Echoes of Strange Aeons - In Search of Sanity I [IC]

[THEChanger]

As the handsome man watched his older companion sink below the thick yellow fog, some surge of bravery, or fear, or simple adrenaline pushed the human forward, and he lashed out with the rusted, pitted sword.

What followed, to the surprise of both the handsome man and the terrifying abomination, was the muffled swish of iron biting into flesh, and the warmth of ichor suddenly being released from its vessel. A strange, sickly yellow bile leaked from the creature's arm where the handsome man had struck true, and while the blade had not sunk as deeply as the wielder of that blade thought it should, he had done it. He had made the thing bleed.

The Tatterman lifted his arm up to his face, seemingly fascinated by the sight of its own blood. “It's been...so long...” A tongue far too long for its mouth snaked out, lapping at the foul liquid. The terrible song had stopped, though the handsome man could not say which was worse.

“Such a gift you have given me, little morsel. Let me give you one in return.”

With supernatural swiftness, the Tatterman embraced the handsome man, his razor digging slowly, painfully, into his stomach. As the Tatterman twisted the knife, he leaned in and whispered in the handsome man's ear.

Spoiler: Handsome Man

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“Let me show you home.”

You take 35 points of slashing damage, and are dying.

As you slip into the inky blackness of unconsciousness, your mind is assaulted by images of a strange, alien city. A mishmash of architecture from different places, times, worlds, jumbled together in ways that made no sense, as though many different cities had been cut apart and stitched back together by some mad, enormous quilter. Stairs from public offices ran up into the basements of taverns, doors opened into the endless abyss of space, and at the center, a placid, almost fetid lake. On the shores of that lake, you can see spires, made of some odd, dusty yellow rock, rising into the sky. As your eyes turn away from those impossibly tall towers, they return to certain pieces of the broken city that...stir something in you. A sense of remembrance, without context. That bar feels like camaraderie, that window feels like longing, that chamber filled with weapons and armor like duty. And a voice, the same voice that knew the sword belonged to you, whispers a single name into your dying mind.

Carcosa.

As the jester stood alone, wailing, begging for the nightmare to end, two more words joined the unearthly chorus that filled the air, and another stream of blood flowed from the west, splattering across the stone wall, completing the gruesome message. For a moment, the jester felt a surge of satisfaction, just before the Tatterman drove his razor into the man's exposed back. In his despair, it seems the jester had been right, for there, in the final ichorus word, was he called back to the world of the waking.

Spoiler: Final Message

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---

The jester blinked his eyes, slowly coming to consciousness. The strange, broken streets had been left behind. He found himself, now, in a cell. Trapped with him were the young woman and the older man, while across from him, in another cell, were the handsome man and the half orc, all of whom were also coming to wakefulness. Between them was a dimly lit hallway, cold stone showing the beginning of mold and mildew. A simple, wooden table had been placed between the two cells, fitted with leather straps, upon which a man dressed in a ragged white uniform was laid and bound. He struggled against his bonds, and all could see snaking lines of cuts and blood crisscrossing his body. He shouted as best he could, voice hoarse and desperate. “Wake up, damn it, and help me!”

Standing next to the table, examining a smaller cart, was an emaciated woman. Dressed in what must have at one point been a starch white doctor's uniform, she and her clothes were now positively drenched in blood. Some of the blood was fresh, but some was clearly caked and dried, maybe hours old, maybe days, maybe weeks. The cart this doctor examined was lined with knives, blades, and razors of varying size, shape, and state of repair. She lifted what appeared to be a rusted half of a pair of pruning shears, giving it a twirl in the flickering torch light. “Sir, I know the procedure is somewhat painful, but I must insist you relax. This is for your health. You've been infected with foul humors, and we must bleed you to release them.” Her patient still kicking and screaming, the doctor approached, and placing the shear gently on the skin of the man's left arm, slowly drew it back to his shoulder, eliciting another moan of pain and anguish.

Each of you is still dressed in the same white cotton shirt and pants, and have nothing else on your person. You are not bound, but the doors to your cells are closed. What do you do?

[Darvin]

Annika stirs, grasping reflexively at her throat to find it intact and not gushing blood. Somewhat disoriented, she finds herself barking out at the stranger, "hey, I'm going to be in a foul humor if you don't let me out of here right now," she almost recoils in horror of her own brazenness, not knowing where it came from.

Spoiler: OOC

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Intimidate (1d20+6)[26]

[Captain Jak]

The funny man is damned grateful to be alive, and swiftly pats himself down to make sure that he is, in fact, uninjured.

”Well now, that was a trip, wunntit?” he breathes before his attention is drawn to the...yes, still horrifying scene displayed before them.

”Aye, give us a hand, would you?” he pipes up in the wake of his fellow prisoner’s threats. ”Maybe cut us a break?” he jokes weakly, pointing at the many knives on the quaint little torture table.

One of which that immediately lifts off and floats over to his outstretched hand.

Spoiler: OOC:

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Casting Mage Hand, acquiring a knife.

[Stelio Kontos]

Darman gasped as the blade drove itself into his guts, even at the moment of his waking. A quick hacking cough followed, jarring him fully aware. He reflexively reached down to pull out the offending metal -- strange that it was... oh, of course.

If this was another strange dream before him, and it may well as have been because what else would he be doing here? Hard to tell. But what he could see, that wasn't right, he knew that much.

He strode to the bars, banging his hands against them; they shook slightly, even as strong as they were. "Hey! Why don't you pick on someone else!" he yelled, before another hacking cough followed. And then he spat at her, the phleghmatic mass flying through the air with an unnatural practice.

[PiccadillyPi]

His eyelids exclaim his panic as he awakens with hands searching for organs and blood, desperately trying to return every bit where it belongs. The green teen let out a great sigh, seemingly thankful someone had already done it. Or that it had never occurred. Just as he is about to sit back down his services are demanded. 'Help?' He couldn't recall the word until his eyes regained a semblance clarity, thus allowing him the horrifying context of the scene unfolding before him.

"Na, na! Te do wattah? Ah, What is ye doin'? Osim! What is she doin'?"

He quietly repeats the word 'Osim' like it might wake him from this nightmare as his eyes and hands desperately search his surroundings for something to help the man under the knife. Keys, unlocked doors, a switch, or anything that might help him.

"Osim! Osim! Osim!"

He points around the cell for the captive beside him. A clear enough indication to help in some way.

Spoiler: OOC

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Perception: (1d20+11)[17]

[Inspectre]

The older man cautiously feels his throat, checking it for wounds as he suddenly finds himself somewhere else.
A . . . dream? That's all that was, just a terrible nightmare.
He was still alive!?
Something bubbles up from deep in the man's psyche, a giddy sense of relief tainted with something much darker as the man throws his head back and laughs maniacally.
Motioning the others in his cell back away from the door, he continues giggling to himself as he lowers his shoulder and charges the door, attempting to force it open with pure brute force.
He was still alive! And he was going to keep it that way!

Spoiler: Actions

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STR check to force open the cell door - (1d20+3)[5]

[THEChanger]

The glob of spit from the handsome man sailed through the air, a act clearly so practiced as to be instinct, and splattered directly against the back of the doctor's head. She turned to face the two in that cell, a grimace of frustration on her face. “I must ask for your patience. While I recognize our current facilities are not up to our normal standard, it is imperative that each of you receive-”

Then the older man slammed his shoulder against the door of his cell, as the young woman and the jester spoke up, interrupting the doctor. She whirled around, eyes fixed on the young woman, and slammed her hand against the bars of the cell. “SHUT UP YOU TWO FACED WHORE.”

Except it was not the red-haired, emaciated face of the doctor which screamed obscenities at the young woman, but her own face, contorted by rage and bearing pointed fangs. Slowly, the face shifted, moving like the murk at the bottom of a pond after being disturbed, until it returned to the haunted, sunken face of the red-haired doctor.

The half-orc, muttering to himself under his breath, noticed two things in the commotion. One was the half-light of the torches glinting off a ring of keys hung at the doctor's side. The second was the struggling man bound to the table slipping his right foot out of its bindings, pulling it back, and kicking with all his might against the back of the doctor. She stumbled forward, slamming her face against the bars of the cell with three within, the clinking ring of keys tantalizingly close to the prisoners, close enough to maybe find purchase. The half-orc quickly pointed to the key ring as a rusted garden hoe skittered across the ground, arriving in the hand of the jester.

The young woman, the jester, and the older man may make a Sleight of Hand or general Dexterity check to attempt to grab the ring of keys.

Spoiler: Jester

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You now have a dagger with the broken condition.

Spoiler: Half-Orc

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As you watch the doctor's face change back to the original, you catch patches of gray, rubbery flesh. You're certain that what you are seeing isn't magic - whatever this thing is, it isn't human, but can physically change its shape to appear as one. Probably any one.

[Captain Jak]

A look of shock flickers briefly across the funny man’s face, and the hand holding the pilfered tool abruptly disappears behind his back as an overly innocent expression is plastered in its place. Nope, nothing to see here, just an empty hand that is holding a set of keys??

The other hand quickly joins the first and he stands there with his hands casually clasped behind his back, merely biding his time while waiting to catch a coach, most likely. Certainly not up to anything, not this fellow.

Spoiler: OOC:

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Slight of Hand to filch the keys: 25

[Inspectre]

Just as quickly as he moved to ramming uselessly into the cell bars, the man changes tactics again to slip an arm through the bars to grab hold of the doctor's hair - or whatever passed for this thing's hair, as an intermediate step to grabbing hold of the back of its head to keep it pressed up against the bars.

"I've got your face!"

The man declares, still giggling maniacally.

Spoiler: Actions

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Grapple attempt!
Grapple - (1d20+5)[12]

[Stelio Kontos]

" - YOUR FACE AGAINST MY FIST" was the handsome man's rejoinder as that witch bothered to recognize his presence. Then she turned away. "I'm talking to YOU, lady! Hey!" he shouted, annoyed that he hadn't gotten her attention as much as the ones across the hall had.

Well, so be it. Perhaps these bars were as not-up-to-par as the rest of the place was. Bracing his feet against the side wall, he grabbed them and gave a mighty twist, his neck and shoulders swelling up with exertion.

Spoiler: OOC

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I, um, strength check to mess up these bars perhaps to provide some means of escape maybe? (1d20+4)[23]

[Darvin]

"What did you just call me?" Annika barely has time to process her thoughts on that statement before anger overtakes her and she grabs at the strange woman.

Spoiler: OOC

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Aid Another for Gerard's grapple: (1d20+2)[15]
On a result of 10 or higher, Gerard gets +2 to his grapple attempt

[PiccadillyPi]

Placing his nearly burly hands on the bars, the half-orc followed the lead of his cellmate. While his display of brawn and muscle were of lesser consequence, the half-orc did his best to match efforts. While doing so, he repositioned himself to attack the weakest points as they came.

Spoiler

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Help action to assist the handsome man save the world. I'm also wondering if I can perceive any actual points of weakness to increase that score.

Help: take 10 if I can. If not:

Spoiler

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(1d20+1)[15]

Perception if allowed: (1d20+11)[26]

[THEChanger]

Both the older man and the younger woman leapt forward, attempting to make use of their captor's distraction to hold her fast. But the doctor, in a rage at being kicked about, was faster. Growling, she grabbed a large kitchen knife from her table and approached the man strapped to the table. “A man as frustrating as you doesn't deserve my cure. Congratulations on your donation to the advancement of medicine.” Distracted by her rage, the doctor did not notice as a spectral yellow hand plucked the ring of keys from her belt, floating gently to the waiting hands of the jester.

It was at this point that the doctor began to violently hack away at her patient, his screams echoing through your cells, slowly giving way to the mad cackling and cursing of the doctor. Losing her composure, her form began to twist and writhe, patches of gray, loose skin appearing and disappearing as her face gave way to a pale, blank mask. Blood splattered across her, dyeing the once-white doctor's coat a sickening crimson.

Deciding that this madness had gone on long enough, the half orc and the handsome man looked to one another and nodded. Putting their whole strength into the act, they grabbed the bottom of the cell door and lifted up, removing the door from its hinges in a surprising display of strength. The heavy iron bars clattered to the ground, a couple snapping off as they struck the cold stone. Despite the noise, the doctor did not appear to notice her stable of patients beginning their escape, transfixed as she was by the sight of blood and gore leaking out of the man she had strapped to the table. The jester reached through the bars of his own cell, and giving the key a quick twist, freed himself and his two cellmates.

Now all that was left was to deal with the murderous, shapeshifting maybe-doctor.

Round One
Roll Initiative!

[Stelio Kontos]

The handsome man smiled a happy smile at his cellmate as the satisfying snapping sound of some metal piece rent the cell door asunder. Scarcely had one of the iron bars clattered to the floor than he had picked it up, fixing this wicked ... thing ... with a steel gaze. His mind felt like it ought be searching for something to call it, but that wasn't important right now. The important thing was that these other people know that whatever it was, it was going to bleed soon. He lowered the bar to point it at her; if it were a crossbow, the bolt would go right between the eyes (if the damned eyes would just stay still...)

"Oy! Grab a weapon! Don't let this bitch get away! She's already afraid of us, the coward!"

Spoiler: OOC

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Move: pick up iron bar to use as a weapon
5' step to the cell door opening
Standard: start inspire courage; An affected ally receives a +1 morale bonus on saving throws against charm and fear effects and a +1 competence bonus on attack and weapon damage rolls

[THEChanger]

The handsome man lifted his broken bar of iron, and shouted a proclamation. The rest of you feel your heart quicken, your mind focus on the task at hand. You do not know this man, but his words embolden your spirit, and for the moment, you feel as though you have a leader.

The cries of pain coming from the man on the table faded into a soft gurgling as the doctor's blade cut his throat. With movements more reminiscent of a butcher than a surgeon now, the gray thing that stood where the doctor once had been muttered to itself. “I'll save you...I'll save you from the nightmares...I won't let him take you...”

It turned, and now the full extent of this abomination stood before you. Pale gray skin, pulled taut in some places, hanging loose in others, a chemical sheen glistening in the light of the torches. Limbs, disproportionate, elongated, ending in wicked claws. A head completely smooth, no hair, no ears, no mouth, only two yellow eyes gazing towards the five of you, unfocused. The rusty shear in one hand, the thing continued to mutter, though there was no opening for the sound to come from. “I have to save you. It's for the best. Anything...anything is better than him...”

Spoiler: OoC

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The doctor spends a full round action to brutally and completely murder the man on the table.

[Darvin]

A part of Annika begged herself to avert her gaze as the doctor-turned-butcher carved the life from the man on the table, but she was transfixed by the event. Her heart beat with fear; she was defenseless, an easy prey for this monster to run down. In her mind's eye she could already envision this creature darting past the four strong men and sinking those claws into her throat - just like that Tatterman's blade in that horrific nightmare moments ago. She paused, and remembered that moment, that feeling power that momentarily surged through her before the sharp pain.

Annika steeled herself, swallowed her fear, and reached inside for that tiny kernel of power to tap into, "you don't get to decide that!" as her finger outstretches and points at the doctor, Annika's eyes flash orange for a split second.

Spoiler: OOC

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Misfortune Hex, DC 17 will negates, if successful the 'doctor' must roll twice and take the worse result on attack rolls, saving throws, and skill checks for 1 round

[Captain Jak]

Slipping through the open door to clear the way for anyone else who desperately wants to flee this crazy situation, Valentine keeps the cart of horror tools between himself and the...thing...as he puts some more space between it and himself.

If it comes at him, he’s going to do his level best to run his legs right off in an attempt to escape!

”Well now, while we certainly do appreciate your generous offer to save us, I don’t think it’s being very presumptuous of me to agree with the young lady there and speak for everyone when I say...we’ll take our chances with stayin’ alive, for just a wee bit longer.” His voice is a little strained and his eyes are far too wide...and his treacherous hand is still keeping the damaged tool tucked out of sight behind his back.

He’s not sure if it’s possible to bargain with...whatever this is. What is it, anyway?

Spoiler: OOC:

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Move to just about against the right wall.
Knowledge roll to try and figure out what this crazy thing is: 21 or 25

[Inspectre]

"Oh, I think we've had about enough of your help."

The man growls, all maniacal humor gone from his voice following the unfortunate man's brutal murder at the hands of this "doctor" freak.
Shoving the now unlocked cell door aside, the man pushes his way out into the main chamber, coming to stand almost directly in front of this thing that was claiming it was trying to save them.
And then . . . well, he was still unarmed and unarmored. That was going to make this next part difficult.
Casting his eyes about, the man's gaze settles on the cart still holding all of the various murderous implements this creature had fashioned - not on the tools themselves, but on the cart.

That should be heavy enough.

"Here, let me help you pack up your tools!"


The man "helpfully" offers, snatching up the cart and hefting it up into the air by one end, sending the tools that had been lying atop it scattering about in all directions. He then brandishes the unwieldly cart itself like a makeshift giant club.

Spoiler: Actions

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Move - Move out of the cell to the square just northeast of the doctor and south of the cell door.
Standard - Pick up the cart to use as a makeshift greatclub, if possible.

[PiccadillyPi]

The half-orc pressed his head against the standing bars in an attempt to perceive other potential dangers before turning back to the man beside him.

"You go, I will follow behind with my fists."

To the others in the midst of this panicked battle, he spoke again.

"Too much danger to run. We fight together!"

[Stelio Kontos]

The handsome man sneered, his grip fastened tight around the iron bar. The obvious thing to do would be to just bash the thing's face in, right proper, but something told him it would do well to move past it, create an opening...

"You're the only one going to need saving" was his only reply, as he stepped past, seemingly heedless of the bloody knife in the thing's hand, before wheeling around and taking a cruel, powerful swing with the bar, aimed directly at whatever passed for the face.

Spoiler: OOC

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Free: continue being inspiring and stuff.
Move: to the lower left of the creature, provoking an AOO. My AC is 13 at the moment.
Standard: bash face with iron bar, hard. Attack: (1d20+2)[18] (+2 BAB, +4 Str, +1 inspired courage, -4 improvised weapon, -1 power attack), damage (1d6+7)[9] (+4 Str, +1 inspired courage, +2 power attack)

[PiccadillyPi]

Quickly behind his cellmate, the green-skinned man leapt out from the bars and immediately went on the offensive. As one foot gripped the floor, his other flew straight at the nurse. There was no ceremony nor flourish to his attack. He intended to kill her before she might kill him or the others. The dream he had was still too vivid for him to consider any semblance of humanity in his captor. Unfortunately, in his rush to strike, his footing was unbalanced and he stumbled back a foot. The half-orc realigned and prepared for his next attack.

Spoiler: OOC

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Move to bottom right of the doctor.
Attack: (1d20+3)[4]
Damage: (1d6+1)[3]

[THEChanger]

As the young woman tried to channel the strange power into the doctor, she made contact with those empty, yellow eyes, and a queer chill snuck down her spine. This creature, this alien thing, was already so tied up in madness and fear that the young woman's attempt to force her own fears into it failed.

The jester, quick on his feet, moved towards the back wall of the room. As he left his cell, he was able to gain a better visual of the room these cells were attached to – extending further to the left, and with a small hallway that led further to the right, behind him now. As he racked his brain, trying desperately to gain any kind of information about this horror, he arrived at a name.

Doppelganger.

Spoiler: Jester

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Doppelgangers are strange humanoid creatures that have the capacity to perfectly mimic any person they have met. They can peer into your thoughts and fears, to better learn how to take your life from you – not to kill you, but to take over everything you have built and made of yourself, while you languish in captivity, feeding information about how to live as you to your captor.

Only...something looks wrong with this one. Doppelgangers in their natural form have this gray skin, this strangely smooth face. But her skin is hanging oddly loose, with an odd sheen. It looks almost...sticky?

The other three men rushed the creature, who hissed at the older man as he upended the cart, blades and tools clattering to the ground. She went to swipe at the handsome man, but abandoned her strike prematurely as the half-orc burst also burst from the cell, moving out of the way of his powerful fists.

And right into the handsome man's metal bar. Knocking the wind out of her, the doctor stumbled back a few steps, taking the bar with her. It wrenched free from the handsome man's grasp, held fast by the powerful adhesive covering the doppelganger's skin. Shouting at the top of her lungs, the doctor spoke again in the strange, sourceless, raspy voice. “Orderlies! Orderlies, the patients have escaped and become violent!”

Not waiting for whatever help would come, she lashed out at the handsome man with her knife, this time rusty blade finding purchase in flesh, dealing eight points of slashing damage. She then dashed away, attempting to flee down the hallway to the right.

Handsome man, older man, half-orc, and jester, at some point during her movement the doctor leaves your threatened area. You may each make an attack of opportunity. Handsome man, you may spend yours to make a Strength check to get your club back, DC 17.

Round Two
Fight!

[Inspectre]

Moving so he has a clear line of sight to the creature as it flees, the old man hefts the cart up over his head.

"You forgot your tools!"

He declares, an instant before throwing the entire cart after the fleeing doctor-turned-creature.

Spoiler: Actions

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Move: Move so that I have a clear line of sight to the doctor one square to the SE and one square south should do it
Standard: Throw the cart at the thing
To-Hit: (1d20-1)[4] (+2 BAB, -4 Improvised, +1 Inspire Courage)
Damage: (2d4+4)[11]

[Captain Jak]

The funny man splutters a moment as his poor, beleaguered brain spits up an answer.

”None of us are done using our own faces, so don’t think you can be going and using them instead,” he protests loudly. ”And be careful!” he calls out hurriedly as one of his companions moves towards their captor. ”She looks—” Too late, as the makeshift club adheres strongly to the Doppleganger’s skin.

”...sticky,” he concludes aimlessly.

Their jailor shrieks and rushes about the room, the funny man himself nearly shrieking and cowering away in return as she comes directly at him for a moment. Thanks to the inspiring words from his companion, he merely thrusts the broken tool at her in a warding motion, sending her careening off in a different direction as she disappears down the hallway.

”...right!” he exclaims as the crashing of the cart bouncing down the hallway subsides. ”I suggest we take her excellent example and run away as well. In that direction,” he adds firmly, pointing down the opposite hall.

Run away, run away, live to joke another day....

Spoiler: OOC:

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AoO vs Doppleganger: 13

[Darvin]

As the menacing tools of torture scatter across the floor from their workbench being hurled, Annika deftly moves in and snatches one from the ground. She says nothing as the jester suggests running, but prepares to follow; safety in numbers.

Spoiler: OOC

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Move and pick up something that looks like it can be used as a weapon so Annika isn't completely defenseless.

[Stelio Kontos]

"The coward is on the run!" bespoke the handsome man, deftly kicking another iron bar into his hand and hurling after the fleeing foe.

Spoiler: OOC

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Clubs are throwing weapons!
5' step if necessary to get a shot down the hall
Move action: grab a club-like thing
Attack! (1d20-2)[0] (+3 Dex, +2 BAB, +1 inspire courage, -4 improvised, -4 two range increments out if it's 30' away, damage (1d6+5)[7]

[PiccadillyPi]

Sense came back to the half-orc as if by lightning.

"I changed my mind! I agree with the odd man. Too much danger to keep fighting!"

His feet lingered for only a moment as he watched the crazed creature escape their attacks. It was only a little disheartening. Seconds later he was down the opposite end of the dungeon, between both unknown halls, quickly entering the best choice he could make with such limited knowledge of their surroundings.

Spoiler: OOC

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Run action to travel East and then whichever the least worst direction, favouring South if 50/50.

Perception to judge the best direction: (1d20+11)[22]

He'll stay relatively close to the others if there's a fork or another perceived threat.

[THEChanger]

The cart sailed through the air, propelled by the older man. Unfortunately, he had misjudged just how heavy his improvised weapon was, and the cart landed a few feet short of the doppelganger, splintering and snapping into a pile of sharp debris. Debris that managed to find its way in front of the length of steel sent spinning down the hallway by the handsome man. As the other three prisoners retreated in the opposite direction, the doctor pulled open the door, stepped through, and slammed it shut.

Unless any of you feel a desperate need to pursue the good doctor, we are now out of initiative.

The rooms were dark, damp, and cold. There was a steady dripping noise coming from somewhere, and the wall mounted torches provided barely enough light to see by. These appeared to have been some kind of storage rooms, or possibly cells. As the jester and the half orc peeked around the corner to the east, they saw the end of this set of rooms – a small trunk to the north, and a grate to the south. Directly east was a large pile of coal and rubble. As the handsome man and the older man watched their captor disappear through the door, they noticed five sacks, neatly arranged against the wall closest to that hallway. Of course, there remained the scattered tools and refuse from the battle, and the rather grisly table.

Five strangers and a dead man wake up from a terrible dream. The start of a bad joke. What do you do?

[Darvin]

With the situation having calmed, Annika walks up to the remains of the man on the table to confirm he's beyond saving. She finds it odd just how normal the sight of a dead body seems to her, but has little time to dwell on her reaction to the situation. Instead she feels a constant tug in the back of her mind, like she's forgetting something very important. An odd feeling to have when she can't seem to remember anything, not even her own name. And she was keenly aware that she was now alone in a dark room with four strange men,

After picking up the most menacing-looking tool to serve as a makeshift weapon, she paces to the back of the room to see that there's no apparent way out. She huffs in frustration as she strides back and vents her frustrations with a facetious tone, "well, this is a fine mess. I suppose it would be asking too much to presume any of you know which layer of hell we're in here? No?" she pauses briefly before collecting herself, "well, let's search for anything useful. I don't want to end up like the patient over there," she catches sight of the five sacks as she returns to that side of the room; that looks promising. She immediately moves to open them and spill their contents.

[Stelio Kontos]

Darman took a few steps in pursuit of the fleeing foe, halting his step only when the door slammed shut. It would be futile to pursue. His mind whirled with a multitude of possibilities, even as his mouth began to bark orders at the others. He gave barely a glance at the poor goner laying (mostly) on the table.

"Barricade that door!" he shouted, pointing at the old man who had hurled the cart. "And you!" he continued, pointing at the girl before pausing as she had the right idea. "Right. Yes."

He wrenched a torch out of its mount, and another, following after the other two. "Torch" he offered, extending one to be taken, and elbowing the jokester somewhat roughly in the side. "What's your name?"

The sound of water drizzling down caught his ear, and he gestured at the sound of each drip. "We're likely underground" he offered. "Find that water drip, follow it up. Plus, I'm thirsty."