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You find yourself in a market of a bustling city. It is a beautiful fall morning. Not too cold enough that you need your winter cloak, but cold enough that there is a crispness in the air. The aroma of freshly baked spiced breads and pies fill the market from a near by bakery.
You look around and have a feeling that you have been here and should know where this is, but you cannot remember. Almost as if the information is just just out of the grasp of your memory. You try to mentally trace back your steps to how you got here... nothing.
In almost a blink of an eye the season shifts. It's fall you think to yourself. No... it's just almost winter. What was I here for? Looking around you remember that you are in a market. It is a slow day in the market. Looking up you realize it is later in the day on this overcast day. You see many empty stalls that would typically hold the goods of merchants all over the region. The region! Where am I? you look around and you cannot ditch the feeling that you have been here before. Why can't I remember where I am? Come on T.... You hit another wall. What's my name? worry begins to trickle across your mind...
Closing your eyes, you begin to press your temples as you try to slow down and clear your mind. Something isn't right Reopening your eyes you notice a fog rolling in. You pull your winter cloak tighter across yourself as you can see your breath this winter evening. You smell freshly baked spiced breads and pies. That will warm me up You turn only to see the bakery closed and boarded up. Oh yeah. That closed back when... When... Damn it!
Spinning back around to the market; I just need to get what I came for and get out. What I came for. You brush you hand across your sweat beaded forehead. Looking you see the fog rolling in has a yellow hue to it. No one else seems to notice.
The fog continues to rope around the stalls and the merchant like vines covering a tree. The people don't notice what is happening. What is going on? You watch as the fog rolls up themarchant's body, around her throat tightening. She is still talking, trying to sell her goods. She coughs, and coughs again. The tendrils of fog roll into her mouth. In a coughing fit she grabs a scarf and covers her mouth. Pulling it away, it is covered in blood. As if nothing happened she folds up the scarf and places it back on her table.
As the market begins to fill with the fog and the tendrils continue to overtake those in the market you turn and head down the closest path. All around is a wall of sickly yellow fog, tumbling through the alley's canyon of crumbling, gray brick walls like some jaundiced flash flood. You find yourself in a wider section and seven other people come from adjacent roads. That's not right
Ahead, the unfamiliar alley splits, curving to the left and right. Looking back from where you came, the silent swell of mist, emanates the sound of footsteps - slow, but somehow keeping the pace with the careening, hungry wave.
Bolkvar glared at the fog, a feeling of intense anger filling him, tinged with anxiety…and guilt? Why guilt? He didn’t understand it, but there were many things he didn’t understand. He slowly pulled out his sledge. It was a massive hammer used for breaking rocks…or heads. He could use it to feel his way should the fog become too thick, or should he find something within. The dwarf was dressed as if though he were going to work in the mines. Thick leather covered his body, to protect him from cuts, scrapes and bruises. A sturdy work apron held the tools of his craft. He had a backpack, with enough supplies to last days in the dark. And heads, if need be. It wasn’t safe in the dark.
There was only one thing to do. Move forward. Always forward. Looking back, listening to the voices in the dark…in that lay madness. He followed the alley to the left.
Ethyl regarded the odd brumal market with its strange merchants and her lack of apparent purpose. Did I need a flower or a seed? Perhaps I was after fool's gold, I do need brimstone for... what did I need it for again? No matter.
Ethyl shook herself from her introspection and notices the merchants haemoptysis, she stares in fascination wondering by what mechanism this happened. Part of her mind entertains capturing a sample, Perhaps a wet cloth will filter out harmful elements, I would need to test this before exposing myself though. Blast I need a sample before I can experiment.
Another more primitive part of her mind warned her of the danger, Run! Don't let it envelop you! The first part noticed the dwarf as he darted left, Let it chase you or the dwarf but not both.
A final part of Ethyl's mind quelled her internal monologue and she muttered, "Not today Pharasma." She slipped off her backpack and ran as fast as she could to the right.
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Another half-elf woman stands here too, though she appears very different than the pale blonde woman. She's tall and lean, but with rangy muscle and a hard-set expression. Her dark hair is pulled into a severely tight braid, and she looks geared for an overland trek, if necessary.
Grey eyes dart round and round the marketplace as the insidious fog seems to come ever closer. Ryzel walks, slowly at first, then more swiftly, her lips pressed into a thin line as her attempts to shake the fog do nothing. When she finds herself at a crossroads with several other people, Ryzel's breath quickens and she turns to glare at the encroaching fog, the sound of those steady, haunting footsteps.
"We're being herded," she says to the strangers, short and clipped and flat. "Like prey."
She pulls a large hatchet from her belt, standing still in the crossroads, staring at the fog. It was a brave enough gesture, though her complexion looked ashen grey and fine beads of sweat dotted her upper lip.
"Come on then," she said in a rasping whisper. "I'll not run til I get too tired to fight, as you want me to do."
Asrat pulls the linen hood off from his head. Sweat that smells of exotic spices drips down his forehead as he scans his surroundings nervously. He rubs his unkempt goatee with his dirt-covered brown hand and ponders. Why am I here? I mean I know why I am HERE. I would be here. This looks familiar yet not familiar. But WHYam I here?
Asrat combs his fingers through his curly black hair and staggers backwards. That fog! Fog should not be that color. It is like curry yet look how it is poisoning that woman...strangling her even. Well she is beyond my help." Yet, he stills feels the urge to call out to her. "My good lady! I am offering my very generous advise in saying that you should run. Yes, run seems like the correct course of action." However, Asrat does not wait for a reply and spares her no more thought and he focuses on his own self preservation.
When he hears the footsteps emanating from the fog, he panics and waves his dagger around wildly. His beady green eyes widen. "Stay back! You are mistaken. It is not me that you want." he shouts. What did I do this time? Is that the city guard after me? Did they catch me stealing...or worse? Asrat puts his hand to his breast and feels several lumps under his tunic. He reaches in and pulls out a symbol of Sarenrae. He kisses it and holds it prominently towards the fork ahead and prays. "Sarenrae guide me. Pierce this fog and show me the way." Do I worship Sarenrae? How do I know who that is? That doesn't seem right. But it certainly can't hurt.
It is then that is finally notices that he is not alone. Seven other figures approach from different directions. None seem to pay much attention to him and some run both left and right. Yet another stays behind to face the fog. Well that one is a fool. I will make a wiser choice. He chases after the dwarf running left. "Wait! Do not leave this most humblest of servants behind! I can help you. Together we can find our way out of this, yes?" Asrat fearfully glances sidelong over his shoulder then quickly picks up the pace.
This all seems even deader than usual... Wulfric reflects as the gloomy scenes play out before him.
What does that even mean? Usual? Deader than usual... do things normally seem dead? Who are these people? They seem slightly less dead than the merchant, but why are they scattering?
"Wait," the tired blonde man at the intersection calls out. His shoulder length hair and beard are both unkempt and he looks like he could use a good meal. He's wearing a chainshirt over simple traveling clothes and a wooden shield is strapped to his left arm while a mace hangs at his hip. "Why are you all running different directions? There's... there's something wrong with this place... and with the fog. I don't know what it is... I don't know what its supposed to be... but I know there's strength in numbers."
Do I know that? How do I know that?
"Please," he shouts, looking after the two headed left and then back at the one headed right. "Please, if we all go together we have the greatest chance..."
Chance of what? Chance of surviving? Will this mist really kill us?
Turning to the four others still at the intersection, he implores, "Fire... do any of you have torches or oil? Fire burns away fog... doesn't it?"
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Ryzel tunes out the sound of the talkative-but-craven seeming man, his words vanishing into the fog like his footsteps. She flicks a short, acknowledging glance to the blond human, and gives him the jerk of a nod.
"I've a torch in my pack. And flint and steel. Good to see not everyone's fleeing. Whatever is hunting us will only find us easier prey if we're scattered like mice.
"Dig out the torch, I'll watch the line of the fog."
Her words were clipped and firm, but the thready line of her breathing spoke to fear she was only just managing to keep at bay.
Where was I headed? I was looking for-- for-- who? Does the fog already have them?
Wulfric hurries over to the dark-haired woman and pulls out the torch and its lighting tools as quickly as he can manage.
The full elf with pale white skin in plain black studded leather stands in the streets, aimlessly looking out amongst the buildings before seeming to shock herself back to consciousness.
Lysan studies her surroundings immediately upon noticing these details, seemingly assessing threats and escape plans equally. She does this for a few seconds, her body tensed and her eyes wildly swinging back and forth. But after that, she relaxes and she stops appearing so worried, her hands dropping to her sides.
"Oh, Seventh Veil. You always were a trickster you. Where am I, this time? Surely you can't enjoy playing these tricks on me so many times. It must get old, right?"
Lysan stands still in the street, staring at the people scattering around and running in different directions and keeps her calm despite the horrific panic that she should likely be experiencing.
"Wait...something seems off. This isn't Her usual flavor of illusion..." She suddenly seems to panic again, her body tensing up and her sword hand suddenly finding her rapier inside of it. She notices the half elf and human, and takes a few cautious steps towards them.
"What, exactly is going on here?"
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"Don't know. Don't know who you are, who he is, or what the situation is," Ryzel responded tersely, taking her eyes off the fog for only a half-second to acknowledge the true elf, then looking back to the sound of the slow, steady footsteps.
"Just know that I bloody well hate it." Her hands tightened on the axe's haft.
Seeing a group gathering, Bolkvar hurried over. The idea of being alone had him on edge. Once he reached them the dwarf stopped and awkwardly stayed to the side. He was content to take the safety in numbers, but somehow the idea of doing something as radical as saying hello have him pause.
When the dwarf reverses his course, Asrat calls out to him, "Wait, sir! That is the wrong way. We want to be going away from the fog, not towards it." An extreme sense of dread washes over him. He remains in the left fork wanting nothing more than to dash away as fast as possible but hesitant to go alone. He watches those nearest the approaching fog with morbid interest.
One of the last to emerge into the center square is a halfling with his cloak pulled tight over his face. He nervously skitters away from the roiling miasma, unaware of the conversation that the others are having. He just keeps looking away towards the seemingly animate fog.
He had never particularly liked fog. It made it hard to see, harder to keep track of who you were with. Who you were looking for.
Who am I looking for?
But besides that..
Fog shouldn't be this color...right?
The halfling fumbles with a whistle around his neck as he draws closer towards the taller folk. Maybe these were some of the nicer ones.
As opposed to...?
His breath quickens and he looks up to try to follow what they are saying. They don't seem to know each other based on their body language. They're only sort of looking at each other, looking more at the fog than each other. Given what had happened with that one merchant coughing up blood, that didn't seem like such a bad idea. But it made following what they were saying difficult.
The halfling pulls his hood down. If anyone might have mistaken him for one of the tall ones' children, it's now quite clear that this is a halfling. Thick chestnut hair falls in ringlets around his head, covering ears that jut out. But his face is marred by several healed-over scars. His skin looks almost more like porcelain, and his eyes are vaguely glassy, giving him a somewhat unnerving doll-like appearance. And yet, there is something almost kind about the otherwise-creepy face, or at least curious.
The halfling clears his throat, to try to get the attention of these people. He is closest to the elf clad in black, so he reaches up to touch her arm and get her attention.
"Um, hello?" he tries in Taldane, signing as he speaks (just in case). "Do you know what is going on?" His voice is loud--louder than he intends. He tries hard to crane his neck up to watch for her reply, just in case she does not look down.
A man in a black and pale blue uniform found himself facing seven strangers in a strange alleyway in an even stranger city. From beneath the wide brim of an old slouch hat the man's eyes passed from stranger to stranger looking for any detail that may determine their origins. And any potential threat they may pose. He found himself categorizing each of the strangers, placing them in little boxes in his mind. Why had that been his first in state question?
The question made him think back to where he had been before turning down the alleyway. He had been following someone, right? Or looking for...something? He had knelt down to examine a footprint. No, a marking. What was it that he had been looking at? In any case, when he stood up, that ominous yellow fog had begun rolling across the city.
The voice of one of the others pulled him back to the alleyway. "A half elf, by the looks of her, dark hair," he thought. "At least somewhat aggressive," he added the last bit as she prepared herself to fight. Fight what? Fog? A spectre?
Before he even knew that his decision had been made, the man found himself addressing to the group, "As I was saying, until we've gathered more information, there's no use trying to stand and fight. We know nothing of this fog and for all we know, it may kill or maim with mere contact. Our best course of action is to do as these others have done and though it may not be the bravest option, I believe it to be the best one at this time: run." With that, the man turned and started down the right alley.
The alley continues to close in on itself. The fog continuing to pursue along with the footsteps from within. Two paths lay before you, only one behind you with the fog. Only one? Were they with me when I came down this alley? You think to yourself.
A dwarven male and an apparent male human follower of Sarenrae decide to take the left path while a half-elf woman takes the right path. Three other’s decide to have a standoff with whatever is walking within the fog. The half-elf with a hatchet, The blonde male with a mane of hair, and the elf with a rapier find themselves met with two more asking questions. A Halfling male and a human male in uniform.
All of you see this, even the dwarf and follower of Sarenrae who look back from where they came. What follows is only a mere matters of seconds.
The tendrils of fog rope into the alley from the fog. They lash out towards the half-elf who called out; “Come on then” followed by a whisper that was missed by those not close by. The tendrils of fog climb up the woman’s leg and around her mid-section, all the while the fog continues to close in. Footsteps included. The half-elf struggles against the mist; What is she restrained against, it’s only fog
In almost a blink of an eye, the fog skips directly before the now restrained half-elf. What just happened? Did the footsteps stop?
You could have missed it through the fog, but you see within those fog tendrils restraints wrapping their way around the half-elf woman’s legs then waist then throat. From within the fog you hear a rasping whisper; “I’m coming” Almost mocking the half-elf...
You see the fog continue to work its way up the half-elf’s body up to her neck. Eyes wide, she panics as she realizes she cannot breathe. The blood vessels in her eyes begin to break as the whites of her eyes turn blood red. With an awkward convulsion her head sharply twist, and life leaves her eyes. As the fog quickly leaves her body and moves towards those standing in the alley. As her body falls lifeless her head hits violently against an upturned cobble stone and a spray of blood that is built up from unknown pressure pours out.
Within the spray of blood, you see a spot in the pool where it is quickly congealing and reveals the word “me.”
Following the tendrils of fog, the mass of fog continues to pursue you once again.
Bolkvar was no coward, but that did not mean that his mind was as dependable. Seeing the horror before them the dwarf growled a challenge to the fog and swung his hammer in it’s direction. His eyes blazing with anger, he felt the urge to stride into it and to physically disperse it. When there was a challenge, how could he not back down? Fortunately he was still of sound enough mind to keep himself in check.
Asrat falls on his rump and scrambles backwards a few feet. He sees and hears nothing except the blood bursting from the woman's corpse. He comes to his senses quickly enough and stands and puts a hand of the dwarf's shoulder. He pulls the man's shoulder with urgency and points down the left alleyway where Asrat was headed.
"Sir, I do not know if you understand me, but back that way is only death. Please come with me. Don't make me go alone."
He shouts to those standing in front of the fog unsure if they can hear him or not. "Run, you fools or you will share her fate!"
Whether the dwarf comes with him or not, Asrat is not waiting around any longer and runs further down the left corridor.
Ethyl thinks about warning the others but then she sees the fog grasp the dark haired elf, no half-elf. Ethyl pauses and watches with fascination as the fog somehow restrains the woman and murders her without much ado. The rivulets of blood flowing on the stone road entranced her, Ethyl licked her lips, she could almost smell the metallic tang in the air. Then the word formed and it broke her from her reverie. Peculiar she thought.
She spied the dwarf as he swung at the fog, wait didn't he turn the other way? Another part of her mind screamed at her RUN! The first part battled the immediate instinct and thought back to the dead woman's words, hunting us, rabbits run in a serpentine when hunted.
The final part of her mind watching her own thoughts pushed them aside and Ethyl ran, occasionally darting to the left or the right. Confident that she will survive, especially with so many lagging behind her.
me? what could that mean? blood doesn't usually make words, does it? was there a word in the merchant's blood? if the dwarf's attack is rewarded with his own death will there be a different word?
The scruffy blonde man's stomach turns at the sight of the burst of blood but he forces himself to take deep sow breaths and pushes down most of the terror welling up inside. He begins to back towards the path the half-elf is running down, explaining, "I did say 'go together'... we should stick together, yes, but that doesn't necessarily mean we should all stay and fight... just that if we flee we should flee together."
As he walks and talks, he struggles frantically to get the torch lit.
The halfling breathes in sharply as he watches the fog strangle the life out of one of the women and screams. Although he can't hear it, the shrieking peal echoes around for the others gathered. He doesn't like the way screaming feels, though. He draws the whistle to his lips, where it hangs trembling. With each exhale, the whistle squeaks slightly.
What is going on? How did that happen? Why are they so calm? Who is 'me'?
He watches one of the people take down the path to the left. Since no one seems to have noticed him, he takes off in the same direction, the whistle squeaking more incessantly with each small, frantic stride.
The man watched with a keen eye as the half-elf was slain. As gruesome and unjust as her death was, he could not help but feel the slightest amount of validation in his original assessment.
"Whatever foul creature or creatures hide in that fog, I do not think I have the tools necessary to fight it," he said to himself.
The man spared the corpse a final glance before heading further down the alley and spotted a message forming in the blood. "'Me'?"
Those looking towards the two alleyways sees two different sights. The human man is currently trying to convince the dwarf to follow before calling out to the group. “Run, you fools or you will share her fate!” Looking down the right alleyway you see the backside of the fair skinned elven woman as she continues to run.
The halfling begins taking off down the left alleyway with the dwarf and human man are. The man with the blonde mane, who is currently trying to move and light a tourch, and the uniformed man takeoff down the right alleyway on the heels of the half-elf woman.
As you run, all of you faintly “hear” the voice of the deceased woman; “me” It seems to be coming quickly down the alley that you just came. It echoes off the walls, and from within your own skull. “me” It gets louder, causing you to duck as if something is behind you. And Louder This time rattling your teeth as you run.
Looking back, you see the full elven woman at the Y of the alleyway. Her eyes suddenly go lifeless and she falls. Moments later the fog envelops the fallen body. Did the fog touch her then she fell, or did she fall before the fog… you think to yourself.
The alley way sags, battered brick slumping over the path, nearly blotting out the bruised twilight sky. Again the grimy cobblestone path splits. This time one route curves uphill, while the other recklessly descends. Behind, the yellow fog and the relentless sound of pursuit grow closer. Is it coming quicker?
The alley way sags, battered brick slumping over the path, nearly blotting out the bruised twilight sky. Again the grimy cobblestone path splits. This time one route curves uphill, while the other recklessly descends. Behind, the yellow fog and the relentless sound of pursuit grow closer.Is it coming quicker?
The man in the uniform peered down the descending path then up the other. ”Neither is truly safe,” he thought. The man’s left hand flexed then squeezed into a fist created several popping sounds as his knuckles cracked. He repeated the motion a few more times before pointing to the descending path, ”I think I prefer my bones not to shatter from falling down that precarious path.”
He took a couple of steps up the slope and turned to address the other two at the junction, ”Perhaps we can help each climb this path?” He placed a hand to the side of his head, the echoes of the woman’s scream still reverberating inside his skull, ”Or, at the very least, keep each other from slipping down into that fog?”
Looking at Asrat, the dwarf thought for a moment about lashing out, but he kept control. ”Aye.” He said, terror welling up in his chest. ”Fall back.” He said, softly. It felt like something similar to this happened before. Voices in the dark. Death. Loss. But who died? What were the voices? He didn’t know. ”Fall back.” He said, louder. ”I’ll watch yer back, ye lead the way.”
Asrat claps his hands over his ears but it does not muffle the screaming in his mind so he screams out loud to drown out the sound with his own. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"
And then another one is gone...
The dwarf talks to him and snaps him back into focus.
"So the dwarf does speak. Yes, yes! Best that you are between Me and I. You can count on me...I mean I...I mean...who am I...?"
Asrat shakes his head in confusion and takes off into the upward path of the left alleyway.
The man with the unkempt mane scowls slightly as the group continues breaking apart.
'me' again... are the dead becoming part of whatever's in the fog, being claimed as part of its 'me'? what if the 'me' refers to me me? could some malevolent spirit be taunting me after stealing my memories, filling me with this dread that soon it will be me dropping in the mist? what about this feeling that somehow I might deserve that? could that be from it as well, or is that guilt what it's preying on?
Without looking up from the torch, he mumbles, "strength in numbers," as if it adequately answered the uniformed man's question. Then he follows him upwards as he continues frantically trying to light the torch.
The “blonde” half-elf dares to glance behind her and spies the uniformed man and the man with long flowing locks of blonde hair. Me, me, me. Will you just die already?! She nearly trips as the last echo rumbles through the alley way. Allowimg the pair behind her to over take her and take the high road. She manages to say between panting for breath, ”How?”
A distant corner of her mind is very certain that it's possible to accelerate her body well beyond what is normal, if only she had a week to prepare and that damned pyrite.
The “blonde” half-elf takes the low road, At least I’ll double my chances. She manages a ”Toodle-oo” to the pair before departing. Fatigue begins to set in, perspiration on her brow forms, her heart felt like it was beating out of her chest, and she began gasping for air. She began to hate her body, I can make it better, I just need more time. And the side-effects will be minimal.
Hearing something is almost more unnerving than seeing people choked to death by animate fog. He hadn't heard anything since...since...
No time to think about that--I don't want to die!
"Please help me!" the halfling cries out again in Taldane, his speech distorted by a lack of focus and the whistle between his lips. He issues a report with the whistle as he runs, but it comes out stuttered and uncertain with each footfall. He tries to keep pace on the upper road with the dwarf and the human.
He takes a glance back at the pursuing yellow tendrils and tries to let adrenaline take him faster. He trips on one of the bricks leading uphill and slams down hard into the ground. The whistle slips and cuts his lip as he impacts the ground. Tears streak down his face as he pulls himself up and tries to run again.
Taking the low road, the blonde half-elf leaves the two men behind. And quite possibly not soon enough. As soon as she turns the corner the fog overs the opening and rushes past her towards the men. Turning you see the most closing in from above and before you. You soon find yourself is a small cobblestone patch circled with fog.
Coming from the fog around you, a haunting laughter begins to fill your ears. The mist parts, now mere steps behind. A mask of gray rags emerges, strips of something fleshier than fabric worming and constricting across a body that’s almost humanlike – but too lean, and far too flexible. Gauzy gray ribbons reach out like tendrils, each grasping for less doubtful flesh to claim.
You find yourself with a bound hand that is tethered to this person.
Coming from the fog around you, a haunting laughter begins to fill your ears. The mist parts, now mere steps behind. A mask of gray rags emerges, strips of something fleshier than fabric worming and constricting across a body that’s almost humanlike – but too lean, and far too flexible. Gauzy gray ribbons reach out like tendrils, each grasping for less doubtful flesh to claim.
The dwarf dodges the the tendrils, but the human and the halfling find themselves being grappled. The human finds one around his throat, while the halfling finds one around his head. Slowly covering his eyes, finding himself in darkness and silence.
Looking behind you, you realize that the blonde half-elf woman has abandoned you.
Coming from the fog around you, a haunting laughter begins to fill your ears. The mist parts, now mere steps behind. A mask of gray rags emerges, strips of something fleshier than fabric worming and constricting across a body that’s almost humanlike – but too lean, and far too flexible. Gauzy gray ribbons reach out like tendrils, each grasping for less doubtful flesh to claim.
The ribbons reach out to each of you. The blonde man with the mane feels one tethered around his leg while the man in the uniform has one wrapping around his waist.
Asrat flails and kicks at the fleshy tendrils choking him to no avail. He tries to speak but can't... He glances at the halfling who is also grappled and Asrat's eyes speak "sorry" even though the halfling cannot see it.
Memories…memories? They were there, but he couldn’t reach them. Stunned the dwarf stared at the man and the halfling as the mist began to kill them. Tears formed in his eyes as he reached out and tried to free the halfling. Not again he thought, though he couldn’t tell what had happened or to who.
Darkness! All consuming! There was no escape!
The halfling's mind races, contorted, unable to summon any rationality. It can't end like this, not when there was still...
Life! Living! Why did it have to be something specific to make surviving the goal?
The little halfling's breaths all go into the whistle in frantic, rhythmic shrieks, hoping that someone, anyone will hear and save him. Anyone except for 'me'...
In the meantime he draws a concealed dagger from his belt and slashes out wildly at the ragged creature entrapping him.
The maned-man's heart races and beads of sweat roll from his brow down into his beard. He drops the torch that refuses to light and instinctively reaches for the medallion around his neck as if it will somehow protect him.
fighting won't work, I saw what happened to that woman when she tried to fight... I could channel positive energy, that should hurt an evil spirit... wait, can I really do that, and would it really work? what other option do I have? If it's preying on guilt I could confess and seek absolution, but I don't even know why I feel this guilt... only one option, then, I guess...
"Stay close," he encourages the man in the uniform as he takes a deep breath and releases a wave of warm white light that rolls out into the fog before dissipating.
”Perhaps my initial judgement of her was correct?” the man thinks, ”I doubt she met her end. This thing wants to make a show of us.”
As the laughter swelled around them, he began to shake his head in frustration. ”No. NO. NO!” He shouted as the face emerged from the fog. ”This is wrong. This city is wrong! This fog is wrong! You,” he pointed an accusatory finger at the figure, ”are wrong!”
The man looked down in horror as the living cloth wrapped around his waist. This was not how he was supposed to die.
The sight of the wild-looking man fighting back snapped the uniformed man back to his senses. He reached for the short sword at his side and attempted to slice himself free of the creature.
The blonde half-elf takes a moment to savor her cleverness but she is soon punished for her hubris as she too becomes surrounded. She studies her foe for some kind of weakness and asks, "What are you? How?"
The blonde half-elf tries to slip her hand free of the gray somehow too fleshy hand and briefly considers that the maned-man was right. If he were here he could bash it's head and at least make it hurt while this thing was preoccupied with her. Couldn't even remember my name. "I don't suppose you know it?" she asked. "No matter."
You have no idea what this thing is, other than a nightmare.
As you think to yourself Couldn’t even remember my name. You hear your voice answer in your head that slowly shifts from mentally hearing it to being spoken by the creature before you. I know more about you than you could imagine your mind says; “Your hopes and dreams, and your secret pleasures.”
As it says pleasures another one of the bindings lash out at your other arm and grabs hold. It begins to stretch you almost to the point of dislocating your shoulders before it lifts you off the ground. The creature steps forward producing a razor, it removes any covering from your left arm and the bandaged wrapped head moves forward to smell your arm. You feel a cool breath of air as it exhales is satisfaction.
It begins slowly cutting your arm. No cut longer than one or two inches, and nothing across any major veins. It quickly moves, slashing your arm, and it turns and examines your faces and the pain you are experiencing.
A fiendish grin stretches across the face of this creature.What nightmare was this creature birthed from?
With almost no effort the human is lifted off the ground by the bindings hanging from an invisible gallows pole. Tips of the boots struggle to touch the cobblestone road, then touching no more. You are unable to breath.
The bindings around the head of the halfling begin to slowly tighten even against the best efforts of the dwarf. You can see between the overlapping bindings blood starting to seep through.
Even though you cannot hear, you can feel the sensation of grinding and crushing as the bindings a slowly tightening around your skull. When suddenly there is a quick release of pressure… then nothing.
As the bindings finish constricting around the halflings head, a flood of blood pool at the feet of the now limp halfling. As quick as a person stranded in the desert would drink water. The ground here drinks up his blood, only to leave a smudge of blood that looks like it is saying UP
The smile of the creature before you slowly opens as it speaks; “You failed, dwarf. Your tears are what have betrayed your strength. You are a disgrace to Torag, or whoever of the lessor “gods” you follow is…”
A wave of energy leaves the blonde man and it doesn’t seem effective
“Your ‘god’ can’t save you. This is my realm. I am GOD here!”
Stepping forward the creature easily moves free from the short sword that is swung at him. In return it produces claws on each hand and swipes out at the man in uniform. The gashes it leaves shreds the uniform and opens his stomach up spilling his inners onto the floor. If it wasn’t for the wrappings holding him up, you know he would fall.
The man blinked at the sight of the innards on the ground. ”Disemboweled,” he thought, ”Chances of survival without immediate magic assistance: very low.” Shock had clearly set in.
”I have so much more to accomplish!” He shouted, causing blood and spit to fly. He attacked the creature again.
At the creature’s mocking, the dwarf’s eyes widened and then his face set into a stoic position. He didn’t know much. Such as his name, his past, how he got here or where here was. But Torag? That resonated with him. It touched something deep within, and as per usual, it sparked anger. Though this time the anger was righteous. Taking his work tools, he swung his sledge at the fiendish grin of the creature, wanting nothing more than to leave it as a bloody smear on the ground.
Asrat's eyes scream in terror since his throat can find no air as the halfling's head is crushed next to him. He claws desperately at the tentacle around his neck, tearing his fingernails bloody. He kicks and squirms with all his might trying to force his fear-soaked head through the loop strangling him.
It's escape or die! His mind screams internally. Sarenrae, you b*%~+. Count yourself lucky you don't reside in Hell or I'd be seeing you when I get there.
only one option left...
The man with the unkempt blond mane falls to his knees and bows his head. "I'm sorry," he says in the calmest voice he can manage, "I know that I am guilty, and that I may very well deserve this. But I can't remember. Please... please tell me my name, if you know it, and what I'm guilty of so that I may repent before I die."
The blonde half-elf squirms in the clutches of the foul creature and her face twists in pain as she is both stretched to her limit and then cut. The cuts widen a little as she is pulled, ripping her them wider and sending ragged waves of pain throughout her body. She tries to fight through it, a dark part of her mind observes the work, taking notes for later. A cynical part of her observes the current of the thought and she thinks, There won’t be a later.
She tries to engage the monster as it works, ”If.. you know so much… aaagh.. about me sir, then tell me.” She gasps for breath, ”Was I really looking for pyrite in the market? The brimstone.. I can boil from it.. nuagh.. is ever so useful.”
From within your mind you hear that same voice from before “up…” slowly building in your mind “…Up….” until the moment where it is once again rattling around your skull that you can feel your teeth move
Clawing and scraping to break free, you somehow manage to slip loose from the binding that was slowly starting to tighten around your neck. Hitting the ground, you stand and run!
Not looking back, you move down the alley when suddenly you realize that you have been surrounded by the yellow fog. It is impossible to see anything, but knowing what was behind you… You don’t turn back.
The sounds around you even begin to change. You hear the sounds of skittering creatures, wind echoing, and little chirps coming from within the fog. Looking around you realize that you cannot even see beyond the hand in front of your face.
Suddenly there you stub your boot on what you could only imagine was another one of those loose cobble stones that make of the floor. Arms flailing forward you try to catch yourself, but find yourself falling… The cobble stone ground were running on suddenly is speeding past you as you are falling head first.
You see what looks like a break in the fog. Yes, it is light!
Before the creature has a chance to respond to your question you hear screaming coming from above. You can see something tumbling through the fog that is above you. “Company…” the creature says that has paused the slicing of your arms.
The fog breaks before you. The cobble stone ground that you were falling besides has turned into a brick wall and windows. The ground is quickly passing by. You reach out to grab a window to stop the fall, but you are going too fast. Each one you pass rips off fingernails or break a finger. The cobble stone road is coming faster, and faster, and… darkness…
With crushing thump, the human man who ran off down the left path with the dwarf has found himself a splattered mess on the floor.
Your eyes move to the creature that is now laughing before of you. You notice that blood splatter has made its way onto the creatures chest. It looks down and begins to wipe it free. Did that say ‘save’? you think to yourself.
The creature looks up; “Your name…” it says as if almost thinking to itself; “That will come shortly.”
With a quick flash of its hand, you see the blade is dripping blood next to your face. Your breathing becomes struggled, then difficult. You feel lightheaded as there is a strange warmth moving down your chest to your stomach. You cough blood. You feel even more lightheaded and tired. You can see in the reflection of the blade blood pouring from a wide gash in your throat. I’m bleeding out. I’m dying. darkness…
You hear a whisper in your mind “…save…” but nothing more.
With an attack that would have hit and fell most foes you have faced, it almost seems to bounce off of the wrappings that cover this creatures body. “Your anger, your rage won’t help you here dwarf. You little Torag won’t even be able to welcome you home. Though I guess we could take you back to… a forge…”
Suddenly there is a rush of light and warmth from behind you. Turning you see a large forge with a dwarf working the billows and another hammering steel. Trying to call out to them is no good, that act as if they don’t even know anything is different going on around you.
The creature smiles; “Go… go into the forge.” you feel a compulsion take over your mind. Your feet begin to walk towards the forge. You fight it, or you try. Everything you do and you’re not able to stop the progression towards the heat.
Sweat beads on your forehead the closer you get. At the threshold you can feel the burning pain of the fire. One step in. Your boots ignite. Another step in and flames begin to lick up your clothes and armor. Two more steps. The metal is searing through your flesh. The sledge you once held is white hot and cuts through your fingers dropping to the ground. Armor fusing to flesh. You collapse in the embers. Darkness.
The man in the uniform that has been disemboweled is flung across the cobble stone road like a ragdoll. The blonde man with the mane sees the life wink out of his eyes.
“Sorry… you? Sorry? It is best if you don’t remember what you have done.” He points to the dead uniformed man on the ground; “Him, and the others… all dead. All. Your. Fault.”
Looking over to the body you see something odd. His inners almost seem to look as if they spell something… wake?
The creature rushes you and screams Darkness….
Whatever the last thing you felt and experienced is still rushing through your mind and each and every nerve ending is exploding as if those sensations are still happening. Screaming, flailing, ducking, crying… You are doing it. Except You open your eyes and there is a flickering of light.
Looking around your find yourself in a dark stone room with candle light. You might find yourself in a shared cell with another person. Looking out you see someone in bloodied surgical clothes currently splitting the skull open of a familiar looking elf in dark clothing. Next to that table is that dwarf from before. He is strapped to the table. Is he next?
In your mind you remember the words me.. up.. save.. wake..
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The rugged half-elven woman gasps, loudly, fumbling at her throat as sensation and sense come roiling back in. No longer choking, no longer hearing her own neck cracking-- panic isn't so easily forgotten and she flails blindly, swinging an axe she is no longer holding.
Her eyes, wide with the pupils blown, take in the room in a frantic scan.
"Wh.. what--" The words rasp from her throat like sand and gravel. Ryzel-- though she has no memory of this name, of any name at all-- struggles to her feet on pure instinct.
Bars. Bars, she's locked in. With-- another frantic glance-- the northman. Ryzel spits shakily onto the ground, wondering if there is really blood in her mouth or only the taste of it. Does it matter? It's convincing enough.
She staggers to the bars, her gaze settling on the.... surgeon, though the word seems a mockery applied to this bloodied figure.
"You! Who-- who are you? Let me out!" she snarls, her voice hoarse and ragged.
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Bolkvar lay on the table, strapped down and trembling. Over and over he muttered in Dwarven ”Torag, reforge this slag into a worthy tool. Torag, reforge this slag into a worthy tool. Torag…” He didn’t know his own name, nor why he felt such burning shame, but the words still poured out of his mouth nonetheless.
The blonde half-elf chuckles as she rouses from her sleep, "It was a dream?!" Her mirth was marred by something insider her, It was too real. She takes in her surroundings.
The uniformed man from her dream was in the cell with her, Do I know him? She gazes out and sees the dwarf whimpering to Torag and the elf... She lingers on the elf. Careful that can be you after the dwarf, something within her breaks her reverie.
The dark haired half-elf from her dreams was panicking, She'll make a good distraction, she's probably next after the dwarf. The man who wanted to stick together was in there with her. Why were they all in my dream? I must know them somehow but I can't remember.
She looks around for some sort of tool, she whispers to the uniformed man, "Do you have anything I can pick the lock with? A pin or other long piece of metal?" The words came out naturally, she was confident she could do it with the right tools, and enough time. She couldn't remember how she knew she could do it but she knew she could.
Asrat awakens in a cell next to a halfling he recognizes from his dream.
He leans in and whispers in the halfling's ear, "I'm sorry, my friend. We were in a nightmare. In reality, I would never abandon you. Let's work together to get out of here. For now, we should be silent and observe. When an opportunity presents itself, be ready."
He pads his pockets, instinctively feeling for lockpicks. Why did I do that?
While he watches the mysterious surgeon, he ponders over the words from his dream. Me. Up. Save. Wake... Hmmm. Could it be "Wake up. Save me."? Save who? I need to worry about my own hide.
me... up... save... wake... wake up, save me... I wonder how many times she screamed it before she died?
The blonde maned man rises from his knees and wipes them off somewhat sheepishly. Then inspects his clothing and checks to see if he has any possessions on him. Then he looks appraisingly at the dark-haired half-elf looked in with him.
she was brave in my nightmare, I wonder if that means she's brave here too? and, where is here? why are we locked in together? maybe we know each other, or were captured together. I wonder how long she had to watch that?
He moves up near the woman and in between her questions quietly asks her, "I'm sorry, I just woke up and I... I can't seem to remember where I am... or, who I am... do you know me?"
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The woman turns flashing gray eyes on the blond man, fist balled momentarily before she seems to recognize him if, not as a friend, at least as someone in the same position she is.
She takes a breath, and then another, and seems to compose herself somewhat, though her eyes still dart furiously to the scene before her.
"I don't know you. I saw you. Just now. A-- a-- dream? I..." she cuts that train of thought off with a shake of her head.
She turns to more fully assess the man. After studying him a handful of seconds, as if to be sure she doesn't recognize him, she shakes her head. "No. I don't know you. But I am--"
And then a longer pause, a slow realization spreading over her face as she processes that she has no idea what name should follow that introductory phrase. What is her own name? Her own-- who is she?
She looks away, then back to the blond man, with a sort of helpless confusion, grasping that yes, they truly are in the same position.
For a moment she says nothing. Then the sound of the bound dwarf's repetitive babbling cut across her silence again, and she wheels back to the bars.
"Damn you, man, FIGHT rather than whinge! Dwarf! Dwarf, fight those straps before your skull's split too!"
(To be fair, she has no idea what he is saying in his own tongue-- but to her, it sounds like whinging.)