He twisted. Nothing. He twisted harder. Faux could feel the rusted bolt budge, if only slightly. The thick layers of rust which encased the door's panel nearly sealed the locking mechanism of the device, and the contraptions which would allow him to disassemble the thing. A few good bashes brought large flakes of the oxidation off from the metal, but it wasn't enough. It wouldn't open. [Faux | Disable Device - Failed] / [Faux | Perception - Partial]

Scratching his brain for an answer as to who his new companions were seemed like a futile effort. 'Walt', if that was even his name, could have been anyone. This, Erik Ragnok, was evidently some flavor of mercenary. Not a Harrier, maybe a Gale briefly, but he wouldn't have been in this rotting cell if he could still be called that. No, he was a free-agent, a nobody. He'd never heard the man's name before, but he didn't pay too close attention to the enterprises of sellswords anyways. The nameless man with the supposed 'iron-face' was a mystery without any any clues to suggest an answer. He couldn't remember seeing or hearing anything about a prisoner in a mask, but then again, there was little to be recalled during the numbing stint in hell. Crofte on the other-hand, was a name at least somewhat familiar. A skilled Surveyor, but his love for turning a profit was somewhat notorious. He was in the business for all the right reasons. Scouts that became too invested in their work were eventually consumed by their own curiosity and took their first steps into the tainted regions as a Deep Surveyor. Crofte cared about knowledge and his work, simply because of how rich it could make him, and he was skilled in his profession.

That skill didn't earn him the respect of his peers however. The Corps valued the naive ideology of their curious well-meaning agents, and offered their service as if it were a charity. Balin made it a point to do his work well, but he always kept more information that what was designated to be provided within reports to sell on his own time and reel in the profit. He didn't particularly care about what became of of his peers and wasn't afraid to take advantage of their stupidity if it helped him get ahead. For many mercenary companies, Balin was 'the guy'. Their fence, their backdoor. A point to access into the Surveyor Corps inside knowledge, and get a reliable contact to tip-off rabble-rousers when the Corps had decided who still held their favor. Misinformation intentionally provided by the Corps was just as good as a death-sentence to those who came at the guild in the wrong manner. Crofte had saved lives, probably the wrong lives, but he didn't care - they paid, so they were 'OK' in his book. Amongst devious Gales and other swords-for-hire, the man was something of a legend, providing a certain kind of service no other Surveyor would, or could. His side-business was the best worst-kept secret amongst just about any merc with a coin to his name. It looked like that had finally caught up to him, by his current situation. [Faux | Knowledge (Local) - Partial]

It was painfully familiar. His mind replayed through the vision again and again. It felt as if... something were missing. Not something he had forgotten, but as if something had been omitted, edited out. There was wild splattered lines of ink scribbled across something. Something else he couldn't grasp. A familiar sensation. The mad-god's hand. The giant titan which broke the horizon with its grim form was something no man could name. It rose up over the land and valley, dwarfed the hills and mountains; thousands of feet in height at least. Some foreign malignant creature not from this realm, not from any realm men knew. There was a voice. Old and gnarled, with a dry mirthless tone. He knew that voice. He'd heard it before.. but where? He couldn't make out the words anymore, they were like old smudges across the stained-glass windows of his mind. There. Yes, there. Somewhere in the dark between the lines, he could see it for a fraction of a second. There was a door. A door in the blackness. It was dark. The crimson haze of the numbing silence didn't exist in that place... only a night, deeper than any night. He remembered it now. The door to the dark. It was small and insignificant, so small he had forgotten. Yet it lessened the weight of that terrible barren world. Beyond it, he would be free. [Kazik | Knowledge - Partial]

Crofte shrugged at Walt's summery, "It'd be more accurate to just imagine that one fire is divided or disperse across multiple iterations, it's not necessarily picking-and-choosing where has smoke and where has fire. Lucky thing too, I stumbled into a flooded array before, and boy. That was a nightmare." DI-DING. DI-DING. The strange chiming of the birds rang through the hall, and the mummer of the voices from somewhere far away grew in volume. The Surveyor froze, eyes wide in alarm. The sound perhaps had no origin, nothing to glean a sense of meaning from it all, it was no better than the mindless babbling of the chorus, or so Faux had thought. Until he spoke. "...Down twenty?" Crofte's eyes darted about, looking all around the hall. There was something he was seeking, but he didn't find it. "Sheit, sheit, sheit." As Eric called out over the rising cries, the man gave up his search, "That's the sound of: 'get-the-fawk-out'. We must be too close to the top. This iteration is degrading too rapidly, once it starts, it's like standing on cracking ice. The whole thing can collapse at any moment." [Faux | Knowledge (Planes) - Failed]


Black. It wasn't the kind of darkness cast by night, nor the kind which bled light from the air like some magic spell. No. This was not that. This was the black. The color of deathless void. There was no sound here, yet there was no silence. No feeling. No self. There was nothing. An absolute and perfect nothing. In that fraction of a second, they were part of that nothing. Just like the world. Just like the gods. They ceased to be. A broken, blotted black-frame without substance. Then...

DI-DING. DI-DING. DI-DING. They were. "No... Oh, no. No-no-no. Something broke... Something broke! We Diverged!" Crofte begun to visibly precipitate as beads of sweat begun to build on his wrinkled brow. It was true. They could feel it. The nameless... something. The ineffable secret that that seemed to strike and shatter the essence of their void and dissolve the very concept of their being. It was like a tear. A tear, not in reality, not a physical rip. Rather, a tear in their perception of what was, of what could be. It was like the white page of existence had some piece of it ripped out by some blighted hand. The it the something that had no name, had changed everything. It was the displaced daze, like a feeling of vertigo while having a past thought in the wrong place. It was the twisted sense of consciousness that was theirs, somewhere it didn't belong. Their page, their space, was befouled. Perhaps it wasn't so simple, perhaps something had not been torn out, but replaced. The words remained written, but carefully the sheet was cut and pasted to another. It was all wrong. Erik could feel it as the small glimpse of vision through the eyes of another him, ended abruptly. Maybe it wasn't just the fires dispersed over multiple iterations of this place, but not anymore... The last self had perished in this failing world. It was the hand. The falling. There was so much pain in that place. The bodies rained down from a broken world. He could still hear him. The old man. He had called him self 'a Speaker.' [Erik | Perception & Survival - Success]

DI-DING. DI-DING. DI-DING. DI-DING. DI-DING. DI-DING. Crofte covered his face with a hand. He was shaking, and his voice barely a whisper. The chime of the mechanical birds grew louder with the chorus of wailing damned. "It's us... Goddamit. It's us..." DI-DING. DI-DING. DI-DING. DI-DING. DI-DING. DI-DING. DI-DING. DI-DING. It was deafening now, the chimes above. "We're the hanging men..." With a sudden and sharp gesture the man snapped out two pistols and fired them both to either side. The weapons unleashed a whirling bolt of narrow sapphire flame with a thunderous CRACK that shattered through the hall. The cacophonous blast from cracked the stone behind the scout and deafened them, sending a trail of blood from the man's ears as he was thrown back. The doors of Kazik's and Erik's cells exploded open throwing the seasoned mercenary back clear across his room to the floor.

The blinding flash and deafening sound made the nature of the strike plainly evident. Sundershot. He'd never seen it before, but everyone heard stories. Some manner of rare Offworlder munition. Worth a small fortune for a single round. Could snap a man's arm in half if he were careless. Most weapons exploded trying to discharge it. The oppressive ringing and white haze that rocked Walt's world back and forth from the double-barreled dose of the blast, gave him ample time to reflect on that. A fancy bullet for men with too much money. He could buy ten-thousand bullets, and kill a whole-lot, or just one. Someone was screaming. Maybe someone was dead. He could feel the ground shake beneath his feet when the far end of the hall collapsed in explosive fashion. His ears begun to clear as the ringing died down, replaced with roaring murmuring choir and the ear-piercing resonance of crying bells. "RUN! RUUUN! RUUU-"

The screams were abruptly cut short by waves of drowning black inkor.
Silent. Weightless. Lightless.
Black.


She wheezed a slow hissing gasp. Laying broken upon the rocks, she stared up blankly into the darkness. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of feet. That was how far she had fallen. The great calcified pillars which had stood from ages before the stars had fallen impeded her path. She couldn't let Mey and Katheryn die here, nor Scratches, the bastard. Even he wasn't completely beyond redemption. Her body sundered stone and split the great structures which had risen up about them as they plunged deep into the earth. She was left broken and scattered upon one of the shattered stone columns which she had collided with. It had fallen into the massive lake, and she atop it. Only the gleam of her magical golden flame dancing upon her sword cast a light about the chamber. Her armor was bent. Pieces missing. A great jagged laceration cut open the side of her breastplate and left a view of a gory wound where the stone had bit into her left breast. No doubt a wound which would have killed her if not for the fabulous construction and enchantment imbued upon her arcane armor. Her eyes rolled back into her head as her body convulsed. It took all the grit she could muster to wrestle back her sense of consciousness and will her body to recover from the traumatic damage to her shattered skull. The old man was still speaking when she shakily and unsteadily reaching over, grasping at the stone to roll herself over like a corpse. Clawing at the stone, she dragged herself across the fractured blood-slick surface. One eye was half closed, drifting up to the side of its socket and her whole body trembled as her lungs convulsed in her broken chest.

With an iron resolve, she dragged herself to the edge of the stone dais, one eye desperately darted about looking for Mey and Kat. With a grunt she slid her sword-arm across the stone with a slow rattle. Broken. She ripped her sword from her useless limb, holding up the blade as best she could like a lantern. Eight hours. By the diminished fires of her weapon, she'd been dead or unconscious for eight-hours. It was safe to assume her everyone else was dead, save for Afrri and the rest of the Rello-men outside. She tried to rise. Futile. One of her legs was bent the wrong way, and the other... Her shin was driven up threw her knee. She grunted from the dizzying agony which seemed to tear at her from all sides. With a sharp thrust she drove the blade into the water below. Black. She groaned as the weapon was retracted.

"-Then, finally. It was over. The beginnings and endings they had conceived had become undefinable to even the Swallowfeld Children. Terrors laid to rest. Nightmares tucked away to bed. Calamity finally found peace. A balm to an eternity of suffering. For the last time, the Whispering Witch closed her eyes. The world brought unto peace, but this was not the world she knew any longer. It was... forever changed. The end."

The dame rolled over onto her back, her sword ringing on the stone as her limp arm flopped upon the rocky surface. Rasping her words, she spoke out into the darkness, "Forgive me, sir.... I have no idea what you're talking about, but I am Tellisa of the house Nevens. Lend me your aid, please. On my honor, you will not go unrewarded." The old man sat buried in rags, surrounded by parchments upon his ledge. Perhaps he had been speaking the entire eight-hours she had been unconscious, perhaps he had been speaking long before she had fallen - it was impossible to know for certain. In either case, the old man slowly turned his head to look down at the broken knight, his eyes were lively and keen staring through her from beneath his loosely wound turban. " Yes, of course you are. I know you well, Lady Nevens. That's why I have told you thus." She could feel the nerves and tendons regrow behind her eye dragging it back into place, "I... don't understand. What did you tell me?" The old vagabond was inexpressive and his gaze, distant, as if looking at something else. "The story, Lady Nevens. Your story, but I suppose it may have been a difficult listen. Fear not, lady-knight. While the Mothers forbid my physical intervention, I can share my words at-least. You will not die in Ulbeph, but great struggles await you still."

It was all she could do to simply sigh. She would have to wait and let her body mend. That she was still alive meant that Denil's Triswards had at-least grounded her body enough so that her bodies healing functions could still work. This place, whatever it was, was surely tainted to some degree without question. It would take some time before she would be whole again. "Sir... Who are you?" For the first time, his attention seemed to be drawn to the present and a twinkle lit his eye as he grinned. "It's been a very long time since I've been called a 'who'. I'm afraid I was not blessed with a name like you. I am the Speaker, and sixteen carry my voice." Tellias coughed up a handful of blood into her gauntlet, "Sixteen? Like Memoria?" The Speaker chuckled, "So you were listening!" The woman tried to shrug, but her broken collar bone and shoulder only allowed one arm to rise with the gesture as she looked off into the dark. "Only a few parts." The ancient man pulled a pipe out from his layers of ragged robes and pushed his finger into the ashes, lighting the burned-out dredges laying within. "Well, we can't have that... How about another one then. Something different." The knight nodded as best she could and the gesture was painful, but speaking wasn't much better.

"Ah, then.... Let me tell you a story. Of dark days not long passed. Of times which changed all we knew. I remember it now... There was a door. It closed to me, as this one to you; but then another opened. Beyond that door something new existed. A nightmare which mirrored the night, created by the pains of a child who remembered a time before the door had ever been. Her sorrows built terrors to shake the heavens. Her tears would wash away the world, and so every hand of the Wheel grasped the blade and cut away the door, plunging her into the red sea, to drown in her own abominable fury. Behind the veil which she had placed upon her own face, she was imprisoned. Tormented. Racked with every fear and pain ever known. Sentenced to live and die, as every soul, every man and creature that had ever been; she was all. You. Me. Everyone that could be when the door opened, and her fury bloated until not even the reality which contained her could bare the burden of her suffering anymore. The Council whispered down into the well, banishing all life to slumber...

Yet this was not the end. For they toiled still, maneuvered like frozen idols in the games of the cruel nightmare-witches who stalked all corners of the black. They played, and laughed at her many forms and fates. Relishing in her own self-hatred. Yes... To those who slept. To those who rested. Deeply, in their death-slumber. This prison was their home. Hopelessness caressed them and rocked them gently. The cries of the crippled and the wronged were lulls unto their rest. And when they stirred and wept, she whispered down to them; every curse and blight. They were the mindless. The soulless. The fakes mirroring nothing. Freely she passed them, from hand to hand. The toys of some evil will... and this game, was not their own. Damned are her children, those who rest forever. Their screams shook me from behind the blinding curtain... and their eulogies sang me to sleep."

"...What's the name of this story?"

"It's called-"

The words echoed without sound threw their minds like a memory of text read from the pages of some ancient tome. The brief mental escape was short-lived, as a freezing black sea of sludge-ink hit them like a wall. They weren't standing where they remembered; they were displaced. A minor inconvenience, as the crushing torrential surge ripped them into the air. The walls shook and collapsed as a super-massive set of ebon fingers clove into their reality. The hand of some grim titan, grasping the hall which they occupied. The walls shuddered, then their world flipped completely vertical. The oily deluge swept them away, submerged, as they fell down with the storm of fouled water. What had once been a hall had become a vertical shaft. The spate carried them hurtling into the heavy wood-and-steel set of doors, which exited out into the sanitarium's reception hall. With devastating force, the flood plowed through the entrance, using their bodies as the battering-ram. [Rolling With the Blow: DC 16 Reflex Save Vs 1d8 bludgeoning damage]

"AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" Crofte was screaming at the top of his lungs, flailing his arms as the violent fountain expunged them out from the shaft, casting them into an eighty-foot free-fall through the reception chamber. A hard smack into the black lake forming below spared them immediate death. The whole of Willowbrook now stood on its side, like some freakish fun-house illusion. The tables and other furniture didn't fall from their place on the wall, which now faced them, but some items had begun to slip and be cast down upon their heads from up high. The door above, their entrance, and potentially their exit, was a mighty faucet expelling hundreds of thousands of gallons down into their chamber with impressive might, flooding it at an alarming rate as if it were some pressurized sluice system. They floated in the rising waters, the front door, the exit by which the sanitorium was left and entered, was now below them, below the lake - the floor. "Fawk! Climb!" The man didn't wait to judge their responses. The pitch-black water carrying them abreast crept into their clothes, sapping away their strength with each passing moment. It wasn't merely water... [Dark Water: 3 Points of Nonlethal Damage]



Spoiler: Enviromental Effect: Surviving the Dark Waters
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Tainted lands are horrendous places filled with strange and exotic new ways to die. The environmental threats in these areas are often far more fatal than the few bouts of combat which may be encountered. The mysterious Dark Water from your vision has been made manifest, and it rapidly drains away the life energy which binds you to existence. Each round in contact with the quickly rising water deals nonlethal damage. The damage suffered is doubled each subsequent round, threatening to consume you.

✦ Consumed: If a character falls unconscious in the Dark Water, they immediately begin to drown (no save). Other characters can attempt to jump in and save you, but will be unlikely to escape themselves.
✦ Crippling Waters: If a character takes an amount of nonlethal damage equal to double his constitution score, he becomes fatigued for 1d4 rounds.
✦ Threatened: You may not take 10 on any check.
⯎ Climbing Out: Character's must succeed a DC10 climb check to move 5ft. Additional distance may be traveled, not to exceed your base movement speed, by succeeding consecutive climb checks for every 5ft. The DC of each check after the first increases by 3. Climbing gear, such as pitons, grapples, and rope can greatly assist in moving faster. If using rope to climb, this movement is performed normally. Creatures with a climb speed may climb as normal. Pitons may be planted and affixed to a safety line at a location to prevent falling from height excess heights. This is a standard action. If a creature fails their climb check by 5 or more, they fall.
⯎ Catching Hold: If there are fixtures adjacent to you when falling, you may attempt a DC10 + amount climb check failed by, to grab hold of an item nearby. This may also be done when falling past a potential handhold, or another player. Similarly, this DC may be attempted by a PC in-line with the creature's fall to attempt a catch. After catching a falling creature in this way, the PC must succeed a DC13 strength check or begin falling as well.
⯎ Swimming: Creatures must succeed a DC10 swim check to stay on the surface of the water each round, or begin sinking at a rate of 10 feet per round. Creatures below the surface of the water must succeed a swim check in the same manner as climbing; attempting subsequent checks every 5ft.
⯎ Aiding Another: Characters may spend a standard action to use the Aid Another action, granting a +4 bonus to another a single skill check another creature attempts.
⯎ Extra Effort: If a creature takes a second move action, the DCs of his climb and swim checks reset for that movement. A creature who performs this action a number of times equal to double his constitution modifier must succeed a DC15 fortitude save. Each additional time this ability is used thereafter, the DC of his save increases by 1.
⯎ Recovered: Characters are no longer suffering from any negative effects of their imprisonment and regain full movement speed. (You normally will not recover from negative effects accrued in tainted regions, even over time; leading to your inevitable demise. Learn from this experience, as small issues such as status conditions can all but assure a failed dive. A number of resources and contingencies exist to better your chances of coming back out again.)


Spoiler: Divergence - Influencing the World
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Divergence is a strange phenomenon most ironically experienced by a brief state of non-existence. The changes experienced thereafter are often incredibly radical. Main-Quests are almost always lost if players Diverge before completing their current tasks. Divergence can be both beneficial or crippling, but can always be reversed in some fashion. However, Divergence can only be reversed in the order in which they occurred; meaning, if a player were to Diverge three-times, the first Divergence could not be changed until all subsequent Divergence were negated. Diverging multiple times can make changes you have experienced, influenced, or created, near-permanent by extension. Meddling in otherworldly affairs greatly increases the likelihood of Diverging, however other forces can cause this as well, including player-actions.

A number of unique, but virtually unknown protections and contingencies exist to combat and control this phenomenon. Many unique realms and universes beyond can only be accessed via Divergence, and some abilities can create powerful desirable-effects to bolster players. However, wild, uncontrolled instances of this spectacle can quickly lead to a tragic fate. Surviving the mysterious threats of the Night and influencing the fabric of reality for your benefit will require careful attention paid to the current state of the world, and detecting early signs of such negative influences before they can spin out of control.


Spoiler: Status
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֍ Faux +25 (25xp)
HP 33/33
⭍ [Nonlethal Damage] 3
AC 19
⯎ Survival Influence Gained
⯎ Freedom Influence Gained
⯎ Tactics Influence Gained
⯎ Acquired [Clear Dagger]

֍ Erik +50 (325xp)
HP 37/37
⭍ [Nonlethal Damage] 3
AC 23
⯎ Survival Influence Gained
⯎ Exploration Influence Gained
⯎ Truth Influence Gained
⯎ Secrets Influence Gained

֍ Kazik +100 (350xp)
HP 58/58
⭍ [Nonlethal Damage] 3
AC 20
[COLOR="#008000"]⯎ Truth Influence Gained
⯎ Time Influence Gained
⯎ Knowledge Influence Gained
⯎ Travel Influence Gained
⯎ Madness Influence Gained
⯎ Death Influence Gained
⯎ Darkness Influence Gained
⯎ Evil Influence Gained

֍ Walt +100 (325xp)
HP 43/43
⭍ [Nonlethal Damage] 3
AC 19
[COLOR="#008000"]⯎ Truth Influence Gained
⯎ Time Influence Gained
⯎ Knowledge Influence Gained
⯎ Travel Influence Gained
⯎ Exploration Influence Gained
⯎ Madness Influence Gained


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
✦ ???????????????
✦ ???????????????
✦ ???????????????
✦ ???????????????


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: 7/8 Rounds
Primary Objective: Survive.