Bismuth

[devinkowalczyk]

Bismuth, the London away from England during the Grand Victorian Era. The island is North East of the colony of Australia, deep in the Pacific. The port sits in a cove on the southern part of the island, with the city spanning out from there. The port is always abustle with fishing and whaling expeditions. The city itself is a maze of streets, the tall victorian style houses on the West side are multicolored while the poor section of the South and East mingle with factories and warehouses. People live in either mass tennants in the South while the stately manors of the West. North of city the fields of grain and orchards span to the dark forrest and mountains on the Northern most part of the island.

The streets are cobblestone and very narrow, with carriages zooming past. The ground is littered with trash and tossings of chamber pots with a smell to match. The walls, while possibly painted a florid colors, everything is covered in a dark coal soot from the factories coal furnaces. Some duels do still occur with black powder pistols, so bullet holes are here and there, but relatively rare. The air is slightly grainy due to the soot and salt of the nearby ocean. The sounds of the ocean and the incoming ships echoes with rattling of the factories.

Our story begins in a tavern, midcity, where the trade workers come to eat dinner and gossip about the day. The rough wooden tables and chairs have been worn smooth by hundreds of calloused hands. The floor is littered with sawdust clumps smelling of old ale, cheap food, and cockroaches. Men of varying sizes and composures sit around several tables, some drinking and chatting, while others play cards. Several serving girls move among the tables with food and drinks. Off to one side near the center, one of the oil lanterns has been shut off and in the dark sits a taller, thin figure picking at some kind of food. Near the edges of the tavern are several taller fellows in longer capes and stately dressings. The barman is busy polishing the scratched and diveted bar.

The smell of vomit, blood, and many other bodily sewages assail your nostrils.

[SonOfMoradin]

The shadows of an alley seemed to part for an older man, leaning heavy on a tall walking staff. Some would say they heard the flapping of feathered wings as he emerged, but none could be sure. His head hung low, covered in a wide brimmed, dark blue leather hat. Those that could see his face through the shadows saw a glint of wisdom in one eye. He wore a long leather duster over his large frame that matched his hat, and while he looked the part of a homeless wanderer, he was not caked in the grime and filth of the street. He looked knowingly up and down the street, taking in every detail. He then produced a beaten metal cup from somewhere in his coat, and took a deep draught of something. Satisfied, he turned up the street, holding the cup out to any he passed, and muttering as he went. The only sound he made was the sharp raport of his staff hitting the pavement as he walked. He was known only as Mr. Wednesday to the few who got to know him, most people just writing him off as another of the failed and fallen who plagued the streets and back alleys of the city.

[SonOfMoradin]

Mr Wednesday shuffles into the bar, leading with his walking staff - using it as a blind man would. He carefully picks his way through the tables and around the people, eventually reaching the bar.

A deep, strong voice rings out through his snow white beard "Mead, if you have it. If not, wine will do." He pushes his beaten silver cup onto the bar, and then turns slightly so that he can see the rest of the tavern.

As his gaze sweeps around the room, it comes to rest on the tall thin man sitting in the shadows. He tilts his head up slightly, revealing a patch over his left eye. The other eye glints in the lantern light, and he squints slightly before dropping his head once again. He gives the men in the finery little notice. He breathes softly "There will be violence" before looking back at the barman.

[devinkowalczyk]

The dark night sky is visible through the panes of the glass that make up the front window. The moonlight emphasizes the natural whorls and etchings in the hand made glass, creating a random and chaotic pattern. The flicker of the gas lamps gives the whole room a yellowish tint which fights with the silver light streaming in from the nearly full moon outside.
A huge rattle and !BOOM! from the back as the serving girls come rushing out with hot plates of fresh dinner, nearly throwing them in front of the patrons who ordered.

[SonOfMoradin]

Did I get mead or wine?

[devinkowalczyk]

The first massive but nearly silent BOOM! cause the tavern to shake a bit, making the oil lamps flames to quiver. A few motes of dust drifted down from the rafters, a some of the liquids in mugs and cups rippled and then went still. A handful of conversations stopped, and a few of the silent patrons looked around questioningly. Most stayed enamored with their food or conversations, not bothering to look around.
The second explosion was the by door behind the bar to the kitchen.
Splinters of wood of floor, wall, door, and rafter exploded outward.
In the blizzard of wood fragments reached up a massive arm covered in light green scales. The black talons (three fingers and a stubby thumb) slammed into the wood plank floor of the tavern. It simultaneously lifted itself out of a hole in the floor and created a spider web of new cracks appearing across the whole floor. Tables, chairs, and the bar were upended and people where thrown this way and that.
From the hole emerged a crocodile like head attached to a four foot neck atop incredibly broad shoulders. This anthropomorphic dragon swept its head and lined up several patrons trapped under a table. Its mouth opened wide, revealing multiple layers of teeth, some long and thin like a knife, others rounded and jagged like a shark. Black smokey fire erupted, streaked with white wisps swept across the trapped individuals. Their skin did not so much as burn but turn to dust and crumble (Spiritual Awareness: Each individuals soul which burns through the body along Chi paths was snuffed out, turning the limb, body, and life into a lifeless husk).
The entire scene was lit by flickering light as the oil lanterns had been disrupted and the flames now quickly spread across the floor.

[SonOfMoradin]

Mr Wednesday looks down longingly at his still empty silver cup. "Ah well, mead is best after a battle."

Cup forgotten, he whirls towards where the creature emerged from the floor. "Spawn of the World Serpent! You have disturbed my feasting!" Lightning seems to ripple out from his uncovered eye. He shoulders a smaller patron out of the way, sending him crashing into a table, and strides towards the beast, the end of his staff causing a sharp "boom" each time he brings it down on the weakened tavern floor.

As his now strong strides bring him closer to the beast, he reaches down and casually tosses another table to the side, clearing more room for battle. He snaps his staff over his head, swining it in a wide circle, sending patrons and staff scurrying to get out of the way.

"The field is set! The horn has sounded! Let the battle begin!" he shouts, as he brings his staff down in front of him.

(Patrons and staff would swear that as he made this proclamation, they heard a long, deep, mournful horn sound in the distance.)

[devinkowalczyk]

John the Sluagh, the ghost, the Preta, oozed from puddle to puddle, always hiding in the flickering darkness between the lights. His reflection was often cast in the windows and glass, but rarely seen outside the darkness. His smooth stride was not at all hindered by the cracked and cracking planks underfoot. In fact, he seemed to draw the darkness from it up, seemed tendrils of it reached up to him to caress his form and feet.
This flow took him unhurriedly over the bar and local denizens.

[devinkowalczyk]

The dragonic figure lurched further out of its hole, unfurling huge black and green wings that allowed the shadows to dance across their surface. Large, thick, trunk like legs heaved the rest of the bulk up, further cracking and ruining the floor. The bulk and size of it pressed its head and shoulders against the roof rafters, causing a fresh rain of dust and debris to fall, causing the fires to dance a little higher.
All over the shop the groaning of man and support structure could be heard.
The creature puffed out its chest again, inhaling so much air as to cause the flame tongues to waver and loose clothing to flutter.

[SonOfMoradin]

Trying to strike before the beast could unleash whatever foul breath would be spewn from its chest, Mr Wednesday charged forward with a primal battle cry. As he charged, he again spun his staff around, and as he brought it forth, lightning seemed to gather at the tip, forming a wide and wicked looking spear head.

The beast swung a heavy wing at him, forcing him to leap to the right and on to the bar. He continued the act, using the bar to launch himself up over the wing buffet and towards the creatures head. He lashed out with the spear, drawing its lighning tip down the length of the creatures skull.

[devinkowalczyk]

Lightning scorched the scales running along the toothed maw and across the scaled eye. Small curls of smoke twisted up into the air from the long black line now on its face.
Its green and black eye swiveled on the source of the nuisance and took a step towards Mr. Wednesday. The planks under foot groaned and slowly began to give way under the enourmous bulk. The wings swung wide, buffeting wind whipping the spreading fire, flinging anything smaller than a barstool.
CRACK!
The planks beneath began to give way and the creature started to slowly fall backwards, back into the hole it had crawled out of.

[SonOfMoradin]

More nimble than his old frame would indicate, Mr. Wednesday leaped back from the pit opening in the tavern floor.

"Only a fool follows the serpent into its pit." he says. He cast a quick eye around the tavern, to see if there is anyone in need of his assistance, and to check to see if anyone is paying particular note to his involvement in this fight.

The fire is spreading, and no one seems brave enough to battle the blaze. His way to the kitchen is blocked by the pit the creature has opened, but this structure seems poorly made. Carefully keeping an eye on the pit, he slides over the bar. With a quick but powerful chop, he sunders the wall, careful not to destroy any more support beams. Once through, he begins to look for means to fight the fire raging in the main room.

His efforts are halted by a deafening roar that emanates from the pit, causing more plaster and dust to shake loose.

[devinkowalczyk]

John is suddenly revealed as the shadows come ripping and roaring out of the pit. His face is most striking, framed in straight black hair, because of its haunting grotesquery. The skin is pulled tight over the whole thing, revealing the bones and hollows of the mouth. His eyes are black rimmed with a dark but vibrant red.
The pale faced John wears his tattered coat covered in stitched on pockets, his fingers are covered in tarnished jewelery. His arms are raised above his head, almost like a puppet being held up by the strings on his hands.
The darkness comes swirling out of the pit and wraps around the great dragon beast like pitch covered black silk. The creature struggles mightely and snaps the flowing shadows. The scaled creature began to swing its wings and arms wildly, smashing a hapless survivor (snapping him in two gory chunks).
John dropped to his knees, back bowed down. His began throwing what looks like globs of darkness that traveled towards the great beast. They took the shapes of hobgolbins and imps and swarmed over it. The tiny creatures inflicted no more damage then actual shadows, but seemed to greatly annoy the creature which attempted to bat them away.

Silently John was behind Mr. Wednesday and whispered into his ear (so close now he could smell the breath of rot and decay)
"smash the floor, the basement will solve all the problems"

The beast no longer had the dark creatures on it and was swinging its head looking for living food, prey, or fun.

[SonOfMoradin]

"This wyrm will not be bested by the fragile makings of mortals, Einherjar. Mayhap it will help with the fire."

Mr Wednesday walked back through the hole he had created, his spear sending arcs of lightning through the room. Launching himself off the bar, he lept high with his spear rasied over his head. He landed and fell to one knee, plunging his spear into the floor in front of him and twisting it.

The room was bathed in a flash of bright blue light, strong enought to overcome the hellish glow created by the fire. A spider web of lightning flashed across the floor towards the pit created by the beast, splintering the wooden floor and launching knife sized splinters into the air. The floor split apart where ever the web of lightning scorched it. The sound of the floor collapsing drown out the roar of the monster, as it and most of the tavern floor fell into the basement.

The building groaned, pained by the fire and combat raging within it, but it held and did not collapse on the few people still in side.

[devinkowalczyk]

The floor was wrong. Where there had been basement, there was another cracked hole. It was impossible to tell if something had burst up out of it or smashed down. The bright dancing flames kept everything beneath the basement in darkness, but the flow of cool air flowing up out of it.
The bar was quickly catching fire, with the remaining floor and walls nearly entirely engulfed. The few survivors had climbed out through various windows and doors. Options of escape were quickly closing.
Again John whispers
"This Jörmungandr, as you might call it oh drinker of Mímir, has fled. We should do the same. Meet me at the House of Fell tomorrow night"
And without a whisper of sound, John disappeared (either through window, rafter, or hole yet unseen in the basement)

[SonOfMoradin]

"The beast is not defeated! The job is not done." Mr. Wednesday continued looking down into the black pit that used to be floor of the tavern.

Shaking off his desire to leap into the pit after the monster, Mr. Wednesday looked around the tavern again. The fire was raging, and threatening to spread to the near by buildings. He knew the fire brigade would not arrive in time, and that the blaze could threaten a much larger area.

He let the spear head on his staff dissipate, leaving him holding a walking staff once again. Cradling it in one arm, he began to throw debris into the pit in the floor, trying to clear out as much of the flaming and flameable materials as he could. It wasnt much of a tavern, even as mortal places go, but they had good wine and the patrons usually left an old man alone with his cup.

He worked, ignoring the flames and smoke until he heard the first of the sirens wailing from up the street. He took a few more seconds to hurl a last bit of refuse into the pit, grabbed his metal cup, and walked out the back into the dark alley, settling his hat a bit lower onto his head as he went.

Anyone who looked down the alley saw an old man in a well worn leather coat, walking with the aid of a long walking staff, who produced a somewhat considerable cloud of steam as the damp evening air encountered his scorched coat and hat.

"House of Fel.... rotting Einherjar, why couldnt he just give me an address!"

[devinkowalczyk]

John slipped down amongst the barrels and crates of the basement. Already here it was cooler amongst the stones. Here in the dark he began to feel more than see. He could See the rats scurrying along the walls, looking for their hidey holes. He could See the spider in the corner, huge and glossy black, spin slowly on its web, looking for the what was causing its web to twist in the air. John glided past all of these to a small crate against the wall, where the stones where large. Moving it aside, in the flickering light of burning objects falling through the holes, to reveal a small space in between the stones. Here is thin body slipped and he entered one of the maze of caverns he knew beneath the city.
Cavern and crack to sewer and sidewalk alleyway, all the way back to his Haunted House of Fell. A nice size manor with columns, a garden, and an iron gate. It was once the home of a one of the first settlers of English blood on the island. It was now considered ancient, decrepit, and abandoned to the haunts. The paint had pealed and turned black, the columns stood, but everything sagged about them. The gardens had gone made with plants and shadows. The once prime real estate that it overlooked was now in the center of some of the poorest neighborhoods of Bismuth.

[SonOfMoradin]

Mr. Wednesday walked until he could no longer hear the sirens and the din of the activity around the tavern. Concern crept into his spirit like the cold dampness of the night crept into his bones, even through his heavy leather duster.

"Too public, too open, too many people saw....." he muttered, to no one in particular. "It is not time, not yet."

After walking for about an hour in seemingly random directions, Mr. Wednesday found a secluded niche in the front of a building. The mist had developed into a heavy drizzle, and the alcove protected him somewhat. At least it was a fairly dry place to sit.

"Who was that at the bar? I had assumed he was Einherjar due to his visage, but he did not fight like one. Some of his actions and fighting style reminded me more of one of Hel's minions, but I did not sense her touch upon him. More must be known."

Rummaging through his coat, Mr. Wednesday recovers his beaten silver cup and places it on the ground in front of him, far enough from the wall that the drizzle began to collect in the cup. Slumping down behind the cup, Mr. Wednesday settles, and in a low, almost imperceptible voice begins to chant in a harsh, long forgotten language.

He sat hunched like that for several hours, never stopping his low, droning chant. After many long hours, the cup was about 3/4ths full of pure (as pure as you could get in this place) rain water.

Mr. Wednesday reached down gently with both hands and brought the cup closer to his face. As he did, small arcs of lightning played from his finger tips into the cup, lighting the water up from the bottom of the cup. The surface clouded over with the light, and then darkened to show a scene that happened just a few hours ago. The mysterious, corpse-like stranger in the tavern.

"Show me" came a harsh whisper from Mr. Wednesday. The image swirled, following the stranger as he took place in the battle in the tavern. The image continually clouded into darkness. It was more than the mans' strange shadow powers... the image was having trouble staying locked on its subject. Mr. Wednesday continued to watch, frustrated at the interruptions in the image, but still keeping his eye locked on the surface of the water. He did not want to miss anything.

The image eventually settled on an old house, long past its prime glory.

"Here you go!" Mr. Wednesday's cup was disturbed by the sudden dropping of several coins into the cup, shattering the image. Startled, Mr. Wednesday looked up, noticing that the day was dawning. He shot an angry glare at the back of the businessman who had dropped coins into his cup, wishing ancient unpleasantries upon the man as he faded into the distance.

"Well, at least now I know where to go." he said, as lightning played across his uncovered eye.

Looking into the cup, he saw the businessman had left a small amount of coin in the cup. Not even enough for a decent cup of wine. Again thoughts of terrible torments crossed his mind, but he shook them away and made an effort to stand. Businesses would be open again soon, and he needed to find a place to get a good cup of wine.

"Not one of Hel's playthings, but still a mystery. I dont like mysteries." he said as he headed north along the street, his staff tapping the ground ahead of him.

[devinkowalczyk]

John sat on a rotting upholstered chair, which was more a pile of tattered remains that was more pile than chair. He sat, and brooded on the world. He knew that the light was coming out as easily as if his eyes where upon it. His internal clock honed by nearly a century of existence (for it was not quite life).
John wondered at the origin of the creature, bemused that everything must have a begining. Although, it did not always need to start somewhere dark and dank (if you get this joke, you're as sick as me). The only way to discover such secrets, and discover he would, would be in the tunnels beneath Bismuth. There is where many secrets had been lost.
John pulled a piece of moldering fish out of his pocket, turning it over and over in his long fingers. He liked he feel of the rings, how some were tight and some loose, and the stories attached to all of them. A wedding ending in murder, a childs first costume ring, a promise ring where they grew old together; so many stories, so many lives. Sighing contentedly, he popped the fish into his mouth and savored the aromas, the squishy texture, and the flavor of the fish and mold.

Quick steps on the stones outside and a creak of ancient gate alerted him to the presence of another. This always snapped him out of his brooding: potential victims.
John closed his eyes and called his pets, familiars, followers, and those looking for fun. A few minutes later the click clack of shoes went quiet, then panicked scuffling. He could sense the gleeful hissing as spiders, crows, and creepy crawlies swarmed out of nowhere and everywhere of a hapless business man on the property.
The House of Fell was just cursed that way.

[SonOfMoradin]

The day went by like so many others. A good deal of walking, some wine, the jeering shouts of people who think you a failure, a useless drain on society. If they only knew the truth of it. But no, they couldnt handle the truth.

Mr. Wednesday moved throughout the city in a seemingly meandering way. At times, he would stop and stoop down, touching the ground. Most people who saw him do this assumed that he was weak, or that he was being affected by some disease or affliction. Let them think what they wanted to think. Their small minds would shut down if they really knew....

"As expected, the wyrm moves unseen beneath us."

As the afternoon wore on, Mr. Wednesday turned his steps towards the old districts, towards where he knew Fell Manor was. He moved from commercial and business buildings, past the newly "renovated" Whitecloud district, and into the old and then very old areas of the city. At one time, this area was the home of the elite, the creme de la creme of human society. Mr. Wednesday scoffed at the idea, as he remembered the grand opulence of his home, incomparable to anything the mortals could make.

This area had not weathered the time well. It looked to Mr. Wednesday as if the fields that he remembered once occupied this space were trying very hard to reclaim it. Some houses barely stood. Others looked solid, but he could smell the decay coming from them. He could tell that a few were still inahbited, their owners doing their best to fight off the inevitable. He knew something about that, and to some extent, he admired them for it. "Do not go quietly into that good night." he whispered.

Here he was.... finally in front of Fell House. He wasnt sure, so he assumed it would be best to follow the old ways.

His voice sounded out strong, but not loud. He did not expect his host would have trouble hearing him. "I stand here, son of Borr, Lord of the AEsir, called the father of all. I have come to you by invitation, and as such expect upon your honor that no harm shall come to me whilst I am your guest. And as such, I swear upon my honor that I shall visit upon thee no harm unless I am threatened or in peril. I stand here. My sword is sheathed. Bid me enter!"

As he spoke a faint, mournful horn sounded in the distance.

[devinkowalczyk]

John sighed, he would never understand the ridiculousness of the of the daywalkers. Why not just yell out "stab me in the heart." Alas, they are a simple, open breed. He flicked the last piece of his fish in his mouth and set aside young Susan's doll head, the one she lost in the pile of clothes she threw away when she grew up. How she missed it and still thought of it.
Sliding to his feet he walked to the window and laid a hand on it and quickly recoiled. Even through the black out felt curtains the sun was still a nuisance.Summoning up his will, he spoke to a crow roosting outside.

The crow awoke and flew down to the gate, in front of the huge man in the big capey thing. He picked at the gate and made it swing a little bit, creaking and groaning.
He then took a few hops and hips towards the house and looked back and the big guy with the stick. (sticks are bad. sticks hit, but are nice to sit on)

[SonOfMoradin]

Mr. Wednesday shook his head, his eye cast at the ground at his feet. "Has no one any manners any more?"

He raised his head, his gaze piercing the grime stained windows at the front of the house, and his voice rang out. "You invited me here, revenant! At least show the courtesy of meeting me at your gate. I am not someone to be summoned in by one of your pets! Methinks you play this mysterious role a bit to heavy."

His staff shot sparks of lightning as he slammed the end of it on the sidewalk at his feet. The concrete buckled at the impact. "I know not what you want with me, and my patience is short these days. Show yourself, or I will leave you to your gloom and mystery and I will resume my hunt for the wyrm on my own!"

[devinkowalczyk]

From his window John lets loose another sigh.
"formalities formalities. should have known""
His feet passed noiselessly over the crumbling staircase and through the hallways and rooms, never disturbing a mote of dust. He exited through a broken window into the deep shadows of the plant life. Here under the heavy boughs of trees and large brush it was perpetually twilight. From root to web to rotting undergrowth John moved as quietly as the wind. He stood off to one side of the gate, hidden in the shade of an old oak tree planted by the original owners of the house. Stephan's name was still carved above the eigth branch.
His fingers trailed through a cold wind, asking it to carry his voice to the one eyed fallen. Smirking, he hoped the cyclops would appreciate the name of the house given his current condition...
To Mr. Wednesday, whispered over a cold wind
""you are invited with as much power as a denizen can give, and you shall receive no harm from my hand"

[SonOfMoradin]

"Aye, denizen of what, that be the question!" he responded, spotting the lurking figure under the canopy of the big tree. He paused for a second, appreciating the symbolism. "If you've no objection, whats say we talk right there, under the tree? I enjoy sitting at the base of a tree now and again."

He brushed past the worn and rusted gate, seemingly ignoring the crow but in fact giving it a hard look. Crows had meaning to some, and while they did not match his beloved ravens, this bird may give a clue to the strangers identity.

He walked towards the tree, using his staff to clear a path for him to walk through. "You know of me, it seems, so it's only fair that you even things up. Who are you? From whence did you come?"

[devinkowalczyk]

"i know only what i have seen and puzzled. for my people are secret keepers as well as the fear of the dark. i know not why you are here or what your limitations are. so rest assured that i know of nothing too dangerous about you."
"we have a few names in the English world. boogymen and haunts we are often called, vampires we are often mistaken for. we call ourselves sluagh (slew-ah). i am a fey creature born of darkness, fear, and secret. i was birthed on the dark passage over and continued to live amongst the early settlers."

i have invited you here because this house has an easy entry way into the network of tunnels beneath the city."

[SonOfMoradin]

"Fey? If so, you have fallen farther than me if you no longer have respect for the old ways."

Mr. Wednesday found a comfortable spot near the base of the tree where he could keep an eye on the stranger and the street.

"Get comfortable son, we have much to talk about" he said. "Was the wyrm there for you last night? Did ye know the beast was after you? And if you did, what in the fiery hells of Muspelheim were you doing in such a populated place?"

He reached into his pocket and produced a long, curved dark wood pipe and lit it, looking up at the stranger, waiting for a reply.

[devinkowalczyk]

John stands amongst the shadows, oddly enough no rays of errant light fall across his face. He is perfectly enshrouded by the leaves.
He speaks still only in a whisper, as if he is unable to speak louder then that.
"i have lived here a long time, and i never have seen blessed Arcadia even though i yearn for it. to say i have fallen far is incorrect, to say i never was would be more apt."

"the beast...the beast was not after me. i know it follows some of the paths under the island. it looked like it happened to of wandered into the shallower pathways, possibly out of the deep ones. i do not know why it was there. two eldritch creatures in one bar maybe? or maybe it was after you? a god, even fallen, would be quite a tasty treat to an ancient beast?"

John stands a little taller and spaces his feet apart, in a semi loose combat stance. His fingers flex slowly and his black and red eyes narrow.

[SonOfMoradin]

Noting the slight change in his hosts pose, Mr. Wednesday put his pipe out and tapped the burnt tobacco out on the ground next to him. Without looking up, he said "You know, several of these modern belief systems seem to think that there are several circles in Hel. I've been there, and I know there are no circles. However, I also know that Hel takes particular joy in tormenting oathbreakers. You might want to think about that before you go further down this path."

Rolling away from the stranger, Mr. Wednesday stands and readies his staff, sliding his pipe into one of his dusters pockets.

"But if you want to find out for yourself how merciless and cruel Hel can be, step forward and let the battle be joined!" He meets the strangers gaze, his own eye alight with blueish white lightning.

[devinkowalczyk]

Smiling, John's arm and body blur forward. Right before the eyes of Mr. Wednesday do the slightly clawed fingers of his right hand stop. His whole body is leans forward into the strike that is effectively frozen.

Wrapped around his wrist, up his arm, over his shoulder, across waist and legs is a ribbon of pitch like darkness.

"the sluagh's curse. for we can scare, haunt, and call to anyone, but we can bring no harm, directly or directly indirectly. forever bound by a curse. you have less to fear from me than you do from the oak we stand beneath."

The shadow released itself into thin black smoke as John eased back, rubbing his wrist.


"i invite you into my humble haunting ground, you may rest if you wish or we can begin our descent into the tunnels of this islands past"

[SonOfMoradin]

"You play a dangerous game. I ought to rap you over the head just to make a point - I am NOT under any such restriction! But we waste time. Let us be off after the wyrm! After the fight comes the feast, and I am greatly looking forward to that!"

Mr. Wednesday slowly walks towards the decrepit house, again brushing aside the overgrown garden with his staff. Looking over his shoulder at the stranger he says "People call me Mr. Wednesday. What should I call you?"

[devinkowalczyk]

"i was born with no name. so i took the first one i found; carved into a tomb stone was John."

John slides through the undergrowth, leaving no trace and disturbing no litter. He took the lead, but careful to avoid the light. In through the window and down a hallway to a large room filled with a rotten bed and broken table. The walls where partially covered in wallpaper and artistic drawings before they began to rot and peal away. Water had seeped up from the floor, warping the wood floors and walls.
He turned sharply at the doorway and moved several planks of wood aside opposite the window, revealing a stone hole with runic scripts around it.

Pointing at the markings which appeared humanoid with extra arms, extra heads, or other odd markings around them John whispered
"the natives work"


The hole down was about 3 feet wide and 10 feet deep before opening up into a natural cave. Several crates seemed to be here and there, visible through the hole but undecipherable at the height.

It is dark down there except for the small, gray light streaming through the window.

[SonOfMoradin]

Mr. Wednesday followed John through the decrepit old house, amazed at the amount of decay and the toll that time had taken on the structure and things in it. "Hel would feel at home here." he said softly.

Upon reaching the hole, he took some time to look over the runes around it, wanting to be sure that nothing foul would be found within these carvings. He ran his thick fingers over the carvings, and leaving softly glowing light in those that he touched. Assured the carvings were not harmful, Mr. Wednesday dropped into the hole, landing softly and ready for what ever he may find within.

A quick thought caused the spear tip to coalesce at the tip of his staff again, illuminating the passageway, shedding light fir a distance.

"If this tunnel doesnt get wider, the beast will have a distinct advantage over us." He groaned.

[devinkowalczyk]

John slid down the hole, careful to replace the boards above him lest someone else wander into the house. His long, thin fingers found crevasses that no human eye could detect. His slide down the tunnel and landed striding. He felt more comfortable here, guarded against the light by layers of earth and rock. Here his eyes could fully open and see past the feeble lighting of the One eyes staff.

"multi layered tunnels, we are near the top. it would likely be deeper"

So John picks a way, one heading towards the tavern and deeper into the island. He glided along, his soft, uncovered feet plodding along. He could smell the air down here, filled with the common smells of the city. Here and there the sewers and drains of the surfaced dropped the contents of the citys bowels.

The two walked in silence, sometimes closer sometimes further apart. John left the Mr. Wednesday to his thoughts. Occasionally, pictographic runes would appear, but they were indecipherable and meaningless since those who had made them fled to the dark forrest to the far north of the island. They always appeared human like, but often they were monstrous differences (wings, claws, multiple limbs).

When there was no drains, no natural light, no pictographs is when the first trap was sprung. Beneath them the floor cracked and split and everything shifted sideways.


John could feel the darkness beneath him, and more importantly, the lack of solidity.
"sssss! there is nothing beneath us!"

[SonOfMoradin]

Mr. Wednesday's senses were not as sharp as John's. When the floor shifted, it caught him somewhat by surprise.

As the floor pitched sideways, Mr. Wednesday lost his balance and dropped to one knee. The floor shifted more, and Mr. Wednesday was forced to use the wall to keep from falling prone. Using his spear end, he tried to leverage his body back down the tunnel, hopefully away from the trapped area.

He managed to move only a couple of feet back before the floor shifted again.

[devinkowalczyk]

John dropped to all fours and scurried like a spider along the cracking rocks and dust to the wall. His clawed toes and long fingers found purchase among the craggy wall. The crumbling ground underneath cracked and broke furiously, the fractured rocks begining to fall into the dark abyss.

The stones continued to slide, with Mr. Wednesday, firmly planted on a carriage sized rock, was begining to fall into the gloom. Both walls were five feet to his right and left, and solid ground 10 feet behind him. There were small stalagmites and a rough tunnel ceiling above him (4 feet).

[devinkowalczyk]

Elsewhere in Bismuth:

A shrouded figure (a mix between a large shawl, a cloak, and a heavy blanket) crouches amidst broken and burned timbers. The darkening day is further occluded by heavy cloud cover out to the east. Rain would probably come soon, but today was pleasant for the humans.

From under the shroud emerges a long, thick, tree branch like hand with long fingers. its fingers curl at weird places, more like tentacles then joints. It combs through the ashes and splinters. The heavy hood blocks any sight of the head and face, but intensity of stance is unmistakable. The fingers roll a human canine between them. The creature brings it up to the face and makes a sniffing action.

The shrouded creature began to cast about, as if looking for something, here in the center of the burned out husk of Chortling Wurm. A major fire started last night with reports, and seepage, of magic and witchcraft.

[SonOfMoradin]

Mr. Wednesday moved towards the center of the rock and crouched down, with little recourse but to ride the rock to the bottom. He briefly considered making a jump for the rim, but he knew he would never make it.

He glanced around above him, looking for John. Upon catching his eye, he nodded to him. "See you in Hel!" He shouted as the rock vanished into the darkness.

[SonOfMoradin]

Memories flashed in Mr. Wednesdays head. The descent, the darkness, the death of his son, and his attempt to reclaim him for the living. The images and thoughts were fleeting - dull flashes that left him more confused than anything. Had he been here? Had he done this before? Was this part of his destiny, or was a new path being forged for him?

As the darkness swallowed him, he crouched lower to the rock, and realized he did not know.

[devinkowalczyk]

John clung to the ceiling and watched the battered traveler hunker lower onto the rock. He could feel the great depth the hole beneath him, as large and huge as the Darkness had felt. The size of the rock was too large for any of his powers, and his position to odd to pluck him from it with any skill. His fingers clung tighter to the rocks and his breathe hissed in from frustration...
His eyes grew wide in memory
a single word issued from his lips
muffled slightly by the falling rocks
of something of grave importance
lost now to him



"sarah"

[SonOfMoradin]

The darkness rushed past Mr. Wednesday, silent, stagnant. He was surprised at the depth of the pit that had opened beneath him. He had expected it would be a minor fall, not a bottomless plummet.

He tried to penetrate the darkness, to find something he could use, some way he could escape this fall. Suddenly, something caught his eye - a flash or a glint of light. Not knowing if there would be a better option, he hurled himself off the rock and out to the side.

He slammed into the sheer side of the pit and found no handhold or purchase. He slid down, barely slowing his fall. Then he came to a sharp stop, managing to find the ledge that he thought he saw in the darkness. The impact drove him to the ground, and he lay there for a while, willing the pain to go away.

He weakly reached over and found his staff, not sure how he had been able to hold onto it. He pushed himself up, lifting his head from the mud. His beard was no longer white. He levered himself over into a sitting position, is back against the wall, and he realized how small this ledge really was.

What was it that he had seen? What had caused the glint of light that had saved his life. Did he imagine it?

He began to slowly feel around the ledge, looking for what ever it was he had seen.

[ken0sis]

"What're ye waitin' for? Think the damned flue'll be cleanin' itself?! Down ye go!"

The bearded man was stooped and frail, but tough as old roots. He poked with his cane; Rafe felt the cold ferrule in the small of his back, then a hard shove. It was either fall in headfirst... or jump. Eyes shut tight, Rafe chose the latter. At least he didn't have to brave the mines today.

Though small for such a large factory, the chimney easily swallowed the twelve-year-old boy whole. Throwing his feet and one free hand outward, he managed to slow his descent, at the price of a little skin from his palm. He barely noticed it; that part of his duties hardly pained him now, his callouses thick after working two years as a sweep, and occasionally as a runner for the coal miners... and then there was his other job. No, the hard part was keeping the panic at bay. The knowledge that his world was now lightless made Rafe's heart wanted to climb into his throat. Maybe it won't appear this time... maybe it's busy elsewhere...

No such luck. A pair of golden eyes, burning with a strange mix of malice and delight, seemed to blink open, just inches from his face. The fact that his eyes were still closed only made it more terrifying. The air was thick with soot, but through it all the sharp scent of brimstone burned Rafe's nostrils. If his heart had jumped before, now it wanted to stop.

As he slowed to a halt, perhaps six meters down, he began to chant. "Ab insídiis diaboli, libera nos, Dómine... Ab omni malo, libera nos, Dómine..."

There was no longer any delight in those golden eyes. Rafe thought he heard a scratching sound, as of a beast's sharp claws against stone. Or brick. He chanted louder. "Libera nos, Dómine... libera nos, Dómine!" Apparently irritated, the eyes of the beast narrowed. Its silent gaze promised to return later, but mercifully, they winked out of sight. Rafe opened his eyes and took a deep breath-- of flaky soot. He hacked and coughed sharply, hating life but glad to be rid of that evil gaze. "Kyrie eleison..."

The old man's dry, piercing voice screeched abruptly in Rafe's ears. "Boy, quit whinin'! Ye've got eleven more to do before supper, if I see fit to give ye any, and I'm feedin' ye to work, not whine!"

Using the sweep in his right hand to help prop him in place, Rafe raised his ragged shirt to cover his mouth. He'd sing a different tune with the beast hounding his soul, he thought sourly. But it simply wasn't worth the risk. The last time he'd tried to sic the beast on someone, he'd almost killed himself. Just a little taste of hell, that's all a crotchety old man needs to improve his attitude. Well, he'd probably get that taste eventually, whether by Rafe's doing or by the hand of Another.

Rafe knew that just the thought of effecting revenge was probably enough to rouse evil from its nap, so he emptied his mind, took up his sweep again (after finding good footing between a few uneven bricks), and began scrubbing. The eyes did not appear again that day, but it was as if it were just out of sight, beyond his periphery, waiting for him to slip. And perhaps it was; the smell of sulfur had vanished from the chimney itself, but in such an enclosed space, Rafe could still smell it... on his own breath.




~ about one year later ~



Poor enough to know the value of the small things in life, Rafe cherished those moments right before and after sleep, when his all his troubles and worries seemed not to exist... when his body and mind could fully relax. Even the advanced meditation methods Sensei Kiyoshi had taught him were no substitute for a solid nap. So when he woke from this particular nap, that peaceful half-second made the next instant a violent jolt. The candle he normally lit before bed each night was not to be seen, nor could he smell any incense burning. His head throbbed with pain, clouding his thoughts. He lay on a rough rock floor, more as if he had fainted than napped.

Fear seized him. He had awakened in total darkness. Why do I smell coal? And why do I feel bruised head-to-toe?

Then he remembered. He had been at work, not at home. I'm at the bottom of a mine... But there should be a light somewhere! The most negligent foreman would fire a man for letting any lantern go out this far down. Bit by bit, he forced his fear down into a small knot in his belly. At least he had his bamboo staff. He had senses available to him that most mortals did not, but nothing to keep him from stumbling over a stone in the dark. He stood stiffly, held the staff out as a blind man would, and started forward. It's dark enough, but it isn't a maze. I'll find an incline soon enough. Why is it so quiet? Where is everyone? He considered crying out for someone, but decided against it. Strange enough things lurked on the surface at night, and there was never a shortage of horrific stories to explain the occasional disappearance of a hapless miner.

'Soon enough' turned into a half hour's walk, which didn't amount to much due to his tedious method of travel, and he began to think that perhaps he had found himself in the only coal-mine-maze in Bismuth... until he heard a noise. Rafe froze, and strained to listen.

It had the sound of a cave-in... and then someone shouting something. It took his mind a moment to process the words, and when he did, the small knot in his belly burst back to full size. See you in Hell?! The sound of tumbling stones continued for several seconds, and then silence.

Of course, there was only one choice, really. Wandering the coal maze for another half hour or longer didn't seem too appealing to someone afraid of the dark, and the voice had sounded human. He almost laughed at the thought. It could be much worse! Yes. He would investigate the noise. Even if its owner proved hostile, dying while defending himself would probably be better than starving to death.

Not to stave away evil, but simply to keep calm, he chanted as he wound his way toward the source of the noise. "Ab noctem infinita, libera nos, Dómine..."

[Zephiniah]

"Why is everything so filthy." Quinton muttered to himself as he strode around the murky streets of Bismuth. He did have to smile a little though, ironically his white and blue ta-bard, cloak, and tunic appeared like a shining bastion of cleanliness in this dismal place. Putting the matter aside Quinton made for the cathedral his master had spoken of.

Much like Quinton this very building seemed a bit out of place, a simple cathedral of Gothic design stood before him. He sighed and removed his white cowl to reveal deep blueish hair that glistened in the sunlight. As he entered the building, a man in priest's attire turned around in the front pew.

"You are here my child, we have been expecting you. Please, join me in my chambers."

Quinton nodded and moved towards a room behind the alter where the old priest motioned to. Few in the church knew of the sect that Quinton and his kin belonged to. Most mistook the crest on his chest for another religious symbol meaning 'luck' or 'prosperity'. His task was greater than just being 'prosperous'.

Moving towards a humble table barely fit for one the old man sat down. Quinton did the same. "You are young, you look no older than 26 winters."
"Is it true what they say about you, that you can sense the raw energy given off by the soul?"

"I can, and not to be short with you but the energy radiating from underneath the streets is that unlike anything I have ever felt. I have been trained to destroy souls that can not reach the here after, but you and I both know the church's stance on the great evils. The change in spiritual pressure is great enough that I am certain it even makes you a little uneasy."

The priest nods silently as he stares at the small lamp illuminating the room.

"I wish to use your cause way into the bowels of the city." Quinton declared.

The priest was a little taken aback seeing as the passage was a secret. Remembering who he was talking to he nodded again and moved to a lever carefully hidden behind a bookshelf.

The lever moved noisily into position, and the rasp of stone against stone grinded somewhere below them. Quinton nodded his thanks and made for
the rush of cool air that came from a nearby hallway. Entering into a dank and musty series of corridors he made his descent.
These rooms and tunnels were once used for human trafficking, though the church to this day denies involvement. Quinton had no time for the sins of the past, the feeling was quickly fading.
Closing his eye's and becoming as still as possible he reached out to the darkness with his mind. Sensing beyond walls and floors he could sense a
soul, moving very fast, and farther away. It must be a being of incredible spirit, the distance seemed great for Quinton to still be able to sense it.
After a few moments Quinton gathered his thoughts and proceeded into the depths. Flicking his finger with little effort he produces a thin, 2 foot long shaft of blue and white energy the pulsates softly in his hand.
Quinton frowns as the smell of sewage washes over him."...and i just cleaned this outfit yesterday."

[devinkowalczyk]

John was caught up in his moment when the twinges finally got too difficult to ignore. With darkness all around he could sense his surroundings like a spiders web. Bodies where disturbing the darkness. The closest ones where coming from the direction they had been heading...
They were squat and thing little things. They seemed generally human like, but their faces and bodies twisted in unnatural ways. The lumbered, slide, scraped and crawled towards John and the hole. Some carried stones, some carried sharpened stones. All had menace in their odd eyes.
That was it! The odd slant of their eyes
"nativessss"

[SonOfMoradin]

Power coursed up the walking staff and formed into a spear point at the top, and blue white light washed over the small ledge Mr. Wednesday now sat on.

He scanned the ground around him, softly running his free hand through the muck and mud around him. Finally his hand encountered something hard. He freed it from the grime and shook it gently several times to clean some of the mire from it.

Holding it up to get a better look at it, he saw that he was holding a large fang, but a fang made of a dark metal, something like Hematite. He stared at it for a long while in the silence, and then without a word tucked it into his coat pocket.

He heaved himself into a standing position on the ledge, and held his spear out into the dark chasm, trying to see what was around him. As he moved his arm back and forth, he saw more glints of light in the distance. At least, that is what they looked like at first. As he stepped forward to the edge to try to extend his light a bit more, he realized that the lights were not reflections of his spear's energy. They were in fact eyes, gleaming in the darkness.

And there were a lot of them.

[Zephiniah]

Quinton was moving perhaps a little faster than was probably safe, considering the cave began to look more natural and less constructed. The under belly of the city was bustling with life this day. It was much easier to sense some one's soul when they were panicked or angry, and there was a little bit of everything down here. Quinton was so lost in thought he almost didn't see the chasm that opened up before him.
He slid to a stop bracing himself with the side of the wall to slow his pace.
He was beginning to appreciate all those years of his childhood training in the Schwarzwald.
Having been wrenched from his thoughts Quinton reached out to try and feel the bottom. It was unimaginably deep.
Taking his shaft of light and lining it up with his left for arm, he notched it like an arrow on a simple pull and fired the light into the darkness. It was quickly swallowed up but the great emptiness that was this chasm.
Pulling out another illuminated projectile Quinton discovered that this great gap had only caved in recently.
The smell didn't seem quite as foul from below, and Quinton did loathe the smell.
Dropping to one knee he began to trace an isosceles triangle around him. Focusing much of his spiritual pressure he formed a small platform that would hold his wait. He willed it to descend.
Quinton knew he was exceptionally vulnerable in this position, he couldn't take much damage and still manage to maintain the platform. He also realized he was floating on a large blue and white glowing triangle.
Pushing himself up to standing he continued his descent.
Pushing all doubts into the back of his mind, he focused all his additional resources into a sort of short range surveillance, looking for spiritual energy in the nearby vicinity.
Moving quickly but no quite as fast as falling, Quinton descended into the nothingness.

[SonOfMoradin]

He was a shadow of his once-self, but he still could put forth an intimidating presence if he wanted to.

Mr. Wednesday slammed the end of his spear on the ground and willed the energy that formed the head of the spear to glow more brightly, casting a blueish-white light into the chasm. "Come you goblins of the depths! Stand and deliver, foul spawns of the darkness!" he bellowed in a deep and booming voice. Lightning coursed from the tip of his spear, digging furrows in the walls of the pit around him. "You will find no easy prey here! I have battled Giants and Wyrms. I have cast down Titans and braved Hel! Come, come to die!"

As his voice echoed off the walls of the pit, he saw far above his head another strong source of light flash into existence. At this distance he could not make out what it was, but one thing was obvious. It was coming down the pit towards him.

So be it, he thought. Let the battle be joined!

[devinkowalczyk]

Currently

John You're a cheater if you read this CHEATER CHEATER

Mr. Wednesday You are on small dusty ledge. Bellow you is a very deep pit, and above you is a long way up to where you were when the cave in occured. Figures are begining to flicker around the edge. A lighted figure is descending (Quinton). Across from you is a tunnel with a strange fellow in stranger garb (Rafe). Last you saw of John he was on the ceiling now in darkness.

Quinton You are descending into a recently hollowed out tube like structure. Beneath you you see the cloaked and guarded figure of Mr. Wednesday. Above you you can hear and somehwt see shadowy figures moving around the edge of the opening, ie, the fresh scar of the cave it (still underground). Your light allows you to see severl openings in this tube, which appears natural (offshoots).

Rafe You have come across a chasm/tube in the tunnels. Across from you is a cloaked and guarded Mr. Wednesday. Coming down from the top of the tube is light, but not sunlight, and something possibly descending. You can hear scrapings coming from above you.

[Zephiniah]

The crackling of thunder and the sparks of illumination below Quinton almost threw him off his platform entirely. This was it, the energy source he had followed to these decrepit depths. He came level with this wielder of lightning and a voice like that of Berengarius of old.
As Quinton looked for a place to land, he noticed that the warrior below was prepared for battle, and the sound of scuffling of many creatures began to reach his ear.
Finding a perch hole almost parallel to this warrior of bravado Quinton closed his eyes and released the platform. Finding his feet on uneven, but stable ground Quinton once again closed his eyes and held out his left hand.
My arrows are shot from my soul. May they burn bright enough to pierce the darkness and bring peace to the restless.
A blue and white beam manifested itself in the open hand. Bending at the edges and forming into a light arch shape.
Reaching into his soul for strength he notched his glowing projectile.
"You who's spirit stands against the darkness. Your spear would find it's current task much easier with a bow behind it, wouldn't you agree?"
As Quinton called out to the poorly illuminated warrior, he lined up his first shot and fully intended to shoot the first thing that jumped out of the pit below.

[ken0sis]

The voice that had yelled out, apparently belonged to just one of many creatures that waited for him less than thirty meters ahead. I guess he had to be addressing someone... or something. The scraping sounds, somewhat confusing after echoing back and forth, had to represent at least a dozen different sources. Even if not for his fear of the dark, Rafe would be wanting light soon.

As if in in answer, light bloomed from two sources. It wasn't strong enough to illuminate the whole chamber, or even make Rafe squint at all, but he appreciated it more than he could express, so much that a deep sigh escaped him. Two looked like weapons of some kind, preceded by a soft glow from a vertical shaft above and ahead of him.

"Stand and deliver, foul spawns of the darkness!" boomed a voice that made Rafe jump back a little. He doesn't sound evil. He decided to chance it-- just as the soft glow from above reached nearly floor-level, and a third voice spoke.

"Your spear would find its current task much easier with a bow behind it, wouldn't you agree?"

The oddly slant-eyed creatures were slowly surrounding them. A shiver went up Rafe's spine when he looked back the way he had come and saw several eyes advancing from that direction, as well. Were they behind me the whole time?? Well, I guess it doesn't matter now. Picking his steps carefully in the wan light coming from the two strangers, Rafe made sure to make a little noise as he approached. "Er... ahem."

The only two pairs of eyes he could trust, and those not much, turned instantly to regard him.

"Uh, hi. Hope you don't mind...? That is, all I have is this stick and my hands and feet, but maybe that's enough to earn a guided tour out of here?" Smiling broadly, Rafe spun the bamboo staff back and forth. At the thought of impending violence, something in his soul stirred. He couldn't see himself, of course, but he knew his eyes were turning from dull brown to shining amber. Nothing to worry about. What are the chances I'd meet someone down here who knows what color eyes a demon has?

[devinkowalczyk]

From above a hissing noise issues, bouncing and echoing off the hard rock of the tunnel. The wavering shadows increase and several rocks bounce off the tube wall and tumble into the darkness far below (several full seconds later the echo of them striking hard ground echoes back). Screeching occurs next, the hollow wailing and crying of smaller creatures and the clattering of rocks off of the stone walls.

[SonOfMoradin]

"You who's spirit stands against the darkness. Your spear would find its current task much easier with a bow behind it, wouldn't you agree?"

"Uh, hi. Hope you don't mind...? That is, all I have is this stick and my hands and feet, but maybe that's enough to earn a guided tour out of here?"

Mr. Wednesday gazed into the darkness at the speakers. Neither of them resembled the horrors of the darkness that flashed through his spotty memmory. Even in this unlikely place, it seems he had found allies. He began to laugh a deep, throaty laugh that echoed off the walls of the pit.

But then the screetching started. The pit was filled with a cacaphony of chilling sounds - hissing, wailing cries, and sharp, cutting screetches.

"Bjuggust þeir til orrostu! Prepare for battle! The evil in the deep has found us, and we must fight our way clear. Make room - I will come to you. That tunnel is a far more defensible position than mine current one."

With that, Mr. Wednesday pressed himself back against the rock wall as far as he could. He could faintly see the outline of the tunnel across from him. With a primal roar, he launched himself forward, leaping of the very edge of the ledge and into the darkness, his spear trailing a path of lightning behind him.

[Zephiniah]

Quinton could see the mans form coming towards him. He had to change his focus quickly if this was going to work. Straining himself he let his bow dis corporate into darkness and slammed both of his hands to the ground. He wasn't sure if the warrior was going to make it, so with as much spirit as he could muster he began to create a ledge on the edge of his tunnel. If he could sustain it long enough he may be able to bridge the gap to the boy on the other side.
Quinton breathed heavily as he braced for the impact of the man landing. He knew he could support his wait and more but this was going to be a true test for him. Growing up he never had any trouble releasing the destructive power of his art. Only in recent years had he found the strength of will to use his spiritual pressure defensively or constructively.
Quinton felt like he had the wind knocked out of him as the man landed.
Gasping for air he muttered,"Keep them at bay, I will gather the young one if I can maintain the bridge.
Closing his eyes and removing all sensory input from his mind the room went black. He could see his platform clearly, and the light at the other end of the hole where the boy's spirit stood. He could sense the growing dark underneath but he pushed it aside until he only say the boy and the bridge.
Not wavering for even a moment Quinton began to extend the bridge a few feet at a time towards the boy.
Quinton knew it could be done, but at this point he was reaching his peak. He simply couldn't put forth enough energy to bridge the gap. He needed more spirit particles. He wasn't sure if he whispered it or thought it but all that came out was..."Slay the darkness that I may use there spirit..."

[SonOfMoradin]

Sqeezing himself to the side of the tunnel, Mr. Wednesday tried to get a good vantage point so that he could see up and down the pit without disturbing the stranger. He knew that the creatures were closing in on them, but he still couldnt see them well enough to mount a decent defense.

Hoping that he could slow their advance, he reached his spear out into the pit and released a ball of blue-white lighting down into the pit. He watched it descend, trying to get a look at the creatures they would soon be facing.

"John! There are goblins in the darkness! Come to me if you can! I have found allies!" He shouted up the pit. He did not fire a bolt up the pit, in case John was descending.

He spared a glance back into the tunnel. How deep was it? Could they be trapped between attackers here. Where were the creatures coming from?

[devinkowalczyk]

Above, still clinging to the ceiling of the original path Mr. Wednesday and himself had been taking, John heard his companion (Companion, again, it had been so long...) and took a chance.
He summoned the darkness from the well beneath him and threw everything he had into it.


The darkness, bowed out here and there by the lights being throw about below, fell upward squirming around the light. It collected around John into a bubbling sphere. The sphere exploded into motion and pieces, forming monstrous little hobgoblins that bounded and screached at the small, twisted natives.

Slithering down the walls he passed into the gaping hole that Mr. Wednesday had passed through and downwards towards the light. He passed two tunnels (empty and full of darkness); one was merely an alcove, and the other went the wrong direction. The third tunnel is where everyone collected. He stayed out of the circle of light cast by the white clad human standing on some platform. He could hear the scrabbling of clawed hands and feed along with the clink of hand held rocks coming from the third tunnel (which Mr. Wednesday was currently looking into).

[ken0sis]

As the blue luminescence solidified and began to extend toward him, Rafe was already crouching, preparing for the leap. By reaching only halfway across, the stranger had made it an easy jump. Using the bamboo to vault, Rafe cleared the gap as well as a third of the magical bridge, fell into a roll, sprang back to his feet and leaped again.

He landed with his back to the strange caster, staff held ready against the advancing slant-eyed creatures. As the first of them was almost within striking distance, Rafe steeled himself, breathed a streamer of sulfurous smokey breath--

--and almost choked on it when a small, black, horned monkey-shape dropped down from above to latch onto Slanty-Eye's face. The screams this action elicited were quite unpleasant. The silliness of the situation struck Rafe suddenly. How had he even come here? Who were all these people, and... things?!

"Okay, I give up. Somebody tell me where this nightmare-circus came from, and why we all got stuck with free tickets."

[SonOfMoradin]

The young man with the spear staff like his landed lightly in the tunnel, making the leap with ease, and with a little aid from the other stranger's bridge of light. Bifröst it wasnt, but Mr. Wednesday was glad his new companion was able to give such help.

His quickly gave his companions a studied look. The one who seemed to command light looked religious, like a templar or some kind of a knight priest. Old grudges welled up quickly in his gut. He remembered how such priests had been responsible for "casting down heathen gods" in the days of old, sticking their noses in places it didnt belong, and forcing people to forget their heritage.

The other newcomer was small, but he moved with a practiced ease. He had dexterity, but did he have strength and will. Would he be able to face the horrors in the dark?

Suddenly it didnt matter any more, as the walls of darkness in the pit flowed towards the tunnel they all stood in. The shadows broke into dozens of small creatures, bearing demonic traits, glowing eyes, and gleaming sharp claws and teeth. One lept upon the young man with the staff before he or his companions could move. But the pause was brief, as he and his group exploded into action.

Mr. Wednesday thrust his spear forward and unleashed a blast of piercing white lightning, raking the left edge of the tunnel as several of the creatures came into it. The creatures seemed to vaporize into a cloud of foul greasy smoke when hit, filling the tunnel with a nauseating stench. Mr. Wednesday tried to move towards the young man, who was struggling to get one of the creatures off his head and chest. He hoped he wasnt too late....

[Zephiniah]

Quinton felt the rush of Rafe's spirit fly past him. Well I guess I don't need this anymore.Quinton began to rotate the platform 90 degrees. It was still a great deal of effort and at this level of concentration he still could only sense bits and pieces of the darkness moving about below. He didn't know if he was screaming or if it was a distant memory come to haunt him "Ye lord! Mask of blood and flesh, all creation, flutter of wings, ye who bears the name of Man! Inferno and pandemonium, the sea barrier surges, march on to the south!" With a final thought he pushed the now vertical bridge into the darkness with great force. Once a cause way, now a guillotine with an explosive amount of energy. It sliced through the darkness and anything else in it's path on it's way down towards the bottom of the chasm.
Quinton knew he was on his back, and he knew that he had also over exerted himself. His hearing would return first but right now he was alone in the dark with just spiritual lights as his guide.

[devinkowalczyk]

John watched in horror from the shadows as humans slaughtered humans. Those proud ones with gifts who walk in the light now descend to this No Man's Land and slaughter the natives of this island who couldn't assimilate, or maintain their culture. Those caught in between.

Luckily, the few mangy survivors where begining to slink back into the darkness, to hide in the holes that the others would pass over.


John's eyes slid over the now assembled crowd that had joined him and Mr. Wednesday. He remained carefully in the shadows, drawing them close to hide his presence from all of them.

[Zephiniah]

Quinton lay motionless on the stone. He could hear nothing, see nothing, and even his ability to sense spiritual pressure was greatly diminished. His body ached, only once before had he known such a feeling.
Seven years had passed since he completed his training. He thought fondly of the tall trees and the quiet water that ran through the Black Forest in the summer time. The breeze echoed through his memories and he could almost smell the white flowers that use to grow atop the high places of his home.
Camping for weeks at a time, running through the forest chasing down wild game on foot. Laying still enough in the calm waters that the river fish would swim right up to you. As much discipline as he had, he was still a child compared to his master.
He would have never used so much of his soul for strangers, and now I am at their mercy.
"I can see nor hear brave travelers of this wretched place. Your aid would be much appreciated." Quinton over enunciated his words since he himself could not hear them.
All he could do now is hope that he had not made a fatal decision in aiding the strangers.
At least this darkness is familiar enough...

[SonOfMoradin]

As the strange creatures withdrew and disappeared into the shadows and darkness again, Mr. Wednesday let the fury of his spear tip diminish some. The softer glow would help them see better in the tunnel.

He turned and surveyed the cramped tunnel. All of his newfound companions had come through the skirmish unscathed.

"I can see nor hear brave travelers of this wretched place. Your aid would be much appreciated." the priestly one who controlled the light said, while the young man turned and put his back to the wall of the tunnel.

Mr. Wednesday cast his gaze around the tunnel, and up into the pit a bit. His initial companion John had not joined them, although the black shadow-creatures who joined the fray at the end certainly looked like those John had conjured when the dragon appeared. Mr. Wedneday felt something was watching them.... but even his enhanced sight could not detect anything.

"We need to find a way out of these tunnels. My original companion is missing, and one of our cadre has been incapacitated." He looked towards the young man "Can you see down here? Can you scout the tunnel ahead and find a path that may lead out? I can carry our friend here."

Mr. Wednesday tool the priests hand and placed it on his shoulder so that they could walk together. "Keep hold of me" he said "We will see you from these tunnels."

Giving one last glance towards the pit, he shouted "John, we go to seek an exit from this foul darkness. If you can hear this, find a way out and we will meet again later."

Turning back into the tunnel, he whispered in a cautious voice "Be careful, there may be a rather large wyrm down here... big,... and hungry... "

[ken0sis]

"Can you see down here? Can you scout the tunnel ahead and find a path that may lead out? I can carry our friend here."

"See in the dark? No better than any of you," he lied. Well, it's only a half-lie, anyway. "I'll follow someone who can, or you can follow me as I feel my way along the walls."

By the light of the big man's spear, Rafe could see that the one who had conjured a bridge for him was somewhat fancily clad in blue and white. He had the look of a priest, though of what order, Rafe couldn't say. Does it matter? Whether the One he serves is familiar or unknown, good or evil, I'll have to watch myself around him. But his rescuer's incapacitation wouldn't last forever, so Rafe decided to take a chance. Kneeling carefully on the uneven, stony ground, he bowed his head and began to murmur a chant... requesting not sight, but protection.

As he chanted, Rafe felt nothing, of course. That was normal. The chant didn't have that sort of effect. But when he reached across the Veil, into the realm of his possessor, he did indeed feel something: unadulterated wrath. And with it came an inner heat, like a fever, scorching him below the skin. His breath became a little thicker as his chanting continued. That acrid smell of sulfur, somehow comforting, was not just a smell but a taste in his throat.

Sensing that he was beginning to overstep himself, Rafe grabbed with his spirit, and yanked whatever-it-was back across the Veil.

A tiny reptilian creature, some sort of lizard with three yellow eyes, emerged from a crack in the ground. From what Rafe could see in the poor light still coming from the big man's spear, its skin seemed smooth rather than rough, and it flicked a white tongue back and forth rapidly. It regarded him, and though he couldn't understand how such a creature could have such an expression, he knew it felt nothing but malice... and it was directing that malice at him.

It spoke no words, nor did Rafe-- he had ceased his chant as soon as the creature showed itself-- but there was an understanding between the two of them. Come to think of it, Rafe had probably summoned this one before. Take your time, why don't you! The others will start asking questions! Rafe had taken care to turn away from them all before the summoning, so that his body hid the thing from everyone else. A good thing, since otherwise they would probably feel its fury from ten meters away.

Finally the lizard stopped glaring at him, turned to survey his surroundings, and began to skitter forward, never straying more than a few steps ahead of Rafe.

"Uh, I... yes, I think I may actually know this particular tunnel after all." A pitiful attempt at a deception, but it would have to do. "By the way, I'm Rafe. What should I call you two?"

[devinkowalczyk]

Regular Vision
The tunnel is quiet except for the rasp of boots on stone. The floor is fairly uniform stone and the walls are a slowly undulated (they don't move) stone like some natural waterway at some time.
There is light up ahead, but the further you walk, the furhter it seems to be away.
The hallways continues on for several thousand feet. Rafe, leading the group, follows his pet along the straight and narrow (no more than 10' at the widest and 5' at the narrowest) pathway.
Finally the light opens up into a doorway revealing not the sun, but a large arched room covered in glittering crystals. The hyperbolic ceiling is covered in cyrstals of many colors and shapes, but all about the size of your fist. In the center of the room is a hole in the floor, as if punched directly and perfectly into the stone (approx 50' across, in the center of a 100' room).

Chi vision
The tunnel is flowing with neutral chi of the deep earth. Nothing special.
The room is a swirling mess of almost human chi.

Evil vision
Nothing. No particular evil

The crystals, if you choose to examine one:

Red
Feelings of goodness, happiness, and warmth spread up your hand and into your soul/heart/whatever. The crystal grows warm ,then hot, as it cave of wonders style melts in your hand. The hand is burned till end of page 4 (unusuable). You are also fearless until then.

Green
Your body grows sick with poison. You are now immune to other poison effects, but exhibit flu like symptoms as the green crystal vaporizes in your hand.

White/clear
Painful blisters erupt all over your side, arm, and hand when this crystal explodes in your hand. This forces you to move more slowly from pain. However, you are immune to other pain effects (such as injury). These end at the end of page 4.

Blue
The feeling of zen overtakes you, of utter calm and control. The exhaustion hits you, with you barely able to move. Both feelings will continue till the end of page 4.

Purple
The comfortable feeling of being wrapped in a warm blanket surrounds you. However, it also slows your body down. You are always comfortable but find it difficult to move til the end of page 4.






The pathway continues on the other side, with a black hole in the wall.
John is still no where to be seen.


Those of you who are familiar with direction and space feel you are well outside the city now and probably nearing the end of the farms if you were to somehow go straight up.

[SonOfMoradin]

"I have had many names ..... none as beloved as Father. Those above call me Mr. Wednesday."

The cave of crystals brought back flashes of memory for Mr. Wednesday, but they were spotty and confusing to him. "Sindri,.... Brokkr? This is not their cave. Where is their forge?" He moves around the cavern, avoiding the pit in the middle - "Straight to Hel" he mutters quietly when near it.


Question: Does the pit look like it was cut in the stone, or like something broke through the floor? "Punched" and "Perfectly" indicate two different things to me.

As he investigates the cavern, seemingly looking for something specific, he picks up a red crystal. This seems to calm him, and he stands still for the first time since entering the cavern, a smile spreading over his face. Then suddenly, the smile changes to a grimace of pain as the stone flares, burning his hand. "Flames of Surter!" He bellows, throwing the crystal across the cavern. Holding his hand up, he looks at the others in his group "Beware the crimson colored ones - they contain dragons breath."

After a short while he begins to search the cavern again, this time using his spear haft to move stones and crystals. He comes to a stop next to a large collection of blue crystals. "The waters at the bottom of the well shone like this" he says, to no one in particular. He spends a long while staring into the heart of the crystal formation, his spear resting on his shoulder. Then he reaches out to pluck a loose crystal from the pile, holding it up to his good eye. The crystal casts a pale blue light over his face, giving him a sinister and sickly look. Again a calm washes over Mr. Wednesday as he stares into the heart of the crystal in his hand. "What is to be found within... in the depths, and what is the cost?" he whispers.

Suddenly he slumps over, coming to rest against the wall of the cavern. His chest rises and falls beneath his great beard, but that is the only movement his body makes.

[Zephiniah]

Quinton was lost in a sea of darkness with his memory to keep him company. He awareness was coming back slowly but only on a spiritual level at this point. With his hand on Mr. Wednesdays shoulder he moved through the darkness. There came a point where there was many stops and starts, the place where they were currently in didn't feel all that special to him so he was a bit confused. Mundane traps? Sinkholes? Surely something delays us.
Quinton dealt with the starts and stops as he really didn't have much choice in the matter. The last time he "blacked out" like this he had a warm bed for the last half of it. The memory still burned him like a hot iron to naked flesh.

"You are ready for the last test. Make sure you have a large breakfast and I will see you at the river come dawn." The old man told young Quinton as he retired to his chambers. Quinton had only heard bits and pieces of the final test, all he knew is that no one had passed it in the last two decades, People of the neighboring villages felt the art might die out completely if no one could carry the mantle.
He arrived at the river deep within the Black Forest in early spring as requested. His master stood on a rock in the middle of the river, shooting spirit arrows upstream as if just to watch their force split the water as they grazed close to the surface of the river.
He cleared the morning air out of his throat and addressed his pupil,"You will stand here, you will manifest a bow for 7 days and 7 nights. No mortal should be able to complete this task, but you have been trained well, and it will require everything you have learned to accomplish. Once you have done this, there will be no limitations on your ability to learn, adapt and grow, but you must force your soul to stretch at the very seems first. Do you understand?"
Quinton remembered his heart sinking as he heard his masters words. Seven days and nights. While maintaining a spirit bow! "I am prepared master." He replied even as he was unsure how this was all going to pan out.
The master left his place on the rock so that Quinton could stand there. As Quinton found his footing he realized that there were already foot grooves on this particular rock to match an archers stance. As if this place had been used many times for this purpose.
Quinton turned to ask his master a question but the old man was already gone. Heh, I know your around here somewhere, but I guess this is something that must truly be done alone. Quinton closed off the rest of the world until it was just him and his bow. He sat in darkness for seven days and nights with nothing more than the light of his own spirit. He was well beyond his limit when he felt a hand on his shoulder, he recognized the energy as his master but when he turned to see him his eye showed him nothing, just the same empty blackness. Even as he yelled out he could not hear his own words. He felt himself being thrown over a shoulder as the darkness faded to unconsciousness.
He woke up two days later to learn of the tragedy that had befallen his home while he was away...

They had stopped. Mr. Wednesday was now leaning against the wall and had ceased moving. Quinton moved to sit beside the man against the wall.
This warrior of old had seemed like he was in capable shape last Quinton saw. Quinton again over enunciated his words with greater than average volume since he was still deaf for the time being."Sir if you are injured tap my arm once, if we are simply resting tap it twice."

[SonOfMoradin]

In the various blissful states caused by the strange but alluring crystals in the cavern, Mr. Wednesday had forgotten about the priest and the affliction he currently suffered.

With great effort, Mr. Wednesday reached up with his good hand towards where Quinton's hand rested on his shoulder. He tapped it weakly twice. "The cold grip of Hel has infected my bones. I can scarcely lift my limbs." he whispered.

His hand dipped back down into his long leather coat and slowly emerged with his worn metal flask. It seemed like it took forever for him to unscrew the cap, but once he did he lifted it to his lips and took as long a drink as he could manage. Warmth washed over his body, but it was a brief respite from the weakness that assailed him.

With the last bit of his strength he reached back up and pressed the flask into the priests hand. "Maybe this will help you. If not, good mead never hurt anyone..." he gasped. His head then lolled over to rest on the stone wall he currently leaned against.

If I am exhausted, and Quinton is blind and deaf, we would probably stay here until one or both conditions improve. As long as we are not in danger, we wouldn't really go anywhere in our current condition. Not sure if you want to move along or wait till page 4 for the effects of the crystals.

[devinkowalczyk]

Description Update:

The hole in the center of the room appears like someone took a very large hole puncher to a solid slab of stone. There are cracked areas like a great pressure had been applied. But there is no tool markings, no indication of it being anything other then a large hole in the solid rock.
A cool air does come up from it, keeping the room (which is completely underground) from overheating.


If you remain in here for awhile, both effects will wear off.

[devinkowalczyk]

The path continues onto the other side, with the same semi level floor of flat stone or very packed earth. It is approx 10 feet wide and tall, making it easy to move quickly and quietly down the gently turning but relatively straight passageway.

Mr. Wednesday leads the blinded and weakened Quinton (who is regaining his faculties as quickly as Mr. Wednesday is coming out of his feverish like state. Rafe continues to lead the group.

John, while unseen and unheard, continues to follow behind the group, picking his way carefully with bare feet and long fingers.

Everyone began to feel the hum in their bones as they approached a lighted area ahead.

The light came from a kind of flourescent fungus which grows in irregular patches around the room. That light is reflected off the small chambers white stone walls(chamber appox 30'x30'x10'). The wall's coating material, hard but chalky, was created by leaking water and mineral deposits. The floor however, has been kept clean except for an area with a semi circle (elipse) of calcium build up.

A girl stands stiff in the center, but wobbles as if extremely tired. She wears a simpletons dress and is extremely dirty and unwashed looking (not uncommon for the lower class).

Excellent Vision
The circle and whorls on the walls all seem connected in a primitive way that is not at all natural.

Spiritual/Chi vision
Not that it is evil or good, but this place is powerful and destructive, much like a thunderstorm or flood. The girl in the center is pure and good and is somehow connected to, a current of, and the powersource to whatever this all is.

Devin's note
Do not remove he from the circle, but you may attempt to interact and or talk to her

[SonOfMoradin]

As the weakness fled his body, Mr. Wednesday surged to his feet. His kind despised weakness, and he was angry that he gave into it in front of his new found companions.

As he turned to check on the priest, to see if his affliction had worn off, he felt the priests grip tighten on his shoulder and knew that the priest was not cured just yet. He guided the priests hand to a part of his worn leather duster behind his head, where the priest could take a firm grip, but would be out of the way should a fight start.

Casting his gaze across the cavern, he spotted the young man. "I am hale and hearty again. I suggest we press on, out of this room filled with poisonous crystals, lest we fall pray to them again. There is a light ahead - lets head for that, and hope it is not more of these accursed stones."

The moved as a group down the hall, the young man taking the lead, with Mr. Wednesday and the priest behind a bit. The light led them to yet another chamber, this one lit by luminous fungus, and thrummed with a vibration of unknown origin. In the center of the room stood a wee waif - a lass who looked weak and tired, abandoned to the streets like so many in this town!

What she was doing down here, in this strange and cursed place, Mr. Wednesday didnt know. Nor was he completely convinced that she was as innocent and frail as she looked. This place held dangers in many forms, and he was determined not to fall pray to another trap.

Still.. his fatherly instincts overcame his reservations. He moved a little closer to the girl, and in a soft voice hailed her. "Lass, what are you doing in the darkness down here? How did you come by this place?"

[Zephiniah]

Quinton found himself on literally the coat tails of this traveler he had so quickly ran down here to chase. He still held the man's flask which he had sniffed with a bit of precaution. The men of the forest use to brew stouts that would knock the wind out of a lesser man, but whatever was in this flask had a sweetness to it's aroma. Quinton had a sip and then had to keep himself from coughing and looking like the traveling fools who use to order drinks from the inn in his hometown. After all these years you are still a child. His spiritual senses were returning to him as they walked, the short rest had done him well it would seem. He could sense the warrior's vivid pressure in front of him and the somewhat fiery spark of the younger one ahead. For but a moment he thought he sensed something behind him. He wanted to give pause but being on a leash would not allow that. He tried to focus but alas came up with nothing. Just when he was ready to try again his senses were accosted by vivid light and color from all angles. Quinton could make out the entire room as chaotic energy bounced from all angles. A single light that was unfamiliar stood in the eye of this storm. Quinton said aloud though he knew not if anyone could hear him in this mess he perceived.
"The tempest rages, be wary of the eye of the storm."
Quinton focused his resolve and let go of the warriors cloak, even as he could imagine Mr.Wednesday turning to greet his gaze Quinton held up his hand as if to say he would be fine. With all the energy it was almost like being able to see again.
"I still can't hear a thing, but I am able enough." The words came out almost mechanical since the inflection was over enunciated.
Sigh, this feels so much like the day the village burned...

[devinkowalczyk]

The girls eyes turn listlessly at the nose, no real sign of recognition or coherence. As your eyes adjust, you see she is very thin, nearly emaciated with long hair that clumps and clings to itself in knots. Above her brow there is a scar as if something burned her and left soot.

Her eyes close, her head slumps and her body tilts severely to one side. She is falling asleep...

Off to one side the light flickers and the air seems to swirl with darkness. A massive shape blurs into form.
Something massive that unfurls shadowy wings.
Something with long claws.
Something about 8 feet tall


Chi vision!
The swirling chaos of energy that is in this room flows through the center of the circle and then out to form a being of negativity. Where the center is white and pure, the flow turns black and vile.

Note:
For descriptive purposes, this creature cannot yet be harmed.

[SonOfMoradin]

"The Wyrm returns! Prepare for battle!"

As gently as possible, Mr. Wednesday shoves Quinton away from the shape forming in the shadows. "Find the back wall priest, and if you can, mayhaps you can use your light creations to shield the lass, or remove her from harms way." He then moves to position himself between the emaciated lass and the creature. Gone is the weakness. Gone is the doubt. It is time for battle. He takes one more draught of drink from his flask before sliding it into his pocket.

His spear blazes brightly as he brings it into the ready position. "My son is the real slayer of your kind, but you will not find me easy pray!"

[devinkowalczyk]

Normal Vision

Jon emerges from a faint shadow (one he was complately hidden in). "That is no shadow beast, it is our foe from the tavern."
As he spoke, the creature fully emerged from its own shadow. Its sleek black and green scales seeming polished and menacing in the faint light. Its huge maw curled with black, soul draining fire. Its evil eyes atop its head swept the room.
It reaches out with one clawed hand and rakes through solid rock, pulverizing it into dust and fragmented chips without even slowing.


Chi Vision

A unique energy signature appears out of the swirling. It wasn't part of the powerful chi that flows through this place but seemed to hide in it all the same. It had the feel of decay, of fear, of nostalgia, and a decidedly non hatred/evil feel to it. It just is, or was.
However, the emeging mass of soul damaging evil that is now right in front of you seems to draw more attention.



The girl now has fallen into a completely comatose state, unaroused by all that is happening around her.

The dragon beast steps forward and puffs out its chest as it inhales rapidly...

[Zephiniah]

Quinton focused best he could, but all his remaining senses were saying 'Danger!'. This new energy source felt malevolent and Mr. Wednesdays spiritual pressure had increased in front of him as well. Quinton did the first thing that seemed natural, he materialized a kite shield while he started to focus on creating something to throw in his main hand. He didn't like the big shield, and it felt more cumbersome then ever on his arm. He only created it since he couldn't react to his fullest. Focus, still your mind and see your target. With the beastly energy welling up before him he let loose with an energy dart from his right hand. Even to Quinton's senses it felt weak and halfhearted. I need both hands if I'm gonna do better than that.
With as much calm as he could muster, he steeled himself to his defense.
Could be worse...

[ken0sis]

Rafe's eyes widened and his jaw dropped as the great beast revealed itself. "Mother Mary!" No supernatural senses were needed to detect the aura of evil exuded by this creature. As always, Rafe felt both a revulsion to and an affinity with that aura. Attacking such things always seemed a little at odds with his new nature.

But it was probably not going to play nice just because Rafe sensed a kinship with it, so Rafe backed up a few steps and looked for a way to attack it from behind.

[SonOfMoradin]

Mr. Wednesday was concerned with the hellish energy emanating from the beasts maw, but he knew if he moved he would put those behind him at risk of catching the full brunt of the blast.

Instead, he decided to let the creature make the first move. He begun to spin his spear in a circle in front of himself. As the tip spun through the whole circle, the blue-white energy formed something of a shield in front of him and those behind him. At least Mr. Wednesday hoped that the energy would block some of the blast.

The chamber flickered as the spear turned, faster and faster.

"Take yer best shot, wyrm. Today is not the end for me!"

[devinkowalczyk]

The creature's chest puffed out, huge and distended as it exhaled in a mighty woosh of black fire.

The energy that your shield made up disapates as the very soul power used to enforce it is absorbed into the black fire. It flickers at your arms and you feel its cold touch into your very mind and soul.

Its gout used up for the moment it again takes another lumbering step towards the three...adventurers? combatants? people who are in a GTFO situation?


The creature's lumbering steps break loose florescent spores and glitter in the air and around the dark creature. The nearly 10 foot tall anthropomorphic crocodile creature unfurls huge black wings that further blot out the dim light. The roar unleashed by this beast shakes the room and dust from the ceiling.
However, over the roar of the beast (or maybe it is inside the roar?) you can hear the murmur of the comatose girl as she shifts her head.

For just a second you can see the light through the creature before it again darkens the room with its presence.

[SonOfMoradin]

Mr. Wednesday staggers back at the force of the creatures blast, and at the chilling numbness that threatens to encompass his soul. But he does not fall.

"By the black heart of Hel! This creature is a being of darkness. We need to light this room up! Priest, can you fill this place with light?"

Rolling to the left, Mr. Wednesday moves into a better position to strike. His spear tip flares, and is now encompassed in a globe of lightning. Swinging the spear over his head as he stands, Mr. Wednesday lunges forward to stab at the creatures chest under its front leg, hoping that will prove to be a weak spot.

"And wake that forsaken lass up! She is the key to this!" he bellows, feeling his spear hit home.

[devinkowalczyk]

The dragon beast charges the group, arms and wings swinging wide, crumbling stone and fungi groups.

Dodge!

[Zephiniah]

...fill this place with light.
It figures that the first thing Quinton would hear would be a command for his assistance. He wanted to think about how to manipulate the energy in this room but now was apparently not the time. The dark energy rippling off this foe was intense and now barreling towards him. Dashing out with all the speed he could muster he moved to the far side of the chamber. Hopefully his alacrity would pay off. Just like the caves back home.He laughed just a bit, in spite of himself. Ducking behind what he hoped was a stalagmite he began to focus on the swirling energy in the room and how it was made. The Reishi (spirit particles) in this room felt almost foreign. Just break it down in your head.Break it down...hmm.
Reaching out his hands he began to unravel bits of the chaos and energize it just a bit with his own soul. Like pulling apart a braid and then reweaving it with your own thread. The result was small motes of light that began to flow with the existing energy in the room, no brighter than a candle a piece. Quinton continued his focus pouring out dozens, hundreds of little motes until the entire room was lit dimly by many swirling motes of blue light. Carried and bound by the existing Reishi the little lights would flicker of their own accord for awhile, at least long enough until the battle subdued Quinton hoped.
It's quite beautiful from my vantage point, I wonder how marvelous it must be...his thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash...