Gameplay thread - more to come later today
With a roar Grrazz drops into the small space.
Quickly gathering themselves up, they scuttle to the furthest corner from the door...and wait...
"Snuffle...sniff..."
No - when the floor opened up, the two squads fell into separate chutes. You're now in the smaller 30x30 room with the other members of Codename: Ochre Fang.
Beleste's eyes would open wide as the floor gave way beneath his hooves. In a desperate attempt to stop his descent, he would reach out for the edge of the pit to find no solid handhold. Fortunately, his descent seemed to end as quickly as it began with no real harm being done to anything but his pride.
With a grunt he would rise once more to his hooves and take a look around. With nothing much to say he would simply comment, "lovely..."
With a startled scream, Jethop falls. The Ravener lands with little grace -- claws clicking and hooves scuttling against the floor. Another game . . ..
With a faint sussurus of air, a magic mouth appears in the door and begins to speak. the mouth shouts. The voice is female, and echoes around the room. You recognize the voice from your nightmares - a voice that you heard speaking dispassionately and clinically over your restrained body as your mind swam with drugs - the voice of Doctor Khan.
You get the impression that she's grandstanding for some audience or other. Your suspicions are confirmed when a magic picture appears on the door above the magic mouth. You see the Doctor standing before the divination device, gesturing at you. As her sinuous fingers point in your directions, your slave collar forces you to stand upright and present yourselves for parade inspection. Behind the Doctor, two suspicious-looking drow nobles - both female - examine the Doctor's work, commenting to each other in Drow.
As Beleste straightened to his full seven foot stature, he would glare daggers at the doctor. This was the source of his torment. The pain he could deal with, but the degrading way she treated him left him strong feelings of hatred.
Feeling that the use of his body was still mostly under his control, Beleste would cross his arms in front of his chest, cock his head, and spit in disgust.
Faeleen scoffs at the sight of the drow nobles. She didn't really hate the drow as a whole, despite all that they had done to her, but the nobles cross the line. Sure, all drow treat her condescensingly, but the nobles take it to new depths. But as the divination device doesn't seem to tansfer sounds through it, so she just waves at the drow. Hell, maybe they will wave back. Or at least get confused.
One of the drow nobles frowns as Faeleen waves. She says something to Doctor Khan and Khan's eyes narrow in a fury. Waves of pain, like lightning, ripple through Faeleen's body. Roll a DC 20 fortitude save or be sickened for rounds for your impertinence.
Faeleen screams as the horrible pain courses through her. Sure, she had excepted it. But she didn't remember just how much it hurt.
You all see the drow smiling as the slave collar does its work. You can see the drow noble who noticed Faeleen's wave originally, speaking. It's drowned out by Faeleen's screams though - Faeleen has bardic training, and the good Doctor has learned to savor the screams her set of pipes can produce. Doctor Khan leaves the tiefling slave writhing on the floor for some moments before releasing her and ordering her to her feet again.
Beleste would grin as Faeleen dares wave at their tormentors. "Finally someone with some spunk." Then, watching as she is dished out her punishment, he would try and offer some support, "Stick in there kiddo. They'll get their due some day."
They're still watching, Beleste. Ditto fort save for you, bud. Insubordination will not be tolerated by the drow.
As the pain starts to wrack his body, Beleste would quickly suppress the urge to laugh. This was not the first time he had been punished and it likely would not be the last. However, he did not feel the need to have his body weakened to a large extent before the main event. So for now he would settle with smiling at their drow captors.
The pain of his fellows causes the Ravener to smile. When they fall, I will gnaw on their bones.
Grrazz struggles as the collar drags them upright. Shuffling and pawing at the air, the effect is as if watching a dancing bear so obvious is it that Grrazz is not used to the pose.
"GRRRAAAAOOOW!!"
The fall surprised the tiefling, and unlike some of the others he was not nearly graceful enough to fall on anything but his rump. He was already attempting to pull himself to his feet though when the collar yanked him up, straightening his spine and going rigid as if it were attached to a taunt chain against the wall. 'Wonderful.' He shifted uncomfortably in his armor a little until he found a better position. Then he relaxed. The 'birthmark' on his back itched a little but otherwise he was used to the armor. They had trained him in it in some of their controlled fights.
Aren watches it all with his faded yellow/white eyes. The other tieflings audacity and defiance. Inwardly it made him smile a little to see the drow frustrated so by their experiments, but he resisted the urge to join in. Unlike the others, Aren had no interest in showing defiance for defiance's sake. And they were missing something whenever one of the fools spoke. He could barely hear what the women said normally, but now the groups screams filled the small room. 'If only they would shut up so I could hear what the women are saying.' Well, one of them was, but he doubted the drow liked the smile he was giving them. He glances at the man out of the corner of his eye curiously. 'Interesting...'
He realizes now that his own choice of where to stand may have been the correct one. He had chosen who to stand with himself, and Aren Brighteyes had no regrets being with a group of folks so much larger and more powerful then him. They would do the hard fighting if there was any to be had. And if one fell....
Panting, tongue licking out at their muzzle and snuffling at the air, Grrazz throws their arms over their shoulders, trying to reach what ever it is that's pulling them into such an uncomfortable position.
Undvach tumbles quite ungracefully ( ) out the end of the chute, groaning slightly before rolling into a sitting position and grunting loudly, "Ugh, pleasant." He rubs a bruised hip for a moment before being startled by the shouting voice, thinking to himself, "Oh, her again. More drugs, more magic."
As his collar pulls him into an altogether quite uncomfortable position, he tries to relax and let his mind drift elsewhere, the way he would normally cope with the various tortures the doctor had inflicted in the past. He is about to make some comment about this undignified display, until he sees the reaction that elicited from his companions and decides that a gentle grunt of dissatisfaction would be sufficient, not wanting to incur more pain than necessary.
Yelling briefly in surprise at the fall, Jokum curses quietly under his breath as stands from the dust, dusting himself off. This whole thing seems like it's just a game to them. Lives ruined for their twisted amusement. He only has time to glance around the room, noting the door in the greyscale darkness before he hears the drow doctor -Khan?- begin grandstanding. He finds himself hauled uncomfortably upright as her image appears and his tail twitches in agitation. Jokum struggles for a moment before sighing and allowing himself to be held up. Futile to struggle against this magic. Better to preserve your energy for later.
Casting brief glances around him, he grimaces as his companions make a show of resistance against the drow. Unbidden, a vision sweeps over his mind and the darkened room seems to fade out as if a dream. I'm kneeling in front of a drow and cruel laughter echoes in my ears. Snarling, I lunge upwards, speaking words of power as I reach for the drow. A spike of mental pain and drow laughs again as I fall back to my knees, gritting my teeth. A backhanded blow knocks me to the ground and darkness overcomes me. Panting from the intensity of the vision, Jokum's face stings in phantom pain where 'he' was struck. Trembling slightly, he continues watching the room as he tries to make sense of what he has seen.
Faeleen snaps her pincers close and open rythmically while nervously waiting for what will happen next.
*Snap* ... *Snap* ... *Snap!*
Still struggling slightly against the strange arcane restraint, Grrazz whuffles as they struggle in their bonds.
"Growf!"
Beleste's calm acceptance of the pain administered by the collar causes some concern in the eyes of the two nobledrow behind the Doctor. One of them murmurs, "Is your magic faulty, Khan? You're clearly activating the painspell, but the tiefling looks more like he's being tickled."
Khan narrows her eyes in hatred at Beleste as he makes her look foolish. You will pay for this, her expression reads - you recognize it well, having seen it before. She turns to the other drow in exasperation. "Will you LOOK at the brute? Little more than beast after my experiments, and built like an ox to boot. He WILL follow my commands, I assure you - I don't need to exert fine control over his actions." her tone grows confident once more. "He will obey. He always has. As will they all. They are my...proof of concept." her eyes roam slowly over the macabre assortment of demonflesh arrayed before her, coldly sizing each of you up with a faint smile playing over her lips.
Abruptly, the picture vanishes, as does the magic mouth. The obsidian door opens before you, revealing a dim staircase leading upward. From the far end of the staircase, you can hear the shouts and noise of a large crowd of many voices.
As the force holding Grrazz upright disappears the furred, brutish teifling drops forwards onto all fours gain.
With an indolent shake of themselves, small flecks of spittle being flung from their short fanged muzzle, Grrazz looks towards the opening....and the noise which emanates from therein.
Grrazz swings thier head left and right, glancing at tbe others in the cell -tongue lolling between slightly parted fangs-
Yes I believe so, unless you're wearing certain kinds of armor.
Grrazz races from the chamber, tongue lolling, twisted limbs moving the furred hinched form with surprising grace and impressive speed.
Aren blinks down at the furred... cat... thing and then shrugs. He had seen weirder stuff in his time here. The collar around his neck made it very clear that he was not -free- but he was moving about and while it seemed. So he took a couple moments to stretch. An uncomfortable thing, to be certain, since he was wearing relatively heavy armor but he enjoyed the experience nonetheless. He only wished his creation were here. Around such strong enemies, it would not bode well for him to be unarmed, and unlike man of the others in this group Aren was not a combatant. He relied on things like Seres for that.
He glances over to the man who had subjected himself to the pain with naught but a restrained smile and sighs. Are all the others suicidal? Do they not realize it would take far more subtlety then that? The drow were manipulators. In brutes they saw not but swords to be used in discarded. True power, to them, was power over others. 'Oh well. When they die I will have more toys to play with. In the mean time...'
Aren heads up the stairs, his armored boots clicking as he does and his uncomfortable garb beneath his armor itching him annoyingly. 'Ah, yes, clothing. It has been a while since I've had to wear so much of it. I suppose whatever they want us for the Drow want me decent.' Despite having only briefly seen the wands, rod and his creation Seres, Aren felt oddly naked without them now. The armor he wore, as well as the shield on his back, did a little to help with that feeling. But not enough. Still, of all of the tieflings here, he was one of those who was best armed... save maybe the couple with claws and teeth...
The tiefling does not rush up the steps, but neither does he take his time. No, dilly dallying was as certain to get his collar activated as any other slight against their drow masters. The very thought that he'd have to hasten his step for such rankled him sorely, but unlike the others he had patience. One however, a useful one for that matter, might not. "Ravener, do try not to get yourself in trouble like these others. It would not do if you were punished and not allowed to have any fun. Considering all the trouble they're going through, I'd imagine you'd miss out on a lot too, wouldn't you agree?"
After the invisible force binding them in place releases itself, Beleste would take a moment to pop his neck by rolling it from one side to the other. Once finished, he would smile once more.
"You would think the doctor would be more appreciative of her subject showing off for her peers," he would say with a laugh before turning his head to regard the one snapping her pincers. "Anyone willing to show a bit of resistance is alright in my book."
With his part said, he would start for the door. The clip clop of his hooved feet echoing against the walls as he seemed to move with a casual stride, clearly in no rush to get to what he assumed would be a fight.
The Ravener gives Aren a look of mild disdain, as if Aren had just tried to teach his own grandmother how to suck eggs. "Posturing is for the fearful and those who have something to prove. I only act when there is something to be gained."
Despite the look, he follows closely behind Aren up the staircase. Even this one knows fear, but I know he can be of use.
Arens eyes flash briefly with approval and he nods down to the creature. He didn't understand him as well as he thought, it seemed, though he was certain pleasure and enjoyment was enough gain for the Ravener to act. He glances over to the other tieflings and asks with a curious tone, "Why is it that you lot acted so? Surely your years of drug induced experiments have demonstrated already just how much power they have over us, even if these collars weren't here now. Spirit is a fine thing in some cases, but if one always choose to act and posture you miss important details. For instance, did anyone hear what the two noble women were saying while one of ours was screaming in pain?"
Aren gestures at the one around his neck briefly, but resists the urge to try and tug it off. He wasn't sure if it was the collars magic directing him not to or not though. The thing was insidiously subtle in some ways. It was hard to convey, within the spiders own layer, that playing the game was likely to get someone much further then being killed for being stubborn.
Beleste would look up the stairs at the inquisitive tiefling. "Inaction has a habit of breeding a sense of acceptance and comfort. I use every ounce of pain I am given to make sure that I never give in to such a pitiful state. And while it may seem foolish to some, that look of contempt that witch gives me every time I defy her is what helps get me through all of this. It is a reminder that I still have a will of my own no matter what she tries."
Then, with a mischevious smile, he would add, "Not to mention the fact that it is about the only source of fun to be had in this cesspit of evil spider loving faeries."
Aren grins down at the man. "Alright... sanity is certainly a reason of survival. Just... please be careful. It seems we are going to be relying on each other for a while and I'm not certain Drow can tell us apart."
He chuckles at his own joke, causing the ashen smoke to come from his mouth for a couple seconds and drift on to those walking behind him, giving off an oddly sweet and comforting sent. His bright eyes focus again at the top of the stairs. "Truthfully, there is only so much one can say in their web... but if we are ever beyond their home I think we can have some interesting conversations."
Aren sighs almost wistfully, causing another puff of smoke to escape his breath. Again he speaks, his tone quiet, almost gentle, and his words carefully spoken. "I do hope they return my puppet to me soon though. I have been feeling rather odd parting from it after it's creation..."
Faeleen follows the other tieflings through the doorway, listening to their banter, especially Aren's complaint about not hearing what the drows had said. "Are you telling me that you'd rather listen the mumblings of two old hags than my wonderful voice?" she quips at Aren. "I'm disappointed. Truly disappointed."
"Patience can be a virtue, but sometimes a grudge is stronger and more motivating than all the patience one can muster," Beleste would reply simply as his own smokey breath fills the air in front of him.
As the strange tiefling continue on, Beleste would ask, "Puppet? I long to have my sword and shield in my hands once more. While I may lack that natural finesse for combat some of our comrades seem to have, I am more than proficient with my chosen weapons."
Beleste would laugh as the tiefling with some guts continues to harass those around her. "Well the most we've heard from you so far have been screams so perhaps you can persaude our comrade here that he missed nothing of importance with a bit of conversation."
Grrazz was too impatient for conversation and bounded immediately to the top of the stairs. Grrazz, what you see dazzles you momentarily.
You stand in what looks like an enormous coliseum, the size of a football stadium. Where a human of earth might expect astro turf and field goals, however, a darker picture is before you - stalagmites rise from the earth at random intervals, all large enough to provide cover and concealment to those who would hide behind them. They're limned with a glittering coat of purplish faerie fire, providing low levels of light throughout the arena. There are pits, too, pits that go about 20 feet below the main floor and are filled with spikes and other tools used for improvised weapons. The faerie fire moves with an irregular pattern, staying attached to different stalgmites for different, seemingly random intervals before moving on. The result of this is that certain areas of the arena are plunged into total darkness intermittently - this, of course, provides unfair advantage to those combatants in the arena with darkvision.
Around the edges of the arena, the walls are lined with spikes pointing inward, as well as the odd victim impaled here or there and left to rot. Almost every species imaginable is represented in death along this horrific trophy display. The smell of ashes and dust fills your nose as your feet disturb the fog that lies like a blanket on the ground. You can only see the ground beneath your feet clearly, the rest is obscured by fog - except for the pits, of course.
Above the spiked walls sits a crowd of dark elves the size of which you have never seen. The population of the coliseum alone is more people than you have ever seen in one place. The crowd screams its bloodlust when Grrazz appears, shouting in Drow - the noise is almost deafening. At differing spots in the walls, doors are opening and others, like Grrazz in attitude if not in appearance, are emerging. Many of them blink in surprise as they take in the scene before them. All of them are armored.
"I think that would be hard to do. Everything they say is of importance." His eyes flash again briefly as he looks down to the collection of creatures behind and beside him. "They use their words as weapons and tools and learning that art is vitally important. But... I will admit that they are unlikely to have said anything of extreme value while we can still hear."
He glances at the female tiefling quipping at him and chuckles just a little, "To be fair, I have gone many a night with only the barest of whispers to keep me company. Conversation with a rock would be more interesting then that. Conversation with an honest to god group of living, breathing people? It is enough for me to think I am still strapped down to one of their tables and being experimented upon, though this time with something quite fine running through my system."
The mans eyes turn back to the direction he was heading as he carefully navigated the stairs. His body had once been much stronger, and though he was not really feeling weak or anything just yet, he had nearly stumbled once or twice now. It was odd having the choice to move, it was odd using stairs. "My... puppet. Seres I called it. I don't think they liked his name, considering the number of meanings implied, but I was a little... off at the time." Drunk on power. Such energy burning through his veins, tearing from his finger tips and infusing the skeleton. Such power. "It is probably not as strong in some senses as any of our combatants, but at my side it is nearly impossible to destroy. Plus, it is quite large, and it was my first attempt at creating such a thing. I miss it as any artist would his first painting or poem, any swordsman would their first weapon."
You reach the top shortly after Grrazz does. The staircase isn't particularly long.
Beleste's eyebrows would furrow as he thought on what he had just been told. "So you created something that lives?" Beleste would ask to test the waters.
However, almost as soon as he asked the question, he heard the sound of the crowd above get louder. Hearing the increase in volume, he would raise his eye upward and start to wander about what they were about to get themselves into.
"Sounds like there will be plenty of fun to be had..." he would state as he clenches and unclenches his fists.
Aren's eyes widen as something unexpected happens. He encounters something he had never seen before. Oh, sure, the testing area's where he had fought in controlled battles were like miniature arena's, but for a brief moment the wide eyed youth Aren had once been shows itself as he see's just how many -people- there are. He had never seen so many in his life, nevertheless in one place.
For several seconds Beleste's question goes unanswered. Then Aren snaps out of it, quite literally biting his lips to focus himself. When he finally manages to regain control he steps aside to let any behind him out of the long upward hallway. "Lives?" He says, his voice the pinnacle of calm once more. "Not as such, no."
Beleste will enter the arena and straighten to his full height as he takes everything in.
"Well if it could help us through this, I don't care much about what it is," Beleste would answer as he starts to look around for something to arm himself with.
"Oh yes, it could help us with any number of things, though many of those uses tend to be in a narrow scope of frightening or killing things." Aren chuckles as he glances at the other things walking up the stairs, trying to guess if he recognizes any of them or if they were even odd in appearance or simply slaves sent to the slaughter.
"As long as it's killing those against us, I say I would be happy to have it hear," Beleste would respond as his eyes continue to dart around in hopes of finding some kind of weapon.
As you climb, uncertainly, into the slightly brighter coliseum overhead, you hear the clicking of spider's legs above you. You look up, but it isn't on the roof, but above it.
Grrazz and anyone else already topside would hear the sound also, even above the din of the crowd. Your breath is nearly taken away entirely by the sight: a horrible black-bodied spider, like a black widow that had eaten way too many vitamins. Your best guess is that it is at least two stories tall, and it bears a palanquin atop its heaving abdomen. Its legs sprawl over several full stadium bleachers' width. As it climbs down, over the heads of drow spectators, some of its pointed legs come down onto the heads of the hapless drow who tried in vain to escape its path. Blood spurted, the spider gave a skittering cry and reared its head back slightly, and the surrounding drow family members or "friends" of the deceased immediately began offering thanks to Lolth for her blessing, kneeling and genuflecting before the thing.
Atop the spider, in the gazebo-like structure built into its harness, rides an officious-looking and pincer-thin drow female, wrapped in an ornate costume and positively glowing with magic in the visible spectrum. She raises both arms, prompting the crowd to cheer anew. After a few moments, she calls for silence, and gives a brief speech in Drow that you don't understand. Among the gibberish are a few words that you do recognize - and finally a word you don't recognize for a fifth race.
After the cheers subside again, she gives an imperious command in Drow, and the underbelly of the spider mount she's riding comes alive. Smaller spiders the size of coffee tables skitter all over the arena, coming down over the spikes with easy dexterity. Being the nearest, your spider reaches your group first, and is followed by Seres, Aren's pet. The spider shudders, screaming in pain when it reaches you, and is polymorphed into a table, upon which your weapons and consumables appear.
Shocked by the sight above them, even Beleste would take a step back as the monstrosity made it's way down. "Huh, maybe I did piss off the doctor a bit too much," he would offer with a half-hearted smile before falling quiet and watching the scene unfold.
However, as the spiderling started to make it's way towards them, Beleste would take up a fighting stance, readying himself in case if it attacked. Much to his surprise, and relief, the creature suddenly shifted into something he had been waiting for.
Without thinking, Beleste moves forward and starts gearing up. As he reached for one of his large throwing hammers with his left hand, which he would quickly tuck into his belt, his right hand slipped into one of the straps of his backpack and lifted into the air so that it slid down the rest of his arm. With a quick shrug of his shoulder, he would adjust it's position as he reached back to loop his left arm into the other strap as he used his now free right hand to pick up his other throwing hammer and tuck it into his belt along with the previous. Once done, he would take hold of his monstrous shield and start strapping to his left arm after rolling his shoulder to get the backpack in place.
"Don't just stand their gawking! Gear up quickly!" he would state in a commanding voice to his comrades as he turns his head to look over them one last time. "I know some of us didn't get off on the best foot, or hoove in my case, but what do you say we show these bastards what we can do?" Upon finishing his little speel, Beleste would take hold of the hilt of his adamantine longsword, which to most would appear to be something closer to a greatsword.
Grrazz stops when they come 'out' into the door-way of the arena. Snarling and chomping their teeth they shuffle sideways a little, though their hunched and tense posture show that they are unhappy with the situation.
"Grrahhh!" Shaking their muzzled head Grrazz begins to look at the 'others' assembling in the various doorways.
Grrazz ignores both the spider once it stops moving and the things which appear upon the former spider.
Nearest to you is a group of aasimar of the same number as you, about 60 feet away. They have not been physically modified, warped or transformed as you all have - instead, their once-angelic countenances have been marred and darkened by the influence of the drow, and they now glow with an unholy might. One or two of them are looking your way as they begin to gear up, and their expressions aren't pleasant. One aasimar, who appears to be something like their leader, points off in the direction of the center of the arena and shouts something. They begin to move as a group toward a small cluster of stalagmites which offer higher, elevated terrain.
Grrazz watches...and waits... Settling their posture slightly as they watch the closer figures begin moving. Grrazz gives an occasional glance over a shoulder at those they fell into the pit with, perhaps to gauge their reactions...Or perhaps just to be sure they aren't aiming at Grrazz's furred, hunched back.