Strange Aeons...
I walk. I rune. I am.
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All around is a wall of sickly yellow fog, tumbling through the alley’s canyon of crumbling, gray brick walls like some jaundiced flash flood. Ahead, the unfamiliar alley splits, curving to the left and right. Behind, from the silent swell of mist, emanates the sound of footsteps—slow, but somehow keeping pace with the careening, hungry wave.
You have but a moment. A single action. What do you do?
Deldhindon quickly moves around the corner to the left, taking cover from whatever seems to be approaching.
Wellstone looks frantically about, indecisive at first. Finally he lurches desperately to the split on the right, stumbling as he tries to get his feet back under him cleanly. His cane is off the ground now, betraying his lack of need for its support in his pace.
I turn to face the sounds of footfalls, and with a wave of my hand, place a rune upon the ground in front of me.
I prepare for war.
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Deldhindon and Wellstone split directions, looking for a place to hide.
When Wellstone moves, he barely notices the typical presence of his cane. It's that items reassuring heft that draws attention to the fact that it's the only item he has!
Arryn calls energy into a rune, quickly drawing it in the space before him. The yellow fog seems to wait with bated breath...
Silent, but spurred to rapid action, Zadok pats his hips for a weapon, still strapped across his scaled metal armor.
Trusting his gut, that the stranger with the cane is no foe, he follows suit.
For the briefest of moments he closes his eyes. He reaches out with his mind's eye, picturing the hammering and fire of the blade's forging. When he opens them, the edge of blade glows for an equally brief moment, magically sharpened for whatever wicked this way comes.
Johari grunts silently at the strange circumstance, but makes no other display of surprise. His training takes over and he draws his longsword , and faces the oncoming steps.
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Zadok imbues his blade with a keen mental edge and darts off to the right with Wellstone. Johari takes a stance, blade drawn, beside Arryn.
The alley walls sag, battered brick slumping over the path, nearly blotting out the bruised twilight sky. Again the grimy cobblestone path splits. This time one route curves uphill, while the other recklessly descends. Behind, the yellow fog and the relentless sound of pursuit grow closer.
Dread begins to grow within each of you as the steps grow louder. This could be your last moment. Your last action. What will it be?
Whatever currents of time brought me here, my life is my own. If it ends, it'll end on my terms... at least I think these are my terms.
Zadok continues to stay outwardly silent. The same inward look he gave the blade, the same mental construct of the mind's eye that made it sharp charges the air around Zadok as he uses a magical knack to give himself Resistance
Right, Wellstone says to himself, his pulse pounding in his ears. If I'm going to die, at least let me see what ends me...
He draws the blade from its cane scabbard, intent on making a stand.
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Arryn The Glasswalker pulls forth his sickle, and waits for his stalker to appear.
The wheel turns. The sun sets, the long night begins. The Dawn will come, and all will be new and green again. The Wheel turns again. The winds of winter blow, the ice spreads across Golarion, only to melt away to the blooming spring and the fires of summer. Harvest comes, and soon winter will come again. The Wheel turns...
Arryn stares cold and hard into the mist.
I am ready.
The slayer holds himself steady for a few more seconds, then the low growl that has been welling in his chest bubbles forth into a snarl. As the steps approach yet closer, and the source remains unseen, fear gives way to anticipation and rage. He smashes his left fist into his thigh, then grips his sword with both hands, holding it directly in front of him at the ready.
The snarl turns into a shout. COME ON!!! Come on, you motherforker! COME GET SOME!!
Deldhindon takes furtive looks all around, trying to assess his surroundings more clearly. The warrior's shout draws his attention back down the alley, back to the approaching mist. For some reason he can't pin down, the bellow from that angry warrior does not surprise him. It rings of a familiarity he can't identify.
Pushing such thoughts away and seeing the others preparing for battle, Deldhindon focuses on the wellspring of arcane energy filling him and calls forth eldritch ectoplasm to congeal and coat the alleyway in front of his companions.
Cast Grease in front of everyone, between them and whoever is approaching.
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The mist parts, now mere steps behind. A mask of gray rags emerges, strips of something fleshier than fabric worming and constricting across a body that’s almost humanlike—but too lean, and far too flexible. Gauzy gray ribbons reach out like tendrils, each grasping for less doubtful flesh to claim.
The creature emerges from the fog, striding with purpose towards Arryn. It walks easily over the area of grease, the slippery substance seeming to curl away from it...
It steps on the rune too, which explodes with power...
The creature's jagged maw conveys a grin that's both malicious and uncaring. It lifts a nasty-looking war razor in one hand, and with a blindly quick motion cuts Arryn Glasswalker down.
While Zadok frowns at watching the man go down in a pool of his own blood and viscera, he looks at the creature dispassionately, academically.
And then he swings for the neck: for
Arryn is cut from neck to groin, flesh yielding easily to blade. Blood begins to pool around his dead body.
Wellstone's eyes go wide. He is familiar with academic consideration of death, but it's another matter entirely to see it up close and personal.
Yet at the same time it brings up memories — vague ones — of some war from somewhere, when such death was all about and even commonplace. The war is a dream, a faded memory he can't quite seem to recall. Or maybe it's the buzz of adrenaline as he faces what seems like certain death, like it was for Mr. Hat, now bloody on the ground.
With grim determination drawn from this half-forgotten past, Wellstone moves forward like an alley cat, slashing with his blade at the bundle on insubstantial cloth looming like a phantom before him.
Half of Johari's brain is utterly shocked at the speed and violence of Arryn's fall (his name is Arryn...but how do I know him??). The other half takes cold calculation at this monstrosity, and marks it's apparent weak spots. He then swings his sword with both hands!!
Deldhindon is shocked at the savagery of the attack.
What the frack?! What? What?! Frack!
Deldhindon huddles behind the alley wall trying to catch his breath, his heart thundering in his ears.
What in the Nine Hells is that thing?! Gods. OK, pull it together, Deldhindon. You can do this. Crazy rag man kills a dude with one swing. Sure. It happens all the time. All the time.
Deldhindon peeks around the corner again, take a deep breath and focuses arcane energies to then unleash a dazzling series of strobing lights in front of the creature's face.
Cast Daze, DC 15 Will
Minute Point of Order: my perception roll above is 18 if it relates to the Beastie Who Killed Arryn.
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The creature blurs away from Zadok's hasty sword strike and shrugs away Deldhindon's magic.
Johari's blade does catch the creature sliding deep into its torso. It issues a sibbilant hiss, forcing the slayers arm back as the blade slides out. It is not slowed by the wound. A frenzy of slashes flash across Johari's face, throat, and exposed extremities. Bits of flesh and blood fly, spattering those nearby and filling the air with the scent of iron. The sound of dying screams echo weirdly in the alley.
ROUND 2:
Deldhindon: Go
Wellstone: Go
Zadok: Go
Johari: DEAD
Arryn: DEAD
Enemy: TBD
Wellstone stumbles backward a step, trying to find something firm on which to stand. His mind whirls as he balances back onto the balls of his feet, ready for action, using techniques learned somewhere he doesn't recall, though his muscles clearly do.
He sees another stroke of the curved blade fell another friend — they are all friends, he realizes all of a sudden — and catches the blood spatter out of the corner of his eye. Odd...
No time to think more on it, he strikes again, with increasing desperation.
[i]What I've I done to find myself here?[i]
Zadok quickly casts a spell of shield and closes distance...
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The tattered-looking creature easy bats aside Wellstone's blade, and though it could easily reach Zadok to interrupt his magic, it does not. Though cloth covers where one might find eyes, Wellstone feels its attention upon him.
Only a few feet away, Arryn's mouth lolls open. A low, droning word escapes. Meeeeeee...
ROUND 2:
Deldhindon: Go
Wellstone: Miss
Zadok: Shield
Johari: DEAD
Arryn: Meeeeee
Enemy: TBD
Deldhindon stares in horror as another falls to the creature.
Fraaaaaaaaaaaack...
Deldhindon huddle behind the protection of the alley wall. He takes a quick look left and right, up and down the hill. He then pokes his head around the corner to get a clearer understanding of the situation. Hearing Arryn's dead body moan, all fear and panic drops from Deldhindon's demeanor, his face going blank.
OK. That's that then.
Deldhindon races up the hill.
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Seeing the butchery, Deldhindon wisely turns and runs. He struggles to put every inch of distance between him and the horror behind.
The creature's movements seem to blur and shift with impossible speed, and it slices, jabs, and pokes its jagged weapon into Wellstone. When the blade exits it pulls out organs that, with a fountain of blood, kiss the cobblestoned road with a loud squelch.
Johari's voice joins that of Arryn. The sound is not their voice, and it's as if spoken from down a long hall. Where Arryn drones one word, Johari says another: Uuuuupppppp
Deldhindon is running up the hill. Does anything change when he reaches the top? What else can he see? Is there any place else to go?
Meeeeeeeeee
Delphindon has the Run feat. He's going to run as fast as he can into the bustle of the street ahead.
Zadok books it up as fast as he can.
-Posted with Wayfinder
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Deldhindon and Zadok sprint towards the street at the end of this impossibly long alley, fear driving them. The sounds of footsteps, that now familiar patter-patter, get louder as go. Zadok glances behind him...
A brush of soft wind blows against Zadok's ear, a gentle caress meant to bring death.
The sound of another hollow voice joins the others. Wellstone's mouth lolls open and his tongue falls out. A droning work fills the alley. An addition to the others: Saaaaaaaaveee
ROUND 4:
Deldhindon: Go
Wellstone: Saaaaveee
Zadok: Go
Johari: Uuuuuuppppp
Arryn: Meeeeee
Enemy: TBD
Saaaaveee
Uuuuuuppppp
Deldhindon keeps running.
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Both Zadok and Deldhindon run. Their hearts pounding with a staccato rhythm, feet pounding against cobblestones. And yet, the street ahead seems to get no closer. It's as if whatever they do, they could never possibly run fast enough. The creature has caught Zadok.
Deldhindon flees only to hear a short whistling sound, followed by the loud grating of metal on bone. Zadok has been cut down.
ROUND 5:
Deldhindon: Go
Wellstone: Saaaaveee
Zadok: DEAD
Johari: Uuuuuuppppp
Arryn: Meeeeee
Enemy: TBD