The Shattered City: Chapter Three

[lostboy]

Nicolas staggers under the blow, scowling in suprise, depsite the fact it isn't much of a suprise. For a moment the poet levels the pistol at Darius, then with an effort of will forcibly relaxes his finger from the trigger and lowers it.

Taking a breath the jocular tone is back even as he winces inspecting the bloody hole in his coat. "Could you try and do it without the sword next time mon ami? I'm not sure my tailor or indeed my left lung fancy a repeat of this performance." Then realising everyone else was running, he heads after them, although this time the pistol is kept at hand, just in case of any further altercations with marauding Hazlani priests.

Once they reach the wide passageway, Nicholas pauses for a moment leaning against the wall (nodding politley to the skeleton there entombed) and applying a handkerchief as best he can to staunch the wound in his chest. Eyeing the tracks he asks "are these really the cultists tracks? For some mad reason I'm starting to smell some kind of trap."

OOC: Perception 13 on the tracks ..... yup I suck at that skill. Anyone else fancy a go?

[DocBeard]

"Is everyone here?!" Tomas asks, scowling. "Remember the buddy system!" This whole thing seems...

"The sewer!" Tomas snaps his fingers, even as he keeps an eye on Darius to make sure he's snapped out of it. "-I've seen lights like this before, when the Professor, Christopher and I were in the sewer..."

Huh, both times involved Reniers...coincidence? Tomas shakes his head. "It didn't follow us, though we had the benefit of a horde of giant rats to distract it...anyway!

21 to my int check to remember, readying Fear Not if Darius makes any crazy go nuts actions.

[lostboy]

"It didn't follow us, though we had the benefit of a horde of giant rats to distract it...anyway!

"Rats?" Nicholas croaks through lips and a face with all of a sudden a lot less blood in them, "I'm ah not so good with creatures of the vermin variety, their tails you see, and the pointy teeth, and the scrabbling of their feet........."

He lapses into silence examingn the floor around his feet wildly just in case any such a creature was about to crawl up his leg and obviously then proceed for his jugular.

[Cronax]

"Snap out of it Miss Zweibach! This is no time for hysterics." Mr. Agale's hand clenched into a fist, and it looked as if he intended to cuff the warrior woman. Manners and appearances winning out, he desisted, only to get an unnerving glint in his eye and a furtive glance towards Ms. Viardot. The glint faded and was soon replaced with an expression of dissatisfaction.

"If anything, the impediment we just faced suggests we are on the right track. If, as we surmise, this does connect to the catacombs beneath St. Madeleine's, then we do have at least one more point of egress."

Some Psionics fail to hit. FYI: If Darius is still mind controlled, anyone adjacent can make a DC 15 heal check to grant him another saving throw if you want.

[Nathan of the FoS]

Darius takes remarkably little notice of having a pistol pointed at him; Cyrus' hand on his shoulder gets a bigger reaction, and Darius turns and cuts at him--not nearly quickly enough to do him any harm.

Something in his posture--and the way his speech slurs--hints that Darius is not yet himself--which he quickly confirms by gathering himself, stepping under Tomas' outstretched arm, and launching a solid blow against the paladin's ribs.

Drawing his arm back, as if for another blow, Darius stops in mid-motion and then hurls his sword to the ground. "GET OUT OF ME!" he shrieks, then falls to his knees, panting.

Basic attack vs. Cyrus is 12 vs. AC, so that misses. Rolled a 3 on the save. Dramarama continues.

Tomas does his "hooray save" thing, which gets a 6 on the save.

Darius, in a shocking display of ingratitude, hits Tomas (27 vs. AC) for 3 damage, then gets a 16 on his save, drama finished.

[lostboy]

Nicholas stops looking for rats for a moment as Darius stumbles into him on the overswing of his strike on his brother. Deftly sidestepping, the poet wraps one arm round Darius' throat from behind and places the muzzle of the pistol against the tattoo's that streak the side of the Dommer's head.

"I think you need to calm down mon ami, this insanity is getting us nowhere, perhaps a few easy deep breaths will help realign your equilibrium" he whispers in Darius' ear.

OOC: Heal 19 on Darius so he can re-attempt the save.

[Nathan of the FoS]

Darius freezes as Nicolas covers him with his pistol, then carefully extends his arms away from his body. "Right," he mutters. "It's gone. Give it a few seconds, just to make sure."

[lostboy]

Nicolas, relaxes his grip a little, not all the way, juts enough to let Darius breathe easy. He still keeps the pistol close at hand however, the poet might be a drunk but he isnt stupid...

"Take your time my dear Dommer, one stab in the chest is enough for one day."

[Nerit]

"Is everyone here?!"

"Rats? I'm ah not so good with creatures of the vermin variety, their tails you see, and the pointy teeth, and the scrabbling of their feet..."

Nerit took a step backward in the chaos, her face falling into shadow. The last visible part of her body was the brief scowl pointed at Nicolas.

Two things were apparent. First, it seemed she had disposed of the mage-made torch. Second, she was gone.

[The Whistler]

Manners and appearances winning out, he desisted, only to get an unnerving glint in his eye and a furtive glance towards Ms. Viardot. The glint faded and was soon replaced with an expression of dissatisfaction.

Celeste looked briefly as if she had been poked somewhere inconvenient, and cast about unsuccessfully to try and identify the culprit. Her gaze lingered on Agale for half a second, as if she quite wanted to blame the lawyer for something but had no idea what it was—then reverted back to neutral. In this case, “neutral” involved being extremely sympathetic towards Darius.

“Oh, kind Dommer, there there…oh, thank the Lady your cruel malady has abated!” The irony of thanking Ezra for the safety of the Lawgiver’s clergy flew merrily through the air, utterly failing to make contact with Celeste’s train of thought.

“To have one’s very soul be subject to the whims of a mysterious antagonism…why, it is simply inconceivable to my meager experience! Oh, I hope that my sympathies are not made less potent by that fact—for they are meant with the deepest sincerity, Dommer, I may assure you!”

[DocBeard]

Tomas resists an urge to crack a joke about Sebastian, figuring that only Lia would get it and she never laughs at his jokes anyway. "What I mean is, the thing's power is great but localized. If we have to go back, maybe some kind of chant would help...something to disrupt-"

Tomas's speech is disrupted by the sound of metal on metal, as he lunges forward to grab Darius, and finds himself stuck between the ribs for his trouble. Eisenwald's flesh has an odd toughness to it that might be shrugged off as hitting mail or a leather jerkin, if Tomas wore either of those items. "...fast." Tomas grunts, Ivorsen in his hand...

...and staying there, even as Nicolas frees Darius from the influence of the monster. "...nice hit there, Darius." Tomas forces a grin, turning back around and trying to see in the dark. Nope. Not an owl. "There's got to be some way we can have some light without being at the mercy of this thing..."

10 perception, 18 religion to try and figure out a way to ward the whatsis off.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Perhaps we do not require light to get by," Lia suggests as she appears at Tomas' elbow. "Surely you have not forgotten my companion, Grimmric? He and I can communicate, and I can talk to all of you -- and he has no trouble with darkness."

[yalenusveler]

"Because being ambushed in the dark is so much more pleasant?" Kerrian said, trying to make sure they were following the right path. His eyes took on a luminescent quality in the dim lighting which was more than vaguely lupine. "We keep going this way." He said, gesturing "Assuming of course, no one has any more sudden urges to get in a little early violence."

And so that way he went.

[NeoTiamat]

Catacombs of Port-a-Lucine, Night of April 21st, 770
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At first, you followed only tracks, little signs and marks of passage. But then, as you approached your final destination, other signs made themselves manifest. A woman's voice, rising and falling in a steady cadence. And then, when you were quite close, an eerie azure glow, like sun reflected off the sea.

Then you turned a corner, and a grim vista unfolded before you. The tunnel you had been following widened to form a chamber or hollow in the network of tunnels in the catacombs. There were skulls and bones lying abotu everywhere, but also there were mirrors, broad, gilt-backed mirrors with grey surfaces, propped up against the walls. Something flickered in them from time to time, a hint of movement.

In the center of the chamber, a large pool had been built, carefully fitted stones raised to create what was almost a bath beneath the earth. It was this that was the cause of that unwholesome glow, the only source of light in the chamber. Standing beside that pool was Dr. Nicole Poincare.

She looked... tired, mostly. Tired, exhausted, drained, aged. The last month had not been kind to her, and she looked every one of her forty-odd years. She was dressed in simple black robes, half fashion statement, half practicality in this dim underground, stained and dirtied in places by the residue of what she did.

"Blood." Poincare said, her voice careful, precise. She lifted her hands above the pool, a bone dagger clutched in one hand, and nicked herself on the forearm. A droplet of blood fell into the large pool. Her arms were covered with small, white scars.

"Bone." Reaching into one of several jars by her feet, the former art historian withdrew a long shard of human bone, yellowed and cracked with age. Ceremonially, she snapped it in half across her knee, and then dropped both parts into the pool.

"Ash." Now Poincare withdrew a length of ancient wood from a satchel, black and twisted, and held it above the pool. With a whispered incantation, it ignited, burning brightly as she let go of the burning branch. It dissipated to ash before it hit the water.

"Dust." This was another jar, from which the witch withdrew a handful of grey dust. Without another word, she dashed it into the pool. Now it was time for the final component.

"Breath." With a gesture from the bone dagger, Nicole Poincare bid something approach. You hadn't even seen them at first, but there they were, vast monsters sitting to either side of the door, hounds made of human corpses and calcified earth. Grave Weirds. One of the great beasts lumbered to it's feet and approached the pool. With ponderous grandeur, the Grave Weird entered the pool, feet moving through that shining blue water, until it had entered fully.

Poincare touched the blade of the dagger gently to the beast's forehead, reaching up even though she stood on a pedestal and it was half submerged. The Grave Weird accepted this benediction... and dissipated. It was as though all of its cohesion had been lost in that one moment. All the bodies and bones within it's form turned to nothing more than dirt, falling into the water. In heartbeats, the Grave Weird was gone completely, absorbed by the gently moving pool and it's unnatural blue glow. If one looked, one could fancy shapes flitting across the surface of the pool.

Poincare sighed, then let her arms fall back by her sides for a few second's break. Now, all eyes no longer on the ritual, one could see the other inhabitants of this subterranean chamber. Poincare was there, yes, and a single Weird remained as well. But there, by the side of the pool was another spectral form, half-transparent and more beautiful than she had ever been in life. Anne-Marie watched the ritual with breathless awe. Beside her, a pair of things stood as well. At first, you took them to be hooded acolytes, but this was not quite true. Their robes and hoods were made of cold ash, and as they turned to look upon you, one could see that their eyes were made of burning embers. And of course, there was whatever flickered throughout the mirrors.

Unfortunately, this also meant the cultists, or at least the ghosts and monsters that comprised it just now, could turn their attention to you. Poincare regarded your presence with no particular surprise, even as Anne-Marie hissed and whirled upon you, eyes brimming with cold anger.

"Come to cause more damage---?" The ghost began to say, before a sharp gesture from Dr. Poincare cut her off.

"Anne-Marie, please." Poincare said softly. She looked at you without any particular affection. "You will get this offer once, and only once. Make no sudden moves, go nowhere but back the way you came, and this will end without bloodshed."

Any hostile action, which includes pre-battle buffing but not pre-battle healing, as well as any attempt to leave the central tunnel (the area of columns 12, 13, and 14, from row S down) will be interpreted as starting combat, and I will then call for initiative rolls.

If/When someone makes a hostile action, please refrain from any posts that include more than just talking until the DMs can get in with a combat-post. Everyone will need to roll initiative, though the person who commits the hostile action, and only that person gets a +5 bonus to his Initiative roll (If he still fails, then he just managed to make it very obvious he was about to break the slender truce).

All clear? Consider yourself forewarned.



Rubble: The patches of black (as opposed to the greyish walls) are rubble. It is Difficult Terrain.

[DocBeard]

On one hand, the look on Tomas Eisenwald's face would be considered a hostile action in most major kingdoms, and likely get him hanged for assaulting an officer of the crown in Falkovnia.

On the other, Tomas does not move. He does not put his weapons away, because LOOK at this place, but there are two Weirds unaccounted for and Eisenwald would like them to show claw and face before committing to this battlefield.

"I've got to ask." Tomas murmurs, eyes narrowed as he tries to keep three eyes on the all too broad battlefield, "What point in your life did crumbling human bone into a nightmare dimension that turns people into cannibal monsters seem like a solid career move? I mean, how does the human mind switch off that 'bad idea!' warning that goes off when you get too near der stove?"

"Tell me what makes this horror acceptable." Tomas is almost pleading at this point, the reasonableness of these people having been a drain on his sanity.

(19 on an insight check.)