[3.5] Amnesia Game: Catalyst And Seed IC

Arivia

This is the in-character thread for the 3.5 Dungeons and Dragons game, Catalyst And Seed aka The Amnesia Thing.



Table Rules:

-I don't care how you roll, where you roll, or why you're rolling. But I trust you to do it fairly.
-Standard posting rule: at least once every weekday. If you don't show up inside of 24 hours for a combat round, I will post for you. If you're going to be away for a significant period of time, please inform us and give another player the authority to act for you.
-The OOC thread is http://forums.penny-arcade.com/showthread.php?t=94951
-Remember, if you'd need to roll a die for it in general in D&D, just roll an unmodified d20.

Characters:

No peeking. Sheets will be revealed at the close of play.

Arivia

Everything suddenly snaps back into focus - the end of a long and restful sleep. Your bed is soft, the light warm and soothing. There's a cool breeze and you pull up the blankets to cover yourself...and you feel moss?

The dream is shattered, you open your eyes. Your bed is grass, the light vibrant streaks of purple torn through a sky filled with storm clouds, The cool breeze is a drift of dank, thick fog that's impossible to see through. You're holding dirt in your hands, and you notice, almost innocently, that sticking between your index and middle fingers is a thin animal bone. You release the dirt, sliding back a foot, and your back comes to rest against something hard - a slab of jagged, splintered stone. You can hear moans and cries as other awaken near you, and you turn around to look over the stone and the five other people.

Rainfall: To the others, you're a slender womanly thing dressed in a ripped and torn white dress, edged in lace and pearls. The reason you look a thing, not a person, is that you seem to be made of moving branch and root, plant matter curled into a form. It's actually skin, just unusually dark and textured, with small leaves sprouting here and there. One such section of leaves, green at the edges and quickly darkening to nightshade, makes up your hair. Your eyes are similar dark globes, with no iris or pupil.

You're not carrying anything on you.

Interrobang: You look to be a tall man, with a thick full black beard and short-cropped military hair. Unusually despite your sleep in the dirt, your pallor is clean and well-tanned, full of life. You're wearing what was once studded leather armor with a red tabard now torn to shreds; your armor is cracked, fraying at the edges and isn't good for much.

You're laying on something heavy. Pulling it out, it's a greatsword, edged in dried blood and caked in dirt. The metal itself is not rusted, but a little pitted.

Laos: You, sir, are well-muscled, with a neat crop of blonde hair and a clean-shaven face. Picking yourself up, you can feel the movement of wrinkles at the edges of your eyes, and the old ache of a broken nose. Your garb was once a shirt of fine chainmail, but as you move the blackened metal splits and falls off you. Underneath is a plain farmer's shirt and worn leather pants.

Clutched in one of your hands is a symbol made of gold, a wrought sun bearing three eyes. It fits your fingers well as they slide into old wear marks. It feels...familiar?

Kuhlmeye: You're overtly muscled, certainly the most of anyone here. You have long red hair, a hawk's nose, and your mouth is ringed by laugh lines. Your bulk aches from inaction but warms up well; a good thing, else you'd have trouble carrying the thick bulwark of breastplate on your front. Underneath that is a blood-stained cotton shirt and dark leather pants.

Before you awaken, you remember something else...a woman, talking to you, about vines? Something about the House of Roses? You are carrying nothing.

Pygmalion: You're almost too thin for words, a slender snake of a man. You're stripped at the waist, wearing black silk pants; an appearance that matches your bald head and lack of eyebrows. Your mouth is thin, and your natural instinct is to keep it shut.

With your tongue, you can feel very sharp incisors - you almost pierce your tongue by accident. A short distance away from you in the grass is a dagger that wavers and shimmers in the stormlight; one of your pockets contains a tiny vial of a dark purple liquid and a sprig of an unknown dried herb, mostly stalk.

Gabriel: It's hard to see you, for all the ruined, dirty, gray and blue silk. Eventually you emerge, a short Asian woman, with long dark hair tied with an even longer steel-gray scarf. You can feel the pecking of crows at the edges of your eyes, and your long, elegant hands are stained from years of ink.

A pouch at your waist contains several strange things, such as a collection of polished river rocks and a small cube of metal. Opposite it is a sling made out of tanned brown leather. Additionally, behind the wind, you can hear something else - humming?

After taking in the others, you look at the place. You look to be in what might have once been a hilltop meadow, half-ringed by trees, the other side descending down the hill into mist and...gravestones? Scattered here and there throughout the meadow are small saplings, all white-barked. Some of the saplings are torn out of the ground, others splintered, some bow at odd angles. This is likely due to the giant shards of stone scattered around the meadow, the fresh dirt and sharp edges indicating some unnatural occurence. In the center of the meadow, a giant crater has blackened the dirt and made ash; you're all lying or sitting just a foot away from the crater. You can see, sitting in the center of the crater, something metal and shiny, reflecting the unusual sky above. In addition, there's something odd about the trees that ring the meadow.

Let play commence.

Pygmalion

Awakening, I survey my surroundings with darting, nervous motions.
Two large armored men, and one larger still with bloodstains about his person!
Choking back a scream of terror, my eyes light upon a shimmering and wavy dagger in the grass before, and I leap toward it and hold it up, seeing in it the image of my depilatoration. My eyes widen and I crouch and caper, waving the dagger point-first at the larger, bloodstained man.
Intent to kill lest I be killed.
I look to one side and see a slight woman decked in tattered silk. I look into her eyes.
For signs of mercy?
I walk erratically around the meadow, my lanky form leading with the dagger and my intelligent eyes betraying fear and a measure of curiosity.
What am I to do?

Intimidate Attempt (w/knife vs. "kulhmeye") = 7
1d20=7
Sense Motive Attempt (vs. "Gabriel") = 10
1d20=10
Arcana Attempt (vs. crater, trees, etc.) = 10
1d20=10

kuhlmeye

I get up quickly, trying to find my bearings. I do not remember any of this... and who are all these people...?

Looking around, the first thing I notices is a bald man trying to threaten me with a knife. Now who is this, and what does he plan to do with that? And who does he think he is? Knowing my size, and then looking at him, I quickly look around for a bone big enough to function as a weapon, I quickly pick it up and brandish it at the man.

"Who are you, and whats going on here?" I exclaim loudly, trying desperately to get some information.

Search (1d20=16)
Intimidate (1d20=2)

Arivia

Pygmalion: The trees at the edge of the meadow are thick, knotted together with vines, nary a space between them. You could maybe force a blade through, but it's impermeable to physical passage.

kuhlmeye: You don't find a bone, instead grabbing a tree trunk. There's a desperation to the search, your eyes unfocused, your hands busy.

Pygmalion

Running my hand along the tightly knotted trees and vines while keeping the blade erect and pointed at the bloodstained he.
A tree trunk, he is strong. But he seems to be of equal desperation.
I gesture with the hand that holds not the knife, pointing at the bearded man with red tabard and the clean-cut man with ill-used face. I furiously shake my dagger at the red-haired villain with trunk ascendant.
To survive, I will set them one against the other, and mayhaps find an ally.
Spotting a sight, a tree with female form, I inspect it overall.
What danger does this pleasing form belie? A nymph: dryad, meliai?

Bluff (vs. "Interrobang" & "Laos") = 6
1d20=6
Nature (to "Rainfall") = 18
1d20=18

interrobang

With a groan, I stir. My eyes open and I blearily take in my surroundings. A freakishly thin man in dark pants threatens a man with a bloody shirt, who in turn wields a tree trunk - my eyes widen at this display of freakish strength. For some reason, I hold a thin length of bone between two fingers; I examine it, attempting to discern its origin.

I remain silent, slowly beginning to move. As I shift my weight, I feel something rigid beneath me. I roll to the side to reveal the weapon, and close my fingers around its hilt. My grip is slightly awkward, and wielding it feels simultaneously familiar and foreign.

I rise to my feet, the sword held loosely in one hand and the bone in the other, focusing my attention on the others. The tree-thing catches my attention and I stare briefly; what is that?

Nature (to the bone): 1d20=18

LaOs

"Ugh, my nose..."

Stirring, LaOs reaches to feel his nose and notices the strange, thing bone in his right hand. What is this, he wonders. Pushing himself into a sitting position, he notices the symbol in his left hand. Hmm... now this is interesting. Rising, LaOs brushes the remains of the chainmail off his old shirt, trying carefully to keep the symbol hidden, shoving it into his pants.

Staring at the broken pieces of metal that he brushed to the ground, LaOs sighs. "That looked like it was nice... at one time."

Finally noticing that he is not alone, he maneuvers himself so that he can watch the apparent standoff with his back to open space. He watches the armed men intently.

What is this bone? Knowledge (Nature): Bone piece (1d20=7)
This Symbol is... familiar? Knowledge (Religion): Symbol (1d20=16)
Who are those armed men? Spot: "kuhlmeye" & "Pygmalion" (1d20=16)

Arivia

Pygmalion:

Despite the appearance of veins and roots, she lives and breathes, just like you.

Interrobang:

It's an animal bone, some sort of mammal as it's not bird-hollow. Your mind suggests cat or dog, but you don't know any way to tell them apart.

LaOs:

No idea on the bone.
With regards to the symbol, your mind is filled with images of iconography - scythes, moons, and other things. You concentrate, pulling the three-eyed sun out of the midst - Taiia, something in your mind says, and you're filled with warmth, but with an undercurrent of fear.
You can see other people just fine.

Pygmalion

Warily, I walk towards the metal and shiny something in the middle of the crater and go down on one bony knee to look at it. I look up suddenly in panic and wave my knife warningly.
They'll attack me while I am down here!
I look at the piece of bone in my hand, and throw it roughly in the direction of my enemies, hoping to make them duck and give me time to scoop up the metal.
Get back!
I try to pick up the shiny metal something in my hand, and then I caper back to have the trees at my back so I can inspect it further. I keep my dagger at the ready for when they rush me.
What are they waiting for?

Bluff (or "suppressive fire" attack roll) = 10
1d20=10
Arcana attempt (on the metal) = 17
1d20=17

LaOs

Straining to contain a chuckle, LaOs looks once more at the bone in his hand. "I suppose that is as good a use as any for this. No, I think I will not throw you away so casually, however."

Watching the bald one scamper away, LaOs turns to see what else is in their space. He calls out to the large one with the tree trunk, "Ho! You, Red, with the plate. Surely you cannot be frightened by the small bald one. Put down the tree. I would not think any of us would be so eager to fall into our 'beds' again." LaOs casually points down at the earthen 'beds' (graves!...?) he and his companions just rose from.

Where are we, exactly? Spot: The Meadow, Gravestones, etc. (1d20=19)
Don't upset the man with the tree! Diplomacy: Calm down, "kuhlmeye" (1d20=20)

[Edit]
Well, that's what I get for taking a while to type... whoops!

interrobang

It's all so much to take in I don't even know where to begin. After I snap my attention away from the plant-being, I turn it instead to the thin slip of a man, watching him edge down into the adjacent crater. Reflexively, I tighten my grip on my weapon, pocketing the small bone so that I may use both hands.

I glance sidelong at the burly man near me, the one who had hoisted that slab of wood with such disconcerting ease. His question gives me pause; I don't know the answers. In a moment of panic I loosen one hand's grip on my sword and touch it to my face, groping at my features. The beard, the hair, the crease of my brow and the jut of my chin - it all feels new and strange. I try to recall how I used to look, my past appearance, but I can't properly draw forth a mental image, the picture in my mind's eye clouded by miasma.

"I don't know," I reply, and my voice is gruff and stern, bordering on gravelly. I say nothing else, returning my eyes to the thin man.

kuhlmeye

The man with the daggers takes his attention off me and starts shaking it at two of the others standing around us. He looks like a mad man. Perhaps he is trying to say something, but his motions don't make his message clear.

Hearing what the blond haired man had to say, I realized it did make some sense.

"Yes yes, I suppose he is much smaller than me."

Dropping the tree trunk I picked up out of desperation, I now take the time to fully look about the area at the others standing around. Next, I look at myself best I can, but when seeing the blood stained shirt, quickly try to find the source of it. The next look was at the breastplate I was wearing. Now what do we have here... this makes me the best armored person here.

Trying to put the pieces together, I speak up in the silence. "Who are all of you, and can any of you tell me what we are doing here?" I do this not only to gain information about the strangers around me, but to tell what I sound like, as I have only yet yelled at the man with the dagger.

Spot (1d20=11) - This is for the source of the blood on my shirt.

Arivia

Pygmalion:

The large irregular metal object is a razor-sharp fragment of mirror, polished to a sheen yet covered in cracks. There's nothing magical about it, but you're not quite sure where to look for such things.

kuhlmeye:

It's dried, something in the back of your head says probably human, but that's all you can recall.

LaOs:

You don't see much else beyond what's already been noted. This place does feel familiar, although you're not sure how.

LaOs

"It appears I know as much as you, Red. Between your shirt and my nose, and the disarray of the others here, however, we may have done some fighting recently."

Pausing, to obviously look over the strange tree-like creature and the incredibly thin bald man, LaOs continues. "Well, some of us, at least."

interrobang

"Fighting?" I repeat, and take another look around. None of us look particularly battle-ready, save the one that blonde man keeps calling "Red". My lips curl upward into the beginnings of a smirk.

"A mute with a knife, a tree, a crone, a man with disintegrating mail, a giant and myself." I laugh quietly, and shake my head. "It must have been quite the melee."

Pygmalion

A mirror? It's sharp! Another weapon...
Holding the mirror shard in my hand defensively, I look up.
They don't seem to be attacking. Those two are talking.
I lower my shimmering dagger and stand up until I am only slightly hunched over. I start walking toward the red one and the blonde one, trying to look more friendly. I hold up the mirror shard.
Maybe they know something. Or maybe they are conspiring together against me.
I look down the hillside toward the gravestones in the mist. I point down and incline my head.
We can't find out anything more up here. And whatever happened might happen again.

LaOs

Responding to the one with the sword, a smile finds its way onto LaOs's face. "I suppose that could explain why we have found ourselves amongst the gravestones, no?"

Noticing the bald man approach, LaOs turns to Red. "See? You put down the tree and he came scampering back." To the bald one, "So, Scamp, what have you found, and have you relaxed some?"

What is that in your hands, Scamp? Spot: Piece from the crater (1d20=19)

[Edit]
Fix'd broken link and removed the Quote, instead referencing in the text.

Pygmalion

I see Blondie looking over my find. I know that it is a trap, but I decide to speak anyways.
Blondie and Red seem to have allied. It may be better to join them now than have to kill them later. Why do I feel I can kill? That is not important. My situation may call for killing, before I find a way out.
I hold out the mirror shard for Blondie to look at, but I am ready to withdraw my hand if he tries to take it from me. "It is a piece of a mirror," I say, my smile revealing two sharp-looking incisors. "And you can call me-" I look down at the knife and mull several possibilities before announcing: "Sharpe."
It'll do for now.

LaOs

LaOs smiles. So he can speak after all. "Sharpe, Scamp--it all works the same for me. It is strange, your hesitation... but then, I am not sure I am so eager to reveal my name to strangers either."

Holding the pleasant look on his face, LaOs concentrates on his own name. What is my name? Why can I not remember. Does this place have anything to do with it? What about my Symbol. Who is Taiia, anyway? What about the bone? The bone!

"A piece of mirror, you say? What is a piece of mirror doing out here? What about that bone you threw at us? Do you know anything about it--I also awoke with one." LaOs shows Sharpe the bone piece he held when he awoke.

kuhlmeye

"Ah ha! So he speaks too!" I exclaim, hoping that the man does not decide to go crazy again. I didn't know too much at this point, but I knew I did not like a blade pointed at my face, no matter how small.

Listening to the blond haired man speak, and upon the mention of names, I realize that I also do not remember my name. Did I ever have a name? Who was I before I woke up here?

"I also had one of these bones." I walk over to where I stood from and retrieve the bone from the ground and hold it up. "This all seems so strange."

interrobang

I take a few steps closer to Blonde and Red, closing the gap between us, coming to a stop just beside the two. The sense of camaraderie it provides is comforting, and I'm suddenly insatiably curious about whatever the thin man has dug up. Lowering the tip of my sword into the soft dirt, I use it to support me as I lean over and forward, trying to get a look at the mysterious object.

Some kind of mirror? How peculiar. He fetched that out of a practically smoldering crater. Was this strange little shard of glass the cause? My thoughts are interrupted when the thin man smiles, baring those fangs. I feel my fingers flex, tightening around the hilt of my weapon, but I immediately regain my composure, calming back down again.

"Sharpe?" I'll need a name as well. Hunching slightly at the waist, I angle my head and crane my neck to get a look at myself in the shard's reflective surface. I see a face I do not recognize. "I suppose the rest of you can call me Black."

Pygmalion

Should I reveal what I really think happened? Or should I string them along with a theory that encourages them not to attack me?
"Here is what I think," I start haltingly. "This-" I hold up the mirror shard, "-was in the middle of the crater which we all woke up around."
I walk near the top of the slope and point down. "Look at all the rock pieces, shattered and scattered. All from this:" I kick at the piece of stone we all woke up next to.
"We all had one of these bones in our hands when we woke up," I continue. "Possibly from the same source."
"Put it all together," I conclude. "There was some sort of experiment, involving a mirrored object in the center and some sort of explosion. The question is: What kind of experiment, and who conducted it?"
I look at the rest of the group and intone: "We must be connected somehow. If we are to recover, we should work together."
There, that should be enough to ensure my safety. For now.

Bluff check (vs. everybody) 1d20=17

LaOs

LaOs notices the bearded man stiffen when Sharpe smiles, causing him to finally notice the thin man's sharp teeth. A fitting name indeed, Sharpe. But, what is with those teeth? Watching the man with the beard inspect himself in the mirror piece, LaOs snaps back to reality. I would laugh--what man does not know the look of his own face?--but I, too, would have to ask someone else. What has happened to me?

Shaking his head slighly, LaOs turns to Red. "So you also had a bone? I wonder, did we all have bones pieces?"

What is up with Sharpe's teeth? Knowledge (Nature/Religion): Sharpe's Teeth (1d20=6)
(Apparently I do not know much about Nature. lol)

[Edit]
Fix'd for hair colour references.

interrobang

I slide one hand into the pocket where I'd placed the bone and remove it, holding the fragile object in my palm. Where are you from? Holding the thing between my index finger and thumb, I hold it up for the others in my vicinity to see. "I also had one. I believe it is safe to assume that all of us do."

Lowering my hand, I tuck the bone back into my pocket for now, leaning on my sword and mulling over my circumstances. Sharpe's theory of an experiment is a sound one, but whether or not that's because we are simply all so confused is yet to be seen. "Perhaps a ritual."

I furrow my brow. "No, doubtful it was a ritual. Save for him," I say, nodding at Sharpe, "And her," I continue, nodding at the still-silent woman just a short distance away, "None of us look the type for such things."

Pygmalion

I used the word experiment to deliberately keep attention away from ritual! No matter, he has no patience.
I return to my silence after my long speech, hoping to encourage non-violent introspection. I look at the other people standing by, and hope that they are similarly inclined.
I walk to the edge of the slope and look down, finding no more clues around the crater. I look for movement in the mist. Soon I will go down there.
And I do not want to get stabbed in the back from both sides.

Rainfall

With a whisper of leaves, I stir and smile at the antics of the self-named 'Sharpe.' Watching takes no effort, and I have no impulse to rush into the fuss that the others are creating. Best to be patient.

I circle the small meadow that we have all found ourselves in, brushing my fingers against the wall of plants that surround us. My eyes move, indiscernable in their blankness as they scan the ground, distracted by the thoughts coursing through my mind. What did you see? How did these saplings suffer so?

Finally, I stride towards the others, tossing my bone into the grass in front of me as I look about the mist.
"Mirrors, bones, broken stones and uprooted trees. Whatever happened here was unnatural, to say the least."

Nature(or whatever it takes to discern information from the trees) - d20=20
Spot(Looking around) - d20=2
Insight(for Sharpe) - d20=10

Gabriel_Pitt

She awoke, swimming free of a silken sargasso. There were three things that she was initially aware of - the bone she held in one hand, the dirt clenched in the other, and the humming that lurked just below the threshold of her hearing.

Fascinated by the things in her hands, she held the bone up before her eyes, turning it over and examining the ivory length. Her attention then shifted to her other hand, and she pressed her hand to her face, taking a deep breath, smelling the soil as she extended her tongue, pressing the tip of it into the dirt. She let it fall from her hand, leaning back and feeling rough stone behind her. She turned, whistling in tune with the humming, wrapping her arms around the splintered stone behind her and pressing herself against it, taking slow, deep breaths, ignoring the others for the moment as she reorientated herself to the world.

She relaxed her fingers, letting the bone and the soil drop. As she stood, she felt a weight tugging at her waist, and discovered a pouch hanging there. Inside were a pile of smooth stones, and a metal cube. The latter she withdrew, turning it over in her hands before returning it to the pouch, taking out a few of the stones.

Finally, she turned her attention outward to the others, who had seemed likewise inclined to ignore her presence. "I know where I stand. That is all."

Knowledge (applicable) to the bone. 3 + modifiers
Take a closer look at the cube.
Was it delicious dirt?

LaOs

LaOs says nothing as Sharpe muses over the supposed 'experiment' that caused such destruction to the area. Blackbeard's suggestion of a possible ritual sends chills through LaOs, but he tries to conceal his reaction.

A ritual? Yes, the bald Sharpe could have something to do with one--who knows what powers may be tied to that dagger of his--but what about me? Taiia... Am I involved? Why do I know that name? Thinking carefully about the symbol he awoke with, but careful not to indicate its presence, LaOs hardly notices that the two silent people have joined the conversation.

Waiting until the newcomers have their say, LaOs speaks again. "While I am not so certain that we should jump to conclusions regarding experiments or rituals, I do agree that this destruction does not seem natural." He pauses, looking around the area, at the trees, the mist below the hill, and the sky above. "As well, I do think that we may be connected somehow and stand a better chance of recovering our memories..." Our minds? "... if we work together."

Stepping back from the group, LaOs points to the mist, the damaged saplings, and the stormy sky above. "Does it seem to you that we are safe here?"

Could Sharpe be right? Sense Motive: Sharpe's Theory (1d20=19)
(Basically, allowing me to be as sceptical as I want. :P)
What is a Ritual? Could my Symbol be involved? Knowledge (Arcana/Religion): Rituals (1d20=15)
What dangers lie in that storm? Survival: The Storm (1d20=12)

Arivia

Rainfall:

There's something odd about the trees - they're covered in patches of uneven growth, darkened blight broken by new leaf buds.
Your trained eyes spot nothing.

Gabriel:

It's from the leg of a cat.
The cube is made of steel, exactly an inch long on each side.
The dirt is just dirt, although the ash tastes terrible.

LaOs:

A ritual is a large magical working to achieve some great effect. You would never use your precious holy symbol in such a way.
The storm is ominous but not immediate. You cannot hear thunder or hail, but there is mist, rain, and wind.

Pygmalion

I snort at Blondie's remarks, and laugh darkly. "Our memories can't have been that important, or we wouldn't have lost them so easily."
And advantage will come to those who remember first.
I look over at the tree woman, her boughs arranged in anthropomorphic manner.
I cannot assume that she is the strange one.
Hearing from behind me the voice of the silken woman, I turn and look her up and down. "You stand here."
This is a precarious place. Now to convince them to move on...
I look at the whole group, who seem to have tentatively thrown their lot in with me. "We should leave this place," I say, allowing a hint of panic into my voice. "Whether the experiment was a success or a failure, the experimenter may soon return!"
I start walking down the slope toward the graveyard, leading with my knife. "We can hide in the mist...while we seek better shelter."
I must introduce more variables to confuse and distract them from killing me.

LaOs

LaOs finds that Sharpe's snort and laughter hurts and makes his voice harder than it had been. "For one who seems so concerned with his safety, you are eager to walk alone into the mists." The words are spoken to the bald man's back, but LaOs does not appear to care.

Instead, he turns to the others. "The storm will likely wait a while yet, but I do not think I want to be caught when it comes. If we are to enter the mist, we should do so together." Turning to walk to the edge of the hill, LaOs waits. "Will you come?"

He speaks with his back to his companions. LaOs watches Sharpe make his way down the hill toward the mist and gravestones. Then, his eyes look past the thin man, scouring the obscuring fog. LaOs concentrates, listening to hear what the world below can tell him.

What is out there, hiding in the fog? Spot: The Mist/Gravestones (1d20=9)
Perhaps I can hear what I cannot see? Listen: The Mist/Gravestones (1d20=7)
(I guess I can't have awesome rolls all the time, eh?)

Pygmalion

Coward.
I continue slowly walking down the slope, jerkily looking around and listening intently as I approach the fog.

Spot attempt = 3
1d20=3
Listen attempt = 20!
1d20=20

Arivia

The mist parts as you move through it, to a degree. The thick fog bank choking the graveyard gives you perhaps 10 feet of visibility around you, and if the shaven, fanged man goes any further he will pass from the view of everyone at the hilltop.

Rainfall:

You can see a figure in the fog, something draped in robes. It glides a foot above the ground then seems to step into a...windowpane? and disappears.

Pygmalion:

From down the hill, you can hear a heavy, persistent thudding - footsteps perhaps? It's getting slightly louder.

Pygmalion

I pause at the edge of vision and gesture with annoyance for the others to follow. I hear a persistent heavy thudding, increasing in volume.
It's not my heart.
My grip tightens on my knife, and I look around at the mist for the source of this new terror.
If it attacks me, I will kill without mercy.

interrobang

After a few moments of hesitation, I finally fall into step behind Sharpe. I am nervous, and anxious, but the man makes an excellent point in regards to the return of whatever caused this destruction to begin with. None of us want to be here when it returns.

I follow, not too closely but not too distantly, and when the thin man pauses I stop as well, no more than five feet away from the man with the knife. "What is it?" His sudden change in behavior unnerves me, and I tighten my grip on my weapon. I strain my ears and eyes.

Spot - 1d20 = 6
Listen - 1d20 = 3

Pygmalion

"I hear something. Sounds like footsteps. Coming closer," I say to the tabard man.
At least one is brave enough to follow. This one might be useful.
"My name is Victor Sharpe. What shall I call you?" I continue, continuing to watch the mist. I am glad to have an armed ally, but my grip does not loosen nor does my tension dispel.
A strong name is a first step to projecting a strong position.

LaOs

A possible foe? While he is not sure of the bald man's motives, LaOs also has little reason to doubt him. Any manner of beasts could be hiding in those mists. LaOs reaches into his pocket and clutches his symbol. A strange sense of calm washes over him, but he has no time to reflect on it. He quickly makes his way down the hill to join the two men by the mist, looking franticly for something dangerous to wield. LaOs calls out loudly while descending the hill. "No matter what it may be, we shall be ready!"

There has got to be something I can use in battle. Search: Any Weapon (1d20=4)
(Or not? hahaha)

interrobang

I loft a brow at Sharpe's new addition to his moniker. A moment ago you were simply Sharpe. Where did Victor come from, you strange fellow? "Black will suffice. It may have been my surname once, for all I know." Shaking my head, I take a few more shuffling steps down the hill, closer to the thin man.

LaOs' outburst makes me physically wince - was it absolutely necessary to yell? But I say nothing, simply tightening my grip and waiting for whatever sort of abomination was shambling towards us.

Pygmalion

"Who is we?" I say, looking the coward over.
At least he seems tough. Maybe he has a hidden talent.
My incisors appear for a moment as I consider, then I hand him the large shard of glass. "This should do for now. It might work once or twice before we're overrun."
I needed a free hand anyways. And he might injure himself.
My fanged smile takes on a disturbing cast as I turn back to the mist. I wait for a moment to see who else will join me.

Arivia

Interrobang:

You hear and see nothing.

LaOs:

You could find a small chunk of stone to throw, or use part of a broken tree-trunk as a club.