As if the demons themselves were holding back reality, the death of the final abomination snaps each of you back into the "real world". The tavern floor that accompanied you in the yellowish fog comes crashing to the ground as if dropped from a height of several feet. The obscuring yellow fog that encircled you begins to dissipate showing that you are standing in a wide, circular courtyard, the ground tiled with large cracked slabs of yellow stone. The wide courtyard is open to the dark sky, no more than a broad patio encircled by several great jackal headed statues. Each one is 30 feet tall and constructed in an unfamiliar style. A slender tower, connected to the courtyard by a short causeway, stands in the distance.

     Surrounding these two patches of land like a vast angry sea, the world buckles and heaves like seas around Hwaamgaarl with one exception, it is not water. The mass about you changes colors, sprouts unimaginable forms of vegetation that grow, mutate, and die in the span of a few seconds right in front of your eyes. The dark sky boils with masses of rolling clouds, great flares of sickly green and yellow lights flickering and flashing behind them. Even the air that caresses your lungs is in constant turmoil. Temperature and humidity seem in constant battle, first the air is warm and sticky, then a few moments later dry and chilly.

     The broken and splintered remains of the tavern floor is strewn about you while, incongruously, the table still remains standing, a solitary drink still undisturbed. Amongst the wreckage you can spot a left arm and part of a torso, sheered cleanly off, still garbed in a dusty yellow robe. Also a well toned and shapely foot and calf of the dancer is lying nearby.

     At the far end of the courtyard, roughly 75 feet away, you can see four figures. A woman dressed in royal purples and blues sits on a large white throne. To her right stands a tall thin figure, wearing a long black hooded robe. At the foot of the throne lounges a third figure, indistinguishable at this distance. The fourth, smaller than the rest, looks up as you regain your feet and begins to prance forward in a festive and happy fashion, an occasional somersault or cartwheel inter-spaces the bounding. As the figure draws closer, you can see that it is wearing a blue and white jesters outfit, the tinkle of the bells finally begin to reach your ears as they jingle from his three pointed hat.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:38, Thu 15 Jan 2015.

Eclair was under a mountain of pressure. All she remembered was cold, nausea, a bright light, then something ripping at her gut like a hook. Struggling, she heaved the still weights of something off her to allow the first specks of lick into her eyes. It was blinding, not like the last light, but she blinked away tears and felt something clanking as she shifted.

Slowly, many strange sensations sifted through into her brain. The things on her felt a lot like corpses. Why did she feel weighed down? Wait, why was she she? Wait, these were actual corpses! She heaved at the corpses in panic and pushed with her heals. It took a lot of panicked effort to crawl from under the bodies and scoot a ways away from them.

She bumped into something and looked around at a massive mountain of a man. Was that armor... and an axe... and blood? She blinked at him in a deep stupor as her brain refused to process the image, "Wha..." Her Hand flew to her throat; what was wrong with her voice? She blinked as it felt wrong and she scrabbled at her neck. It was so small and the double chin she had since 15 was gone. Something scratched her skin and she blinked down at her hand and it all finally bubbled out as she screamed long, high, and warbling.

The world swam a bit and her head spun then she caught herself and stared dumbly at the world. Where was she, who was she, and why was a strange little man walking toward them. Her right hand rose slowly and put her sword in a defensive position without thought. She blinked at the weapon as several forms flashed through her mind telling her how to defends herself and she saw the sword move effortlessly in her right hand.

About then, a pain began to gnaw at her and she glanced down at her side where the armor under her... breasts. A momentary distraction for the pain growing. She grabbed a cloth with her left hand and wiped the viscus liquid off rapidly to reveal red and raw flesh beneath with a string of curses in a strange language. Was the armor supposed to look like it was attacked by some variety of termites that loved iron. And why did her hand look like a strange kind of Vietnamese sausage?

Kraal wipes the demon's foul ichor from his blade and sheaths the infernal blade in scabbard made from the boiled hide of a convicted thief.  The blade twitches like the tale of cat and clatters against the red armor that encases the mercenary's body.  Hraal brushes a tuft of dark hair from his face and soaks in the new environs.

"The plot thickens."   His smile reveals sharp white teeth.