5 using 1d4+1. healing potion.

Felix leads the way pretty much at random, but gradually growing more confident as they continue their walk.

Josh rolled 8 using 1d20-1. Luck.
-burning 1 luck to bring it up to 10

Felix returns to the welcome "skies" of the planetarium, straining his luck to do so. But he's in no position to lead the others. Each must find his own way.

Omn thinks to harm the indigo entity and buy some time for Zar. It's a good thought.

Once again Zar burbles to life. He spits out some violet ichor and feels about as good as backroom dishtowel wedged behind the leg of the washing basin, lying in the greasy water that has pooled there and around which flies buzz.

There is no limit to eye's pursuit. It has a philosophy, you see, and Zar is it.

OOC Zar, Sidd, and Omn remain engaged with the Eye; Felix is distant.

This message was last edited by the GM at 01:56, Thu 19 June 2014.

Omm hacks at the violet tentacle yet again and despite his utmost determination,  finds scoring a solid hit, elusive.


18:27, Today: Omm rolled 8,2 using d20+1,d3.

Realizing that his current tactic of flee-as-far-as-you-can is doomed to fail, Sidd takes his trusty shovel and tries to split the flow of water - alas, to no avail.

Zar coughs out some water, rises on his elbows, and sends a hand full of fire toward the pool's water. To everyone's surprise it connects, there's hissing and bubbling, and steam fills the dark cave!


OOC: Yay, 3 fire damage!

17:23, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 3 using 1d6. dmg.
17:22, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 14 using 1d20+2. Zar: Flaming Hands vs pool.
17:20, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 2 using 1d20. Sidd: shovel vs pool.

Well if that's how things are going, Felix supposes he's not going to sit this one out.  He drops the feet of the now semi-conscious wizard, draws the crowbar and trowel that have been serving as weapons, and takes a couple of quick swings and the inky tendril.  The crowbar splashes right through it.  Hopefully that hurts.

Josh rolled 16,9 using d16+1,d16+1. two attacks.
  Josh rolled 6 using 1d6+1. damage.

That'll put a dint in its philosophy! The violet extrusion erupts in a geyser of steam and spittle before a crashing crowbar disjoints it. It no longer forms a perfect extension from the grotto to the star-viewing room. Instead it cants at an awkward angle a few feet from the object of its philosophy, Zar.

Up above, nearly imperceptibly, you hear the tell-tale shatter of a bottle of wine. The captain must be deep in his cups, having completed the "leathering," his only daily occupation.

Eye of Al-Hazred: -9 hps

Cursed. Forsaken by the Gods. That can be the only explanation for it. Omm swings his sword yet again, and still manages to strike nothing but air. Who knew violet tendrils were so elusive?

Words escape the warrior. The only vocalization Omm can muster is a single, terse explosion of profanity. Just one word, four letters, but a powerful one at that!

"@#%!"

06:49, Today: Omm rolled 7 using 1d20+1. attack.

A body-wrecking cough causes Zar to fumble the latter half of another fire spell. Fortunately he isn't burning anyone, but still, for today this spell is lost.
As some kind of karmic compensation at least Sidd is doing somewhat better with his shovel now, splashing water in different directions.


OOC: Sidd hits for 2 dmg!

22:19, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 2 using 1d4. dmg.
22:19, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 16 using 1d20. Sidd: shovel vs pool.
22:18, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 4 using 1d20+2. Zar: Flaming Hands vs pool.

Felix continues as well, annoyed that he can't just get a fleshy target that goes down easily like those beastmen (not that he wants another horde of those, mind you).

Josh rolled 7,13 using d16+1,d16+1. two attacks.
And in case 13 is good enough...
Josh rolled 5 using 1d4+1. damage.

The Eye's philosophy's looking pretty ragged now, not a whole lot left to it. What's left fails to force itself on Zar.

Eye of Al-Hazred: -16 hps (AC 10)

Omm has a brief moment of inspiration and gives the elusive violet tendril a solid slash with his long sword. It was hard to know how much more punishment the thing could take, but the warrior was committed to seeing it through.

15:52, Today: Omm rolled 2 using 1d8. damage.
15:51, Today: Omm rolled 17 using 1d20+3. attack.

Zar draws his dagger and attacks the vicious fluid - really, that's a sign how desperate he really is, because the old man is rather bad at infighting. He might as well just try to gnaw on the thing. However, to everyone's surprise he manages to indeed draw a bit of blood, er, water (2 dmg!).
Which is still a lot better than Sidd's attempts with his shovel.

OOC: Changed Zar's action from casting Chill Touch to a simple dagger attack after actually reading that spell up.

21:44, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 2 using 1d4-1. dmg.
21:42, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 15 using 1d20+2. Zar: Chill Touch dagger.
21:42, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 3 using 1d20. Sidd: shovel.

Another round of attacks leave the Eye drawing from the last wellspring of its philosophy (1/2 dmg from slicing attacks=1+1+4 from last round). It burbles none-too-delicately at Zar's compressed lips.

14:49, Today: Autarch rolled 4 using 1d4+1. dmg.
14:48, Today: Autarch rolled 2,13 using d16+1,d16+1. josh's attacks.

Eye of Al-Hazred: -22 hps (AC 10)

Omm slices at naught but air, yet again. Maybe one of his companions would have better luck and put an end to this menace once and for all.

"Somebody kill the blasted thing for crying out loud" he cries out in exasperation.


09:21, Today: Omm rolled 8,5 using d20+3,d8. attack/dmg.

''Trying to! Really trying to!'' Sidd calls out, fooling around with his shovel.
Zar meanwhile, keeping his silence due to having to clench his teeth fast, lands a perfect strike, slicing the last remains of the pool not just one way or two, but three! Amazing! Maybe it is Del's lost soul guiding her previous dagger's accuracy.


OOC: Crit for Zar! Normally he does 1d4-1 dmg.

21:36, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 3 using 1d20. Sidd: shovel.
21:36, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 19 using 1d20-1. Zar: dagger.

And that's the last of it. Turns out that trying to drown a sketchy scryer's not much of a philosophy after all. But Zar really has had a rough time of it. His throat, if such a thing is even possible, is all kinds of misshapen and mis-hued. How could he have possibly had the will to sere the Eye? Was his philosophy, could it have been -- stronger?

Zar keels over and down to the ground, huffing and puffing and coughing up water.

OOC: How many points of stamina did Zar loose? He's probably down to 1 hp as his new max...

Sidd pats him companionable on the shoulder, nearly knocking the wheezing old wizard out all over again. ''You're a tough old bone for such a geezer,'' he adds well meaning.

''We are done with the pool, I guess. And the Scribe, too, most likely! However, Omm, did you get those cards? What do they depict?''

With the Dragon, the Southward Wench, and the Obtuse Owl glittering in mosaics above, you collect yourselves and examine Omm's cards eagerly as they provide an excuse to look anywhere, absolutely anywhere besides Zarr's neck.

But what's that smell?

Feculent, for sure. Winey, for another. You're all thinking it but none dare to espy the wizard's over-violated throat.

"Ahem, masters, I, erm, we, are here," Vassal #7 announces.

"To serve," he adds, helpfully.

It's true. He and three of his "able" chaps stand before Omm who stands in possession of the Seven of Swords.

OOC Down to his last one if I recall correctly. But he cannot drop below one hp due to stamina penalties.

Omm holds the card aloft, for all to see, before finally asking his more astute companions, "So, umm, what, are we supposed to be collecting cards now?"

Then, he walks up to and addresses the vassal, "Your first task: tell me where others, like you, may be found."

And what we need to do to take care of their leaders, Felix adds.

''Fine, fine,'' croaks Zar, ''no reason to help me. I would hate it if you had to go out of your way for me. Just ignore the old man gasping for his life.''

The sarcasm seems to be lost on Sidd as he replies ''Oh, er, sure, if you say so, Zar.''

Zar only coughy and struggles back on his feet. ''What's the other card, Omm? Beside the Seven of Swords?''
''We might have to move fast. The cards seem to change possessors pretty fast? Yesterday the Captain served the yellow wizard, today he served the blue sorcerer, and now perhaps us? Let's put him to use, before the Fool shuffles the cards anew.''

''Let's move to the bridge and the tower, to see how talking with that yellow chap turns out. Cannot be worse than the scrying pool thing.''
Zar coughs some more.

Sidd's head rises at that suggestion. ''Or we dare the crag of flies again. The Fool was down there. Something there is important.''

"We can be found serving our masters who reside variously in the Vault of Al-Hazred, the Tower beyond the Moon, and Vault of Eriodade beneath the lake ."

"Or having served them, lying fallow in the Fields of the Fallen, until we renew our service."

He clears his throat.

"Is that what you intend for us, master?"

OOC In addition to the other options broached, the scrying chamber/grotto had another exit.

"No," Omm states flatly. "You are not to lie fallow in any Field." The warrior takes a step toward the soldier and claps him on the shoulder playfully, "You are a member of the party now, and will take up ranks with us!"

Omm tilts his head sideways then doubles-back, "Really, more like a man-at-arms!"

Then responding to Zar, "Fine, let's go to the bridge and tower."

Assuming there are no objections, Omm leads the way.

The four of them do make a respectable quartet of men-at-arms with their serviceable armor and not entirely makeshift weaponry.

Through some unknown expanse of time and over a previously known expanse of bog, you return to the Tower Beyond the Moon, deciding to leave the enigma, Al-Hazred, to his vault.

(If you had hoped to catch the captain before his jolly hunt, you're too late. He and his happy huntsmen have already left. But, ho, the scent of oiled leathers hangs heavily in the air. Even the least olfactorily adroit could track it.)

So bleary with lack of sleep you must be that you miss the daily deal, but whatever it was, the vassals with you remain. Omm still claims the captain's card as well.

Dusk after waiting:

A silvery span shimmers into existence, arcing through the clouds to the foot of the dark tower. Billows of brume roll over the moon-bright bridge, flaring briefly, as if lit from within.

With trekking back across the bog unthinkable, you cross the bridge:

The arched stone portal is carved in the shape of an enormous maw built into the side of the tower. Within the portal a forked stone tongue divides the spiral stairs in two; one set of stairs curving to the left and the other to the right. Both rise into darkness.

OOC Stat Block for the Seven of Swords:

Armed Vassals (4): Init +0; Atk spear +0 melee (1d8) or handaxe +0 ranged (1d6); AC 7; HD 2d8; hp 6; MV 30’;
Act 1d20; SP half damage from piercing and slashing weapons; SV Fort +0, Ref +0, Will +1; AL L.

Would a Luck roll perhaps give me an idea of which stairs we want?

"This way's as good as any other," Omm says with a quick gesture of his hand, while leading the procession up the staircase to the left. "Someone, light a torch, why don't you?" After somebody complies, Omm continues walking up the stairs.

"Fortune favors the bold, or some-such I once heard. Wait," he says while stopping. "Maybe it was a fool?"

He shakes his head and comments, "Oh well, whatever. Onward we go!"

Felix assumes one of the wizards will handle the light, but if they don't then he is okay with being the one carrying the large burning stick.

''Certainly not!'' Zar croaks with his remaining strength. ''If in doubt, we will follow the path of the righteous! That's the right hand stairs, in case you are not aware.''
He amends with a softer voice. ''This place is about symbols. Such things might be important here.''

He sets foot on the staircase to the right, hoping that the others will follow him. Sidd shrugs, not really caring either way.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:39, Tue 22 July 2014.

"Have it your way," Omm demurs, while taking the right fork.

Up the stairs...

The arched portal opens to a musty dungeon cell, lit by glowing braziers. On the far side of the chamber is a man in chains, suspended by shackles bolted
to the wall. His long beard – once white, now caked with blood – hangs to the stone floor. His thin, bony frame is stripped to the waist; a muddied yellow
toga hangs in tatters.

Across from the prisoner an enormous porcine form reclines atop a rusted iron throne. The creature’s bristled belly spills out over its lap, and its
jowls hang loosely around great ivory tusks. The stinking man-beast clutches a glowing poker and a coiled whip in its meaty fists. The smell of burnt flesh is thick in the air.

Directly between the two forms – the broken man and the torturer – a set of ivory plaques hang in the air.

As soon as he sees what's in the room, Felix pulls the others back a bit, hoping for a whispered conversation in the hall that won't attract the torturer's attention.

I've got two ideas here.  One is that one of you guys (pointing to Sidd and Zar) can cast a spell to make me move faster than usual, and then I run straight for the plaques and grab them.  The other is that I sneak up on the torturer and then distract him while one of you grabs the plaques.

Omm whispers, "That's better than the idea I had..." Glancing down at his sword hilt, "Otherwise, we can do it the old fashioned way."

''Making you faster? You are joking, right, Felix?'' Zar sneers. Knowing how these things usually go he summons a bit of cold energy around his fists though.

While Sidd concentrates and frowns and then concentrates some more, all in a doomed attempt to move the ivory plaques - just with the power of his mind!
However, the endeavor proves to be too much for his budging skill and the spell misfires. Badly.


OOC: Ooh, spell fumble. Misfire table says that Sidd changes hair colour? He was dark brown until now.
Or not? I think a natural 1 only results in a failure - since his actuall result is a 2, Sidd might not have invoked a misfire?

21:44, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 3 using 1d4. Sidd: Misfire.
21:40, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 2 using 1d20+1. Sidd: Cantrip.
21:40, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 12 using 1d20+2. Zar: Chill Touch.

So pathetic is Sidd's attempt to grasp the cards from afar, so outrageously pathetic, it is as if he has uncreated his attempt to grasp the cards from afar. And as such how could it ever have been noticed in the first place if it never had existed?

Unharried by the wizards' antics, the pig-bellied poker continues to go about his business with whip and fireplace implement.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:10, Sun 03 Aug 2014.

Felix shakes his head and hisses You bigfolk are all useless, you know that?  Alright, I'm going in.  Omm, on my signal, run for the cards.  He then starts creeping into the room, timing his movements to minimize his chance of being spotted and maximize his chance of getting behind the torturer.  He is silently thankful that his people, unlike those idiot humans, are naturally adept at remaining unheard and unseen...

What happens next depends on the answer to a question I neglected to ask earlier: what is the torturer wearing?

If I'm lucky enough that it's anything loose, flowing, or perhaps doused in oil from an earlier torture session, then I'm going in with a torch and lighting his clothes.  Otherwise I'm going in with a crowbar and whacking him on the head, from the side opposite the doorway, so as to keep his attention diverted if he's still conscious.  Either way, the attack is followed by me shouting at Omm.

In the meantime...
Josh rolled 18 using 1d20+4. sneaking.

EDIT: Josh rolled 12 using 1d20+1. initiative.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:34, Thu 31 July 2014.

Omm prepares to run for, and grab, the ivory plaques as soon as Felix gives the signal. The warrior has his sword at the ready, in the event the pig-bellied creature turns on Felix, at which point, Omm will rush to his companion's aid.

Zar takes up position behind Omm, taking up his bow.

Sidd grasps his shovel tight, but then he decides to change tacks. It is unlikely that the fat man with the poker is inclined to do small talk, but the attempt cannot really hurt, all considered. And it might provide a distraction for Felix.

''Uh, Mr. Torturer, Sir? Why are you doing what you are doing to that yellow-robed man over there?''
It occurs to Sidd that the yellow wizard might be a masochist after all, and hired or even created the fat man for exactly that purpose.

Everybody's attention turns to the sadist. As no one has interfered with his sport, Felix having slipped behind him unnoticed, he assumes a gruff if companionable demeanor.

"A job I got to do if I want my daily grub. It's hard work it is," he continues, "what with the heat, the reek, and the company," answering a question no one has posed.

And he's been working hard at it, judging by his slick exterior, so much of it visible to the eye. This is to be expected given the garb of the trade: usually no more than a few leather straps passing for a harness with an apron that never provides full coverage. It's the get up's like this that scream extreme hedonism.

However, one look at other participant -- you do spare that -- shows him to be rather anhedonic.


This message was last edited by the GM at 20:42, Sun 03 Aug 2014.

With the torturer's attention already diverted, Felix changes tack as well, going for the cards himself rather than having Omm take them.  He keeps his crowbar at the ready in case he gets caught.

don't know if I need any new rolls here...

Omm gruffly calls out to the torturer, "We mean to acquire those ivory plaques, and are prepared to do whatever is necessary to see our aims through. You can either assist us with the task, or be dealt with accordingly!"

Omm strides confidently forward, assured in his mission, hand on sword hilt.

Sidd sighs audibly. Just when things took a turn for the better... after all, the torturer was neither torturing or attacking them, and actually he even seems to be inclined to talk stuff.
''Never mind my headstrong friend here. Who is it you are working on so arduously? Might it be the fabled yellow wizard?''

Sidd adresses the prisoner dircetly. ''Good Sir? I hope you are well enough to provide an answer or two, perhaps? I would like to know whether you are the yellow wizard, and why you are being tortured here?''

''Or even better yet, what the hell is the meaning of all this?''

Well, so much for Plan A.  Felix does his best to stay out of the way and unnoticed for now so he can eke out whatever advantage he can if things turn sour.

You learn in short order what the torturer does when some fool makes a grab for his cards. He gets down to brass tacks!

Springing off his throne, he interposes himself between the fighting man and the cards after landing nimbly upon his cloven hooves. A fierce thrust of his poker, destined for Omm's heart, is deflected neatly by his shield. Where the searing poker caught the shield the boss now gleams with unmistakable dweomer, the corruption having been seared off.

With his other weapon, a whip, he lashes at the spear of one of your men-at-arms, cruelly wrenching his arm while yanking the polearm free (1 dmg to vassal #1 and currently disarmed).

Sidd receives no response from his address; the manacled man's face and eyes are empty of all but a yellowish pallor.

Omm jumps back in defense when the torturer lashes out against him. "Oh! So that's how it'll be," he chides while bouncing back with his sword and shield at the ready. Pressing the attack, Omm raises his shield and follows with an overhead feint and underhand strike.

Omm attempts to knock the poker out of the torturer's hand, a solid strike, but perhaps not as effective as he hoped.

"Men! Attack!" he orders.

20:38, Today: Omm rolled 2 using 1d8. damage.
20:37, Today: Omm rolled 21,2 using d20+3,d3 with rolls of 18,2. attack/mighty deed (disarm).
This message was last edited by the player at 06:42, Thu 07 Aug 2014.

''Dammit!'' Sidd snarls. Things had been going so nicely for once, and now they were facing, what, a greater demon? Dammit.
Nonetheless the young wizard-to-be raies his shovel and whacks the demon for tenacity's sake. (hit 11, 3 dmg)

Zar simply lets an arrow fly, which hits its target very nicely. (hit 20, 4 dmg)


19:52, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 4 using 1d6+1. dmg.
19:52, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 20 using 1d20+1. Zar: bow.
19:51, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 3 using 1d4. dmg.
19:51, Today: Sidd and Zar rolled 11 using 1d20. Sidd: shovel.

Oh, of course.  The torturer just happens to have a super fast springing move that gets him out of harm's way a moment before he makes it clear that it's time for Plan B, or C, or whichever one "indiscriminate violence" is.  So he does his best to catch up to the bastard and club him on the head with a crowbar.  This time, Felix's best is still fairly unsatisfying.

Meanwhile, the man-at-arms who lost his spear chases after it, while his companions fan out and advance on the torturer.  One of them at least manages to touch him.

Josh rolled 7,6 using d20+1,d6+1. attack, dmg.

EDIT:Josh rolled 6,1,18 using d20,d20,d20. three attacks.
  Josh rolled 6 using 1d8. damage.
  #2 appears to have fumbled.  GM, you can roll for effect, as I can't tell from the stat line what armor they are wearing.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:33, Mon 11 Aug 2014.

It's only now that you notice that your men-at-arms cannot be properly termed men for they lack all semblance of flesh. They should probably be called skeletons.

It is for this reason that the demon's poker, which might have skewered a real, fleshy man, only cracks a few bones (5/2=2 dmg to skeleton #3). You can't believe you hadn't made this most elementary of observations yet. You're sure you would have figured it out in a few days even without witnessing their resistance to piercing and slashing weapons.

With his other weapon, a whip, the torturer wrenches Zarr's bow away from him (1 dmg) and neatly deposits it at his feet, after which he plants one of his cloven hooves right over it.

Since you are all fully exploiting your vision, you can see no trace of wounds left upon the honest workman despite your myriad applications of force. Astounding!

OOC no effect from the fumble.

"It cannot be wounded by mortal arms!" Omm calls out aloud in warning to his companions. "Should we fall back?"

''Uh. Retreat. Retreat!'' Zar croaks, and stumbles out of the room and down the stairs again, being barely capable of still doing so.

''Wait! Wait for me!'' Sidd exclaims, and flees after him.


OOC: I assume Zar has 2 hp, even with his gazillion Sta malus? 1 from his level 0 die, and 1 from his 1st level die?

Works for me.  You guys coming?, the halfling adds, toward the skeletal warriors.

Omm turns on his heels and flees from the scourge-wielding creature.

As one you turn your backs and spines on the room and its grotesque spectacle. With his ivory placards no longer threatened, the master of insertions and removals returns to the application of his trade, a series of delicate procedures involving the lower extremities. You wouldn't know this because you're looking the other way.

You can take a few moments to consider your options or you can try the other staircase.

OOC Yes, sta modifiers can't reduce hp accumulation below 1 per level.

After catching his breath, Omm remarks, "Okay. That did not go so well." This is, of course, an understatement.

"How to get those damn cards?" he muses aloud. "None of us were able to harm him, and he certainly didn't have that difficulty. No, I take it his whip stung nicely."

Omm looks to the others for ideas. As per usual, the warrior is at a loss for what to do next, if it doesn't involve brute force. That seems to be Omm's modus operandi. It's what he is good at, well, except for when he faces invulnerable foes.

That, is more problematic.

Maybe the thinking types will come up with something?

''Gah, that was horrible,'' says Sidd. ''Let's see what's up at the top of the other flight of stairs.''

Zar just pants and coughs, obviously near the end of what he can endure.

Omm nods at Sidd's suggestion and then leads the group upstairs.

In reply to Omm (msg # 315):

Felix follows along.  Might as well see what kind of awfulness awaits them over there.

The stairs rise into a warmly lit throne room. An elderly man, draped in a voluminous yellow toga, rests atop a throne overseeing a court of automata. The
king’s long white beard and bald pate belie his muscular form, giving him an ancient, yet timeless air.

Automata – clever mechanisms disguised as the living – bustle about the court. A silk-feathered nightingale sings from its perch atop the throne. A trio of musicians, their faces formed of leather and clay, play tunelessly in the corner. A pair of towering eunuchs, armed with a painted wooden falchions, watches over the throne. Strange mechanized courtiers pass left and right, ignorant of your presence.

The superannuated monarch beckons you into his throne room.

"Come! Come! Come in. Don't be alarmed at the members of my mechanical court. Their clockwork performances charge my days with what little zest they might have.

Here he pauses and you hear the first stanza from the trio's melancholic ballad:

"The rusted chains of prison moons
 Are shattered by the sun.
 I walk a road, horizons change
 The midnight fete's begun.
 The devlish piper plays his tune,
 The choir softly sings
 Three lullabies in an ancient tongue,
 For the court of the amber king."

He grins at you expectantly.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:09, Tue 19 Aug 2014.

Omm takes in the magnificent scene with wide, alert eyes. Eventually he pulled from his admiration of the automata and turns his attention to the toga-wearing monarch.

He boldly addresses the man, in a voice loud enough for all to hear, "Good day My Lord. I am Omm the Warrior. I grow increasingly weary of riddles and games. I desire to be gone from your realm, at once. Please tell me how to do so."

The warrior cocks his head sideways in eager anticipation of some instruction as to how to accomplish this task.

"First, let me introduce myself, for I am the seer-king Darjr, heir to mysteries and enigmas beyond creation. And you are wonder-workers yourself: You have solved the Riddle of the Magi."

One of the courtiers, this one wearing some greasy motley, whispers, "Surely, it was some god who breathed in their ear."

Unfazed, Darjr speaks over him, "None who has visited this court has accomplished that."

As if on cue, the trio lugubriously shares the second stanza:

"The keeper of the planar portals
 Put shutters on the dreams.
 I wait outside the poltroon's door
 With insufficient schemes.
 The black queen chants
 the funeral march,
 The cracked gold bells will ring;
 To summon back the fire witch
 To the court of the amber king."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:10, Tue 26 Aug 2014.

Omm waits for the trio to complete their lay before commenting:

"Nope, apparently not."

He turns back to address his companions.

"Always with the riddles! Can't anybody around here speak in plain, common language?" he cries aloud while throwing his hands up in frustration.

"What the heck is a poltroon, anyway?" he asks.