A leaning monument to the district’s pain,
this four-story courthouse is a crumbling
marvel of cracked plaster and chipped
marble. Once a testament to justice wrought
in shining white stone, the courthouse is
now a crushed dream, its wretched exterior
corrupted by a bloated evil festering within.
Rainwater from a recent downpour mixed
with mulch oozes from ruptures in the
rock like pus bubbling from a wound. The
structure of the eastern wing of the upper
floor buckled long ago, and now the bell tower
tilts perilously, appearing as though it might
careen to the ground below at any moment.
Two massive pillars frame the heavy oak
doors of the court. The pillars’ surfaces run
with cracks and fissures like so many burst
veins. The doors sag in their archway like the
drooping eyes of a madman. The surrounding
structures long ago fell in upon themselves
in supplication to the creaking courthouse.
A salt wind blows up the precipice and
rakes across the tangled weeds of Beldrin’s
Bluff. The whole building groans as the wind
blows, its tortured lamentation fading to a
rasping hiss as the wind ebbs. This croaking
murmur never completely fades away. The sun
sets in the west, the last slivers of twilight
painting the courthouse blood red as darkness
Some players will receive a PM of a vision
Slowly, the vision fades away as you return to
consciousness, but the sight that greets you
is almost as disturbing. The dying gray light
of sunset peeks through slits in the boarded
windows, barely illuminating a yawning
courtroom replete with pews and a towering
bench covered in cobwebs. A shadowed mural
on the domed ceiling above depicts Iomedae
in her shining plate mail of gilded sunlight,
locked in mortal combat with Norgorber,
Calistria, and Asmodeus, holding the trifecta
of evil at bay with her shining sword. You
find yourself in a jurors’ box, and you are
not alone. In the other chairs, figures stir in
the darkness, each emerging from troubling
dreams into a new nightmare.
Jury box is next to southern wall
Maena stands quickly, hefting her mace in her hand, trying to get an impression of the others in the box while they are still stirring. I do not like waking in new places, surrounded by strangers. She begins stepping back toward the southwest corner of the room, her eyes sweeping and looking for danger even as she notices the decor. Indeed, more blasphemous lies about Lord Asmodeus. I'd best be wary.
"Huh? Where am I?"
Kiley looks around, noting the mural on the ceiling and the other people in the room.
"Uh, hello? Are you all okay?"
Please be friendly. Please be friendly. Please be friendly. For the love of the dawn, please be friendly!
Durida wakes up slowly as a timid voice calls out "Uh, hello? Are you all okay?" She sits up, and nothing appears to be aching her. Where am I? she thinks. This is a courthouse... I'm in the jury box, and yes, there is the young lady who called out.
Durida sits up while looking around and answers the young lady. "I think I am a'right. Are ye okay? What is goin' on?"
Durida is a round Dwarven woman with curly black hair. She may look rough in appearance, but those who get to know her quickly learn she is very motherly. Her tone does appear to be matronly towards any who speak to her.
The others you see are;
a large half-orc with a broad,
strong face and tousled mass of wiry dark hair.
His frame is imposing but his shoulders hang
gnome who covers his yellow-tinged skin
(one of many symptoms of his alcoholdamaged
liver) with poor-quality white
makeup that cakes unseemly on his brow
and cheeks. His motley is stretched tight
over his hanging paunch. Several of his
teeth are broken from close encounters
with unamused patrons’ fists.
a very beautiful woman who wears her
weight well. She favors bright red lipstick
and an abundance of rouge to add to her
appeal. She still has a sly smile and a
sultry wink. She wears
a figure-hugging gown of red silk that
accentuates her considerable curves.
A old human gentleman with rosy-cheeks,
dressed in threadbare finery with a broad
handlebar mustache and a frayed top hat.
a tall, sturdy human man in his
fiftieth winter, with the snow of age gracing
his hair. His face is chiseled as if out of
marble, and his narrowed eyes stare down
an impressive nose with a superior air.
A female halfling with pouty lips, auburn hair
she wears in a topknot, her sculpted
physique draws men’s desire even as
her crystal blue eyes and air of
innocence makes them want to
male Drawf of 452 years
|Kirallah the Wanderer|
As her eyes open, they scan the room, her ears working to pick op any out of place sound.
Breathing...other poeple here...a...courthouse?
She stares around herself taking in the scene, her mind trying to piece together how she would end up here.
Confused, a state to which she is quite unaccustomed, she takes in her own stated, noting that she is still clothed with a flicker of relief, she begins cataloging those in the area with her, also beginning to stir as if awakening.
Maena says, curtly, "I do not appear to be injured, though I know not what magic put me here or what other effects it may have had." As she speaks, she lowers her mace, although does not return it to her belt.
How did I get here? Is it the work of a demons I was hunting? Somehow, between the vision and the location, I do not think it so.
Maena stands almost 5'11" tall, with a slender, athletic build like that of a dancer that prevents her for being mistaken for a man. Her features reveal high cheekbones and hawkish nose that indicate a Chelish ancestry and grant her a classic, statuesque beauty. The analogy to a statue is an apt one, however, as there is something cold and hard about her features, and the almost-marble whiteness of her skin and the cold silver shine of her hair and eyes only reinforce that image.
Kiley turns towards Durida and looks a little surprised at seeing a dwarf.
"I-I'm fine, but I have no clue what is going on."
She turns her head to look at the second speaker (Maena). She shrinks a little when her gaze meets Maena's cold eyes.
"I think we're all in th-"
Malgrim's outburst cuts her off, and causes her to flinch.
Description here Battery's going dead.
INT: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 1 = 15 Just in case.
Kiley finishes her sentence much more softly than she began, seeming rather embarrassed by showing her nervousness like she did.
"I think we're all in the same position."
She begins to check her gear, starting with the healer's kit strapped to her thigh.
At least I still have my gear, if not my composure.
Kiley stands at 5 feet 5 inches, although the longspear she carries makes her seem shorter. She's wearing a white tunic, a blue, gold thread trimmed vest, and dark, ankle length breeches. Her boots are not new, but they don't look worn out just yet. Around her waist is a wide belt with a scimitar strapped to it, and her healer's kit is strapped to her left thigh.
"Well, that still doesn't explain why I, or any of the rest of us are here. I've never been on a jury before."
Kiley finishes her check of her gear and quietly slides the well-maintained scimitar back in its scabbard. Her nerves have pretty much vanished now that the shock of waking up in a place she didn't was wearing off. She begins putting on the leather armor that was tied in her backpack until a minute ago. As she does so she asks a question to those who seem to be the jurors.
"What happened to man on trial?"
|Kirallah the Wanderer|
As Kirallah finishes taking stoc of the situation she speaks but a single word to the gruop seeking answers for their situation.
The woman looks young, though with an elf this coul literally mean anything, her athletic form in perfect physical condition, she wears a simple linen bodice covering her chest, with straps across her shoulders, coupled with a simple linen skirt with a high slit up each side, allowing her legs to move freely. She wears little ornamentation and carries little but a simple staff, her hair pinned up in a casual yet artful manner.
|Kirallah the Wanderer|
Sorry for the late response a crazy couple of days.
When Aciera awoke with these others she stayed quiet and try to figure which to talk to, neither side sounder to convincing. As she ducked lower on her seat in the hopes no one would see her, then a sudden kaw caused her to jump with annoyance, "Fine, I'll introduce myself! Get off my back." With that the hawk sitting next her quieted down. He a soft voice, "My name is Aciera and I wasn't part of the jury. Though to those that were does the name Sashrala mean anything to you." He stands as she talks and moves her back to the wall and trying to keep the words of a spell dancing on her lips just incase.
Aciera is a skinny framed girl that only stands 5'3'' and is dressed in greys and blacks though her garb fits the description of a northerner. Her long black hair hangs loose throughout her face, which stands in contrast to her pale skin that almosts hits a light bluish quality. The hawk that stands next to her covered with a random assortment of white and black feathers looking out of place in this, though it seems to stand ready to defend its master.
Axe is non-magical.
So much for that idea.
Kiley pays attention to them, hoping to remember their names, and hides a smile when the pale woman is prompted to introduce herself by her hawk. She joins her by the wall and leans her long spear against it. She keep s her voice low to avoid attracting attention.
"You saw something while you were asleep too, huh?"
Suddenly a piece of the mural on the ceiling
above (the portion with Iomedae’s shining
sword upon it) breaks free from the ceiling
with a groaning crack. The chunk of marble
falls onto the evidence table and sends
the bloody axe on it spinning end over end
across the courtroom, sinking solidly into
the wall of the jurors’ box.
Kiley takes 1d6 ⇒ 6 points of bludgeoning
damage from the falling chunk of marble.
Rest of you Reflex Save please.
|Kirallah the Wanderer|
Kiley looks up when she hears the crack of breaking stone just in time to see the piece of marble falling towards her. she barely manages to cover her head, but screams in pain as she takes the brunt of the stone in the side as she tries to get out of the way.
After the dust settles, Kiley casts a spell through gritted teeth.
Casting cure light wounds: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6
"Ow, that hurt. Did anyone else get hit?"
Sorry, I won't be able to post too often on weekends.
Reflex Save: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 3 = 8
"Ouch!" Durida cries out in a little bit of pain as some of the debris flies out at her. She takes a large chunk right in the side and the pain almost doubles her over. She manages to keep her footing, and inspects the new wound. "Oh my..."