When the very large man takes a moment to speak calmly to her, the little halfling begins to settle some. She still looks nervously between him and the mist, but she is shaking somewhat less.
What I did? What did I do? She stretches out her mind toward the door and she can feel it somehow... "Um... maybe." Her voice barely registers in the quiet gloom.
The girl tries to stretch her mind inside the door to try and unlock it, or figure out why it won't open. She is very careful not to go anywhere near the mist or the man while doing so.
Who am I? Why can I do this?
The halfling woman reaches out with her mind. Somehow, without understanding why, she saw the inner workings of the locks. She strains, filling her psyche with the cogs and gears of the locks. and then.. it "Clicks" and the doors swing open. The halfling woman and warrior rush into the foyer as the mists begin to wind towards the asylum, hurrying to get in.
The little halfling darts inside away from the mist, and at the sight of several new strangers, let's out a little eep! and dashes away onto the rubble in the corner. She doesn't seem totally panicked, but she makes herself as small as possible in the corner and watches the group warily.
The old man trains his crossbow on the newcomers. "Halt! Who are you? Where did you come from?"
Sigvald looks at man with the crossbow, turns his back to him and closes the doors so whatever is out there doesn't get in.
He then turns and with his sword tip held low he says
"I do not know where we come from.. out there in the myst we woke up and luckily got through the door .. away from.. whatever is out there."
The old man is somewhat mollified by the answer "There are monsters in here that wear the faces of men. I cannot imagine it is any better out there, in the mist. Forgive the precautions, but how can we know what you are?."
In the corner, the little halfling shifts uncomfortably, calmer now that the mist isn't threatening to rush over her, and now that nobody is brandishing a weapon too close.
I don't know what I am. Am I stuck this way? Does somebody know what I am?
The girl visibly gathers up the nerve to speak, taking a deep breath, her voice still barely coming out a tiny squeak.
"Um... I don't know what I am... but I don't think I'm a monster. At least... I hope not. I don't want to be."
She looks away at that, almost as if she's ashamed of the possibility that she could be a monster and not know it.
Tears glitter in her eyes.
As the Old man interrogates the newcomers Hearda shifts his eyes from the human to the halfling and back again, unmoved by the tears. Still what is done is done he thinks. Gliding over to the door he quickly re-locks it. "Not knowing your names is the least of your worries now. This place has gone mad, and you will as well if no escape is found. But that for later," he responds softly, "Come. We have....wounded and they must be treated." He returns to the unconscious form of Amber and hoists her up on his shoulders. "The way is not far. Follow me."
Ummm.. I'm a bit of a monster, but it's natural.. i'll show you something, but i'm good i know that." he sheathes his cutlass and shifts into fanglord (Weretiger) for.. he grows hair with a Tigers patterning small claws and a tail and piercing blue eyes.
"I'm still me though." he shrugs and then turns back to his human form.
"That forms affords me greater vision than I usually possess."
Sigvald looks at man with the crossbow, turns his back to him and closes the doors so whatever is out there doesn't get in.He then turns and with his sword tip held low he says
"I do not know where we come from.. out there in the myst we woke up and luckily got through the door .. away from.. whatever is out there."
The old man's drooping crossbow snaps back to attention accompanied by an equally hasty, if muffled, expletive. Carefully he takes position at the back of their procession. "Slowly now." he warns.
The old man's drooping crossbow snaps back to attention accompanied by an equally hasty, if muffled, expletive. Carefully he takes position at the back of their procession. "Slowly now." he warns.
Feliks trembled as he was helped along, physically able to move under his own power but mentally a wreck. He kept thinking of the thing that swallowed him. All over his skin. Everywhere. Inside him.
The little halfling watches nervously as the group files off and, afraid of the mist and being alone, follows carefully, quietly, several feet behind. She looks like she might leap away at any sudden moves.
What is this place?
"Are you going somewhere in here and can we come along as well? I don't appear to know who I am or what i'm doing here. I think i'm a warrior and the Lady well she seems to have powers."
He looks earnestly and entreatingly at the people that found him.
The dreamers follow the half-orc back to the chapel. Amber remains limp in his arms, her mutilated face unresponsive to his jostles. The orderlies guarding the blockade take one look at her face and Feliks' own mutilated visage and gasp in fright. "Gods in heaven!" They pull away from the two and retreat further into the room. "Go.. go see the nurses."
Wynter appears. "Come! this way! don't let the children see." She purposefully walks beside Feliks, keeping him out of sight with her body. The nurse lays the mesmerist on a cot and place s a cool hand over his head, running her fingers across the boils and tumors cover his cheeks. Her hands glow a brilliant blue light, and the tumors melt away. He faints, and she turns over to Amber.
"He needs rest, but should be fine. Her..." She shakes her head in resignation. "Her infection is worse. She needs more care. I will do what I can for her, here."
Elska stands quietly at the end of the hall, watching the strangers enter the chapel ahead of her and listening to the voices within.
With careful cautiousness, she creeps up silently until she stands small, a few steps away from the door, at the edge of the turn in the hall.
Her voice comes out barely more than a whisper, likely missed under the conversation going on within the chapel. "Is... is it safe?"
She looks hopeful... and uncertain.
The old man stays at the blockade, and turns to comfort and confront the two newcomers. He gestures for the guards and Hearda to stay back, but ready. He lowers his crossbow, leans on his cane, breathes deeply, and in a slow, calm voice he begins to speak.
"A scant few days ago I awoke, memory lost and caged. There were a number of us, and all but myself have started to regain memories. Please believe me when I say there is reason to be optimistic your amnesia is temporary." he gestures at the chapel "This place is a bastion of sanity in an insane world. Through some miracle within this area it is possible to find respite; to sleep, and to heal. Within are our most helpless - wounded, children, and those unable to survive out here."
He sighs, and looks away, face screwed at something distasteful. "Out here there are shapeshifters, as I said. But more. Undead. Nightmares made flesh. All too many of them seek to have us lower our guard, and all too many of them can look like those we might most want to protect." he glances here at Elska "We cannot let monsters into the sanctuary, for the sake of everyone, but especially the children. We had a larger group, and were asked to bring the heads of a number of threats before we were trusted. A long, arduous process that nearly saw us dead. Fortunately that will not be necessary here." He holds up a hand for patience "Please - bear with me."
Sigh. Darn Paranoia.
to reassure the new comers.
to make some harmless but impressive looking liquid
to sell the story
casting Detect Thoughts. What are our newcomers thinking about when they take a sip?
Conceal Spell DC 21
The old man places his crossbow on the balcony, unslings his carpet bag and rifles through it, muttering as he goes. Three vials are procured, and filled with some faintly glowing liquid from a beaker. "If you are what you appear, these should be harmless, even tasteless. If you are some form of abomination, however, the results will be more spectacular - and painful. I propose this; pick one each, I will take the third. We each drink - I will go first as a show of good faith. Once you prove immune I will vouch for you, and hopefully we can start to fill you in on what has been happening."
He winces "Should you be one of the monsters of this place, the others will be ready to deal with you. And incapacitated as you would be, that will be all too easy."
He nods at the three vials in his hand "Will you drink?"
"Hmmm.. I do not like having to prove myself, but with what I showed you and the stories, I will."
He offers his hand to take a vial to drink.
First, the little halfling glances backward, toward the ruin, toward the door, toward the mist. Uncertainty on her face, she looks forward, toward possible sanctuary. Finally, she looks up at the old man, toward possible answers.
Will he really help me?
With one last, quick look behind her, the girl turns back with a look of resigned resolve on her face, and the vial lifts itself out of the old man's hand and floats across to her.
"Shapeshifters... pretending to be children?" She catches the old man's implication. She looks horrified.
She doesn't want to drink the vial, but what choice does the halfling have, really? Go back to the mist? Explore this ruin alone that supposedly has shapeshifters lurking about? No. She'll never make it out there alone. She needs someplace safe. She might as well die here if that's where she's headed.
With tears streaming down both cheeks, the halfling grasps the floating vial and downs it quickly.
Please...
The old man, not to outdone by a child - albeit a spooky witch child - downs his as well.
Hearda stays behind with Wynter and the nurses to make sure Amber is comfortable. A pity...she had a...soothing influence on me. She will be well cared for, if nothing else.
Returning back to where the two newcomers are being tested by the Old man, he watches both of them closely...along with the Old man.
You may insist on proving these souls to you...yet you have your own secrets Old Man..., his civilized part reflects.
the savage part adds.
Which means...NOTHING! We watch him...as we always have! His mind retorts to himself.
To everyone's relief, the vials taste like water, and nothing happens.
"Alright." The old man straightens up and dusts himself off. "Let's see about checking you for injuries, and getting you a place to sleep. I'd like to check on Amber and Felix before we go any further."
At the old man's acceptance, the halfling does something unexpected. Tears still streaming down her face, she darts up to the old man and hugs his leg fiercely, sobbing into his kilt.
Not a monster... I'm not a monster.
"Thank you..." she says through her sobs, still not letting go.
The old man pats the child carefully, feeling like a heel. "There, there." he says awkwardly.
The halfling looks up at the old man after her sobbing subsides, her eyes and face reddened. "Do... do you know my name?"
She looks hopeful for the first time... slightly.
"I'm... I'm afraid not. Have you checked your pockets for identification, and your clothes for tags? Otherwise... some of - most of us - regained some memory after a good long rest." The old man hesitates, for he still has no idea of his own name.
Sigvald listening in to the old mans words, starts to look through his pockets and gear to see if there is anything that will help him to figure out his ID.
He finds the Birth of Light and truth in his gear and a holy symbol
He leafs through the book and says "It appear i'm a fllower of the Goddess Sarenrae as I have her Holy book and a Holy Symbol of her faith in my possession. Definitely not a priest, maybe an Oracle?"
Hearda shakes his head in response to the halfling girl's question. "No I do not know you. I have never seen you before. The Old Man is right you will recover some of what you have forgotten...in time. I believe that is how I discovered my name....Hearda...I think...possibly..." He shakes his head in recollection, trying to recall the exact moment he discovered his name, but so much had happened since...
"We share a common goal here...escape. Just follow your instincts. They will not mislead you."
The halfling nods solemnly at the advice from the half-orc and moves hesitantly into the chapel. Taking up a spot in the corner away from all the people, she carefully starts going through her pockets and her pack, seeming not unlike a rabbit who found a fresh carrot out in the open. It has time for a bite here and there, but it pauses to watch its surroundings often. She seems very much like that.
Sigvald will sit himself against a wall and take off his pack and rest it against the wall.
He will then go through his gear to find out all that he has and then repack it.
After this is done he remains seated. He keeps the "Birth of Light and Truth" out and starts leafing through it, reading snippets as he goes, absentmindedly munching on a biscuit from rations he found in his pack.
"Sa-ren-ray.. hmmm.. "
Hearda watches the two newcomers silently, trying to gauge how much they could be relied on. While he had just met them he did feel a strange sort of kinship with them.
Nothing to do but wait now...
He spends the rest of his time assisting Winter, trying to heal the strange pustules infesting both amber and Felixs.
A pity what happened to Amber...she was pleasant to be near.
Quickly running out of things to do he finally withdraws to a corner of the safe room...awaiting the coming of the night and the growing sense of terror that is engulfing him...
The halfling carefully takes apart her pack and neatly sets the items in an organized fashion on the floor. As she does so, she absently starts to hum quietly. She doesn't know the words of the song, or even that she's humming it. If she knew the words or when she used to sing it, she might not hum it at all. It seems sad, almost mournful.
The contents of her pack laid out, she seems surprised to find daggers hidden under her shirt, among other things. Many of her possessions have neat little musical notes stitched or etched into them. The owner of these possessions is very meticulous and careful.
She spends a significant amount of time examining an unusual, shiny metal ball. Heavy, she hefts it in her hand. And then lifts it with her mind to float in the air. It feels familiar, comfortable.
After a few moments, she packs everything neatly away, though she keeps the ball out and rolls it gently around on the floor.
"No name... but I have... weapons." She seems sad about that.
Sleep comes fitfully to the dreamers. The days' horrors plague them, even as they venture deep into the mist-shrouded Land of Nod. They close their eyes and, see the fleshy blob screaming, flowing, across the floor. It drags Amber and Felix into disgusting mass, and foul pustules erupt on their flesh. The pustules erupt into a brown-red muck that quickly devours their bodies, as they dissolve into two more bubbling masses of amorphous flesh.
They turn away from the unnatural scene, and witness a river of blood rushing down the hall, bathing them all in red liquid. They tumble and roll down the corridor, caught in its churning rapids.
Everywhere about them, the yellow mists pulse as though alive. And, within, the Yellow Eyed Shadow waits. He is hungry, the dreamers can tell, somehow. With some rare, and half-realized instinct., the are certain that the shadowy man with the yellow eyes waits to consume them. He feeds on something less than flesh, but more than the soul.
It reaches out, sending tendrils of mists towards each of the dreamers, only to be blocked by another whirlwind of fluttering butterflies. They beat back the mists with their wings, driving the Yellow Eyed Shadow with them. Only then do the dreamers know peaceful, dreamless, sleep.
They awaken refreshed and whole, even Felix is hale and hearty once more, ready to tackle the new horrors of the former asylum.
Elska opens her eyes and immediately tears begin to form. She's scared. Really, deeply scared. It's not debilitating. She can be brave. But at her core, the fear rests, ready to rise to the surface at the slightest urging.
With tears running slow lines down her cheeks, the halfling's eyes light on the statue of the woman with butterfly wings and she cautiously wipes her cheeks on her sleeves and walks over to it.
"Who... who is this?" she asks quietly aloud, to no one in particular.
Sigvald awakes with a head only a good bit of sleep can provide.
He looks around the chapel and sees the people and the situation they appear to be in. He grabs a bite of ration from his pack and realises what he is doing. He takes his rations and water out of his pack and goes looking for someone to give it to.
When he finds a likely candidate "I have some food to give to whomever co-ordinates the rations, who is that please?" he will hand over the rations to the correct person.
He then approaches the statue of the butterfly winged lady.. mostly to himself he speaks "I wonder who she is.. not Sarenrae, from what i've read she appears different. I suppose we shall find out eventually."
"I feel...better isn't the word in this place," Feliks said. "Let's say less terrible."
Sigvald awakes with a head only a good bit of sleep can provide.He looks around the chapel and sees the people and the situation they appear to be in. He grabs a bite of ration from his pack and realises what he is doing. He takes his rations and water out of his pack and goes looking for someone to give it to.
When he finds a likely candidate "I have some food to give to whomever co-ordinates the rations, who is that please?" he will hand over the rations to the correct person.
He then approaches the statue of the butterfly winged lady.. mostly to himself he speaks "I wonder who she is.. not Sarenrae, from what i've read she appears different. I suppose we shall find out eventually."
Wynter motions to an older man with a stained apron. "Sam used to work in the kitchens. He's taken over that role here." She looks at the statue and sighs. "No one knows who she is. Just that she watches over us in our dreams. We think. Here, our dreams are safe."
Once the party has departed the chapel Hearda motions to the lobby area where the group had encountered the disgusting puddle of flesh. "I say we continue our explorations from that point. Perhaps we can find a way to approach the room where we saw the river of blood."
The old man sleeps sitting in a corner, on a makeshift pallet with an old curtain as a blanket. He comes awake abruptly as Sigvald moves nearby.
Stretching and rubbbing at his eyes he clambers to his feet. "And good that she does - we'd all be insane in truth had she not. I'll show you to the kitchen. I need something to keep my strength up anyway. Perhaps we should get the others and talk through where we'll go first." He sighs "I suspect out first call will be back to the door where we found you, and examine the area." he speaks reluctantly "We should, perhaps, step out. If the two of you were trapped out there, there may be others. Even if we don't see them, we should have left a sign, and perhaps a guard. I shudder when I imagine what might have befallen you had we not happened to be there."
"No one knows who she is. Just that she watches over us in our dreams."
Elska looks sadly at the figure. "She doesn't have a name either. Nobody deserves to be nameless. Let's call her Ana." With a grim smile, the halfling nods to herself and moves away. Ana is a friend, right?
I hope I remember my name soon. Or maybe someone will give me one. I think I'd like that.
She quietly joins the others, looking uncertainly between the two tall-folk at the mention of rivers of blood and of going back outside. With a shiver, she resolves herself and speaks up.
"I... I can help. I think. But I don't want to go outside again."
She looks very worried that they'll ask her to do just that.
Sigvald accompanies the others outside the chapel "I will follow as I do not know my way around, but I would advise alot of caution before proceeding outside again."
Hearda shakes his head re-assuredly in reply to the halfling girl's fears, "To venture outside is doom for all of us. We need to find another way to escape. While we have had little luck so far, we have found a promising lead." His eyes gleam an eerie shade of red in the flickering light, "A tome...the Chain of Nights. The key."
Feeling a bit more resolved at Hearda's words, the little halfling makes a show of bravery by walking up beside him. "Do you know where it is?" She's clearly nervous walking this close, but she forces herself to stay. If these aren't her friends, well... let's just say that she really hopes these are her friends.
"My rational mind agrees with you. But still... perhaps we can hook up a string, and a bell, or something? I keep imagining someone pounding on that door as things come for them out of the fog." The old man shudders.
"The tome is the key, I think. I see no way forward bar methodical search." Already uncomfortable, the old man looks positively queasy "Unless one of you has some divination that might help?"
Divination? I don't know...
As the little halfling looks up at the old man, a small rock floats out of the pouch on her belt and hovers gently in mid-air. "I... I can put a bell outside. That way nobody has to go out there. Do... do you have one?"
Hearda shakes his head impatiently, "If that door opens again then our doom is surely sealed. A bell will not change that."