Suicide Squad

Game Master Patrick Curtin

Fingàl approaches Chandi and mutters to her in a low tone

"I do not envy you your task, menchenjaeger. Is there any assistance you need of me to help with this lot?"

He fingers the hilt of his elven curve blade and looks over at the hulking figure of Mareth

Chandi whispers back, "Get us to the Underdark quickly so they can be about their task. Idle hands..."

Fingàl nods

"Aye. Best be off!"

He jumps up on his stallion and trots out ahead of the party. The wain begins to rumble forward, taking up the rear of the procession. They begin to head down the snow-covered road, turning south at the crossroads a kilometer down the path, headed towards the Suderlands

Any last things before we start off, yell out. I'll be compressing the trip later tonight

Atma begins to tug on Chandi's boot in an effort to get her attention.

"Hey," she says blandly. "Let me ride with you. I don't know how to ride these big meat things on my own."

Edit: Ninja'd by the GM, so either Monkey or Chandi can just post about whether Atma got her way later.

Myth glances at the Handler irritated, "I believed in the powers of the collar as I put a great deal more faith in magic than people. You have now demonstrated that you are truly a tool of the Kingdom you serve, all are punished when only one is guilty, at least those who have no other recourse or influence are punished". He stands and walks away quite irritated with the Handler at the moment.

He approaches the mountain of a warrior and speaks ever so softly, ** spoiler omitted **

Despite having cut through the threads holding his lips closed, Mareth seems still unwilling or unable to speak. He nods in response to Mythaniel's murmured query.

Eddin bounces back unusually quickly from the near-strangulation, rising easily to his feet as soon as the enchantment is lifted.

"Hoo-ee, boy howdy, lady, you sure know to show a fella a good time. If it weren't for all the time I spent with Feather Boa at the Clockwork Dollhouse, I would have been a goner for sure."

As he speaks, he effortlessly saddles and mounts his horse, a squat, sturdy mare. After getting situated in his saddle, he continues his earlier train of thought, this time directed at Myth.

"You, Sad Sack... You look like you could use some time with the ladies. Tell you what, next time we're in Greyport, I'll set you up with Kraken Jenny. Just look for the brunette with half an octopus grafted onto the back of her neck." He leans toward the elf, continuing in a conspiratorial whisper loud enough to be heard by the entire group. "She likes it when you bite her tentacles. I bet that's right up your alley, buddy. I'm right, aren't I? Yeah, I'm right."

Atma begins to tug on Chandi's boot in an effort to get her attention.

"Hey," she says blandly. "Let me ride with you. I don't know how to ride these big meat things on my own."

"Aw, it ain't that hard, little lady. Just kick 'em until they go faster, then keep doing it until they croak, then sell the carcass and buy a new horse. Easy as pie. Horse pie."

He does not respond to Chandi's lecture, and merely glares at her sullenly.

Looking indecisively back and forth for a moment between Kanir and Chandi, Eddin decides to go for the easier target.

"Hey, don't frown, Cool Guy, you're still cool. Just do what you always do, write in your journal all night long, paint your pet turtle black, maybe get a tattoo of a sad clown. Everything's gonna be hunky-dory."

"Hey, here's a joke for you: so, Sad Sack over there is walking down the street with a huge sewer rat on his shoulder, and an old lady walks past. She stops and stares at the two, finally asking, "Now, whatever on this green earth are you doing with that revolting creature?" "Squeak squeak squeak," says the rat."

"OK, how many kids does it take to paint a wall red? Just one, if you've got a big enough catapult."

Kanir mounts a piebald mare and studiously ignores Eddin's jabs. However, he does say - to anyone who may be listening - "Am I allowed to kill other prisoners? That was not clear in the rules they gave us."

"You, Sad Sack... You look like you could use some time with the ladies. Tell you what, next time we're in Greyport, I'll set you up with Kraken Jenny. Just look for the brunette with half an octopus grafted onto the back of her neck." He leans toward the elf, continuing in a conspiratorial whisper loud enough to be heard by the entire group. "She likes it when you bite her tentacles. I bet that's right up your alley, buddy. I'm right, aren't I? Yeah, I'm right."

Myth turns to Eddin not whispering, "Human, there is not a race of female I have not had the pleasure of deflowering in my youth. None but the Succubus did I find worthy of my carnal talents. The answers of the universe do not dwell within the flower of woman, at least not that I discovered. Therefore, I find such pursuits a waste of my time especially when the secrets of true power are mine to discover.

However, I do appreciate your concern for my health. In fact, come to think of it, I have never had the pleasure of a man. Does your concern extend so far as to indulge me should I wish to act out said urges?"

Ash picke dup his pack and moved to towards his chosen horse without seeming to hurry, but he wasn't exactly wasting time either. He was stepping onto the horse when the collar constricted, and he promptly found him self on his arse, pulling at the cursed collar and trying to gasp for air through a closed throat.

'Oh Hades no! This is NOT has Geygar Yates bites it! I never even had a chance to see if I can pick,. this,.. stupid,...'

Later holding an aching head and inventing new curses about blue-skinned women, Geygar listens to Chandi RE-explain the situation.

"A simple 'Please' would have worked just fine doll." The slim elf says grumpily but without the apparent venom of the others.

Shaking his head, (And wincing when he does so,) Geygar heads for his chosen horse, again, makes certain his pack and weapons are still there, and actually mounts this time. He follows their handler out of the gate with the rest.

AT Eddin's continued (attempts) at humor, and Kanir's comment, Ash finally loosens up towards his previous self.

"I'm pretty sure that killing each other is out. Seemed pretty implied to me. But they didn't say nothing about sewing anyone ELSE'S lips shut." He smirks.

"Pretty good skills back there. I didn't even see you vanish. And I'm usually pretty observant." Ash ventures to Kanir.

The elf's superior attitude is back, but he seems sincere.

Eddin Costayne wrote:

"You, Sad Sack... You look like you could use some time with the ladies. Tell you what, next time we're in Greyport, I'll set you up with Kraken Jenny. Just look for the brunette with half an octopus grafted onto the back of her neck." He leans toward the elf, continuing in a conspiratorial whisper loud enough to be heard by the entire group. "She likes it when you bite her tentacles. I bet that's right up your alley, buddy. I'm right, aren't I? Yeah, I'm right."

Myth turns to Eddin not whispering, "Human, there is not a race of female I have not had the pleasure of deflowering in my youth. None but the Succubus did I find worthy of my carnal talents. The answers of the universe do not dwell within the flower of woman, at least not that I discovered. Therefore, I find such pursuits a waste of my time especially when the secrets of true power are mine to discover.

"Alright alright alright. We're definitely going. If you really want to feel powerful, snort a few lines of crushed daemon seed and try a pair of conjoined twins on for size. They've got a few sets, so you can pick one."

However, I do appreciate your concern for my health. In fact, come to think of it, I have never had the pleasure of a man. Does your concern extend so far as to indulge me should I wish to act out said urges?"

"OK man, I just hope you like hotboxing flayleaf for 48 hours at a stretch. Well, that and razor blades. I think they have a special room for that kind of thing at the Opal Emperor in Dustmark. Oh, let me tell you, pal, that takes me back to my days in the army..."

"You know, I think this calls for a song. Nothing like a song for the long, hot, hard, cold, dusty, snowy, trail, I always say. Who's with me?"

Without waiting for an answer, Eddin barrels right through into the first verse, singing in a disconcerting falsetto.

"F is for Friends who do stuff together
U is for You and Me
N is for Anywhere and Anytime at all
Down here in the deep blue sea..."

After the last line is finished, he starts back over from the beginning. One gets the impression that he could keep this up for days.

Pokes head around corner

"I feel all tingly inside!"

"You know, I think this calls for a song. Nothing like a song for the long, hot, hard, cold, dusty, snowy, trail, I always say. Who's with me?"

Without waiting for an answer, Eddin barrels right through into the first verse, singing in a disconcerting falsetto.

"F is for Friends who do stuff together
U is for You and Me
N is for Anywhere and Anytime at all
Down here in the deep blue sea..."

After the last line is finished, he starts back over from the beginning. One gets the impression that he could keep this up for days.

Mareth puts his helmet back on.

Eddin Costayne wrote:

"You know, I think this calls for a song. Nothing like a song for the long, hot, hard, cold, dusty, snowy, trail, I always say. Who's with me?"

Without waiting for an answer, Eddin barrels right through into the first verse, singing in a disconcerting falsetto.

"F is for Friends who do stuff together
U is for You and Me
N is for Anywhere and Anytime at all
Down here in the deep blue sea..."

After the last line is finished, he starts back over from the beginning. One gets the impression that he could keep this up for days.

Mareth puts his helmet back on.

Ash looks like he wishes he had a helmet to put on too.

Myth smiles at Eddin, "Excellent, when this little journey is over together shall we explore all of my dark urges. Perhaps I'll be powerful enough to put a living being back together this time". He pats Eddin on the shoulder and nods to Mareth heading to his own mount for the ride.

Indrana managed to avoid passing out as the collar choked her, barely, and glared at Chandi with murder in her eyes. Despite the rage she felt coming upon her she held herself in check as she knew it wouldn't end well, at least not until the collar could be removed. As Eddin continued his antics she felt nothing but annoyance in the loud mouth fool singing his song but she decided that killing him wasn't going to go well for her either most likely right now so her sense of self-preservation kept her from ripping his fool heart out and feeding it to him before he died. It was then that she noticed Atma trying to get Chandi to let her ride with their minder and being ignored. While Indrana didn't really like anyone the smaller dhampir had at least earned her respect and so she rode closer and looked down at Atma before reaching down to offer her a hand and pull her up before the tiefling woman in the saddle.

Indrana managed to avoid passing out as the collar choked her, barely, and glared at Chandi with murder in her eyes.

If the collars failed to render any of the team unconscious, Chandi, alarmed, would immediately halt the departure and report the failure to the Duke. It would be her assessment that the mission cannot succeed if the collars do not work, and that they would either need a new mechanism or to return anyone tough enough to completely resist strangulation to the Tower.

Atma looks at Indrana's hand blankly then looks at Chandi. Shrugging she turns back to the tiefling and accepts her hand allowing herself to be pulled up into the saddle.

Turning to regard Eddin, Atma says tonelessly, "You're funny."

Holding up one hand to her mouth while the other grips the saddle pommel, Atma looks up into the aether as if trying to remember something.

"I think I remember a joke I was told by my father that always used to make me laugh." She pauses as if trying to get in character.

When she does speak it doesn't sound any different than normal.

"A vampire once attacked a man who was so frightened by the experience, he had a stroke. The vampire tried to feed but to his surprise he was having trouble getting any blood from the man. Frustrated, the vampire threw the man aside and said to him..."

Atma pauses for emphasis. Then, completely deadpan she finishes,

"'Stupid clot.'"

Atma looks at Eddin expectantly, eyes half-lidded and bored.

"Hey, not bad little lady, you're getting the hang of it. Now that you mention, I think I've got one that's more your speed. I heard this one from an elixir-seller in a Dargestani market back during the war. OK, so this farmer meets a spirit-woman in the forest, and she gives him this golden box, but says, "you must never open this." The farmer takes the box home and hides it, but one day, his wife finds the box and opens it. Inside the box is this big 'ol mess of gouged-out eyeballs, and at that moment, the farmer drops dead in his field. The farmer's wife goes mad and spends the rest of her days living like an animal in the forest. Neat story, eh?"

Myth smiles at Eddin, "Excellent, when this little journey is over together shall we explore all of my dark urges. Perhaps I'll be powerful enough to put a living being back together this time". He pats Eddin on the shoulder and nods to Mareth heading to his own mount for the ride.

"Don't know what that means, but you do you, buddy."

"Hey, not bad little lady, you're getting the hang of it. Now that you mention, I think I've got one that's more your speed. I heard this one from an elixir-seller in a Dargestani market back during the war. OK, so this farmer meets a spirit-woman in the forest, and she gives him this golden box, but says, "you must never open this." The farmer takes the box home and hides it, but one day, his wife finds the box and opens it. Inside the box is this big 'ol mess of gouged-out eyeballs, and at that moment, the farmer drops dead in his field. The farmer's wife goes mad and spends the rest of her days living like an animal in the forest. Neat story, eh?"

Atma cocks her head and ponders while holding the pommel against the stepping motion of the horse carrying her and Indrana. Then she nods to Eddin.

"I like the part when the farmer drops dead."

Atma kind of turns her head to look up at Indrana with droopy eyes, hand by her mouth.

"There's something about you that reminds me of pain and murder," the young woman says. And without any segue, she follows that statement with, "What part of the story did you like best? The spirit woman's joke, the wife's foolish curiosity, or all the people who gave up their eyes?"

Myth rides near Mareth and whispers,

Atma's eyes track Mythaniel as he approaches Mareth. She may be muttering something behind her lace.

The first day goes by well after the shaky start. The caravan heads down the path ever southwards.

event: 1d1000 ⇒ 1141d6 ⇒ 4

As the winter sun sets the air chills. They find one of the grassy wain lots that line Argoan roads for caravans and stop to make camp. Fingàl and his two guard mates Fasif and Shirron get a fire going in a circle of large stones. Tents are broken out and erected with a military precision, their front flaps facing the blaze to catch some warmth. The tents are two per, except for Chandi who has a tent of her own. Fingàl and his mates stand watch and do shifts sleeping in the vardo. The two guardsmen are reasonable cooks, and the big wain's stove is big and accommodating. Soon they are being fed a thick stew of chicken and root vegetables with fresh black rye bread and hot cups of mulled hard cider.

Im going to stop here, just so you can have a bit of fun with the bedding down. I'm sure it will be hilarious. After this I'll probably hand waive the rest of the journey unless there's any objections

Myth rides near Mareth and whispers, ** spoiler omitted **

Mareth does not deign to respond for a minute, then nods briefly and guides his horse away from Myth’s, towards where Kanir rides. He glances at Indrana and Atma riding double as he passes.

When the party stops to camp, Mareth claims a tent at one end of the camp (ie, not in the cnetre) and arranges his gear inside, not bothering to consult with anyone else in the group as to sleeping arrangements.

Myth approaches Atma smiling, "I see you staring at me woman. I take it elves are your meal of choice? Fine blood, ancient vintages, completely understandable. What say we get it over with eh? I'll give you a taste, a nice solid taste. Then you can stop obsessing over it. It will help you and I am sure I will enjoy it as well, you'll not be the first Undead I've had relations with.

Of course, if you kill me well, I suppose I'll be your last meal. Exploding collars and all. A shame for both of us, especially when you are so near soooo many dark elves. A vintage I'll wager you have never tasted before".

Myth raises his wrist close to her mouth, the words of a spell on his lips, you know, just in case she does not play nice...

Indrana mostly tried to ignore the stories as they rode, her eyes roving among the distance and her "comrades" both. When her passenger asked her favorite part it took the tiefling a moment to respond before she said, "That you recognize my smell is good, as for the story...I like the spirit woman, she knew what she was doing and that someone would open the box, she wanted the man and his wife to suffer." A few moments later Indrana leaned forward a bit and let one hand drift up to stroke Atma's stomach as she leaned down close to the small dhampir's ear before sitting back up straight.

Eddin Costayne wrote:

"Hey, not bad little lady, you're getting the hang of it. Now that you mention, I think I've got one that's more your speed. I heard this one from an elixir-seller in a Dargestani market back during the war. OK, so this farmer meets a spirit-woman in the forest, and she gives him this golden box, but says, "you must never open this." The farmer takes the box home and hides it, but one day, his wife finds the box and opens it. Inside the box is this big 'ol mess of gouged-out eyeballs, and at that moment, the farmer drops dead in his field. The farmer's wife goes mad and spends the rest of her days living like an animal in the forest. Neat story, eh?"

Atma cocks her head and ponders while holding the pommel against the stepping motion of the horse carrying her and Indrana. Then she nods to Eddin.

"I like the part when the farmer drops dead."

"Heh, yeah, that part's pretty great. My favorite bit is when the lady opens the box. Can't you just imagine the look on her face? She's all, "gosh, what sort of darn fool thing did I just do?" and then her eyes bug out and she starts going around nekkid on all fours in the woods. I remember when that foreign fella first told me that one, I just about busted my gut laughing."

Myth approaches Atma smiling, "I see you staring at me woman. I take it elves are your meal of choice? Fine blood, ancient vintages, completely understandable. What say we get it over with eh? I'll give you a taste, a nice solid taste. Then you can stop obsessing over it. It will help you and I am sure I will enjoy it as well, you'll not be the first Undead I've had relations with.

Of course, if you kill me well, I suppose I'll be your last meal. Exploding collars and all. A shame for both of us, especially when you are so near soooo many dark elves. A vintage I'll wager you have never tasted before".

Myth raises his wrist close to her mouth, the words of a spell on his lips, you know, just in case she does not play nice...

"Pffft... What a bunch of hogwash. Everybody knows that you guys just taste like really pretentious humans. Anyway, as much as I want to sit around and sing campfire songs, I think it's just about my eight-o'clock bedtime."

Ignoring the tents, Eddin saunters off to find a nice protected vantage point upon which to lay his bedroll.

"Pffft... What a bunch of hogwash. Everybody knows that you guys just taste like really pretentious humans. Anyway, as much as I want to sit around and sing campfire songs, I think it's just about my eight-o'clock bedtime."

Myth turns to Eddie, "That was almost funny. You're getting there my friend you're getting there. Elves are not pretentious merely arrogant and with good reason, we are the pinnacle of Mortal life after all. Well, Humanoid Mortal life, one can never forget about the majesty that is the Dragon".

He then turns back to Atma awaiting her response.

While her charges get sett;ed, Chandi does the same, laying out her bedroll in her tent and sitting cross-legged in front of it, watching the others quietly as she eats.

Once his gear is stowed in his tent Mareth, now sans helmet and armour, sits down on a log near the tent to eat, seeming to take some relish in chewing the bread and chugging down the cider – one might think it was his first proper meal in years. Anyone who comes to near smells the unpleasant stench of his still unwashed body and sweat. After a while the smell seems to bother even Mareth – he marches over to the wain, helps himself to a large pot which he fills with water and returns to the vicinity of his tent. He strips off his prison rags, quickly washes himself, then re-dresses in relatively fresh clothing from his pack and his under-armour padding. Once this is done, he returns to the tent, and strings up an iron chain around the internal perimeter, in such a way that anyone entering or otherwise disturbing the tent will likely cause the chain to jangle. Through all this his earthbreaker is either in or close to hand.

He intends to sleep for a few hours, get up to stand watch for a few hours in the middle of the night, then sleep again till dawn. This will be Mareth’s standard routine for camps until his ring of sustenance re-attunes after a week (although he varies the time he wakes to stand watch), at which point he’ll stop eating and sleeping. Not sure if anyone will want to try to share a tent with him, he’ll deal with that at the point it happens.

Geygar spends the time riding looking around, at his 'companions' as much as the landscape. (He's not really doing any scouting or anything. That's what the ranger-guys are for.) He DOES make a few comments along the way. Mostly muttered, but usually plenty loud enough to allow others to hear his opinions on things. And 'Ash' seems to be VERY opinionated.

Eddin Costayne wrote:

"Pffft... What a bunch of hogwash. Everybody knows that you guys just taste like really pretentious humans. Anyway, as much as I want to sit around and sing campfire songs, I think it's just about my eight-o'clock bedtime."

Myth turns to Eddie, "That was almost funny. You're getting there my friend you're getting there. Elves are not pretentious merely arrogant and with good reason, we are the pinnacle of Mortal life after all. Well, Humanoid Mortal life, one can never forget about the majesty that is the Dragon".

Geygar looks over his shoulder from where he is unpacking his own bedroll.

"Yeas. I guess we elves do tend come across as pretty arrogant sometimes. Just remember sweetheart, SOME of us are actually as good as we think we are." Ash grins.

He places his bedroll in a tent, and looks around at the various possible pairing choices.

"I'm gonna end up sleeping in a tree again, aren't I?" He mutters under his breath.

Atma drops to the ground from Indrana's horse easily enough once the campsite is reached. Her appetite for the stew is voracious, and all hint of concern for the sight of her fangs is discarded as she seemingly eats almost her own weight in food. Upon finishing, she sleepily begins to look around at the tents, but is forestalled.

Myth approaches Atma smiling, "I see you staring at me woman. I take it elves are your meal of choice? Fine blood, ancient vintages, completely understandable. What say we get it over with eh? I'll give you a taste, a nice solid taste. Then you can stop obsessing over it. It will help you and I am sure I will enjoy it as well, you'll not be the first Undead I've had relations with.

Of course, if you kill me well, I suppose I'll be your last meal. Exploding collars and all. A shame for both of us, especially when you are so near soooo many dark elves. A vintage I'll wager you have never tasted before".

Myth raises his wrist close to her mouth...

Atma's eyes widen, and her hands actually slip and drop exposing a surprised open mouth. A manic smile begins to tinkle the edge of her lips and her gaze is unerringly intent on the offered wrist, but then she suddenly pauses and glares at Chandi.

"He offered. Let's just be clear..."

Myth turns to Eddie, "That was almost funny. You're getting there my friend you're getting there. Elves are not pretentious merely arrogant and with good reason, we are the pinnacle of Mortal life after all. Well, Humanoid Mortal life, one can never forget about the majesty that is the Dragon".

He then turns back to Atma awaiting her response.

Atma seizes Myth's wrist and while her grip is not iron, it certainly isn't weak. Her red eyes begin to glow, and her mouth opens wide, her two long pointed incisors seeming to increase in size as if by magic. She begins to bite down...

I'll pause the scene here in case, Dungeon Monkey or Chandi would like to take any action. Otherwise Atma will feed once as per the Dhampir Blood Drinker feat. Once I know how the scene proceeds, I will have more. While a perfectly legitimate story scene, the Con damage could be harsh, so I want to give anyone a chance to stop it or otherwise handwave that part as desired.

Blood Drinker

Myth moans softly a bit as Atma begins to tug on his life essence. Once the initial tingle wears off he grimaces and smiles at the same time. She takes deeply from him, as he begins to feel woozy -4 Con he speaks. "Enough my dear, quite enough..."

Mareth looks up from his ablutions to watch what transpires between Atma and Mythaniel – also observing how Chandi reacts.

Kanir looks about at his companions and the tents. Each of these is more offensive than the next.

He sees Ash start setting up in a tent and decides to follow. As he begins rolling out his bedroll he says to Ash, "At least you don't smell like a rotting otyugh," but otherwise does not wait for permission.

As the exchange unfolds between Myth and Atma, he pauses and stares agape. He mutters to Ash, "That wizard belongs in an asylum, not a jail. He may just be the craziest one here." Then he reflects upon his other companions. "Well, that may be a slight exaggeration."

Chandi simply carries a bucket away from the tents, fills it with water, fills her canteen, and cleans her mess kit.

When she returns to the campfire, she sits before her tent again, merely saying "Enjoy your fun and games before we get into combat. You'll have time to heal up on the trip. Self-inflicted gets no sympathy."

Sitting on his bedroll with the front of the tent ties open, Ash is going through his equipment pack (at a glance, all either worthless junk, or a bunch of stuff useful for creatively getting around a variety of security precautions) He looks up at the fetchlings approach.

He sees Ash start setting up in a tent and decides to follow. As he begins rolling out his bedroll he says to Ash, "At least you don't smell like a rotting otyugh," but otherwise does not wait for permission.

Ash blinks. "Thanks. I think." Ash says wryly, but makes no move to stop the fetchling from moving into the tent.

As the exchange unfolds between Myth and Atma, Kanir pauses and stares agape. He mutters to Ash, "That wizard belongs in an asylum, not a jail. He may just be the craziest one here." Then he reflects upon his other companions. "Well, that may be a slight exaggeration."

Ash nods in agreement. "Dark and gloomy sets the bar pretty high. But 'Most Insane' is still up for grabs."

Ash raises an eyebrow at the exchange between the wizard and (vampire?!? What the heck is the crazy-but-girlishly hawt Atma??) Then all thoughts are blanked out by the sight of Myth allowing Atma to feed on him.

"Yeah,..." Geygar drawls out slowly. Still staring.
"'Top Nut' is still up for grabs. But he has MY vote."

Ash glances at the fetchling, sensing,... well, not a kindred spirit exactly, but someone who at least speaks the same language. And he doesn't seem to be 'collector of rare and accidentally misplaced antiquities', so there shouldn't be too much direct competition there.

So, not someone Geygar can TRUST exactly, (not any farther than he can throw him at least) but someone he should be able to work with. As long as they have too at least.

Ash stretches, waggling is fingers in common Chant, to test the waters.

The 'Collector's Chant' or more crudely called 'Thieves Can't' is not really a language per se, more a collection of hand gestures, movements, and slang used to facilitate communications among those wishing for their business to remain unnoticed. It varies widely from city to city and region to region, but one can usually get his message across to another in the same or similar line of work. (Ash had heard of one city where the Chant was entirely finger-waggles, like a magiker.)

Generally speaking, Geygar's message was 'Gentleman's agreement. No harm No foul.' which, if expounded upon would translate roughly into; 'As a fellow professional in the crafts, I offer a cooperative truce. I promise not to harm you if you promise the same.'

(While lying is certainly allowed and expected in 'professional' negotiations, the inclusion and acceptance of 'gentlemen' implied promising upon one's honor. As honor and reputation were sometimes all they had that COULD be relied upon, those who made such promises rarely broke them. If only because they would then never be taken as reliable again.)

Bluff (Pass on secret message): 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (7) + 13 = 20

Chandi simply carries a bucket away from the tents, fills it with water, fills her canteen, and cleans her mess kit.

When she returns to the campfire, she sits before her tent again, merely saying "Enjoy your fun and games before we get into combat. You'll have time to heal up on the trip. Self-inflicted gets no sympathy."

Ash nods towards the blue Chandi and says aloud to Kanir.

"All heart that one. I think she likes me though." He smiles.

-4 Con? That implies a double feed...okay then!

The blood is thick and strong. It had been so long...Atma couldn't stifle a groan as her body immediately responded to the power inherent in blood. The life it represented filled her body with strength and vigor evne as it stole the same from Mythaniel. He'd only offered a little...but it was just so hard to stop.

Atma drank more than she needed, because well, why not? It was wonderful after such a long drought. Alone with nothing but time. Time passed as the blood flowed, all sense of her surroundings faded. Atma could feel the pulse of the blood, of Myth's heart. She would drain him to the last drop!

Atma! Atma!

No. Leave me alone. I want his blood, his life!

No, you cannot. You must...STOP!

The voice. Always the voice. Would she not just die?

Atma suddenly wrenches from Mythaniel's wrist, his flesh tearing as she bodily thrust him away. She growled at the voice only she could hear.

The taste of blood though...

On her lips, on her tongue, in her throat. Gods, it felt good.

Atma was a mess, of course, as blood dripped from her mouth and down her neck. Her fangs gleaming as she stood with her arms to the sides palms facing forward. She threw her head back to let the last of the elf's blood trickle, her tongue moving furiously across her teeth. Her eyes stared at the sky glowing red and soon her mouth began to creep into that same crazed smile she had shown during their release party.

And she began to giggle. A vibration in the air started, small at first then quickly escalating as balls of energy began to form in the palms of her hand. The same black and purple static last seen in the prison...

Myth caresses her face smearing blood, his blood, on his hand and her face. He kisses her softly. With a hoarse voice he whispers, "More where that came from but I must rest..."

Myth heads to his tent to pass out.

He's...he's kissing her face??? O_o

Um...okay then!

As Myth's hand caresses her cheek, Atma's eyes turn from the whatever place they were seeing to regard him. When he kisses her, she continues to smile, her eyes focusing on him nearly uncomprehendingly while giggling.

Then she suddenly returns the kiss which quickly turns into a hard bite on his lip, perhaps drawing new blood, perhaps not; but other than a rough reaction to Mythaniel's gentle act, there is no hostility.

Atma breaks away with a spin, almost a pirouette, raising one hand filled with a terrible power that grates against the air like sandpaper. She suddenly flicks her hand, two fingers pointed and the energy suddenly shoots out. It looks almost as if someone is tearing reality as a jagged lightning-shaped bolt simply splits the air in two. It strikes a pile of firewood launching several in all directions and simply disintegrating the rest.

The giggling transforms now into laughter. Wild laughter. Atma's eyes are wide. Too wide. Red orbs filled with storms. A piece of firewood is still aloft. The other hand comes up. Another bolt discharges causing it to explode into several splintery pieces. The sound. Loud. Static. Ear-rending.

Quite suddenly the energy coalesces into a sickle-shaped form. Atma raises it and without hesitation charges at Indrana. As she does, she grasps the energy with her other hand, and the sickle expands into a more scythe-like size. She swings the energy weapon lazily in an arc which would surely decapitate the tiefling if it wasn't so telegraphed. When she misses, Atma's laughter has risen to near histrionics.

"Play with me, Indrana!" she cackles. "Play, play, play! Show me your pain and your murder!"

She swings the created weapon again.

I'm assuming Chandi may stop her once she 'attacks,' but if not, she'll essentially start attacking party members in an effort to have someone spar with her. In theory she would not shy away from dealing true wounds, nor react adversely if she received the same. If no one stops her or is willing to 'fight,' she would begin blasting random things for a short time before stopping quite suddenly. An angry expression would appear on her face while she muttered to herself, and then ultimately return to her normal placid bored expression.

Indrana watched Atma with interest as she drank from Mythaniel, it was very interesting to say the least, and it aroused the tiefling quite a bit. When she saw Atma suddenly charge her with that dark scythe it nearly tipped her over into anger and wrath, only the fact it was telegraphed kept her from entering a state of murderous rage. Instead she deftly whipped her own scythe into her hands and parried Atma's strike before returning one of hero own in the same manner. As her own blade just missed disemboweling the dhampir she quickly followed with a second that would have lopped an arm off if she didn't let it be seen before hand. Instead she let her strength lock the two blades and start using her superior height and strength to force the dhampir back and down towards the ground.