[ACRO/Town] VA : Lost Temple

[EleventhHour]

One way or another you've come together here. Here, this hell. It's a hot, humid, mess of nature. A jungle, buzzing bloodthirsty ticks, mosquitoes, waves of gnats, poisonous snakes, and strange things that have never fully been explored. The sun beats down in the opening, seemingly hotter than it should be, but the wet clostrophobic airs under the foilage is far worse. Wether here for gold, glory or power, everyone involved are siblings in this unholy place, where nothing is even vaguely welcoming, and even the most constitute may find themselves wasting away.

This is the hunt of a lifetime, for forgotten knowledge, for long lost golden treasures that mattered as little to thier original owners as dirt does to most people, and magical wonders that have no peer in the modern world. It's all promised to be somewhere in this verdantly green hell, that would have the devil giving his due to the natural horrors of Mother Nature. Fortunately, you have the overwhelming support from a investor called Vanity, appearntly some company the logo is on almost everything, from the refridgerated caskets, to the boats, machetes, shovels and assorted tools. This logo is an overlapped V and A, making it look like an X on a crossbar, but the clear Golden V and Crimson A make it clear what the logo is supposed to be.

In any case, as confident sailors bring you in to shore, the trees raise above you, the insects whine hungry for the meal, and a troop of other mercenaries get off the boat around you, the commanding mercenary, an old one-armed grizzled fellow that was likely once part of the ACRO-Imperial army, judging by his uniform. It doesn't have any of the markings anymore seeing as he's not commision, but still gets his band together and gives them a speech. Riches beyond thier wildest dreams and whatnot. He smiles grimly at the other group, the lot of you that is, and gets them started on into the jungle, hacking at the brush. Ten shares per person is the agreed rate, of course the less people make it out, the more each of you get... but that's looking suicidal to purposefully thin out the number of people, even if the treasures are as undefended as a wiry, grey patchy-haired scholar insisted.

This is the hunt for a lost temple, and the ancient secrets it once, and hopefully still does, held.

Rules :

- The party will need at least one Mage. Fully casteriffic, not someone who has magical abilities.
- Preferably everyone stays low powered.
- As long as everyone follows Rule 2, there's a chance of character death.
- There is much phat lewt for the survivors.

[Eternal Drifter]

Nep, the Kobold, is brought ashore.

"Reduced to tomb raiding..." he mutters. "Such a way to fall... I wish that the Tax Collecting job HAD been real, and not a fraud..."

(He's an out of work Kobold in traveler's clothing and a few parcels of food. He's desperate for coin to live by, which is why he's here in the first place. A rouge of sorts, lives more by what he says than what he does.)

[Gnrlshrimp]

"Oh, tomb raiding, is that what we're doing?" Lucas grins at the kobold...but being a skeleton, that's all he can really do. He'd found himself on the boat quite unexpectedly a few days ago and had been struggling to figure out exactly what they were doing, or where they were for that matter.

He adjusts his hat and takes his shotgun from its holster on his back...well, spine really, the skeleton doesn't really have much of a back. "Sounds like fun!" The loose brown jacket he wears has several pockets bulging with ammo. He's got by with just his trusty shotgun for a long time, and knows to keep it well supplied. He has taken one of the machetes, though, just in case.

[Bergett]

falkane walks off the boat.
He looks like this for anyone concerned.
http://public5.tektek.org/img/av/1003/d15/2357/1e16397.png (http://tektek.org/avatar/35452348)
He snaps one of the books shut as he mummers a few words to place a ward on himself against all these darn bugs.
Well this is certainly an interesting way to spend my day.
Is it worth the malaria?
can't say I know.
A lost temple eh?
Who knows all the knowledge lost in there, and entire civilizations compilation of all they know about magic and science.
Can't wait to get in.

[Eternal Drifter]

"Well, the cash isn't coming to us," Nep says. "Let's go in... may I suggest the Skeleton first?"

[Bergett]

Hold your horses... Lizard.
I don't think everyone's ready yet.
I still have equipment too.
Just as long as this humidity hasn't destroyed it.
All my poor books are dying here.

Falkane says this leafing through another tome he has.

[Ashen Lilies]

Jazirian's (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showpost.php?p=5473070&postcount=78) on a boat! But he's not happy. He's looking at his revolvers in fact, and it's pretty obvious that the humidity and general unfriendlyness of the area has rendered them inoperable. It doesn't seem to affect him, however. He's not even sweating. But how can he find treasure without his precious guns!? :smallfrown:

((Jazirian may or may not be swapped out for another character (perhaps Natalie), as I'm kinda opposed to him dying*. He's pretty much the only character I'm not willing to kill off at this stage, in fact.))

*Though of course, being a rogue, he might actually be the one most justified in not dying.

[Morty]

Michalson is on the boat, grumpy as ever. He came here in search of lost knowledge and because undead to put down have been scarce recently, not counting Sirk.

[Ashen Lilies]

((And suddenly swapping out Jazirian for Merat-Kai becomes a much less attractive option. :smalltongue:))

Jazirian glances at the grumpy grumpy pants, groans loudly, and reholsters his revolvers. Looks like he's not going to get them to work for this trip.

[EleventhHour]

(Well, we're not going to get too far ahead, just in case of some extra joiners, but we might as well have some fun getting started!)

As one of the mercenaries hacks down a young tree with a machete, it groans sympathetically with it's nieghbors, adding to the wracket and noise the arrival of humanity had already made and setting flight to a flock of brightly coloured birds of almost every shape and size, and the buzz of insects grows stronger, the little bloodsuckers actually daring to come out from under the shadows and brave the fly repellants to get a meal.

Defenitly not the most pleasant spot, but other fellows are up to making this into a landing patch, cutting down everything in a half-circle around the boats, and torching the grass to the ground. A fellow using a crudely draw map runs his fingers through a scraggle grey beard, and cheers triumphantly when they find a partial husk of a boat, sunk into the ground assumably during a rainy season when this was all mud. "Proof! Proof that this was right!" "You didn't know before now?" "What? No, this was claimed to be the logbook of the last survivor of another expedition to this place, there was no way to confirm it's validity." There's noone more skeptic than a mercenary, and the angry bluster of the Colonel seems to be the only thing that gets them back to work.

[Murkus]

((I was gonna write up a character sheet for this guy, but I think I'd like to see whether or not he'll survive this roleplay.))

Skez steps off the boat still holding his stomach, looking quite a bit greener than the average lizard-folk should. He looks close to vomiting, but his nausea starts to fade as he reaches the warm sand. A glinting, carnivorous grin spreads across his face as he sees the jungle. "Thank T'thek, land!"

The humanoid lizard laps at the air with his tongue, testing the jungle's aroma. However, he instead tastes nothing but the sweaty, foul smell so commonly produced by humans and the like. He growls under his breath, "Feh. Stinking mammals."

So, we have the human mercenaries, your average soldiers by the look of it. And then we have the specialists, which include a kobold, a skeleton (at least walking bones don't smell too bad, hah!), a rather whiny mage, some fellow called Michalson, and another called Jazirian.

Skez takes a position behind the rest of the crew, studying his new allies. How many would make it through, he wondered?

The large lizard-folk elbows Falkane in the ribs jokingly, saying, "Ey, chin up wizard. The jungle ain't so bad. At least, none of the jungles I've been through. Can't say I would bring books here, though." He grins at the trees ahead.

[Gnrlshrimp]

Lucas whistles and gives his shotgun a quick once over, just to make sure it's all in proper working order. Satisfied that it is, in fact, still fine, he sits down, still whistling, and watches the mercs and the old guy with the beard. He's going to help with the expedition, oh yes, but he's still sorta wondering why he's ended up here of all places...though he has seen weirder.

He was a game show host once, in a world that didn't believe in, or particularly like the undead...

It didn't end well...

Hopefully this little trip will go a bit better.

[Earl of Purple]

Also here, and has always been here, is an elegant elven woman. She's wearing chainmail under a red tabard with a silver two-tailed scorpion emblazoned upon it, as well as a bejeweled beetle brooch fastened to it. At her waist is an elegant longsword with a centipede design upon the scabbard. Around her neck is a silver amulet upon a fine gold chain, depicting a two-tailed scorpion again. Her hair is black and glossy, and her eyes are a vibrant green.

[Falgorn]

Among the many looking for loot is a tall, dark-skinned man with vibrant purple eyes and a small, well-kept black beard. He wears dark brown, leather armor, and a small, leather cap that covers his bald head. He rides a white horse, with ebony eyes and a well-trimmed mane. His weaponry includes a bow, arrows, and a short scimitar, of the saif (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saif)variety. So, he's there, existing.

[Bergett]

Falkane can be found putting on a backpack with some scrolls and books in it.
He has one of said tomes open and his leafing through it.
He casts a spell to dry his books out a bit.
That'll have to do...
He allows the soldiers and mercs to do their work.
A lot of soldiers for an expedition, what are we expecting exactly?
He doesn't really say that to anyone in specific.

[Eternal Drifter]

Nep follows the military people, (hopefully) last in the line of adventurers.

"I'm not sure what we are expecting... I hope that it isn't too dangerous... I'm not built for adventuring... I just am desperate enough to attempt it."

[Ashen Lilies]

Jazirian hops out of the boat onto the landing patch, and wanders the immediate area, taking care not to wander past the clearing. Skez, or indeed, anyone who comes withing sniffing range (but mostly Skez, being a lizard with a good sense of smell) may notice that despite appearances, Jazirian does not in fact, smell like a human. Or like any living creature at all. Instead, he gives out a faint scent of incense, and a little bit of saffron as well.
Jazirian looks at the Cleric of Dalachrech curiously. He was never one to worship the gods... at least, not that way. Leave the gods alone, and they'll leave you alone. View less extreme than his teacher's, perhaps. But he was always intrigued by the exchange of power, how clerics could cast magic by drawing on their god's power, rather than on their own, like Jazirian himself does, or from the aether, like most wizard spells.

[Morty]

Michalson get off the boat, groaning when he has to stand on his injured leg and sits down on a crate or another convenient object.

[Murkus]

As Jazirian slips past, a look of brief curiousity flashes across Skez's face. This one did not smell like he should. Incense, or something like it. And some softer smell that Skez didn't quite recognize. A flower, perhaps? Strangest of all, there was not even a hint of the normal human smell. No sweat or bodily odors. This 'human' was hiding something. Skez decides he'll keep an eye on Jazirian, at least for the time being.

Skez glances at Nep, still smiling that same toothy grin. "We got a couple squads of trained soldiers, plus the lot of us. How bad could it be?"

Turning away from the others, Skez laps at the air in the direction of the jungle, trying to see if he recognizes the scent of anything dangerous. Nothing for the moment, just a pleasant damp smell and something resembling a flower.

The jungle holding no interest, Skez turns to the remainder of the group and scents them, hoping to find anyone else who smells like something other than their appearance would denote.

((Just go ahead and post if your character carries any sort of abnormal scent, something different from a human))

[Earl of Purple]

Well, the elven lady in the chainmail and tabard smells like an elven lady that's spent a lot of time near, but not partaking in, alcoholic activities.

Elezibethele smiles at Jazirian, and steps daintily out of the boat. Of course, the chainmail may ruin the effect. She checks to ensure her longsword sits comfortably in its scabbard and will draw easily. And, because I forgot about it last time, before getting out of the boat she takes a small buckler from under her seat and straps it onto her arm. The buckler is a small, metal shield lacquered black with a very shiny two-tailed scorpion device in the middle. Thus prepared, she will join with any others that have grouped together.

[Morty]

Michalson stands up heavily, still a bit a bit queasy from his journey by boat. He doesn't like water, not one bit. A bit strange for a planewalker to dislike something this common perhaps, but that's how it is. Right, time to get something done, he mutters to himself.