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Seems as good a place as any to start," Adelar tried to smile at Miniel, glad that there was no apparent danger so far. Having learned from the illusory horror, though, the knight of Iomedae took a quick peek into the hallway and rubble to make sure the cost was well and truly clear.
Once he was reasonably sure it was safe, he resolved himself to move cautiously down the hall towards the bend at the end. His blade never left his hand.
Adelar gave a soft, barely-heard rap of his knuckles to the door he had leaned against, turning back to the others with a shake of his head. Or was it a shiver from that unnatural roll of thunder above? It was just wind, damnit! Just wind. And the creature that had nearly killed him had been a dying man, too. "This leads outdoors," he informed the assembled, his lips pursed. "Sounds like a storm is coming in ... Big one." He glanced over towards the elf opposite him, Miniel. "Same thing on your side?" he asked.
"Those two will do fine by me," Adelar confirmed to Broom with a nod, striding ahead of the group. His blade was clenched tight in his fist, wary as he was of the trickery that had nearly killed him shortly after meeting the others. With care, he inspected the one on the left first, looking it over and then pressing his ear to it to see if he could hear beyond the barrier.
Adelar grew silent, contemplative as Broom recounted shared dreams and the others divvied up the spoils of the cursed room. He had not had any items. Even Desdemona, Reine, and now 'Stone' appeared to have shared this connection. Worriedly, the Galtan had patted himself down subtly, out of sight of the others, to try and determine if perhaps he had overlooked something. Anything. But there was nothing: just his crusader's sword, a few alchemical effects ... his amulet? His amulet to The Inheritor? No. That was most certainly his. Had been since ... well. He couldn't quite remember, could he? But he was positive it had been his for far longer than just showing up at some horrid house of horrors. That was sure. The wing would be good to explore next," Adelar suddenly burst out, breaking his imposed isolation, "Best to know what is around us currently. Better to have a place safe to retreat to if all goes further south or we run into any more traps and curiosities." It was a military sentiment spoken with military gruffness. Yet, Adelar had a care to his eyes as he spoke - it sounded as though the others had been through Hell. All he had done was die in a nightmare.
"Magic, more than like," came the answer from Adelar, who stayed by the door, looking back the way they had come. With so many eyes focused on the ... oddly familiar room, the Galtan did not want them all taken from behind by some new horror. His blade was brandished against the shadows of the fallen lantern, sparing a brief moment to look over his shoulder towards the room. "Enemy of My Enemy is not Always My Friend," the paladin chimed in on Rostam's assessment, "... Though I suppose we could do worse, here." The sound of the birds chirping felt ... nice, though. A warm sensation of calm, at odds with the grisly scene the room held. It was that dichotomy that gave him pause. Or was it a memory? A feeling born of recollection, or a recollection born of feeling ..? " ... I do not think we should linger here," Adelar said cautiously, turning his attention away from the group again to guard their flank, "This feels ... Wrong, to me. Very wrong."
" We were ... We were chased," Adelar informed Rostam, " Myself, Reine, and Des. Desdemona, that is." He recalled her insistence on her Full Name and made the correction swiftly. " That's how we stumbled into the rest. A monster pursued us, it ... We only barely got away. Others were not so lucky." Looking from the broken wall back to the bodies, Adelar sighed. " Something broke through into here. Something powerful." He didn't want to say The Tatterman. Fear gripped his throat, and for it he felt a burning shame. Adelar focused instead on the items they had found, noting the slight sheen to the stones. Useful, he thought. He pocketed them for the moment before returning to the entryway to inform the others. " It's, ah ... not pretty in there," he confessed quietly, " Six. Nothing we can do for them." Frowning dourly, he added on for the more veteran members amongst the survivors. " They've ... There are bags on their heads. Cloths, Covers. Their faces are covered. I don't know what that means but I can only guess ..." He looked back over his shoulder towards Rostam as he made to reveal a victim's face. " How does it look?"
"I'll go," Adelar chimed in, blade held in front of him like a ward from whatever it was that had frightened Desdemona so. That's what it was, wasn't it? Fear. Fear of what, though? The entirety of the Asylum permeated him with dread. What more was one door? He gave a small nod towards Rostam as he passed, his silver sword of Iomedae hanging from his neck. " Pardonne-moi, but our time has left little thought towards common courtesy," he apologized, his Galtan accent thick and flowing, " I am Adelar, Rostam." Adelar. He was positive of that. While so many other memories slipped and tumbled when he tried to grab them, his name rang true and clear. " Now let's see what this is all about," the swordsman muttered, body language asking the leave of Broom and Desdemona that he might head past the door and see that which had been forbidden.
Confusions and Damnations, Adelar thought to himself. Another new person. Others seemed to know Rostam, but he was unfamiliar to the Galtan paladin. He felt horrendously lost, feeling more as if shuffling along the twisting paths of a dream than truly in control of his actions. Maybe it truly was a dream. Maybe dying would have woken him up. He shook off the thought. He had been standing guard while the others worked on the locked door, his holy blade lightly balanced in his hands. Adelar swore he would not be taken unawares again. Broom's voice was the one that finally shone through the fog of his clouded mind. " Inside, I'd say," Adelar said, clearing his throat after coughing out the words. He felt dry, unbearably dry. " Best to leave no stone unturned." It was with a soldier's confidence he spoke, but his knees wavered slightly. The world was not Right, Adelar knew. He just wasn't sure if that was because of how it was or how he perceived it.
Adelar appeared to jump when Desdemona first approached him, but his hackles soothed quickly enough. His realizations were causing swirling doubts to assail his mind, and that alone had left him frighteningly on edge: nowhere near the composed and stoic warrior he remembered being. Still, he managed a smile in reply, unsure how the woman was managing to remain cheerful in the circumstances. Braver than he? " Yes, yes my name is Adelar," he confirmed for her, his brows furrowing in concentration, " And you are ... Des. Des, yes." With the idea of thoughts not his own still fluttering through his mind, Adelar could not quite recall if she had told him, or had it flitted through his brain like an errant wind? Had he always known it? Did he know her? " I thank you for your concern, but yes, I'll live. I've faced worse, after all," he laughed with a confidence he did not feel. You were a Knight. You served in Mendev. " I was a Knight, you see. I served in Mendev." You're blessed by Iomedae. You can protect them. " I serve Iomedae. I can look out for you." He rubbed the back of his neck with unease. " The creature just ... took me by surprise is all." He intentionally danced around how he had come to the Asylum because quite honestly, he didn't know. However, it did not pay to be untrustworthy. Lying had never gotten anyone anywhere, after all. " I ... Am unsure how I came from the North to ... well, here." Adelar admitted, " I just remember ... Flight. Fleeing and ... and Death. A dream?" He looked over towards Desdemona as they walked, studying her face. Had he seen her before. Was she in the dream? Or was this the dream ...? " I ... Something terrible happened, I know that for sure, but I can't quite make what it ... was. Next I know, I am running. And you are there." He glanced over his shoulder to the other he had met earlier, Reine. " And you too ... yes? Yes. Yes, all three of us. And ... and the others. The ones who didn't make it." The one who died so they lived. Was that not Adelar's place? Was that not the vows he had sworn to uphold? Was that why The Inheritor did not speak to him ..? " It was as if running in a nightmare only to suddenly be acutely aware that my footfalls were real and my breath truthfully labored. If I did not know better, I would say I traveled through my very dreams to this ... place." Adelar felt his hand curling tightly around the hilt of his blade: the only thing that felt sturdy in his current predicament. " What of you?" he asked, also tilting to look at Reine, " The two of you were together when we met, yes? Did you arrive here together?"
Adelar accepted his holy weapon from Broom with his most chivalrous thanks and sincerity, almost cradling the sword once it was back in his possession. But it was not an act of protection or fondness, no. It was an expression of desperation. Of Fear. Why, he wondered, his eyes piercing into the nothingness as they refused to focus on any one thing, Why did I fail so? Why did The Inheritor not protect me? Where was the magic of Her Majesty, where was the skill and strength of the warrior that slew Ten of The Abyss? He was rattled, more than he could ever recall being, but his mind was so frayed that it still resolved itself as the worst moment he could remember. Death would surely have been nobler than such shame, and his cowardice clung to life like a mewling babe, hungry for uselessness and mediocrity rather than righteous oblivion. To not even draw a single cut upon the creature, to have been so utterly powerless against the End ... " Rest, yes," he choked out, his lungs still burning from how they had been compressed, " Rest. And solace." Solace from the nightmare of failure. Collecting himself, Adelar moved to join the others, carefully sheathing his unbloodied blade.
Adelar came to with a gasp, reaching out and clutching at Xander. His eyes were wild, as if still within the throes of mortal combat. It took a few, heavy breaths for him to realize that the danger, for the most part, was gone. Slowly did his grip slip from the half-orc, but not before clasping his hands on both of his shoulders. " Merci, my friend," he managed to get out: his ribs were still horribly sore, his body feeling like it had been subject to a cruel vise. Adelar frowned - something was off. He patted down his body, looking all around him. " My ... my blade," he asked, concern creeping up through his tongue, " Where is my sword?"
Adelar went limp in the creature's constricting grab, sword clattering from his hand as blackness enveloped his vision. His ribs felt close to bursting inwards and spearing every organ, the lack of air leading to vivid hallucinations even while unconsciousness struck him hard and swift until he was a limp, barely-living body in the monster's hold.
I'm fine with you rolling whatever you feel appropriate, mate. Though if I post prior to you I'll do my own rolls, so feel free to throw whatever dice are needed to keep the game moving
Adelar kept trying to figure it out - how Bisartis's flesh just ... moved for Pouch. Surely a, a wound. Magical interference. Some demonic curse, yes, that was it. He had seen similar at the ... At the Worldwound? Had... Had he been to the Worldwound? Then the calls from the others came. Above? Above?? There was a man dying on the grou-! His head tilted up until he saw the monster, the predator that had so easily baited the two men into its net. Even though he had warned Xander of the possible snare, he had fallen victim to it just the same. " Get behind me, get behind me!" he cried, brandishing his longsword with precision and finesse as he prepared to protect the others and cut down the creature with divine fury. More than just his sword arm, though, there was a ... a flare within Adelar. A power surging forth. Without understanding how, or why, the Galtan knew he could assail the creature's very willpower. A lingering gift from The Inheritor? It must have been so! A righteousness so strong that it could knock others off balance, yes! Gripping his holy symbol, Adelar gave a quiet utterance to The Lady and forced his resolve into the very thoughts and utterances of the maddening creature, probing and eroding its own grasp on reality and emotion. If it could play tricks, then so would he.
Swift Action: using Hypnotic Stare on the monster - target suffers -2 to Will Saves so long as it does not go further than 30' from Adelar. Is the creature within melee range? How tall are the ceilings? If Adelar can melee attack, use the following. If not, he is holding until the target gets in range and then will use the same attack against it.
I cannot seem to select Adelar to move him on the map? Are there like needed permissions, or?
" Easy, Xander, easy, it could be a trap!" Adelar called, laying a hand on him to try and stop him, but even the Galtan rushed out to assist the Half-Orc, blade in hand to guard him from anything that might come out of the shadows and nightmares. The brief touch seemed to impart ... something to Pouch. Adelar had a sudden flash of insight, a ... a warning. An Omen? Something dark and terrible that ... that could be avoided? Was this The Inheritor? Did she speak to him again? It was the faintest, briefest sensation, and Adelar could not focus on it to figure it out - not when people needed his protection.
Posted at the same time, there, Broom, haha. I quickly edited my post to flow with yours, as it seems we had similar ideas but it works best if Broom steps in first.
So many voices, so many voices swirling about! Adelar grit his teeth until they ground, bringing his bloodied holy symbol close to his lips, fingers trembling and making the chain shake. " Lady of Valor, if ever we needed you ..." But there was nothing. No glint of recognition, no voice from On High. Nothing. A deafening sound that drowned out all the frayed speech that kept bombarding his mind. She wasn't answering. All that was left was three feet of steel and a strong arm, then. Gods above, let me not die here, Adelar panicked in his own mind, Let me find absolution first. Let not my unknown sin condemn me ... " Dream, Nightmare, it matters not," the Galtan finally growled, " We all clearly can see, hear, and feel one another, and this is enough for me right now." It's not. It's not enough. Where is The Inheritor? Am I strong enough to survive this without Her? I'll die here. I'll die here and I don't even know where Here is ..! " What matters is this, this Tatterman Comes, and we either fight to survive and escape this or we resign ourselves to our fates." This must be a Nightmare. It can't be real. The Lady would not abandon me. I would not have forsaken Her. This must be a nightmare. " And I do not Resign. I will never Resign, non." He rapped hard on his temple, trying to force the constant speech assaulting his senses out, pummeling it out of his ear until it was gone but still it remained, lingering like a sickening rot in his mind. He couldn't stop it. Trying to steady himself, he slid over to where the fierce, bow woman ... Reine? Reine. How did he know ... He slid over to Reine and Miniel, giving an eye towards the other one they had helped - Desdemona, Knower of Names and Lantern Holder. With little ceremony, he tugged at some of his tunic beneath his mail shirt, a clean bit of cloth kept safe from the horrors of their flight, and sliced it off with his immaculate blade. Before he could press it into Desdemona's hands, however, another of the strangers leaped into action. She spoke of magic - they commanded magics? While wary, there was something about the woman's cheerful disposition that didn't make Adelar stop Broom. Something ... comforting, despite the madness. In spite of the madness? " You're a, a mage? Can you fight?" he asked of Broom. He cast his eyes towards the group at large. " Goes for all of you. We saw that ... that Thing kill without pausing. We need to figure a way out of this. Yes? Yes. Yes."
"Visions? Dopplegangers? Doctor? What madness do you speak!?" Adelar shouted, sparing a glance back from the Door to the group, becoming increasingly aware that weapons were leveled at this back. " The only thing being sent here is what is outside this door - rotting flaxen and made of all of Hell and Abyss!" There were words dancing in his head, a swimming, drowning sensation that threatened to overwhelm his senses. One had already fallen! Had she been struck? " Medic, medic see to her," he demanded with a familiarity to the situation that his movements did not emulate. As if he were less in a strange library and more in a warzone. Are They Real? The question again assaulted his thoughts, making his eyes water. He shut them tight, shaking his skull to force the answer out. " Real, real, of course I'm real! Are you? This place casts mists and shadows over hale eyes. Maybe you're the dream and I'm the sleeper, oui?" His grip upon his Iomedaean blade never lessened, but he kept it facing towards the door, away from the group at all times. Must save them, his inner voice told him, Must uphold my vow. Yes. No other recourse. Die to the Yellowed Tatters that they might live, if need be. Nothing less. Inheritor Guide Me. As he tried to draw upon the strength of Iomedae, however, there was a sudden hollowness in his head and heart. A hole that opened and refused to fill. In shock, Adelar dropped his blade, the cold iron clattering on the floor as he gripped his holy symbol so tightly that a thin stream of blood began to run down from his palm. Where ... Where is She? Where is The Light ..? His thoughts were a muttered fear, his heart aghast at realizing something intrinsic to his self and memory had been severed. Trembling, he scooped up his sword again with a shaking hand, swallowing the lump in his throat as he kept his guard against the door. " I ... I Implore you," he choked in a wavering voice, forcing the courage back into his tone, a courage he suddenly did not feel, " We are all in grave danger. We can either cut one another down, or we can stand together, survive, and sort this out afterwards."
" We have to hold the door!" The man's voice was sharp, an order cracked out like would have been over the din of a battlefield. His Galtan accent continued as he drew the heavy, darkened blade at his hip and faced where he and the two woman had just barreled in from. The sword itself was anointed with prayers and sigils dedicated to The Inheritor herself, and the silver sword of Iomedae swung from his neck as his chest heaved. " Some, some thing chased us here," he explained quickly, eyes twitching as he kept his senses sharp for the approach of The Tatterman. " Yellow and demonic, like nothing I've ever seen. Killed ... Gods, killed many as easy as breathing. We barely made it." He was out of breath but forcing himself upright, redden mane soaked with sweat and matted to his skull. With frustration he pushed it back out of his cerulean eyes, his body language encouraging the occupants of the room to get behind him and the shiny mail he wore: mail coated in sticky, crimson blood - the tell-tale sign of lives given so the trio could have made it this far. But now there was nowhere left to run. No means to escape. Fight, or Die, then. Just like in Mendev, he told himself, steeling his soul and body for the fight to come. " Can you fight?" he asked of the assembled, barely having time or the focus to take them in, his attention split between the door and the memories of the chase. They hadn't even had the chance to scream ... " It pursued us here. We've no retreat now, no recourse but to drive it away. Mes condoléances for dragging you into this, but we either stand together or die here." His teeth ground hard together, a hand tightening on the grip of his paladin's sword. " And by The Light of The Sword, no one else will die whilst I still draw breath." He glanced briefly over his shoulder, taking in the room's occupants quickly. He nodded, both in sympathy for dragging them into this horrid nightmare and in solidarity for what was to come. " I am Adelar. Très heureux."
Character sheet is finalized now, background and all. Cannot wait to join in on the eldritch fun!
Mechanical and Equipment Whatsits are finally sorted out, just tinkering with backstory now. Considering the nature of how this campaign starts, however, I am ready to play and can fill in details as we go!
Hoy Hoy! I will also be joining, but I too will be delayed by holiday madness. Should have stats and everything necessary up to delve into some eldritch madness instead in the next few days. Pleasure meeting you all! Looking forward to this game! |
