"Whoa! There's more of you after all. That's reassuring!" As the men spoke out from their cells, a dull ringing sounded again-and-again. The ring of metal. Then it stopped. "Good to have you on board, Mr. Gunman. Though I wish I had a name to go with the voice." The ring sounded again, then a sharp crack. "Smokeman's got good eyes. It's as he says, there's smoke but no fire, and some things are changed. That's because we're on an 'Array'." The term wasn't unfamiliar, it was often quoted in technical reports in new tainted regions documented by the Corps. Reports within their own organization didn't break down the definitions of their own terminology, but often acquiring these reports first was extremely profitable for a mercenary company such as the Club. It might have been a word they had seen before, but what it actually meant still remained elusive. Fortunately, they had an extremely rare opportunity having a Surveyor in their midst to elaborate. "If you've seen preliminary reports from the Corps, you may be familiar with the term. It means that a sector, or perhaps even multiple sectors have not yet the threshold to 'Agglutinate', or merge into a single defined space within region. This happens with all newly forming tainted regions, and regions which are violently chaotic, that never reach the threshold. The smoke, the fire, the strange colors, all of it; it means we're somewhere on a Full Array, which is like having a stack of up to twenty-four iterations of the exact same sector. Every environmental resource, from walls, tables, creatures and even time are randomly distributed across the Array. It's pretty complicated, I'm not gonna lie, but that's the abridged version. The physical fires burning things have been divided up across all these different copies of this area, just like the smoke, when they burned things, and a bunch else."

The man took a moment to gather his thoughts and collect himself, "Standing on Arrays is extremely bad. Honestly, it might be one of the worst scenarios to find yourself in the middle of when it comes to newly forming regions. They're incredibly complex, difficult to navigate... they change frequently... and you run the risk of being caught in 'Collapse'." Crofte's last word's seemed to drag out with some hesitant consideration. Gales didn't dive in regions which hadn't settled, so there was very little consideration for some of the factors the man had presented; except for the last. In a mercenary's vocabulary, the term 'collapse' only meant one thing. Death. Before a Gale dived, they ensured they brought no known factors which negatively influenced all known sector's stability; an arbitrary term they borrowed from the Surveyors, which simply meant some manner of structural health in a sector. When stability dropped too low, you had a 'collapse', and everything died. That might not have been the definition that scouts used, but to a Gale it was black-and-white. Nothing had ever been seen again that had been caught in a collapse, even the entire sector was wiped-out from existence. It left nothing. The word seemed to send a cold chill through the chamber.

"Unlike when men dive into stable regions, Collapse is a naturally occurring phenomenon - that will occur; guaranteed. An Array has to Collapse iterations of the sector to approach the Agglutination-Threshold and eventually merge into a stable state. Within the structure of an Array, corruption builds on an iteration, then Collapses it naturally. This happens faster when artificially destabilized by foreign influences. We identify levels of an Array with a letter to document an Array structure, A for the 'highest' or 'topmost' and Z for the 'bottom' or 'lowest'. Not all Arrays have twenty-four iterations, so the lowest could sometimes be level B or C. The general rule is that Corruption 'rises' up the stack, Collapsing the top iterations down into the lower iterations. Leaving those lower in the Array in a much 'safer' situation than those above, but with large chunks of material and reality being violently plugged into a lower iteration, you can still find yourself in a tough spot..." The squeal of rusted metal being shifted yawned out down the hall. "I've also heard of Veilbeasts that only live in Arrays, and can strike at things across other iterations. Scary stuff..." The thought of some invisible insubstantial creature from another iteration of reality suddenly leering out and clawing off someone's face filtered through their minds. Crofte might have had a remarkable talent for understatements.

Footsteps sounded down the hall and the man came about into Kazik's vision. Startled, he jumped back a step and exclaimed, "Pharasma's ghost! What in the hells...." The man quickly slid back around the corner, until he was out of the masked man's sight. Keeping his back pressed against the wall, he called out down the hall to the others. "Uhh..... Do any of you gentlemen know anything about a creature with an iron-face hanging from the ceiling? Or should I be concerned?"

Ͽ ◯ Ͼ

Erik tried to analyze the strangers words, a feat made harder when he couldn't see the man's face. There was a subtle and shaking uncertainty in Crofte's voice; fear. Not fear of them, or even this man with an iron-face, something else, something he wouldn't say. At the least, he was certain the man was omitting something from his detailed explanation. Whatever it was, it shook the Surveyor. With all the talk of collapse, and what was at stake... It was difficult to determine if he even wanted to know. Perhaps it was better to pretend like he couldn't read the man, like he couldn't smell his palpable quivering fear. [Erik | Sense Motive (Crofte) - Success]

He was bleeding. Badly. The sanguine fountain of red spilled out onto the floor in a wild mess, like a stuck pig. He desperately tried to staunch the flow, grasping his own neck as if to strangle himself, but the blood spurt from between his fingers. He could feel the encroaching darkness and the deafening roar of the flames as the heat descended upon him. Black. Walt blinked and quivered as the sudden vision of himself, another self passed. He'd seen through his own eyes, but that Walt Kincaid wasn't the man he was right now. He'd seen it. The inferno. The stones around the great blackened beast were wrought red in a sea of burning black. It's hands were great taloned swords of ebon shade, and it's face was shaped darkened iron wreathed in a halo of fire. With a mere passing of its eyeless leer, his jugular was ripped out as if by some cruel imperceptible force... The great wolf of roots and earth dragged him away from the fires, and into the woods, where the witch waited. He could remember no more. His gaze fell back to the red stone beneath him. It was the same in the Beast's presence. It was coming for him, again. He could feel it. They had to go. They had to go now. [Walt | Survival & Perception - Partial]

Faux took a good look about his cell casually, it had been the first time he'd had the opportunity. Half sunken into the muck and decay, it was in a wretched state as a whole, but still he exercised due-diligence. kicking through the pile of rot what might have once been called a 'bed', something hard nicked his footware. It was crude and long, dripping with filth he had little choice but to attempt to wipe away. The strange device was clear, like glass. It said something long it's length, perhaps a single word, but it was difficult to read as the wild hand which carved the letters had made the text near illegible. It a long dagger made of some manner of translucent material. It wasn't sharp, but it had enough of a point to thrust into someone or something. [Faux | Perception - Success]

Three-inch thick, cold-rolled steel. He wasn't an expert in engineering or construction, but he knew what proper securities looked like. Those were the bars before him. They didn't need to be magical, which they weren't, they were strong enough to be bludgeoned by a battering ram and still remain in place. The rust did little to change that. The cell which held him was bare and held little distinct features aside from random places where the muck sunk to knee-depth. The lock on the grated door was of decent quality, but it had been befouled by this place. Thick gunk had calcified running out from the keyhole and largely paralyzed the internal mechanisms of the thing, but the old steel bolts which held the contraption together were in an even worse state, and could be accessed with some nimble hands and patience. It wouldn't be difficult to simply disassemble the entire thing and remove the door's bolt. Pausing to verify no evidence of tampering or oddities was visible, he set himself to do just that. Sliding his hands through the bars to the other side of the door, he quickly used his tools to retract the retaining pins, revealing the lock's internal mechanisms. Pulling out a few gears then the tempered bar which served to secure the door to its frame, the guts of the things limply fell clattering to the floor with numerous tinging-rings. [Faux | Checks vs (Area/Door/Bars) - Partial]

"....We really need to start moving before we end up on a collapsing iteration. The corruptions' pretty low right now, which is a good sign for us. I feel bad for the guys left hanging on the Array-zones above us, though. Those poor bastards are probably outta luck. It's not the first time scouts have been caught-up in an Array while surveying a new region. Hah."

"Kinda reminds me of when we used to joke about who would draw the short straw and get caught up-top."
"Of course no one wants to be that guy. That's probably any Surveyor's greatest fear, since they know full-well what it means.
Back in the Corps, they'd call that unlucky sod, the 'hanging man'."

DI-DING. DI-DING. The bell-bird's ringing cry echoed again from somewhere far...far above, but it was so far away now. Kazik couldn't hear anything anymore before the deafening cacophony of the chorus. Somewhere, deep in the Pit, swallowed up in a black more grim than night, he lay. He couldn't see, but he knew they still dragged him by the chains which grasped at the stakes still nailed through his ankles. He could feel the thick muddy soil pass across his broken fingers. He wasn't alive, not really. Rather, something simply compelled his mind to remain bound to the corpse. It was distant and cold, and what feeling passed through the gap between his mind and body was clouded and hazy, like the memory of pain and sensation recalled through a dream. They'd surged up through the walls. Countless mindless hands. He'd counted them, or tried. He'd lost track of his number so long ago, perhaps years. Perhaps four-hundred thousand. It was difficult to tell anything anymore. The Pit was deep. The bird had cried out that time too, when he left the cell... Then they were upon them... The countless. They weren't from one world, but from many. The dolls of some sinister evil will. They were bringing his corpse to the master. He could see the shadow of the towering terror far away, breaking the horizon with the distant twinkle of gray flames. A shadow he'd seen long ago, but no closer had he come to being laid before the titan's feet. Those terrible crooked horns, and face of bone. They cried out with one voice to the Black One. [Kazik | Perception & Survival - Success]

He shook himself from the stupor, from the daze. Kazik was back in his cell - his cell. The ground begun to shift, a deep, redder hue most familiar. Something was changing, the world was changing. Changing back to the world that Kazik knew. It wasn't a dream... It wasn't a dream. The memories didn't belong to him, not his current self, but the one who had been broken and dragged into the Pit. He had been here before, seen with these eyes. Crofte knew it too. He knew what lay buried beneath Willowbrook. He knew what was coming. He stood with them in the end, after the black dog had fled, with the faceless man. Somehow... someway, he had come back to this place. This point. Right now. The birds would cry again....

DI-DING. DI-DING.
The bell-bird's song came crashing through the hall from what sounded like everywhere.
The chorus of murmuring voices which had blended into the white-noise in their minds was beginning to slowly raise in volume.

Ah, yes.
They were coming now.
They were coming.



Spoiler: Status
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֍ Faux
HP 33/33
AC 19
⭍ [Staggered] [1/2] Rounds
⯎ Survival Influence Gained
⯎ Freedom Influence Gained
⯎ Tactics Influence Gained
⯎ Acquired [Clear Dagger]

֍ Erik +50 (150xp)
HP 37/37
AC 23
⭍ [Staggered] [0/1] Rounds
⯎ Survival Influence Gained
⯎ Exploration Influence Gained
⯎ Truth Influence Gained
⯎ Secrets Influence Gained
⯎ Crofte's Secret +25 (175xp)
⯎ Array +25 (200xp)
⯎ Stability +25 (225xp)
⯎ Collapse +25 (250xp)
⯎ Agglutination-Threshold +25 (275xp)

֍ Kazik
HP 58/58
AC 20
⭍ [Staggered] [2/3] Rounds
⯎ Truth Influence Gained
⯎ Time Influence Gained
⯎ Knowledge Influence Gained
⯎ Travel Influence Gained
⯎ Madness Influence Gained
⯎ Death Influence Gained
⯎ Darkness Influence Gained
⯎ Evil Influence Gained
⯎ The Vision +25 (25xp)
⯎ The Pit +50 (75xp)
⯎ The Dream +25 (100xp)
⯎ The Countless +25 (125xp)
⯎ Crofte's Secret +25 (150xp)
⯎ The 'Black One' +100 (250xp)

֍ Walt
HP 43/43
AC 19
⭍ [Staggered] [1/3] Rounds
⯎ Truth Influence Gained
⯎ Time Influence Gained
⯎ Knowledge Influence Gained
⯎ Travel Influence Gained
⯎ Exploration Influence Gained
⯎ Madness Influence Gained
⯎ The Vision +25 (25xp)
⯎ The Wolf +25 (50xp)
⯎ The Witch +50 (100xp)
⯎ The 'Blackened Beast' +25 (125xp)
⯎ Array +25 (150xp)
⯎ Stability +25 (175xp)
⯎ Collapse +25 (200xp)
⯎ Agglutination-Threshold +25 (225xp)


Spoiler: Influences
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Influences represent current knowledge, pursuits, training, experiences and aspirations which are actively effecting or being utilized by a character. These represent various concepts and begin to outline a character's values and path as they grow. Influences which are not used regularly are lost, but can be gained again once a character begins pursuing an avenue related towards that field or concept. Influences determine a character's growth in many ways, including experience points they earn and which Potentials they can acquire at any given time.

Unlike with limited class levels, Influences are not acquired spontaneously, and are acquired throughout play; creating an active system which enables a character to re-train, gain new powers, or even improve upon old ones actively with their in-character actions. Training with a sword or exercising the use of an existing Potential allows a character to learn new techniques, empower his current abilities, or even grow his tolerance to pain, sustain damage, run faster, sleep less, and more. Influences play a vital role in developing more sophisticated interpersonal skills and ability to deal and establish diplomatic relations with all manner of strange and otherworldly creatures which you may encounter; in addition to learning more about the unnatural forces which no worldly knowledge could shed light upon. All unique skills are only able to be acquired via potentials, which are trained and worked towards acquiring via your pursuits, experiences, and by extension - your Influences.


Spoiler: Point: 323 - Willowbrook Sanitarium, F3A (About Tainted Lands)
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Tainted Lands are incredibly complex and foreign realms which are often guised as places once familiar. Each tainted region is individually unique and carries with it its own risks, rules, threats and worldly hazards. Many things cannot function, work differently, or can lead to reality crushing results that make survival for most creatures delving into their reaches an impossibility. Site Investigators often travel with groups of Harriers or Gales for long extended periods conducting a through survey of each corrupted-site, known as a 'Point'. These reports are used by various venturing companies to conduct expeditions, known as 'Dives', into the tainted lands. Points are always geographically divided into many areas known as 'Sectors' by Site Investigators. Sectors within a Point mark areas where the rules of the other areas which have been surveyed dramatically differ, be that the laws of nature or magic, or even stranger changes they cannot fully understand.

Common Sector 'rules' which Gales are familiar with include such things as; violent reactions to non-grounded magics, reactions to supernatural energies and abilities, reactions to specific materials, reactions to unstabilized magical creatures and creatures capable of withholding or generating energy, and items or persons keyed to a particular influence.

Fortunately there were not very many public users of magics due to the general fear and suspicion associated with the practice, and thus even less individuals with such talents that traveled into the tainted regions. Magic was an inherently suicidal thing to employ in such places without a remarkable understanding of the Point and all features of the rules which governed the Sector currently being occupied. Everything in a spell from the time it took to produce, to the school, effect, number of targets and even the manner in which the spell functioned were all individuals factors which could set off a dimensional-explosion and throw an entire team of unwitting mercenaries through a hole into Abadon; or worse. There was always worse, they just hadn't learned what that was yet; that was the first lesson tainted lands had to teach the fools which dared brave its depths. Wizards and magicians were generally less welcome by companies that ventured to such places, than they were by the general public. Unless the magician in question specialized in using his or her magic in such places, and possessed a record to back it, not even a fool would bring one along. There existed unique items called 'Grounds' which restrained and processed a magician's magic making it generally safe to use, but they were immensely expensive and built for each individual mage. Yet, more vexing was the matter that a single magician would often need multiple Grounds, as no single device was assured to provide every protection for every circumstance. Nor were they permanent fixtures. Like filters, they eventually spoiled and failed. At least the ones commercially available. The device's creator, the genius inventor Denil Demn could produce Grounds which would self-cleanse and restore themselves with time, but acquiring a commission from the man was a nightmare. If not because of the competition attempting to do the same, than because the craftsman was notoriously difficult to reach.

The degree of influence upon supernatural powers varied wildly, but was based on the level of corruption the tainted region possessed. In some of the worst places there were documented cases of Gales detonating in a bloody mess from simply employing internal forces to accelerate their speed and agility. Much like a monastic practitioner of martial arts, many Harriers preferred to learn to hone inner energies to aid themselves in conflict while Diving, but even this was not completely safe. During 'Deep Dives' companies outfitted their members with various equipment to maintain internal stability, but this was not something exclusive to the most foul of places. If the rules of a Sector were particularly twisted, it was possible to experience those same hazards without venturing into the belly of the beast.

Some materials or creatures didn't react well in tainted regions. The places were often so alien and foreign that not even animals could enter. Sometimes it wasn't just animals, it could be steel, or wood. Maybe iron. No one would know what all, if any may have been effected until a Site Investigator ran their exhaustive tests. Some of the most strange of places caused unnatural phenomena from things associated with a particular thing. Perhaps a cleric's symbol, or a deity's favored weapon, maybe the pages of a book. It was as if the world were possessed by some malicious spirit that remembered only the things related to what had wronged it. None of these places were necessarily good to ever venture, many Gales never bothered. Even putting the twisted spaces of reality aside, the Veilbeasts and other horrors were enough to convince any sane man to keep his distance. Veilplague had become nearly non-existent, but the corruption and curses which could be afflicted were a horrendous burden. If a man were blighted, he could not be allowed into a town or city. It was all one could do to simply pray that a green witch or other healing pariah might be able to mend them, as civil men would have no choice but to quarantine or kill the infected. There simply were no known cures for most maladies, at least not in the hands of the peoples at large. For most, death was assured.


Point: 323, F3A: Sector 1A - Regional Effects
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Spoiler: Reclaiming the Flesh
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Your body has been broken and cursed, stealing from you the ability to move or even impart life into those things tied to your existence.

⭍ [Helpless] You are helpless. Your movement speed for all forms of travel is reduced to 0. Autonomous actions which could be performed by sentient/independent creatures and sources cannot be performed. Familiars and bound creatures are considered to be afflicted with the the death-condition until this status is removed. You may speak in a horse-whisper, requiring a DC10 perception check to be heard.

⯎ [Taking Control] Once per round you may attempt a DC20 will save. Each round you are unsuccessful the DC decreases by 1. Upon success you recover 1d4 x 5 feet of movement to your base land speed. Upon regaining 5ft of speed, the helpless-condition is removed and you become dazed.

⯎ [ Recovery] Once per round you may attempt a DC20 fortitude save. Each round you are unsuccessful the DC decreases by 1. Upon success the DC for this save resets to 20 and the dazed-condition is removed. You become staggered for 1d3 rounds. You may continue to attempt fortitude saves each round normally to end this condition early.

⯎ [Taking Up Arms] You are still donned in your armor, but all of your possessions are scattered about your cell. Objects where were stored inside a bag or other container remain in storage, while other objects are loosely strewn about, requiring attention to gather and rearm yourself.


Spoiler: Breaking Free
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The thick bars enclosing you into your 10-ft cell are still stout despite the time and decay which have weathered them. Locks can be picked, and hard blows struck; find any means of escape you are able and release yourself from your cell.


Main Quest: Dreaming, The Nightmare Beast
Something lingered and twisted their perceptions, their very reality. There was no past and present, only a fractured array of constantly shifting states of existence. All was real. All was now. It darkened the world, as if laid in shade beneath the looming hand of some omniscient mad god. Somewhere, someone elsewhere inside knew. That man could discern reality and see the dream for what it was. They had to escape before it consumed them, before all that was named true in their minds was pried from their broken hands, and devoured by some horrific nightmare. The visions... Everything. It couldn't be real. It couldn't be real.
Difficulty: Lethal | Status: On-going | Profit: Unknown | Time: 8/8 Rounds
Primary Objective: Survive.