Varo wakes with a start, heaving up from the stone floor into a crouch. His long hair is plastered to his face with fear-sweat. He grabs at himself, searching for phantom wounds, then darts his eyes frantically around the unfamiliar cell.
A hospital? A prison? Both?
It's all too easy to think of reasons he might be confined and amnesiac. Lycanthropy. Possession. Fey abduction. Hag-ride. Ustalav is home to a thousand curses. But is he a mere victim? Or is the enemy within him too?
He raises his scale-tattooed hands before his eyes "Luneca? Luneca?" Not here. Lost? Held elsewhere? Dead? He fights back the dread in the pit of his stomach. Have to get a grip on this!
The druid draws himself up to his full height and advances on the others. "You...do you know where we are? You know me, right? What is going on?"
He hears the screaming woman, turns, sees the uncanny doctor with knife and trowel.
He makes a snap decision. The monsters are outside, not in. He ducks and lunges between his companions' legs to grab at the doctor's, his arms darting like snakes through the bars.
Odeta remains strapped to the table, despite her attempts at wriggling free of the bonds.
The “doctor” thrashes free of the arms reaching through the bars to grab at her, spinning to stare and hiss at the imprisoned party.
Yes, hiss. The “doctor’s” face is briefly not her own, but that of a monstrous snake, its tongue darting out between it’s curved fangs, before it melts into another shape; Allera’s own visage, and glares at the woman, before returning, at last in this progression of unsettlingly wax remolding into her ‘own’ face. “ Impudent. You’ll all get your turn,“ says the doctor as she turns back to face the table and the restrained Odeta, and brings the trowel down as an improvised chopping device, aimed at the “patient’s” leg.
Meanwhile, Erebus is left holding the ring of keys, and whatever actual jailer once owned these was a fastidious, thoughtful sort; written in a silvery ink on the bow of one of the imposing chunks of metal is the word ‘Cells’
Simza’s nose continues to bleed. Drip. Dribble. Drip.
Grabbing the bars, Cole shoves one of his arms through.
"Leave her be! COWARD!"
"Gimme those!" She reaches for the keys, planning to take them over and open the cell herself.
She sees a drop of blood splatter on her arm, though, and she stops to feel her nose, to see if she can identify why she's bleeding . . ..
The halfling hadn't heard any of what was said and had been so focused on reaching for the keys that he didn't see much of it either. But with a deft hand, he grasps the ring just in time to watch the doctor's face contort into something horrible. He leaps back and clutches the keys in his palm to dull the sound he knew they'd make if they jangled, thrusting his arms backwards to hide the keys from the "doctor" as he stumbles a step away. The face changes again, and the halfling's eyes widen.
What's going on?!
As the doctor turns back away, the halfling focuses his attention on the keys, fumbling around with them until he finds the one labeled Cells. He once again doesn't hear the Varisian woman, only noticing her demand when it was executed. The keys lift from his palm and he looks up in shock, a look of consternation etched across his face that quickly melts in a ripple of anger. His now-empty hands make a few curt motions that one might mistake for spellcasting except that there is no manifestation of a spell. It isn't directed at anyone in particular
The halfling moves over towards the woman with the wild auburn hair, the one that the "doctor" had looked like for a moment and makes a different kind of gesture with his hands.
"HERE," the halfling whispers as he touches the woman's elbow: a harsh, throaty sound that has all of the whoosh of speech but none of the control. "A LITTLE BIT OF HELP."
Odeta screams again when she's cut by the doctor thing. Again it's less the pain and more knowing it can happen over and over again without her being able to do anything about it.
She kicks again at the doctor to no effect, and keeps trying to slip free of the ropes binding her down on the table.
Seeing Simza take the keys, Vano moves with her to the cell door. With the steadiness of someone accustomed to bloody work, he grabs her nose as she works, his strong fingers pinching the right spots to stop a normal nosebleed.
Shaking her head even as Martoff tries to grip her nose, Simza goes to open the cell door, checking to see if it is unlocked before trying the key.
The door was locked. The key term here is was, as the key is correctly marked, the lock engages with the key, and turns smoothly; however dreadful everything else looks, apparently the key to the cell was well maintained. Unlocked, the door to the cell swings open with only the faintest grumble of metal hinges.
To be caught off guard by the shifter's mimicking of their image would be putting it lightly. Today truly seemed to be a concoction of nightmares.
Is this... just another dream? The cuts were so real. The pain...
The scream and halfling's touch would seem to bring her focus back to the moment. Uncomfortable and hopeless as it seemed what with a lack of methods to defend themselves, Allera would draw in a deep breath before rushing forward as Simza unlocked their cell. In an attempt to stop further injury, at least for the other, she'd do her best to intercede and make her way in-between the pair (if at all possible).
"Not much for waiting myself. Where are we? What... are you? And stop the... blood!"
There was a hesitation keeping her from striking, uncertainty in how to hit or grab them. For the moment at least there'd be a focus in paying attention to the direction of the 'instruments' while trying to grab the doctor's own attention.
With the cell door open and his attention focused on that awful doctor, Slip isn't catching any words that people are saying. He moves out cautiously behind the auburn-haired woman, trying to avoid coming too close to the reach of that trowl. Maybe he can reach something of his own to defend himself with...
A lot happens all at once; though this is often true in combat, it is all the more true in the uncomfortable state of having just been wrenched from a nightmare. Cole lands a blast of fire, an unexpected attack on the doctor. Allera boils from the cell as soon as the door opens, and Odeta manages to struggle free of her bonds. Whirling around in a panic, the ‘doctor’ sees that even the halfling, the one she would have considered least threatening, has managed to arm himself with a large shard of glass, the fatter end of it wrapped in rags to create a terrible (in every sense of the word) shank.
After considering this tableau of determined and deranged looking ex-prisoners, the ‘doctor’ breaks and runs, her form fluid and unsettling as she sprints for the door to the east, and vanishes into the room beyond. The door clatters as it slams shut behind her.
With the precipitous exit of their tormenter, the group has the luxury of time for the first time that they can remember, time to see their surroundings, time to think, possibly time to talk.
Vano and Simza together can bring her bloody nose to a conclusion.
There is the large cell they all occupied recently, and immediately outside of that is the ‘operating table’ that Odeta has just freed herself from. At the head of this table is a smaller table filled with oddments of pain and torture, knives and forks and blades, and bricks.
To the west is a vaulted alcove, half filled with rubble from the wall and ceiling adjacent to it, decay and disrepair eating away at the structure of the room. A large chest is in a similar alcove to the north. Around the corner to the south wafts an acrid, charcoal stench that manages to rise above the mildewy undertones of the dank cellar.
Vano releases Simza's nose and studies it from different angles, wondering what might have caused the bleeding.
The druid then moves to examine the injuries of the woman strapped to the table. Since her bleeding has stopped, there's little more he can do without supplies.
While he was acting as a healer, his movements were brisk and self-assured, but once he completes his examination he becomes hesitant again. He reaches for the woman's bonds, then freezes. "Ah...you are well? If I let you go, you won't hurt us?"
Something about her seems familiar, and she's not frenzied. Vano starts undoing the straps before she can finish answering.
As unsettling as the stranger's exit was, there was a relief to finally be 'safe'. At least from any immediate threat. Besides the many other thoughts racing through her mind in the moment, Allera would think of the one behind her. "Ah, are you oka-" the question would come almost obligatorily before seeing the cut made at Odetta's leg. A quick visual search would be made for some form of fabric to at least put pressure on the wound. If all else failed, using some blade from the nearby table to cut off strip long enough from her own clothing to band around the cut.
Taking to her work, the realization finally struck as the moment started to truly sink in these somewhat familiar faces had no names attached to them. Racking of her brain seemed to give little to go on, though that seemed true for many attempts at recollection.
"I'm uh... Allera by the way. At least... I believe that's what people called me."
"Allera? Okay. I'mmmm . . . Petra? No, that doesn't feel right. Simza? That feels far more comfortable. Call me Simza. We should gather some weapons and other tools. I wonder what's in that chest?"
As she starts to move that way, she notices Erebus, and signs back to him in Varisian Sign Language.
Seeing everything happen so fast after his initial attack, Cole sneers after the retreating monster-doctor and walks slowly and carefully out of the cell wary of his former cell-mates. He casually goes to the table of sharp objects and grabs something pointy and dangerous, not that he needed it.
Seeing the wounded woman being taken care of, Cole focuses on getting out of this...place...alive. He moves to the crumbling alcove and looks for a possible way out.
His voice calm and his eyes still gazing at the crumbling alcove, Cole throws over his shoulder, "Somebody should be watching the door...probably."
The halfling watches as the creature runs away, and he puts his makeshift shank back down on the floor for the moment. He didn't want to risk cutting himself and hoped that he could find something more useful. Besides, he preferred having his hands free.
He struggles at first as the others are casting their words all over the room--sometimes towards each other, but other times towards wherever they were looking. He thinks he might catch a name or two, based on the unfamiliarity of the shapes that peoples' mouths make, but he is very surprised when the Varisian woman signs back to him. His eyes widen and he smiles. He signs along with what he says verbally, any frustration he might have had at having the keys unceremoniously snatched from his hands without (visible) warning melting away.
"No, I didn't hear you," he says and signs. "And I can't follow the rest of you when you talk away like that. But I can see what you say."
Having completely missed Cole's statement, the halfling points towards the door. "What about her?"
Rather than trying another kick, Odeta swings her free leg out and around under the table. Gripping with that leg, she uses it as an anchor and as leverage. With a shriek she puts all her effort into wrenching her body sideways and pulling against the bonds holding her opposite arm and leg bound. She must be stronger than her size would suggest because she tears the ropes on both her limbs free of the anchors they are connected to on the table.
Given more mobility, it takes her only an extra second to slip her other hand free of its binding. She quickly rolls off the table in the direction away from the doctor thing. By the time she has gathered herself into a crouch and sprung up into a defensive fighting stance, the people in the cell are pouring out and the doctor thing is fleeing through the door.
Odeta's eyes dart about, looking at the freed people, not relaxing. She only does so when the tall woman with blues eyes indicates she will treat the cut on her leg. She leans against the wall, shifting her weight onto her uninjured leg to favor the other so the woman can work, but she refuses to go near the table. Panting, with teeth bared, Odeta says nothing as the adrenaline begins to drain from her system.
"Okay. I'mmmm . . . Petra? No, that doesn't feel right. So, my name is . . .. Well, maybe I AM Petra. We should gather some weapons and other tools. I wonder what's in that chest?"
-----
She continues signing as she raises her voice for the others to here. "The halfling here is deaf. He can't hear you. I can communicate with him, and you can too if you let him watch your face while you talk to him. I wonder if any of these keys will open that trunk. Guess it is time ot find out!"
She moves to the trunk and gives it a once over, trying to see if it is safe or not.
The trunk is neither trapped (as far as Simza can tell), nor as it turns out, locked. It will swing open easily, revealing far less of a prize than one hopes for when opening a chest. That's definitely a thought, and a memory, even, that can resonate with them each; this isn't the first time that any of you have hauled open a chest.
Within it, there are no heaps of gold, or magical swords, or any of the other sort of things one hopes to find in a chest. Instead, there is a pouch filled with spell components tending towards the mossy and natural, a holy symbol to Iomedae carved from well-polished walnut wood, a small leather portfolio which contains an exhaustive array of clever tools, probes and picks, and lastly a handheld leather case which, upon further examination, contains a small grooming kit. Set atop this pile is a well-used whistle, wrapped in its strap which makes of it almost a pendant.
After examining the crumbling wall for faults or possible escape holes, Cole turns the corner and tries to understand the strange smell...
The crumbling wall is decaying from the intrusion of groundwater into the foundations of this building, working mortar free from bricks and slowly but surely killing it from the bottom up. Unless one were to become a worm, or to wait another ten or fifteen years, however, it will not provide a meaningful avenue of escape.
A large, iron furnace squats just around the corner to the south, and is certainly the source of the charcoal smell; a chimney rises from one side of its top, and a large, rectangular vent rises from the other side of the top, presumably to transport heat upwards. The fueling door is open, and glancing inside the cold and lifeless maw of the furnace reveals an assortment of broken bones, and the curve of more than one skull protrudes from the heaps of ash, broken and scorched teeth smiling invitingly.
Heaped to the side of the mouth of the unlit furnace is a motley collection of bloody clothes, and assorted gear such as weapons and armor, atop a heap of other objects, geological strata of garbage revealing successive waves of victims of the vanished 'doctor'. The top layer, the layer which contains the weapons, armor, and only somewhat dirtied clothing, is in decent enough repair to consider taking; from the lower layers, only an extremely fine viol is notably not trash, so much so that its presence is outright anomalous.
Sneering at the dead creature remains in the furnace, Cole immediately drops his 'sharp object' and reclaims his own items, swiftly getting dressed and armed with his sword in hand. He then closes the furnace door so the others are not immediately alarmed by the, what he was sure the others would consider, 'horrifying' view.
Only then does he ome back around the corner and alert the others to the pile of 'trash-treasure.'
"Fair warning: I don't know clean they are now, but I just found...my stuff...I guess? I remember it...the things...I just don't know how or why they are mine. The clothes fit, and the sword seems like an extension of my hand. It was what I was wearing and using in dream-nightmare too..."
Cole seems more confused than upset or scared to the others. He turns to the halfling so his mouth is visible, and speak aloud and as normally as possible.
"I see nobody is watching the door yet. I can do it I guess."
He then moves to the door the doctor went through, his sword in hand.
As unsettling as the stranger's exit was, there was a relief to finally be 'safe'. At least from any immediate threat. Besides the many other thoughts racing through her mind in the moment, Allera would think of the one behind her. "Ah, are you oka-" the question would come almost obligatorily before seeing the cut made at Odetta's leg. A quick visual search would be made for some form of fabric to at least put pressure on the wound. If all else failed, using some blade from the nearby table to cut off strip long enough from her own clothing to band around the cut.
"I don't think they'd ask all of us for help if they meant to fight..." She'd comment toward Vano.
Taking to her work, the realization finally struck as the moment started to truly sink in these somewhat familiar faces had no names attached to them. Racking of her brain seemed to give little to go on, though that seemed true for many attempts at recollection.
"I'm uh... Trib? No, Bella?" An immediate uncertainty struck her face upon saying the names. "Err... maybe something like that. Call me whatever seems right."
- - - - - - - -
Seeing the woman she had just 'tended to' still be so energetic gave some relief. At least well enough to put up a fight which... it seemed they were likely in for soon enough. She'd note down the other woman's words as she'd stand up properly. She'd go to comment before hearing Cole's findings. Proper things to defend one's self took definite priority as she'd hurry over to where he found his own things. Looking into the furnace herself, the sight inside was a bit unsettling, but not enough to deter her to start unloading its contents as she saw definite arms and armor. She'd work to set aside what all seemed usable before taking to what... seemed to be her own belongings. It was the same as from the dream at least, and it would put her at ease compared to the rags she currently wore.
"The uh... man is right. Best to get your things before any other strangers come through the door." Allera would call from nearby the furnace before starting to put on her things.
"The uh... man is right. Best to get your things before any other strangers come through the door."
Cole turns his head at the blathering humanoid, then back to glare at the door with a sneer only a half-orc could pull off.
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Odeta continues to calm as the woman tends to her leg. When she finishes Odeta touches her upper arm tentatively, perhaps as a gesture thanking her, but she still says nothing.
As word goes around that their possessions have been found Odeta moves slowly, as if she's stunned or in shock, to gather her things as well. Her weapon is the most noticeable item she retrieves. It is a very long sword with a long handle as well, almost as long as its owner is tall. It isn't a typical greatsword though. The blade is too thin, and it is one-sided with just a hint of curvature to it.
Odeta dons her armor and pack, with the weapon slung to hang on her back. Looking around again from face to face, she finally speaks.
"W...w-here are we? Does anyone know?"
Cole doesn't turn around, but speaks loudly as he approaches the door with his free hand. He appears to be answering the female human's question...
"Not where we are supposed to be! But that's just a guess on my part. I've killed before...I feel that. I have skills...and some magic. Fire magic. Any of you kill someone before? That experience will be important soon I think."
He grabs the door's handle and tugs it open gently to glance past it...
The halfling looks as the Varisian woman who signed--Petra?--explains what he had just said, only slightly annoyed. He had just said that. But repetition was useful, and it was true that he couldn't be sure that the others had comprehended him. And having someone with a built-in instinct to pay attention to his manual language would be useful over constantly trying to remember to speak. Just thinking about talking all day makes his throat hurt, just like...
Hmmm...there was something there, deep in the recesses, somewhere...a fragment of recollection.
When Petra opens the chest, the halfling hoists himself up to peek inside. At seeing the whistle, his dark eyes widen and he reaches for it. "I think this is mine," he says by way of claiming it. Feeling the smooth metal and its leather strap brings a sort of comfort to him. He also tentatively follows the half-orc's directions and goes with the Trib-no-bella over towards the furnace, nodding and thanking him for taking his deafness into account. He disappears around the corner, clutching the whistle around his neck. The half-orc had been able to go around and come back, so he should be able to as well. Especially with company. Right?
...
When Tribnobella opens the door, the halfling is unprepared for what he sees. He feels immediately nauseous upon seeing the remains of corpses, and blanches, falling to his knees and gagging. It takes a few moments for him to regain his composure before he hoists himself up and lifts himself into the furnace. "I'm small," he reasons out loud. "I can find things that will be harder for you to get to from out there. Just," he turns, his dark eyes shining in the dim light, "Please make sure I don't get closed in."
Why hadn't the half-orc warned them about all this?
The halfling helps populate the pile of usable, relatively intact things before climbing back out and closing the door. No one else should have to see that. The halfling shivers as he pulls on some small armor and finds a few other nice things sized appropriately for someone of his stature. A crossbow. A shield. A knife. There's even a small leather bag with some sort of letterless logo printed on it filled with all sorts of useful things: mostly writing materials. The armor in particular would be easy to confuse for child's armor, except that his proportions were broader: filled out for an adult.
Having regained his composure and helped the others find their weapons and armor--why did they all have weapons and armor?--the halfling rejoins them in the other room for the conversation about what was going on.
A name doesn't dance on the halfling's tongue (or fingers) as identities are discussed. But there is a word there, the meaning of which escapes him. It's unclear whether it's a nickname or something else. He realizes after trying to get the half-orc to turn around that he doesn't need to get their attention in the same way. He can just talk. "I think people used to call me a slip," he says once he has everyone's attention, "Whatever that means. So if you want to call me Slip, that's fine."
So Petra, Tribnobella (gosh that was long), Slip, the tattooed man, the half-orc, and the woman who had been strapped to the central table. The half-orc looks like he's going to open the door, but Slip tries to rush a bit more introductory conversation in. "If anyone else has ideas about what they'd like to be called while we try to figure out who we are, where we are, and why we're here, then go ahead. Otherwise," Slip looks around at the others, "I have ideas."
The half-orc probably wouldn't like being called Green. And Fire seemed too simplistic. Maybe Ash? The tattooed man had lots of snake tattoos. Maybe Draco, like draconic? And the last woman--well, she seems to know what she's doing with that enormous sword! Blades? No, that was stupid. Ms. Kicks-a-lot? Think harder. And then...Ahmet? What does that mean?
Hearing the halfling croaking about names, Cole frowns and pauses opening the door for a moment.
"Call me whatever you wish. Just don't call me a fool or a coward."
Odeta begins to take closer stock of the people from the cell as everyone pauses to get their gear and come to some decision about what to do next. She doesn't understand what the halfling is trying to communicate, but she knows that's what he's doing because the shorter of the two women said so. It seems to be about introductions.
She intends to contribute her own, but gets caught up with her thinking as she hits a wall.
"I'm... My n..."
Her eyes widen as she realizes she can't find her name. Odeta pauses and runs her hand through her hair, self-grooming for calm as she wonders what to think or do about it.
"I can't think of my n...n-ame."
She can't see herself, but she did feel her hair. Unlike the other two women, her hair is cropped short enough for the back of her neck to be exposed.
"Call me 'Short Hair'?"
The young Varisian pulls the set of tools from the first chest. "These would have been good for getting out of the cell. Not as good as the key, mind you . . .."
She squats next to the chest for a moment, looking at the tools. Why do these feel comfortable, but the others did not?
As the others move around the corner, she rises fully to her feet, and follows the group. Stopping and staring at the dead before forcing herself to consider the pile of equipment.
Picking through the pile, various items just feel right as she picks them up, while almost identical items next to them do not. This doesn't make sense. Why this blade and not that one? Why the hidden blades and not open ones?
Thinking about it, this time she signs, unlike the bit a few moments earlier. "Why would we know where we are? We don't know who we are! Somehow we know what is ours. Why should I recognize this cuirass and not your armor, 'Short Hair'? They aren't that different, but we both knew the difference without thought. How? Why are we wherever we are? Why don't we remember more? How do we remember what we do? Hopefully, we can find an answer, but I don't think it will be in here."
The druid has been pacing the room, searching the walls and floors for subtler clues. Finding none, he joins the others by the furnace and the pile of cryptic gear. He pulls a long bone from the furnace and examines it for toothmarks.
"So many before us...how did we manage to escape their fate, I wonder? Perhaps the doctor wasn't prepared to have so many prisoners at once. If we were all captured together...you all seem familiar, though perhaps that means we were imprisoned together for a time..." He shakes his head. "Not too long, as our gear isn't covered with ash from the furnace. "
The druid plucks a clay mug from the pile. It feels right in his hand. He flips it over and finds initials. "KtP"? They mean nothing to him--if they were his, wouldn't they feel as familiar as this mug? Perhaps they are an artist's signature.
"Our condition might be caused by poison, or disease, or a curse. Not injury, the chance that we were all struck just the same way seems too unlikely. Lost memories, lost time--those sound like faerie pranks to me. Dark faeries play evil games." A familiar-looking stout wooden handle protrudes from one side of the mound. The druid pulls it free and finds a great iron scythe glinting in his hand. He tests the edge on his thumb and finds it sharp. "Cold iron. Evidence that we were expecting trouble from the Fair Folk, perhaps."
Odeta can only shrug at the torrent of questions coming from the short woman. The short woman seems like she's maybe rattled or upset with her for something. Regardless Odeta is getting antsy about staying where they are for so long.
"We should go I think. If the doctor comes b...b-ack with help we are boxed in, only one way out and it w...w-ould be blocked. This place is a trap."
The Slip’s entrance into the furnace is precisely as dusty and horrible as one could imagine. There isn’t much actually within the furnace proper other than ashes, and the bones of the dead. There are the bones of dozens of people, hidden in the ash, their last resting place being a tomb of alternating pitch blackness and (when the furnace is in operation) searing light. Here, within the furnace proper, he can see up inside the vents. While the idea is a terrifying one, it occurs to him that it wouldn’t be impossible to climb up it, though of course, where such a path would lead is impossible to know.
Vano’s examination of the bone, and then several others for comparison’s sake, reveals that most of them suffered injuries from blades; the nicks and chips from the bone are evidence of that. There are some teeth marks, but they’re more gnaw-y, likely post-mortem, and not numerous enough to suggest consumption.
As Cole eases the door to the next room open, it does in fact reveal another room; but this visual revelation is on the heels of the smell, a horrible miasma of rot and decay which rolls through the doorway as it opens. The source of the smell is immediately visible to Cole, as there is a heap of two dozen bodies in an untidy (in every sense of the word) pile here. A cloud of flies hangs thick over the pile, and their buzzing is now a constant undercurrent, drilling into the mind. The lip of a broad, metal chute protrudes from the wall approximately eight feet above the floor, and maybe three feet above the level to which the heap of bodies now rises; it is definitely the ‘source’ of the pile of bodies.
Around the corner to the left, another alcove with a container. This one is probably only a treasure to one of the party, as it is a wooden crate, drilled with a paltry few air holes, and inside it is a snake. Vano’s snake. Here is a name, at last, in the confused absences. This is Luneca ; Vano will be certain of that.
To the north is an exit into a corridor, or rather, there once was; the corridor is filled with rubble, the ceiling having collapsed down into it. A rickety wooden staircase is in the southwest of this chamber, climbing towards the high, vaulted ceiling of the room.
There were a lot of questions and very few answers. For Slip's part, he misses a good portion of the conversation while rooting around in the ash and finding a way out. The smell in here--and the thought of breathing in the dead--made his stomach roil all the more.
Slip exits the furnace, dusting himself off before he goes to find the others to let him know what he found. The sight of unburnt bodies is somehow worse, and he swings back out of the room almost as soon as he had entered it, his heart thumping and his hand fiddling with the whistle around his neck.
Why? Who would do such horrible acts of macabre menace?
Keeping his eyes shielded from the horrors, Slip steps back into the threshold. "There's a, um, chimney in the furnace. It might be possible to climb out there."
Where had that "doctor" gone, though?
In the eastern room they'd just gained access to, the room with the heap of bodies underneath a chute in the wall, Erebus can spy an incomplete foot print on the wall underneath the chute, and a smeared, bloody hand print on the edge of the shoot. Bodies haven't just come down the chute; something (or someone!) went up it. Recently.
Slip lifts his finger to point to the bloody handprint on the chute. His voice is hollow, emotionless. "I think I figured out where she went."
Cole sneers at the bloody hand-print, then shrugs.
"I was hoping for an actual door, or even a window. But a possible escape from this insanity is better than none."
He then proceeds to use his sword's point to pick through the remains at the bottom of the chute.
Joy leaps to the druid's face when he hears a hiss like a steam kettle from the other room. "Luneca!" He rushes in, and heedless of any caution starts levering the crate open with the blade of his scythe.
Thank the gods--she's not a hallucination after all.
The snake's blunt nose pushes the crate the rest of the way open, then glides to the floor, more than a hundred pounds of undulating muscle. She coils at Vano's feet, agitated, as he strokes and soothes her.
Odeta looks at the shaft doubtfully. Even if the doctor thing went up and out that way, it was painfully thin. It may not be big enough for all of them. She also doesn't like the idea of being in such a tight spece.
"Do you think we could all fit?"
Slip does not particularly like the look of that snake, which looks as though it could swallow him whole. But it seems to know and like the druid. So if he just stays on the druid's good side, then hopefully...
"We'll have to go up one way or the other. We just have to choose: the bloody chute or the furnace."
Neither seemed particularly appetizing, but this wasn't a time to consider stomachs. "That...creature with the face might be waiting for us up top there. We could try the furnace."
Frowning at the strangely familiar smell, and as he still picks through the chute remains, Cole asks the obvious...
"Can we all fit up the furnace pipe, or just the Slip? Someone translate for the halfling please...he can't see my face right now."
Signing as she speaks . . .
"I know they look suspect, but there is a set of stairs over there, too. But, Slip, he wants to know if you think any of us are too big for the chute."
She turns and looks at the pile of bodies. "If these all came here through it, though, I think we'll fit. I don't know how hard the climb might be, though. The chute would be designed so there's nothing for the bodies to snag on, right? Means no holds."
"I'd rather go up than down, if possible. Sooner or later we should run out of up and be free."
Noticing the little one going still at Luneca's approach, the druid grins and bends down to put his face in front of his. "She'd be prowling if she were hungry, trying to get at some of the vermin in here. You can relax."
Then he turns and resumes his search of the pile. This whetstone is his, as is this embroidered blanket. The great mantle of bear hide is his too...but why is its hem nearly purple with old bloodstains? He shudders, but puts it on...armor seems like a very good idea right now.
Turning to the trunk, the druid eyes the whistle. Is it his? It seems mostly familiar. The pouch though, that is definitely his. He picks it up for a closer look, and gives a cry of excitement.
"V.M.! Those must be my initials! Right?" His face turns uncertain. "Well, I've nothing better. Call me V."
He clears his throat awkwardly. "You know, I had a dream, just as I was waking up, and you were all in it." He laughs in a self-deprecating way. "Did, ah, any of you experience something similar?"