The plying scent of cloves and vinegar wafts through the air, just like the sickly yellow fog that rolls through the city’s empty streets as you awaken. Unlike any other city’s streets, this one is devoid of the sounds of merchants selling their wares, of horses and carriages clattering on cobbles, or even the footsteps of a single passerby. Looking around, each of you can see only each other, the sun-baked mudbrick walls of a desert city, and the yellow fog.
It swirls ahead, parting for an instant. A glimpse. And yet, an eternity. The figure is tall. Taller than any man has the right to be. It carries...something...a weapon? And yet, it doesn’t seem to need whatever it is. The mist swirls again, and the figure is gone.
A different place, this time behind where you’ve awoken, offers a glimpse once again. Its body is wrapped in linen bandages and robed in shredded yellow cotton. Its gauze-covered face turns toward you all, and its mouth opens to reveal rows of needle-like teeth in a rictus-like grin. Its casual stride covers far too much distance for even its long, gangly legs, and in just a moment, it’s gone again.
Whoever, or whatever, the figure it, its intentions become apparent the next time the mists swirl away. A flash of steel in its hand nearly a foot long. The grin on its face. The way its eyes shift from one of you to another, seeming to linger on each before…
The mists close around it, and it disappears again.
A young woman, dark of hair, scrambles to her feet and blinks quickly as she breathes rapidly, trying to calm down. Where is she? She wonders as she tries, unsuccessfully, to gather her bearings. Who are these people? she thinks to herself. She certainly doesn't know them. Does she?
As the bizarre yellow fog parts these thoughts are chased away by a far more urgent. By God, what is that thing and what does it want with me?
It is not human! she calls out involuntarily in a shrill tone as she spies the jagged teeth. It comes!
She reaches down to her person and discovers... far less equipment.. than there should be? Somehow she senses that there should have been more. Almost pankicking she looks back up and shouts Away with you!, and thrusts her hand out towards the mysterious figure in a warding gesture.
To her surprise a loose brick, lying on the road springs up and speeds towards the figure.
A tall woman, seemingly in her late twenties or early thirties, reaches under her periwinkle travelling cloak with a trembling hand. The hand comes out with a flash of bronze and a mechanical noise, as a loaded caplock pistol appears in her hand. "Laisse-nous tranquille, diable!", a trembling, yet defiant voice leaves her mouth as she starts frantically turning around the deserted streets. With a terrified look, she glances at another silhouette. "Qui es-tu? Où suis-je? Qu'est-ce que c'est ... monstre?", a barrage of quick questions leave her mouth. Her right hand starts hovering over a worn hilt of a rapier.
As the brick flies into the street, her eyes widen even further at the other woman. "Sorcellerie! Êtes-vous une sorcière?", she asks, as the pistol snaps towards the other woman. Witches and monsters and dead towns... This is a nightmare? It has to be a nightmare..., she thinks, before unsheathing her epee and taking a cautious step towards the others. A witch is better than a demon... She'll at least feed me first., the woman's lips curl up for the briefest of a second.
"Leave us alone, demon!"
"Who are you? Where am I? What is this... monster?"
"Witchcraft? Are you a witch?"
Je ne suis pas une sorcière! du moins je ne pense pas the young woman says holding up her hands in a panic. Pointez cette chose loin de moi!
I am not a witch, at least I don't think.
Point that thing away from me!
Bloody French People she thinks to herself. She's surprised by the though. Then surprised again when she realizes she just replied to the taller woman in her own language. I know.. French?
The Englishman just stood, dread rooting him in place as the mists swirled about, revealing the various demons and devils shrouded in mystery. The intent of the devils was clear, though, with their malicious leering and hungry looks as they stalked ever closer, seeking to end the life of...Thomas? That was part of the horror, having just awoken to the situation with no recollection beyond his brief time in the asylum. Perhaps he had finally gone completely mad, as they had convinced him he was. He started to chuckle, then to laugh, and that was when he noticed the other three around him.
Two women, one screaming about their unknown assailant when suddenly a brick flew across the room, causing the man's eyes to widen in surprise. A different fear overtook him as the other woman started waving a gun about and started screaming equally loudly in what was probably French. The man, probably closer to 25 than 30, cowered away from the woman, though he recognized both from his brief time at the asylum. He had good reason to be afraid, those people were insane! His dark eyes flirted fearfully between the two women as the other started responding back in the foreign language.
Thomas clutched his crucifix in his left hand, tightly to his breast, as he fearfully brandished what appeared to be a metal club in his right, ready to defend himself against the demon lurking in the mists, or against these others in the room, if need be.
A small dark haired man looks about in a dazed state, mumbling to himself. As the creature appears he gets louder, "I can't remember. They told me I could not forget it, but I can't remember what it is." His breathing becomes and his hands curl into fists. A strange reddish glow emanates off of him as spectral arms emerge from his chest. A phantasmal figure emerges, looking like a muscular version of 59013, it's face contorted with rage. The phantom readies to attack the beast should it draw near.
The brick zips into the mist just as the figure vanishes inside it again. From all around you comes a laughing sound. It's condescending...sarcastic...mocking.
The figure appears behind Peyton, the razor it wields ripping into the back of her neck as she turns to react! The blade flashes across again, following up with a vicious slice to her stomach that parts armor and flesh. The figure's laughter starts again, seeming to mock the party once again.
Letting out a horrified scream as the witch is cut down, the French woman raises the weapon at the horrifying figure. The hand shakes, and as the hammer strikes steel, a flash of light bursts from the weapon's barrel and... nothing. Her right hand jerks to her hip to draw a rapier with a swift gesture, as her mouth starts uttering hastened prayers in barely legible French. Is this hell?, a panicked thought crosses her mind.
As the vile laughter begins, a much more horrible thought appears in her mind. Her blue eyes widen.But if this is a nightmare... why did nothing come before the sleep?
The phantom launches itself at the creature, bellowing with anger. 59013 breathes heavily before gesturing at a rock on the ground which flies at the beast in tattered rags. He stares at his hand, eyes wide with surprise at what he's just done.
Cad é ifreann aisteach é seo? A Thiarna, cad a rinne mé chun an chinniúint seo a fháil? Cén fáth nach féidir leat a insint dom cad is gá dom a mheabhrú? CÉARD?
Thomas looked about fearfully as the thing's laughter filled the area, his eyes flitting about rapidly as he searched for their assailant. The young man yelled in surprise and terror as the thing appeared behind the woman who could speak English, inflicting major wounds before again melding back with the vibrant fog about them.
As the other man in the room started to mutter things to himself before...something...came out of him, Thomas gripped his crucifix even harder, the knuckles of his left hand bone white as his brown eyes kept being drawn back to the critical wounds of the dark-haired woman. Something awoke in him, something beyond the terror and cowardice that had been consuming him so far. A tiny kernel, to be sure, but something...
"Lord, grant Your humble servant your grace and protection against the evils of this Earth!" The young man immediately felt safer after he uttered the words, though the situation looked as bleak as ever. Glancing to the gun-wielding woman and then the strange man, Thomas clutched his weapon tightly and hunched over, creeping over to the injured woman while looking about for the terror in the mist.
Peyton screams as she's cut once. Her voice is cut short as the second cut slashes cruelly across her stomach. She collapses to the ground bleeding profusely. Gasping in pain and crying with fright she curls up into a ball; more than anything she wants the hideous laughter to stop.
The pistol shot, another rock from the ground, and even the phantom's attempts to slam into the figure in the mist does nothing, with the exception of sending tendrils of the sickly-yellow fog wrapping around the party.
Peyton's desire to hear the laughter stop is answered quickly. The figure's clawed hand pulls her head back, then draws the knife across her throat. It pauses, unsatisfied with the damage it's caused, and takes another cut, this one more methodical, which slices the rest of the way through her veins, arteries, and windpipe.
As her lifeblood spurts from the wound, it splatters on a nearby mud brick wall.
As much as she tries, the woman's eyes can't look away from the grisly sight in front of her as the woman is butchered like an animal. Blinking for a moment, her attention is drawn to the wall and the blood's shape. Is it a message? Or a threat? Cold sweat appears on her brow, the sounds of the screams, laughter and her own rapid heartbeat are all that crosses her mind. I will not run..., she whispers to herself, unsure of whether due to quietly realising it is futile, or out of hidden pride.
She lunges forward, the rapier finding only strands of mist. The knife in the monster's hands appears larger and sharper with every breath she takes, realising each could be her last.
Thomas gasped in disbelief as the woman's throat was summarily cut right in front of him, the arterial spray staining the wall in an eerie message. Unable to process the meaning of 'me', the young man finally came somewhat to his senses, attempting to swing at the figure behind the clawed hand before he retreated away from it, hoping the prospect of the corpse before it would capture its attention.
M-59013's shoulders sag at the inevitability of the situation. He focuses for a moment before an incandescent sheen envelops him, offering a bit more protection from the beast. His phantom draws back to 59013, arms readied to attack the creature if it came near him or his master.
The creature sidesteps both the rapier and mace, ducking while simultaneously swinging its blade up into Thomas's chest, leaving a thin line that quickly begins to drip blood.
As the priest flees, the tattered-looking figure turns its blade on the Frenchwoman, delivering two quick slices. The first rips across her chest, just below the bustling, while the other is caught on her forearm. She falls to the ground quickly, bleeding onto the stones as the yellow mist pushes in around her.
Thomas cried out in pain, glancing down in disbelief as the razor-thin line across his chest started to bleed in sheets, quickly staining his clothing. He stared open-mouthed as the gun-wielding Frenchwoman was cut down, exchanging a brief look with the other man before he set his feet, tears of panic in his eyes as he clutched his mace tightly, closing his eyes as he brought up his crucifix in front of him, presenting it against the hellspawn.
"Lord God, please deliver me from this demon...I'm not ready to die yet. Please?" The young man sank to his knees, his faith shaken as he kept his eyes closed, waiting for the end as he wept.
59013 begins muttering, prayers to God, the Tuatha Dé Dannan, anything that will listen. His phantom, a picture of rage, seems to pale in comparison to the maliciousness of the beast in yellow. Both back away from the phantom, trying to delay the inevitable a bit longer.
As the blade sinks into her chest, the woman's mouth gapes opens silently, her eyes widening in horror. Her rapier falls to the ground as she clutches the wound, the world quietly sinking into darkness, only the chilling laugh to accompany her. If this... is hell... Is there something after?, her last thoughts pass through her head as she's surrounded by nothingness.
The creature continues laughing as it proceeds to butcher 77314, taking a perverse pleasure in slicing into her flesh with its razor. As her blood splatters onto a nearby wall, an unfamiliar voice echoes through the streets. "Me!" "Wake" The figure looks over its shoulder, shrugs, and moves toward Thomas.
The priest's end is equally swift, and the blood splatters against the cobbled streets, forming the word "Up". The figure advances on 59013, stopping only long enough to kill the man's phantom before slicing into the man once...twice...three times. The figure's hideous, manic laughter mingling with a handful of words is the last thing 59013 hears as he slips off into darkness. "Help", "Up!", "Wake", "Me!", "Me!", "Up!", "Help", "Wake", "Up!", "Up!", "Wake", "Me!", "Help"
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
"Wake up! Help me!"
59013 wakes up first, blood running profusely from his nose, but no wounds on his body. The worn cotton pajamas he's clothed in clearly aren't the same as the clothes he'd just been wearing a moment ago, before he...died? The others aren't far behind him, though before any of them can take stock of their situation, and their lack of the equipment they'd just had, the voice rings out again. "Dammit, help me!"
The party can’t do that, though. Thick iron bars and a solid lock separate them from the outside of their...cell. Outside, a man lies on a table, struggling against the thick ropes binding him there. He bleeds from numerous wounds on his arms, legs, and torso, all inflicted, it would seem, by the implements sitting on a small table near him. Another figure prances around him, spinning a rusty, broken shear on one finger as she giggles before slicing it into the man’s leg and then wiping it on her doctor’s coat. The bound man screams an impossibly high-pitched scream of agony.
Thomas' eyes flew open, the young man sitting up violently, his head spinning as he looked around and took stock of the situation. His breathing rapid, he saw the cotton pajamas he was wearing, his brow furrowing in confusion before he realized it must have been a dream. So vivid, though!
Thomas' brown eyes registered the source of the imploring voice, the man on the table. Fear began to register again as the scene played out, the cackling madwoman slicing into the bound man's leg. As the man screeched, Thomas got up and walked quickly to the bars, holding onto them with his hands.
Not really wanting to bring attention to himself, but his conscience wouldn't allow him to just lay there while the man was slowly cut to pieces. "Hey! What's going on?" The perceptive man's eyes cut quickly to the keyring on the woman's belt before going back to her, nervously eyeing the small, sharp weapon in her hand.
"Non... arrêtez... s'enfuir...", the whispers are heard as 77314 wakes up, raising her hands reflexively in the air, as if to protect herself from a knife that isn't there any more. As her eyes open, she quickly taps herself for the knife wounds, which, while feeling all too real, are gone.
As she rises, her eyes are once more drawn to a horrid scene, drawing parallels to the dream she'd had... and the people in it being around her. Her eyes are glued onto the priest's face for a moment, as if willing to ask hundreds of questions, before she joins him in raising a ruckus. "Yes, why is this man tied?", she asks in her thick French accent.
As the beast kills him, 59013 sees a brief glimpse of his home in Ireland, dissipating into the brutal reality as he wakes up. He wipes the blood from his nose, rubbing it on the cotton pajamas. He sees the man being tortured on the table and his eyes widen. He mutters determinedly, "From one hell to another. We will escape this nightmare!" His breathing gets heavier and his fists clench as the red glow begins to emanate off of him once more.
Peyton wakes up with a barely stifled scream. Taking a few labored breaths she forcibly pushes away the terrible nightmare.
Slowing down her inhales and exhales she keeps quiet as she focuses on the woman doing the cutting.
The woman spins the shears again, then sets them down to try a different tool. After a bit, she selects a broken straight-razor. "Pipe down, you'll get your turn soon enough." With a glare at the party, she goes back to slicing into the man's leg, only to receive a foot to the face. As she reels back, the thuds against the bars of the cell Peyton and 77314 are in.
As the crazed doctor crashes into the bars, the Frenchwoman takes a step forward with panicked speed, lunging for the keys. I am not going down in a cage!, she thinks as the fingers begin wrapping around the keys. With a steady hand, she tries to yank the chain up so that the hoop slips away from the belt. The thought of freedom, even one in such a horrid place, wins out over the desire to stay quiet in hopes of being unseen.
Petyon is going to react but the Frenchwoman acts faster.
The violence makes her recall her dream and her hand involuntarily goes to her neck. She can still feel the blade of the bandaged man scraping across it.
She also recalls what happened right before that unpleasantness.
She concentrates and repeats the hand warding motion from the nightmare.
A rock from her cell goes flying towards the doctor.
Hopefully it provides a distraction at the very least.
Thomas looked forlornly at the woman's keyring, just barely out of reach, a cold dread sinking in as the doctor promised them all their own appointment on the table. As the crazed lady went to slice into the man again, and the resulting backward kick, the man's eyes opened wide as the woman in the dream who had the gun started to wrench the keys away from their would-be jailor.
Panicked thoughts of freedom raced through his mind as he pressed his face against the bars. He hoped that the woman could get out of her cell and possibly be persuaded to let him out, as well.
As the arms emerge from his chest and the phantasmal figure hauls itself forth, 59013 smiles, thankful he will be less powerless with his spectral ally. The phantom lands on the ground, although it restrains its rage-filled howl at 59013's urging.
The woman recovers from the kick, stands, and starts moving toward the mostly-bound man, blade risen. Then, as she does, Peyton's projectile flits over her head, and she whirls around. "You'll pay for that next!" She starts walking toward Peyton's cell, only to receive another kick that seems to drive her into a rage. She leaps toward the bound man, slicing and cutting over and over as his screams grow weaker and weaker.
Thomas recoils in horror as the woman continued to drive the knife into the bound man, screaming, "Stop! Stop!" Having also seen the French woman snag the keys, he wanted to keep the crazed woman's attention on him so that she might miss one of her prisoners escaping.
The young man looked over at 'Peyton', shaking his head as he shook the bars and make a ruckus, shouting "Stop, please stop!" over and over.
59013 nods at his phantom, who lets out a howl and runs at the bars, briefly becoming incorporeal before solidifying back into ectoplasm. It moves towards the woman, trying to grab her.
As the keys slip into her hand, the Frenchwoman's trembling face shows a sign of relief. "Anything is better than dying like beast in a cage, no?", she whispers to the rest, slipping the keys into the lock and turning them around with a satisfactory clink. Her eyes are then drawn to the kit of torture supplies, trying to locate a blade as she throws the keys to the other cell towards the priest's expectant hand. "Leave this man alone, you... maniac!", she roars out of fear and frustration.
Actions: Move action unlock door - Standard Action throw keys to Thomas. I'm assuming that he's in the cell next to us, but in case he isn't:
Peyton tries to block out the screams of the doctor's victim and sends another rock flying at the crazed woman. The appearance of a monster is a shock certainly but not much more than her own mysterious ability to levitate projectiles with her mind.
The key makes it over to the priest, who quickly unlocks the door.
"Stop it, stop it, stop it!" The woman in the doctor's coat slices into the man again, then stands up as he stops screaming and gurgling to fall silent on the table. Her mouth parts in a grin, revealing teeth similar to those of the party's dream-murderer. "Alright, which of your is next for experimentation?" She looks over to the cells, grin falling a bit. "Oh."
Oh no! The Teeth! Look at her Teeth! THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG WITH HER TEETH! Peyton screams as she presses back against her cell wall. She has absolutely no interest in leaving the safety of the protective bars.
The Frenchwoman rushes out of the cage as if possessed, scrambling to get to the table of instruments. Her eyes glare at the rusty, chipped tools, as she strives to find A knife, scalpel, razor, anything?! Throwing a defiant glare at the surgeon, her lip trembles as she finally sees the teeth. Her hand runs across her chest once more. "I'll not let you take me again!", she shouts, hand searching across the table for instruments.
Move action: Leave the cage
Standard action Search/equip from the table.
The phantom's attempt to contain the doctor-coated woman amounts to little, though her eyes flicker to 77314's hand as it finds a steak-knife with the tip snapped off. She shrugs and then rushes the Frenchwoman, pushing her out of the way as she heads for the room's door.
Stop her, for the love of God! Stop HER! She'll bring more of them back! the young woman shouts at the others. Another rock goes flying at the 'doctor' powered seemingly by nothing more than the woman's will.
Thomas shrank away from the bars at the sight of the woman's teeth, eyes flitting about until they settled on the Frenchwoman as she screamed about the same thing. What was going on here? Whatever it was, it was important that they get out.
The young man nodded as Peyton tried to throw another projectile at the woman, the horror of the situation overpowering his urge to know how she was doing that. Thomas left the cell and tried to grab the woman and stop her from exiting the room.
Lunging forward as she's pushed through, the Frenchwoman lunges forward with her knife. The knife slashes into the doctor's gown, drawing blood, and as she sees her run down the corridor, she flips the knife in her hand blade first, and throws it at the doctor, reaching for the table for another weapon. "You killed him!", she shrieks, hand reaching across the tools on the table.
Standard Action Attack, Move Action Draw weapon. If there are any!
59013 walks out of his cell and directs his phantom to charge at the woman, trying to grab her.
The rock "Peyton" throws with her mind turns out to be a bit of tile, which bounces off the doctor-coat-clad woman's head, causing it to recoil. She screams at "Peyton", only to take a slash across the shoulder from 77314's thrown steak knife. The second thrown knife doesn't fine its mark, ricocheting off the stone wall.
Thomas struggles to get a hold of the woman, but 59013's phantom succeeds in its grapple, only to have the woman push through its arms on its way to the room's door. She shoves her way through the door, clambering up a pile of corpses at the bottom of a chute leading up.
She's not human! the young woman in the cell shrieks as the doctor seems to easily escape the monster that seemed to be attacking her.
Another bit of chipped tile wings its way towards the escaping torturer.
Clutching another rusty utensil, F-77314 lets out a shriek of frustration, anger and fear, as a stream of expletives leaves her mouth in barely understandable French. She turns to the man on the table, trying to see if their rescuer was still alive. "We must help this man!", she shouts in the room, as she unceremoniously tears a strip from her cotton pyjamas with a trained motion, hurrying towards the man. Her eyes scanning for bleeding wounds, she prepares the impromptu bandage to stop the crimson flow.
Unskilled in the medical arts, and at the moment more concerned with this thing getting away than with saving a stranger, Thomas continued to give chase, once again trying to wrap it up in his arms. Having seen the sharp teeth that were oh so familiar, his will falters and his attempt is half-hearted at best.
Escape! Escape!
The woman in the doctor's coat slips past "Thomas's" arms, pushing one aside and sliding into the chute. From there, she powers up it, quickly disappearing into the darkness.
The cells fall silent, save for the dripping of blood from the group's rescuer, and for the first time since waking from their nightmare, or slightly before it, the four of you have time to contemplate your surroundings. The bricks on the western side of the room have collapsed, exposing packed earth behind them, while to the south, around the corner, sits an immense iron furnace and boiler. It's clear that this once heated...wherever you are...but it's also clear that it's been several days since it ran. However, across from the cells the group was locked in are a dozen or more sacks, which seem to be filled with clothes, books, and, strangely enough, weapons. A few of these sets of clothes feel vaguely familiar, as do some of the weapons and other possessions.
Thomas notes that near the place the woman in the doctor's coat fled, a set of stairs once led out of the cellar, but a cave-in has blocked it behind tons and tons of rubble.
The young englishwoman slumps down and tries to keep from hyperventilating. This was madness, pure, unalloyed madness. She forces herself to focus and her attention goes immediately to the gruesome scene on the... operating table.
Is he... dead? she asks tentatively.
Losing what heart he had for pursuit, the young man's thoughts turned to escape. He returned to the other room, noting the woman who could fling things with sorcery had slumped down dejectedly. At 'Peyton's' prompt, he goes over to check on the man on the table, then nods his head silently.
Looking over at the filled sacks, Thomas walked over to them, picking out items that felt familiar or that seemed useful. After scavenging through, he looked to the others, speaking in his English accent. "Come, gather some things and let's see if we can get out before she comes back with help. I have no idea what is going on, and would rather be elsewhere while we try to figure it out."
The young man pushed down the dread threatening to choke him, for now, his heart rate accelerated but under control. They needed to get OUT! He was loathe to leave the others, though, especially after witnessing the brutality that had been visited upon the poor soul on the table.
As the woman disappears into the chute, 59013 relaxes slightly. His phantom returns to him, melding into him once more. He seems to break out of whatever strange trance of rage he had been in. He says softly, even timidly in an Irish brogue, "Where...where are we? And what on God's green Earth was that thing?" He goes to the sacks of items, grabbing the items that he felt compelled to pick up. As he notices the chute, anger bubbles up in his mind once more, but he is able to fight it down, replacing fury with determination. He says in a slightly more confident voice, "We'd best get out of here. I don't want to linger too long."