KSBO Solo

[Nettlekid]

Themvore (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=787718)

It begins with the end. Countless years of space, infinite miles of time, eternal freedom comes to an end. The freedom to live and love, the freedom to fight and fall. The gods are slaughtered and toppled from their thrones. The lifeblood of immortal power has ebbed from the reaches of the cosmos. Magic comes to an end.

It begins with one man. The conqueror, the warlord, one feared by all other men for his tactics and his ferocity. A man of iron. From the metal in his blade to the blood of the slain, it all returns to iron. The wanderer, the vagabond, who took countless lives to make his eternal.

And it ends with one man. His body, armored in dull black steel and violet crystal. On his back, a thick-bladed sword. In his left hand, a jade chakram. His right is outstretched. To the conquering king in the silence of his home he appears without a footfall. It is as he was always there, just behind.

It begins when he drops what he holds at the feet of the man. A disk of black obsidian, with an oily shimmer deep within, banded and looped to form a talisman. Tired eyes gaze through his helmet, before darkness overtakes them. His body begins to crack and crumble away, falling into itself, before he is gone and there is nothing more than a man-shaped rip in space. With a screaming whistle the wind rushes into this tear, and everything within ten feet of the rip is drawn through. The warrior is drawn through the darkness and then into a shimmering silver sea, and then roughly thrown to the ground. The air is alive with the sound of incomprehensible language, and thick with unspeakable stenches. Feline eyes set on scaled hides, faces with long teeth and bodies with chitinous claws, snakes and slugs and slimes all cast their gaze to the man as he falls to the ground.

It did not begin here. It did not begin. Beginnings are false, and I am a consummate liar.

[JBarca]

Themvore is deep in thought when the man appears, and so is more surprised by his own lack of perception than the man's appearance. When reality begins to divorce itself from logic, Themvore stares in shock. His eyes roll as the darkness, then the light, overwhelms his senses.

When he finds solid ground beneath his feet again, he stays low, regaining the ability to order his limbs into motion. He slowly stands, grasping the shaft of his skyward-pointing spear tightly, and pulls his shield from his back. He spins slowly, lowering himself into a fighting crouch, wary of these horrific monsters and strange races. Though which were the monsters and which the intelligent beings, he cannot tell.

What has happened? Surely this is a dream. What is this place?

Confusion mounting, and with it fear, Themvore slides his spear into its holster on his back and grasps his hammer, holding it low, the better to ward of a tightly pressed crowd. He ducks behind his shield and makes slowly and carefully toward the nearest building or natural structure. Anything to protect his back while he gathers his wits. He does his best to present a stoic face to this sea of monsters, though he is in truth more frightened and confused than he had ever been.

"Beware, creatures. I come not to fight, but will defend myself if you mean me harm."

[Nettlekid]

In a flash, Themvore scans his surroundings and analyzes what best he can make out of the situation. Where in the world he is it's hard to determine, but it seems to be as a marketplace. Stretching out to flank haphazard, often-intersecting rows of streets are stalls of wood and cloth which look like they can be raised or lowered at a moment's notice. This looks like a place of business, as each stall has racks set up displaying wares or odds and ends hanging from strings. The rare storefront which isn't a vendor seems to be a food stall, though by the mix of smells in the air it's hard to tell if anything is actually edible. The air is heavy and humid, perfumed by an excessive amount of spice and actual perfume, which seems in part to be attempting to mask something rotting nearby. It is only partially effective. What Themvore finds his eyes drawn to, however, is not the market but its inhabitants. They are unlike anything he has ever seen, not like any bird or beast in the world. At a nearby stand, three skeletally gaunt creatures with long sharp fingers and slimy red skin wrapped too tight around their bones seem to be arguing with a shopkeeper, a massive rotund froglike creature with a hideous grimace and oozing pustules. The air hums with buzzing and he looks up to see a swarm of man-sized mosquitoes with sharp beaks, and tiny fat creatures with bat wings and flaps of loose, blotchy red skin. A red liquid drips from them and a drop lands on his face. It's blood. The fliers are eclipsed momentarily by the long spearlike leg of a chitinous purple spider the size of a house, whose dragging stinger digs a trench in the ground behind it.

Most alarming though is that a number of these monstrosities are taking note of Themvore, giving him a little space but crowding around in interest. There are very few that are his same size, instead they either tower above him or come up to his knee. An oblong apelike beast with long curving tusks, matted mangy hair, and an enormous gut looks at him from the left, and a creature with hard skin, a canine's face, two human arms and two enormous crab claws looks at him from the right. Flanked by three stooped purple goblins with dirty angel wings and hooked beaks is a woman with scaly red skin and a skull-like grimace, whose six-armed torso sits atop a long coil of thick snake tail. Tiny green gremlins with bat wings dart in and out of the crowd, trying to get a better look at the humanoid. In the distance partially hidden by the crowd, Themvore manages to catch a glimpse of what would have been an attractive woman if not for her green skin and bald head. She has a pair of white wings very much unlike those of the purple goblins. She's trying to see through the crowd to the group, not getting too close.

The growing mass of monstrosities continues to gather, beginning to press in a little. They're speaking to each other in a language you don't understand. Eventually though the dog-faced one barks out to you in a language you can comprehend (just), though its voice is rough and raspy. Despite its freakish body it carries itself with surprisingly determined purpose.
"A span's it been since new Primes to our humble district did wander. What manner of partiality takes tha hereways, business, pleasure? Tha looks a little unsure, friend. Fortunately, tha comes to a good place to get tha sorted. There are many in Sigil less chum-bumbling than us's."
One of the little green gremlins on the dog creature's leg starts wheezing and burping. The dog creature's eyes narrow and it lashes down with one of its large crab claws, pincering the gremlin in a vicegrip. Without much concern it crushes the gremlin, shaving its body in half. It continues without missing a beat.
"If wares and stores you're eyeboggling, a deal we can come to henceforthly. With me walk thusly and-"
"No, no, not him! He will do you falsely and his goods are not! It is I tha should be following, I'll see tha true! There is no better supplier of Luhix in Sigil than I!" the fat one cuts in, speaking to you but keeping its eyes on the dog beast, who begins to snarl. Its voice becomes slightly strained.
"My friend here is good at the root of heart but fights for his wares competitively. But tha are not here for mind-drainers, no, it is weapons and armor that fierce Primes crave, yes? For your woolves and sharks that you kill, so that you may mate with the other kind of your species. Yes, I have dealt with Primes many a time, accoladingly with many a smiles on both sides. He, otherways...His Luhix is cut with Dust of Dryness, and he-"
"HOW DARE YOU, DRETCH!" the fat one roars, before slipping back into a harsh, crackling language. The dog-faced creature barks back in the same tongue.

The fat creature's hair raises on end, and like a thick sweat darkness seeps from its body, swirling around it. The dog creature stomps through the ring around you and sinks one of its claws into the ape creature's chest, who howls with pain before dragging the dog even closer and piercing its chitinous shell with its formidable tusks. The three purple goblins take a few hesitant steps back before starting to shout and jump excitedly for the fight. The snake woman they're with however is not amused. In a fluid motion she draws from her back her six longswords, and for a moment she looks like she's going to strike at the two fighting monstrosities. But then her eye focuses on you. Her scales shiver and seem to rip off from her back, except that instead of the red scales they grow into translucent swords which start circling, forming a whirling wall of blades about 50 feet in radius. Half of the frog monster's stall is shredded by the storm, as is one of the three red skeletal creatures at it. The small green gremlins and the three purple goblins all take to the air, hovering back and forth to keep in view of the action. The two large monsters keep squabbling, and start falling into the air. The fat one is trying to use its little wings to fly back to the ground, but the dog-faced one is too heavy and drags it up.


I lied, combat right off the bat! If you choose to fight; no one's attacked you just yet. Also hooray for recycled openings.

Here's the Map (https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1nqQDn4-ow32qwwBuFRHzH0SmcZsGVZWm77mpEyo7lRY/edit?usp=sharing). You're the T. The brown squares are stalls, the orange and pink are the squabbling shopkeepers, the purple squares are the flying goblins and the maroon is the snake woman. The red squares are the skeletal things (one blended) and the lavender is the big spider. The blue is the wall of whirling blades, and the green is the woman with big white wings.

Also [roll0]

[JBarca]

Themvore stares in shock as the two monsters from a twisted man's nightmares bicker over him. The idea that he had chosen to come to this place - wherever it is - is laughable. His language is butchered, his humanity a uniqueness, and his hammer pitifully small. He tries to placate the beasts, but cannot get a word in before they come to blows.

When the woman draws her blades, Themvore calms. Finally, something he understands. The wall of blades, the monsters, the location, all fall away for a brief moment, before he catches himself.

I can't afford to. I need to be aware. This is too foreign to be lulled into the battle-vision.

He rights himself, then holds his shield at the ready. The space afforded by this scuffle gives him a chance to switch weapons, back to his spear and shield. He holds both at the ready, but makes no offensive moves, yet. He's content to retaliate hard and fast and initiate nothing, lest he invoke the ire of these monsters.

How tall is this storm of blades? Are the giant spider or green lady doing anything of note?

Themvore is waiting, but will fight if need be. I don't know if you allow readied actions outside of rolled initiative rounds (I've seen arguments both ways), but if you do, Themvore will ready Ancient Mountain Hammer (with a five foot step if need be, due to reach) if the serpent lady attacks him in melee.
Rolls, if they matter: [roll0] (Crit confirm [roll1]
Damage: [roll2] + [roll3] (Ignoring DR/Hardness)

Combat in the third post! And I thought I thrust Valdis into combat too soon for a PbP! :smalltongue:

[Nettlekid]

20 feet tall. The spider has moved along and may or may not be sapient, but isn't taking action now. It's just close enough that it's worth putting on the map. The green woman is watching from a far (you can't see her right now through the blades) but hasn't acted.

And right now you are effectively in initiative order anyway, but I'd let you prepare an action outside of it. The only thing you couldn't do is prepare an action and then take it when you'd be flat-footed/surprised, like "Prepare action to attack if someone jumps out at me."

Also I assume this is why you have Moment of Perfect Mind. If you'd prefer not to use it, let me know.

The snake woman glares. "If you've lossst your guide, woe be to you," she finally speaks deliberately. "There be only ssso much entertainment to be had ssslitting a Tanar'ri throat and knowing that they merely ssslumber in the Abyssss for an age. It has been long sssince unwarded Primesss ssset foot into our den. I want not one drop of that red blood left unssspilt."

Without provocation, the snake woman lashes out. Despite her size, she moves with the lightning speed one would expect from a cobra. At first it looks like she's trying to rush in with all six swords she holds, but it's a feint, and he brings her heavy tail whipping in like a lash to strike with the force of a tree trunk. It's a resounding hit, and Themvore in bludgeoned for 25 damage. The flash of pain and frustration of being winded cause Themvore's blood to boil, but he manages to maintain his composure for a Moment.

The tail's width collides with Themvore's torso, but then starts to wrap around him and pulls the snake woman closer in an attempt to choke him out. She fails to establish a tight grip though, and Themvore forces his way out of the loop. The snake is now within arm's reach, and rooting himself to the ground he thrusts his spear forward like a nail into the woman's scaly flesh. She howls, black ichor gushing from the wound and scales splintering under the pressure. She seems to have quite a bit of fight left in her, but this was not a wound she can shrug off, nor was it one she expected to get. And now she's close.

[JBarca]

Yeah, Moment was mainly to prevent an early Frenzy, so I would have used it there for sure.

Themvore grunts in pain as he is lashed by the serpent's tail and sets his feet, ready to show these monstrosities what it means to be a true warrior.

He grits his teeth and lunges, aiming to strike his foe's face and knock her off balance.

Switching to Stonefoot Stance. +2 AC and a +2 on Strength Checks.

Then Irresistible Mountain Strike. If it hits, she needs to make a Fort Save, DC 21, or lose her next Standard Action.

[roll0] (Crit? [roll1] )

Damage: [roll2] + [roll3]

[Nettlekid]

Themvore's spear deals a more glancing wound to the snake woman's torso, but her tough skin resists part of the damage. She's made of strong stuff, and isn't fazed by the so-called Irresistible attack.

She raises her blade with a gleeful malice in her eyes, but then pauses. The back of one of her many hands brushes against the grievous wound Themvore dealt her earlier, and her eyes dart back and forth to the strange creatures huddled around. To the flying goblins, to the brawling brutes still hovering in midair, to the giant spider a ways away. None of them seems to be paying attention to her. All of them are.

She disengages slightly, not far enough to give Themvore an opening to strike her, but far enough that he can't hit her just now. There's a shimmer around her eyes, and Themvore finds his mind assaulted briefly, too quickly for him to resist fully. As though a fist of heavy air clenches around his body and his throat he is restrained, then lifted ten feet into the air. The serpent gives a glance to the swirling blades surrounding this makeshift arena, and the purple winged goblins laugh. It looks like she plans to blend you without giving you the chance to strike back at her, weakening her to the point where she can be taken out by a competitor.

Forgot these: [roll0]
[roll1]

So maybe I'm really bad at deciding power levels. The non-gestalt-but-level 21 party that I started this game for one-shotted her, so I have no perception on how deadly a fight like this should actually be.

[JBarca]

Heh. No worries. First encounters as a DM are always tough, for exactly that reason. Here's hoping Themvore figures something out...

What actions am I capable of, here? Am I grappled (via Telekinesis, perhaps) or is it some other condition?

If it's a Grapple, then the following will be my actions. If it's not a grapple, then I may try something else.

Themvore recognizes that he is in actual danger here, surrounded by beings and powers he does not fully understand. Clearly, this creature means to kill him. He makes a decision, and relaxes in her hold, before throwing every ounce of willpower he has into breaking free. He focuses solely on this being's death. All else falls away.

Rage. Frenzy.

Themvore's Strength is now 35. His AC is 20 and his Will Save is at +7. He takes 2 Nonlethal damage.

Grapple check to break the grapple: [roll0]
If that succeeds, he moves as close to the serpent woman as he can, glaring at her the entire time.

If that fails, he'll keep trying to break free. He's Hasted, effectively, so these are the Grapple checks to break free, in order. If one succeeds, he 5-ft steps closer, and that's the end of it.
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]

[Nettlekid]

Well, I planned this very poorly, but there's plenty that can happen regardless of the direction this takes, so I'm not worried and neither should you be.

The alien force keeping Themvore alift was pressing against his body and against gravity, and it could only hold so much. The outward pressure of Themvore's muscles proved heavier than whatever she was using to hold him, and Themvore falls to the ground, free.

Seeing that she can't keep him at bay, the snake returns to her previous strategy of slicing out Themvore's interior, and Themvore is immediately overwhelmed by a rush of blades from all sides. Even more fearsome than the snake woman's raw strength is her uncanny accuracy. The blades have sharp edges, and while four of them strike normal wounds into Themvore's flesh, one of them along with the one in her dominant hand make critical cuts at his veins. He takes a soul-crushing 179 damage from the ferocious assault. True to her word, she's not finished yet, and her tail lashes again for another 10 damage as she attempts to wring him out. Themvore once again manages to push off her assault, though the massive amounts of blood he has lost are helping him slip away. She seems astonished that he's still on his feet, and can't fully understand why.

[JBarca]

Though he is cut nearly to ribbons, Themvore doesn't seem to notice. He has fully entered the tunnel vision that makes him so lethal, and he refuses to be stopped. He thrusts his spear forward once, twice, four times in the blink of an eye, his face completely calm even as he exacerbates his wounds with his actions. His utter calm and ferocious attacks have often left his foes running in fear, and he pours the full brunt of his glare into his foe, hoping to achieve that very effect.

Themvore's Shaken, now.

19-20 x3 Crit

[roll0] (Crit? [roll1])
Damage: [roll2]

[roll3] (Crit? [roll4])
Damage: [roll5]

[roll6] (Crit? [roll7])
Damage: [roll8]

[roll9] (Crit? [roll10])
Damage: [roll11]

Using Intimidating Rage (Free Demoralization attempt) Intimidate: [roll12]
Opposed by her (1d20 + character level or Hit Dice + target's Wisdom bonus [if any] + target's modifiers on saves against fear)
If I win, she's shaken for a round. Otherwise, nothing changes.

[Nettlekid]

Only Themvore's second attack makes contact. The serpent recoils, but she is in far better condition than he is. Her onslaught doesn't cease. She deals another 137 damage with her rending blades and another 19 with her horrible tail. Third time is the charm, and the thick coil wraps around Themvore's body, squeezing him tight and grinding his bones for another 32 damage. The ground is now soaked with his blood.

There is a thud as the oblong ape monster lands on the ground, thrown from the sky by the crab-dog which howls triumphantly. The ape isn't yet dead, but it wheezes weakly, black blood bubbling from its gullet.

Sorry, definitely an unexciting opening to the game. This is why I've never liked combat, it's just babbling numbers.

[roll0]

[JBarca]

Themvore grunts as he is encircled, but he tries to force his way free, refusing to be stopped by a mere tail. His eyes bore into his foe's, completely unaware of the surrounding fighting and spectators.

If he succeeds in breaking free, he immediately gets to work with his spear again, aiming to destroy this creature before his body realizes that it is far beyond saving.

Alrighty. Shaken again, still in a Raging Frenzy.

Trying to break the grapple until that succeeds, then moving on to attacks as soon as possible. If the Grapple is broken, then the subsequent rolls can be used as attack rolls, with a +2 for the spear.

[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]

Crit confirm, in order: [roll4] - [roll5] - [roll6]

Damage: [roll7] - [roll8] - [roll9]

[Nettlekid]

Themvore and the snake woman are perfectly evenly matched with his first contest, and that even match lets him escape from the subdued position he was put under. His first attack strikes true, and his second strikes her heart. She wheezes, and then slithers back briefly. Like the beasts who had been fighting in the air, black vapor pours from her pours and sheathes her in an uncanny aura. At least this is a reprieve from attack, for the moment.

[JBarca]

Themvore moves forward, refusing to give up this brief advantage. He barely notices the aura of darkness as he throws himself at his foe again, intent to destroy this obviously powerful creature before being dragged into the afterlife. Perhaps this is his chance at immortality; a duel to the mutual death in a crowded marketplace in a land far from his own.

If she's moved back, I'm assuming I can charge? If she's too close for that, then subtract 2 from each of the values.

[roll0] (Crit [roll1])
[roll2] (Crit [roll3])
[roll4] (Crit [roll5]) - Chance for a Crit, x3 damage.
[roll6] (Crit [roll7])

[roll8]
[roll9]
[roll10]
[roll11]

[Nettlekid]

It was only a 5 ft step, so you're still too close to charge.

Thanks to her dark aura, the snake woman deflects the first and last of Themvore's onslaught, but is skewered through her torso by his third. The ground is now slick between Themvore's own browning blood and the thick black slime pouring between the snake's scales. She still has strength, but the crowd of the other side of the barrier of blades is growing. Themvore can see her head whipping back and forth, trying to calculate exactly how she wants this to go down while he spear is still embedded within her.

She vanishes. It's as though he blinked, and she is no longer there. The small green gremlins are flitting around curiously, and the purple goblins seem dissatisfied with this result. The canine with the crab claws is on the ground now, though it seems a little dazed after fighting the ape. The blades surrounding Themvore continue to whirl, and what little blood he has left is still boiling.

[JBarca]

As the woman disappears, Themvore has a single moment of clarity. He knows he is a dead man. There is no denying that fact.

Before his concentration can slip, he turns to the crab-dog and dashes forward, spear lowered.

I will be remembered for all time. The man who slayed beast after beast, well after he should have died. I will be a hero. A legend.

Charging the crab-dog monster.
[roll0] (Crit [roll1])
[roll2] (Crit [roll3])
[roll4] (Crit [roll5])
[roll6] (Crit [roll7])

[roll8]
[roll9]
[roll10]
[roll11]

[Nettlekid]

The canine creature, winded from its previous fight, is far less durable than the snake woman had been. Themvore sinks his spear through the splintering chitin of the creature's claw, rending its flesh and causing the hound to howl with pain. Eyes narrowed, it stares down Themvore. Then it takes a breath.

STUN!

Themvore is completely immobilized. Every muscle in his body stiffens instantaneously, and then relaxes as a haze comes over his mind. His heart is racing and trying to find back, but there was never an instant for him to do so. It's all he can do to keep his balance as his spear clatters to his feet. The dog clambers to its feet.

"Now then, roarsome and bloodmad as tha may be, sit a spell an' keep tweaked to what I have for tha. Tha's proper strong, stronger than I 'n' all loosegobs below me. It ain't any husk can fall in and put a Marilith on the ropes, nor as can take such a beating and still breathe. Now, tha's looking proper filleted, and it won't be a minute before tha drops down to home sweet home. Normally I'd be brightfaced to see it, save it was the Marilith who takes credit for sending tha, but it's wasterly false to see tha a Dretch. Not when tha could still fight and fight again. Now, there's one standing betwist tha and the infinite drop, and that's I. I'll make tha a deal. Tha follows me into the Abyss, and uses thy might to put me in a place better than I've got now. And tha gets not to fall flat as tha stands. All I need from tha is thy agreement. Do we have a deal, Prime?"

Themvore is still in his frenzy, but he has a short while before his fumes burn out. If he can clear his mind in the time he has left, he can make or break that agreement even while Stunned. Of course, either way, it'll be the last word out of his mouth before death takes him.

[Nettlekid]

[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]

[JBarca]

Even while Themvore's body and mind strain to break free and kills this creature, to put his spear between its pectorals, to reign supreme on the battlefield, a small, almost ignored portion of his mind struggles against this. His primal urge to stay alive fights to be heard. The survival instinct is strong.

Will Save time! I've got three chances, DC 20.
EDIT: First try! Nice.
[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]

Themvore breaks out of his focus and his eyes go wide. The shock of pain is nearly unbearable. Just before sliding into oblivion, though, he sighs out one word: "Agreed..."

Themvore's eyes, intense, focused, and utterly mad, suddenly go blank, and he goes limp in magical bonds, nothing but regret on his face.

[Nettlekid]

Neat, I have no idea where this is going to go because I did not at all plan for this direction. I'm counting myself lucky that a Glabrezu has Wish; I did not purposely choose the monster as a failsafe because of that. Had you died, I think I would have done something about resurrecting in Ysgard.

The dog monster watches Themvore's body fall, a widening grin over his muzzle.
"Thum's wish be I's command. Hail to you!" it cries, and there is a wave of dark energy. Themvore's heart pounds, and he breathes again. He is weak, with a mere 15 hit points, but he is alive and whole save for a pathwork of scars from the snake woman's swords.
"Now then," the dog monster smiles, "It does us little good to be rattrapped in this here hell. Tha needs thy rest, and I need to think planningwise. The Tanar'ri here will be quick to pounce on tha lest tha make thyself less slaverworthy in scent, so keeps close and prepare to run. We're aiming to catch the bus to Curst. I don't suppose tha's a Warlock what can fly swift nor span-step to cross the blades?
The creature starts snapping its fingers at the whirling blades. After a few attempts, the blade wall flickers and fades.
"Ah, there. Step quick now, and head Lawward! it grumbles, taking a few deliberate steps in an attempt not to draw excessive attention to itself. A number of the monstrous creatures around you have noticed you, but aren't sure whether to rush in to attack or not.

[roll0]

[JBarca]

Themvore gasps awake, clutching his freshly beating heart. He pants for a moment, recovering his wits while the creature speaks. He nods at the suggestion.

What is this place? Creatures that can fly? Swords that wield themselves? Monsters disappearing? This being somehow snapping its fingers and preventing my death?

Themvore shakes his head, resolving to figure all of this out later, once he has a chance to. For now, though, he keeps his head low, his shield high, and his legs moving, keeping up with his guide.

Fortunate Demon placement, then!

And I'm sure you know this, but those constant d1000 rolls are nerve-wracking.

[Nettlekid]

I only recently decided to implement them in the larger-party version of this game, and hit the 1000. Couldn't believe it. Definitely changed the direction of the game.

The dog monster, twice your height and width and posturing with its crab claws, manages to part a path through the bustle of the marketplace. Many creatures are interested in you, but the majority seem to be tending to their own affairs. If you had to guess, this kind of scuffle is commonplace in this area. Your guide seems to be making direct headway toward a wide gate cut into the layered stairs of the market.

Exiting through that gate shows the you where you really are. Well, sort of. The marketplace was held within a tower, the exterior of which stares out into a wide expanse of whirling dust and similar towers in the distance. The stairs on the walls seem to go above the ceiling and below the floor, and now on the outside you can see more entrances to more levels of this...district. The tower is dark red-brown and smells of iron, and the stone is rough like pumice. The tower stretches down further than you can see, but there seems to be a wide ground to suggest it isn't as tall as the whole of the sky. The nearest towers to you are a "lawward" tower of iron rather than stone, and a tower to your right that looks like pockmarked stone which you can hear whistling eerily.

Your guide beckons you up the spiraling outer stairs of this tower, and you find a wooden dock in shambles.
"Us'll breathe easier now, but mustn't gag lollies. Us's taking the bus.
In the distance, rapidly coming closer, is a blue-gray blob the size of a castle, flapping membranous wings that look somewhat like those from those purple goblins but much larger. It's a whale, and there is scaffolding affixed to its whole body. It doesn't really slow down as it approaches the dock, and rams into the side of the tower. A swarm of monstrous creatures leap from the scaffolding like lice, landing on one stone or another and crawling into the tower.
"Swiftly, swiftly, onto the Elsewhale," your guide prompts. You find yourself squeezed on the scaffolding with a dozen other smaller imps, and it creaks under your guide's weight. The whale shifts from its position in the tower, and begins to fly across the chasm.

"Yes, better, better," your guide nods to himself. "Now is as jawflapperly a time as any, and tha seems as glass-eyed and bubblebrained as any that needs it. My name is Zegregor Caelum Tynoquine. I am a Glabrezu, one of the myriad Demons, Tanar'ri, borne of Evil and Chaos of the Abyss and lashed into partnerships by your kin, the Primes. Sustained by the planes but driven by blood and souls, as there is naught much else to do since the gods turned dirtside. I tell tha this," he says with a smile, "because unless tha seeks to join the gods, tha's stuck agreeing with me as long as I'll have tha. Elseways the conditions of your Wish break, and tha ends up where tha was headed. Where us's headed now though is to the edge of this great city of Sigil. From Sigil to Curst to Carceri, and I have a few tasks in mind for a fighter who can clean up corkeared Petitioners."

[JBarca]

Ok, so I know that you're mentioning that just to make me more nervous, but I'm willing to admit it worked.

Themvore walks as slowly as Zegregor will allow, staring around him at the many new sights and sounds. He is clearly overwhelmed. He picks his way past creatures from the deepest nightmares and fairy tales of man, wondering exactly how - and why - he ended up here. As his guide steps on the "bus," Themvore stops for a moment, horrified by the creature and the apparent means of transportation.

"Sigil? Where exactly is that? I've walked much of the known world and heard of no such place. And these beasts... Tanar'ri, you called them? What is that?"

Wishing for something makes it true, now? I must surely be dreaming. But these wounds feel real enough...

"Cursed? Carceri? These do not sound like pleasant places. Filled with horrible monsters, I assume?" Themvore nods, as if making a decision.

"Give me a few days to recover, and I'll fight. And during that time, you can tell me what, exactly, I am doing here. Why were you able to bring me from the brink of death? Why did you save me? And where are these other... 'Primes?' My kin?"

[Nettlekid]

Zegregor releases a guttural, grating laugh like grinding stone.
"Tha brain's shiny as a babe's, Prime!" he chortles. "Leastways tha has I to fill thy mind. This is Sigil, all of it. Greatest city in all the Great Wheel." He gestures out to the spires rising out in the void. "So they say, time was the city was roundwise up over itself, but it cut and unfolded out when the Lady went to void. I weren't around at then, though. Now Sigil is home to dozens of Hells and Heavens, echoes of the planes outside. It ain't so easy to be hopping 'round the Wheel, so for business or pleasure with the other end of the ring Sigil's the place to get to. O'course I say that, but we's heading outside and out to the Wheel. Curst is the gatetown, where there's a portal to Carceri what stays lit no matter the flux. I may be a Demon, but I can appreciate something reliable from time to time. That's what I is, a Demon, a Tanar'ri specific. Most Demons is, but some inn't. The Great Wheel is home to multitudes borne from ethos and morality, be they sparkling Good or rigid Law or thirsty Evil or joysome Chaos. Demons's Evil and Chaos. Devils's Evil and Law, what makes them fun to fight with but talking to 'em is insufferability. There's Modrons and Formians what are pure Law, there's Slaadi what is only Chaos, there's Eladrin of Law and Good or Archons of Good and Law, there's Yugoloths of just Evil and Angels of just Good. Tha's not that. Tha's a Prime, born of flesh on one of the Material Planes. Simple minds, simple pleasures, tha lives and dies in the blink of an eye. We all be mightful and powersome over tha Primes, but we needs tha's minds and souls and partnership because without tha there is no Good or Evil or Law or Chaos and we ain't got form. But it ain't hard to get thy mind out of tha!"

Zegregor sighs, evidently pleased with his description.
"Anyway, down to tha. I'll be plainwise with tha, no one here likes each other. No one. If we got something, others want it, and would kill us to get it. But we wants to kill others to get what they got. I can't always be coming out on top of these, but I'm thinking that with tha on me flank there's a different story to be told. Wasn't expecting this, no plans just yet, but I'll come up with a few.

As for savin' tha, I didn't hardly pull tha from the brink of death. Tha fell right over the line, stone cold proper! But naught what a Revivify can't fix, or a Wish meant to look like one. Suits me and tha, tha's still as strong as tha was. Takes much out of me to do one, don't expect it again for a month. But hopes be I won't need to."

[Nettlekid]

Ugh I keep forgetting but I want them all to be in this thread.
[roll0]
[roll1]

[JBarca]

Themvore takes a deep breath.

"This is... A lot to process. Zegregor, you mentioned that there were gods? Actual gods? And that they died? What does that mean for us? For everything?

"And how did I get here? A man in armor approached me in my home and destroyed himself. I was pulled into his body and found myself here. CAn you explain that?

"And, on a side note, you just told me that you are Evil and Chaos. Why would I trust anything you're telling me? Especially since you apparently need my mind and soul. This does not sound like the sort of arrangement that I would benefit from. I have no problem fighting. In fact, I live for, and intend to die by, it. But I'd like my skill to benefit me, not enrich some monster from... Sigil? Hell? Wherever you're from."

Themvore tightens his grip on his spear, but makes no aggressive move yet. He's nervous, but not about to throw his life away on this crowded bus. Keeping one eye on Zegregor, he scans the bus, taking in the various creatures here and hoping to see another Human.

[Nettlekid]

"Course there was, where else would thy Cure spells come from?" Zegregor asks rhetorically. "Hah, supposin' none of us raiding thy Material paid you a lesson to explain us's coming? The gods are long dead, and their slayers too, most of them. New gods on the rise though, so they say. None tha'd want to bump into, for one reason or another. Them's some of the last that remember the old gods, and there's a reason they haven't yet joined them!

A man taking tha here, that I can't say, that's on tha, not me. Sounds bigger than me, if he c'n hop the planes.

As fer what of Evil and Chaos," Zegregor grins with rotten teeth, "tha's got one choice left to make, and that's to go back on thy deal and go back in the dirt. Devil deals, those tha can't even break. Demon deals, do what tha wants, but so do I. Tha agreed to stay alive to serve me utterly, that was the wish. If the latter half goes so do the former. Tha's me employee now! And I isn't from Sigil, few are. We're headed now to the plane I was rolled up from: Carceri. The prison plane, many ways in and very few out. Jails on jails on jails, and ain't none pleased to be there. There's no place left what values might making right better than Carceri, and you're about to make me a lot of right!"

The flying whale comes to a crashing halt once again, this time against an iron tower wrapped in chain. Zegregor beckons Themvore off the whale, and points to the spiral staircase wrapping around the tower's exterior.
"Us isn't goin' in, but down the side. At the bottom there's a door to outside Sigil, and the road through the Outlands to Curst. Seeing as tha Prime can't warp, we're stuck walking slugly. It'll be a while."

[JBarca]

Themvore frowns. "No one raided my 'materials,' demon. I would have killed any who tried. And spells? You mean magic? Is... Is that what happens here? Magic? These... 'cure spells?'

"Their slayers? The gods were killed?" Themvore shakes his head and rubs his eyes.

"Planes? Warping? What are you talking about? This is too much. But lead on, creature. I'll fight for you if it means I can earn my right to live a life long enough to forge my place in history."

[Nettlekid]

Zegregor shrugs as the two of you descend the stairs.
"Well, tha hardly needs spend thinkdrool on what's happened and is dead and gone and ain't coming back. Tha's here to live in the now, 'cause now in't all that long!"
For quite some time you wrap around the tower, lower and lower, until you come to the end of the stairs which seem to fade into nothing against a backdrop of an unpleasant earthen mass, which the tower rises out from. Zegregor gives Themvore a small push down the last stair, and follows suit. Instead of landing on the ground ahead, Themvore sets foot on withered grass. The iron tower is gone, replaced by an enormous stone spire rising up further than the eye can see. This is all that there is in all the horizon by way of landscape. Everything else is pale white as though sun-bleached, and totally flat. No trees stand on the plains, just dry earth and withered grass. The only things standing in three dimensions are travelers wandering to and from this stone spire. You're standing on a road of packed earth, and there seem to be others branching off from you like the spokes of a wheel.
"Long way to Curst, but us's got a light load. Take mind to stay on the path mostways. Wander too far into the Outlands and thy soul will flicker out, weak and puny as it is. Time was the Outlands was verdant green, but Obad-Hai ain't 'round to spruce it no more. Life won't exist, save for those with terrorsome will like The Hermit. Another reason tha doesn't want to stray."

Keep forgetting.
[roll0]
[roll1]

[JBarca]

Themvore looks over his shoulder at the beginning of the path, expecting to see stairs winding up and away. If they're not there, he pauses a moment to look at the spot, curious about the entrance's workings.

Perception, [roll0], to see if the portals are noticeable to the naked eye.

This creature seems unwilling to really tell me anything of use. It's hiding something. But what?

I wonder if I could outrun it. I would be lost, without a doubt. And he might revoke the "wish."

Themvore follows his guide, taking care to stay on the path.

"So this place is... a hub, then? You can walk from here to anywhere else? How does that work, exactly?

And who is this Hermit? Anyone with whom I should concern myself?"

[Nettlekid]

The portal is indeed visible, not distinctly but with a delicate shimmering curving of the light that causes the lines of the stone spire to slightly disconnect.

[roll0]

"Tha can, just as tha can walk across a continent and swim across the seas. Sigil is the city of doors, and one of very few reliable gateways to any plane around the Wheel. From a plane to a gate-town, down the road through the Outlands, up the spire and up a tower, across the whale and down another tower, back out to the Outlands and to another gate-town. If tha needs to get somewhere then that's where tha goes, and prepare to spend an age doing it. Of course, us's got places to be! Simperly strutwising in't our suit!"
Zegregor reaches one of his large pincers to his chest, and snips into his own flesh. Out from the black ichor streaming from the wound, Zegregor pulls out a tiny statuette. It's pitch black, and as the blood drips off Themvore can see it's the form of a fly. Zegregor hurls it to the ground and speaks loudly in the unsettling language Themvore heard before.
The statuette twitches, and its forelegs begin rubbing together like a real fly. It's already larger than a regular fly, but it begins to swell and grow until it it is the size of a horse, making the thick hairs running over its body and the dripping stomach acid from its hoselike mouth all the more unsettling.
"Feast thy boggles, Prime, for tha inn't likely to see another in thy lifetime! Magic may be dead but its children live and breathe! This is un Ebony Fly, a Figurine of Wondrous Power! Better than any beast of burden, it can take tha where us's headed. I be too weightsome for it, but the travel inn't a vex for me."
Zegregor pushed Themvore onto the fly, and slaps the bug on the back.
"To Curst, end of the line, Ebony Fly!"
The fly's saillike wings begin flapping furiously and dust is blown from the ground, taking Themvore into the air at a slow climb before the fly starts rushing above the trail below. A number of slow travelers well ahead look up at the buzzing, and Themvore would guess their expressions to be surprise and envy. Zegregor remains on the ground below, and he's always a short ways behind no matter how fast you're going. If you stare at him, he catches up in the moment you blink. But at least for now, you and the fly are alone in the sky.

[JBarca]

Themvore shakes his head at Zegregor's description of the area.

As the fly starts to grow, he steps back, clearly nervous at the display of magic.

"If... If magic is dead, then how do these magic doorways work? And your, uh, Wish? And those flying swords? And why have I never seen anything like this before? I've been all across the world, so I'll ask again: where are we? You keep speaking of these places of which I've never heard, and act as if they are very far apart. If that were the case, surely I would have heard of at least one of them?"

When Themvore gets an answer, he mounts up and holds on as tightly as he can.

I'm... I'm flying? On a giant insect? I really need to stop being surprised by this dream.

Resolving himself to be steeled against future oddities, he sits up straighter after a few minutes of flight and gives a mocking wave at one of the walking creatures.

[Nettlekid]

(Before departure)

"Hah, yon musclehead had no mind for magic in the best of times, eh? That what makes new magic is dead, the gods and the Serpent, and none can cast a spell. But this Ebony Fly and any number of raresome gubbins were made well and long before magic died! They need naught new, they work until broken. The Wish I granted and the Marilith's Blade Barrier, that's what makes us who rules the roost in these hells! Elements of magic are in our blood and bones outside the realm of the gods, and those are untouched. We have only few tricks, but they won't run out 'lest we do. The portals on the other hand, those aren't magic-fed, they exist across the planar fabric. Natural breaks. That's like asking why a house has a window when all the masons are on strike.

As fer tha bubblebrains what doesn't know Carceri, forget thy world, tha inn't there! A ball of stone floating in the void, one of countless more! Tha's left it and come to the Great Wheel now! Tha's a worm what thought its apple was the world, and has just fallen into the soil of the orchard."

---------

The Ebony Fly travels quickly, but the road ahead is long. After some time it looks like Zegregor isn't keeping as close attention on you anymore, and you do not see him directly beneath. The steady stream of travelers is long through. Most look like merchants similar to the monstrosities you saw before, though many seem not to be hauling wares but instead cages and shackles filled with what look like slaves. There are also many beasts of burden carrying heavy packs. Your fly is much faster than them all, but it may be hours yet as you buzz through the air. The other roads spreading like wheel spokes are getting too far to see, so all that remains is this one pale road. If there's anything Themvore wants to do privately before encountering Zegregor again, this would be the time for it.

[roll0]

[JBarca]

(Before departure)

"Until I cam here, I would have told you that magic was a myth. A fairy tale for children, nothing more. The fact that you're telling me that my world is only one of countless, and is lost? This is beyond anything I had ever imagined. These portals, the fact that I'm alive, you... none of it makes any sense to me."

---------

Themvore spends the time of the fly resting. He took quite the mauling recently, and this after a sudden and shocking departure from everything he had ever known. He makes himself as comfortable as possible and watches the scenery. He has no idea what this flying monstrosity is capable of, how to steer it, or how long he'll be here, so the warrior waits. He keeps one eye out for Zegregor, of course, but refuses to waste what may be his last chance to be calm.

[Nettlekid]

Even though he does not sleep, Themvore is able to get about half the rest he would from a night asleep, so precise are the movements of the fly. After about twelve hours of monotonous flight, the fly sharply descends and lands on the ground, before letting a blast of air out from its dangling mouth and deflating back into a tiny statuette. Zegregor is there to pick it up.
"Aye, I know thy thought, was a brief ride to span to the edge of a world! On the Ebony Fly it's half a day, and on foot perhaps a week? In the past when the gods still walked, one's family line could die out before they got here. But time and space both aren't all what they were. Some think Boccob's old library is breaking down and letting its inside out, or taking the outside in. Some think the planes are just giving up for ghost, and soon they'll shatter in full. I don't care! It makes it easy."

What you've finished your journey in front of is a pair of massive curved pillars, like mandibles rising up from the earth. A creature that looks like it has an octopus on its neck shoves an ox-beast as large as Zegregor through the pillars, and the several humanoids shackled to it, before stepping through itself. White lightning bursts, and all disappear. Zegregor somewhat roughly pulls you through as well.

With a crackling of lightning, your world has changed again. You find yourself in a ghost town, rusty iron buildings lining the streets of solid stone. It is cold and inhospitable, and there is no one else in sight. You feel eyes upon you, though.
"Now then. If I were a gate to a dimension of prison, where would I be?" Zegregor muses.

[JBarca]

Themvore dismounts the shrinking fly gratefully. Although it was smooth, the journey was not exactly comfortable. He spends a few moments stretching as Zegregor talks, then nods as though he completely understands what the Demon is saying.

"Who is Boccob, if I might ask? Another Demon?" As the asks the question, he finds himself in a new place, and he does his best to look as nonchalant as possible.

"This... This is Curst, then? What manner of place is it? I do not like the feel of it. Are we looking for another of those nearly invisible entrances?"

The Human readies his weapons and begins to walk about the immediate area. He maintains line of sight to Zegregor if at all possible, but focuses on searching for anything of not, up to and including a portal. He makes no effort to hide form the Demon, but does try to stay quiet, lest he attract the attention of whatever foul creatures inhabit such a place.

Perception [roll0]
Stealth: [roll1]

[Nettlekid]

"Tch, I'm mindboggled how tha can have gone so long and learned nothing of all things. Aye, it is, and aye, we are. Curst is the gate town for Carceri. We're still in the Outlands, but on the edge. If enough Evil and Chaos gather up here all at once, the whole thing will fall into Carceri and a new gate town will start up in the Outlands. Since none that lives here wants to go to Carceri, they're not shy about turning away that sort to keep the population down. Look, here come some guards to kick us out now.

True enough, out from the allies and broken buildings creep a few shrouded figures. They seem to be human-shaped and would look like humans, but there's something a little off about their stance and gait. Wearing tattered black and white rags, with iron bands with two links of chain hanging off of each clasped around both wrists and both ankles. There are four of them, dragging themselves toward the pair of you. The looks on their faces are not of anger, but fear.
"Who comes here? Who of the outside is fool enough to risk the plague, and the horrors of the Iron Scourge? This is not a safe place for your kind, Tanar'ri, you and all with you will be utterly destroyed! The Iron Scourge will drag you to the Abyss and slay you forever, and your companion's soul will be shredded! You must leave now, this moment, before you are discovered!"

Zegregor looks to you.
"If tha wants to start doing what tha's going to be doing, tha can wipe these spittlewarts across the ground where they stand," he prompts.


[roll0]
[roll1]

[JBarca]

Helvan eyes the figures.

"Is that a good idea? They look harmless enough, and I'm not overly interested in attracting whatever it is that they think can, uh, shred my soul.

"But, if you insist."

Themvore moves forward to slay the creatures, but does so cautiously. Keeping his shield raised, he moves toward one of the figures and jabs his spear into its torso, letting the power of his strike steel him against attacks.

Attacking the nearest figure using Iron Bones. If it hits, DR 10/Adamantine for one round. [roll0] (Crit? [roll1])

Damage [roll2]

[Nettlekid]

Themvore's spear meets little resistance, and one of the shackled men bleeds profusely from a gaping wound in his chest. He is thrown back and collapses with shuddering breaths. The other three who came close by shrink back in fear, looking to each other in bewilderment. One speaks loudly.
"Stop, stop! Please! The demon leads you astray, warrior! A demon wants only ruinous destruction and the hoarding of mortal souls! By killing us you make him stronger as he lays claim to us for his masters! If you don't-"
"The first is still breathing. I did not tell tha to stop. Zegregor hums from behind.

[JBarca]

Themvore glares at Zegregor, then settles down to do the dirty deed. He thrusts his spear first into the injured man, then his companions.

Attacks. Switching to Giant's Stance.

[roll0] (Crit [roll1])
[roll2] (Crit [roll3])
[roll4] (Crit [roll5])


Damage

[roll6]
[roll7]
[roll8]

Cleave: If an attack downs an enemy, I'll Cleave. Can 5ft step if needed. One Cleave, total. Same attack bonus as the attack that hit, new roll, so I didn't include modifiers.
[roll9] ([roll10])
[roll11]

[Nettlekid]

Who's Helvan?

Also [roll0]
[roll1]


You snuff the life of the downed man, then the second with a single strike. You cleave through to the third and drop him to a bleeding heap, and the last man with him. Zegregor looks pleased.
"Aye, as tha should do. I was right, tha'll make a good warden yet. But tha'll be fighting more powersome foes than Petitioners once we're in Carceri proper. Come, find the portal."
He strides past the new carnage, quickly snapping off the heads of the downed but not dead men with his long crab-clawed arms. The air is still again, and blood seeps into the thirsty ground. If there's anyone else around, they're not likely to stumble out now.

Zegregor's head whips back and forth, keen eyes seeking out some kind of clue. He perks up, and it looks like he founds one.
"If tha's going to jail, tha's sent there by a judge," he remarks. He points to a ruined, roofless building of wood instead of stone. In front of it is a statue of what looks like an armored man with fishlike fins on the sides of his helmet. (Entirely different than the man who sent you here)
"Proud barstool, even if supposedly impartial. Judgment finds everyone in the end," Zegregor says cryptically, prompting you to the building past the statue. Inside it looks almost like a church, with rows and rows of pews. At the end is a podium with a large book on it, and an ink quill to the side of the book, flanked by benches and boxes. It's a courthouse. Zegregor moves to the end of the rows and up to the book, then thumbs through it.
"Guilty, guilty, guilty...Just names and guilt. I've got a guess as to how we get to Carceri. Stand by me sidewise and gird thy guts."

He beckons you over. If you want to escape going to this jail-world he keeps talking about, this is probably your last chance to attack him.

[JBarca]

My apologies. This is what happens when you are discussing one game with someone while typing up a response to another.

All these warnings about "last chances" are making me second-guess my initial intent to just follow Zegregor to Carceri... Maybe I'll try to delay a bit.

Themvore stops at the entrance for a moment.

"Zegregor. I am still grievously injured. If you force me into battle now, I might find myself quickly destroyed by your foes. Don't take me for a coward, of course. But your investment in me will have been wasted if the first sword blow that strikes my armor slays me."

[Nettlekid]

I didn't mean to push one decision or another, I just didn't want to autopilot you into a scene change that was a fairly one-way street. Considering that OoC you know you're enslaving yourself to a demon, you might have wanted to plan some IC justification for not doing so.

[roll0]


Zegregor looks up from the book to Themvore, still standing where he was.
"We's not heading to fight just yet, not 'less we's set upon by undesirably poxswillers. Tha'll get rest and food, this is only the first step to a plan what plans to be a long time coming, and what tha'll be with for a long time. Hop to it, stand thuswise."

[JBarca]

Yeah, I'm not too worried about it, I don't think. I'm fine sticking with Zegregor to learn about the world for a while. He's not easy to understand, but he likes to talk, so until I have a chance to recover some HP, I'll stick with him.

Themvore hesitates a moment longer, then moves to stand by Zegregor.

"So be it. Off we go."

The man hefts his spear and prepares to come under attack as soon as Zegregor does... whatever it is he's about it do.

[Nettlekid]

"Aye, that's the way."
Zegregor still holds the large book, and with his other non-claw hand lifts the quill from the inkpot on the stand.
"Zegregor Caelum Tynoquine and...plus one." he murmurs, writing into the book.
"Guilty."

The ground vanishes underneath the pair of you, a massive stone trapdoor just falling away into an inky black chasm. Zegregor loses his grip on the book and the quill, which fall back on the stand. The pair of you plummet into darkness.

You land as though you haven't fallen far at all, even though it felt like you were plummeting for minutes. An unpleasant wet warmth seeps around your feet as you stand in some kind of bog. A rusty light fills the air, like a tired sunset, and an acrid stinging smell penetrates around you. This is a marshy area, though somehow unusual because on closer inspection the mud and swamp is tinted dark with some kind of black water. Around you are wide trees with bristling spines lining the wood and leaves. In the distance, towers made of lattices of iron rise on the horizon, either on top of or between mountains. And far up in the sky you see what looks like an enormous moon, closer than it should be. Beyond its circumference, another sits in the distance, and another after that.

"Here then we be, sweet Orthrys. Breathe deep the peacerly smoothness, for it ain't to last further in. Now, tha's a whinging babe what needs a nap so's I'll let tha decide. Does tha want to sleep where tha stands in the bogs, find shelter in the mountains with the Titans, or shall we head into proper civil territory and get to know the neighbors?"

[roll0]

[JBarca]

"Will these 'neighbors' be as friendly as the ones who greeted me on my arrival? Because that sounds like a surefire way to get myself killed. And these... 'titans?' More like your kind, only, I don't know, bigger? Because while sleeping in a bog is not my idea of a good night's rest, being stepped on or stabbed for standing too near someone is not ideal."

I hate all the caution. I want, no need to prove myself in battle, but every single creature here seems to be stronger than any I have ever seen. Hopefully I can find some allies who don't revel in raw chaos and vileness before too long...

[Nettlekid]

"As friendly, aye, but not as strong." Zegregor smirks. "Them's not the type for fighting so much 'cept for in riots, but they'll say what they please to make tha do what they please. Tha oughts to be on guard, for tha's a voidhead what goes along with just about anything.

The Titans are more like tha than I, least by looks. But they can be big as a mountain if tha finds a gobfillery one. Mostly they hates it here, and don't like seeing anyone what can leave!"

[JBarca]

Themvore mulls over his options for a minute. "Civilization it is. A strong drink would be much appreciated about now. A bed even more so, and perhaps a body to warm it. These Titans sound spiteful, and I'd rather not be forced to stay here if it can be avoided. Lead on, Demon."

[Nettlekid]

"Ha! Tha would eat and sleep among Carceri Petitioners. Ever amuserly, Prime."
Zegregor strides through the thick marsh, aiding you when the need arises and the bog is too deep. After a difficult trek of a few hours, the pair of you arrive at one of the iron spires sticking out like a thorn in the earth. The entrance to this spire is guarded by men wearing rags and broken chains like those you met in the previous town.
"Who comes?" one asks roughly.
"New soul for a cell in Cathrys. Don't tha get close, his mind is as muleish as his face. Keep hold of your womenlyfolk, for when he goes into a foaming wrath it aren't the head on his shoulders he thinks with."
The men look a little on edge.
"Be that as it may, there's no clear path to Cathrys open now. Election season, gate's closed to keep voters in. You won't be able to get through until either Senator Yudu or Minister Yudunt is on the seat of the council in this district."
Zegregor growls.
"Then find us a cell what we can shove this badgerbrute in until then is done."

The men hustle off, and eventually Zegregor leads you to a gated cell amidst jeers and cheers from other inmates. Looking up and around, this spire is built entirely of cells on cells, and nearly all have some manner of beast in it. Most are humanoid, but some are very much not. Zegregor enters the cell first, then bids you to do the same. The cell door is closed behind you.
"We's can leave any time, there's no way to keep a door closed in Carceri if tha wants it open. But this is the closest place to safety for the time being. Get tha some rest here. We'll have to see what to do about this election when tha's rested."

[JBarca]

Themvore spends much of the walk pondering the recent events, trying to piece together exactly what he's gotten himself into. He mostly puts "magic" out of his mind, as that's far beyond what he can comprehend. By the end of the first hour, he's put together a timeline that, a worldview, that he intends to use as he goes forward. The kings - "gods" - of this land were killed, leaving a huge power vacuum. With them went authority, "magic," and safety. Since then, Zegregor and others like him have been working to collect power, and this one thinks that he has stumbled across a useful new tool in me. There are monsters beyond what even I can fight here, and they have abilities I will never understand.

To protect ourselves, this Demon is taking me to a place to recover. Then he'll use me as a weapon against... Who, exactly? His enemies, I'd imagine. Other Demons? More of those men with chains? Other monstrosities? Nothing from my home, it seems. I am a bit of an oddity, for some reason. None of those magic doors to my "world" I'd imagine.

Themvore shakes his head in irritation. This is all too much.

When they arrive at the entrance and Zegregor mentions a cell, Themvore's eyes widen and he attempts to discretely find a way to hide. He quickly realizes the futility of this and instead calmly readies his spear. If these aberrant beasts think they can take me down without a fight, they're about to be sorely disappointed.

When Zegregor enters the cell first, Themvore stops for a moment, slightly confused. He enters after the hesitation, though, and stands in the center of the cell.

"What sort of election? I heard the names mentioned, of course. And the seat is on a council? How do they fit into your schemes, Demon?"

If Zegregor attempts nothing hostile, Themvore sets down his shield and removes his armor, leaning back in the least-uncomfortable place he can find to rest. He intends to sleep, eventually, but getting a few answers first might be worthwhile. He holds onto his shield and weapons.


I'll let you know, you've done an excellent job of creating a KSBD vibe for me, at least as much as I've read of the comic. I, and by extension Themvore, feel very lost, surrounded by odd terms, languages, and places. Weird stuff is happening, I can't explain any of it, and I'm just hoping that I don't slip and up get killed by something I don't understand at all. Definitely makes waiting for your posts a little tense.

[Nettlekid]

"The best kind of election, a farce," Zegregor chuckles. "Carceri be nested worlds of liars and con men, there in't any hope for a ruler or governor to keep order in a world of chaos. I've no interest in their dealings, nor should tha. It's only a nuisance that stops us getting further into the prison 'til settled. I suppose it's to us's best interest to get it done fast as we can. Maybe just kill one of 'em. But then someone else would step in. Well, I'll think more on it. Tha heals for now, slow as tha does."

[JBarca]

Themvore nods absentmindedly as Zegregor talks. Clearly he's not going to reveal too much. Which is fine. All I need to do is fight well until I can find a way home. Or fight so well that I prove my worth here and earn my place in the histories of this land.

Themvore does his best to find a place to lie down that isn't wholly uncomfortable, and sleeps as best he is able.

[Nettlekid]

Themvore awakens some time later, though with no windows it's impossible to accurately gauge the passage of time. Zegregor is not here, and so he's alone in the cell. As he stirs, he is struck on the head by pebbles flicked from across the way. A creature that vaguely resembles a lizard, with tight muscles and clawed legs with an extra joint like a bird's, with leathery dark green skin and ropey tentacles on its head like dreadlocks, stares at you with empty black eyes.
"Oy, oy, you waking?" it hisses at you with a harsh whisper. "I heard what's happening to you, and what the Glabrezu was saying. He's doing you false, Prime. You shoulda known that by him coming to Carceri in the first place, none comes here willfully. If he's planning to take you deeper it's because he plans for you never to get out. You're a fighter, right? Listen, you need to get out of here as soon as you can. I can get out from this cage easy enough myself, but normally there's no fighting past the guards. Or Judgment. You could change that though. Well, not against Judgment, but let's hope he doesn't find out. You kick out the doors, push your way through, and drift to another plane on the Styx. It'll be hard going from Hades, but amazingly there's more hope there than here. What do you think? You up for it?"

[JBarca]

Themvore jumps to his feet, sleep forgotten in an instant, as the creature speaks. He tilts his head in consideration, before shaking it and firming his expression.

"And why should I trust you over it? It saved my life. Obviously, I know that this was only for its own benefit, but surely that isn't just my destruction? You don't look and more trustworthy than Zegregor did. Now you want me to 'drift?' Creature, I am new to these lands, but I am not a fool. You would have me leave the safety of this cage for your own purposes. I need more to go on if I'm to trust you."

Waiting for a response, Themvore dons his armor and grasps his shield. He will need both before long, he's certain. He also does a brief search of the cell, looking for anything that might be useful or that does not belong in a normal cell. If there is time, he quickly eats a day's worth of rations, gulping down the dry food and grimacing. A far cry from the warm meal he had expected with "civilization."

Sense Motive; is the creature being overly deceptive, or have some ulterior motive aside from escape? [roll0] (Maybe I'll get lucky?)

[Nettlekid]

You do get the sense that this creature wants something else than simply escaping, which is probably its second objective.

"Yeah, it would be for my own purposes. I want out of here, same as everyone in here. There's nothing I can't do, but there are some things I can't do at the same time. I can get out of the cell, or I could fight guards, or I could find an exit. Can't do all of them. But with a strong fighter teaming up, we could make a break for it. There's no doing it alone, since-"
The creature breaks off in mid-sentence, then goes silent and returns to its affairs. There are heavy footsteps in the hall, and Zegregor returns. He doesn't open the cell door, but instead flickers and appears within the cell when he had stood outside just a moment before.
"Pleased to see tha wakenwise, Prime. Us's in for a big day. The 'loths in charge ain't knowing of this election, it's prisoners and criminal guards only. Doubt the 'loths would be all smiles for any kind of unionizing, even one doomed to fall to pieces. The election's in one weekworth's time, so tha'd think us's on our way then. But the candidates are even, and it could extend onwards who knows how long 'til it's sorted, which doesn't do for us. Now, there's two things us can do: Sway the crowd to one candidate or the other, ensuring overwhelming victory at the end of the week and the end to all this. Or, take the issue to the Yugoloths and see them rain down on the prison. Might end things faster, might lock it down. Tell my thy thoughts, Prime. Don't tell me tha's just a pretty face."

[JBarca]

Themvore frowns when Zegregor reappears, but quickly decides on a course of action. Not wanting to appear too eager, though, he spends a few moments apparently mulling over the issue.

"If there's a chance the... 'Yugoloths' might lock down the area, then approaching them might not be best. Taking such a risk with our time only serves to waste it. No, much better to speed up the election. If we are unable to sway the mob by the time the election happens, then we can approach the masters anyway. In effect, we're giving ourselves two chances to escape this way. The mob, though; will they be as easily swayed as the me... I mean 'Primes' from my world? With the right threat or gesture, I can have men begging for a command from me. Given your, er, visage, I imagine he same would be true for you.

"Have you any idea where to start? Are there certain blocs less devoted to a cause? Large groups easily bullied? And how many people are we discussing? If it's too many, we'll need help."

Themvore looks satisfied. If I can just get Zegregor to agree to this, I should have plenty of alone time during which I can talk to that other creature and potentially escape. While Themvore isn't sure where he'd go if he escaped, he's fairly certain that staying here will only lead to more problems down the line.

[Nettlekid]

"A good and thinkerly head which still rests on thy shoulders tha has. But move thy mind from violence, for while it is a tool, it is not the one for this cause. Apart from them from other worlds trapped here who would probably welcome death as a chance to move to a different spoke on the Wheel, the Petitioners who make up the most of the populace know that they'll be here dead or not. No, to push them one way or an otherly way, tis their beliefs themselves we must sway. Senator Yudu is an advocate of greater order and structure, with the implication that organized forces can be militarized for rebellion. He has gained popularity with similar lawful types, but it is difficult to band together around order when the very nature of this world tends to chaos. Minister Yudunt has drafted plans for expedition deeper into the nested world of Carceri in the hopes that a road to escape can be found at its core, and that those with the strength to do so should take the reins. He would have the popular vote, if his plan didn't involve a risk that few in this world are willing to take: subjection to greater torture. Of course, his plans works all the better for us anyway."

[JBarca]

Themvore gives his options a long mulling-over before speaking. It's an odd concept: no fear of death. It's quite the mental exercise for the man. He's attempting to problem solve without his go-to tool. As he thinks, he finds that it is more than a little pleasurable, though any actual positive emotion is completely subsumed by the overwhelming sense of being trapped coupled with fear of this new, strange, fantastic land.

"Hm. So we naturally have two options, here. Convince the 'lawful types' to favor Yudunt or impress upon the others the validity of Yudu's efforts. Those who favor order are not likely to be swayed form their first inclinations, typically. But perhaps they can be made to see the benefits of the other side? If they see an opportunity to become the strong ones, the one with the power, in Yudunt's plan, they might be convinced to favor him. We can talk to ringleaders and make it apparent that a unified populace, one with a singe goal, is more easily corralled. If they swing their support to the Minister, they might earn enough favor to have the power in this new world-wide movement initiative. Or, at least, we can convince them that this is a possibility, I suppose. The actual success of the venture is not of any importance.

"Alternatively, we do the exact opposite. We convince Yudunt's major followers that a more rigid, militarized, disciplined society would be more easily moved. We make it clear that only through dominion will true change happen.

"Naturally, either way is asking politicians and powerful figures to compromise, or at least consider a different viewpoint. Not easy. How likely do you think it is that Yudunt's plan could work? Is there any chance that escape can be had?"