Hydrand's page

The journey was perilous, but blessedly unremarkable besides. Hydrand wasn't necessarily afraid of the water, but he knew it wouldn't be kind to him if he fell in without floatation.

Glad we've put that place behind us, at last!

Hydrand wasn't immune to the cold, but he didn't feel it the same as his companions did, either. He didn't even really take notice of it until the young man in his lap started his teeth chattering. And that was just from a few splashes and a few inches of water in the bottom of the boat; he knew those swimming would have it much worse.

"Well, unless someone feels as though we've left something undone, I'm all for returning to Jimmy. After some well-deserved rest in some out-of-the-way place..."

He spoke as he felt relief and sensed relief come upon the party with the approaching shore, trailing off in an attempt to make an opening for conversation to help distract from the cold he knew everyone would be feeling.

Any colder and it might honestly hurt, some rest by a nice fire away from islands that steal dreams would not go amiss.

He eyeballs the other people on the island as the party makes its way to the shore. He watches carefully to see who would need maiming to leave them in peace.

Fortunately, no one.

Arriving at shore, Hydrand climbs into the boat and seats Jet, [presuming he is willing,] in his lap and grabs the oars that Hokey had collected previously. He uses them to assist Awful with launching the boat.

It's been a while since I sat down with Jet...

Hydrand was briefly stunned at the idea that Jet had just weathered through all of that with them. He uses one hand to secure his balance and places the other on Jet's shoulder as a gesture of security and reassurance while the others got situated in the water around the boat for the swim over.

Once situated, Hydrand begins paddling to assist with the crossing.

Hydrand nods back, unlimbers his mace, readies his mind, and follows.

Nobody will stand between my allies and our way to safety.

He steels himself for the brutality to come.

"Hah! Don't tempt me."

Chuck Mangione circa 1977: 1d6 + 10 ⇒ (2) + 10 = 12

"Thanks, Hokey... Again. And again and again."

Hydrand turns towards Awful and Bertram.

"And thanks to you two. No way you're not tired of this place, too. Let's make like a dying god and change our surroundings, shall we?"

Hydrand looks between them and then scans the area for Andras.

...he should be here. Why isn't he? Don't tell me I have to...

"Urrgh! Has anyone seen Andras? Well? I didn't disappear him, he can't be that hard to find."

He starts marching, but stops and looks back towards where Hokey would be, hoping she'll confirm that she's with him.

I'd wager her disappearance will end any second now.

Hydrand watches Hokey drop and marks the second in his mind.

Tick.

He watches as Bertram casts magic into the ground where she will arrive momentarily.

Tick.

He prepares himself to watch her die. Steeling himself and remaining firmly attuned to that moment...

Tick.

...three seconds ago.

Tick.

She hits the ground with more whumph than thud.

Tick.

Hydrand becomes very still, feeling time eddy about him as the moment comes.

Tick.

Oh thank the gods.

The wave of relief shudders through him. He releases his grasp on that previous moment like white knuckles easing their grip.

He steps toward her and places a hand on her shoulder to help her up.

The rest of the party will see her immediately disappear from view, eyes somehow unable to find her sitting in plain sight. If he'd not done it in front of them before, it might have been concerning.

"I've hidden you. Let me know if there's more I can do, I'd be happy to. I'm glad you're OK."

He states this to the open air, unable to be certain of her presence next to him. The gentleness in his words is somewhat disturbed by the unsettling nature of his voice. He hopes she sees through it.

All the while, his eyes are skyward, watching the roc's flight with scrutiny to be sure it's left for good.

"Alright you big, ugly stupid piece of shit."

Hydrand cursed the Roc under his breath. He had half a dozen creative ideas for saving his favorite fractious faun from falling. He had another half dozen ideas..

...for what I'm going to do to this stupid f#$&ing BIRD...

He limbers his mace and snatches the bomb from Awful.

"...if it DOESN'T DROP MY FAUN."

3d6 ⇒ (5, 1, 2) = 8

Hydrand whips his arm in a wicked arc, easily throwing the bomb such that it strikes the Roc towards the skull and away from where Hokey is grabbed.

Well, it's going to be pretty f%~$ing hard to boat out of here with that going on...

Hydrand stands and strides from the building to see what's going on.

Oh... that's not good.

Feeling the beginnings of rage, he begins marching steadily towards where the bird is lifting off the ground with Hokey.

Hydrand saw the rush of people heading towards the house.

Not on my watch.

He sprints to the entrance, arriving just as the crush of people hits the door.

Made it. Now to sto-

He didn't even have time to debate a solution before a veritable wall of anachronism plowed him through the doorway. He turns and digs his feet in, just barely stopping himself before he's crushed against the wall.

As the crowd settles, everyone huddles down and goes still. Hydrand follows suit, and then places a hand on the shoulder of someone nearby.

Someone who Hydrand perceives to be... weaker.

What is happening?

He asks them, keeping his hand on their shoulder.

Hydrand looks to the girl and says, "Well, in the corner with you." and gives her a little shove.

Hydrand, a bit giddy at the link he now shared with Awful, starts walking toward the exit. His concern for Hokey, Andras and Jet growing as the sounds of battle grow with each step towards the door.

He looks toward the battle to see how it's going, and to see if there's any tell-tale signs of his friends being embroiled in it; to see if they needed his assistance after all.

Perception: 1d20 ⇒ 13

After a thorough scan of the battle while walking a ways from the decrepit house, Hydrand notes when he's finally out of sight of it. He turns around and circles back to a spot where he has a clear view of the house and can get back quickly, but folks in the house would be unable to see him.

Hide/Stealth: 1d20 ⇒ 14

Prepared action to rush if I see anyone unfamiliar approaching the house.

On hearing the familiar evocation, Hydrand puts a hand on the young girl's shoulder and gently pushes her to the side as he urgently steps forward for a better look at what's happening.

War is happening.

And my allies are out in it... But I can't leave our escape attempt here or we may never get off this island. We've got to get out of this powder keg before we become embroiled in it!

"Ok, well I can see I'm not going to convince you that we're more dangerous than that so you may as well step inside where it's safe.

Hydrand, with a hold on her shoulder still, pulls her with him as he retreats back into the house.

"It's getting to be pretty bad out there" he elucidates to Awful and Bertram. Then he turns to the girl and says, "What's your name? I can't just go about calling you 'girl', now, can I?"

Hydrand spoke in clipped facts so as not to give away the deception. He didn't know if this girl had friends or if she had any designs on stopping them from making the crossing, but she was already on a road to crossing he and his friends. That made her a target.

Keep your enemies close...

Hydrand pauses, feeling Awful's voice pop into his head as if he was...

AH! Piloting the collider? We truly have been changed by that place...

but for the better. Hydrand thought towards the AH CommLink. He could pick up a familiar sort of resonance indicating he was able to communicate in return.

Excellent. One moment.

Hydrand looked out past the girl standing in the doorway, her diminutive size not doing much to block his view.

I'm not seeing any group out there at the moment, but depending on the size of the shitty gang, this could be just one feeler. Better if she wasn't allowed to return to report her reconnaissance.

Also, I'm noting that the turmoil in the Returned People seems to be centralizing now. Some hubbub down the way a bit. That should keep the attention away from here for now.

As Hydrand peered through the doorway, he was sure to include obstructive body language that could either be perceived as intentionally rude and/or fully dismissive of the girl's presence.

Hydrand turned to face the youth warily.

Is that... mischief, I sense? Surely a child of this size isn't capable of more, but... I don't know how old this one exactly is, or what her experience was in... in there.

"Well, we're fixin' something." Hydrand said, mimicking her with his deep and unsettlingly unnatural voice.

"I'm not sure going with us is exactly what you want. You don't know us, and I'm sure you don't want to be Taken Advantage of. You should wait somewhere Else for the rescue party that should be coming along soon enough."

Hydrand really leaned into the implication, in case the kid was dense. He'd seen bad things happen to young girls in a previous life.

If she has half a brain, she knows what some of those bad things are and will mosey right along.

Hydrand watches Jet breeze by and sees Andras and Hokey go after him.

Good, this island is no place for him.

Then he hears the screaming.

Oh, I'd better find us a boat.

No sooner had he thought the thought than Awful walked by and headed straight for where Hydrand was imagining the boats were. Hydrand follows silently.

Hydrand steps outside right behind Hokey and Andras, but doesn't go any further.

That's... A lot of people.

He skims across the scene, seeing that some of them are less than thrilled to be in that situation.

And some of them, I definitely don't want to be near...

He stays near the house, not wanting to charge into the crowd and potentially get lost, but also unsure if he wants to stay if Awful and Bertram also take their leave.

He glances back inside to see what they're doing.

Hearing the voices for himself, Hydrand moves to just beside the door to peer out at who might be there.

Turns out, it's everyone.

Everyone from the fever-dream has arrived in reality. Before they go anywhere, Hydrand says, "Uhhh, Ho-"

He cuts off as he notes his voice is still the buried, split, deep tone it became when he made his "sacrifice".

"Hokey... I could use some help before we go."

He does his best to own the voice emanating from him; it's still a touch unfamiliar to him, but he didn't immediately hate it.

Hydrand doesn't wake up.

Hydrand doesn't sleep.

Hydrand slams back into his body, still propped up behind his shield, watching the door, and if the momentum of arriving was metaphysical, you wouldn't have known. The momentum of his transcendent arrival was punctuated by him flying to his feet, striking his usual defensive mace stance towards the door.

The transition again left him unaffected. Something about the shift had become familiar, leaving him unhindered as his awareness became alertness.

He checks behind him to see his compatriots waking up. He reaches out an enormous arm and...

...and finds that it's not enormous any more.

Ok, so I guess I wasn't so acclimated to the transitions...

This one was different, though. He could feel it.

Speaking of feeling...

As he gave himself a once-over, he felt different. Bits didn't feel quite like he remembered.

What's... He trails off as he stands perfectly still and feels inwardly.

This must be real, then, because that feels distinctly like it's half me and half... that god. Or matter from his realm? It's from there, for sure...

He touches it with his mind, metaphorically turning it over and feeling it through. As he pokes and prods with his thoughts, it winds up, and he feels a distinct, familiar sensation of being loose from time. He doesn't follow through with the activation, but understanding of his new... Is it an organ? I don't have those... but that's what it's like? Hm... Ah, mechanism. That's the word.Understanding of his new mechanism came to him quickly.

So it's like a casting of Swiftness manifest. What does that mean for my casting, though...

He quested towards the magic, his first foray into time manipulation, and found that its magnitude had become unbelievable.

With this casting, I'll accelerate my entire being-- wait...

He could feel it welling into an infinitesimal point in his chest, and he could shift the point into his hand or...

Even into another person!

He glances over to see Andras lifting himself into a crouch, eyes wary. Hydrand freezes and listens, attempting to hear what he's hearing...

Level 5 Expert Spell Guardian

Characteristic: Health +3, Power +1

Magic: You learn one spell from a tradition you have discovered.
Learned: Forceful Rebuke Replaced:Swiftness with Accelerate.

Spell Guardian Expertise: When you use an action to attack with a weapon, you either deal 1d6 extra damage with that attack or can cast a spell at any point before the end of your turn.

Still studying the being, Hydrand gets a very attractive picture in his head.

"If I'm to serve you, you must have a name. Or something you'd like to be called. If I'm going to be your... Acolyte? Avatar? Any title that pleases you, it might benefit you to give us some name or symbol by which you can be known. If you're so desperate for souls, certainly you can't mind us bringing you more who hope to serve... In addition to the souls you ask of us for the power you plan to impart of course. And that outcome is unlikely without a banner to follow and..."

Hydrand knew this was the hard part. He couldn't get a read on the god enough to be confident, but he put on brazen mental armor and powered through.

"...without being liked. You need our help, you offer us power. To a being such as yourself, that sort of absolute might be enough. To us mortals, however, we tend to engage in things that we enjoy. To keep the company of beings whose company pleases us. It seems you've just been an ominous, nebulous, powerful force that's governed the souls you have here from a distance, but that's not us. You don't want to harvest us, you want to employ us, and mortals are always more employable for those who can be described as friendly."

Now to finish the gambit.

"The gifts you have offered us are favorable, indeed. I'm quite pleased with how our audience in your grand hall is going. In fact, I think I like this; this seems like a pleasant place, great for meditation and introspection. I like you, you seem like an agreeable god. Treat me with favor and you'll find I'm likely to be quite agreeable to your terms."

Hydrand gestures broadly with his enormous form to emphasize the last part of his attempt to befriend the falling god. It helps to keep him occupied away from the immense fear that he might be stepping deeply into the wrong.

Hydrand takes the time in which his mouth is occupied by Awful's freshly installed PA system to analyze the being before him.

Challenging the savage ornament... How powerful is this being? I would have thought it significantly more powerful, and yet here it seeks to make deals with us.

Discover Attitude (Discern Characteristics): 1d20 + 1d6 ⇒ (1) + (3) = 4

He watches and watches, but no discernible characteristics make themselves apparent through this thing's physical manifestation.

Baffled, Hydrand watches further and listens to his compatriots.

Hydrand, joined by the party, leaned down to one knee and provided a hand as a step for Awful to move back into the cockpit. Without a word, Awful swings up, vaults off Hydrand's hand and lands squarely in his seat. The cockpit closes as Hydrand rises to his feet. He steps forward.

I sure feel brazen in the face of this thing. Lack of inhibition, maybe? Interesting...

Introspection remained a strong suit of Hydrand's, even though he had so much of what he was stripped away to get here.

His voice rolls out, much deeper then it once was. Consonants rasp in a harsh manner, certain syllables repeat several times as though skipping on a too-fast record, and the overall fidelity has been reduced.

"My purpose for being here was to help a friend. A friend I thought dead. Blessedly, he lives, and he brought us here on his own search. My purpose, however, remains. Helping and protecting my friends has given me a purpose, a will to continue my life where there was none after my exile so long ago. What I seek of you is to be even more capable of protecting my friends."

Hydrand felt, from the penetration of this thing's gaze, that it would likely know that this was not his original form. Working from that assumption, he follows through.

"This form has given me capabilities beyond my own reckoning as it has been born of the combined will of mine and my friend's. I will be pursuing this form upon my return from this realm; I seek anything that can provide me such incredible means for protecting those I care about, and as such, I seek from you whatever you will give me to further that end... and I am finding it difficult to imagine a cost too great."

Once he has finished addressing the creature, he returns to one knee in an attempt at reverence.

Whatever this thing is, it's clearly an incredible force to be reckoned with. If it has assembled these realities, its power must be immense. Were it so easy for me to acquire so much power; I could keep the whole world safe.

Hydrand began to imagine he was somewhat kindred with this incredible creature.

Hydrand rushess through the passageway to the populated plain, leaving the pungent skies behind. He keeps wary, protecting others still on his mind.

"RED HERE. SUNSET."

He looks down around him at the masses gathered, waiting. Not in any special hurry, just... Here.

MORE TO PROTECT...

...Who are these people?

His consciousness sharpens once more. He watches Bertram's ceremony and can comprehend the magic he yields.

It also gives him insight into how to escape this place.

I have to give something up, huh... No, that's not quite right. A sacrifice is needed.

He looks down at massive hands. They are empty.

What do I even have to sacrifice? Surely a compatriot would qualify, but I could never...

He glances around at his allies. His eyes track away from them, to the strangers.

Maybe one of them...

...when did I fall this far? Have I fallen?

Hydrand thinks hard about it while he watches over Hokey's own ritual of sacrifice. He realizes what's happened, and he makes a decision.

I didn't become this monster overnight. Corruption was not quick or visible. It was a creeping thing... Is this what life is? To slowly give ground on what you stand for to gain ground on... On what? Each time... The armor I retrieved from the dragon, the forbidden knowledge gained from that crystal... I didn't even hesitate to use it, either.

So I am tainted. Compromised of morals. But these are sacrifices I made to better myself... And I bettered myself to protect my allies. Allies who will go on without me were I to remain trapped here. Allies that I still long to protect.

Hydrand reflects on his time as a powered suit. How simple and clean the lines were when his consciousness devolved to a simple mech with a directive.

It is certainly not an undesirable way to live.

After some deliberation, Hydrand makes up his mind. He looks toward the cliff and offers a part of himself offers to sacrifice a little bit of the...

What is it that this thing wants? Morality? Humanity? Intelligence?

He bears his heart to the void.

"But... But... Protect?"

Hydrand sighs at Hokey's remark but stands on practicality. Besides, he had a co-pilot to think of. He heaves a sigh three sizes too big and begins making his way towards the portal.

He's not content to let Hokey go it alone, and that's overriding the remark she made about the smell; Hydrand has discounted the smell remark because he doesn't have a nose.

The greasy sensation of Bertram's dead body between his fists slithers up his arms and into his brain. And into his soul. Hydrand's brain moves from instinctual to the clarity of sentience once more.

Bertram... Bertram? BERTRAM. WHY DID YOU-

He whips his head back towards Hokey, whose levitation was flagging as she was dripping with blood.

Her blood.

~~~

Remember, as a detective, your job is to resolve the unknown, there's a process for deciding what happens after, like who is found innocent, whose motives establish guilt, and...

~~~

...who is punished. I've just murdered a man.

Flashing back to all the time they had spent together made the realization of his actions ache deeply. He reaches for his tenuous connection to Time, reaches for the metaphysical fabric of this place, and says a small prayer to Father Death.

"Forgive me."

Hydrand grabs hold of the reality of this place and adjusts his mechanized form to one just slightly more him...

Will Challenge to Regain Spellcasting (and hands): 1d20 + 1d6 ⇒ (8) + (5) = 13

...and the maces he has instead of fists break open into fully-formed hands. He cups them around Bertram's form and sends magic, prayer, and metaphysical energy flowing into Bertram's form.

It's not your time... Not yet: 1d20 + 1d6 ⇒ (7) + (3) = 10

Bertram's body begins to jerk. Bloody bones sticking fully through his shoulders, chest, and thighs snap back through the skin with a sickening pop. His body becomes suspended between Hydrand's enormous hands, one cupped under him and the other cupped above.

Hydrand feels a vacuum sensation, a red, translucent orb appearing between his hands as Hydrand uses the transcendental fabric of this place to grip and fully reverse the passage of time in the space between his hands.

Bertram's body returns to it's normal shape, blood appearing from seemingly nowhere and slipping back into his body as he becomes un-crushed.

Just a little more...!

Hydrand pushes, but he's at the end of his capabilities. The damage done by Hokey remains.

Bertram has been returned to life, but as Hydrand has already experienced, he may have some recollection all the way up to breathing his last between Hydrand's massive maces.

Once again floating under his own power, Hydrand scoops Bertram up and pulls him away from the spot where he was previously pulverized. No sooner is he free of the spot than there is a deafening boom, a nearly visible shockwave of sound, as time in that spot snaps through its events once more and returns to normal.

Whatever normal means here.

Hydrand pulls Bertram close and with his voice adjusted for his size, "JUDGMENT WILL COME DUE SOON ENOUGH."

The ominous statement was all he could muster as his brain trends back toward its mechanized stupor. He releases Bertram and floats in an arc to Hokey. He brings his enormous hands up from below her so if she ceases floating, she'll land lightly cradled in his palms.

He looks toward Andras and says, "P R O T E C T ?"

Hydrand doesn't have time to blink before all of what's happened and all the "why" clicks into place. Before an utterance can be given, he all but explodes out toward Bertram.

"P R O - " - KRAK-THOOOOooooooooooooooooo....

Attack 1: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23
Attack 2: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (12) + 7 = 19

Damage 1: 3d6 ⇒ (2, 3, 6) = 11
Damage 2: 3d6 ⇒ (4, 3, 5) = 12

Time's hold on him is tenuous at best; he brings his maces together on Bertram with speed only the metaphysics of this area could support, and a clap of sound so explosive it would make thunder itself wary, washing out the latter syllable of his mantra.

Hydrand feels the a pulling-apart sensation that's somehow familiar to him. He has a brief chronological lapse as an alternate version of him remembers being harmed by such a sensation moments before.

He tries to resist, looking towards the approaching threat for any hint of the sensation's source. Everyone else is starting in on the new enemies, except...

Awful was floating towards him, his manic grin looking especially visceral.

It's him... Do I trust him?

Hydrand releases the resistance towards the pulling-apart sensation, questing with his senses as he deduces Awful's intent.

He wouldn't do this if it didn't take steps towards his self-preservation, and he's been known to empower me to his defense in the past. Let's see what he's got planned.

Banes: 4d6 ⇒ (1, 5, 2, 3) = 11
1d20 - 5 + 2 - 4 ⇒ (20) - 5 + 2 - 4 = 13
Per Discord:"Make a casting roll with 4 banes, plus power, minus 4 for the rank of the spell"

Hydrand switches from yielding to actively engaging Awful's manipulation, willing himself to malleability, and then shaping himself as Awful's intent takes form.

He feels physical material come pouring out of the "magical apertures" that he opens when casting his spells. He opens his well of magic and is bolstered by the mataphysics of this place. He digs into his power, and every time he presses for more, he feels like he's not grabbed half of what he could.

More and more material comes pouring forth into him, through him, becoming him. He materializes joints, supports, armor; he shapes them and then joins with them, becoming enormous, a version of himself standing taller than any creature he had ever seen. As he concludes the process, he feels a pressure in his chest, the same pressure that began this transformation. Awful still had a plan.

So, this is a version of me that he sees as attractive... I'm so powerful... Unstoppable.

I like it.

Hydrand acquiesces to Awful's final touches, opening a compartment in his chest, and alongside Awful's will, building a comfortable seat, a secure and armored door with thick glass and paneling styled like a medieval helmet so he could see clearly while remaining protected, and...

Hydrand was hesitant, but he allowed "controls" to be placed in the compartment as well. Awful would be able to supply instruction, but Hydrand would still be responsible for his actions.

Some small part of Hydrand was willing to bet that when his actions were aligned with Awful's direction, together they could accomplish great destruction.

Destruction... I went straight to destruction... But it feels like such an effective catharsis.

Hydrand was intrigued by the impulse, and was excited to explore it with his new, colossal strength. His transformation complete, he opens the compartment in his chest to allow Awful inside. He becomes overwhelmed with a singular impulse, and he lets it take the driver's seat in his brain.

P R O T E C T

Hydrand feels a halting sensation as he tries to stop his descent. Not just a physical one, but something... else, too.

He pulls himself together, more literally than he was expecting, and orients himself again so he's aware of where his allies are and where he's falling towards.

Hydrand begins to fly. He's not certain how until he checks up and behind him to see another Hydrand hoisting him up by his belt.

"Already? I was keeping that in my pocket for later!" says flightless Hydrand.

"Trust me, you don't want to know what happens if you don't use it now. It's... not good." replies flying Hydrand.

"Well, you're me, so trust is natural. Thanks, then, for saving me... us."

Will Challenge Roll: 1d20 + 1d6 ⇒ (8) + (4) = 12

Flightless Hydrand attains flight immediately, and future Hydrand shudders out of existence without a sound.

Will Challenge Roll: 1d20 - 1d6 ⇒ (5) - (3) = 2

"I guess that means it's time to--" And with that, Hydrand ceased to exist.

...for about 10 seconds, before re-appearing.

Now that I know how that works in practice, I'm sure I can use it to great advantage...

He begins ascending towards where his allies would be, all the while contemplating what looping his timeline like that would allow him to do, going down a rabbit hole of contemplation so clinical in its detachment that it didn't account for things like morals or ethics.

Yes... That is interesting... Oh, there they are.

He floats wordlessly over to the bubble; considering it was the most visible, it made the most sense as a rallying point.

After the transition, Hydrand begins to fall. He sees the others not far away, floating with their own methodologies for causing the effect. He attempts to float, himself.

Will Challange Roll: 1d20 - 1d6 ⇒ (13) - (6) = 7

With all the stimulus simulating the real world filling his senses after floating in the void, he doesn't put the willpower required into making the adjustment, and he continues to fall.

Interesting... I'm more compelled to fall, here?

He looks around as he continues his groundward travel, only to discover that there's no ground in sight.

I can't even be sure what I'm falling towards, or even that falling in this direction makes the most sense... Maybe I'm being compelled to fall in this direction as well?

He tracks his glance to where his compatriots would be and then tracks back towards his direction of travel, wondering what might be waiting for him "down" there.

Hydrand continued to look on as Andras fashioned a door. He lifts himself off out of the room and floats above until he has a solid lateral view in every direction. He then watches as Andras approaches the door and then pauses, pensive.

"Do you think escape is easier from here, or do we need to find our way out of one of these realities?"

He addresses Andras. His voice is projected by willpower rather than volume, experimenting with the properties of this place.

I don't need food or water, not that I couldn't fabricate it here... I could stay here for a long time.

Hydrand begins to become pensive himself. All this quiet time alone with his thoughts wasn't an unattractive prospect. He marked this place in his mind.

I don't think I've got a firm enough understanding of how this works, and frankly, I don't want to wait around to build it.

"Hey, A--..." he cuts off as he notices Andras is also focusing. He waxes patient and waits.

Level 4 Expert Clockwork

Health +5

Gain Grind the Gears
You can increase the number of actions
you can use on your turn by one. When you finish your
turn, roll a d6. If you roll an odd number, you become an
object at the end of the round.

Arriving with Andras, Hydrand has no problem letting him do the talking. Hydrand thought plenty, but an opportunity to listen rather than speak was one not taken lightly.

Anything... With a mere thought...

Hydrand, upon hearing this, thinks briefly. He turns away from the woman in red and raises a hand to the open space he'd moved through to get here. He vigorously imagines his plinth from the now-desiccated town of Last Hope, and his spot nearby from which he would meditate on the trainings performed so so long ago. He imagines that small plot filling the empty space...

Hydrand slams his forearms together and feels it reverberate up his metal torso.

"Seems real enough, Andras. Whatever the Crystal's relation to reality, I have to imagine we're going to bring all this with us when we make it, uh... 'Back'."

He wills himself towards the woman in her bed chamber, hoping to find out whatever her imprisonment was, that it was at least pleasant. Without straying too far from his teammates, he would also look for any sort of interface or termination point at which this place could be exited.

Perception Challenge?: 1d20 ⇒ 13

I don't think I would have imagined those interactions or sensations so vividly, so I think we're all really here together... We're not trapped in little pockets like the rest of these folks, so I hope that level of personal agency gives us what we need to escape this place.

Hydrand dwells long on the image of the open furnace that the antechamber emulated so well. The image of that fire had a hold of him, as one stares into a common campfire.

I became unwound... I should have died or ceased or...

Hydrand didn't want to die.

I don't want to die...

It was that simple. A couple of commonplace effects of Awful's and Hydrand would be demolished. A terrifying thought. A sobering thought. He was brought out of his fugue by this thought.

How do I keep from being vulnerable to such a thing? I... I warned myself before it happened by leaping through time. If I could just press a little further, could I keep myself from harm entirely? Do I have the power to accomplish such a task?

You could...

Hydrand's head jerks towards the crystal. The thought was his, but it was so invasive. The call was hard to resist, so he didn't. He walked over to where Bertram had the crystal in his bag and he hovered his hand over it. He quested out with his senses, feeling its energies, its undeniable power just waiting to be grasped.

Hydrand makes eye contact with Bertram and says, "I won't risk it... I won't risk not knowing."

He gives in to the awful compulsion and plunges his hand onto the crystal. It envelopes his mind and shows him...

His own mind. It shows him how he's already capable of accomplishing the magic he thought he would need the crystal for. It showed him somatics and formulae, formed of his own ideas, dots previously left unconnected.

So if I release it in a focused burst, then there's a wind down period that allows me time to...

Mark of Darkness: 1d20 ⇒ 16

Hydrand recoils from the crystal. The knowledge remains intact, and with it, hints of capabilities yet untapped.

"And here I thought I'd reached my limits... This body continues to impress me." He speaks jovially with Bertram as if he'd not just committed such an ugly act.

Moments later, he hears a shout and notes Bertram's attention called to something else in the room. He turns to face another hybrid creature this foul place had surely spat at them and--

"Don't be afraid. It's still me. I don't know what's happening. But I feel good. Stronger. Perhaps not something for polite society, but this'll be useful in a fight."

Hydrand counted everyone else in the party and realized it must be Andras. He'd seen him turn fully into a creature not quite entirely unlike what was now mixed with certain features that could still be recognized as his ally's.

Frightening? Nope. Just Andras.: 1d20 ⇒ 16

"Don't worry, Hamdras, this is new, but it's not so strange coming from you. Glad to hear you're feeling more put-together after what just happened, though; I just hope we don't need it."

He hooks a thumb towards the hall leading to the antechamber to punctuate his statement, and then resumes silence. His eyes unconsciously drift to Awful as he recalls what had occurred.

Could I cross that line? Could I sacrifice my friends?

That he could even consider it seemed at odds with himself, but it made so much sense in that situation... In the end, it makes him angry. Angry at himself, and angry at Awful, so he pushes it from his mind and begins going back over what he'd learned from his communion with the crystal instead.

Hydrand woke up running. Whatever part of him processed Andras's advice put his body in motion before he'd fully come to.

Once awake, he took inventory of the situation, though he didn't stop running. Everyone was in front of him, which meant nobody was behind him.

Which means either I'm about to take a harpy claw to the back, or...

He looks over his shoulder as he runs. The shrinking entryway to the room looked like nothing so much as the open mouth of a furnace.

...or they're all dead. Good.

The last moments before becoming unwound dawn on Hydrand. It was choppy due to time travel, but he pieced together what had happened.

How... how... awful of him. Hmm. Food for thought.

He dwelt on that for as long as they would continue running.

Hydrand blinks out of existence and then back, this time with his mace on his belt. His shield looks charred at one edge.

"AWFUL, YOU SON OF A-"

"Fire in the hole!"

As the bomb soars through the air, a second Hydrand, this one still armed with his mace, shield as yet unscorched.

The second Hydrand adroitly taps the lobster claw to the side and it swings wide as a result, missing both Hydrands in the process. Unscorched Hydrand then places himself between scorched Hydrand and the flamethrower on the ground as the bomb arrives at its final destination.

The explosion washes around the Hydrands. Its deafening wake leaves them mostly unharmed, though unscorched Hydrand's shield is now a copy of scorched Hydrand's. Then the recently-scorched Hydrand winks out of existence.

"Thanks, me. Oh, you're welcome, me."

The remaining Hydrand, mace still on his hip, throws a tight punch into the Harpy's kidneys as she runs by towards the recently-revealed Bertram.
Boons: 3d6 ⇒ (3, 5, 2) = 10
Falcuhn PAAUUNCH: 1d20 + 5 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 5 + 3 = 24
Massive Damage: 1 = 1

Hopefully Hokey is right about the iron...

Hydrand is zeroed in on getting his belonging back. It's not a lot of money, but it's the principle of the thing. And the principle of the thing has him mad.

"Give. That. BA-"

Awful shouts an expletive. Hydrand's focus on the lobster is broken, but his anger remains. He looks over his shoulder to where Awful was, and there's now a bird creature standing within reach.

They're after Awful and they have my pouch. They're after Awful, AND they have MY pouch. THEY'RE AFTER MY FRIENDS, AND THEY ARE TAKING MY THINGS.

"Oh... Yeah."

He lets his countenance drop as he displaces himself from his mounting rage. He feeds more to the fire burning in his chest.

I'm going to need more.

This b!+%% manipulated Hokey. Check. This b*#+! attacked Awful. Check. They've certainly beaten on me. Check. And this LOBSTER has my F$$%ING WALLET.

Through clenched teeth, he exhales: "CHECK!"

As his countenance approaches boiling rage a second time, he opens the sluice-gates of his magic, letting the burning fire empty out into a spell. This time, instead of temporally stuttering as he usually does to the casual viewer, he flickers entirely out of existence. And then returns a moment later.

He turns forty-five degrees to his left before re-striking his defensive stance.

Expending a casting of Time Skip.

Strength Challenge: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7

Recovering his mace, Hydrand turns himself towards the next attacker in time to catch another claw, this one hitting his shoulder and clamping down again so the vestigial hands can begin their kleptomancy once more.

Item Stolen: 1d5 ⇒ 3

In their furious grabbery, they steal Hydrand's money-pouch. Seeing it come free winds up the clockwork into a fury. His stance haggard from the beating he'd taken, he levels his gaze at his next victim. Over the next few moments, metal plates slip back into position, connections mend, and his stance pulls itself from gaunt to grim. He never releases the crustacean from his fierce stare.

Battle Recovery for 5 damage and a casting of Binding Shackles.

Item stolen rolled as separated by commas in Hydrand's equipment section.

Facing down the lobstermen with all the acuity he could muster, he dodged, ducked, shifted, and parried his best until one of them took a swing that his advanced physics couldn't avoid. An open claw struck him in the chin and closed like a trap around his neck.

The vestigial hands the creature possessed then began grasping at him amid their struggle.

Strength Challenge: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4

One vestigial hand grabbed his mace just below the flanges, and the other grabbed Hydrand's weapon arm. They proceeded to attempt to pull his mace from him.

"Not a cha-"

He feels a tap on his shoulder.

"I've got it! I don't want to be part of her collection! Run run run!"

The hesitation as he processed this cost him the struggle for his precious mace, and his ears began to ring.

I lost... my mace?!

...No.

"dziiaaAAAAGH!!"

He reaches up with his newly freed hand and crushes the crustacean's arm at the joint, tearing the limp appendage from his neck and throwing it to where it shatters upon the wall. The lobster had already begun to fall from having bled out, but Hydrand didn't care. He wanted his mace back. He shifts one foot to where it lands on the neck of the fallen waste of life and crushes down on it with his weight as he grabs the mace and rips it from its cold, dead, vestigial hands.

Feeling whole again, he says, "Alright, we got what we came for" before turning back to the party to see how they respond to the news.

Hydrand watches the evisceration happen in front of him, followed by Andras's smirk.

"At least it's not a mud monster, eh?"

He steps up towards the space where the recent corpse fell and bellows a challenge to the two newest arrivals, pounding on his shield with his mace.

"Are those vestigial arms, or are you boys just happy to see me?"

Taking the defend action so they don't crucify me.

Hydrand began to panic at Hokey's enthrallment with whatever that sound was itching at his mind.

She's not been well lately, now this?

The panic rose further when the crustaceo-sapiens came crawling out from whatever hole they were in; he was about to call out to her when they dropped down and seemed to ignore her.

Maybe being under the spell keeps you from their ire... then she is safe for now.

As the mild relief from that fact washed through him, he stepped up alongside Andras. The two of the crab-men attacked him with their pincers, he ducked to the side of one and knocked the other aside with his shield.

Seeing his opening, he takes a swing at one of them with his mace.

Strength Attack: 1d20 + 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (10) + (5) + 3 = 18
Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 1

He catches one of their claws on its way back from attacking him, but only just.

I can't even be sure that hurt this thing...

He pulls his shield back up and prepares for their next attack.

Hydrand nods along with Bertram's declaration of responsibility. He positions just behind him with one hand hovering over his shoulder and prepares the spell.

"Ready?"

Bertram gives him an affirmative. Hydrand focuses his will and summons up some magic for a working. He runs it down his arm and lays it out like a cloak over Bertram.

"Ok... Go!" He whispers, urging Bertram forward, the concealing energies bleed into his manner as the spell finishes washing through him.

Hydrand starts whispering to the party, "So, is that the crystal? Going in there is..."

Will Challenge: 1d20 - 1d6 ⇒ (15) - (1) = 14

He pauses, hearing something faintly.

Music?

It itches at the back of his mind, but he brushes it off.

"...is probably not safe, but I can protect one person if they want to grab the crystal and get out. I'll go if nobody volunteers, but it'd be better if it's someone quicker."

Hydrand wordlessly hands back the pyrogenetic device before stepping up to the metaphorical plate.

Rubble. Easy. Especially with the shape I'm in. Thanks again, Hokey!

Hydrand walks up to the rubble pile behind Andras. He steps to the side to assist in moving the rubble just as Andras shifts that way to find better purchase on the stone.

If I could just...

Hydrand shifts back the other way just as Andras leans between Hydrand and the rubble once more.

Please, can you... just... nevermind.

Hydrand steps back to wait.

Andras, making certain he doesn't have the ability to leverage away any of the larger rubble, steps back. Hydrand waits expectantly for Awful to fire back over being addressed by Andras.

"My turn."

Hydrand steps up to the rubble, flexes his arms and drives them into some small spaces between chunks that would have likely cut softer flesh. He spreads his fingers to find the widest purchase possible, and then heaves.

Hydrand Lifts.: 1d20 ⇒ 15

The rubble largely breaks down, a couple of large chunks are removed from the pile by Hydrand, which in turn loosens enough debris to fall free from the blockage that the path becomes largely unblocked.

"You know..."

Hydrand leaves a pregnant pause.

"The mud monster didn't hit that hard..."

He stands with his hands on his hips, admiring his work, his back to the rest of the party. After a moment, he glances back over his shoulder at Hokey, a twinkle in his eye.

Hydrand takes his cue from Awful, levelling the flamethrower at the ghosts and readying to put it to good use.

There certainly is something very wrong with them... Once again, the crystal makes an appearance, what is its part in all this?

He gives the room another scan before settling into a ready stance, eyes sharp on the ghosts.

Lots to see here...

Hydrand opens his senses as detective mode kicks in...

Ears: 1d20 ⇒ 16

And hear!!

...and hears unmistakable susseration. He throws an arm out to halt the party, gesturing to where his ears would be, if he had any, his eyes scanning the room.

Hydrand adroitly corrects for the change in orientation... and falls flat on he left side.

Hope nobody saw that...

He felt some small mirth at the comment by Bertram. Righting himself, he moves over to Andras to check him over. He claps a hand on his shoulder and looks back at Hokey, offering her another grateful nod.

It's a shame I can't really smile... But it's fine. If anyone understands me with my lack of features, it's her.

He looks back at the cave they came out of and then back at the party.

"I'm good for another look now that thing isn't in there waiting for us."

He checks the straps on his shield and gives his mace a twirl, indicating his anticipation.

As Hydrand drew his glance across the area, surveying the situation, his eyes track over his shoulder and land on Hokey standing just behind him just as her hand lands on his shoulder and he feels even more life energy burgeoning through him.

He doesn't have to look himself over to know he's free of all damage, aside from the markings she gave him earlier.

He feels himself filled with something else, too. Emotion, he was enamored with her ability and desire to keep him well, and found himself suddenly overwhelmed with a boundless desire to keep her safe and close.

I'll keep her safe, I'll keep them all safe!

As he trained, so he wrought. He let the emotion pour through him, felt it manifest in magical energy in his whole body. He drew from that energy, brought it to his center, and then sent it whipping down an outstretched arm towards the monster.

Binding Shackles: 1d20 + 1d6 ⇒ (19) + (6) = 25
at muzzle velocity: 1d6 ⇒ 3

A chain of iron whose links were two inches thick explodes out of Hydrand and slams into the creature, chunks of the creature are pulverized where the chain impacts it. Some of the chain rips entirely through the creature and anchors to the ground 3 yards behind it, halting its advance.

Eyelights twinkling, he shoots a glee-filled glance back over his shoulder at Hokey and nods his thanks.

There isn't time or words enough to convey how you've made me feel, so that will have to do for now.

Hydrand braces for an impact and watches the creature bring its arm down. He raises his shield, expecting a direct inelastic collision, but it slams down with more force than he was prepared for and follows through back to the tarred mass, taking Hydrand with it.

Braced for being knocked back, the sudden inversion of force pulls Hydrand off his feet. He stumbles forward into the creature and it welcomes him with crushing tarry warmth.

Panic Karate: 1d20 - 1d6 ⇒ (17) - (6) = 11

Without time to think, martial instinct kicks in.

He began flailing wildly.

Or at least that's what it would look like if anyone could see him through the obfuscating mass. It hadn't swallowed him yet, but it certainly looked that way to his allies.

He gave his chronology a habitual light touch in the "moving faster" direction and began assailing the tar as it closed around him. A couple shoves of the shield shoveled away much of the grime encroaching on him.

The party members see him begin to break his way out, a swing of his mace opening a curtain where Andras' attacks had already thinned the tar; he steps through but it closes to rapidly behind him. One leg and his mace-arm still stuck, he leans away from the creature for more leverage with his free leg. He raises his shield arm...

"Let GO!!"

...and whips it down faster than time itself, stopping short of the ground to maximize his leverage. With a "schlorp", the wrenching motion pulls his arm and leg free. He rolls to his feet and turns in a half circle to bring his shield between him and the tar creature once more before retreating several yards.

Safely away from the creature, he assesses the damage.

After a hit like that, I should be dead. He thinks as he checks himself. His memory flashes to the impact, and he remembers familiar energy erupt from his chest and come to rest in his joints as the blow landed.

Hokey's life magic!

With the unnatural vitality given him by her touch, he escaped with his life and more. Thankfulness blooms in his mind, he offers a grateful glance to his comrades as he contemplates next steps.

Hydrand had 27HP and 0 damage. Hydrand took one entire assbeating. This gave Hydrand 19 damage, bringing him to a damaged state, triggering Hokey's Seed of Life (again). His max HP drops to 20 after he heals for his healing rate of 5. The damage his reduced to 14. He then took the retreat action to get the hell out of dodge.

Battlescar: 1d20 ⇒ 19

And he escapes another battlescar!

Remaining in place between the gruesome thing and his allies, he keeps his shield raised and gives a whirling overhead attack so his shield can remain up.

Triggered Boon, Guarded Bane: 1d20 + 1d6 ⇒ (8) + (6) = 14
Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 1

Misjudging the range of the guarded swing, his mace just skips over the surface of the tar creature, the small gash it caused swallowed up by the tar almost immediately.

At least my shield is up and folks are behind me. I guess it's time to see how bad this thing hurts.

He braces himself for whatever the creature would do now that the gap was closed.

Hydrand finds himself somewhat appalled by Bertram's shift in demeanor. Hydrand's wide eye-lights track him as Bertram walks on as if his cousin perishing before his eyes was less than a fly in his soup.

He is immediately fazed out of his appalled stupor, however, as the muck Bertram is picking at rises up. The vapors coming off of it wash over him uselessly, but the scene still raises his hackles.

Will: 1d20 + 1d6 ⇒ (11) + (5) = 16

He powers through the knee-jerk fright and raises his mace to his shoulder with his shield in a low guard, moving between the others and the thing.

Blunt Force Drama: 1d20 + 1d6 ⇒ (14) + (5) = 19
Squelch: 1d6 ⇒ 2

He swings his mace before stepping back and away waiting for others to move toward the cave entrance behind him before bringing up the rear, never taking his eyes off the thing, and keeping his shield between it and his friends.