PbP - Terror On The Cliff - Ultimate Magic Playtesting (IC)


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Terror on the Cliff
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 creeps closer.

Then, you feel a little dizzy, and you have a vision:

Dorian Lothbrock:

The courtroom buzzes with nervous anticipation. Dozens of eyes, from the crowd behind you and the jurors’ box across the aisle, focus on you. The expressions range from contempt to pity, but there is no forgiveness in their faces. The magistrate slams down his gavel repeatedly and snarls for silence. The murmur of the crowd relents as the stocky magistrate draws up to his full height, smoothing a silver beard with one hand as he sets down his gavel and focuses on you with shining green eyes. “Jarbin Mord. For the brutal and savage slaying of your own wife and six-year-old boy, it is the verdict of this jury, with which I concur wholeheartedly, that you shall hang by your neck until dead. May the gods take mercy on your blackened soul.”

Halor al'Shiman:

A clack of wood on wood is followed by a whip crack of rope drawing taut. The crunch of vertebrae echoes off the walls. A man’s booted feet twitch freakishly as his last breath rasps from his ruined throat in a choking death rattle. You suddenly realize the man is you, and you look down in horror at your own twitching legs. The crowd jeers with delight and laughs as you rasp your last.

Isaiah and Nichelle Crassior:

A hulking man is hunched over in this dark dreary corridor of cold flagstone, his back to you. His right hand works feverishly, sawing away at something unseen with a blood-slick shortsword as he gibbers: “Show me the way, Sashrala, you can do it. Use your magic to show me out of here. I love you. I love you so much. Just please show me the way!” With a final wet snap of sinew, blood pools at the man’s feet and he hefts the gory head of a beautiful elven woman. “Thank you, Sashrala. I love you.” The man cries and laughs at once as he kisses her still-working lips and then thrusts her head forward like a lantern. The poor woman’s eyes still blink in disbelief; you get the horrid sense she can still see as her mouth trembles out a vain and silent plea for mercy. Her body lies in a pool of blood flowing freely from her hacked neck. Her right arm is outstretched, her finger pointing toward something beyond the darkness.

Elora Marion:

A cloaked figure enters a small attic. A voluptuous woman with dark features sits in a rocking chair, swaying as she hums and knits a sweater for a small child. She looks up, alarm on her face, as the figure closes, its back to you as it advances toward her. Slowly the alarm changes to horror as the figure looms over her.

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.


The young woman gasps, sitting bolt upright in her chair. The first thing that comes to mind are the words to a spell, but she restrains herself. The darkness was disturbing, but the familiar sounds of wayward spirits and angry ghosts had reached a crescendo. She had carried the burden all her life, and never had it been this noticeable. Their reaction to this place just magnified the unease she felt.

Screwing up her courage, she looks to the other shadowy figures. Something within told her they were victims like herself and the woman. She attempts to whisper, though it comes out more of a desperate, high-pitched hiss, "What's going on? Who are you all?"

Scarab Sages

Male Half-Orc Magus 1

Suddenly uncomfortable, Halor pulls off the clinging hood and veil, breathing deeply as the air becomes more accessible and revealing his green skin. Looking around, he murmurs a few arcane words and touches his ring, then pulls his hand back. The ring illuminates the shadowy room with a soft light. As he rubs his neck to reassure himself that there is nothing there that ought not to be there, he turns toward the woman. "We seem to be preparing to take part in a trial of some sort. Other than that, I'm not sure what just happened. With respect to who I am, my name is Halor, of House Shiman. And you?"

Sovereign Court

Male Human (Taldane) Wizard 1

Urg, Isaiah thinks to himself groggily, shaking himself from his reverie, what was in those drinks last night?

Looking around at the others within the juror's box, the thick bearded man gives a gruff cough to cover his discomfort over the troubling dream, and watches their faces for signs they noticed him napping. At the words of Elora and Halor, though, he quickly regains his confident mask, "Why, I am none other than Sir Isaiah Ferstwaine, my dear girl, and we are here to celebrate the anniversary of a great victory of the fine upstanding citizens of Absolom against the vile depravities of those who would bring them harm; ten years ago, a terrible villain was brought to justice in this very room," he peers around the dimly lit chamber as he pauses, "though I daresay the proceedings have yet to begin."


"I'm Elora. Uh, Elora Marion." She wasn't used to needing her surname, but she seemed to be in rather high company. "I know," she says in response to Isaiah's explanation, "I'm standing in for Father Merrion. What confuses me is... I don't recall actually entering the courthouse." She blurts it out without realizing that maybe she was just disoriented. She blushes and scratches her head, diverting her gaze.

We did just fall unconscious and wake up in the juror's box, right?


Wide eyed, young Nichelle nodded at Elora's words, agreeing with the older woman. People had given their name and house, and that was a very surprising thing. Nobles were not often (if ever) in her company, and neither was she in theirs if they could help it. "Or me", she agreed. Her voice was a bit jittery, and she was clearly not a noble. "Same sayin'. Uncle Ellis's achin' on th'bendin', so's I'm him." Despite the company, she was clearly not trying to ingratiate herself. "\"I'm 'Kel'. Nichelle", she said, pronouncing it like "Nik-kelle".


A dwarf with strong arms and white hair and beard seems to wake up in this moment.
-For the beard of a hundred generations of dwarfs! What has happened here and now?
He looks at his surroundings and find that there are other people sleeping, and some others waken up.
-Anybody know what happened before?

Yes, all of you seems to have been dragged here while unconscious

Scarab Sages

Male Half-Orc Magus 1

Halor turns to the old Dwarf. He considers him, then murmurs a few words and slowly scans the entire room.

Sense Motive check on the old Dwarf: 1d20 ⇒ 6, followed by casting Detect Magic and scanning the entire room for traces of any magic that brought them here.

Hm. Seems that the Paizo boards can't support Arabic as a language. Ah, well.

Sovereign Court

Male Human (Taldane) Wizard 1

"No doubt some local tradition," Isaiah speaks reassuringly, still not allowing his apprehension over the missing time to show through his haughty demeanor, "quite rude of the organisers not to inform us of the custom before beginning, but I am sure it was merely an oversight rather than an intentional deception."

Halor al'Shiman wrote:
casting Detect Magic

I'm jealous! Words of Power mean the detect magic is a 1st level spell at least (for a 10' cone).

Scarab Sages

Male Half-Orc Magus 1

Really? Interesting. I thought it was possible to finagle it into still being 0-level.

Sovereign Court

Male Human (Taldane) Wizard 1
Halor al'Shiman wrote:
Really? Interesting. I thought it was possible to finagle it into still being 0-level.

nope, the sense magic word needs to be combined with a cone target word, the lowest level of which is the 10' cone at 1st level. So while the effect word is 0 level, the spell would be at least 1st.


"I'm not aware of any such custom, and I've lived here all my life," Elora says in response. She feels tentatively along the back of her head, checking for any tale-tell bumps. "Well, then, I suppose we're all together in our ignorance." She follows Halor's lead, murmuring a few words slowly and deliberately over the hum of her attendant spirits.

Elora uses detect magic and 'sweeps' the room from the opposite direction Halor is.


Halor doesn't find anything. Elora is searching in the other side of the room, but... when she gets near the defendant's table, she realizes that there is a bloodied axe. Then, a portion of the mural in the ceiling falls to the floor. It impacts the table and trows the axe to the jurors.


Elora, make a reflex save CD 15.
Halor, yout too.


Reflex Save
1d20 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 = 8

Elora yelps as she realizes what's happened, but her first instinct to sink into her chair proves to be the wrong one. With nowhere left to go, she jerks back up and turns her shoulder towards the oncoming missile and braces.

Scarab Sages

Male Half-Orc Magus 1

Reflex: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 2 = 11

Bollux!

Halor, having been facing the wrong direction, didn't notice the axe. Upon hearing the piece of ceiling hit the table and Elora's yelp, he turns. His eyes lock on the bloody axe now flying at the girl next to him, and he stumbles from his chair to block it, drawing his sword.


Nichelle, upon seeing everyone else moving about, looks over the room, wondering about a couple of things. She had no desire to remain somewhere she was placed without her consent, so she moved out of the juror's box, over to where the judge would sit, looking for any signs of something recently disturbed. She was definitely a bit unnerved, however, no doubt about that.

The mural falling and hitting the table had her ducking under the nearest cover at the loud noise, not wanting to get hit by anything.

Still, she figured that if she had been brought here by someone (because something was a bit unbelievable) there should be something telling how they got in our out.


Elora couldn't evade the falling piece of mural and gets hit by some of it.
The flying axe strikes Halor's sword, but it slash Halor in his way to the wall.

Elora gets 1d6 ⇒ 5 hp damage for the impact.
Halor gets 1d6 ⇒ 5 hp damage for the slash.


The sound wakes up the rest of the "jurors" of the room.

A big handed dwarf, very old, with his hair and his beard totally white: "What the...!"

A beautiful halfling scream for the violent wake up.

A strong fifty aged man, with perfectly cut white hair, and a shining Iomedae armor, jumps to the zone of the accident to help the Elora: "Are you alright?". His face seems to be sculpted in marble. He sees the blood in the girl's head and place a hand in the injury. "Iomedae... help us.". The injury heals instantly. "Tell me, are you alright?"

A gnome with jester costume and poor quality make up in the face is shacking in his chair. By his side is a frightened half orc with commoner costume.

An old man with an elegant white tuxedo, a white top-hat and a monocle seems perplexed: "Oh, my..."

A big hobgoblin seems amused with the show. It seems dangerous, maybe because his spiked chain.

A middle aged woman with lush curves wakes up with a scream and tries to figure out what's happening.

Scarab Sages

Male Half-Orc Magus 1

Halor grabs a scrap of fabric and staunches the wound. The bleeding dealt with, he pulls the axe out of the wall and examines it, then looks up. "Perhaps somebody should see to the repair of this building. It does not seem to be a safe one."

Detect Magic on the axe.


"I... I'm OK. Thanks," Elora says to the man. She rubs where the injury used to be and smiles. "Oh dear, are you alright, Mister, um Halor? One of us should tend to that wound," she says, addressing the half-orc and Iomedaen in turn.

I'm giving the NPC a chance to do it to preserve our own resources if we can. If he refuses for whatever reason I'll use a cure light wounds.


Rekkart: What? -the paladin look at Halor with a raised eyebrow- Are you hurt? -gets closed to the semiorc and sees the staunched wound. He place his hand over the wound, without touching it- Iomedae... help us.

The wound is healed: 1d6 ⇒ 6

The hobgoblin laughs soundly.

Malgrim: Great! The nurse is doing a good job! -and begins laughing again.

The paladin tries to calms down, staring at the floor, with his punch closed.

Halor, you don't find magic in the axe

Scarab Sages

Male Half-Orc Magus 1

"Thank you, my friend." Stepping out of the jury box, Halor moves toward the table and re-sheathes his sword. He rights the table, then places the axe on it and returns to the box. "Perhaps we should move to a different room or a different building," he says to nobody in particular.

Sovereign Court

Male Human (Taldane) Wizard 1

"There does seem little point to remaining here," Isaiah sighs, raising to his feet and smoothing down his expensive clothes.

"We appear to be the only ones here, does anyone know who sent our invitations? I would like to know who it is who so rudely treats their guests."


Killian: Well, I don't really think that our host will show his identity so easily, my friend. -the elegant elder with the white tuxedo seems to be thinking deeply in this matter- But, I think our half-orc friend here -he stares at Halor- is totally right telling us to go out of this room.

Halgrak: I shouldn't came to this joke of a trial -the half-orc seems a bit nervous- This matter was solved ten years ago! Why should we came here ten years later of that trial?

Rekkart: The paladin looks at the group.-You are right, Halgrak. All the people here is the same jurors that sent Mord to the noose ten years ago. But you. -the paladin looks all of you- You weren't part of the jurors. Why are all of you here?


Nichelle looks up from her examination of the area, trying to find anything mundane that would explain why they ended up here unconscious. She shivered a bit at the memory of the dream, and looked a bit distant before she focused on the paladin, raising an eyebrow as she leaned on a nearby chair.

"I'unno 'bout th'rest, bu' I'm th'switch fer m'nckle" she said wit a shrug. "Said s'much before."

Scarab Sages

Male Half-Orc Magus 1

"I, too, am standing in for an uncle who was a juror on the original case. I don't know if I quite understand this Remembrance tradition, however." Halor leaves the jury box again and moves to a window, staring out.


"I was Father Merrion's student. He has since passed on, so I was selected to take his place," Elora answers.

In response to the suggestion to leave the room, she says, "I doubt the rest of this place is any safer, but we probably won't find our answers in here, either. Lead, and I will follow."

Sovereign Court

Male Human (Taldane) Wizard 1

"My cousin also joined with you those many years ago in bringing that vile murderer to justice, sadly he is entangled in pressing concerns in Taldor. Fortunately, I was already planning to visit this fine city when he received the invitation, so I felt it only right that I stand in for him on this occasion."



Nichelle: you can't find any clue about how could you be placed here.
Halor: all the windows are sealed with boards, but you can see a bit for a hole in one table. Then, you see that outside the building is NOTHING. The only thing you can see is a black void. There isn't even ground!

Scarab Sages

Male Half-Orc Magus 1

Halor stares, slack-jawed, for a moment, before murmuring, "Oh, my." He begins to pry at the boards on the window, trying to remove them so he can get a better look. "I think you might want to come look at this, just to make sure I'm not going crazy."


Nichelle's feet were quick across the floorboards, having always been more curious about situations than worried about safety. The sight outside was something that she was not expecting, and she stumbled back from the window falling onto her rear and scooting to the center of the room, eyes wide with incomprehension. Her head was shaking, denying what she had witnessed, while she looked around the rest of the room, heading for the nearest door.

She could not have seen that.. She was going to try another window.


The paladin, Rekkart, the dwarf and the gnome gets near the windows.
Rekkart: For Iomedae's hearth...
Tablark: What? Mm... we could be a few problems trying to get out of here.
Ebin: Well... we don't need to close the windows to sleep well.-incredibly, that seems to be another joke of the gnome-Ok, ok, I'll assume that you don't laugh because the sight, I get it, I get it.

Listening what Rekkart has said, Patrissa begins to shaken. She hasn't the courage to gets near the windows.
Patrissa: Rekkart... tell me we will get out of this... place...-the tears begin to fall down his cheek again. But she doesn't get any response from the paladin.

The half orc, Halgrak, doesn't have neither the courage to lean out the window.
Halgrak: We... we will die here... all of us...

Malgrim grab the neck of the half orc with his strong hand.
Malgrim: And you will be the first if you don't stop telling those things!
Halgrak begins to shaken and crouch with fear.

Scarab Sages

Male Half-Orc Magus 1

Will-save to disbelieve the darkness: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7

"This would seem to be a bit of trouble. Perhaps this is related to our all not remembering how we got here?" Assuming he got the boards off the window, Halor pokes his head out the window to look around and see if there's anything there. Then, moving toward the door, he'd fling it open, prepared to draw his sword if anything abnormal is outside of it.


"Oh dear," Elora says, having followed everyone else to the window. She wrings her hands a bit before stepping in. "Come now! We've no need to panic or get violent! Everyone just calm down." Despite her words she continues to wring her hands and shake a little.

"I... I've no idea, Halor." She finds herself wishing she'd paid more attention to matters of the Planes, because that was her first suspicion. "Be careful," she remarks timidly as he goes to open the door.

Sovereign Court

Male Human (Taldane) Wizard 1

"Miss Marion is quite right," Isaiah intones, stoking his beard slowly as he contemplates the darkness outside the windows, "panic is highly unlikely to help."

"Hmm," he muses further, "there are several plausible explanations to this most mysterious of events. I suspect that some form of magical darkness would be capable of causing such an effect."

"Would you mind awfully, checking if there is an arcane aura present outside?" He asks, looking to Elora.



We need to know what is the door you will open: the one in the north of the room? or the one in the west of the room?

Scarab Sages

Male Half-Orc Magus 1

Whichever is the main entrance to the court room.

-EDIT-
That would seem to be the west entrance.


Eight enormous marble pillars fill this great
hall, holding aloft grand balconies. Years of dust
cover the floor, and muslin coverings are draped
over the railings of baroque staircases curling
like lazy serpents up to the raised landings
above. A rusted chandelier above sheds the dim
light of a few guttering candles. An impressive
grandfather clock more than ten feet tall rests
against the center of the western wall, its face
decorated with guilty souls suffering Asmodeus’
torments: evisceration, force-feasting of coals,
scalding blades tearing them apart, and other
less savory punishments. The clock stands
between a set of impressive oak doors and a
lone oak door of equitable splendor, identical
to another set across the hall. The largest set of
doors is at the south end of this long hall. They
are barred against the night.
In the very moment Halor step into the main hall,
the grandfather clock goes berserk,
tolling and clanging dissonantly, assaulting
the sanity of listeners. Anyone hearing the
clock is violated by images of strangulation,
death, murder by axe, and other gruesome
flashes.


Everyone, DC 15 will save or you will go crazy.

Sovereign Court

Male Human (Taldane) Wizard 1

Will Save 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (14) + 3 = 17

Isaiah breifly stumbles back from the window and clutches his brow, but quickly remembers himself and regains his composure, "Gah! What a terrible racket, I daresay those chimes have seen finer days."

Scarab Sages

Male Half-Orc Magus 1

Will Save 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 2 = 19

Putting a hand to his head, Halor calls out, "So it would seem. Perhaps we should do something about the noise?"


Will: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (16) + 1 = 17

All set to skitter out into the hall in front of Halor, she recoils at the sound of the chimes, pressing her hands to her ears and retreating from the doorway. What was wrong with this place?


Will
1d20 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 2 = 21

Elora closes her eyes, focusing her mind on her own ghosts and the recital of a prayer to the Dawnflower. The reassurance calms her sufficiently and she pushes the clanging and the gruesome sights to the back of her mind.

"Where are we? Why does the courthouse have that... that..." she says as she gestures towards the clock, "Or a mural of.. of that?" She realizes the query is pointless, but talking staves off the horror.

Sovereign Court

Male Human (Taldane) Wizard 1

"Now, now, my dear," Isaiah says soothingly, laying a hand on Elora's shoulder, "no doubt it is a stern reminder to those vile beings who dare break the law, what terrible punishment awaits them. No need for us to fear."


Everybody seems to be alright.

ooc:

I have been very busy this holidays. Sorry for the delay. Please, see the ooc thread to vote.



Ok, here is what you see in the actual room. You are free to roleplay while you choose your next move.
Map
Note: you have entered here through the right-down corner door.

Scarab Sages

Male Half-Orc Magus 1

Halor moves carefully to the front main doors, weapon still drawn and in hand. Edging along the wall, when he reached a window he'd peer out, then slide along that wall to the door and attempt to open it.


The door opens without problem. There is another judgement room, like the one you woke up before, but this one is totally destroyed. The chairs, the platform, all the furniture is ripped to pieces. All the windows are totally sealed. There is a door in the north wall of the room.


Realizing the half-orc is moving ahead, Elora rushes up behind him. "We should try and stick together," she says in low tones, looking back to the rest of the group.

"What happened here?" she asks, looking into the room. "It seems hard to believe this used to be a house of justice."

Scarab Sages

Male Half-Orc Magus 1

Startled by the sudden presence behind him, Halor turns and looks down at the gray-eyed woman. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps we should stick together."

Turning back to survey the room, Halor chuckles. "Perhaps somebody was unhappy with the verdict of the last case. Come, let us return to the others."


Malgrim, the hobgoblin: Sticking together? Yea, good strategy for the cowards- and laugh.

Rekkart, the paladin: That's a good idea even if you think otherwise.

Malgrim: Sure, coming from a coward like you

Patrissa: Could we continue? We need to get out of here as soon as we can, all right?

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