Death Slaves of Eternity - In Chracter

[Lord Ruby34]

Under the glare of an unforgiving sun, deep in the barren desert steppe, you slowly recover your senses. Through eyes that have known only darkness for days you catch blurred images of dour faced guards that hem you in, etched black against the blue mantle of sky. Beyond them a ring of frenzied townsfolk spit curses and hiss behind black and broken teeth; pelting you with dung and stinking refuse in their fervor.

Memory and understanding come flooding back in a rush of flashing nightmare images - the horror of your situation draws clear. Charged with the murder of the blood-prince, you have been condemned as Servus Mortem and made death-slave to the fallen heir. For decades this heathen custom has seen countless citizens entombed alive; lowered into the Crypts of Eternity with only their pitiful wails to comfort them. Wives buried with dead husbands, children entombed with deceased parents, and even murderers buried alive with their victims - all at the whim of the Mad-Sultan and the decree of his monstrous custom.

Now it is you who stands upon the great copper platform, suspended over a gaping black pit, the stench of carrion death wafting up from its haunted depths. A hard loaf of bread and skin of wine is thrust into your arms by a grim-faced soldier - ceremonial offerings to aid in your journey beyond. Encircled by armed spear-men, you are prodded toward the center of the platform where the body of the slain prince rests on a silver bier. His corpse is completely wrapped in fine linen and treated with scented oils; an ornate silver funerary mask graven in the image of a leering skull covers his face, and glints in the blaze of the oppressive sun.

A tense silence befalls the crowd as the Holy Vizier strides forth; a wry smile spreads across his thin lips as the copper platform begins its descent amid the soft groans of naked slaves who toil with the chain. As you slowly descend into the charnel pit of death, the vizier’s voice booms with the hollow finality of a great funeral bell.

"As it was your honor to serve the prince in life, it shall be your eternal honor to serve the prince in death. For the vile act of murder upon the righteous blood-prince you are hereby condemned as Servus Mortem, and granted immortality as Death Slaves of Eternity!" His speech is received by the cheers of the wretched crowd behind you. Isolated faces stand out in the crowd. Friends, family, those who you thought loved you. But there is no aid, only their ashen faces watching your condemnation.

From behind the leering vizier, a drumbeat begins. Boom, boom, boom The pounding of the drum matches the beat of your heart, as the great gears begin to turn.

With a dull, hideous grating, you slowly descend into the stygian darkness of nether midnight. Passing down a narrow well of sheer rock, like the gorge of some colossal leviathan, you emerge through the ceiling of a great domed chamber; the rank air aflood with aeon-buried foulness.

Your dreadful and measureless decent ends with a bone-jarring halt, as the copper platform slams against the tomb floor, echoing wildly throughout the mortuary depths. A single bar of light from the tunnel above burns through the gloom, betraying the look of unnatural dread etched upon the guards’ faces.

With a quickness born of fear the guards order you from the platform to the smooth, crimson-tiled floor below. Four of the lean, black cloaked men begin to carry the prince's body off the platform. The other six never leave, even as they shove you forwards with the hafts of their spears. On the opposite end of the platform are fifteen oil-cloth bundles, one for each of you. These bundles contain the weapons and the few goods that have not yet been stolen from you.

Once the blood-prince's body has been moved from the platform, the four Mortuary Guardsmen that were responsible for his transportation scramble back onto the platform. The other six level their spears at you, as the other four quickly shovel the oil-cloth bound packages towards the ground by your feet. As soon as the task is completed, a one guardsman strikes a massive gong at the center of the platform, the signal for ascent.

What do you do?

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Everyone gets +1 loaf of bread and a full wineskin. Your weapons and goods are in the oil-cloth packages by your feet.

Good luck.

[Auranghzeb]

MARLOWE

The black room took us

like a cave or a mouth

or an indoor belly.

his teeth, his hair growing

like a field or a shawl.

The verses resound in Marlowe's head as he tries to confront panic with poetry, making horror aesthetically pleasing to cope. For all he knows, he is dead, worse, buried already. What's point there is? He uncorks the wine given to him and takes a good sip, scanning the crowd to find someone who looks like a good talker.

In the crowd he recognized Anak and Lanit. Scholars whom he had seen a few times as audience to his plays and jests.

He made his way towards them.

So, buried alive I see?





TZARAS

Still in disbelief, Tzaras tried to convince the guards of her innocence, they only ignored her with eyes full of fear. They knew who she was, she had tortured people in front of some of these guards. And now she was being lowered to hell.





FARXANT

Farxant wasn't someone to fall in desperation and his acute instict for survival would not let him die. He knew he could stay alive for some time in this place, enough perhaps for the conspiracy to fall and truth be told. But it was going to require all his wits.


He saw a desperate Tzaras bordering hysteria, proud child of a noble house... He approached her. She knew her way around a knife, that could prove useful.

[Cavir]

Cecil

The elven artisan was still in a daze of disbelief while marched to the platform. He was well known, having made wondrous works for many of those in the crowd along with the late prince. As he stood on the platform and turned to face the crowd, his gaze turned to a burning anger for the injustice. He stared at the crowd. When the Holy Vizier began his speech, Cecil's burning stare focused on the supposed voice of justice.

The gears began their work. The drums started pounding. All that woke something up out of the pottery master and granted him an insight. If the innocent had been proclaimed guilty, then those in power knew they had either failed to find the real murderer... or those same had taken part in the prince's demise. The prince was the only son. That would be a boon for someone. Likely who he was starring at.

As the platform lowered he called out at the top of his elven lungs. "The killer is not here. COWARDs! I will haunt you all!" Who knew if he had said coward or cowards, or if they had even heard him at all over the drums and the throng.

The platform lowered away regardless.


Flora

Flora's life was again being torn apart, this time even more into the pits of hell. She had tried to use her persuasive ways to promise various guards the night of their life, or week even, in exchange for escaping the nightmare. Fearing for their own fate, none took the offer.

She stood on the platform staring into the crowd hoping for one last look of her Alicia. Alicia would be too young to understand what was happening but it would mean the world for Flora. She looked and looked and suddenly Flora saw her only daughter, hoisted on the shoulders of whom she could not see. Flora was filled with joy to see her even at the distance. Alicia's attention was on the crowd she was surrounded by. Flora was glad Alicia would not have the memory of her mom being lowered into hell as the last view of Mom.

The platform lowered. She lost sight of her little one. Flora dropped to her knees and wept.


Galen

Galen was pushed along by the guards towards the platform. He met the gaze of each one. Each one he knew by name and been brothers in arms with them. "You know I didn't do it. You don't want this same fate for you or your family do you? Find the killer, kill them, then kill the Sultan before you too stand here. Fail that and I'll haunt you and your families forever!" For that he kept getting prodded by the spears, hard enough for pain but just shy of drawing blood. The guards did not want to draw attention to themselves.

The Holy Vizier spoke. Galen glared at the supposed holy one. He burned that image into his mind. The image would be a source of anger to keep himself going. To stay alive long enough to somehow escape and put the Vizier and Sultan under his blade.

At the bottom he was herded off the platform like the rest of the condemned. Galen watched for any moment to turn the tide on those wielding spears. At one point he almost had his chance to take some of them out. Two things stopped that. One, those same guards knew him and knew to watch out. Two, the injury that put him to desk duty slowed him too much for being so out numbered.

The gong rang. The platform began to rise. Galen grabbed a rock from the ground and threw it upwards at the craven spear men. The sudden action after days in the dark prison on top of his bad shoulder led the rock to totally miss them. The sharp pain in his shoulder probably hurt more than what the rock would have done.

[Metastachydium]

Lanit stuck close, very close to her sister as they were herded through the streets and onto the platform, to shield her from eyes and the shame of being soiled by all the filth the mob flung their way. To shield her from harm. She should have found a way, to spirit Anak away before they could get her. The darkness and the cold would break her, she was sure of it. But at that, she failed. All she could do was lessen the blows and lend Anak her own warmth. It would have to do.

For her part, Anak herself didn't seem to truly grasp what's happening to them. That was, nevertheless, hardly the truth. Her blank face and blank stare as she leaned into Lanit who helped her along faithfully betrayed no fear or understanding indeed, but Anak did understand, perhaps better than most. However, she understood the futility of struggling just as well. There was far less that she could do than even her fellow scapegoats. She could as well cling to a modicum of dignity. Absorb some of the heat from the sun while she was still able. The darkness would take her, whether it posions her last moments in the light or not.

Usnar Kavan, the Bald-Man, on the other hand, was one to mistake such reasonings for weakness. And weakness was nothing he would show. Hissing curses under his breath he glared and shook fists and the guards had to restrain him, time and again, from lunging at some particularly obnoxious specimen from the crowd. He was no madman, nor truly brave: the spears he didn't dare. And he didn't speak up either, until after he knew his possessions shoved safely off of the platform and to within his reach, lest they were withheld from him. The ghouls know you' face now! he snarled at the guards as the platform began to rose back into the realm of the living, his fists clenched.

Lanit took the welcome distraction of stones and words thrown to scurry forward and reclaim what the twins were left to keep before returning to Anak's side to inspect and distribute the inventory; she would carry most of it, of course. She could tell they gave them back their staves; that was good. She had little hope to stand firm in a fight, were the rumours hiding a kernel of truth, but it was some added support for Anak's fragile frame and she could appreciate the illusion of safety. The familiar face of the halfling approaching the two of them had a similar effect. Marlowe! Lanit smiled at the little man weakly; it was a shame he ended up here (and a shame they all did, really), but he could yet prove a staff for the spirit.

Yes. Anak joined her twin in addressing the halfling, or, at any rate, his question, rhetorical as she knew it to be. It's a fairly archaic funerary custom. she explained with hollow calm. I have read of cultures that saw it as an honour; the promise of eternity we were given is a vestige of that, I reckon. she went on, all impassively. She could feel Lanit's gentle hand pressing her arm. But if it was meant to encourage or warn, neither of them could truly tell.

I feel mighty honoured. Usnar grunted from the shadows as he inspected his own gear, unsheathing and sheathing the long, straight dagger (it was still sharp) and making a show of noisily putting his good clothes, no, his real clothes on. He wasn't going to die a prisoner's death in prisoner's clothes. Anyho', I'm curious. he added with a smirk. Did any of you really kill that young ****? maybe they did. Maybe he would learn. Maybe they would check on them and he could rat out whoever put him in this place. What?! No! Lanit hissed back indignantly. But he did know death was close and coming. Anak remarked, drawing an Eh? from the merchant – but the answer never came.

[Lord Ruby34]

Tzaras, your pleas fall on ears of stone. You're roughly shoved away from the guards with the hafts of their spears, as they work with frantic energy.

Cecil, your last sight of the surface world is the Holy Vizier's self satisfied smile.

Galen, your throw is better aimed than you realize. You throw, and a long arch leads your missile to connect directly with the jaw of one of the guards as the platform rises. You see a bloodied lip, but he doesn't stumble or fall. You see him take his spear in hand, aiming it down towards you, but before he can throw another guard, a man you recognize, puts a hand on his arm and shakes his head. You aren't sure if it was kindness, pity, or just the realization that you were already dead. It's only when you look down that you realize there are no rocks scattered beneath your feet, only moldering bones.

Usnar, if the guards hear your curse, they don't change their behavior in response. You can see that their eyes were already wide with terror.

The other three young women who you were lowered down with grab at their belongings, arming themselves as quickly as they can.

The platform recedes into the tunnel above, slowly blotting out the light and with it your last rays of hope. All about you, set into the smooth walls and vaulted ceiling are clusters of fist-sized green stones that gleam with a ghostly radiance, casting everything in unnatural shadows and alien gloom.

A strange crimson tiled floor stretches out before you. Its glasslike surface covered with moldering bones and worm-eaten funerary garb. The very act of breathing is a struggle, as the stale air
carries with it the stench of ageless rot mingled with bitter aromas of strange spices used in bygone funerary rites. The endless silence of dead ages permeates these mortuary depths, making even the slightest sound thunder with shuddering echoes.

Through the pale green glint of the witchlights, you can see that you are in a circular room. To the east is a gate of heavy iron, covered in rust by time and set into an open archway. Through the closed bars, you can see crimson tiled steps designed for longer limbs than those of men that descend into the unholy glow of the strange stones.

To the west is another gate, though this one hangs ajar. An odor of purification, vile and unclean, surges from somewhere deep below.

To the south, you see a passage, though you cannot make out where it leads. To the north, You see a massive set of double doors wrought from polished bronze. Its otherwise gleaming surface is streaked with dried blood and filth.

The blood prince's body has been placed in an alcove to the northwest.

What do you do in the next few moments?

[Gyrfalcon]

Akesh

The lotus eater was stuck in a terrified stupor as the crowd was lowered into the abyss to serve as a dead man's slaves. It had been days since his last pipe of lotus smoke, and his hands shook and chest heaved as he panted for air. When the platform reached the bottom, he dodged the guard's spears and leapt off the platform, racing to recover his meager possessions and the pittance of bread and wine. The gangly man mumbled half to himself "I never be meeting no prince, never been meaning him no harm either. And now we be down here because he be dead...."

Meriam

A stargazer by trade, she was more used to looking to the night sky for signs. But she kept her head raised and eyes on the blue, blue sky overhead as it receded into the distance, hungry to burn the light of day into her memories in the face of the darkness to come. Unlike the addict who was next to her, she moved quickly off the platform, catching a foot on a moldering bone and stumbling, luckily righting herself before she fell.

She listened to the conversation carried on nearby, interested by the claim that the Prince had known his death was coming soon. "One of his men came to my shop, with a depiction of a strange constellation that I have never seen before. His man was most insistant on any information I might have of one star in particular, a vivid green."

Zacharias

The small halfling was hidden in the crowd, his normally cheerful face locked in a scowl. He had recognized many of the faces in the crowd, and too many had shown clear relief and cheer as no one would be required to pay debts back to a dead man. At the bottom, he quietly collected his possessions. An abacus probably wasn't the most useful survival tool, but he was determined to do so. He looked around the bottom, marking the four paths - two barred, two open. One stank of death and was to be avoided. The path south was the most likely one to take, but he found himself drawn to inspect the bronze doors. "If this wasn't a horrific death pit, this would surely be an interesting archeological site. Does anyone here know more about it than rumors? I always heard you could hear the wailings of the slaves, but so far it is quiet..."

[Cavir]

Cecil

The elf- tall, thin,and pretty muscular for an elf, gathered his bag and used his elven vision to see if there was anything alive down there that didn't come down with them. From there he went over to the dead prince. "No, I did not kill him nor knew anything about it, at least not until we were on the platform. Now, I am sure the Vizier had the prince killed. The Vizier claimed he could not find the real killer and grabbed us randomly to distract from his failure. Who would gain from the prince being dead? Most likely the Unholy Vizier himself. His self satisfied smile as we were lowered confirmed it for me."

"I did help create the mask. Commissioned by the prince himself I am told but I was not involved in the sale." He takes the mask off and keeps it for himself. "Anyone know anything about this design?" He examines the body, seeing what was useful for him or them, including the clothing.

Flora

The brunette human female, still attractive even as disheveled as she was from several days in a dark dank prison, had her weeping broken when prodded by the spears to get off the platform. She grabbed her bag and kept her stiletto in hand. She had no idea what to expect from the others. Flora went to the alcove and gazed on the dead prince on the opposite side of the elf.

"I was at the festival to try to meet him. Never happened. I had heard the Mad-Sultan's first wife died and the kids were sentenced here too." She turned her look to the elf. "Maybe you are right about who is behind all this." She tears off a piece of bread and eats it.

Galen

The one guard itched to throw the spear. Galen had hoped he would, also hoping it would miss. Another weapon down here might help. "COWARDS!"

He was surprised to find his sword strapped to his backpack in the bundle left for him. Someone was having some pity. That and his leather armor having never been removed gave an an advantage if there was a threat down here. He put the oil-cloth bundle into the backpack and then put it on.

"Name's Galen. I was City Watch, but not assigned to the prince that night. Don't even know how he died. Can you tell? Not that it matters."

"There were others sent here before us. I'd guess they didn't all just sit here waiting to die. If nothing else maybe we'll find their stuff. Maybe they left clues."

Galen examines the glowing stones. He looks to find one he can pry out and carry with him.

[Metastachydium]

Strangled, they say. Lanit replied to Galen, completely forgetting her manners. She shuddered at the thought, only to straighten herself hurriedly and glance at Anak: she had to stay composed for her sister's sake. But Anak did not look back, nor did she notice the shudder. The green star had her intrigued now and the curious orders. That conforms well with what we know so far. she nodded towards Cecil, her comment strangely belated. The other elf reclaiming something sold to a dead man was offputting, but as an exchange between the dead it made sense.

Usnar, in the meantime, was in his element as the people all around him began to talk. Then we're ****ed. he interjected with a snort when Cecil brought up the Vizier, even as he moved closer to body being looted, flashing his eyes at the Prince's feet. Looks like he kept all the weird **** for you lot. he appended to Cecil and Anak's further musings then. The li'l **** only bought some slippers off me. Good ones. Not for dying. He only really took a good look at Flora at this point. A wolfish grin spread on his bony, long-nosed face as he clapped a hand on her shoulder. Ain't that Buttercup, now? he said, almost cheerily. We're dyin' in good company, ladies and gents!

Lanit merely sighed and shook her head at this entire show. She felt like she should have been appreciating the merchant's working towards lightening the mood, but it didn't seem to put her at much of an ease. Still, she was fairly certain reminding this swordsman, Galen, as he called himself, that scattered bones told a very different story, of people dying where they now stood was not exactly the right course of action to take either.

Galen's proactive reasoning caught Anak's attention as well and unlike her twin, she did not shy away from addressing it. And which way would you start looking? she inquired, with the same uncanny calm in her voice as before. She could feel Lanit's grip on her arm growing firm as she began to help her approach the swordsman. Lanit was more attracted to the blade than the words that drew Anak, of course, but that was just as well. I would recommend testing an open way myself. she went on. (Do you need help with that? Lanit motioned vaguely towards the witchlights inspected by Galen at the edge of Anak's field of vision.) We onnly have so much food and no water; the wine will do us little service. We must conserve our strength. she explained, drawing yet another snort from Usnar. And maybe find water. Lanit joined in. I wonder how cold it gets here at night. Maybe the walls will gather some for us? she mused. The air is quite dry and slow. Anak shrugged noncommittally – but this gave her sister an idea. Does anyone have a candle? Or a smoking-pipe? she asked suddenly. The smoke? Anak smiled at her. The smoke. Lanit confirmed, looking around.

[Lord Ruby34]

Galen: You attempt to pry one of the glowing stones from the wall. It feels hard, almost unbreakable, until you get it out of the wall. Unfortunately, it pops off suddenly enough that you fumble the stone, and it smashes against the ground with the sound of broken glass.

The three women who haven't spoken to you are standing where the platform was, speaking amongst themselves in low voices.

Zacharias: You stand before a massive set of double doors wrought from polished bronze. Its otherwise gleaming surface is streaked with dried blood and filth. The doorway has no handles or fixtures, and its surface offers no bolt or catch. You can see that there are deep rents in the surface of the bronze. Someone, or something, has tried to gain entry.

Cecil: You don't immediately see anything in the witchlight, as you turn your attention back to the blood-prince's body. He's wrapped in a burial shroud, his limbs bound tightly with bandages of the finest linen. As you peer down to look more closely, you see something in your peripherals. A heat signature you weren't expecting. Not from your group. You have a split second to cry out before the figures fall upon you.

Slowly from within the distant gloom, manlike figures become visible, like shapes growing out of the night and silence. Draped in moldering robes, they skulk out of the darkness like creeping shadows, their fleshless skulls staring out from beneath worm-rotted hoods. With long emaciated fingers they silently reach out towards you; black and broken fingernails groping at your flesh.

Spoiler: Everyone please open

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Your group has won initiative! However, the following PCs are suprised and cannot act in the first round of combat. The enemies are coming from the northeast corner of the room, near the bronze doors.

Tzaras; Marlowe; Farxant; Lanat; Zacharious; Galen; Olivia

((Cecil was exempted from rolling, because he had actively looked for danger in a way that would not fail to spot it.))

Anyone who has not grabbed their weapons is unarmed. It takes an action to free your weapon from the bundle that is your possessions. Feel free to post any questions to OOC, or let me know if I've missed anything that you needed information on.

[Gyrfalcon]

Akesh

The gangly lotus eater takes one look at the skeletal assailants and shrieks in fear, fleeing towards the tunnel to the south, the only obvious path away from them.

Meriam

The woman digs through her bag and retrieves a long, sharp knife, clutching it tightly as she looks to see if more people will stand together.

Zacharias

The halfling is terrified by the sudden attack and stands there gaping at the terrible monsters.

[Cavir]

Galen

Do you need help with that? Lanit motioned vaguely towards the witchlights inspected by Galen at the edge of Anak's field of vision.

The stone Galen pried out fumbles out and shatters. "Can't hurt to have more light to take with us. " He starts working on another, hopefully having learned his lesson about their fragility.

Flora

Ain't that Buttercup, now? he said, almost cheerily. We're dyin' in good company, ladies and gents!

Flora shot the man a look. Her stiletto was palmed in her hand with the blade against her wrist to keep it out of sight. Her hand tightened around the handle, not sure if the man was a immediate threat. He wasn't moving toward her so she glanced around to see reactions from others. That's when she saw the movement from the shadows. She moved back and kept the dead prince between her and the actual threat. If one came at her the stiletto would get put to use. It wouldn't be her first time defending herself, just the first time against something seemingly already dead.

Cecil

"LOOK OUT!" The elf moved back and away from the monsters. He pulled his putty knife, wishing there was some wall with a door in between them that he could just close and keep the danger at bay.

Spoiler: OOC

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Galen- sword already in hand, surprised.

Flora
Attack: (1d20+1)[15]
Damage: (1d4+1)[2]

Cecil
Dodging while pulling out the knife.

[Metastachydium]

Usnar raised a thick eyebrow at Flora; did she not recognize him? But the awkward silence had its benefits: the shuffling sounds approaching and the woman's eyes flicking away from him were not lost on the man. He swirled around and reflexively drew his dagger again as he looked into… What probably was the face of the newcomers once. The ****? he grunted; the example of that pathetic gangly thing dashing away looked eminently sane at this point and he began to back off himself. But then, he flicked his gaze at Flora once again. Should he not pretend to be chivalrous, here? He could feel sweat ooze out of his palm, seeping into the wrap on the dagger's hilt. C'mon, le's move, you wan' to fight those? he hissed nervously, tightening his grip on his weapon.

Spoiler: OOC

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U. moves some way towards the southern passage, readies an attack if something goes for him: (1d20)[10] for (1d4)[1].

Lanit was far less perceptive. Letting go of Anak for what she believed would be just a moment, she let her staff slide into the crook of the elbow of her smooth, round arm as she stepped closer to Galen, raising her hands to catch the witchlight should it fall. But Anak saw them. Lanit! she called out with alarm in her voice, the smile melting away from her anemic lips. She backed off towards the wall, clutching her own staff, barely realizing she was moving to hide behind her twin. Lanit's head turned ever so slightly at her voice – and the hand of the young elf, rising higher yet to smooth an unruly grey lock of hair out of her face froze in the air as she gasped in horror, not quite certain what was happening beyond that it was bad.

Spoiler: OOC

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A. maneuvers behind L.; L. half-turns to notice the attackers.

[Lord Ruby34]

Two of the women who were condemned here with you fall back to where Cecil is standing, directly away from the creatures, and ready weapons.

Zach, the faceless creatures fall upon you first, closest to the bronze doors as you are. A pair reaches towards you. The first one yanks away your bread and wine, as the second attempts to push you to the ground. You recover just quickly enough to dodge the grasping, filthy fingers, ducking under the creature's legs. It overbalances, stumbling a few steps past you before quickly recovering. (( -Bread and Wine))

Flora, another pair launches themselves towards you over the blood prince's body. The first is met with your knife. A sure and pitiless strike takes the creature from breastbone to chin, opening a bloody furrow in the pallid flesh. The trailing blow of your strike catches on something, and the skull comes flying off. Only . . . it's not a skull at all. An ivory mask breaks free from the creature's falling corpse, bouncing off the blood prince's body and revealing the pallid, emaciated face of a young man. His body slumps over that of the blood prince, as the partner reaches for your bread and wine. With the funeral bier between the two of you, you're able to get just enough room to pull away, keeping your bread and wine.

The other creatures, seeing no more isolated targets near them, move to mob the group at the center of the room.

The rest of you see one of the young women, armed and armored, have her bread and wine stolen before pushing the other creature away and readying her blade.

Tzaras, another pair of creatures come at you. One rips the bread and wine from your hands while the other shoves you hard. You hit the ground with a jarring crash. ((-Bread and Wine)) ((Knocked Prone))

Spoiler: Prone Condition

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It takes one action to stand up from being prone. While prone you move at half speed, enemies have +2 to hit, and you have -1 die size for your melee attacks.

Farxant, you are also approached by a pair of the creatures. One manages to wrangle your bread and wine away from you while you sidestep the one who attempted to push you to the ground. ((- Bread and Wine))

Meriam, still surprised, you fail to react as one of the creatures snatches the bread and wine from your hands and the other pushes you to the odd crimson floor. ((- Bread and Wine)) ((Knocked prone))

Galen, you attempt to pry another stone from the wall. It isn't hard to find one, they seem to be everywhere. This time you manage to hold onto the stone, but it cracks in your hand, and the light goes out. It seems these rocks are more fragile than they appear. Getting a working one from the wall seems like it might be an unexpectedly difficult task.

Spoiler: Swan, Usnar, Marlowe, Cecil, Lanit

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You hear noise coming from the western gate, the one that's propped open. It sounds like snarls and howls, echoing off the stone walls of the crypt. And those sounds are getting rapidly closer.

Spoiler: Akesh

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You scamper into the black interior of the crypt that yawns before you, sinister and mysterious as the very shadow of death. An odor of elder desolation wafts from within its sacred gloom, for whatever door had once guarded this portal has long rotted away. You find yourself in a series of passageways lined by niches and alcoves that stretch away into the darkness. Mummified bodies wrapped in moldering funeral shrouds are set in recessed shelves throughout the warren of catacombs. Smashed urns and ancient debris mingled with the dust of the tomb litter the labyrinthine halls. The air surges with the musty smell of stagnation and decay.

You can hear the sounds of conflict behind you, and they seem to be increasing. Do you continue to run into the twisting passageways?

Every PC may now take a turn as normal.

[Auranghzeb]

Tzaras

Tzaras is taken out of her shock by the assault of these creatures. She attempts to roll away and draw her knife, fearing that it's too late to react, but trusting her instincts and good fortune.

Spoiler: OoC

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Tumble? (1d20+1)[13] agility roll

(1d20+1)[7]Luck roll

And then draw weapon and brace herself.

Farxant is alive because he understands the basics of retreat. He immediately looks around to find a place to hide or someone who seems armed and ready to face these monsters, then he bolts out of reach.

Spoiler: OoC

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Perception? (1d20)[2]
Move out of the way and find cover behind a bigger guy

Marlowe


He sets his feet and readies draws his prop sword. He hasn't been in too many fights, but he surely is trained in On-Scene Swordmanship. But his sword is not there, he reaches down and picks the largest femur he can find and wields it as a club, hip bone as the attack side.

And so the is the summer of our peace made contentious winter and the whitened bones of yore blunt instruments of our fate! Charge!

Spoiler: EDIT

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I misread Marlowe's situation

---

* post roll count doesn't match database

[Cavir]

Galen

The glowing "rock" shattered in his hand. Before he could investigate it more the assault began. The elf's warning had Galen turn soon enough to see the first attacks. He noticed the enemy going for belongings or pushing, seemingly not for blood. The former watchman rushed to form a line besides those ahead of him. With a loud firm voice he ordered "GET BACK!" He raises his sword, ready to cut down any in range that press the attack.

Flora

With her oil-cloth bundle in one handle and her bloodied stiletto in the other she takes a few more steps back, ready to strike again.

Cecil

His awareness saved himself from the initial rush. Starting to take more steps back his awareness told him of another threat coming from the west passage. "More coming from there, help me hold the gate!" He rushes to the gate, closes it, and looks for something to jam the gate shut.

Spoiler: OOC

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Galen
Attack (1d20-1)[10]
Damage (1d8-1)[6]

Flora
Attack (1d20+1)[3]
Damage (1d4+1)[2]

[Lord Ruby34]

Cecil, you look around for something, anything, to bar the gate. Your eyes settle on the rope that the woman with the pick ax standing near you is holding. She doesn't seem to be making any move to help. In fact, at your exclamation, she seems to be inching in the other direction, preparing to run east.

[Metastachydium]

Lanit is ever more confused. What's this about? These things look dead; but they appear to take a surprising amount of interest in food. She can also hear what Cecil warns them about just fine – and the new voices sound more alarming than Cecil seems to realize. These ones are silent; that's something else! Worse! Someone go help him! she churns out rapidlymotioning towards the west. But she knows it can't be her. She can't leave Anak behind. And she won't know her sister can follow if she's busy with the gate. Without a moment of further hesitation, she shoves their food into Anak's hands and all but presses her against the wall as she spreads her arms to shield her as best as she's able even as she begins wildly swinging her staff in broad arcs to keep the creatures away. Stay off of her! she shrieks defiantly.

Spoiler: OOC

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Attack if neccessary: (1d20)[6] for (1d4)[1], should someone try to get handsy.

Anak's eyes snap from the creatures over to Cecil and back again; but before she could process the new information, she suddenly finds herself with her hands full, bodily corraled towards the wall, her sister's big, messy ponytail brushing through her face as Lanit makes her stand. Still, as usual, Anak's mind is faster than her body: her delicate, bony little hand with her staff, extended fully along the wall reaches out from behind the frantically flailing Lanit. Give it to the elf, quick! she barks out. It's not like she's about to get much use out of it where she is.

Usnar, meanwhile, can likewise detect the source of the elves' concern and has to concur with Lanit's understanding in it; but from where he stands, not far from Flora, he can also see something more heartening. You're had, pricks! he bellows as he surges forward, tucking the oilcloth bundle under an arm to snatch the staff from Anak's hand. It's just a mask, they can bleed! he adds with a roaring laughter, presenting their assailants with an obnoxious, fearless grin as he swivels around to stroll forward, swift like the Cobra, his sign, towards the west, tossing the staff to Cecil. Run along, you ****s or you'll bleed more! he then goes on taunting the masked ones further, his blade raised and ready.

Spoiler: OOC

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I have a quite weak grasp on everyone's exact position and how much can be achieved in a single round; the idea is that Usnar moves as much as he can, first towards Anak to get the staff and then towards Cecil to throw it to him from a safe distance (he's not going closer to that gate than neccessary, thank you very much). Meanwhile, if talking is a free action, he tries to use something Intimidate-like to, y'know, try and frighten off the attackers. A Personality roll, mayhaps (do add modifiers if any; he's a merchant, he should be good at being loud): (1d20+0)[11]

[Gyrfalcon]

Akesh

Panting for breath, the lotus-eater takes stock. On his own, he doesn't fancy his chances down here, and that means that he'll need to make inroads with the others and find safety in numbers. He takes a moment to stuff the bread and wine he's still holding into his bundle and draw out his rusty shiv, then licks his stained lips and gathers his courage to venture back to the entrance, where by the sounds of it fighting is still raging.

Meriam

Meriam shrieks in fear as the skull-faced monsters knock her to the ground, bony fingers scrabbling and tearing the food and wine from her grasp. She scrabbles away from the figures as quickly as she can to make distance and then stands again.

Zacharias

"Bah, foul beast, that was mine!" the halfling shouts, taking the opportunity to run towards the group in the center of the room, dodging wide around the skull-faced monsters. If he can, he frees his dagger from his belongings, the steel clean and sharp.

[Lord Ruby34]

Tzaras, you roll away. The creatures probably could have struck you as you crawled away, but they don't seem interested in the opportunity. You see them move past you, in search of other food to steal.

Farxant, you look around desperately for a safe place to stand. You see the two women who've been speaking to each other, and put them between yourself and the "ghouls". Unfortunately, they both move soon after. One moves to help Cecil, and the other ducks behind you!

Usnar, you can't tell for sure why your words had no effect on the massed group of masked figures, but you think it might be the terror already present in their jerky motions. These masked thieves are taking as much as they can as quickly as they can. The pair that stole Zacharias's bread charge you. You aren't able to stop them from yanking the bundle of your belongings away and shoving you to the floor. (( -Thieves Tools; Loaf of Bread; Wineskin)) ((You are prone))

Marlowe, you find yourself approached by a cautious pair, they seem to be trying to avoid Galen's drawn blade. They steal your ritual offerings, but you resist being shoved to the floor. ((- Bread and Wine))

Flora, you hear a muffled curse from behind the mask, and your surviving assailant moves to find easier prey. Your back is to the wall, but the blood prince's body, and the corpse of the dead thief, are between you and everyone else.

Cecil, one of the women who was thrust down here with you, but not the one with the rope, runs to help you hold the door. You can hear the snarls growing louder. Fiercer. Hungrier. However, the aid is short lived. The cultist that survived his encounter with Flora runs toward you and steals your bread and wine while you are occupied trying to keep the gate shut. Another pair rushes to the young woman near you and steals her food and wine before shoving her to the ground by the gate. You see heat signatures, more than half a dozen, rapidly approaching you and the prone young woman next to you. They'll be upon you in only a few seconds. ((- bread and wine))

Your group watches as the other masked men steal the food and wine from the young woman by Farxant and push her to the ground, still careful to avoid Galen's blade.

A final pair, both with stolen victuals in hand, move back into the shadows of the northeastern section of the crypt, and join another man standing there. He's wearing the same clothing as the others, rags and an ivory skull mask, but is massive in proportion to the skinny, sickly creatures robbing you. He stands at least six and half feet tall, and is muscular, and broad chested, more than twice as wide as the largest of the thieves.

The other young woman, the one who had already been robbed, moves toward the eastern gate and turns, half panicked.

Galen, Lanit, and Anak, the thieves avoid your group of three. It appears none of them wish to test Galen's raised blade.

Akesh, your position the the shadowed arch of the opening to the southern passage seems to be an excellent hiding place, as you're able to observe the fighting and no one's made a move against you.

Meriam, crawling away seems to have let you avoid notice. You find yourself, still prone, by the panicked woman at the eastern gate.

Zack, you're still surrounded by the thieves, but they seem to be focusing on what they can safely steal, and pay you no more mind.

Everyone: You can hear snarling the sounds of horrid, unnatural movement coming from the western gate.

[Metastachydium]

Anak slowly lowers her staff and raises her sparse, gray eyebrows instead. Looks like the Bald Man is much louder than he is competent. Unfortunately, however, he's not even their loudest problem. Even she can't miss the approaching sounds. Retreat? she asks tentatively, her voice small. Galen's an asset and Marlowe, a known quantity. The four of them would have to do; and the southern hallway is near. Lanit seems to hesitate for a fraction of a heartbeat, nevertheless. I… I'm with you, always. she says at last, reaching back to draw Anak along as she inches closer to the mouth of the corridor, continuing to execute her clumsy, broad swings. Marlowe? Galen? she adds hurriedly. She knows Anak and her would last… Not so long alone.

Spoiler: OOC

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L. tries to hit anything hostile trying to get close: (1d20-1)[16] for (1d4)[2] and will move closer to the S corridor or into it, keeping herself between Anak and the rest of the room if M. and G. agree to ride along.

Usnar's mind is occupied with… Well, not thoughts. Emotions, rather. None too subtle and none too cautious. The world is all red now; those carnival clowns have stolen for Usnar Kavan. Nobody does that. Nobody. Largely forgetting about Cecil and his plight, he lunges forward, screaming an irate You sonoffa rabid bitch! at the thief as his right swings in a sharp arc, his dagger aimed at the thief's thigh.

Spoiler: OOC

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Usnar will not stand, but neither will this stand with him; he'll attack the one with his stuff, moving as much as he can if needed: (1d16)[15] for (1d4)[4]

[Lord Ruby34]

Usnar, your wild, lunging slash catches the thief in the thigh, cutting deeply enough that your blade scores bone. The figure falls, screaming in a shrill voice, and drops your bread and wine. The fall knocks the mask off of the thief, revealing the terrified face of an emaciated young woman. Her eyes lock with yours, just for a moment, as the mortal wound takes, and the life rapidly drains from her eyes.

[Metastachydium]

See? SEE?! the merchant raves with lips pulled back from his improbably white teeth, his confidence restored, raising the bloody blade in the air, propped up on an elbow as he is.

Spoiler: OOC

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Man, I do hope talking is a free action!

[Auranghzeb]

Tzaras finally wakes up

It is about staying alive... it is about staying alive... staying alive

STAY ALIVE!!!

She screams at the top of her lungs while she slashes at one of the assaulters as an attack of opportunity

Spoiler: AoO

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(1d20+0)[12] (1d4)[2]

Then she rises and uses her agility to dance around enemies and flay them

Spoiler: Round attacks

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(1d20)[6] damage (1d4)[4]

Farxant realizes the assaulters are not interested in them but in their gear... he can survive and then grab what's left. He crawls into a corner and hides.


Marlowe charges the nearest assaulter with his improvised bone club

Spoiler: attack

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(1d20+1)[19] damage (1d3+1)[4]

[Gyrfalcon]

Akesh

Akesh returns to the mouth of the tunnel and waves an arm frantically to the people struggling in the center of the room. "Come, come! This looks to be safer than there, no skull-faced ghouls!"

Meriam
Meriam hears the shouting as she stands, taking a moment to retrieve her dagger, she tries to get the attention of the woman next to her. "Come on, there's no getting through here. Let's get to the tunnels to the south!"

Zacharias

Dagger in his hands, almost a short sword in proportion to his size as a halfing, Zach slashes viciously at one of the assailants as they run past, and then slashes at another, looking to target one carrying stolen food.

Spoiler: OOC

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AoO - (1d20-1)[5], damage (1d4-1)[1]
Attack - (1d20-1)[3], damage (1d4-1)[0]

[Cavir]

Galen's instinct is to now start cutting down the attackers. The elf's desperation despite the thieves and the offered staff change his focus. He grabs the staff and darts over to the elf. He holds out the staff and readies an attack at whatever is coming from the tunnel, ideally attacking through the closed gate.

Cecil directs woman with the rope. "We'll hold the gate shut, use the rope to tie it shut! HURRY! " He takes the staff from Galen and tries to use it to jam the gate shut.

Flora, finding herself alone amidst the chaos, knows she is in a bad position. With a large step she passes by 2 the bodies on the floor and rushes to the nearest "friendly" group- the elf, the swordsman, and a couple others. She stabs the thief near Cecil that just pushed the woman down to the ground, preferably in the neck but somewhere in the back worked too.

Spoiler: OOC

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Grabbing the staff is a free action, so that would go for both Galen and Cecil.

Galen readied attack: (1d20-1)[1]
Damage (1d8-1)[7]

Flora attack: (1d20+1)[21]
Damage (1d4+1)[5]

Figure Galen ends up just south of Swan (or south of Cecil if she gets out of the way) and Flora would be between Cecil and Usnar, which also cuts off the escape of some thieves.

[Lord Ruby34]

Tzaras, your lunging slashes are not as effective as Usnar's was. You find that your enemies are able to doge back just far enough to avoid the bite of your blade.

Farxant, you crawl into a corner lit less well than most by the witchlight and hide yourself. You think you've found a place you can remain unseen in the chaos . . . so long as you stay still.

Marlowe, you take a few steps forward towards the nearest enemy, and swing your bone club in a long arc that connects with his kneecap. You feel the joint give under your weapon, and the figure collapses before you. A second blow smashes through the mask, and breaks the thief's skull. The stolen food they carried falls to the ground next to them.

Akesh, it seems some people are listening to you, as you notice Lenit and Anak join you at the mouth of the southern tunnel.

Meriam, the young woman gives a startled nod, and falls in next to you. It seems she's going where you're going, at least for the next few moments.

Zach, you are quickly reminded that violence is not your forte. Your slashes are wild, half aimed things, easily avoided.

Cecil, your words are headed. The young woman on the floor crawls away, opening a place for the woman with the rope to join you. She appears terrified, but begins wrapping a length of rope around the bars, trying to tie one end of the gate to the broken catch.

Cecil and Galen. You see something out of a nightmare. Loping towards gate on twisted and stunted limbs swarm snarling gibbering things that barely resemble men; inbred atrocities of human flesh swathed in the rotting cerements of the tomb. Their bloodthirsty howls echo throughout the haunted gloom as they descend upon you - mad with ravenous fury. The young woman was was tying the gate in place screams, and her hands shake as she tries to finish.

Flora, you charge from your position into combat. Your attack takes the thief totally by surprise. You miss the neck as the thief finishes shoving Swan to the ground, and stab directly through the back of the skull instead. Your blade comes out from the thief's eye, and the person is dead before their body hits the ground. ((Critical hit! Hit to the eye for +1d4 damage))

After seeing multiple of their companions fall, the thieves break. They sprint to the northwest, and the final thief steps forward towards Zacharias while placing a lantern on the ground. The light reveals a tunnel in the northwest corner, previously hidden in the shifting shadows of the witchlight. The surviving thieves make for the hidden entrance. ((Opportunity attacks happen here, if taken. They have been pre-rolled, though I likely won't do that again. You can check the die roll thread for results.))

Zacharias, the broadchested man steps up to you, sword still sheathed. You see him move for your weapon, and you react as fast as you ever have before, trying to pull the blade away, but the big man is faster still. Your dagger is in his hand. "Brave" he says, and looks around at the corpses of the fallen thieves. "Take the tunnel." His voice booms, filling the tomb with a sound like rumbling thunder. You have a feeling the invitation was not given to Zacharias alone.

Flora, Usnar. You get only glimpses of what Cecil and Galen see, but you can see pallid hands raise crude weapons as they move towards the defenders of the gate.

The creatures arrive, howling with an unnatural fury. Cecil and Galen, you can see clearly that there are eight of them, though the gate is only wide enough for four to stand abreast. Cecil is the first target they see as he tries to hold the gate closed with the wooden staff. However, the creatures have no interest in trying to test the strength of your rope, or the strength of your arms. Armed with crude bone daggers and filthy, clawed hands they stab at you through the bars.

The first blow takes Cecil through the arm. The dagger drives deep into the elf's forearm and drags him forward, where another takes the opportunity to grab his face and smash it against the gate itself with enough force to shatter Cecil's elven skull. Cecil's body falls limp in front of the gate, the staff falling from limp fingers to clatter hopelessly on the ground. ((Cecil is slain))

Another monster makes for Galen. The retired guardsman makes to swing through the bars with his own blade, but at that exact moment the old injury flares up, twisting him in pain and causing him to fall into the gate, where the monster stabs him through the throat with a dagger made of bone, adding a second corpse to the pile near the gate. ((Galen is slain))

Karen, too, is struck through the arm, though she manages to jerk back her hand back fast enough that she's merely left with a brutal wound through her arm. She continues to scream. ((Karen takes 2 damage. 2 HP remaining))

With most of it's defender's slain, the gate does not look like it will stand for much longer, if at all. However, it appears the leader of the thieves has made you an offer. What do you do?

Spoiler: Cavir

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Apologies that the first round of real attacks ended up doubling up into your PC's. Unfortunate rolls, too.

[Metastachydium]

Usnar looks back and forth. He's a money man. A betting man. He goes through the costs and benefits, projected as they are, in but an instant. He insulted the thieves. He killed one. He bragged about it. They disarmed the usurer. But they are here to live. Lost, what, three? Four? Killed none. Those past the gate ar in this for the kill. The meathead and the elf learned that the hard way. He grabs the oilcloth bundle, his bundle from the girl he skewered and springs to his feet, bolting for the corner with the lantern, trying to let the dagger hang low, unthreatening. C'mon, sweetwine! he calls back to Flora over the shoulder. Pick up the pace; that's a bad spot!

Spoiler: OOC

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Usnar gathers up his **** and runs for the NE tunnel at full speed.

♣

Lanit peeks past the corner as the screaming begins – just in time to see Cecil hit the ground, face bashed in and Galen, the one she thought was their chance to fight their way out, the one the thieves were worried about fall, lifeless. Anak's staff, wasted. The bald halfwit darting for the thieves, heeding their call. Is that foolish? Smart? She has no time to think that through. Anak could tell, perhaps. She's clever and calm. But Anak doesn't see what she sees. She shouldn't, either.

Lanit purses her lips in frustration, but the cloud passes, and a decision takes shape. It's too far away, the northern passage, with the bodies and the confused people, across the chamber. They'd have to pass in plain view of the gate. Marlowe! Come in here, please! Quick! she calls out to the one friendly face one last time before motioning to Akesh to get moving and turning around herself. What is it? Anak asks quietly, but firmly. She's very pale, or so it seems to Lanit. But her calm is not yet broken. The healthy twin merely shakes her head as she grabs Anak by the shoulder and begins pushing her further south. Death. she says, her voice hollow. It's now or that; let's go.

Spoiler: OOC

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The elves go south! They take the Emost one or the one right next to it to try and reduce the chances of getting spotted from inside the chamber and they'll try to drive Akesh before them.

[Lord Ruby34]

The group watches Karen run away screaming from the creatures, headed northeast at speed. Two of the creatures lunge for her through the bars, scoring another long and nasty cut to the back of her thigh. ((Karen -1 HP, 1 HP remaining.))

Galen's blade has fallen through the bars, and is under the feet of the churning mass of pallid man-things.

Near the gate, there's a soft, low keening coming from behind the monsters, just at the edge of hearing. It's beautiful, a haunting song, that almost makes you want to stop and listen.

Spoiler: OOC

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Remember that if Farxant and Tzaras want to flee, they still need to spend an action standing.

It's still the PC's turn.

[Gyrfalcon]

Akesh

Akesh's nerve fails again at the sight of the horrors and the sound of the otherworldly singing in the distance, and he flees into the tunnels to the south as soon as the elves arrive, following their lead into the eastern of the branches.

Miriam

Miriam follows the lead of the otheres, drawing along the woman who had been at the eastern gate with her.

Zacharias

Unarmed and stripped of most of his worldly possessions, the halfling heaves a sigh, then holds out his hand to the huge man. "Alright, I'll take you up on your offer. Do you mind handing my dagger back? I may only be a mouthful, but I'd prefer to make those bastards choke on steel instead of me."

Dagger or not, he'll make for the northeast tunnel with the theives rather then stay in the arrival chamber with the coming horrors.

[Cavir]

Flora's wall of people between her and the semi-closed gate vanishes. Her eyes dart around. Some people headed northeast, some south. She had no idea what was to the south. She also didn't know what was to the northeast, but the thieves had come from there and were headed back that way which told her there was much less likely to be murderous creatures that way. She grabs the oil-cloth bundle(s?) at her feet then scurries off to the thieves' tunnel, stiletto at the ready for any who grab at her or her belongings.

Spoiler: OOC

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Grabbing any other dropped supplies along the way too?