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.