Payment Rendered IC

[RunicLGB]

The Darkness that surrounded you was endless. Without a body or a mind, you were composed of nothing but pure soul, a spirit with no way to influence the world around it, and no world around to influence. This was as close to nothingness that a something can be. Even time ceased to have meaning. Whether moments or eons passed within that darkness you cannot tell, but eventually the darkness receded.

What replaced it was not much better. A searing white hot pain enveloped every sense as your soul was forced into a new body. As every inch of this flesh binds to your soul it screams in momentary agony. When the pain of the flesh begins to die down your other senses begin to assault your consciousness, and none were more gentle.

Your eyes are blinded by what seems to be intense light like that of the sun, but as they adjust reveal that your accommodations are quite dark. Your ears ring with a screeching tone that pierces to your core, until finally the volume of yours, and others, screams and groans eclipses the volume. Your nose burns as you inhale what smells like and feels like acid. Finally when your new body begins to react to the commands that over a lifetime had become like second nature, your mind reels with the sudden sensations of gravity, direction and motion. You hear the sound of dry heaving, though you are not yet sure if it was you or one of the others.

Slowly, the horrible experience is put behind you, and the muscle memories of life in the flesh return to you. You find your balance, and your pain deadened nerves wake up, allowing you for the first time to feel with touch. You are clothed, that is the first thing you feel, then you feel the ground upon which you lie. It is stone, albeit a polished and slick stone. Finally able to raise your face, and your eyes restored enough to see, you find a familiar, yet alien, face staring back down at you.

He towers above you, with the same face that seems to have been burned into your memory despite all the other holes. And yet aside from his face almost nothing is the same. His body is not clothed in silks of any kind, instead deep red scales and black metallic plates cover his body, wherever the massive red wings do not wrap around to obscure. And the top of his head is crowned by five horns; the two lowest curving back before moving forward to frame his jaw; the middle two curling tightly like a rams; and the last, solitary horn spiraling from the center of his forehead, shorter than the others.

He smiles, not the practiced, calming smile that you remember, but a victorious, amused smile. And then the voice, surely that silky tone still resides within it, but it has since been joined by several other tones, all speaking in unison.

“Hello again, my friends, my servants, my slaves. I hope your rest was peaceful, though I know the awakening was not.”

He waits for the various moans and inevitable collapses to pass, patiently standing until each of you join him on your feet.

“Well done, all of you survived. Often it takes many rebirths before the soul will take on the flesh properly, not that you would remember such things.”

Now standing, and all bodily function working properly you can more fully appreciate the depths of your situation. You stand in a hellish palace, in the throne room of this great Devil whom you made pact with. The whole structure is made from shining obsidian, with innumerous murals blanketing every surface but the floor. Large vaulted windows line the sides, as would stained glass in a cathedral, but these windows are empty, instead revealing a sea of lava, and a blood red desert. Outside and far above hangs a canopy of red clouds, which swirl against each other without gaps. No sun shines on this layer of Bator, whichever it is.

“Please do take in the sights of this lovely place, drink it all in. This will likely be the last time you see such splendors. There is a reason I have called your souls back from beyond the shadow of death. I have need of you. You see that precious foundry of corrupted souls that you refer to as the world is in grave danger, and I need it to keep functioning. So you, all of you, will go fix it for me.”

[Rhaegar14]

Kathala shakes off the last waves of dizziness, then dusts herself off, quickly regaining her composure. She looks up to the seated devil, then curtsies, using the hem of her cloak in place of a skirt.

"Greetings, Malfestrion," she says in a refined tone, "or whatever else you may have us call you. Thank you again for saving my family." There is no sarcasm, no bitterness in the former Lady Darkvine's tone; only politeness and gratitude. "How would you have me repay you?" she asks, looking up at him with bright, almond-shaped green eyes.

This immediate concern dealt with, she stops to consider her situation. She is dressed more like she was as a member of the Thieves' Guild than she was as a noblewoman, her clothing comfortable but durable. A slender sword, perfectly suited to her graceful movements, rests on her hip, and a shirt of chain link protects her vitals. The desert woman's form features several other items in an adventurer's kit. Looks like we're in for quite the job... lovely, Kathala thinks to herself.

[Croverus]

Gar'tan stood tall, almost as tall as he remembered being. He felt almsot as strong as he had been. He examined himself , impressed with the magical chainshirt he wore and the cloak that held to his shoulders. He felt the weight of the large axe, masterfuly designed, the head had been crafted to look like an orc roaring in anger. He recalled some of his many victories and looked to the beign that had made him the legend he once was. He did not seem disappointed to not have his maul with him.

"I killed many men and beast with your blessing, and even faced foes that I would have never dreamed of being able to beat. It took a hellish monster bound into service to defeat me and even then, not without me scarring it. For that I thank you. Have you brought me back to achieve again what I was once?"

He briefly looked around, looking to the others here. He was unsure if they had lived before his legend had grown or after, but the Crimson Maul was merely a legend of an unbeatable gladiator, not some heroic adventurer.

[RunicLGB]

“Kathala Kathala…Always so proper.”

He bows in obvious mockery, spreading his wings as he does and sending an updraft of more sulphur sick air into your faces. He then quickly rises, laughing several laughs from deep in his belly.

“As for you Gar'tan, is that what you think I want? To make you heroes? For you to gain glory? Why would I desire any of that from you? I gave you a whole lifetime of glory, just as was promised. Your days of glory are over. You will save that pathetic world and then disappear. None will ever know of the danger, none will ever know of your efforts to repair the damage, and barring should I ever require your services again, all of you will spend eternity back within the vault of emptiness.”

[appending_doom]

Rheamoor, the strange monk whose face is framed by drifting arcane symbols, smirks at his master's words. "The world is always in danger, my lord. I presume there is a specific danger you expect us to confront. Otherwise, there would be temptation to do as you suggest the orc wishes, to become wandering heroes...or something more to the expectation of those whose souls dwell in Baator."

The man, tall, slender, and dressed in simple robes, seems largely uninterested in his surroundings. When he has a free moment, he flips through the book he arrived clutching; the contents do not seem to please him.

[Lord Ruby34]

Cyrillus tried to shake of the languor that had settled on his limbs, scaleless and smooth. His wings were gone and he felt only a fraction of his power soaring through his soul. He struggled to his feet, he would not kneel before this creature, it had his soul but his pride was still his.

"So Malfestrion, how many ages have I been imprisoned here?"

Cyrillus stood proud in front of the devil, looking every bit like a proud lord from the first ages of man.

[Imperial Psycho]

Nyle seems somewhat disoriented by his return to the living, so to speak. He looks around a moment, wide-eyed and confused. Quickly, he centers himself, ignoring the chattering of the others, to regain his calm. After a time, he opens his eyes. "I will do it."

[Andre]

Shaken, Athanasius' first reaction was to move a step towards the demon with hostile intentions, but his limbs were still too atrophic to allow him that.
Averting the gaze from the fiend, as his senses return he feels even weaker than he had ever remembered to be, and can't help but notice he is yet again clad in the Order's full plate he had ditched after the bargain. Ever since, freed from some of the bonds of the Paladin, the taint and corruption who had been seeping through the land uncontested was slowly cleansed, and many other hidden and elusive evils had fallen to his blade; many, but not all of them, and especially not the one who had offered him the tools to become an ultimate herald of justice.

He has to clear his throat several times before he is able to speak."To save the world is not so simple. I sacrificed my soul once to save my people and many others, and I can do it again. Even if it means being a dog on a leash, fiend." he says in a stoic tone, but his facial features betray his disgust and contempt.

[yugi24862]

Orgren raised himself from the ground, leaning on his Guisarme whilst the others spoke. He felt drained, and stood there panting as the others talked the demon. "Whatever the task is, I accept it, as nothing can be worse than this god-forsaken hole." He quickly told himself that bold a hasty moves like that was what him down here in the first place, but he was so desperate for freedom that his rational side bearly help at all.

[Asdfth]

Corgen gets up still in a little bit or shock to what has happen and at the opportunity to go see the mortal world once again. Then has he was thinking of the world he wonder of what has a happened to his village. Did it prosper or did it die when he did. When he heard what Malfestrion offered he knew this could be the only chance to see the world.

""I have but one question. Who or what is endangering the realm"

[Rhaegar14]

Kathala, with a visible effort, avoids retching at the wave of sulfur-tainted air, but the look on her face sours. Still, with all the grace of nobility, she quickly regains her poise. "I am polite when the situation calls for it," she says, brushing her long, jet black hair behind one ear, "but this is beside the point. If you would, Malfestrion, answer the question we have all asked; if the world is in danger, what would you have us do about it?"

[appending_doom]

"I should think the answer is obvious. If there is a threat to the world, we are to seek out its nature and eliminate it. Unless, of course, our lord has some intent to use such danger for his own benefit, at which point he will likely inform one of us at some point of the need to preserve the source of danger." The monk(?) gives Kathala a bright grin. "In the future, you might want to leave the heavy thinking to people used to puzzling things out.

[Rhaegar14]

If the noblewoman heard the insult in the monk's comment, she did not show it. "While you are certainly correct, I hope our master here has somewhat more specific instructions for us. Otherwise I have no idea how we'll figure out what we're supposed to stop," she replied in a flat tone. Kathala held out a hand to Malfestrion, beckoning him to elaborate.

[Croverus]

"As long as I get to embed my axe into something's skull then I'm fine with whatever we have to do. Let's get on with it." He hefts his axe, resting it across his shoulders with one wrist balancing out the weight. Despite its size and obvious weight, he carries it with little difficulty. Indeed he looks as if he could easilyl lift two of the others overhead.

[RunicLGB]

The great demon listens to each of your various greetings, and then smiles at the small bout of bickering between Kathala and Rhaemoor.

When all eyes turn on him to await his explanations of the danger you face he averts his eyes, looking out his windows at the horrid landscape beyond.

“I cannot name it.” He spins on your group, but does not appear flustered or even angry, a surreal calm adorning his face. “That is not to say that I do not know what it is, or how it functions. My knowledge of this danger’s existence predates your world’s infancy. Rather,” And again he averts his eyes “IT cannot be named.”

After a few moments consideration, he looks back at your group and then begins to walk toward you, bounding the wide steps up to the throne two at a time with his massive body. “Speaking of such nonsense will not aid you in putting a stop to its machinations. Suffice to say some idiotic mortals found out about it, and now they seek to bring him into your world. I cannot in any of your mortal languages describe how bad an idea that is.”

He walks past your linear grouping and to the archway that presumably leads out to the rest of the palace. He takes firm grasp of the Gargoyles on either side, gripping their throats. “Salar, find Beilanis.”

The Gargoyles wheeze to life, coughing up dust and cobwebs. The Gargoyle on the left says “Yes Lord.” And closes its eyes in concentration. The gargoyle on the right asks “And me lord?”

Malfestrion turns to it. “Prepare the gate for transport to the nearest suitable location to your brother’s find.”

The Gargoyle’s comply, and within moments the image on the other side of the archway appears to shatter, each of the pieces disintegrating as they fall away. Now the archway shows the interior of a dilapidated stone building overlooking a forested region.

Malfestrion turns and begins walking back to his throne. As he passes you he speaks. “That will take you out to the mortal world to begin your task. Three days march to the north is River Crest, a trading community where you will find another of my associates, Beilanis. He will set you in the right direction. But before you go, I have some rules for you.”

He settles into his throne, appearing quite comfortable there. “First understand that I would do this task myself were I not being constantly tracked by quite the host of Fiendish and celestial agents, that is why you will go in my stead. Never mention my name, even to each other. Even that simple utterance could attract any number of unwanted interlopers and should you make such a foolish blunder, your soul will be returned to the vault instantly. Second, do not think death will save you from your debt. Dying again will only return your soul directly to the vault. Lastly any attempt to kill one of the others will destroy you immediately, I will not tolerate disobedient pawns, and do not believe for one instant that I will not be watching.”

"You may leave whenever you are ready, but do hurry. Halar, Salar! Close the gate the instant the last of them is gone"

Within his throne he closes his eyes, wrapping his wings tightly around his body, and appears to fall into a deep slumber.


Rhaemoor:
Rhaemoor you recognize that he is Astral Projecting, though you have some trouble remembering when in your former life you witnessed such a thing.

[Imperial Psycho]

With little hesitation, Nyle steps through the gate, hefting his polearm.

[Lord Ruby34]

"Well I was going to suggest that we give each other our names now, but it seems our friend is too hasty for his own good. Anyway, I am Cyrillus Damainus, and you," He turned his head slightly to look at the noblewoman. "are Kathala. I would be pleased if the rest of you would enlighten me."

[Andre]

Athanasius twitches slightly at the words of the demon, but does not react. He looks around himself, trying to impress in his memory as many details as possible of the throne room and of the environment outside.

As soon as he is done examinating the surroundings, he steps into the portal without saying a word, proud and defiant.

[appending_doom]

"Rheamoor," the monk replies. "Let us get this over with," he says, and steps forward through the gate.

[Rhaegar14]

Kathala nods to Cyrillus in acknowledgement, then turns to the portal. The stone and forest remind her vaguely of Castle Darkvine. She stands still for a moment, inspecting her gear. Her fingers reach into the pouch on her belt, closing around the familiar metal of coins and thieves' tools. The woman eases the sword partway from it's sheath, satisfied with the condition of the blade. Her clothing and armor, after a cursory inspection, are all satisfactory as well. With a last check to the straps of the pack, the shortbow and quiver, and the cloak, Kathala resets her posture and strides towards the portal with a proud bearing.

Taking a deep breath, the one-time Lady Darkvine steps through, and a sensation like passing through a curtain of water that isn't actually there. She emerges in the stone building and shakes off the nausea of interdimensional travel. The scents and sounds of the forest, combined with the smell of ruin and, more faintly, decay, assault her after so long in the emptiness and then the relatively sterile environment of the palace. Kathala takes a few deep breaths, then stands, waiting for her companions to reorient themselves.

[yugi24862]

"Orgren. We can talk later, when we're not inside the lower planes." With that statement, he walked forward into the gate and towards the world, and the beautiful looking forest beyond.

[Asdfth]

Corgen smiled when he saw the forest area. ""Finally I am free and I can see the wonders of nature one more even for a little while." he thought to himself with a slight grin on his face. He walks to the portal and it leads him to the forest. He takes a deep breath to get the rush of being outdoors. A smile appear on his face. To be in a area similar to where he was used to be. He then turns to everyone [COLOR="Sienna"]"Ah yes introductions. my name is Corgen Dorlance."/COLOR]

[RunicLGB]

As the last of you walks through the gate a quiet noise of glass can be heard as the image of Battor crumbles behind you, dissapearing before the pieces touch the stone floor. It is then that you can see why the gate was placed here. An archway of similar size to the one in your master's throne room stands, forming what wass once the entryway to another chamber, though that other room no longer exists.

A chill breeze picks up, cooling the sweat from your brow and sending a shiver down your spines. This sky looks far more natural than the one you just left, but amazingly just as dreary. A sheet of gray clouds obscures daylight, covering everything in a muted light and obscuring all but the deepest shadows.

You are standing in a structure, though from the look of things it will not be much longer. The roof has long since collapsed in large sections, destroying most of the floor beneath it and wall around it, crumbling down together to the lower story. Grass and vines have wound around much of the interior of the building even on this higher floor. Despite the wear of age the stone construction holds steady wherever the roof still holds, giving you confidence in your footing.

The surrounding country side is also visible through the collapsed wall. A forest spreads out before you, but at this height you can see the ruins of many homes which have been devoured by the forest. The many leaves are beginning to turn slightly brown, and a few half adopted red and gold colors.

Though any staircase which once connected the ground to this raised level has long since dissapeared, one of the piles of rubble sits high enough to make descent manageable.

OOC: Climb oor Balance needed to get down DC is only 5 (really just hopping down and then getting off of the rubble pile)

Kathala:
Though nostalgic for the regal splendor you once enjoyed, your thoughts are cut off when you hear an unwelcome noise. The sound of marching, grunting, and a guttural language drifts faintly across the air. Though the meaning of the words are lost in white noise you can make out the rough cadence of the orc tongue. You can even tell the direction it is coming from, and that whatever force is making the noise is approaching the structure you now stand in.

Corgan:
Though the sounds of nature are quite relaxing, a repetitive chrunching and clanking noise wakes you. The sound of marching, grunting, and a guttural language drifts faintly across the air. You can even tell the direction it is coming from, and that whatever force is making the noise is approaching the structure you now stand in.

Gar'tan:
As the last one through the gate you are also the last one to take a moment to absorb your surroundings. Interestingly though in your observations a collections of sounds catches your attention, sounds that do not match the scneic panaorama. The sound of marching, grunting, and a guttural language drifts faintly across the air. The few scraps of language that you catch truly awaken your memories, for even though you cannot make out what is being said, you know well the language being spoken: Orcish.

[Rhaegar14]

Kathala immediately throws up a hand to her new companions. "Silence!" she whispers harshly, "I hear Orcs, coming this way." She creeps up to the pile of rubble that leads downwards and leans against a wall, minimizing her profile while straining her ears and eyes for more details of the approaching force.

[Lord Ruby34]

Cyrillus stood by her and reached into his soul, pulling on the powers of dragons to enhance the senses of everyone nearby.

[appending_doom]

The sigils around Rheamoor's head dim to nothingness and drift close until they meld with his skull, vanishing entirely. He rests slightly more heavily on his quarterstaff.

[Andre]

Athanasius does not move, but turns in the general direction of the pile of rubble, and slowly unsheathes his sword.

[Croverus]

The large orc tries not to chuckle. He whispers to the others.

"They are orcs and so you assume a fight? Let me go talk to them. Might at least figure otu where we are."

He hefts his axe on his shoulder, holding it in a non-threatening manner as he moves to go meet these brethren. Unless one of the others tries to stop him.

[Imperial Psycho]

Nyle seems uninterested in hiding. "And? I have spent far too long in that hole. I wish to see if my abilities have faded." he says to Kathala

[Andre]

Raising his left hand - the one which is not wielding the sword - Athanasius speaks in a flustered whisper. Actually, he doesn't seem nervous or worried about the orcs incoming, but the words escaping from his mouth much more slowly than they are formed in his head create a funny effect nonetheless.

"Stop right there. There is no need to draw attention on us. No need to fight. Only should they attack us they shall die."

[Imperial Psycho]

"Hmph. Well I suppose wanton slaughter is best avoided. Still, discovering the limits of our current abilities is vital to our task. Not knowing them could cause all our deaths." Nyle frowns, as if in thought, but makes only a cursory effort to quieten his voice.

[Andre]

Athanasius nods, recognizing the truth in the man's words, but still does not move. He turns his attention to Kathala again.

[yugi24862]

"Agreed. We may be servants of the lower planes, but we are not going to slaughter them because." Orgren whispered. He then turned his attention to the orcs, trying to hear what they were up to.

[appending_doom]

Having apparently prepared himself for battle, Rheamoor now appears lost in thought, paying little attention to what is going on around him.

[Croverus]

Gar'tan pauses in his advance and decides to see what the orcs are saying. If they sound to be less guarded than a hostile patrol would be, he'll approach and try to greet them.

Listen:[roll0]

[RunicLGB]

With the group of Orcs approaching you can begin to make out more of their words, and even the language barrier can't disguise common banter. However though most of the voices are similar enough to Gar'tan's to be believably of the same species, there are a few among the group that sound larger and far deeper.

Their direction is now becoming more obvious as well, and it informs you that you will not be able to see their approach since they are coming from a side of the building where the walls still stand.

Kathala and any others who take steps toward the pile cof rubble which leads down can see that the lower floor of the structure has been inhabited very recently and quite frequently. A few curde rusty weapons sit propped against some of the walls, while in other areas crates and barrels with numerous names are piled together. A few of these containers have bloody stains on them.

One section of the floor has been taken up by a fire pit over which hangs a cauldron large enough to make soup for a small warband, though it was not left lit. More evidence to this are the large number of bedrolls piled hurridly in one corner of the structure.

The last thing in the room to catch your eyes is on the far side. The entryway is a pair of thick reinforced wooden doors with a large iron bar crossed over them. The bar is aligned with a channel to the side of the door so that it can be slid out of or into the way of the door. This bar appears to have been placed from the inside, yet the room appears completely empty of life. The voices are coming toward the door directly, and will reach it shortly.

The rubble pile leads down into the room with ease. While the pile could be used to climb over the wall and leave the building out right, that would involve a 10 foot fall into thick dry brush.

[Rhaegar14]

Kathala shakes her head and sighs at the Orc's lack of caution. "At least let me stand with you, if you intend to greet them, and let me do the talking," she says to Gar'tan in perfectly guttural Orcish, waving a hand in front of her a few times while quietly chanting an incantation. The human woman grows taller and broader, and tusks sprouted from her lower jaw as her skin grays. Before long, she had the large, crude features of an Orc. Her clothing changes to suit her new, more savage appearance, but was still essentially a light chain shirt with a cloak over more normal clothing. She moves to join Gar'tan in front of the door, wondering how they will explain all of the other humanoids, and awaits the arrival of whatever patrol.

[Lord Ruby34]

Cyrillus moved into the center of the room, where he could affect everyone with his Aura's if things went sour.

"It seems that we have spawned in the stew pot then. I doubt that was coincidence."

[Imperial Psycho]

"Hmph. A Mage" Nyle says under his breath, and hefts his bladed polearm.