The Cleansing of Nexorus

Game Master thegreenteagamer

It's dark...pitch black in fact, and cramped. You're coming to, and the last thing you remember was the electric bullets pelleting you into unconsciousness.

Those of you with darkvision can see you're inside of a crammed, metal box - roughly fifty feet long, twenty feet tall, and thirty feet wide. All around you are bodies - some unconscious, some, by the smell of them, long dead - some, coming to, just like you are.

You can feel the vibrations - this box is shaking - moving somehow. By the sounds of it, you can hear the engine of a train, one of the modern innovations of the Nexorans. So the conclusion is easy...for some of you, you were captured. For some of you, this is a transfer.

You can barely move, the box is so packed with creatures. Some are howling out, each in their own racial language - common seems nearly unheard of in the tight, packed area. And on you move...the heat of the bodies countered by the cold chill in the air outside of the container. Wherever you're traveling to, it is somewhere frigid, because you can feel the bite of the cold on your flesh even through the metal of this makeshift prison - even through all the warm bodies around you.

You're not sure how long you've traveled since you've been conscious - minutes? Hours? But finally it comes to a stop, and you can feel the entire container begin to tip to one side, as the side of the boxcar - yes, that's what it is, you can see it finally when the side opens, and the light pours in all at once, and the entirety of you are dumped ingloriously from the train...it's a huge drop, at least fifty feet, into a pool of water.

We will, for story's sake, ignore the fall damage for now and say more than a few other people broke your fall

When you manage to make our way to shore, you notice...at least 70 to 75% of the others in the boxcar with you are dead, whether having died before their imprisonment, during the cramped ride, or from the fall of having so many others land atop them in the drop to the water...very few of you are alive...ten at most. You look around...fifty foot walls line the yard of this prison camp, with towers manned by humans wielding weapons you don't recognize. The train itself lies on one of the walls - this prison camp was apparently built into the side of a mountain, and the train runs along it's wall, conveniently "dropping off" new arrivals before moving on to it's next stop.

The air is, as you expected earlier - cold. Quite cold, in fact, but the high walls seem to stop most of the chill from the wind. You see tents of all sizes, made of stitched together rags and discarded clothes, and some other creatures peek out of them to see new arrivals. Humans in heavy armor wielding powerful weapons - those guns that won the Nexorans so many wars - pace the floors, but tend to keep free of large crowds. Most of the other non-humanoids don't even bother to look up, however - as they're too busy picking up broken pickaxes and moving dejectedly towards a cave that empties into the mountain, as humans yell at them, kick them, or worse.

You can read it on the wall - well, those of you who understand common can - "Forthax Camp - Facility 72". A human - one of five awaiting your new arrival - chuckles at your arrival, spits on the floor near you, and points a gun in your general direction. "Welcome to your last home, monster."

Sithiliss awakes with a groan, in the middle of the press of bodies.'Where the hell am I?' He shudders involuntarily as he finds himself in the press of bodies, of the dead and dying...crammed together like sardines in a can. 'So many dead, because of human ambition...does their greed know no end? Having taken our lands, our homes, what more degradation are they going to subject us to?'

He gasps in fear as the boxcar crashes into the pool of water. 'Please Ragathiel, don't let me die here...grant me your protection so that I may live to extract vengeance on the humans. He prays desperately to his god.

Looking at all those dead, Sithiliss is filled with sorrow for the lives lost. Dead - because they were different, just by not being human. "May their afterlife be more peaceful then this hell here."He utters a quick prayer for the departed, which was as much as he could do.

Sithiliss looks carefully at the camp, taking count on how many humans there are, and their patrol patterns, as well as the state of the other non-human prisoners.

Sithiliss sullenly glowers at the human, but makes no comment. 'They are the monsters, not us. And when the day of reckoning comes I will make them pay in blood' He thinks to himself with his heart filled with hatred as he grudgingly follows where the humans are prodding him to.

Are the humans shepherding us somewhere in particular?

I smell death.

One of the bodies that rises is a gnoll, scrawny for one of his ilk, yet still about the same size all around as a normal human. But even then, these humans were not normal sized. Not in their large metal armor.

Carrion is the kind of thing people expect a Gnoll to be used to, a short glance over the bodies and he looks up to the speaker with a smile. A yellow-toothed smile it is, too.

Hi. Why not just kill me? Us? The creatures Common is pretty functional all things considered. He speaks in a quiet gravelly voice. In spite of the smile, he does sound genuinely curious.

They are not shepherding you anywhere just yet, merely out of the water ; there seems to be a camp of tents of sorts that most of the monstrous races are gathered at, and from there they are moving the ones with pickaxes towards the cave that was mentioned earlier.

It seems they have an ogre in chains dragging dead bodies out of the water for...whatever purpose...and piling them on the shore.

"All in due time, filth. Onyx costs money, but if you want it that bad, we can arrange it. Get the hell out of the water, so we can gather the dead ones. You pieces of crap ain't gonna subsist of dirt. In the meantime, you speak when spoken to."

He motions with his rifle - a strange contraption that seems to have tubes moving from it to a backpack on the human's back, for you to move out of the way, in general to the camp in the middle.

The filth and smell of the dead. He hated it. It reminded him of his old home - the stench of waste and filth and nastiness. The scent of being alone.

But he wasn't - not really. There were others still living, still breathing. He wondered to himself what went wrong. He thought he'd been making real progress at the last camp. Sure everyone had spit and jeered, but they'd been doing so a bit less as of late. He'd begin to think that maybe he'd started getting through.

Then the transfer. New guards, ones he didn't recognize (though, in truth, they could be a little hard to visually tell apart, each had their own unique scent), came to him with amazing devices. He'd wanted one before he knew what they did. They'd been arguing how to handle him, how to prod one of his bulk into the car, but he'd been more than happy to oblige by just walking. He'd raised his arms to say so, but then they seemed to panic - well most of them; one actually told the others to, "wait!" - he liked that guy - but it was too late: shocking pellets slammed into him repeatedly. Seems they thought that by raising his hand he meant to attack. Darn it! Why did he have to always make the wrong move?!

No matter his protests, they felt they had to keep shooting once it started. He vaguely remembered being shot repeatedly until his not-corpse could be shoved into the box car. At one point, someone stuck a sword in his neck to keep him "down" - he was kind of mostly dead at the time, so he couldn't actually tell the guy it wasn't an ideal solution - but it worked, he supposed, up until that one character stole it at another stop and killed two guards and herself. Then they gave him some sort of injection. He was slightly ashamed to say that it felt good to have weird alchemicals flowing through him again, and he went to sleep for real this time.

He woke up with the dead and their befouled essence all around. It took him a moment to recall he wasn't trapped in the sewer anymore. Some were breathing. He tried to reach out to comfort one little pup he saw - a welp, really - but then the doors opened.

He felt many creatures collapse on him. As some struggled to escape, he did, too. It was... not easy.

At the guard's harsh command, he responds quickly - maybe he could make a good first impression! - "Sir, yes, sir." the troll says, emerging from the pile of dead. Sure it was a stupid rule, but the guards adored their dumb rules for some reason, and he could work with that; besides, he liked talking, and when other people had just spoken, why not? It seemed the first rule was, "Have a polite conversation, just don't start one." so he'd be happy to oblige. "So how are you, today, sir? Also, when is the funeral? Do you need my help to find the family of the deceased? I can usually find people relate to each other..." he trails off, hopefully. It was sad. But maybe he could bring an o-life branch (whatever that was) to help both guards and their guests.

Dipolacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10

Volnar shook his head, still feeling like it was full of cobwebs. What in the nine hells was going on? One minute walking through the woods, the next crippling pain and then darkness. Rathin had mentioned that some humans were not overly fond of others not of their kind, but this was something else entirely. As the guard spoke, he took stock and realized that almost all of his belongings had been stripped from him, though they'd apparently missed the small knife in his boot, not that it was much of a weapon. Or perhaps they just didn't care. Looking around, he starts walking towards the camp, warily keeping an eye on his fellow "travelers", as well as those already in the camp.

Vuram shakes his head to clear the fog as he blearily awakens. Every time. We were promised honorable treatment, but every time it's the same. When the train car comes to a stop he wearily hauls himself to his feet, only to be pitched forward as the car unexpectedly tilts--he'd not encountered such a device at the other camps. They always have had a talent for hurting us in unexpected ways. Splashing awkwardly into the water, he feels a small body strike him in the shoulder, then another hits his back as he furiously fights his way free of the waterlogged pile of corpses and corpses-to-be.

Years ago, when these horrors were still new and fresh he might have bellowed with rage, or vomited...but now? Now Vuram is numb, the scars on his back hinting at the scars on his soul. He has no energy left to mourn the unknown dead. He does not even glance about at the fellow survivors.

Staggering ashore, he makes sure to keep his hands visible...but that was no guarantee they wouldn't shoot him anyway. He'd long since learned that the hard way. So, another mining camp. At least it isn't another rubble detail. He ceases scanning the camp and immediately averts his eyes as the human begins speaking, his shoulders slumped and his thoughts consumed with looking as nonthreatening as an 8' 5" horned bull-man could.

A kobold wanders up to the group, keeping eyes downcast, and he speaks in broken common to the lot of you. "Come. Camp this way." One of the humans backhands the small lizardling and narrows his eyes. The kobold shuts his mouth and hand-motions for the others to follow him, silently this time, as he heads towards the collection of tents. Eventually the ogre manages to grab most of the corpses from out of the water and you look around to notice that aside from the six of you, little else survived this trip. The ogre, long since broken, starts to drag bodies over to the northern side of the camp, where an incinerator stands built into the wall, giving you little doubt what is to be the fate of these leftovers.

The small kobold walks with a limp, and part of his tail is cut off. Scars line his body, where scales seem to have been pulled off. When you're long away from the humans he finally speaks up again. "Am called Greeter. Humans have me show ropes, save time, less kill. Am been here two years. Longest of all." The smell of fresh cooked flesh begins to fill the air as the fires heat up in the incinerator.

The tents are manned by all sorts of creatures, but mostly it's goblins...goblins, who were always underfoot, and who could scavenge a meal out of anything, seem to have gravitated to the natural condition of camp cooks, and you can see they're digging under rocks for insects, or anything else they could find. Greeter nods his head. "For them not want eat...other meat..." He kind of shrugs, "...usually them not last, but gobbos still try. Keep them out of mines, humans hit less. Full workers work harder. Still some...other meat...need to keep full. Them not enough."

A pair of humans seem to be walking through, tilting their heads and looking in tents. Greeter whispers. "Look for sick, weak, hurt. Can't work. The wall." He points now to the wall with the incinerator and shivers. "Want live...no look sick. No look hurt. Greeter only live cause am speak nine types. Useful." The kobold looks downcast and shakes his head at the others.

The humans you've noticed thus far all seem to be wearing some form of blackened full plate - full helmet covering their faces. The uniform of Nexorus, presenting almost machine-like unity among their people, a faceless assault that blankets regions. But you knew that...you remembered that from before. Most have the same backpack-ladened rifles you saw earlier, but here or there you notice one or two with a blade, or other variant in weaponry. Their armor seems to have a crimson stripe across it, but otherwise seems the same - though there seems to be more variant in height, weight, etc, than you have seen in the other black-armored men.

"That we are in such dire straits that we have to cannibalize our own dead?"It's usually hard to see expression in reptilian eyes, but Silthiss's are filled with despair. "Have you managed to find something...not sentient? Maybe a large animal body, like a horse?"He asks Greeter."And are we provided with sufficient water?"

"Who are those who are sick and hurt?"Sithiliss demands. "I am a healer. I won't let the humans have any excuses to claim any more lives." He straightens up at this statement, his eyes filled with determination.

Volnar thought about some things Rathin had let slip during his various stories, and realized they might have more to worry about than just guards in this kind of situation. He was already sick of it, and determined to get out, but it would be hard to know who to trust. Probably none of the new people he'd arrived with were working with the guards, but a few of the prisoners quite possibly could be, including this Greeter fellow.

"Also, is there anyone we need to watch out for among our fellow inmates?" Volnar asked in nearly accentless common.

Ahh, the loud one. They're always the first to break. If he really wants out, he should know we need a plan. It is a he, right? Lizards confuse me.

The gnoll shushes the rabble-rousing cleric, he hasn't really taken stock of the other creatures he was dumped with, though he does hear lumbering footsteps from the larger two at the moment. Shh. Do you want to help people, or do you wish to be added to the carrion? Openly defiant slaves have this way of being fed upon by the end of the day by vultures. No, no. We think.

But he hears the question from Volnar, and his overly wide smile returns with a slight giggle even. A bit out of place considering his situation. All things considered, the ragged and robed creature had seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation, quieting down after being told so.

You really think we need to worry about even our own?

He saw the fires rage in their wakes. Still there must be something missing here.

Lost my post... Let's try again...

Wings follows the group, silently. In the cold environment, he shakes his light body as subtly as he can, as to avoid showing any weakness. He can't help but wonder, at the end of the day, about the irony of not being able to simply fly away from there.

He didn't particularly care for anyone around, but his feathers were those of a crow, not a vulture. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder how the goblins would taste, being them in such abundance. Certainly no one would notice if one or another were to disappear under unknown circumstances.

As the goblin speaks, he let his eyes wander around. He looks at the ogre, looks at the bodies, looks at the tents but, mainly, he tries to look at the Humans. He obviously does it as subtly as he manages to do, but his mind flies on the prospect of burning each one of them and escaping back to his dark caves.

"I want to help people, damnit."Sithiliss growls. "But you're right."His shoulders droop downwards as he gives a dejected sigh. "Are there times that we are not watched or overheard?"He asks Greeter in hushed tones.

Vuram shuffles along at the back of the group, eyes still downcast but carefully watching any guards with his peripheral vision. As several of the new arrivals start chattering at the front, he raises his head a fraction and hisses, "All of you should shut your mouths, unless you want to find out what those rifles do. And if you're worried about informants, maybe don't ask the kobold who's already said he survives because he's useful."

Greenhorn prisoners. If they survived the month they'd learn that there was no such thing as too paranoid, but it wouldn't stop the despair from seeping in through their pores like some oily miasma. They'd learn, or they'd die. Probably both.

Greeter perks up a bit at the others' arguments, and whispers. "Water comes from falls. Drink - clean after bodies taken and falls churn long. Others...yes...big folk angry they here. Take anger out on small. Leave us for meals. They not like watch eat. Soup kegs dropped off. Plans bad idea. Plans lead to add to soup."

They make it to the tents, and Greeter points out a few that are unoccupied. "Can take. They leave. No work."

Almost as if on cue, you see two humans dragging a hobgoblin away from a tent by his ankles, as the starving weak creature tries to grab at the dirt, poles of the tent, anything he can. "No! I can still work! No, it's just my leg, is all, it'll mend! Noooo!"

His fingers dig into the dirt as the humans pull him away, and you see a couple other hobgoblins walk up and block the humans, attempting to defy them. The humans drop the creature, which attempts to crawl away, and raise their rifles. Two blasts send forward, as bullets coated in some kind of energy fire from the guns - and you see holes burst in the chest of the hobgoblins...acid eating through them from the inside. The humans spit, and each grabs an ankle of the now dead opposition - and they ignore the injured hobgoblin, who makes his way into a different tent to hide.

Greeter shakes his head and sighs. "Well...maybe he live to heal now. They don't."

Could I try a spellcraft check on whatever that blaster just fired?

Spellcraft: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (9) + 7 = 16

The desert dweller can only bring himself to shake his head at the process.

You see my point. My thanks, greeter. So when are we expected to start?

Sithiliss goes to the tent with the injured hobgoblin, and pulls the shutters closed (so that none can see what he's doing inside)."Do you know others who may be injured like you?"

Is it possible, in the confines of the tent to channel positive without anything leaking out or anyone the wiser ?If it is, I will channel - you can help me roll the 1d6 positive energy.

Lio freezes staring at the flames. He begins shaking, unable to move until a guard hits his shoulder and shoves him forward. This... this was different.

Fire. Fire.
F-f-f-fffffffffffffIRE!

Horrified, silent, he shuffled, staring, terrified. Why would they do this? Who would or could do this?

He moved forward, eyes transfixed by terror on the inceneratter.

Nonononononononono-

He heard nothing and no conversation around him until the screaming. He saw the creature being dragged. By soldiers. Dragged toward the fire.

He blinked once, twice, and began to take a step on a jellied leg towards a fellow. He stopped when the hobgoblins stepped forward.

Oh, good. Good, yes. Yes, we will talk and understand and work things ou-

The rifles fired. Acid burned through the bodies of those who had confronted the soldiers.

A low growl culminating in a massive howl of terror emitted from someone - Lio couldn't fathom who or what it was until he realized it was himself.

He stared at the dead, his sound ringing in his own ears, fading.

Lio lets out a huge growl turbines into a howl. He then stands shellshocked, staring at the dead hobgoblins. If anyone tells him to do something or moves him physically, he'll follow - he's kind of comatose-while-awake for a few. The immortal troll was just shown the two methods of killing him. He'll recover in a bit, but for now he's too shocked to think.

Volnar nodded slightly to Vuram with agreement, then turned back to Greeter.

"So how does this work? Do we work in shifts, have quotas or what? If we're going to not end up like those hobgoblins, we need to understand what's expected of us."

He glanced to where the hobgoblins had been shot down, and vowed that he would eat whatever he had to to keep up his strength and keep his head down, because he was not going to end up like them, and he was going to figure out a way to get out of here.

To his own surprise Vuram feels a twinge of anger and sadness of the death of the hobgoblins. He'd fought alongside several of their companies, years ago, and they'd been disciplined & professional, good allies. And they died protecting their comrade, as I should have done. A small shudder of self-loathing and despair ripples through the black-furred minotaur, followed quickly by another smothering, numbing wave of despair. It doesn't matter now.

With a small grunt, Vuram gives the troll--who seems to have gone into shock after that damned shriek--a push towards one of the tents, guiding him through the flap before occupying the next tent over. "In you go leatherneck, sleep it off."

I assume the tents aren't big enough to accommodate two Large creatures?

Greeter scratches his chin and looks at the others. "They give one day to sleep. Then they want you in mines, working. Many broken pickaxes left from other workers at entrance - they don't bother fix, can am work for more. Is iron mine. Make us work hard. No use dead cause am too many. Once necromancer unleash many, am was riot. Cleaned house. This place am been long as Greeter been here - maybe five years? Now they just care if iron keeps flowing. Once in while they come by random, make sure folks working, but not every day." He sighs and starts to hobble off, to leave you to your own to discuss things.

The tents can hold about 2 large or 8 medium or 16 small creatures. They're pretty big.

A sigh of relief can be heard from the gnoll after the troll is ushered away.

I was wrong about who would first break. "Troll," they said that was? If that was the first time he's been threatened with death, he could be a liability to us. I've seen how slaves are worked. Lived around it. My advice? Keep your eyes down and open. They'll get lazy. Always do. Nagaji. Crow. Do you follow?

I'm not dying here. I've seen enough of this. But what about the cities? I wont get a real answer here. This is where they put the fear into us. If the troll and lizard want to draw attention and die, it is their problem.

Volnar nods briefly at the gnoll.

"Oh I follow all right. Name's Volnar. I'm going to have a look around the camp and see exactly what sort of hell we've landed in."

Volnar is going to have a look around, just trying to get a feel for the layout of the prison. If any humans bother him while he's snooping around, Volnar will claim to be looking for the jakes, or latrine, or actually, what the heck would be the right word?

The John, Crapper, Bum-bum Patter Disposal Unit, Outhouse, Watering Hole, etc... I could go on but I wont. But I could.

Lettu smiled, and as much as he tried to hide it, it quickly became pretty obvious that it was a terrible, evil-filled smile.

Liability, yes... Yes... Or not, or maybe useful the way it is. - the Corby spoke - I follow.

His eyes circled around and, after moments, he let himself smile gain to Gehuil and Volnar, but this time much more friendly.

My name is Lettu Kan, but you may call me... Wings.

Screw it, I'll do what I feel is right, d@mn the consequences.

Sithtiliss releases a burst of positive energy within the confines of the tent to heal the injured hobgoblin.

channel: 1d6 ⇒ 2

He then rejoins the rest outside.

A sudden ear-piercing shriek of a laugh erupts loudly from Gehuil. The pitch and volume of this hysterical outburst comes in stark contrast to his speaking pattern, but given his previous behavior, maybe not entirely unexpected. It’s as if the force of the staccato cackle ripped his his mouth open to burst forth, his teeth out for display, and his maw as far as it can open. This goes on for just a hair too long for comfort as he lists slightly in place.

AH HAH HAH HE HAH HAH HE HAH HAH HE HAH HAH HE ...

*ahem* Apologies. I enjoy irony. This one before you, er- I am Gehuil. I came from a tribe named after the sandstream of the desert. I wonder if they’ve been found yet. The gnoll walks past the others on his way out of the tent. He seems a slight bit embarrassed at his outburst.

Now Einde, have you survived? Or do I need a new pet? He heads back to the body of water he’d been dumped into and scans from the shore in search of his familiar.

Gehuil is going to try to take 20 on perception if he can, I’ll roll anyway just in case. Course, I'm willing to assume he just put a wrinkle in his "don't draw attention" plan, but nervous a tic's a nervous tic. If he does find the scorpion, he’ll try to usher it to hide somewhere. Int 6 can manage that right?

Perception: 1d20 ⇒ 10

Lio finds himself confronted by lizard saying something that should be comprehensible. The troll stares at him blankly.

Those people were burned alive. Burned. Alive. For... for helping...

He blinks stupidly at the scaled creature. It said something to him. Something important.

I knew... I know that the guards had said... had looked at me with pity... but...

The scene of melting internals continuously played over and over in his mind. Their screams, the oozing liquidating flesh, contrasting to the charring, burning flesh.

When the massive minotaur steps forward and shoves him into a tent, he barely notices. Distantly, he thinks he should say something - maybe a, 'thank you' or, 'nice to meet you' or even, 'please don't leave me alone' - but that was nice Lio - he wasn't in charge now. Instead frightened Lio was in charge now.

Feet pounded in the wet flood, chasing after the troll's. "DON'T LET IT TOUCH YOU! JUMP UP TO THE SIDES, CHILD!" a voice hissed from behind the young troll. Trying, trying so hard, Lio'chae'tel' leaped, or tried to, onto the upper ledge from the pit the two had found themselves in, running from the Purgative - a term Lio had been taught to fear more than almost any other, though he didn't understand why, rivaled only by "fire" and "acid" - the only two things that, according to <forgotten>, could kill him (whatever "kill" meant), and which, coincidentally, the Purgative was made of. He found himself dangling from the ledge, only his claws holding him. "<forgotten>, I'm scared!" little Lio called. "I can't get up! Help!" Hands grabbed the young troll's ankles and *shoved*. "FEAR NOT, DEAR ONE..." the whisper continued, "YOU WILL BE FINE. REMEMBER WHAT I TAUGHT YOU. YOU WILL BE FINE." The troll blinked, and scrabbled. 'What I taught you?' thought the little one. But <forgotten!> had taught him so much! What was it that he should remember? Was it about counting? Was it eating strange things? Was it the way to the glowing wall? Was it how to avoid the purges? Or was it simply that this was the last purge - the final sweep of the sewers. <forgotten! >:I> had told him that after "tonight" - whatever that was - the last flaming acid would be flushed from the system. Lio didn't understand what it meant, but something about how the purges were causing too much trouble in the "sit-ee" (some kind of big chair?) above - apparently the "sit-is-in's" (are they all real tired?) were unhappy about having "toy-let's" (sounds fun to play with!) randomly explode or belch knock's-yus (poor yus!) fumes... and <FORGOTTEN! >:I> had mentioned that they'd killed everyone else anyway, and that there was enough planted "eh-vee-dance" (he'd like to learn how to dance that way!) planted (dancing vegetables, how cute!) that the "gard's" (short for 'garden' - definitely dancing vegetables!) would feel certain the two were also dead and leave them alone for now. <FORGOTTEN! >:I> had said they'd have their "freedom." Freedom. Little Lio didn't know what the word meant, but he loved the sound of it. "Freedom" - he could say it all day. The horrifying instinctively revolting sizzling sound came along with the sickly orange light sparking in the yellow-green mist. The room grew hot. <FORGOTTEN! >:I> gave a final shove - and a cry of something like pain - and Lio was up on the high ledge, his claws helping him scrabble up. A small cough, and a weird series of splashes. "Come!" called Lio, turning back. "Take my hand!" They'd done it! They were free! There was a strange void in his sight - or maybe it was on[occ]ly[/ooc] in his memory. "I... SHAN'T... BE JOINING YOU,... I FEAR. REMEMBER... WHAT I TAUGHT... YOU. HATE... NONE. BITTERNESS... ONLY... HARMS... YOU. FIND... PEACE... WHERE YOU... CAN. LOVE... IS WHAT... WE ARE, WHAT... WILL BRING... US PEACE. WHAT WILL... SAVE US. BE... FREE. I... LOVE... YOU..." And then it burned. It burned so much. It was so hot - so hard to breathe. So hard to live. Skin blistered. Eyes watered until they had no water left. That hideous light covered everything, and all of stung everywhere. "<FORGOTTEN! >:I>! Don't leave me! Please!" It was a scream. Melting flesh. Charring flesh. "Don't leave me!" There was a smear of greasy ash, and the Purgative was gone. "... don't leave me... alone..." but there was no one left to answer him. He was alone. In pain. His body hurt as well. And he was... alone.

Lio blinked. His face was wet for some reason. And he was in pain. And alone.

"I'm sorry... I've forgotten you." he whispers to no one.

He sits alone in the darkness, crying.

Sithiliss shudders at Gehuil's laugh. It made him extremely uncomfortable, like the sound of a warmachine powering up, and brought back unpleasant memories. Of the humans invading the village, taking everything.

"I'm Sithiliss. I wish we had met in better circumstances." He replies briskly. "Does anyone know the name of the troll here? Maybe if we can call him by his name, we can get his attention." Sithiliss states, while reaching up to put his hands on the large troll's shoulder."Troll. We need to move on. We can't help anyone if we are trapped by within our own minds, or by our pasts."

When the troll whispers, Vuram half turns, but it didn't seem to be speaking to him so he walks away, letting the tent flap close flop closed. Don't think he'll last long.

At first his intention is to simply lie down in the adjacent tent and wait for sweet oblivion to claim him, but the nattering of the other prisoners and the gnoll's shrieking laughter prod him to his hooves once more. Stomping out of his tent, he shoots a glare over at the little cluster of new prisoners before making his way in the direction Greeter had indicated the mines lay. At the last moment, he turns back to the group. "You all seem new to this, so a word of advice: keep your heads down, and your mouths shut. Anybody tries to bad-mouth the guards or the camp to you, don't say anything. They'll try to goad you, then report you for privileges. Not that the humans need a reason to make your life hell, but no sense in giving them an excuse either."

As he walks--head down and shoulders slumped submissively--he takes a careful count of all the guards and prisoners he sees. It was critical to survival in the camps: if you knew the shift schedules you could stay out of their way as much as possible. If you could identify which guards went out of their way to be vicious, and which ones were just marking time you could save yourself more than a few beatings--the nasty ones especially loved to lord it over the larger prisoners. Figuring out which prisoners could be trusted, and which were on the take...that was probably more critical still.

And some small part of him, so small and quiet that even Vuram didn't recognize it, waited for them to make a mistake.

Eyes only vaguely aimed on the lizard in front of him, Lio said in a hollow, surprisingly soft voice, "hello, nice to meet you, my name is lio'chae'tel' and it's a pleasure to meet you what is you name" before his gaze kind of moves off into the distance.

Applying a -5 circumstance penalty for vacant interactions.
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (17) + 1 = 18

When Sithiliss heals the injured hobgoblin, and the man-sized goblinoid sits up and looks at him...then suddenly hugs him and whispers "Thank you!" He shakes his head and gets to his feet, cracking his back. "That's the first relief of pain I've had in weeks, friend. My name is Corrin." He stops for a moment and brushes off, a bit embarrassed about his expression of gratitude. "That, um...never happened."

The gnoll doesn't see his precious familiar, but through their emphatic link, he can feel it's near, somewhere...somewhere close enough where he can sense the excitement the creature has. Not fear - the humans aren't paying attention to an arthropod smaller than their shoe. No, it's pure excitement, as the little creature has found his master, and must be somewhere near by, but Gehuil can't sense where. It's only when he bursts into laughter, drawing attention, when the creature stabs at the back of his ankle with it's little pincers, warning him to be quiet...

...two humans come walking by the tent, looking for the sound of the disturbance. Eyes narrow briefly, and they move on, wondering where the sound came from, rather oblivious to the new inmates.

It's only then you notice that Greeter has disappeared. The minute there was trouble the little kobold has absolutely disappeared.

Corrin steps out, and looks around conspiratorially, and whispers. "Been waiting for people like you folks around here. Fresh blood. Not beaten to submission yet. But smart...not like my last friends...they were brave, but foolish. Two lives for one...bad move. But...I thank you still. We...had plans, and....it could've been done with two of them, but not just me." He stops, as if he's afraid to continue but shakes his head and shrugs. "To hell with it; I'd have been dead later today anyway if it weren't for the Lizard-man here. There's...a plant among one of the guards. One of the local rebels. We...we had a plan to break a handful of us out of here, and maybe filter out one or two a month afterwards...not enough to cause any disturbances, but enough to, you know, make some kind of a difference. The mines...they become a maze if you get deep enough, but Schwartz...that's the guard...he's been working on a map, and...we think it'll lead to the other side of the mountain. There's...creatures...deep in there, though, so it's too dangerous to go alone, but..." He looks imploringly at the group of you, the large troll and minotaur, the magic laden priest and witch, and the mysterious corby and snake-man. "Maybe...with a group?" He continues to look around carefully, trying to keep an eye out for trouble.

No need to roll diplomacy/intimidate/bluff/etc for other players - they will either react how they will or not. Those are for NPCs. :-D

Do we get to pick what royal family we bring our hobgoblin buddy to?

Eh. Cut it out. Get yourself hidden my friend. He urges the scorpion to get out of sight before heading back to the tent where the hobgoblin from before was talking.

Gehuil listens intently to Corrin as he speaks. That plan didn't sound so far fetched really. Gehuil knew from observation that the occasional slave could very well slip out with no one in charge any the wiser until it was too late. He'd even caught one before. That being said, this talk of informants has given the gnoll reason enough for pause.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4

"Hello, Lio. My name is Sithiliss. Glad to see you're back." Sithiliss gives Lio a friendly pat on his back and smiles.

He turns to Corrin and speaks in hushed tones."I would not suffer anyone to be in this hellhole any longer then necessary. Yet we are watched by guards almost constantly, which makes it hard for long discussions. Are there places where conversations may go unheard?" He bites his lip, as he is about to ask a very unpleasant question."Are there fellow prisoners we should...avoid?"

The hobgoblin shrugs to the questions, and looks around again. "They don't like to watch us eat...when they drop off the food, most of the guards tend to keep a wide berth. Avoid the kobold. He lives because he's a rat."

As far as Gehuil can tell with his amazing sense of judgment, he is certain the hobgoblin is genuine.

His little familiar scrambles into the easiest spot to hide that he can think of - he crawls up the gnoll's leg and slips under the back of his shirt. You can pretty much have control of him yourself now.

With a pat on his back from Sithiliss, Lio suddenly seems to snap out of his torpor. He looks intently at this "Corrin" person, as he talks.

"Greeter"? he ponders, confused. "Rat?" Lio blinks at the guy, blankly. He was rather distracted at the time.

Still, he gets the gist of the message - an option to escape. Lio finds himself nodding, feeling... hope? This place needed to be empty of everyone, but just a few would be a good starting point. I wonder if it will work? he thinks to himself.

Suddenly, as the others are talking, with no particular warning, Lio's claws come forth and then plunge into his own intestines. "Hngk." he grunts. His focus is suddenly intense, and he ignores the world around him.

Ad-Hoc'ing the DCs; GM, feel free to override. Also, this whole thing is a full-round action.

76% chance of success; starting with 43 hp
Damage to Self: 6d6 ⇒ (5, 6, 2, 6, 5, 1) = 25
Divination: 1d100 ⇒ 31

As he puts his pieces back together, he knocks a small sack loose; it falls to the ground, slicked by viscera.

"There. That's better. Oh! Yes, this is useful." he declares, picking it up. He pulls the corners of his mouth back at the rest, leaving his lips together, as he thoughtfully considers what he just saw. "Oh, sorry." he says, glancing about. "I normally don't do that around others, but I kind of thought we were being secret? Yeah? No? Did I do that wrong?" he asks.

Sense Motive: 1d20 - 5 ⇒ (5) - 5 = 0
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (17) + 9 = 26
Charisma: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (13) + 1 = 14

Hey! This is Lio's tenth post! He's officially a forever alias now!

”Thanks Corrin. We’ll keep that in mind. And here I thought he was living so long because he was a living translator…” Sithiliss muses to himself.

”No! Lio, what are you doing?” SIthiliss cries out as Lio cuts himself open. ”Isn’t it very painful?” He asks the troll. He looks on with a mixture of horror and revulsion as the troll puts himself back together. ”Is it really worth it to causing yourself so much pain just to glimpse the future? The future is what we make of it together.”

Sense motive: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 2 = 17
Linguistics: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6

Lio reads in his entrails more or less that the plan can work, but it will be dangerous. The spirits reveal to him that the hobgoblin isn't working with any false information, but there's more he doesn't know.

Corrin gags a little at the sight of it, but doesn't say anything about the display. He spits on the floor. "Yeah, that little rat would want you to think that. Who do you think cut him up so bad? Some of them is from the guards, but most is from friends of folks he ratted out - and then of course he ratted those out, so people stopped. He usually cozies up to new folks cause they don't know yet."

Gehuil just stares at the sight for a moment. He doesn't speak, but his eyes shrink briefly as he stares at the sight to his side. The gnoll shakes it off soon.

Truly there are rituals I have yet to learn of. In part because he wants to put the imagery in the back of his mind, and partly because he needs to know And his player was ninja'd He asks Corrin a question.

How much time do we need?

”No! Lio, what are you doing?” SIthiliss cries out as Lio cuts himself open. ”Isn’t it very painful?” He asks the troll. He looks on with a mixture of horror and revulsion as the troll puts himself back together. ”Is it really worth it to causing yourself so much pain just to glimpse the future? The future is what we make of it together.”

"Wha-? Yah-nah... 's fine." Lio says. "The future isn't really that painful. I mean, sometimes the imagery can be scary, sure, but, in the end, I think knowing - even if painful - is worth it." He nods, sagaciously, certain he got the meaning right.

He did not. The joys of an 8 wisdom and -4 negative levels. XD

"Anyway, this one isn't painful: y'r not wrong, Corrin, though there's stuff y' don't know." he grins at everyone, proud to have helped.

Volnar comes back from scouting the camp area just in time to witness the troll disembowel himself. Being a hunter and trapper, the site of blood and guts does not move him, but he does find the circumstance to be more than a bit unusual.

"Anyone mind telling me what that was all about?" he says to the group at large, "and how much time do we need for what?"

Sithiliss facepalms. 'The troll is missing the point.We create our own destiny.'

"Doesn't it hurt? Disembowelling yourself like that?"Sithtliss asks Leo. "Look, I know you want to help, but I don't want you hurting youself like that for answers, ok?"

He frowns at the rest of the group. "How can you all take this kind of thing," he gestures at Leo,"so calmly?"

"We'll be wary of Greeter. What do you need us to help you with, and how do we contact Schwartz?" He addresses Corrin.

Sense Motive from earlier: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (17) + 1 = 18

Gehuil addresses Sithiliss calmly. Dirty little secrets, shock keeping it from setting in, simply not caring that much for a stranger, choose your favorite. But if you really want an answer, I just assumed he broke remarkably quickly, and tried to kill himself as a way out. It's a gruesome fact... but it happens. The ragged creature looks to the distance mentioning this, evidently slightly lost in thought.

That is, until his wound began to heal. "Trolls" seem like a curious group, is this behavior normal? To dismember yourself for a mere divination? This seems to be addressed to Lio as the gnoll looks away.

I thought about it, and Lio is in all likelihood Gehuils introduction to trolls. I don't imagine many of them go to blistering deserts. So, feel free to play with that.

"Anyone mind telling me what that was all about?" he says to the group at large, "and how much time do we need for what?"

"Oh! I can help! Corrin thinks we have a shot to get out of here, and help others in the process." he says, helpfully. "And I found my baggy o' copper." he adds as a relevant detail.

"Doesn't it hurt? Disembowelling yourself like that?"Sithtliss asks Leo. "Look, I know you want to help, but I don't want you hurting youself like that for answers, ok?"

Lio blinks at the lizard, surprised, and a little worried. "Eh? Oh, I guess. But that's not really a thing. That kind of pain happens, but you get better, you know? Did... did I do something wrong? I mean - he's basically right, if missing info..." Lio trails off, hopeful that he didn't ruin potential friendships before he got them. "S-sorry if it's kind of gross." he adds. "I'll, uh... I'll wash that later." he adds sheepishly.

Gehuil addresses Sithiliss calmly. Dirty little secrets, shock keeping it from setting in, simply not caring that much for a stranger, choose your favorite. But if you really want an answer, I just assumed he broke remarkably quickly, and tried to kill himself as a way out. It's a gruesome fact... but it happens. The ragged creature looks to the distance mentioning this, evidently slightly lost in thought.

That is, until his wound began to heal. "Trolls" seem like a curious group, is this behavior normal? To dismember yourself for a mere divination? This seems to be addressed to Lio as the gnoll looks away.

"Wait... wait..." says Lio - "... how could I have killed myself? I have no 'purgative'? And, uh, I dunno 'bout other trolls. I'm the only one I've met." Lio shrugs. "But the heavens give me insight, when I ask with my insides."

He turns to Corril. "But you're basically right. I, for one want to do whatever we can to get whoever we can out of here alive. We need to help these people."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (5) + 9 = 14
Charisma: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (19) + 1 = 20

43-25 = 18 hp. +5 hp for a new round: 23 hp!

Lettu is hit by a series of critical hits of walls of text and is now confused! Not sure even the GM can keep up like that.

Lettu observes Corrin and the others with curiosity, but absolute silence. Even if he had something to say, he feels the eloquence of his companions at the moment doesn't really give him any window; nevertheless, he sharps his crow eyes and let them fly around, noticing each nuance and detail only dettachment can provide.

Sense Motive (at Corrin - not really interested on the other actions: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13

"Heavens give you insight, when you ask with your insides?" Sithiliss stares at Leo incredulously. "I know that knowledge does not usually come without a price, but I also know that out there, Ragathiel watches over us. He is firm, but compassionate at the same time and does not demand his followers to shoulder unreasonable burdens."He tells Leo, his voice filled with conviction. He then pats Leo on his shoulder. "Think about it, Leo." He advises, kindly.

Vuram listens to the group from a short distance away, also keeping an eye out for any approaching guards or nosy fellow prisoners. Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14 As the hobgoblin speaks of escape, the minotaur's eyes narrow in suspicion--the new arrivals hadn't been here fifteen minutes, and already here was some stranger offering them an entire escape plan, complete with secret tunnels and a helpful guard. Vuram hadn't survived the camps this long by being naive, and he wasn't about to start now. Sense Motive: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 4 = 19

"If these tunnels are big enough for me and the troll to get through, what's to stop the humans from following us? Why should we trust this guard of yours--and why is HE the one making the map? And how, if these tunnels are such a secret?"

"Avoid the kobold. He lives because he's a rat."

"I knew it." Vuram's lips pull back in a frustrated snarl. "Even if everything is as you say, hobgoblin--which I seriously doubt--the guards are only part of the problem. The other prisoners will notice if the entire new batch of arrivals goes missing, and more than a few of them will report it to try to avoid punishment."

As the troll slices into himself he raises one eyebrow, the gruesome strangeness of the scene serving to distract him from his cynicism for a moment. "That's...a new one for me. Never seen anybody read their own entrails."

He frowns at the rest of the group. "How can you all take this kind of thing," he gestures at Leo,"so calmly?"

"We'll be wary of Greeter. What do you need us to help you with, and how do we contact Schwartz?" He addresses Corrin.

Vuram gives a shake of his horns and snorts. No. If this madness proceeds, we kill the kobold and eliminate the risk he poses. To the lizardfolk cleric he offers a shrug. "Between the war and the camps, I've seen horrors that would make your scales fall out. A troll spilling his own guts is weird, but it doesn't seem to be bothering him, so."

.

Going to play up Vuram's paranoia and survivor mentality, but he's an honorable fellow deep down. Please feel free to try to convince him.

"The worse thing is if those horrors cause you not to feel. If you build a wall to block everyone out, you end up in the cold and dark alone." Sithiliss replies to Vuram. "And people who have no emotions can do anything without remorse." Sithiliss gestures at scene outside the tent walls. "We're all in this together, we need to help each other get out of this place."