You find yourself lying on broken bricks and rubble. Your eyes are caked and gummy, but you manage to pry them open and lurch to your feet. Looking about, you see you are standing in … an alley, it appears. The walls of the alley are bulging, slick, gray - brown bricks, damp and somewhat moldy. The air smells foul and somehow unsettling. The surface of the alley is cobblestone, but many loose and broken bricks are scattered about. Above you the sky is a sickly yellow. One end of the alley splits into two paths, the other leads straight away. The alley walls rise into the fog - you cannot see any windows, doors, or roofs. You have no idea how you got here, or where "here" is.
You see others getting to their feet around you. All are dressed in gray linen trousers and shirts - loose, with no pockets and simple ties to hold them up. The others around you seem vaguely familiar somehow but you cannot connect them with your memories…..WAIT! You realize with a start that you don’t remember who you are either!
You stare at each other in panic, shocked at your lack of self knowledge!
One of you gasps, looking at the straight end of the alley. Thick, yellowish fog is swirling into the alley toward you. You cannot see into the fog, but you hear steps - steady and slow, but somehow keeping up with the fog.
[everyone gets a round to do something. One end of the alley is filling rapidly with fog, swirling toward you - within the fog footsteps can be heard as well. The other end of the alley is free of fog and splits into two paths. You have a strong urge to run away from the fog. If you don’t move away, the fog will engulf you at the end of your round.]
[You know nothing of your past except for your class, skills, feats, spells, etc - essentially just the ‘crunch’ of your character. You do have a vague recollection of knowing each other]
[You have no weapons, nothing in your pockets (no pockets, actually), no armor, nothing beyond the pajama type shirt and pants you are wearing. You are barefoot.]
Faradin pushed to his feet, spitting a small mouthful of blood, before reaching up, probing at his jaw tenderly. "F%~* just..." He glared at the fog, backing away slowly. "F$@~ this. I don't want to die here!"
He turned and glanced at the others, before sprinting down the alley at full speed, heading towards and down the left fork.
'Please gods let me have chosen right!'
Helena wipes her eyes before looking at the fog. Was it really there? What was it? Whatever it was, it was unlikely to be healthy. As one of them starts running she begins moving in his direction as well. "Come on guys, I don't think we want that fog to catch up."
An attempt to figure out what the fog is
Knowledge: Arcana: 1d20 + 1d6 + 9 ⇒ (11) + (5) + 9 = 25
Knowledge: Planes: 1d20 + 1d6 + 9 ⇒ (6) + (3) + 9 = 18
Trevor staggered to his feet, his crooked eyes looking down at his meathook hands and then up at the fog covered alley, looking at others and then at the approaching wall of fog, Trevor began to sweat in terror and lurched up and ran at a kind of limp run where one malformed leg followed the other and he followed the man down the left fork.
Huh..huh..huh...Can't be happening.
Rising to his feet as if unfolding from the ground, he sniffs tenatively at the fog, wrinkling his entire face in response. "Foul vapours!"
He slinks after the others, a lingering sense of servitude to them also nagging at his memories. It’s hazy, but some recollection tugs at the back his mind of having been captured, along with a sense of dread that he or she had committed some dark deeds.
As he slips in behind them, looking back, the fog takes the form in his mind of a billowing fire, enveloping the spectral form of a hanged cat. Remorse and guilt racks him, as he pushes the feelings away.
[the other fellow will have to catch up when he can....]
you pound down the alley, taking the left side, unsteady of your feet, using your hands to push off the walls and stumbling over bricks.
You pass a couple of small piles of rubble - wood, more bricks, plaster chunks. Ahead, the alley splits again to the left or the right.
Behind, the fog swirls after you - menacing tendrils wrapping along the cobbles around the rubble, pouring down the walls, and pushing through the alley behind you. As fast as you have gone, it remains only 20 feet or so behind. The "sky" has lowered too, a roof of fog only 30 feet or so up (or so you think - it is hard to tell as you stagger and stumble along, and no clear references on height on the alley walls).
You are also making some noise as you run - kicking bricks, panting - but you can still clearly hear the slow, measured, footsteps behind in the fog. They are nearer the front of the approaching fog now.
[what do you do? Ahead the alley splits left and right again]
[@ Helena - please add some info to your 'tag line' as mentioned in discussion when you get a chance. Saves me from looking up stuff]
[I also changed my avatar to something more thematic for this campaign, so don't panic - its still me (or is it? muahahahahaa)]
Panicked, Lazare, screams internally at his loss of self knowledge. He runs after the others, hoping that the fog doesn't catch him. Certainly something horrible will happen when this occurs.
As the group of runners pauses for a moment to chose which alley to go do, he quickly picks up a loose brick and holds it tightly in his arms.
Obviously the right path, right lads? The undersized halfling takes a step down the right path...
The group stands panting for just a moment, stitches in their sides, bent over, leaning against the walls or both hands on their knees.
A halfling they had not noticed darts past them, a crazed look on his face, a brick held in his hand, knuckles white from gripping it so hard.
With a glance at the others, he continues down the right path, dirty gray pajamas flapping as he runs.
[where do the rest of you run? Both splits are equally clear (or equally threatened, if you prefer) by the yellow fog]
[the bricks are small enough to hold in one hand, although they are a bit undersized for Trevor's meaty paws, and a bit oversized in Lazare's - but they will function as an improvised weapon either way]
Faradin glanced over the rubble, frowning till he grabbed a broken length of board, swinging it casually back and forth before resting it on his shoulder.
"Right, yeah. Let's go right!"
He nodded running after the Halfling, at max pace.
Strangely nonplussed, he recognizes that the situation he finds himself in is horrific, but he refuses to let that fear control him. He knows that when you face unspeakable forces, keeping your cool will keep you alive. Jean-Phillipe glides to the parting of ways, and after making a small hex-sigil across his breast, follows the elf to the left.
Both groups race through their respective alleys. They twist and turn, and you lose your sense of direction. As fast as you run, the fog manages to close the distance to about 10 feet behind you.
Each group ends up racing into a courtyard - about 40 feet in diameter. There a small clay pots with dead plants around the perimeter. In the center is an area clear of cobbles, filled with dirt. A small, dead tree is there - leafless limbs stretching 10 or 15 feet into the air. Almost opposite of where you entered is another alley entrance - and running out of it you see the other group.
You are all gathered here in this courtyard in the yellow fog. The fog swirls into the courtyard but slows upon entering the wider space. The fog bank overhead is down to about 20 feet overhead. You can see a dim shape in the fog strolling forward from one of the entrances. It will enter the courtyard in just a few moments. It is roughly man shaped.
[you are all gathered in a 40 foot diameter cobbled area. The walls are the same gray bricks, slick and moldy. You have a round to take actions before the figure comes out of the fog upon you.]
Gripping the board tightly in one hand, Faradin ducked his head and rolled his shoulders before advancing forward to meet the shape, standing around 15ft foot from the edge of the fog.
"I ain't gonna run no more bastard, let's do this!"
Moving swiftly behind the stalwart warrior, he touches a hand to his shoulder, "You are a fearsome lion of a man, strike without fear!"
I granted an entrancing blessing. For 1 minute, this ally becomes mesmerizing to his opponents, filling them with either abject admiration or paralyzing fear. This effect functions as sanctuary, except if the ally attacks an opponent, the effect ends with respect to only that opponent. This is a mind-affecting effect. Hopefully it will give you the first strike.
Trevor gazes up, he knows that beyond this mist is a clear sky with a moon and sun and he will reach it! For do dreams not give one the ability to fly? He leaps! And he knows his wings will carry him upwards into the air.
Racing around the corner and into the courtyard, the halfling is ready to pelt the first thing he sees. Thankfully, he holds off on plinking the skinny Lord of Cats with the brick in his hand... barely.
Spinning around, Lazare is ready to throw the brick at whatever comes at him.
Present yourself, you bastard! he yells into the fog.
Trevor launches himself into the air, arm spread wide! He rises a few feet, and then falls to the ground in a vicious belly flop onto cobblestones.
stun damage: 1d6 ⇒ 6 for Trevor, as he hits with a woof
A medium sized creature strolls out of the mist; he is wrapped in tattered, dirty rags and strolls up to Faradin, a rusty blade in his hand flashing!
will save: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (14) + 10 = 24
attack: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (9) + 9 = 18, for damage: 1d4 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5
[I believe Faradin's ac is 14 without his armor but feel free to double check me]
The players get to go; I am trying to get a link up of what this fellow looks like but need to research how to do that.
Faradin hears a loud thump, moments before he feels the blade slam in to his side, causing him to stumble back a step.
"F%@&ing f+##. Can someone get the big lump up and over here, I need some bloody help!" He grits his teeth against the pain, before swinging his club towards the creatures head.
Attack with Improvised Club-1d20 + 5 - 4 ⇒ (17) + 5 - 4 = 181d6 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6
When the lump of wood (hopefully) connects, he pivots through, dropping his shoulder and throwing himself in to a roll away from the creature.
Acrobatics to Not provoke, moving 15ft away, to the side, not towards the fog.
Acrobatics-1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20
EDIT: Looks like we both had the same idea. We are gonna be good friends.
Spinning past Faradin in a whirl of grey flannel, The Lord of Cats rolls his shoulder low around and at the same time executes a near pirouette, his lanky arms tucked into his body.
tumble: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20
Then assuming the aoo doesn't knock me out...
Dipping low, then back up, his hands form into the shape of a cat's claw, striking at the flanks of the nightmare man.
unarmed strike, flanked, flurry of
blows misses: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (10) + 3 = 131d6 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6 and
1d20 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 111d6 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6
Keith, I can see pic. I'm going to need to roll better than that
Faradin's makes a hard swing with his wooden club, but the creature ducks under it.
Jean-Phillipe's swings all connect with air.
In reply, the creature utters a hissing laugh and takes a swing at Faradin as he rolls away....[attack of opportunity]
attack: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (13) + 9 = 22 for damage: 1d4 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6 if he hits, which it looks like it does.
Trevor and Lazare and Helena are up
Bloody Paizo ate my post
Trever swallows his fear, knowing her must not run away and hums a Tune while ripping off his shirt for justice! Light rolls from his form and his club erupts in flame as he charges the beat.
Club,Charge,Flank,Twohand,Hulkamania,improvised: 1d20 + 4 + 2 + 2 - 4 ⇒ (9) + 4 + 2 + 2 - 4 = 131d6 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10
Faradin feels the blade score across his gut and be begins to curse loudly as he backs away, holding the wounds. "I'm almost tapped here. Anyone able to patch me up so I can get back in there?"
You remember the story that The Lord of Cats told you about the smudge of a birthmark on his forearm that he insisted looked like a seated cat. You didn't think so, but if that connection to his crazy cult of cat-lovers can remove the blood from in your eyes, then more power to him.
I can spontaneously cast Cure Light Wounds and my birthmark is a divine focus
Back after watching WWE Youtube videos... thanks Trevor!
Lazare heaves his brick at the monster and moves in close to the Fog Man.
Brick Attack: 1d20 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 1 + 2 = 18 for brick damage: 1d2 ⇒ 2
If we are to die, the we all die together!
Another laugh bursts forth from the creature as he dodges the brick hurled by the halfling...suddenly, the thing .... ripples and in an odd, flowing movement ends up next to Faradin.
It is as if time and distance worked in a different way for the shrouded thing.
attack: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (8) + 9 = 17 damage: 1d4 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8
attack: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (14) + 9 = 23 damage: 1d4 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6
Faradin takes another 14 points of damage, and he flops backwards in a spray of arterial blood, shouting the word ME
Everyone notices that the blood pattern on the wall spells the word "ME"
Faradin's consciousness hovers over the battlefield, watching the fight and his own body pump out its life blood, and wondering why such a word was written on the wall in his blood
No one else notices Faradin's consciousness.....so pretend you don't know that!
Everyone may now take a move (if you want to take a free attack of opportunity as the thing moved away to slaughter Faradin, feel free to do so, then also post your next move)
AOO, flanking: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (14) + 5 = 191d6 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2
Motioning in small circles with both hands, his shadow appears to stretch and shimmer. You then realize it is impossible to tell the difference between the shadow and the man. Rushing the fog man, he prepares to strike again with a claw-formed hand.
As a move action create an illusory double. This double functions as a single mirror image, and lasts for one round.
AoO, club: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 2 = 121d6 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9
Trevor howls in anguish as his dream brother is struck down! His rage causes him to miss and furious rage fills him!
THIS WILL NOT STAND!!! Trevor focuses his rage into an unstoppable force and hurls himself at his foe
Wavemotion attack,charge,: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 2 = 171d6 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9
Helena stands a bit off, paralyzed with fear!
Like fog, the creature moves, slipping past you and ending next to Helena
attack: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (8) + 9 = 17 damage: 1d4 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6
attack: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (13) + 9 = 22 damage: 1d4 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8
...and Helena drops in a welter of blood and gore....shrieking out SAVE, and her blood pattern spelling the same word.
By will alone, her consciousness hovers over the battlefield as does Faradin (and she now realizes he is there).
The remaining 3 players can take their actions, and also get an AOO against the thing for its move.