[IC] Intersection of Ten Thousand Worlds

[roryb]

In-Character thread for Intersection of Ten Thousand Worlds, a reality-bending solo campaign of Exemplars and Eidolons reminiscent of Planescape. The Out-of-Character thread is found here.

Players:
Ameraaaaa, playing Garald Barnston
roryb, the GM

[roryb]

The cackle of the mad conjurer still rang in the victim’s ears as he fell. The man had been duped by the maniac. So many details of the warrior’s lost mother were recited so clearly and accurately. Promising to take the son to his mother, the wizard released his sorceries when the victim least anticipated the attack, or whatever it was.

And so the warrior fell, legs flailing, arms grasping. No ground under foot, he fell for an eternity. Had the sorcerer flung him high in the air to fall to his death? It was dark. It was cold. But steadily, an azure disc below him formed sending out mists of living luminescence. It was hot. Crackling energy licked the warrior’s legs and arms. Then for a time, he floated and seemed not to fall, feeling a strange levity spread throughout his limbs and deep under his skin. It was glorious. Ecstasy of consciousness embodied. He felt very alive and exultant. He wished the feeling never to go away.

But it did, cutting off the promise of parnassus abruptly.

Like plunging into an icy lake, his heart leapt. He could not breathe. His lungs begged for air. He fought against titanic pressures. Light scarcely penetrated the deeps of murky density. Upward he swam, his body crushing under weight.

Finally, he exploded above a surface shivering and gasping for air again. After several gulps, he dripped. Wiping his eyes clear, he found himself in only but two inches of filthy water. He was in a pool under a broken font. The ruin of some unknown effigy was tilted jauntily, staring with vacant eyes and with a grin frozen into a mocking laugh. It was dark and rank. The rhythmic toll of dripping water in some cavernous environs greeted his ears. The periphery of his current unknown habitat was shrouded in murky darkness.

The shuffle of movement beyond the limits of his sight alerted him that he was not alone. A low growl raised the man’s hackles. Or was it a throat cleared? A voice came. Baritone. Halting. Monstrously laughing. It was indecipherable gibberish…or at least was at first. Slowly, as if his mind was realigning from madness, the gibberish turned into intelligible words.

“Meat-bag… breathing… wet… 222… or so would be, had it not been… never saw this… feels different… or?”

The man felt his mind was racing to bind the disjointed by remembering prepositions and conjunctives that pieced together a tongue that he had long since forgotten. When had he heard this language last? Not in this lifetime.

Vision getting clearer, the warrior saw a voluminous form looming out of the shadows into the dim half-lit margins of a shaft of pale light. A wide-brimmed hat shadowed a face with features that made the newcomer question his sanity. A red glow from a puff on a pipe illuminated the rectangular pupils of eyes of that like a goat. The paunchy form and face beneath were immense. Too large for a mortal man.

“Meat-bag 222… you stink! Never saw that before… this portal should be inactive.” The newcomer realized he was being addressed directly, though he felt like he was being studied.

“Does it speak? Must be a mistake. Ministry bureaucrats be thrice-damned…”

[Ameraaaaaa]

At 1st the mighty warrior only known as garald was furious while falling in the void. "That damned mage! How dare he trick me in this fashion! If i ever see him again I'll make sure to show him the fury of a unarmed man with power beyond most adventuring parties!"

As the pleasure sinked in he wondered "well this is new. Unexpected even. Well lifes not all bad. If this is how i die then i will have died happier then most kings. Still! I must find my mother! I can't let her not see how strong i have become since my training started!"

As he landed in the freezing water he did indeed get pissed once more. Very very pissed. He said outload "you gotta be kidding me!"

Apon sight with the strange man garald calmly (with a hint of anger) "yes this meatbag does indeed speak. What of it strange man?"

[roryb]

"I wouldn't want to bathe in that fetid water," the strange figure suggested. "All of Gate's runoff drips down into he slums."

Garald began to understand the man's speech more clearly as moments passed. It was all coming back like a flood. But what was coming back? In the back of his mind, the noble's son was getting a glimpse at a shrouded past beyond history - beyond reckoning...a grand tapestry that he only knew was there but had never fully glimpsed.

"You one of Gork's horde?" the figure asked cryptically. "If so, you'll want to be hid before the top of the hour. Before noon, it is Thedr's rule, and he doesn't take kindly to soul dealers before then." Then, he added again, "You stink."

[Ameraaaaaa]

"I wouldn't want to bathe in that fetid water," the strange figure suggested. "All of Gate's runoff drips down into he slums."

Garald began to understand the man's speech more clearly as moments passed. It was all coming back like a flood. But what was coming back? In the back of his mind, the noble's son was getting a glimpse at a shrouded past beyond history - beyond reckoning...a grand tapestry that he only knew was there but had never fully glimpsed.

"You one of Gork's horde?" the figure asked cryptically. "If so, you'll want to be hid before the top of the hour. Before noon, it is Thedr's rule, and he doesn't take kindly to soul dealers before then." Then, he added again, "You stink."

Apon realising what the water was he immediately ran out of said water and continued to talk to the goat eyed man. "I'm not part of any horde. I came here looking for my mother. That was when that damned wizard transported me here. You do know where we are right? Because personally i have no idea."

[roryb]

“Of course I know where we are!” the bestial man said with a nervous toke of his pipe. The bowl glowed red, illuminating more of the man’s face. Rectangular pupils. Nostril slits like a camel. A course leathery skin. He was loathsome and yet compelling to look at.

“This is unmistakably Gate, intersection of ten thousand worlds…give or take. Ah, but you are new here! You didn’t smell like a dealer, though it’s hard to tell after bathing in the city’s sewage swill. And I see you are in distress…a word to the wise: do not be so free on the details of your comings and goings and your goals for Null’s sake. The bureau loves to process visitors. They may be on to you now. They have a counter that alerts them to new arrivals. Also, I saw no mage.”

The man puffed again. Lavender phosphorus smoke issued out of his peculiar nostrils. A long ear partially hid under the side-brimmed hat flicked at the approach of an unseen buzzing insect.

“Looking for your mother, eh? I’m still mourning the final death of my mum. Hardly seems more than a thousand years ago, even though it’s been twice that. Was your mother as ugly as…” The man cleared his throat. “Tell me about her! Maybe we can find somewhere to clean you up proper and you can talk.”

[Ameraaaaaa]

“Of course I know where we are!” the bestial man said with a nervous toke of his pipe. The bowl glowed red, illuminating more of the man’s face. Rectangular pupils. Nostril slits like a camel. A course leathery skin. He was loathsome and yet compelling to look at.

“This is unmistakably Gate, intersection of ten thousand worlds…give or take. Ah, but you are new here! You didn’t smell like a dealer, though it’s hard to tell after bathing in the city’s sewage swill. And I see you are in distress…a word to the wise: do not be so free on the details of your comings and goings and your goals for Null’s sake. The bureau loves to process visitors. They may be on to you now. They have a counter that alerts them to new arrivals. Also, I saw no mage.”

The man puffed again. Lavender phosphorus smoke issued out of his peculiar nostrils. A long ear partially hid under the side-brimmed hat flicked at the approach of an unseen buzzing insect.

“Looking for your mother, eh? I’m still mourning the final death of my mum. Hardly seems more than a thousand years ago, even though it’s been twice that. Was your mother as ugly as…” The man cleared his throat. “Tell me about her! Maybe we can find somewhere to clean you up proper and you can talk.”

Garald had the strange feeling that the question he just asked added extra confusion rather then reduce it.

"Who's null? And what is this bureau? And if your asking about my mom well i have a few stories to tell. Like that time we went hunting together. It's traditional for amazonians to practice hunting at the age of 10. You should of seen the worry in my fathers eyes. Sent a whole squad of his men with us. Mom then proceeded to hunt enough wildlife to feed us all for 3 nights. The men didn’t ask for the food but she insisted. She's just tgat kind of person. By the way I'd also like a place to clean up.

[roryb]

"Amazonian," the goat-man repeated. Perhaps it was a question. He said nothing for a long moment in contemplation of Garald's request. In the end, with a shrug he beckoned for the newcomer to follow.

"Everything you want to know likely will be too much for me to tell you in less than fifty years." The passed through more dark tunnels. They were far from uninhabited. Soon, they came to a crowded and half subterranean shanty town lit by strange blue and yellow orbs. There were colors and smells and sights that assaulted the newcomer's senses. Creatures of all shapes and sizes milled about, very few of them human. Even the latter were adorned, garbed, ornamented and tattooed in an otherworldly and wholly alien way. Clothing appeared nothing at all like Garald had ever seen before. Nearby a strange looking dog with scabby protuberances and two bulging non-symmetrical eyes barked as he passed. There was refuse everywhere and people hawking little scavenged treasures. His strange guide talked as they passed.

"Null is everything that isn't and none that is. Null is a paradox un-embodied. Although I cannot take you through the intricacies of the profane orthodoxy, the labyrinthine logic of that paradox makes Null the preeminent un-faith of Gate. We speak naught of the great nothing." The guide seemed not to want to discuss any further of that.

"As for the bureau, I'm sure you'll encounter them soon enough." Presently, they came to a little hut with a tent-like doorway. They entered. Inside it was cozy and larger than appeared outside. "The name is Veguz, by the way," the goat man introduced. He took his hat off, revealing his floppy eared head with a crown of small horns about the bald pate. He indicated a small alcove with a large copper basin. "I'll bring you hot water to bathe...and fix a little something for lunch. Your mum sounds positively heroic! What is an amazonian? It's not that we have never heard of one, but the ten thousand realities does easily get mingled and twisted together."

[Ameraaaaaa]

"Amazonian," the goat-man repeated. Perhaps it was a question. He said nothing for a long moment in contemplation of Garald's request. In the end, with a shrug he beckoned for the newcomer to follow.

"Everything you want to know likely will be too much for me to tell you in less than fifty years." The passed through more dark tunnels. They were far from uninhabited. Soon, they came to a crowded and half subterranean shanty town lit by strange blue and yellow orbs. There were colors and smells and sights that assaulted the newcomer's senses. Creatures of all shapes and sizes milled about, very few of them human. Even the latter were adorned, garbed, ornamented and tattooed in an otherworldly and wholly alien way. Clothing appeared nothing at all like Garald had ever seen before. Nearby a strange looking dog with scabby protuberances and two bulging non-symmetrical eyes barked as he passed. There was refuse everywhere and people hawking little scavenged treasures. His strange guide talked as they passed.

"Null is everything that isn't and none that is. Null is a paradox un-embodied. Although I cannot take you through the intricacies of the profane orthodoxy, the labyrinthine logic of that paradox makes Null the preeminent un-faith of Gate. We speak naught of the great nothing." The guide seemed not to want to discuss any further of that.

"As for the bureau, I'm sure you'll encounter them soon enough." Presently, they came to a little hut with a tent-like doorway. They entered. Inside it was cozy and larger than appeared outside. "The name is Veguz, by the way," the goat man introduced. He took his hat off, revealing his floppy eared head with a crown of small horns about the bald pate. He indicated a small alcove with a large copper basin. "I'll bring you hot water to bathe...and fix a little something for lunch. Your mum sounds positively heroic! What is an amazonian? It's not that we have never heard of one, but the ten thousand realities does easily get mingled and twisted together."

Garald was accustomed to strange people but this was definitely something else. However didn't mind it in a sense. Strangeness is a fact of life for adventurers.

Garald could tell he veguz didn't want to speak of null so he didn't press him to do so.

Garald decided to tell veguz what he knew about amazonians.

"As the myth says it all started when the the goddess of love needed troops in her war against the goddess of hatred. So she made a deal with with the god of war that in exchange for teaching the god of war's best warriors a ritual to make them fall in love with the concept of war and empower them with undying devotion to said concept that the god of war will create a warrior race of women for her battle against the goddess of hatred. The deal was struck and the amazonians were created. A race of tribal warriors of immense strength. Most of them are woman but they occasionally give birth to a man. I guess that makes me a rarity. Does that satisfy your curiosity veguz?"

[roryb]

“Which god of war?” Veguz asked under his breath almost to himself, then dismissed the notion. “Fascinating. Tribal warriors,” he echoed, though the words fell flat, failing to express what was so clear in Garald’s mind. Truly, the adjective/noun lent the concept no favor.

Soon, the water came along with some bolts of fresh cloth and a rudimentary belt that could be fashioned toga-style into a functional frock. Refreshed, Garald soon found a stool waiting for him at a board. Veguz invited him when he was ready. A sumptuous board of cured meats, cheeses, and various pickled delicacies were laid out — at least that’s what they appeared to be. There was also a steeping cracked pot of tea brewing with a not-unpleasant yet very unusual smell. One other seat stood empty on the third side of the table.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Veguz announced. “My wife will be coming home soon to join us. We weren’t planning to have guests. She’s very hospitable…once, um, she gets to know you.”

Before Garald could answer, a shadow appeared in the entry. A hunched silhouette stood for long moments taking in the sight of the newcomer. Almost apologetically, Veguz suddenly stood abruptly, almost knocking over the table. “Maelda! You’re home!” came a nervous squeak.

“Who is this?!” came a sibilant challenge.

“A friend, Maelda,” replied Veguz. His voice had raised in pitch and sped up significantly. Presently an old wrinkled prune of a woman entered. She was dressed in a wild gown and shawl of dizzying sworls and outrageous colors looking very outlandish and vulgar. She rang with every creaking step with the jingle of her many copper bangles on her emaciated wrists and hoops hanging from her ears. “This is… ah…”

Veguz turned bright orange, green and purple. That was not just a euphemism. Those were the literal hues of his leathery hide, changing as sure as a chameleon’s. In his embarrassment he realized he didn’t even know the name of his newcomer guest. Baleful large eyes under the woman’s tangle of gray hair fell to rest upon Garald. They were full of suspicion and veiled rage.

[Ameraaaaaa]

“Which god of war?” Veguz asked under his breath almost to himself, then dismissed the notion. “Fascinating. Tribal warriors,” he echoed, though the words fell flat, failing to express what was so clear in Garald’s mind. Truly, the adjective/noun lent the concept no favor.

Soon, the water came along with some bolts of fresh cloth and a rudimentary belt that could be fashioned toga-style into a functional frock. Refreshed, Garald soon found a stool waiting for him at a board. Veguz invited him when he was ready. A sumptuous board of cured meats, cheeses, and various pickled delicacies were laid out — at least that’s what they appeared to be. There was also a steeping cracked pot of tea brewing with a not-unpleasant yet very unusual smell. One other seat stood empty on the third side of the table.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Veguz announced. “My wife will be coming home soon to join us. We weren’t planning to have guests. She’s very hospitable…once, um, she gets to know you.”

Before Garald could answer, a shadow appeared in the entry. A hunched silhouette stood for long moments taking in the sight of the newcomer. Almost apologetically, Veguz suddenly stood abruptly, almost knocking over the table. “Maelda! You’re home!” came a nervous squeak.

“Who is this?!” came a sibilant challenge.

“A friend, Maelda,” replied Veguz. His voice had raised in pitch and sped up significantly. Presently an old wrinkled prune of a woman entered. She was dressed in a wild gown and shawl of dizzying sworls and outrageous colors looking very outlandish and vulgar. She rang with every creaking step with the jingle of her many copper bangles on her emaciated wrists and hoops hanging from her ears. “This is… ah…”

Veguz turned bright orange, green and purple. That was not just a euphemism. Those were the literal hues of his leathery hide, changing as sure as a chameleon’s. In his embarrassment he realized he didn’t even know the name of his newcomer guest. Baleful large eyes under the woman’s tangle of gray hair fell to rest upon Garald. They were full of suspicion and veiled rage.

After seeing the situation veguz was in garald tried to ease that very situation.

"No worries wife of veguz. I'm just a adventurer. My name is garald. But today I'm a mere guest and this house clearly belongs to the two of you. I just came for a quick cleaning and some food. I'll be out of your hair by tomorrow."

Garalds time among nobility did teach him skills afterall. Including easing tense situations like this

[roryb]

Maelda's strange sallow eyes became even more intense if anything. Those strange eyes from that little frail husk of a woman locked with deadly intensity on the newcomer. "Your life is in danger. Get out!"

Veguz still stood there frozen in apparent mortification at his wife's words. He began to cry in stifled sobs, or so Garald thought. Looking at the shaking goat-man holding in his sniveling with meaty hands he began to quake more violently so that the newcomer knew something was very strange.

"Get out!" Maelda repeated. "Veguz, you promised..." Garald began to smell something noxious as wisps of sickly green smoke escaped between Veguz's meaty fingers. He never ceased shaking and began to grow in size.

Spoiler: OOC

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He knows something is wrong and out of place. Unless surprised, heroes get to go first, so giving you the opportunity.

[Ameraaaaaa]

Garald realised that whatever was happening was not something he wanted to be a part of.

He attempted a chopping hand strike but it didn't land. So Garald just proceeded to go to step 2 and just run out of the building to avoid the presumably poison gas.

Garald just plain runs as far as he can.

Spoiler: OOC

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Iirc gms decide how attacks missed but feel free to correct me.

[roryb]

Veguz had grown to monstrous size already like a goat-faced puffer fish. The strike failed to land, but the would-be victim flinched and fell backward, nearly collapsing that side of his ramshackle shanty. Dishes went crashing and the tin that formed the walls blew out.

By this time, Garald was already at the flap of the door, nearly bowling over Maelda in the process. She let out a screech. Veguz popped like a bladder. Immediately, poisonous gas exploded from every opening of the hovel.

Outside, the commotion had caught the attention of a sizable crowd. Gawkers formed a semicircle in front of Garald as the gases swept over him from behind.

Spoiler: OOC

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Description of failure doesn’t bother me. This is as much your game as mine.

I’ll have Garald make a Fortitude save, but at +2 because he’s at the periphery of the cloud. Failure indicates a stinking cloud type of effect, choking him and giving him -4 to all actions for 1d4 rounds.

Veguz
AC 5, HD 4, Attack +4, Dmg 1d10, ML 8

[Ameraaaaaa]

"I am no weakling" he thought to himself as he resisted the poison gas.

As Garald ran out of the poisonous gas he shouted to the crowd "make way you fools! there's a gas attack! Head back to your homes!"

Garald then ran as far away as he can. He did not want to get caught in that poison cloud.

[roryb]

Panic began to ripple through the crowd as Garald leapt through their midst. Maelda made it to the doorway, reaching out weakly. “Waaaait!” she managed to say before the gas choked off her cry. The others from among the ragtag onlookers smelled the gas too, some swooning, and others running and crying out in alarm.

Amid this chaos came a new disturbance. From above, a fissure in the stony ceiling of the market through which fresh air and rain vented came a mystifying unnameable thing. A metallic-looking sphere roughly the size of a rainwater barrel floated slowly through the rift over the shanty village. With this new manifestation crescendoed more screams from all corners of the cavernous complex.

“The bureau! The bureau!” came several cries. Garald found his way obstructed by a hysterical mob in almost every direction he sought. People of all shapes and sizes grabbed what belongings they could and scurried like rats in all directions.

The sphere above gleamed with a red light placed at the apparent fore of the being or craft. Suddenly, wicked articulated metal appendages on all sides hissed to life, deploying like rapidly flailing snakes. Some were as long as twenty or more feet. Like whips, these flicking tentacles tore up stalls and tents, and in some cases grabbed a hold of the strange folk of the slum, lifting them up by a wrist or ankle. Four or five were now caught, brought up to the eye to be examined, and then dropped apathetically from terrible heights. Other beams of bright light emanated from the underside of the sphere, searching the chaotic floor of the market.

By this time, the flap to Veguz’s destroyed hovel was cast open. Now more normal-sized, the goat-man looked left and right for Garald, but now a bright crimson color.

Spoiler: OOC

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Getting out of this (assuming escape) will require 3 successful tests of any appropriate type…Str, Dex, Int, Cha, or whatever you fancy. Because of the chaos, you’ll face a -4 on rolls to move quickly, but other tests not involving movement needn’t face the same penalty (like using Cha to disguise, for example). Let’s take the sum of the tests to find out how clean or messy this gets, from 0 successes (failure!) to 3 (flawless victory!). But let’s also take the rolls one at a time. Failures along the way will mean I’ll escalate in some way. Perhaps Garald doesn’t want to flee too.

Spherical Drone
AC 3, HD 8, Attack +6 (x2), Dmg 1d6 each, and become grappled, ML 11

Veguz
AC 5, HD 4, Attack +4, Dmg 1d10, ML 8

[roryb]

Garald didn’t let anything stand in his way. Using his powerful arms, he cast aside or threw anyone blocking his path whether or not that was a small human or something much larger. He chanced a glance over his shoulder. Veguz hadn’t yet locked onto his path. The spherical monstrosity continued to pick up and discard the folk with reckless abandon, but had not yet turned toward Garald.

Spoiler: OOC

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That’s one test down successfully. I’d reduce moving quickly penalty to -2 due to that last roll. Go for test #2.

Spherical Drone
AC 3, HD 8, Attack +6 (x2), Dmg 1d6 each, and become grappled, ML 11

Veguz
AC 5, HD 4, Attack +4, Dmg 1d10, ML 8

[Ameraaaaaa]

Garald proceeds to test his endurance. Running as hard as he can. However long it took he felt no exhaustion. For Garald was a badass. A badass Running away from enemies but don't say that to his face.

[roryb]

Following, and casting aside a throng that moved into an almost imperceptible way, Garald found himself in a narrow dark passageway. He felt the splash of water underfoot. He was able to outdistance himself from most of the group with steady powerful strides. Behind, renewed shrieks drew his attention. Behind him at some distance, the passage was filled with light. He heard the whipping appendages of the sphere-thing. It had entered the passage and was after him. He knew he could continue his pace for days if need be, but where did these tunnels lead?

Spoiler: OOC

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Good. We'll assume he's lost sight of Veguz altogether. Last part of the roll. You can assume the passage branches out later to various ways. I'll drop the penalty altogether at this point. He can try stealth (Dex), tactics (Int or Wsd), or another burst of speed (Str).

Spherical Drone
AC 3, HD 8, Attack +6 (x2), Dmg 1d6 each, and become grappled, ML 11

[Ameraaaaaa]

Garald needed a burst of speed so he used all of his power and ran as quick as possible. Wherever this tunnel was leading it had to be better then whatever bull**** just happened. Just had to get outta here!

[roryb]

Sprinting into the darkness, Garald soon found himself alone and no longer followed. He had long since out-sprinted the last fleeing folk of the market, his feet splashing along the fetid labyrinth of the underworld of whatever place Gate was. He lost all bearings and had taken to random passages that snaked away from the main one. He noticed he had worked steadily downward.

Stopping to catch his breath, he was plunged in inky blackness. He heard the constant drip of water. The echo from his ragged breathing gave him the impression that wherever he was, it was a lofty space of hard surfaces. For a long time, he heard nothing but the water and his breathing. Then, he thought he heard distant chanting to his left. As he listened, he was more certain he descried the unison voices of men in the distance.

More immediately, he heard the splash of something coming near him. And then another, and another. Strange squeaking chatter came from one of the unseen things, answered by another. In the darkness, he could still make out the gleam from beady eyes. Steadily, a swarm of things were coming nearer to him. There were at least six of them, if not more.

Spoiler: OOC

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Heroes go first. Due to blindness, it's -4 to rolls. Darkness does not inhibit fray die rolls, however (if you choose to fight). These are indeed some form of giant rats.

6 Giant Rats: AC 5; HD 1; AT +1; Dmg 1d6; ML 7

[Ameraaaaaa]

Garald started thinking the universe was playing games with him. If so then he had to just beat the universe at it's own game.

The mighty warrior swinged his fists into the darkness multiple times yet embarrassingly only managed to hit one of the 6 rats. With 5 more to go. Garald started to think he both walked past a black cat and under a ladder. He just prayed that a god of warriors somewhere smiled apon him. Unlikely given the running away earlier but perhaps he respected strategic retreats.

[roryb]

After Garald’s mighty but wild swings in the dark, the unseen ravenous horrors were upon him, gnawing and clawing. By luck or intuitive dance, the newcomer evaded each of the filthy things. He felt their course whiskers and clawed feet scrambling to overtake him.

Spoiler: OOC

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Don't forget -4 to rolls in the dark.

6 —> t Giant Rats: AC 5; HD 1; AT +1; Dmg 1d6; ML 7

Attacks x 5; Dmg 1d6 each: 5#1d20+3 22 12 11 8 5 5#1d6 1 2 1 5 3

Looks like only 1 hit, but did no damage due to roll of 1 on the damage die.

[Ameraaaaaa]

"God damned rats!" Garald growled.

Luckily he managed to grab 2 rats together and smash their heads together. Good. 3 to go.

"It seems there's still hope left for me afterall." Garald thought.

[roryb]

Despite his whittling down his foes, the fiendish rat-things continued to throw themselves at the warrior as fast as he could throw them off and bash their skulls. One found flesh in the spot behind his knee. Garald felt the bite of Sharp incisors latch on.

Spoiler: OOC

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6 —> 3 Giant Rats: AC 5; HD 1; AT +1; Dmg 1d6; ML 7

Morale Checks: 3#2d6 7 7 3. They continue fighting!

Attack x 3; dmg 1-6: 3#1d20+3 21 16 5 3#1d6 4 6 4

Looks like one bit and did 1 damage. I’ll have Garald make a Fortitude save when this over.

[Ameraaaaaa]

Garald shouted in pain. To get revenge on said rat he jumped right on top of both that rat and another. Sending their guts on the ground.

1 measly rat left.

Garald just hoped that rat bite didn't give him a disease or anything.

[roryb]

The remaining was in no mood to perish so turned and began to scamper into the blackness. Garald’s sharpened warrior’s senses still had the repulsive vermin in his mind’s eye.

Spoiler: OOC

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Final morale roll: 2d6 10

This one runs… Garald can choose to kill it as it flees, no roll required.

3 —> 1 Giant Rats: AC 5; HD 1; AT +1; Dmg 1d6; ML 7

[Ameraaaaaa]

Garald grabbed the rats tail then pulled it out along with said rats skeletal structure. Quite a gruesome sight.

Garald then tried to figure out what was the unison voices were dispite his better judgement. Garald just hoped it wasn't a trap.

[roryb]

Having disposed of the vermin, Garald looked around instinctively in the dark, trying to pinpoint the source of the voices. They were nearer now. Singing he might have called it. Poor singing. Then pale light caught his eye. It drew his gaze upward.

A pale Illuminance cast a silhouette of a ledge and highlighted an arched brick ceiling far above his head. He could see that he was in some sort of long channel — an immense one. About thirty feet up was a ledge halfway between the muck festooned wet floor where he stood and the ceiling beyond that. The immense passage continued beyond sight.

But the light and voices grew until he saw cowled figures at the ledge. They peered down into the gloom.

“Shhh!” came a voice. Then another. “What is that?!”

Garald realized they were likely referring to him. He stood surrounded by the carcasses of vermin with his hands covered in gore.

[Ameraaaaaa]

Garald simply said "that of which you speakvof is me! For i am Garald! What is it you folk are doing here?"

Garald hoped this was not another case of the veguz. If it was he'd just need to crush these creatures heads with his bare fists. Otherwise it might be nice to have friend in his current location. Though considering they were most likely singing songs of cultist nature Garald knew that was unlikely. Garald simply hoped for the best.