Kisarta: Adventures Beyond Death (Inactive)

Game Master Seer of Shadows


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Let's start things off with an interesting way of making placeholder dots: I would like each of you to recount your character's death in-character, as this memory is what they will re-experience prior to awakening within the Cemetery of Lost Souls. This will let your set your own personal tone for what comes after.


Female Orlan Slayer (Sniper) 8 / Spiritualist 8 | HP 104/104 | AC: 24 (T: 18, FF: 17) | Saves: F:+8, R:+15, W:+14 | Init: +7 | Perc. +24 (+28 vs traps), Ethereal Sight, Darkvision 60ft
More Info:
BAB: +8/+3, CMB: +9, CMD: 26 | Spells: (1st) 6/6, (2nd) 5/6, (3rd) 3/3

Death Scene:
Bronwyn sits in her cabin, head in her hands. The Deadfire isn’t her home anymore, but leaving it in such chaos still feels wrong. Particularly since she is at least partially responsible. Whoever has control of Ukaizo controls the Deadfire, and right now that’s no one. Gods forbid anyone just…give up. Acknowledge that maybe Eora has bigger problems right now than profits and territory and cultural heritages. Or at least put off the fighting until after they find a way to ensure the dead will be reborn. Don’t they realize what’s at stake?!

Apparently not. Now she’s headed to Defiance Bay, hoping maybe the animancers there will have more sense. She should write to Kana too, see if his contacts at the Lore College have any ideas-

”Captain? Need you topside, now.” Rum-Dumb Riggere sounds uncharacteristically sober, which means something is very wrong. Bursting out onto the deck she sees Llendreth beckoning her.

Llendreth wastes no time as soon as she’s close enough to hear him. ”The waves ain’t right captain. Something keeps pulling the ship southwards.”

“What do you mean, 'something'?”

“If I knew what it was I wouldn’t be calling it ‘something’ now would I? It makes no sense. It’s like we’re caught in a powerful current, but there shouldn’t be anything of the sort here. Nothing that would pull us off course like this.”

“Reverse course. See if we can back out of it.”

“Aye aye captain.” Llendreth spins the wheel while Luca shouts orders to the deckhands. The Defiant smoothly turns and starts going the other direction, but Llendreth is frowning. ”Still being pulled south. Harder now. She’s barely listening to me.”

”LOOKS LIKE ARKEMYR’S STUPID POOL WHEN WORTHLESS IDIOT FORCED TO CLEAN IT.”

Bronwyn blinks and turns to look at her navigator. ”What?”

”PUT BUCKET UNDER. PULL PLUG. EMPTY POOL. ARKEMYR HATE DIRTY WATER.” Worthless Idiot rolls his eyes at her as if it’s obvious. From the gasp beside her, maybe it is.

”Oh f&+& me.” Llendreth’s eyes are wide. ”He’s right. It’s a gods-damned whirlpool. But they can’t get this big, how could a whirlpool get this damned big-”

”Leviathan.”

Bronwyn isn’t sure who says it first, but the word spreads like wildfire among the crew. The more religious drop to their knees and start praying. To Ondra, to Berath, to anyone who might listen. ”Get us out of this thing Llendreth!”

”You think I ain’t been trying? We don’t have the speed!”

The ship is tilting visibly now. Swallowing hard Bronwyn grabs a spyglass and stares at the center of the whirlpool. It might be her imagination but she thinks she sees the flash of a monstrous tooth.

Leviathans swallow ships whole. Once you see one, it’s already too late to escape.

”Fire the starboard cannons!” Maybe the legends are exaggerated. Maybe the Defiant can win this. She keeps her spyglass focused on what might be the leviathan while the cannons roar. If they have any effect it’s not noticeable from here. ”Keep firing!”

The ship is moving faster and faster. Edér staggers across the deck to stand next to her, lip curling. ”Think the gods are involved? Hell of a coincidence if not.” His words cut through her growing panic. This isn’t the first time they’ve fought a giant sea monster. In fact it’s the third.

”Galawain? Galawain are you doing this?!” She doesn’t expect an answer, but suddenly the world drops away from her. She’s surrounded by the fetid stench of a predator’s breath.

”Watcher.” Galawain tilts his head and studies her. Unlike other times they’d met she doesn’t sense any anger. Just satisfaction. ”You’ve been a good hunter. But every hunter must eventually become prey.”

”What kind of a hunt is this?! How can I fight-”

”You’re not meant to, Watcher. You’ve beaten my servants before, and I bear you no ill will for that. You are clever. However this time I will take no chances. A true hunter uses all of the tools at their disposal. It’s the only way to survive.” He smiles. ”And survive I shall.”

Kazuwari. Galawain’s island, with its own cycle of reincarnation completely separate from the Wheel. An insurance he’d kept secret from everyone, even the other gods…until she’d stumbled across it. ”Is that what this is about?! I helped you! I restored your connection-”

”You could break it just as easily. Do not think I have forgotten what lies in your possession.” His smile fades. His eyes grow cold. ”Farewell, Watcher.”

”Wait-” The world dissolves and Bronwyn’’s back on the ship, Edér gripping her arm. He’s hanging onto the rigging with his other hand. The ship’s at a steep enough angle now that they’d both fall off the deck otherwise. A couple of the cannoneers are still firing, although from the looks on their faces they know it’s pointless. Llendreth’s lashed himself to the helm, but most of the rest of the crew have disappeared. Either down below, or…down below.

”Guessing no luck?” Edér’s voice sounds calm. How is he so calm?

”Not really, no.” She blinks away tears. Dying was one thing. Knowing that she was taking her entire crew with her, taking Edér with her…”I’m so sorry.”

”Hey, it’s not your fault. You never asked for any of this.”

”Neither did you.”

He manages a smile. ”Uh, actually I did. Give me some credit. I chose to follow you around.”

”If you hadn’t-”

”I’d be number Nineteen. Stop beatin’ yourself up. That’s the bad guys’ job.”

Bronwyn looks down at the center of the vortex. The leviathan’s gaping maw is fully visible. Any minute now the Defiant will fall into it. ”I’m still sorry.”

”I’m not. Always figured I’d die alone. Dyin’ with a friend…s’not so bad.”

Bronwyn can’t answer. All the words she wants to say stick in her throat. Instead she grips Edér’s shirt with both hands and pulls herself into an awkward hug. He wraps his arm around her and holds on tight. Together they fall into the abyss.

As darkness descends, Bronwyn’s last thoughts are: ”Please don't leave me. I don’t want to be alone.”


HP:146 | AC:32 ; T:27 ; FF:26 (Mage Armor) ; CMD:33/27 | Fort:+7 ; Ref:+13 ; Will:+9 | Init:+9 ; PER:+14 (Low Light)

If it’s made entirely of water, why does a ‘Splashdragon’ need liquid fangs, and claws, and a big, BIG maw? It just seems… gratuitous.

Strae’s chuckle draws a wince of pain that wracks his nearly broken body and ends in a bloody cough. The massive shadow of the hurtling dragon blots out the sun, casting Straehan in shadow. The sorcerer smiles, speaking to himself as much as to the diving beast, ”I probably shouldn’t have called you a ‘Splashdragon’, in Aquan, no less… That really set you off, eh?”

As the dragon falls on him, Straehan has a moment to ‘appreciate’ the gratuitous gnashing fangs and especially the gaping maw that is enveloping him. Getting through the hide was tough. Theoretically, this should be easier. He activates the rod a final time and weaves his final spell… wrapping himself in a snake of fire and then sending the slithering column of flame in a corkscrew path down the beast’s gullet… scouring organs and vaporizing the aqueous core of the wyrm while winding towards its tail.

Before death claims him – either by fang or self-immolation – Straehan turns his head away defensively. Through the dragon’s closing jaws he sees Miir’s vast ocean far below him, glittering in the sunlight, and his favorite rod tumbling towards the sea.

His dying thoughts are a jumble. I hope I kill this f&cking lizard… Damn, I love that rod… I hope we win the war. The rest is darkness, pain, and fire.


F Sphinx 8/Hedgewitch 8 | HP 128/128 | AC 37+2 T 24+2 FF 33+2 | CMB +18 CMD 33 | F +13 R +12+2 W +15 | Init +4 | Perception +18 | Spell point 15/18 | Inspiration 7/7 | Memories 7/7 | Current Effects: Foreshadow, Thoughtsense

A Deadly Epiphany:
To an ordinary mortal--had they somehow gotten here without dying--the great sphinx’s surroundings would have been naught but pure, discordant, mind-searing chaos, but to Rahlmaat’s enhanced senses and impossibly fast thoughts, there was pattern and meaning in every inch of this space. She had been seeking a place like this for what could have been decades on Golarion, scouring the First World for just such a place as she was now in--a fragment of creation, some might have called it. If the First World was the draft for the Material Plane, then this was one of the wood-shavings from crafting it.

And from shavings she hoped to discern something of the tools that shaved them. Metaphorically, of course. Though one had to be careful with metaphor here, for if one depended too heavily on metaphor one might blind oneself to the truth behind it. And it was for truth that Rahlmaat was here--the truth of creation, another piece of the grand riddle of existence that was her long purpose to unravel. Not that she believed that she would answer that riddle here. No, she expected only to glean another piece of the question--but questions were at times of greater import than answers, for often solving a riddle was a matter of discovering the right question to ask about it.

Pushing aside these thoughts, the great sphinx refocused on her surroundings, just in time to note some fey beasts prowling in through the gateway she’d created to this realm. For some insane reason they seemed intent on attacking her. Of course, they might well not realize that here, in this shard of precreation, they might not be reborn as normal for denizens of their realm.

Still, she was in no mood to humor those foolish enough to challenge her in the midst of her meditations. With a wave of one of her massive paws she summoned a storm of elements which utterly destroyed them, then turned back to her contemplation of the underlying order to the chaos here.

Rahlmaat was surprised to note that there was now motion to these hidden threads… unraveling motion. Swiftly she realized that her spell had upset the delicate balance holding together this last piece of primordial material. Heaving a heavy sigh, she prepared to depart…

…and then she saw it. For just an instant the threads of reality told their tale, and Rahlmaat Comprehended. Her thoughts flew, the implications of this glimpse of Truth sending her thoughts into a frenzy. The implications… but that meant…

It was difficult to say how much time passed there, in a place from before time, but when the sphinx again emerged from her thoughts, the disintegration of the fragment had progressed alarmingly. Reluctantly rousing herself from her ruminations Rahlmaat realized that she had not time to return to the gateway, and so summoned her knowledge of magic and began to weave a spell.

But the familiar arcane power which had so consistently answered her call slipped through her mind’s paws, catching and snagging in untidy knots instead of smoothly flowing into the desired shape. As she desperately struggled to get the arcana to behave, Rahlmaat bitterly cursed that she should be so caught in a trap of her own devising just in her moment of greatest enlightenment, regretting the arrogance that had led her to ignore her own peril in favor of just a little more time studying.

And as the pain of a disintegrating plane ripped through her, her last thought was of how there was a certain humor that she, the greatest of cats, had been felled at last by her own curiosity.


Female Human Gestalt Oracle 8 // Monk 8

Dove's head hit the ground. Hard. Her flesh burned, the ground shook -- good warriors died. A shadow stood over her, thankfully it was the Paladin, Sorina, and not one of those...things. Dove accepted the other woman's hand and got to her feet, still dizzy from the assault. The meteor swarm had been devastating... Dozens were down. Dead, wounded? Cavalry, archers -- many of her friends. She had to get to them...

But the ground shook. Dove looked up at that thing and its horde, crawling from the Worldwound like maggots. It had to be fifty feet tall, a tower of entrails and writhing organs atop five spindly insect legs. Boiling blood and fluids seeped and sprayed from every wound -- and anything that passed for an orifice. They'd killed many of its minions but more were coming.

Sorina pulled Dove away. The paladin had removed her helm by then, so she could finally read the other woman's lips. Sorina was asking what type of demon they were fighting. She knew the word, but napsu didn't even have a sign for it... "Not demons," Dove said quite well, but struggle with the word she had no idea how to pronounce. "K... Kwa... Ki. Klip-Poth." Almost an afterthought, Dove took a few seconds to whisper a prayer and single out several nearby allies. Herself, Sorina, and over a dozen other allies recovered from the worst of their wounds. It was the last of her most potent magics -- and most of her lesser spells were already gone as well.

The walking wounded were gathering around them, some carrying those that couldn't walk themselves. After an attack like that, Dove was used to being sought out -- but she only had lesser magics to give. Archers and casters were already sending volleys, and the fit warriors gathered to follow Sorina back into the fray.

The ground shook. Dove offered a solemn nod to Sorina -- they both had a job to do. But Sorina took hold of Duviana's shoulders and drew her into a short but passionate kiss; their last.

Dove watched Sorina and the warriors charge into the fray. If they were going to win, they'd need reinforcements... She got to work. Between simple cures, channeled energy, laying on hands, and even mundane bandaged, kept the fighters on their feet. There were other healers to help, but their powers were exhausted long before her own.

The ground shook. It was getting closer, yet fewer and fewer fighters were returning to her tent. She had patients remaining -- but she was finished. Every last spell, every last gift or power. Even her last bandage roll was empty. Dove stepped out of the tent, her clothes stained and spattered with red. The ground shook. Not many were left standing.

A dozen? Maybe twenty fighters left. If Sorina was out there, Dove couldn't spot her... Bodies were everywhere, but most were neat the big one, of course. This wasn't a battle they could win anymore, but Dove surveyed the enemy. They weren't looking good, either. The maggots outnumbered the soldiers five to one at least, but there was nothing else crawling out of the pit. The big thing was full of arrows, wounds, and down two of its legs as it staggered to balance on only three.

The ground shook, but the Qlippoth was walking in circles. Dove had one gift left ungiven, but there was a price. She approached the staggering creature, and the bodies beneath it. There was no way of knowing if Sorina was among them, she would just have to hope so. There was no way of knowing if the fallen could finish the job when she brought them back -- and Dove would never get to know how the day ended. Everyone else would be back, but she'd be erased. Her name wiped from memories, from writing -- never to be remembered nor written again.

Was it worth it? Yes. Those that knew Dove might feel the loss, that something's missing...but would they remember enough to even mourn a person? Maybe, or maybe not. And Duviana Henderthane? It eased her mind that that name would be forgotten.

The ground shook, the thing tried to skewer her with one of its legs as she neared. It was off balance, and she was better at evading than she looked. Dove stood amidst the bodies and gathered her ki. All of it, every last ounce her soul held.

Somewhere on Golarion, a blood-stained robe blew away on the wind.


Female Human Soulweaver (Lichling) / Hedgewitch

Death:

Kiya stepped away from the body at her feet, wiping the blood from her weapon. Another traitorous spy? Jaali had said to kill on-site but getting the documents was the primary objective. Could just be another political rival's agent? Why couldn't Jaali provide more details?

Daisy sat on the edge of the desk her legs swinging back and forth. He wasn't supposed to be here, place was supposed to be empty. She gives Kiya a knowing look.

Kiya sighs in frustration. Yeah, we'll have to go see our little informant "friend" later. She begins sifting through the desk for the documents they'd come for.

There! She picked up the piece of parchment, Jaali's seal embossed on the bottom right corner. Let's see what's got you so paranoid.

Didn't he say not to read the contents? Daisy pipes up.

Kiya raises a brow at Daisy. Like you don't want to know what it says. She scoffs and goes back to reading.

Alright you caught me. Daisy gives a devilish smile before standing and walking along the desk to where Kiya is. Well, what's it say?

"Thank you for your work", blah blah blah, "you'll find your payment enclosed..." She looks around the room. I'm guessing that will be around here somewhere.

Ow, nice. Daisy's wings flutter as she takes off searching the room for valuables.

Kiya starts reading aloud again. Blah blah blah. Okay, here we go. "You're next target will be leaving Quantium on the 12th day of Gozran, as always the cargo carried aboard is yours..." Her reading slowed. "But its passengers should be killed... a bonus will be given when I hear of the dignitaries' death."

What? So he can't convince the Blood Lords to go to war with Nex, so he hires pirates to attack them.

It would appear so. A pause as she thinks. We should make a copy of this. Never know when we might need it, Jaali's been getting more and more paranoid lately.

Kiya goes to take out her writing supplies but finds herself paralyzed as a wave of magic washes over her. Kiya's eyes flitted about in their sockets trying to find a culprit when Jaali emerged from the shadows. Is that so? I'm paranoid? I wonder why? His eyes open wide as if expecting a reply, not that Kiya could actually give one.

The lich cast a spell and touched Daisy who collapsed to the floor. NO! Kiya willed herself to move while Jaali mumbled something about loose ends. Kiya wasn't listening. If I could just... MOVE! He cast another spell, his bony hand stretching out towards her. Bastard...


Male Nephilim(Kyton) Orc Fiendish Exemplar(Left Hand Path) 8/Rajah(Batal/Ruler of the Damned) 8 (gestalt)

A noble death:

The Battle for Shadowdale was proceeding as planned. Scyllua Darkhope led the mortal armies of the Zhentarim from the north, while Volgroruth Bloodscream led his Scourged Legion from the east, and Sarya Dlardrageth marched her fiendish army from the south. The three pronged attack would absolutely crush the puny rebellion that arose in the Zhent controlled territory.

However, the best laid plans tend to go awry, especially in the heat of combat. A powerful sun elf mage, by the name of Araevin Teshurr had gated in a battalion of celestials, including a powerful solar general to command them. This was to be expected however, and was countered by the presence of Malkizid, the Branded King(himself a fallen solar).

What was not counted on was the ferocity and tenacity of which the rebels fought with. The Chosen of Mystra, Storm Silverhand, led the counterattack, and managed to push back the vile 'invaders'. The fighting raged on, day and night, for well over a week, with heavy losses on both sides.

Finally, on the thirteenth day of fighting, Volgroruth decided to take matters into his own hands. Saying a prayer to Bane, the Black Lord, he strode forth shouting a challenge as he did so Storm Silverhand! My people have suffered enough at the hands of your forces! I do not wish to see any more of them needlessly die. Come, face me in the middle of town. Should I win, you and your forces must withdraw, and leave Shadowdale forever alone. If you win, me and mine shall do the same.”

The noble ‘hero’ could do nothing but accept. Their duel was fierce as the Bard of Shadowdale was an excellent master of the sword, while the fiendish orc was a massive warrior, who was able to turn aside many a blow. Eventually however, Volgroruth got the best of his opponent, forcing her to yield. Ever the honorable one, he did not land the killing blow, but as he turned to walk away, Storm struggled to her feet and attempted to launch a sneak attack. Sensing the betrayal, Volgroruth spun his giant axe around, and took her head clean off. ”Such heroic nonsense!” he uttered as her body dropped to the ground with a thud.

That should have been the end of the fighting, but that was not meant to be. For you see, Araevin Teshurr, a high mage of Evermeet, was in love with the Bard of Shadowdale. Seeing her fall in battle shattered his already broken heart, he fired a devastating magickal surprise attack, giving his life to fuel its power. Such a mighty spell felled Volgroruth, who was already worse for wear after his duel.

Thus it was that Volgroruth Bloodscream, leader of the Scourged Legion, Champion of Bane, lost his life. Not in the midst of a great battle, or to a superior foe in an honorable duel, but from a cowardly, craven sneak attack.

The dastardly assault lit a fire in the hearts of his allies, and they renewed their fight, crushing the forces arrayed against them with ease. When the last of the resistance died at the hands of Desmonda, lover of Volgroruth, the leaders of their respective armies gathered together and held a solemn funeral for their fallen friend. Fzoul Chembryl teleported to the battlefield from Zhentil Keep, to lead the ceremony, as befitting such a high ranking warrior of Bane.

As the pyre’s flames consumed Volgroruth's body, they suddenly exploded in green fire, a clear sign of the Black Lord’s approval.


Flashes of your life break like waves upon the shore of your fading consciousness, only to recede like the ebbing of the tide. As the cold stillness of death settles in, all sense of time and self vanishes and gives way to a darkness without dawn. All that you were, all that you ever could have been, is now nothing more than another offering on the altar of naught.

After an eternity spent drifting aimlessly and mindlessly through the void, a pale grey light breaks through the emptiness like a star in the curtain of night. As you behold the light with the sightless eyes of the dead, your essence drifts towards it like a moth to flame. The pale sun draws closer and closer, bringing with it something familiar. What is this feeling? Is this...? Your consciousness flickers like the pale grey tongues of the alien sun's flame and your soul fades in and out of it's deathly slumber.

But this is not the dreamless sleep from before. Memories of your final moments come flooding back and bring with them the agonizing prospect of nonexistence. Some part of you rebels at the thought of returning to that endless night and your sense of self thrashes about within you. Impossible vistas of beauty and terror flash through your mind and a chorus of whispers chant in an unknown language, building into a susurrating scream that rends existence itself.

You suddenly startle awake as if from a nightmare. You become aware of the cool, loamy soil brushing up against your flesh as you move and the scent of a freshly-dug grave fills your nose. Your eyes open and all that can be seen are four walls of tightly-packed dirt and a night sky stretching above you, clouds silvered by an unseen source of light. The soft, piteous sobbing of a woman can be heard coming from somewhere up above.

Welcome to Kisarta...


Male Nephilim(Kyton) Orc Fiendish Exemplar(Left Hand Path) 8/Rajah(Batal/Ruler of the Damned) 8 (gestalt)

"Desmonda?" Vol whispers in a cracked hoarse voice, his throat incredibly dry. No. Not her. That crying was pathetic. Sad. Weak. Whoever that was uttering such an awful sound, it was not his beloved. It is then that he notices he is in a grave, yet alive. Odd. He knew he died. And set aflame on a funeral pyre. He should be on Banehold, seated next to The Black Hand himself.

The massive orc struggles to rise from his own place of burial, moving slowly as blood flows through his veins again. His muscles ache from lack of use, but in time, he makes his up out of the grave. He looks around, unsure of where he was.


Female Orlan Slayer (Sniper) 8 / Spiritualist 8 | HP 104/104 | AC: 24 (T: 18, FF: 17) | Saves: F:+8, R:+15, W:+14 | Init: +7 | Perc. +24 (+28 vs traps), Ethereal Sight, Darkvision 60ft
More Info:
BAB: +8/+3, CMB: +9, CMD: 26 | Spells: (1st) 6/6, (2nd) 5/6, (3rd) 3/3

Pre-Awakening:
As she drifts towards the pale sun, Bronwyn remembers. The light...is this what souls saw when they looked at me? She can understand now why they were so drawn to her. After so much nothingness, any light is a heaven.

The Wheel has been destroyed. There shouldn't be light anymore, not for any of the dead. She'd failed. So what is she seeing?

There's another presence near hers. She remembers the scent of tobacco smoke, the sight of gold hair gleaming in the sun, the feeling of warm arms wrapping around her as they both fell into darkness. Edér? The soul is drifting away from her, back into the emptiness.

Please...

She reaches out with hands that don't exist.

Don't leave me...

Somehow she grabs onto the presence, holding onto it as tightly as Edér had once held her.

I don't want to be alone.

The soul doesn't struggle. She doesn't think it's conscious enough to struggle. Dragging them both towards the pale sun is still the hardest thing she's ever done. But she is Bronwyn Draper, Watcher of Caed Nua, and she has survived too much to give up on life now.

Together they fall once again.

Bronwyn startles awake with a gasp. "What? Where..." She reaches out with a trembling hand to touch the earth surrounding her. It feels real. Her rapid breaths and even more rapid heartbeat feel real. Is she actually alive again? Had Berath intervened? Could Berath have intervened, with the Wheel destroyed?

Uh, Watcher? Can you hear me?

"Edér?" She stands up. She can't see him, but maybe if she climbs out of this hole...

Wait. She hadn't actually heard him talking. She'd heard him, in her mind, like when the Quiet Five had talked to her. But Edér isn't a cipher.

You can? That's, uh, good. Any idea what's goin' on here?

"Not a clue. Where are you?"

I think I'm inside you? Wait, no, shouldn't have said it like that. Sorry. Uh...not sure how else to say it though.

Sure enough, now that she's focusing she can feel Edér's presence in her mind. Which isn't where he's supposed to be. He's supposed to be beside her, the way he has been for years-

Something shifts, like using a muscle she never knew she had. She concentrates on it, on her desire to see Edér again. A shimmering haze appears and solidifies into a familiar form. Edér's eyes are wide as he stares first at her, then at his hands, (significantly more bluish than they'd been before), then over his shoulder where part of his body is vanishing into the wall. "Uh. That was...weird. Am I a ghost?"

"Maybe?" Bronwyn reaches out for his hand experimentally and isn't surprised when her own passes through. Flashes of memory are returning to her: the pain of drowning while simultaneously being crushed to death by her own ship, the agony of nothingness in the void, a pale sun. "We both died I think, but I feel pretty alive right now. How do you feel?"

"Okay? A lot better than I remember feelin'. If this is the ghost life it don't seem too bad so far. Least we're together." Edér cranes his neck to look up at the night sky. "Not sure where we are though. Those stars don't look familiar."

She looks up herself. Stars are stars to her, (a statement that would no doubt leave Bekarna sputtering), but she'll take his word for it. "Alright. Let's see if we can get out of here." Despite feeling solid she still half-expects her own body to pass through the wall, but her hands grip onto dirt and she easily pulls herself up.

There's someone sobbing nearby. Maybe they'll know what's going on. Even if they don't, anyone crying like that probably needs help.


Female Human Gestalt Oracle 8 // Monk 8

Adrift:
Floating forever without memory, without purpose, without need. She could not remember her name, nor the context of why that mattered -- or didn't. There was loss, but also bliss, but most of all there was forever.

For a while.

Light pierced forever. Thought pierced dreams. She remembered something... An army in defeat, a world in danger? A sacrifice made. A dove in in flight? There was no ending. Her sacrifice brought them back -- she remembered that! But she saw the end, and would never know if it was worth it.

Just as she forgot herself, they forgot her, too. For some reason she wasn't really sad.

There were whispers then. She didn't even know her name, but she knew that wasn't right. She couldn't hear! The whispers didn't make any sense, but she floated towards the light.

She sat up in her grave, gasping as air refilled her out-of-practice lungs. She heard crying somewhere up above. That was weird. "A-...ah... Ahhhh!" She screamed between breaths. Her own voice was still unheard, save the vibration in her skull. That was normal. She was still deaf.

Something odd was happening. Odd-er than waking up in grave after being plucked from eternal emptiness. She got to her feet, leaning on her monk training to power through the pings and pangs as long unused body parts returned to motion. She climbed up out of her grave to look around, particularly for the source of the crying. "H-hello?"


HP:146 | AC:32 ; T:27 ; FF:26 (Mage Armor) ; CMD:33/27 | Fort:+7 ; Ref:+13 ; Will:+9 | Init:+9 ; PER:+14 (Low Light)

Straehan’s near-black eyes snap open… They are the only thing that moves, doing a slow circle of his surroundings. Night sky. Open grave. Wailing woman. Smell of earth, not blood, not burnt flesh. Bracing for pain and horror, he slowly raises an arm, one that was formerly broken and bloody – a lump of seared meat. An unmarred hand meets his eyes. He wiggles his fingers experimentally and is pleased with the result – confused as hell, but pleased.

Recollection strikes, making him bolt to a sitting position. The sorcerer pulls his pack off and digs through it blindly until his hand closes on a worn, leather-bound book. Using his ‘new’ and undamaged lungs for the first time, he loudly exhales his relief. Strae releases the book and glances at his belt, seeing the empty sheath for a rod. His assessment is a dry cough. ”Fv<k.”

The sorcerer rises slowly to his feet and dusts himself off. While his mind tries to unravel the knot of conflicting thoughts and events, he collects some of the grave-dirt. He glances at it, then stores it safely in a pouch. With only a sliver of sky as a reference point to determine where he is… It is time to metaphorically and literally crawl out of the grave.

He scrambles up the side of the pit. His fingers find purchase but his feet don’t. There is an audible whump as he tumbles back down to the bottom of the grave. Some hero. Undeterred, he rises again and kicks a couple good footholds in the wall of the pit then climbs out easily.

On the surface amid the endless graves, Strae does a slow circle to examine every facet of the Cemetery of Lost Souls (though he doesn’t know its name yet). Just before his mission, he had made a brief study of the likely planes that would claim him after death. He compares what he sees to what he studied. Kisarta is neither the Hell he deserved nor the Heaven he had tried to earn.

He rolls his eyes to the heavens above, ”This again? You @ssholes.”

Climb (1st try): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8
Climb (2nd try): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21
Knowledge: Planes: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 8 = 19


F Sphinx 8/Hedgewitch 8 | HP 128/128 | AC 37+2 T 24+2 FF 33+2 | CMB +18 CMD 33 | F +13 R +12+2 W +15 | Init +4 | Perception +18 | Spell point 15/18 | Inspiration 7/7 | Memories 7/7 | Current Effects: Foreshadow, Thoughtsense

Rahlmaat does not go quietly into the night. There were still riddles to unravel, secrets to search out! But for all her knowledge and power, she cannot deny death. For all her struggles, soon enough she is nothing more than a drifting spirit, like any other...

...but when a pale light impinges upon her sleeping consciousness, she instinctively is draw towards it. Even her subconscious is drawn towards the unknown, that yearning for knowledge such a deep part of her that a new mystery draws her without thought.

The sphinx claws her way to consciousness, stubborn will shaking off its slumber as Rahlmaat strives through shattered images to wakefulness.

She opens dark eyes to see dark soil. This... this was not... no, it could not be there. That place where she had been had broken, it no longer existed in a sense more true than most types of destruction. And so she herself should have been, and yet, she was here.

But whence was here? Bestirring herself, Rahlmaat stretches out, shaking wings and legs and finding them all functional. But... something is different. With only earth in front of her eyes she has no comparison, but the feeling of her limbs suggests she no longer has the mighty stature of an elder sphinx, but rather that of her younger days.

"Strange," she murmurs, beginning a general examination of her body. It takes only a glance for her to notice that she is missing many of the symbols of power she had etched into herself, but not all. This quickly disproves the hypothesis that she had somehow returned to her youth, for what remains is a mismatched collection of etchings, most of which are incomplete.

She thinks back to when she etched some of these into herself... and the sphinx shudders. Her memories... they are shattered, disorganized, broken. Oh, the grand sweep of her life is there, but she had so carefully arranged her mind, a necessity for one who had hunted lore for five millenia. If her memories before had been a carefully-kept library, with all in its place, now it was as if a storm had swept through, tearing pages and hurling books from shelves every which way.

Rahlmaat sighs. "This will take decades to fix," she mutters to herself. Not so long, really, but she burns to be learning more, not spending long hours retrieving what she once had.

But as she feels more herself, Rahlmaat reaches upward, sinking claws into earth and climbing. For this seems like no situation and no plane she's ever heard of, which means that there is a great riddle here, one fit indeed for a sphinx of her stature to solve.


Volgroruth:
You climb out of the dark earth and take in your surroundings. The hole you climbed out of is most definitely an open grave and a marker bearing your name sits at it's head. Before you lies a walled graveyard of unimaginable scale that stretches as far as your eyes can see. Statues of leering fiends rise amid a sea of tombstones and cairns. Your gaze turns to the sky and a distant pale grey sun comes into view and it's monochrome light brings with it a sense of melancholic nostalgia over past glories.

As you bring your gaze back around, a spectral figure comes into view that wasn't there before. The woman's form seems to be made of living shadow and is garbed in the mourning finery of a noblewoman made of the same. Beneath a tear-soaked mourning veil of deepest night are glowing eyes that match the color of the pale sun in the sky.

Bronwyn:
As you climb from the earthen vault and look for the source of the sobbing, your eyes behold a macabre scene. The hole you have crawled from is a grave nestled within a nigh-endless graveyard that sprawls before you. Tombstones- one of which bears your name- and statues of wild beasts dot the land beneath a copse of dark-leafed trees that gently rustle in a nonexistent wind. Your attention is eventually drawn to the sky and in it sits a distant, pale grey sun, whose monochrome light stirs feelings of regret within you.

When your gaze returns earthward, a ghostly woman stands before you as it she has always been there. The woman's form seems to be made of living shadow and is garbed in the mourning finery of a noblewoman made of the same. Beneath a tear-soaked mourning veil of deepest night are glowing eyes that match the color of the pale sun in the sky.

Amn:
You climb from the dark earth and, as you do so, your eyes alight on a most macabre sight. At the head of the hole you are climbing out of is a single tombstone. Whatever name was once on it is worn away and trying to make sense of it causes a dull ache to form behind your eyes. Eventually, you manage to tear your gaze away from the tombstone and see that you are within a vast graveyard that stretches from horizon to horizon. Statues of faceless angels, arms open in acceptance, speckle the landscape. You look upwards and hanging in the dark sky is a distant, pale grey sun whose monochrome light fills you with a profound sense of loss and emptiness.

When at last you level your gaze once more, an ephemeral figure stands before you that you are certain was not there before now. The woman's form seems to be made of living shadow and is garbed in the mourning finery of a noblewoman made of the same. Beneath a tear-soaked mourning veil of deepest night are glowing eyes that match the color of the pale sun in the sky.

Straehan:
After successfully climbing out of what you hypothesized was a grave, your suspicions are confirmed as a name- YOUR name- engraved on the tombstone at the head of the pit comes into view. A veritable sea of other graves stretches across the horizon, along with a great many well-appointed mausoleums and statues of stately figures. The silver-edged clouds above draw your gaze and you see a distant, pale grey sun hanging in the sky, whose monochrome light you fosters disquieting feelings of uncertainty within you.

Your gaze eventually falls to back to the ground as you curse and a wraith-like figure stands before you. The woman's form seems to be made of living shadow and is garbed in the mourning finery of a noblewoman made of the same. Beneath a tear-soaked mourning veil of deepest night are glowing eyes that match the color of the pale sun in the sky.

Rahlmaat:
As you climb from the pit and think over your situation, your eyes alight on a tomb marker bearing your name. But yours is not the only one, as a sprawling graveyard of a size that beggars belief lies before your very eyes. Funerary altars engraved with glyphs are sprinkled amid the macabre landscape. You gaze skyward and behold a most curious sight: a distant, pale grey sun whose monochrome light brings to mind the anxiousness that comes with the pursuit of a grand and elusive mystery.

When you at last tear yourself away from the sky and the myriad thoughts that bubble forth from your mind, an enigmatic figure stands before you. The woman's form seems to be made of living shadow and is garbed in the mourning finery of a noblewoman made of the same. Beneath a tear-soaked mourning veil of deepest night are glowing eyes that match the color of the pale sun in the sky.


HP:146 | AC:32 ; T:27 ; FF:26 (Mage Armor) ; CMD:33/27 | Fort:+7 ; Ref:+13 ; Will:+9 | Init:+9 ; PER:+14 (Low Light)

Tombstone Takedown!:
Straehan takes an involuntary step backwards in surprise before he can plaster a false smile on his face. ”Good evening and well met, madam. How do you fare?” With her unnatural appearance and glowing eyes, Straehan suspects the woman may be undead. But he’d met enough strange creatures whose actions belied their nature, that he stops himself from making assumptions about her intentions. Nevertheless, he watches her closely, trying to discern her nature.

Knowledge: Religion: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16 If Religion is the wrong K skill, I also have a +8 in Dungeoneering/History/Local/ Nature/Planes, or a +15 for Arcana.


Male Nephilim(Kyton) Orc Fiendish Exemplar(Left Hand Path) 8/Rajah(Batal/Ruler of the Damned) 8 (gestalt)

Awakening:

The orc warrior locks eyes with the ghostly noblewoman, and bows his head slightly in respect. He notes her finery, and smiles slightly. "Well met Lady. Are you the one responsible for my being alive, as opposed to seated at the side of Lord Bane?"

1d20 + 18 ⇒ (9) + 18 = 27 Diplomacy +5(32) if she's intelligent undead due to the Walk Freely Among the Death heraldry.

1d20 + 13 ⇒ (3) + 13 = 16 Nobility


F Sphinx 8/Hedgewitch 8 | HP 128/128 | AC 37+2 T 24+2 FF 33+2 | CMB +18 CMD 33 | F +13 R +12+2 W +15 | Init +4 | Perception +18 | Spell point 15/18 | Inspiration 7/7 | Memories 7/7 | Current Effects: Foreshadow, Thoughtsense

Exciting new riddles:
Rahlmaat notes her name upon the marker. Symbolic of my death, I suppose? she thinks to herself. It is a common funerary practice, though sphinxes do not practice it. Of course, we do not truly *have* funerary practices, so I suppose I must allow this place some leeway in its choice of symbolism. Based on the number of similar places here I would suspect that I am not the only one to find myself in this situation.

Knowledge (Planes): 1d20 + 19 + 1d8 ⇒ (12) + 19 + (8) = 39
Knowledge (Planes): 1d20 + 19 + 1d8 ⇒ (2) + 19 + (4) = 25

Her thoughts continue as she looks upward. But this is certainly not the Boneyard. That sun would be a moon if it were, for one thing. For another, I do not seem to be dead in the usual sense--certainly I am breathing and seem corporeal, so I am not a spirit. That I am not in the Boneyard suggests I did not go through the River of Souls... but neither does this resemble any of the other Outer Planes.

Perhaps an undiscovered portion of the Negative Energy Plane? But no, while the star above seems to have an unusual effect on the mind, nothing here seems to drain life in spite of the monochromicity of the surroundings. Excitement stirs within her. So is this an undiscovered plane? Some lost fragment of a dead god's 'eternal' home? Or something even stranger.

The scope of the riddle before her fully wakens her curiosity, but she reminds herself of what she's still fairly certain was her death. Don't let your eagerness for the riddles kill you a second time. I must remember I'm lacking most of my sensory enhancements right now.

As if to prove her thought, when she looks down she sees a being whose approach she had not detected. The eyes suggest a connection to the plane itself--though it is possible that all beings here share this trait. It is not as if I've a reflecting pool here to examine my own eyes, so I cannot make assumptions. Still, the garb is also that of a mourner, matching this place. Hmm...

The sphinx can only guess what the common language of this place is. Her name on the tomb was written in her native Sphinx, but that told her nothing but that whatever symbolic magic placed her in a grave and engraved her name also knew her enough to choose the correct language. So, lacking any better alternatives, she defaults to modern Taldane.

"I greet you," Rahlmaat says, with a slight inclination of her head. "Be you greeter, gatherer, guardian, or guide?"


Female Orlan Slayer (Sniper) 8 / Spiritualist 8 | HP 104/104 | AC: 24 (T: 18, FF: 17) | Saves: F:+8, R:+15, W:+14 | Init: +7 | Perc. +24 (+28 vs traps), Ethereal Sight, Darkvision 60ft
More Info:
BAB: +8/+3, CMB: +9, CMD: 26 | Spells: (1st) 6/6, (2nd) 5/6, (3rd) 3/3

Help:
Bronwyn stares at the sun for a long time. Stars might all look the same to her, but even she can tell that this is not the sun she knows. Edér is quiet as he too stares upward.

Is this what happens to souls now that the Wheel has been broken? Are they all being sent to this strange new world?

Will she ever see Eora again?

She tears her gaze away from the sun. "Edér, I-" Whatever words she was going to say are lost as she sees someone who most definitely wasn't there before.

This person doesn't look alive, but she also doesn't look like any spirit Bronwyn's ever seen. Nor could a normal spirit sneak up on her. But whoever or whatever she is she's crying, and that triggers a near-instinctive response. "Do you need help?"

Edér coughs behind her. "Ma'am, we're a little lost. Don't suppose you know where we are?" Right. Figuring out what's going on probably should be their top priority right now. It's a good thing Edér is around, because Bronwyn's always been very, very bad at prioritizing.


Female Human Soulweaver (Lichling) / Hedgewitch

A sharp gasp escapes Kiya's body as she bolts up, her heart pounding. Confusion seeped into her mind, the last thing she remembered was dying yet as she felt the cool touch of the earth she felt alive. Is this the boneyard?

She pulled herself out and surveyed the surrounding land. It didn't look like what she had read of the boneyard. She heard a familiar voice coming from down beside her. Kiya! Daisy flew out of her own smaller grave up to Kiya's eye level. Where are we? I thought I was dead.

So did I. It doesn't make any sense, I don't think we're in the boneyard and this isn't the Bloodrot, not that you'd end up there... A look of utter confusion crosses Kiya's face. In fact... Kiya concentrates on Urgathoa's holy symbol which hangs around her neck and works her magic, pulling a leather bound journal from an extradimensional space. Hmmm... Hold onto this please. She unclasps the holy symbol and hands it to daisy before attempting to use her magic again to send the book back to the extradimensional space.

Concentration: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (15) + 14 = 29 DC 24

She manages to send the book back with some effort. Strange I can't feel Urgathoa's presence, yet her holy symbol still makes my magic flow with ease. She takes the holy symbol back, hanging it back around her neck. None of this is making sense. And what is with that discordant weeping?

Yeah. Daisy shudders in agreement. Both of them feel a wave of unease and begin looking around for a source.


Female Human Gestalt Oracle 8 // Monk 8

Things to do in Kisarta when you're Dead:
She shook head as if to shake the cobwebs from her mind, but the gesture alone would not do. A headache formed, and steadily worsened the more she tried to remember. Details were scant, her memories as eroded as her headstone... Yet the graveyard was infinite. And the pale sun? She could have stared at it forever. It wasn't much, but it felt like more than she should have expected. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to feel. What she felt was cold, loneliness, and a profound emptiness inside. Somewhere beneath all of that, there was something else -- be couldn't put her finger on it just yet.

Without warning, she was no longer alone. She was startled by the shadowy mourner at first, but there something about the eyes... She could have stared at them for...

She shook her head, but the headache was still getting worse. "Hello..? Miss?" She asked the apparition. "Can I help you? I'm... I. Well, I forgot, I mean, I have amn...amnesia."


Straehan:
Upon hearing your greeting, the forlorn figure looks up from her downcast gaze to meet your own. The pale stars behind her veil seem to stare directly into your soul and she begins to speak, her voice a soft whisper not unlike Autumn leaves rustling upon a faint wind, "I weep, walker of two paths, as all who grieve must. I weep for all Creation's children who find their way here and the threads of the twisted skein which guided them hence."

Your Knowledge check fails to produce any results.

Volgroruth:
Upon hearing your greeting, the forlorn figure looks up from her downcast gaze to meet your own. The pale stars behind her veil seem to stare directly into your soul and she begins to speak, her voice a soft whisper not unlike Autumn leaves rustling upon a faint wind "It was not I who bade you hence, fell champion, but the Pale Sun's light which entranced your wandering soul, as it does all who lose their way."

Diplomacy seems to have no effect and your Knowledge check failed to produce any results.

Rahlmaat:
Upon hearing your greeting, the forlorn figure looks up from her downcast gaze to meet your own. The pale stars behind her veil seem to stare directly into your soul and she begins to speak, her voice a soft whisper not unlike Autumn leaves rustling upon a faint wind, "I am none of those things and all of those things, seeker of knowledge. I see all who wake beneath the Pale Sun's light and come to weep for those waking from their deathly slumber."

Your Knowledge checks failed to produce any results.

Bronwyn:
Upon hearing your greeting, the forlorn figure looks up from her downcast gaze to meet your own. The pale stars behind her veil seem to stare directly into you and your companion's souls and she begins to speak, her voice a soft whisper not unlike Autumn leaves rustling upon a faint wind, "You are everywhere and nowhere, orphans of a broken Wheel, for you stand now upon the soil of Limbo, the axis upon which all other Dominions revolve beneath the Pale Sun's light."

Kiya:
You take in your surroundings as you search for the source of the weeping. A nigh-endless graveyard sprawls before you and grim funerary statuary is speckled between the vaults and tombstones of this place. Your eyes turn skyward and your eyes fixate on a distant, pale grey sun, whose monochrome light brings with it the stinging feeling of betrayal.

When your gaze returns earthward, a ghostly woman stands before you as it she has always been there. The woman's form seems to be made of living shadow and is garbed in the mourning finery of a noblewoman made of the same. Beneath a tear-soaked mourning veil of deepest night are glowing eyes that match the color of the pale sun in the sky.

Amn:
Upon hearing your greeting, the forlorn figure looks up from her downcast gaze to meet your own. The pale stars behind her veil seem to stare directly into your soul and she begins to speak, her voice a soft whisper not unlike Autumn leaves rustling upon a faint wind, "There is no helping one among the Black Circle, daughter of mercy, for to be beyond mortal power is to be beyond mortal aid."


Female Orlan Slayer (Sniper) 8 / Spiritualist 8 | HP 104/104 | AC: 24 (T: 18, FF: 17) | Saves: F:+8, R:+15, W:+14 | Init: +7 | Perc. +24 (+28 vs traps), Ethereal Sight, Darkvision 60ft
More Info:
BAB: +8/+3, CMB: +9, CMD: 26 | Spells: (1st) 6/6, (2nd) 5/6, (3rd) 3/3

In-Between:
Bronwyn stares into pale eyes and tries to put the pieces together. She and Edér died. Now they aren't where they're supposed to be and a strange woman is in front of them speaking in riddles. For the first time since awakening, since before awakening, she feels a sense of familiarity.

"This world, "Limbo," are you one of the gods here?" Bronwyn meets the pale eyes with her own. "Did you bring us here? If so, why? If not, do you know how we can get home? You mentioned the Wheel, so you must know Eora's in trouble right now. I need to help fix that and I can't help if I'm not there."


HP:146 | AC:32 ; T:27 ; FF:26 (Mage Armor) ; CMD:33/27 | Fort:+7 ; Ref:+13 ; Will:+9 | Init:+9 ; PER:+14 (Low Light)

Tombstone Takedown!:
In turns, Straehan finds himself moved to pity and filled with questions. Despite his well-earned distrust of any being that can likely snuff him out of existence with little effort, Strae feels a strong tinge of like for this shadow-shrouded widow who griefs for a LOT of people - judging by the size of the cemetery.

The sorcerer leans against his own headstone, considering. ”Gentle Lady,” He says, hoping she proves to be so, ”I would give you what consolation I may, but I suspect the tears I might stay from your eyes would amount to little compared to those you have shed or those you will shed. Still, I would not have you cry for me, specifically. My fate, I think, could have been far worse than rising here and speaking with you. As someone wise once said, Not all those who wander are lost. So, if I can - in some way - offer you a moment of consolation, I will. If the only service I can offer is leaving you to your grief – I will depart. But if you would stand beside your grief and speak with me a moment longer, I would be grateful. What is your wish, Lady?”


Female Human Gestalt Oracle 8 // Monk 8

Things to do in Kisarta when you're Dead:

She closed her eyes for a moment and listened. It was a rare treat to hear anything, even if it was only a whisper. She snapped her fingers next to her ear...nothing. The moment was fleeting, and soon she was wondering more and more about the ephemeral woman.

"Why were you crying?" She asked, with a cursory glance to the blank headstone. "You can't know me... I barely know me."


F Sphinx 8/Hedgewitch 8 | HP 128/128 | AC 37+2 T 24+2 FF 33+2 | CMB +18 CMD 33 | F +13 R +12+2 W +15 | Init +4 | Perception +18 | Spell point 15/18 | Inspiration 7/7 | Memories 7/7 | Current Effects: Foreshadow, Thoughtsense

The Riddle of Tears:
Rahlmaat considers this being silently for a moment, noting what she can about her. The complete lack of any information she can recall about this plane or this being certainly stirs her inquisitive spirit. Her tail waves animatedly behind her as the sphinx makes another round of conjectures.

She implies that many dead come here, and that it is not their desired goal. No to mention the ability to see all that do so implies a great deal of power, or at least a deep connection to the plane, she thinks to herself. I feel also that calling me 'seeker of knowledge' is more than simply a guess. How much does she know of those who come here?

"You need not weep for me, Mourner, for my spirit should have slept uneasy, stymied from its seeking on the current it would otherwise have joined," she says aloud, "For you call me truly. May I surmise that you see more than simply the presence of those who arrive here? Much you must have learned over long ages... but I will ask but little, no matter how I long for more. I know better than to ask for riddle's answer, for then where were the seeking?"

Rahlmaat smiles broadly. "But perhaps this much I might ask--a name, and that you lead my paws to the beginning of the path of learning of this place."


Female Human Soulweaver (Lichling) / Hedgewitch

Demanding Answers:

Kiya reflexively shifts into a combat stance, while Daisy flies behind Kiya, peaking over her shoulder. Ehhh, I hate ghosts! Daisy complains.

When the weeping woman doesn't immediately attack Kiya attempts to question it. Where are we? What realm is this?


Male Nephilim(Kyton) Orc Fiendish Exemplar(Left Hand Path) 8/Rajah(Batal/Ruler of the Damned) 8 (gestalt)

A Noble Rebirth:

"Is this Pale Sun you speak of some sort of entity, the actual sun, or both? If it exists on this world, am I to be taken to it? I would imagine there is some reason for my rebirth." Vol questions the spirit, then pauses, and curses slightly in Infernal. "My apologies, it would seem my manners took a bit longer to come back to life than I did. I am Volgroruth Bloodscream, hero and leader of the Scourged Legion. Might I inquire your name, and who you are?"


Bronwyn:
You can make out a frown beneath the woman's veil, "I am no goddess, child, though there are many who would claim otherwise, nor am I responsible for your fate. It was by the Pale Sun's light that your drifting soul was ensnared and given form once more."

She pauses for a moment and her gaze leaves yours as she melancholically shakes her head, "And, once entrapped, no soul has ever escaped from Kisarta's Dominions. If it is any consolation to you, Watcher of Caed Nua, know that Eora will stabilize and find a new path beyond the legacy of the Engwithans in the fullness of time."

Straehan:
The woman ruefully shakes her head, "There is no anodyne for my grief and there shall never be so long as tragedy stains the Cycle."

She gazes once more into your eyes with those celestial mirrors to the sun above, "But I shall linger here and speak with you a while longer, for it is writ plain that you desire it, child of Miir, and I will not deny you the chance to do so."

Amn:
You can make out a frown beneath the woman's veil as she meets your gaze, "That is where you are wrong, child. I have known you since you were a glimmer in the eye of the cosmos, as I have all who walk the endless circle of time in the worlds beyond the Pale Sun's light. Every triumph and tragedy of your existence is known to me and so I weep for you."

Rahlmaat:
The woman nods, "You surmise truly, for all who awaken beneath the Pale Sun's light are known to me. I have known each of you from the moment of your birth to the hour of your death and you are all as dear to me as my own children."

She pauses for a moment before continuing, "You seek my name, but it was cast away long ago. Most inhabitants of Kisarta have come to know me as the Weeping Widow and I do not object to the name."

"As for the guidance you seek, walk until you find yourself within the undying city of Limbo past the horizon." she says as she points a delicate finger towards her right,"It is the axis upon which the other six Dominions and souls beyond counting from all worlds and eras congregate there."

Kiya:
Upon hearing your question, the forlorn figure looks up from her downcast gaze to meet your own. The pale stars behind her veil seem to stare directly into your soul and she begins to speak, her voice a soft whisper not unlike Autumn leaves rustling upon a faint wind, "You stand now within the city of Limbo's Cemetery of Lost Souls, where all once-mortals awaken beneath the Pale Sun's light. It is a land beyond the planes as you know them, separated from the rest of the cosmos by the Primordial Void.

Volgroruth:
The lady shakes her head, "To attempt to ascribe definition to Kisarta is folly, for it defies all understanding. Many scholars who awaken here have taken it upon themselves to divine it's true nature and all have failed. More than a few have lost their minds and very existences attempting to fathom it's mysteries."

Your social faux pas does not seem to faze the woman one bit, "Apologies are unnecessary, warrior of Bane, for your name and deeds are known to me. You seek my name, but I cast it away long ago and have not seen fit to take up another in the eons that have followed. Many souls, however, have come to know me as the Weeping Widow, a name which serves as well as any other. I am a member of the Black Circle who watches over Kisarta and all which lays beneath it's light."


F Sphinx 8/Hedgewitch 8 | HP 128/128 | AC 37+2 T 24+2 FF 33+2 | CMB +18 CMD 33 | F +13 R +12+2 W +15 | Init +4 | Perception +18 | Spell point 15/18 | Inspiration 7/7 | Memories 7/7 | Current Effects: Foreshadow, Thoughtsense

The Riddle of Tears:
"A great store of lore indeed!" Rahlmaat exclaims. "For I doubt that they have been few that have come to this place. But this being so, it seems much speech would be but waste of words between us."

Such a being would be called a goddess by some, but I feel she is the sort to deny such, the sphinx thinks to herself. Still, I think there is no reason to doubt the truth of what she says. So much she must know, then...

For a few moments, Rahlmaat's desire to know wars with her desire to learn for herself rather than simply be told. She looks in the indicated direction for a moment before turning back to the Weeping Widow.

"You know my impatience for pointless talk, but I would not be impolite. Let me then get to the heart of the conversation. Is there aught that I should ask, which you would answer, which would spare me much sorrow in days to come?"


Female Human Gestalt Oracle 8 // Monk 8

Things to do in Kisarta when you're Dead:
She felt bad to see the odd woman frown, but meeting those eyes could have easily made her forget everything. There was something infinite about them... She shook her head; she couldn't stare for long. The woman's words made sense, but she remembered so little except for the end. "But I did a good thing, didn't I? My death was a sacrifice to resurrect them... and they forgot me. A small price for their lives. Even if I forgot...they saved a world. Didn't they? Why cry over a good thing? Why cry for..?"

The question answered itself. She looked again at the worn headstone. "Who am I" She asked, and met the woman's gaze. "Where is this place... Is it a reward, or a punishment..? I... I'm sorry for the questions."


Male Nephilim(Kyton) Orc Fiendish Exemplar(Left Hand Path) 8/Rajah(Batal/Ruler of the Damned) 8 (gestalt)

A Noble Rebirth:

The fiendish orc bows respectfully again. "Greetings Weeping Widow. As we have been properly introduced, what next? Am I to meet this Black Circle? Or is there something else I must do, now that I am back among the living?"


Female Orlan Slayer (Sniper) 8 / Spiritualist 8 | HP 104/104 | AC: 24 (T: 18, FF: 17) | Saves: F:+8, R:+15, W:+14 | Init: +7 | Perc. +24 (+28 vs traps), Ethereal Sight, Darkvision 60ft
More Info:
BAB: +8/+3, CMB: +9, CMD: 26 | Spells: (1st) 6/6, (2nd) 5/6, (3rd) 3/3

In-Between:
Bronwyn exchanges a look with Edér. She has no idea whether this (apparently) not-goddess is telling the truth about Eora, but it does make her feel a little better.

It's not going to stop her from trying to get back of course. Even if no one's done it before that doesn't mean they can't be the first.

(She needs a task to focus on. Always. If she stands still for too long the weight of her past lives will catch up and crush her. So fragile, the Watcher's mind...)

"Thank you," she says to the not-goddess. "I'm Bronwyn by the way, and this is Edér, although I'm guessing you already knew both those things." If only because they're standing in front of a tombstone with her name on it, which is really creepy and something she's trying not to think about. "What's your name?"

She looks around the graveyard. "Also, if we're not the only souls who got trapped here, where are the others?" No need to reinvent the Wheel (haha) when surely other people are just as desperate to get back to their homes as she is. Best to talk to them and find out what they've tried first so she knows what doesn't work.


Rahlmaat:
"There are many things which one may ask to avoid sorrow, child, but few are of more import in Kisarta than rebirth and the Hollowing that follows.

Bodies in this world are woven of cosmic aether and molded into forms identical to those possessed in life. Fragments of the resident soul's animus is bound to this earthly reflection so that they can use use it as if it were their own. When this vessel fails, the soul it is tied to temporarily goes dormant and it's physical form dissipates into the constituent aether. The soul then wanders until it reaches a keystone of great importance to it in Kisarta and reconstitutes a new body of aether.

The piece of a soul that was bonded to the old shell, however, remains behind and takes with it fragments of your essence and memories. This process is called the Hollowing and those who lose enough of their essence and memories are at risk of turning into undead as their souls shatter and their aetheric bodies become tainted by Black Aether. Many who undergo this transformation lose their minds and become tragic monsters who devour memories and souls in the subconscious hope of reclaiming an existence they no longer remember or have the capacity to understand. Others become intelligent predators akin to the vampires, liches, and devourers in other worlds. No matter which they become, all of these unfortunates are but one more demise away from the complete oblivion of Final Death. Those who experience this fate are those I mourn most deeply for, as they are beyond the help of even the most powerful miracles and reality-warping magics.

The greatest of sorrows is the cessation of existence, child. All that you were and all that you could ever be, vanished forever. You asked of me what advice I would give and it is this: do not treat this new life of yours cavalierly, no matter how many hardships come your way or how confident you may be in your own powers. If you value your existence and the knowledge you hold, I implore you to never forget this."

Amn:
The woman's face softens beneath her ebon veil, "If it will help ease your heart, child, know that your sacrifice was not in vain. Those who shared your journey managed to drive the demons back thanks to your actions.

Know that Kisarta is neither punishment nor reward for those who find their way here, it simply is. Your sacrifice should have destroyed your soul completely, yet tattered fragments remained that found their way here to give you a new lease on life. Bereft of memories and power though you may be, you still exist and can yet reclaim them with this second chance. But that is a journey that you must undertake, for though my words can impart knowledge of who you were, they can never make you whole again. Only by discovering the truth for yourself can you reclaim that which has been lost."

Volgroruth:
"There may come a time when you cross paths with the other members of the Black Circle; some of my brethren, such as the Unredeemed Patriarch, interact with the souls of the Seven Dominions. Most of our number are not as distant or unreachable as the gods we are often compared to, for better or worse.

Know that there is nothing in Kisarta that you must do. This second life is yours to do with as you please and the consequences of each and every action lie with you. There is, however, one thing you should know: the dark powers once granted to you by your patron as his enforcer and champion remain with you, but they flicker and fade like the guttering flames of a candle, for Bane's long shadow cannot reach Kisarta. Search your heart, dark warrior, and you will see that I speak true."

Bronwyn:
"I know your names well, although I have no name which I can give, for mine was cast away long ago. The people of Kisarta have come to know me as the Weeping Widow, but you may call me what you wish."

The woman points off in the distance towards the direction of the Pale Sun, "Most who wake within the lands of Kisarta make their way to Limbo, the city of the dead for whom this Dominion was named. Walk towards the Pale Sun long enough and you will reach the city of the dead. Your journey may see you cross paths with other lost souls such as yourself before you reach Limbo's alabaster gates, but the future of a soul lost in these lands is not mine to tell and I shall say no more, though I see it plain as the name etched on the tombstone at your feet."


Female Orlan Slayer (Sniper) 8 / Spiritualist 8 | HP 104/104 | AC: 24 (T: 18, FF: 17) | Saves: F:+8, R:+15, W:+14 | Init: +7 | Perc. +24 (+28 vs traps), Ethereal Sight, Darkvision 60ft
More Info:
BAB: +8/+3, CMB: +9, CMD: 26 | Spells: (1st) 6/6, (2nd) 5/6, (3rd) 3/3

In-Between:
"If Weeping Widow's what most people call you and you're okay with it then I'll stick to that." Bronwyn has a navigator who insists on being called Worthless Idiot no matter how many times she tries to explain Arkemyr's twisted sense of humor. Weeping Widow is tame by comparison.

Had. Had a navigator. "Sorry to be asking so many questions, but do you know if anyone else from my ship ended up here? We all died at the same time you see." Which is still weird to think about. She doesn't feel dead.

"Gotta question of my own too ma'am." She glances backward to see Edér frowning in concentration while making a circling motion with his finger. "You said to get to this city of lost souls or whatever we need to walk towards the sun. But won't that eventually put us right back where we started? Or pretty close? 'Cause the sun moves around, ya know. Don't it?"


Female Human Gestalt Oracle 8 // Monk 8

Things to do in Kisarta when you're Dead:
She sank to her knees as she processed the information. It was quite the revelation, bordering on epiphany. It took a minute before her eyes welled with tears, yet there was a soft smile beneath. She laughed.

"See? You don't need to cry for me!" She said, through her own tears of joy and relief. "It worked. My sacrifice, my life, my loss... It meant something. I only remember the very end... I remember what I felt but not why. I loved someone, I felt regret for things I'd done... But it doesn't matter what I remember, or who I was. I'm just me now... whoever I am. I shouldn't even exist, but now I have a whole new chance to be."

She shook her head, almost in disbelief. "I didn't earn this. I erased myself. Kisarta is a gift."


F Sphinx 8/Hedgewitch 8 | HP 128/128 | AC 37+2 T 24+2 FF 33+2 | CMB +18 CMD 33 | F +13 R +12+2 W +15 | Init +4 | Perception +18 | Spell point 15/18 | Inspiration 7/7 | Memories 7/7 | Current Effects: Foreshadow, Thoughtsense

A Riddle of Death:
Rahlmaat listens eagerly, ears perked, as the Weeping Widow speaks. This would explain why I am so diminished, and my memories are in such disarray, she thinks to herself. Whatever of myself arrived here must not have been sufficient to control enough of this aether to fully reconstitute my form... though that might be as much due to the 'creative' way I found to die...

"I ask one question and you answer five," she comments aloud, with a broad smile. "I would say, are not all things doomed to cease in the end? It is the nature of existence to end... but worry not. I have no eagerness to meet that end, especially having once returned from death. I feel already the sting of all I have lost, and I would be foolish indeed to fail to learn from my first death the need for greater care in my actions."

The sphinx spreads her wings and bends her forelegs, giving the Widow an elegant sphinx-style bow. "I thank you for all your words. I think the time nears for me to begin my journey and my seeking. But perhaps if there is danger here in this place, I should first take stock and prepare my defenses, yes?"


HP:146 | AC:32 ; T:27 ; FF:26 (Mage Armor) ; CMD:33/27 | Fort:+7 ; Ref:+13 ; Will:+9 | Init:+9 ; PER:+14 (Low Light)

Tombstone Takedown!:
”I appreciate that.” Straehan mulls the dozens of questions in his head, winnowing them down. He discards the vanity questions and the ones that he can possibly answer through mundane means. To avoid taxing the lady’s patience, the sorcerer settles on just three questions. ”You spoke of the twisted skein that guided people here… My being here, is it part of the warp and woof of my skein, knit by a greater hand or sangpotshi, or have I fallen through a ‘dropped stitch’ in the pattern?”

He presses on, ”If I do not belong here… is there some way for me to return to my reality?”

His final question emerges with a tinge of unease, ”From this vast graveyard, where would you suggest I go?”


Bronwyn:
The Widow looks to Bronwyn, "One of your friends arrived eons ago, though they died moments after you. Other souls from Eora walk these lands as well. More than that I will not say, for it is not my place to do so."

She then turns to Eder, "The Pale Sun is not as the celestial bodies of Eora. It follows winding paths that few of your kind can discern, yet from this graveyard it perpetually lights the same place on Limbo's horizon. Time and space do not always function here as they do in the cosmos beyond."

Amn:
The Widow bows her head, "If that is how it appears to your eyes, child, then hang on to that feeling and keep it with you as you walk these lands. Such self-assurances are rare and few are the souls who do not question their place in Kisarta."

Rahlmaat:
The Widow nods in affirmation,"Always be ready for danger, for no land is free from it, neither on Kisarta or the cosmos beyond."

She clasps her hands together as if in prayer, "May you find the answers you seek, child. I can only pray that you do not find their cost too high."

Straehan:
The Widow pauses to consider your questions for but a moment, "The skein I spoke of is something that a mortal mind may refer to as Fate or Destiny. Circumstances beyond the ken of the gods themselves see to it that certain souls lose their way to their final reward or punishment and they wander beyond the cosmology of their birth into the Primordial Void. They wander until they become entranced by Kisarta's light, at which point they wander towards it as a moth to flame and become ensnared. They then awaken here, in the lands that collectively bear the Pale Sun's name."

She continues, "You both do and do not belong here. You were ripped from your final fate by a force greater than you can know and whether you belong here or not is only a question that you can answer."

Upon hearing your last question, she points to the horizon in the direction of the Pale Sun and speaks once more, "Journey towards the wan glow of Kisarta upon the horizon, towards the city of Limbo, if it is a path you seek. Every lost soul's journey intersects with the City of the Dead in due time."


Male Nephilim(Kyton) Orc Fiendish Exemplar(Left Hand Path) 8/Rajah(Batal/Ruler of the Damned) 8 (gestalt)

A Noble Rebirth:

Volgriruth is quiet for a few moments, obviously attempting to ascertain the truth of her words. He eventually nods slowly. "It would appear you are correct. I have never been cut off from the Lord of Darkness before. That will take some getting used to." He pauses, thinking. "Well, if I am free to do as I like, I guess I should take my leave of you, and try to learn about this new realm. I don't suppose there's no way back home, nor is there a way for my people to join me here?" There is a hint of sadness to his question, but mostly one of curiosity.


Female Human Soulweaver (Lichling) / Hedgewitch

More questions than answers:

A realm beyond the planes? Seperated by some "primordial void"? It would fill in some gaps but... Why and how did I end up here?

Focusing back on the ethereal woman Kiya decides she has a more pressing question. Who are you? Kiya stares daggers at her trying to determine if she is friend or foe.

Daisy speaks up trying to hide her fear. Yea-yeah, what are you, some sort of greeter for this realm?


HP:146 | AC:32 ; T:27 ; FF:26 (Mage Armor) ; CMD:33/27 | Fort:+7 ; Ref:+13 ; Will:+9 | Init:+9 ; PER:+14 (Low Light)

Tombstone Takedown!:

Weeping Widow wrote:
”You both do and do not belong here. You were ripped from your final fate by a force greater than you can know and whether you belong here or not is only a question that you can answer.”

He mulls this revelation for a moment before another question is dragged from his lips. ”Do you know where my soul was headed before Fate – or whomever - intervened? That answer may help me view this reality in a proper context. Was I Hell-bound or headed elsewhere?”

Weeping Widow wrote:
Upon hearing your last question, she points to the horizon in the direction of the Pale Sun and speaks once more, "Journey towards the wan glow of Kisarta upon the horizon, towards the city of Limbo, if it is a path you seek. Every lost soul's journey intersects with the City of the Dead in due time."

Straehan follows the Weeping Widow’s hand, squinting at the horizon. Then he moves away from his gravestone, straightens his robes, wipes away the lingering traces of grave-dust, and shoulders his pack with determination. ”Thank you for your kindness, Lady. I doubt anyone has cried for me in a very long time… One final question, about the lands beneath the Pale Sun betwixt here and Limbo. Are there threats of which I should be wary or are all these lands safe for travelers?”

After receiving the Widow’s final words, Strae offers her a deep bow of gratitude before turning and striding confidently in the direction of Limbo. With a simple spell of long practice, he wraps himself in a sheath of occult protection. A few steps later, he launches into the sky – flying high and fast – to gain a bird’s eye view of the lands.

Casting Mage Armor and Fly

Status:
HP: 146 / 146 | AC:(32) 28 / T:27 / FF: (26) 22 | CMD: 33/27 (35/29 vs Grapple)
4th Spells (5):
3rd Spells (7): x
2nd Spells (8):
1st Spells (8): x
Ki Pool (10):
Stunning Fist (5):
Blood Intensity (2):
Mnemonic Vest (1):
Dancing Lights (3):
Spell Tattoo (1): x (default: Charm Monster)

Effects:
Fly = 9 mins
Mage Armor = +4 AC for 9 hrs


Volgroruth:
The Widow shakes her head, "If there is a way, then it is one you must find for yourself. None have ever found their way here of their own volition, nor have any escaped Kisarta save by oblivion's kiss."

Kiya:
The woman shakes her head, "It is not my duty to greet those lost souls who awaken here; I come simply to mourn Creation's lost children and the tragedies which led them hence. If it is a name you seek, know that I have none, for it was cast away long ago. The people of Kisarta have come to know me as the Weeping Widow and that name serves as well as any other."

Straehan:
Straehan wrote:
"”Do you know where my soul was headed before Fate – or whomever - intervened? That answer may help me view this reality in a proper context. Was I Hell-bound or headed elsewhere?

The Widow answers, "Though you walked two paths and wore two faces while you traveled life's winding road, serving aims both fair and foul, the heroic deeds at the end of your life's thread had earned you a reprieve. Were it not for the warring pantheons of Miir throwing all into tumult, you would have obtained peace. But the chaos of the war disrupted the natural cycle of your multiverse and many souls slipped between the cracks in Creation, only to be drawn in by the Pale Sun's wan glow."

Straehan wrote:
”Thank you for your kindness, Lady. I doubt anyone has cried for me in a very long time… One final question, about the lands beneath the Pale Sun betwixt here and Limbo. Are there threats of which I should be wary or are all these lands safe for travelers?”

She continues, "There are many threats in Kisarta, child. Apathy and despair, the opportunistic schemes of the Houses of Limbo and others who fancy themselves players in the Great Game, the Guardians of the Dominions and their Legions, the Hollowing of memory and soul that accompanies each death and rebirth, the forbidden truths of the Pale Sun and Primordial Void... to list all of Kisarta's threats is folly."

I'm certain that you will have questions about one or more of these topics before you ascend and conduct your survey of the landscape, but I will go ahead and list the results of your survey for the purposes of future knowledge.

As you ascend into the air, the sheer scope of the graveyard dawns upon you. Thousands, if not millions, of graves and funerary monuments stretch toward the horizon in every direction. In the direction the Weeping Widow indicated earlier, the image of a city begins to come into view. Though the city must be dozens, if not hundreds, of miles in the distance, the size of the city beggars all belief. Walls that would dwarf small mountains encircle a city that stretches far beyond your sight, rising on itself miles into the air like a tiered step pyramid. An alabaster spire rises from the city and pierces the clouds high above.


HP:146 | AC:32 ; T:27 ; FF:26 (Mage Armor) ; CMD:33/27 | Fort:+7 ; Ref:+13 ; Will:+9 | Init:+9 ; PER:+14 (Low Light)

Tombstone Takedown!:

Weeping Widow wrote:
”…the heroic deeds at the end of your life's thread had earned you a reprieve. Were it not for the warring pantheons of Miir throwing all into tumult, you would have obtained peace. But the chaos of the war disrupted the natural cycle of your multiverse and many souls slipped between the cracks in Creation…”

Straehan’s laugh is grim. ”Since I had a hand in starting the war, it seems karma has seen fit to pay me in my own coin. I should have expected it. And that I might meet old ‘acquaintances’ is a blade that cuts both ways.” Still, his mood is somewhat lightened learning that he had balanced the scales for the black deeds of his past.

Weeping Widow wrote:
”There are many threats in Kisarta…”

Strae considers the list of dangers, ”Every answer you provide, Lady, breeds four more questions. But I’ll be satisfied asking only two. Correct me if I’m wrong but it sounds like those who die beneath the Pale Sun are ‘reborn’ here – possibly in this very graveyard again – but they are diminished with each incarnation. Yes? Regarding the more mundane threats… what are these guardians, legions, and Dominions?”


Female Orlan Slayer (Sniper) 8 / Spiritualist 8 | HP 104/104 | AC: 24 (T: 18, FF: 17) | Saves: F:+8, R:+15, W:+14 | Init: +7 | Perc. +24 (+28 vs traps), Ethereal Sight, Darkvision 60ft
More Info:
BAB: +8/+3, CMB: +9, CMD: 26 | Spells: (1st) 6/6, (2nd) 5/6, (3rd) 3/3

In-Between:
So time doesn't work the same way, space doesn't work the same way, and the sun doesn't work the same way. Bronwyn's far more confused now than she was when she started asking questions. She wishes Aloth were here; maybe he'd be able to make sense of all this.

Except no, she doesn't, because that would mean Aloth was dead. Like her. Like Edér. At least some of her friends are still alive working to make Eora a better place. She should be grateful for that.

"Thanks again for your patience. So we just walk? How long will it take us to get there? Is there food, water, and shelter along the way?" She considers for a moment. "Do we even still need those things? I mean...we're already dead. What happens to us if we die again?"


F Sphinx 8/Hedgewitch 8 | HP 128/128 | AC 37+2 T 24+2 FF 33+2 | CMB +18 CMD 33 | F +13 R +12+2 W +15 | Init +4 | Perception +18 | Spell point 15/18 | Inspiration 7/7 | Memories 7/7 | Current Effects: Foreshadow, Thoughtsense

Endings are also Beginnings:
"And may you find joy in your love as well as sorrow," Rahlmaat responds. "Fare you well for now. I suspect, unless you see only those arriving, that we shall meet again."

The sphinx turns towards where the Weeping Widow said she should go and begins a slow walk. She is in no hurry, and speed might well increase her risk. Besides, she has much to think on as she goes.

First is what remains of her defenses. She turns her thoughts inwards for a time, though she keeps a wary eye on her surroundings. Much of her carefully constructed enhancements are simply gone--which makes sense, given that only some fragment of her soul came here. In a way it makes it impressive she has anything at all, no matter how deeply she'd woven the power into her being.

Her preliminary survey indicates she's actually in better shape than she'd feared. Rather than some jumble of broken pieces, Rahlmaat finds she largely has intact the most basic of her permanent enhancements. She has already noticed a portion of her mental enchantments were still functional, but she is pleased to find that the same holds true for her physical and defensive glyphs as well.

Unfortunately that seems to have come at the expense of much of her magical knowledge. Oh, she thinks it's still there, but with the carefully ordered structure of her memory thrown into disarray it does her little good. Five millenia of memories do her little good when they are so jumbled together that it could take her minutes to recall a particular piece of information, much less perform a skill learned long ago.

Still, she finds a couple of useful enchantments she still remembers well enough. The sphinx pauses in her walk and lifts a paw, leonine toes showing surprising dexterity as she weaves the arcana about her. A pair of glyphs on her wings flash.

Casting Foreshadow and Thoughtsense from the Divination sphere.

She pauses as the enchantments take hold, spending a moment to grow reaccustomed to the additions to her senses.


Female Human Gestalt Oracle 8 // Monk 8

Things to do in Kisarta when you're Dead:

She smiled at the spectral woman. "Thank you," she said. She looked around for a few moments, but it all still looked like graveyard to her...

"So... Where is there to go in Kisarta?" She asked, and began to walk around a bit, circling her own grave. "Will I get thirsty or hungry..? Oh, can I still cast spells? Create my own water? All that.." She felt weaker than she had been in her memories, but she still had power -- and there was some equipment with her. She'd have play around and test her limits.

"Oh, are there other people? Do I have to wait for them to come out of their graves? Oh... Oh no, wait... Do I have to dig them up?"


Female Human Soulweaver (Lichling) / Hedgewitch

More questions than answers::

Kisarta. she mulled the name over in head but could not recall of such a place. That is the name of this realm? She took another look at the multitude of empty graves. You speak as though others have appeared in this graveyard as we did. Is that true? More people have been displaced to this realm?


Straehan:
Straehan wrote:
”Every answer you provide, Lady, breeds four more questions. But I’ll be satisfied asking only two. Correct me if I’m wrong but it sounds like those who die beneath the Pale Sun are ‘reborn’ here – possibly in this very graveyard again – but they are diminished with each incarnation. Yes?"

The Widow nods, "Your assessment is correct. Those who die on Kisarta are reborn, their aetheric bodies dissipated into it's constituent energies and reconstituted at locations their soul is closest to. But the process is not without cost, for the portion of their soul that bound them to their previous body is lost with the body itself. This destroys ever more of the soul's memories and essence. After enough damage, the very soul shatters and is filled with Black Aether, turning them into an undead. Those unfortunate souls are one demise away from the true oblivion of the Final Death, from which there is no magic or miracle that can provide reprieve, nor recovery."

Straehan wrote:
"Regarding the more mundane threats… what are these guardians, legions, and Dominions?"

"Kisarta, this reality named after the Pale Sun which hangs in the sky, is composed of seven infinite planes known as the Dominions. Each Dominion is ruled by a Guardian, who act as overseers, rulers, and prisoners in their lands and possess power that rivals the greatest of heroes and monsters from the planes beyond. Each Guardian is served by Legions formed of conscripted souls, tamed monsters, and bound constructs that serve as their armies, though they are only rarely used."

Bronwyn:
"You have but to walk towards the Pale Sun and Limbo will eventually come into sight. There are natural resources along the way such as ponds of water and copses of fruit-bearing trees, things your aetheric vessel needs to sustain it's facsimile of life.

"Fail to sustain that life and your aetheric body will perish, taking a shard of your soul and memories along with it, before a new body reconstitutes around your soul at a location intimately tied to it. Lose too much of your mind and soul to the Hollowing and they will shatter, the cracks filling with Black Aether that turns you into undeath. If you perish after this, you face the true oblivion of the Final Death, from which there is no hope of return."

Rahlmaat:
The Widow nods and her body dissolves into black mist that slowly fades into nothingness.

May I assume that this is an indication that you are going to continue walking until the party comes together?

Amn:
"There are many places to go in the sevenfold infinities that revolve around Kisarta, but the place almost every journey begins is Limbo, the City of the Dead." She points towards the Pale Sun, "If you walk towards the Pale Sun, you will eventually find yourself at the city's gates."

The Widow nods, "The aetheric body bound to your soul is a near-perfect facsimile of the one you possessed in life and it must possesses the same limitations and needs. It is still capable of casting spells, although you may find your abilities have been withered in death."

"There are many more souls on Kisarta, more than the number of stars in Golarion's sky or grains of sand upon it's shores. Fear not, child, they already walk these lands. Some you may even meet on your journey towards the City of the Dead."

Kiya:
The Widow nods, "Kisarta is the name of this realm, yes, and that of the Pale Sun that sheds it's wan light upon the Seven Dominions."

She turns her head to look at the many graves, "There are indeed others who have been drawn into these lands from those that lie beyond, enough to dwarf the population of your world many times over. They have appeared since time immemorial, as time is reckoned by those trapped by it's illusion, and will appear until the planes lie still and forever silent."


Male Nephilim(Kyton) Orc Fiendish Exemplar(Left Hand Path) 8/Rajah(Batal/Ruler of the Damned) 8 (gestalt)

A Noble Rebirth:

"Perhaps I'll be the first then. Either way, I will accomplish nothing standing here talking to you, pleasant as it has been. Might you point me in the direction of a town or village? Somewhere other than a cemetary?" The orc warchief asks of his ghostly guide.


HP:146 | AC:32 ; T:27 ; FF:26 (Mage Armor) ; CMD:33/27 | Fort:+7 ; Ref:+13 ; Will:+9 | Init:+9 ; PER:+14 (Low Light)

Looking to Limbo:

Weeping Widow wrote:
”Each Dominion is ruled by a Guardian, who act as overseers, rulers, and prisoners in their lands and possess power that rivals the greatest of heroes and monsters from the planes beyond.”

The sorcerer raises an eyebrow then encompasses the vast cemetery with a single sweeping gesture. ”Would it be correct to say that you are the Guardian of this Dominion?”

After that, I’m out of questions… well, I have questions but I’m enjoying the unknowns and happy to discover more as I adventure.

Straehan concludes their conversation, ”Thank you for your candor and your counsel, Lady. I appreciate it. If I can ever be of service to you, please call on me.”

Skipping back to Air Straehan…

SoS wrote:
As you ascend into the air, the sheer scope of the graveyard dawns upon you. Thousands, if not millions, of graves and funerary monuments stretch toward the horizon in every direction. In the direction the Weeping Widow indicated earlier, the image of a city begins to come into view. Though the city must be dozens, if not hundreds, of miles in the distance, the size of the city beggars all belief. Walls that would dwarf small mountains encircle a city that stretches far beyond your sight, rising on itself miles into the air like a tiered step pyramid. An alabaster spire rises from the city and pierces the clouds high above.

A low whistle escapes his lips as the enormity of the Dominion – one of seven, no less – sinks in. Where has fate dropped me? I can’t turn back, so forward it is… Straehan sets course for the city and flies at the limit of his speed. His eyes are peeled for any sign of dangers – above or below.

Perception: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (13) + 14 = 27

Given the distances, he could exhaust all his occult power in flight and still be only incrementally closer to his goal. So, when his spell’s magic wanes, he picks a safe spot to land (hopefully on something road-like leading to Limbo) and continues the journey on foot at an easy pace, recognizing this is a marathon, not a sprint.

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