Turn 3 has begun, and the first situation spoiler has already ballooned to over 40,000 characters, so I'm starting a new one here, with a bit of overflow:
Turn 2 (cont.)
Ochita:
Action 3, Go to the left while trying to think "What could affect my magic like this?"
(Luck roll: 6, succeeded)
You and most of the other elves from your ship group together and start walking toward the fiery glow to the left, though it's about a mile or two away so it may take some time.
After what seems like a good ten minutes of walking, you notice a crude sign up ahead and a phlegm-filled cackle echo from a cave beside it. When you and your group come close enough to read it, you find a crude, child-like scribble in what appears to be blood which vaguely resembles elvish. Despite its crudeness, however, its message is clear:
"Welcome to HELL!!!"
The cackling grows louder as you finish reading it, and you turn toward the cave. It is dark and ominous, though you grab someone's torch anyway and say, "I'm going in." The others call you foolhardy and the person you took the torch from says it's a waste of a torch, though no one stops you from going in. Ten feet in, you come upon a stone slab resembling a primitive table with an elf sitting across it, horridly emaciated, smeared with dirt and grime everywhere, and almost all his hair pulled from his scalp and unshaven beard violently, leaving clear scars and long, wispy gray whiskers hanging from his face and scalp. His face is contorted into a madness so deep and profound that he seems alive no longer, rather a thoughtless thing staring blankly into the distance with unseeing eyes. It seems to take all his will just to continue cackling.
"Yoouuuu... why, have yooouuu coommee here?"
His voice fluctuates from high to low seemingly randomly, strained with the pull of a thousand years of being just on the edge of death, yet being unable to take that final plunge. You answer, a bit unsettled,
"We were shipwrecked, we've come to prevent this taint from spreading this far-"
You are interrupted by the elf's mad cackling, and after several moments he replies,
"A FOOOOL's errand, yoooouuuu doooo... Noooothing, can stoooop... the goooooods..."
You consider what he just said a moment, then ask,
"Wait, the gods? You mean the Archdemons the cultists summoned? Those aren't even-"
Again, you are interrupted by an uproar of mad cackling.
"Thooooose... Archdemons as yooooouuu call them... are mere INSECTS, toooo the full powers which drive this... taint, as you call it."
You furrow your brow. This elf is obviously insane from hunger, dehydration, and Seer knows what else.
"Well, whatever it is you know, you can probably tell it to us better after some food and drink... you look like you haven't had either in a long time..."
This earns you the most powerful cackling session yet, and you're actually quite surprised at the force of it.
"Yoooouuu... cannooot... imagine..."
He says as he attempts to pull himself up on stick-thin arms, though fails and falls right back down. You walk around the table and assist him up, putting his arm around your back and near dragging him out of the cave, where your group watches the ordeal with interest. Food and water are soon brought, which the elf accepts greedily. When he is finished, he has eaten nearly a full day and a half's worth of rations and an entire canteen of water, and already looks noticeably more lively. You once again put his arm across your back and help him forward, though now that he has had food manages to take six shaky steps before collapsing on you.
As you walk, he says,
"Soooo... you are... a... what were they called again... mystics?" He makes a small chuckle. "Yes... that's right... and you've used your powers... quite recently... and they failed... quite humorously, if I do say so myself..."
You mull over what he said for a moment, then ask,
"Wait, were you following us?"
"No... I... have been... cursed... by those damned demons... I... seee... no, feel, in a way... you can not imagine... I can feel... sense... the bastard energies... coursing through this realm... It... allows me... to see much farther then you... and without the same... limitations..."
"Do you know anything about these energies?" Now your interest was piqued.
"I have sensed... patterns... this land is full of them... patterns which shape... patterns which change... patterns to maintain... it is... the Bastard God's way... of affecting his will... on this land..."
"The Bastard God?"
"These patterns... are not... cannot... be random... to many times... It has seemed... as if an intelligent hand... is guiding these patterns... I don't know... if it really is intelligent... but whatever it is... it is... guiding...
These patterns... are why your magic... and the magic... of your friends... does not work here... you attempt... to go against them... you assume... they follow laws... they not only do not adhere to... but destroy... by their own principle..."
You think this over, your brow furrowed, then ask,
"How have you survived so long? It must've been at least a year since the stories arrived at the colonies on Humvar..."
"This sense... is not the only thing... the demons cursed me with... they... have bound me... to this life... they have given me... the curse... of immortality..."
You remember his earlier remark, and suddenly have a new found pity and respect for this elf. You try to think of another question, though it takes awhile before you ask,
"Is it possible to use this ambient energy, twist it to suit your own needs, like the energy of the soul?"
"It is...possible... but these patterns... are not simple... like those found... in the old world... they take... hundreds of years... even eons... to complete... are almost infinitely complex... they rely on each other... twisting one... changes another... only a true god... could even attempt... to fully understand it..."
"Though you don't have to know how every channel of the soul twists to be able to use it."
"These patterns... are no where near... as simple... nor static... as those of the soul... by simply walking... you are potentially destroying... patterns which took eons to create."
"But this taint has only been around for a year or two, how do you know these patterns take eons, or even hundreds of years?"
"It may... have been... a few years out there... but as I said... these patterns... change... these patterns... shape... not only matter... but the very laws around us... here, it has been... many, many years..."
Turn 3:
Don Onil (Frelock):
Action 1, Gather up the horses, head back to my men, pick out 3 others to help scout, and pack provisions/necessities for a day or two scouting venture.
(Roll: 3)
You reign up the horses and walk them over to your men, though they often stop to huff and stamp their foot nervously at some unknown cue. When you reach them, you pick three of your most trust worth surviving men (or, in other words, you pick randomly from those still on their feet) and give them a brief briefing and though they are not afraid to show their displeasure at this assignment, they agree to follow their orders.
After a heated argument with a stingy-looking man counting crates of food, he finally relents to give you a few chunks of meat from an unknown animal some hunter had managed to either kill or find dead somewhere, which seems to squirm rather sickeningly whenever it's touched. He flat-out refuses to give you any of the precious little water they have, though you manage to steal three full waterskins while he isn't looking.
Action 2, Start a map with a detailed drawing of the camp area.
(Roll: 5)
You had had the presence of mind to grab a pen and parchment from your belongings while back at your men's section of the camp, though you couldn't find any ink and your pen is out. You make to turn to the pile of miscellaneous crates not too far away when your eye catches on the fleshy sack from which the stockpile manager gave you your unidentifiable rations. You notice that it's dripping blood runny red, despite the fact that it's probably been there for at least an hour or two. An idea comes to you, though at first you find it repulsive... but then again, you doubt any of the glass vials which ink is stored in survived the shipwrecks...
You decide to first draw a map of the surrounding area and head for the highest point of the peninsula, which is rather high up. The path is treacherous and for a few stretches you are forced to walk on foot with the horse behind, but when you reach the top you find quite an amazing sight indeed. You find yourself at the top of a massive cliff stretching farther downward and father mainland then your eyes can see. You see the gaping abyss which had claimed so many of your ships, men, and horses about a thousand feet to the left, its roaring gush suddenly becoming quite prominent when you peek your head above the cliff.
After gaping at the sheer size of the feature for a minute or two, you take out your parchment and pen and turn around, taking a minute to look out over the landscape before you. You then realize that it is very dark out, barely light enough to make out the basic contours of the land, but you decide that any map is better then no map and so put your rather rusty drawing skills to use. After an hour, you have a crude but functional map of the area around the camp.
Action 3, Go back to camp and look around for a spyglass.
(Roll: 1)
You stand up from your perch high atop the mountains and take a nice, long stretch, you've been kneeling for an hour or two now. You suddenly notice a peculiar light burning on a large portion of your lower left leg and bend down to look at it. You peel back your pants and to your horror find a fluffy white mold growing on nearly half of your lower back leg, the flesh around it an unhealthy tangle of purple and green. You violently brush at it with your hands and soon find your hand burning with the same itch as your leg, though you see no visible mold upon it yet. You run down to your horse, deciding it more important to get to potential help then worry about infecting the horse, and charge down the mountainside to tell your men. Unfortunately, all you find of them and their horses are corpses, the same fluffy mold currently infecting your leg slowly creeping out of their mouth. You decide you were quite lucky that your leg was the only part of you which was infected, and rush toward camp as fast as your horse can take you, which doesn't take long.
Jessup Atel (Dwarmin):
Action 1, Okay, lets force back whatever creatures are close, then form a defensive circle, every man with his back to the other. Men with long weapons like spears and pikes in front, with short range weapons like axes and swords gaurding their flanks-those with bows standing behind, holding fire until I give the order. Tell my men that anyone who tries to run or shoots out of turn will be killed on the spot for cowardice, and that only by working together do we have a chance. We hold position until we know exactly what is attacking us.
(Roll: 3)
You freeze in fear, and as you slowly turn your head left you feel a cold, hard, thumb-less hand fall on your right shoulder and the black, eyeless skull of some large predator creep over your left, inches from your face. You manage to maintain enough presence of mind to bring your crossbow, which you've been clutching like a baby since you left the camp, up to its face and fire a bolt into its skull almost at point-blank range. The bolt bounces off, thankfully away from you, but it startles the creature enough that it recoils away, releasing its hand from your shoulder. You run straight into the crowd of men drawing their swords, who quickly step aside, and shout, "PHALANX FORMA-" but before you can finish the creature, in a display of almost mind-boggling speed, has torn into your ranks and proceeds to tear right through the armor of two men and cut them to ribbons. The others hack at it with mixed success, it appears to take no notice of the attacks and thus does not retaliate, but also appears to be much less significantly affected by blows which would kill any other creature. The black, armor-like plates which dot its body also do not help. In the time it takes you to load another bolt, the thing has reduced its first two victims to an explosion of blood, gore, shredded metal and cloth spreading over twelve feet from where they once stood and has already chosen a new target, which screams that horrid cry of one about to taste death oh so very painfully as it tears into his flesh with unnatural ease.
Action 2, I shout to my remaining men to encircle the beast and start jabbing at him *between* his armor plates, at hopefully vulnerable joints. I reload my crossbow and aim for an unarmored leg joint. FIGHT ON TO DEATH AND GLORY!
(Roll: 6)
As you finish reloading your crossbow, you shout, as if it weren't already obvious, "BETWEEN THE ARMOR, HACK AND SLASH 'EM, LADS!" You then aim carefully between the plates, being careful not to hit any of the men now surrounding the murderous creature. You fire, piercing one its tendons perfectly, though to no noticeable effect. You notice that it only goes for one or two at a time, ignoring all others even as they thrust their swords right into its innards. Though it's frighteningly efficient at tearing that single target down, you have a sudden inspiration as to how this could be used to your advantage. You sling your crossbow across your back and take out your sword, weaving through the frenzy of swords surrounding the creature and climb up onto the creature's back. You make sure you have a good grip and plunge your sword into the back of its neck, to little immediate effect. You take your sword with both hands and begin pulling it through the things flesh (which is surprisingly tough) and slowly cut through its neck. The thing seems to take no notice as it continues to tear your men apart one at a time, until you finally manage to sever the things head entirely. Even with its head gone, the thing still continues to slash at the air, though your men now easily avoid its blind strikes. It takes a full ten minutes (not that you can tell) before you and your men manage to tear it apart, bit by bloody bit, and even when it is little more then a pile of disembodied limbs they still continue to trash around. You loose a cry of victory, though your men see only the horrifying sights of the fallen, good men that had not fifteen minutes ago walked among them as friends and companions, now reduced to a sickening mess of blood, gore, and fleshy ribbons.
Oh, and it's become even more impossible to see... If the day in this land was no brighter then twilight in the old world, you wonder just how dark it can get at night?
Action 3, I take a headcount of how many people I have left, uninjured, ran away and those that are better mercy killed. Divide and bury the chunks of that creature so they don't like, reform or something-of course, if we find anything nice and intact, like a claw or armor plate that can be used in equipment, take those with us. I'll take the creatures skull as my trophy. Assume I always reload my crossbow when im out of combat, and do so now. I guess we can try and follow our footprints back to the camp...I can use my foresting skill here to find our tracks. IF we find our camp, make sure to walk in with weapons sheathed and a shouted prewarning, so we don't get attacked by our own men.
(Roll: 4)
You order the men to begin burying the creature while keeping an eye out for intact plates and claws which can be removed and used in equipment. They take the distraction from the grisly fate of the fallen and find, not to their surprise, that not a single plate nor claw had been damaged by their swords. The task of removing the plates is not hard, though it takes five men to restrain just one of the arms long enough to remove the hand and a few plates which protect the forearm. You take the skull as your own, well over twice the size of your head and snapping at you vainly.
Much to your surprise, all of the men fought courageously and you can find no footprints leading away from the battle-sight, though that didn't keep the creature from claiming ten men. You finally take a good look at the fallen. If you didn't know better, you'd say they all died from being blown up like balloons until they popped, and you feel a bit of a sickening lurch as you notice a still-intact eyeball looking up at you by your feet. You quickly turn away, put down your trophy and begin helping the other men gather what they can from the creature then bury the fleshy remains in the ground, which is done with swords in the absence of proper digging tools. When the corpse is at last de-skinned and every man is carrying their share of the spoils (including you and your skull) you search around for the footprints you left on the way here... when you suddenly realize that there are no footprints anywhere. The ground is too hard.
You think you remember the direction back to camp, though it would likely be easy to get lost in the growing darkness. You could find some place nearby (or here) to curl up under and wait for light, or follow your intuition and hope for the best.
Eisthin (Wolfchild):
Action 1, Gather up the pieces of the "creature" and cart it back to "camp", while doing this i also try to gain a semblance of control over the magic i once had
(Roll: 4)
You consider attempting to relearn how to do magic while taking this meat back, though it would take concentration, the kind of concentration that would leave you vulnerable to ambush. You decide it's not the best idea out here.
You're 'lucky' enough to find a large, hollow, membranous organ which had managed to avoid total destruction in the battle, and begin using it as a sack to hold the rest of the flesh, organs and torn black plates in. It is not long until it's full and almost too heavy to carry back with bloody, dripping gore, and by the looks of things it seems you've barely dented the mess the two creatures made. You sling the makeshift sack over your shoulder and head back. You ignore the looks of disgust and, after questioning a few soldiers, manage to find the food pile and deposit the sack there. You mull over whether or not you should go back and collect more, maybe take some more people to help you carry it.
Action 2, Decide that directing them where to go will do, as i can't risk my beast waking up now that we have a source of food, center my thoughts and try to bind the beast fully once more
(Roll: 3)
Once again, you find a secluded area, though this time closer to the camp, and meditate. You release the boundaries of the mind and immediately form them once again as your mind is assailed by a maddening amount of information. You furrow your brow, then remember the tingling in your spine, which you've learned to block out. You try to focus on this once again, though you've never been trained to focus on one particular thing very hard, rather to focus more on the whole. It is difficult, but you manage to sense once again the chaos of this land's ambient energies. As you follow this energy flowing through your body, you notice a connection you had never until now realized was there. You had seen it, but you always passed over it, thinking it trivial. But now that the energies flowing down this pathway within you were stronger, you realize it's significance. It appears to be the beast's source of power, like another soul within you but feeding from an ambient energy flow instead of the soul's infinite wells. You attempt to block it off, though the power flowing through it acts bizarrely, and you cannot close it fully. You can, however, block it partially, which you decide may be useful later.
Action 3, Report to whoever is in charge, inform them about the hunt, and about my condition and what i have been doing to control it, also if anyone is willing, enter a sparing match to practice my use of the spear
(Roll: 2)
You head back to the crude grouping of groups of people which has begun to be called 'camp.' It doesn't take you long to find the 'command tent' (a flagpole stuck into the ground somewhere near the camp's center) and inform the officer-turned-commander of your condition. Unfortunately, his first wife, his second and third sons, and his first (and only) daughter were all killed by a single werewolf which had plagued their village for years. The encounter ends with you being run out of camp by him and nearly dying when a giant mouth erupts from the ground and almost swallows you whole. You decide it best not to mention your ailment to anyone else.
You then turn to a soldier counting a crate's contents and tell him of the kill and how to find it. He nods at you and says that he'll inform the commander after sending a few men out.
Nevyn Fenrok (Nevyn):
Action 1, Try to work out where I am, then try to use my magic once again, this time only to heal myself
(Magic instability roll: 82)
You once again attempt to flood your body with magical energy and though you feel a strange new itch arise as you do so, you manage to focus your will upon it and begin mending your wounds. It's painful, which is odd since healing yourself has never been painful before, but you push through it and soon you've healed a fair majority of the burns and cuts, thought the bruises refuse to heal. You still feel the pain all over, but at least it's less so now.
Action 2, look for Jessup.
(Roll: 1)
You search and search but cannot find Jessup. Oh well.
Action 3, see if I can find any glass vials, or see if the ones I carry are still intact.
(Roll: 5)
You head over to the ship you arrived on and sort through your extensive collection of trinkets and other belongings. You're in luck, almost all of the glass vials remained intact, which is ironic since they're the one thing most susceptible to breaking in your collection.
Ochita (Ochita):
Action 1, Go outside the cave and just try to flow magic into fire.
(Roll: 6)
After the conversation with the elf, your first thought is of attempt to regain the familiar control of magic which you had taken for granted for so long. You focus your mind as you had been taught and reach into that inner place far within which houses the soul. After doing this, however, you realize that you're doing the exact same thing which had failed you. You have always reached inward for your magic, nearly the entirety of your training has been spent tuning your mind to focus inward, but for this magic you'd have to reach outward. It sounded easy enough, though it was not long until you realize just how difficult it really is. Nevertheless, you continue trying, focusing your mind and exerting all your will upon extending your mental reach outward, a few times falling over from the effort. After the third time today of hitting your face on the ground and making your already bleeding nose worse, you wonder if maybe you're doing it wrong... but, how? You wonder if maybe you could ask a mage or mystic who already knows how to reach outward to teach you, but the only ones you can think of that even might be able to are the pagan tribes of the frigid Humvar Northlands. You doubted they'd spare any of their shamen on this trip...
Action 2, Okay then I follow the men to the camp
(Roll: 5)
You and the other elves on your ship make it the rest of the way to camp uneventfully. Although at first you are attacked by a handful of seemingly half-crazed men, you and their companions manage to restrain them. After these initial hostilities you continue onward, following one of the soldiers to the command tent to report for further orders. He takes one look at you and your group, then wave you away, telling others nearby to bring your food and water to the stockpile and to go ahead and make yourselves comfortable, you'll likely be here awhile. The elf you've been carrying is taken to the 'infirmary' (a bunch of dirty cloth blankets tossed onto the ground with bleeding and dying men strewn across it).
Action 3, Grab a torch and move to one of the shipwreks for loot
(Roll: 3)
After an hour or two of searching, you find a rusty sword, a shiny but broken trinket, a slightly disintegrated book on magic theory and a circle.
(non-action):
You look at the circle curiously and attempt to pick it up, but though you can feel an unidentifiable hardness your fingers always pass in front of it, even as you lay it on your palm. You put it in your pocket before it makes your mind explode.
You skim through the book of magical theory, though you already know everything in it (and could probably put it in better words, too). You decide it's not worth keeping and toss it back on the desk you found it on.
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Topic: Through Hell: Hell world RTD, Turn 4, Malignant Molding Madness! (Read 8820 times)