Up from the Dust: IC

Intro, Part I...

Despite all your history, all your past experiences, all your gained knowledge and power and riches, at this moment in time, you know one and only one thing for absolute certain. Right now there is only one universal truth and you know it without the slightest sliver of a shadow of doubt throughout ever fiber in your entire soul.

…You are dead.

Surprisingly, this fact does very little to alarm you. In fact, you have very few emotions about much of anything at this moment. You are doing nothing more than standing upon something that is neither hot nor cold, neither firm nor soft, with your eyes closed. You think that you will open them.

Immediately, you wished you hadn’t. Your eyes are flooded with an intense, flaring, golden light. Greater than the light of a million suns – you have no doubt that your eyes will soon be poached like an egg within your skull and that all the hair on your head will be seared to cinders by the sheer light. Strangely, this does not happen. In fact, your eyes quickly become accustomed to the blazing maelstrom of light and you begin to make out your surroundings.

You stand on a massive flat, featureless plane that stretches to your right, left, and rear as far as your eyes can see. Everywhere you look, there are millions – no, surely – billions of creatures of every known or imagined type, size, and sex. There are humans of every known ethnicity and there are other creatures as well – creatures that you have only heard about in fairy tales or storybooks: demons, angels, elves, dwarves, aliens, dragons – the list goes on and on, and soon you have no names for the things you see. Your mind begins to boggle until you notice one other thing:

You are all standing in massive lines.

Lines that seem to stretch, like semi-orderly snakes, into eternity behind you; lines where creatures of all shapes, sizes and configurations stand heel to toe with one another – their faces in one of three states: completely drained with utter boredom, starkly blank and emotionless, or totally confused and completely bewildered. You have no doubt that you fit into this final category. You look around the thing in front of you in line and you see, apparently, where all the lines are leading.

Stretching from horizon to horizon is a massive thing – the only structure that you can see – and it spans far wider than any building that you have ever heard about could possibly span. Impossibly, mind-twistingly massive, it is smooth and sleek – unlike any architectural design ever conceived – and it gleams like polished pearl and silver. Inside this massive arch (and only inside) lies whatever object which is the source of the terrific light – from within that arc spills the light of a thousand-thousand suns.

It is at that moment that you notice the other…things… Like gossamer dreams given wings these streamer-like things float over, around, and through you. Continually shifting, like a spring breeze through cotton curtains, they seem to be formed of sheer light and the sweet smoke of incense. As they pass you by, speeding along their way towards the scintillating light, you can sense their joy utter happiness; you can hear the sounds of murmuring, contented laughter.

For some inexplicable reason, you utterly despise them…

An eternity of in-line, shuffling steps pass and the great silvery gate nears. You can now see that the lines in which you stand do not head into the beautifully welcoming light, as you had assumed. Rather, the lines begin to slowly bank away at gently rolling angles, herding you and your companions towards any one of what seems like endless rows of small, dark doorways that seem scooped out of the massive arch-like gate before you. This fact, coupled with the sudden appearance of millions of tiny, glowing, mosquito-like creatures that buzz and flit through the air, begin to stir up anger and resentment amongst some of the crowd. Apparently they, like you, are not happy with this recent turn of events. The mosquitoes, sheathed in their eldritch flame, become more numerous as you near these doors and they begin flying into your face. As they do, they quickly project a sickly green light that flashes into your eyes, stinging like hot water. It is apparent that they are looking for something, but if they do not find the treasure they seek, the flit away to someone else and repeat the process. Their flight patterns are utter chaos and you marvel at how they manage to keep from colliding, much less actually find anything. Blinking back the tears from the continual green eye-washing, suddenly one of the mosquitoes seems to find what it is looking for in you.

The tiny creature lights on your arm and begins stabbing you over and over again in a bizarrely intricate pattern. You watch, slightly pained by the punctures, but strangely, more fascinated by the creature. Its proboscis moves up and down, much like the needle of a sewing machine and its entire form moves with a jerky, mechanical motion. It finishes its task quickly and then wings away – you stare at your arm in fascination – now, written upon it in a Braille-like language are symbols. What language they are and what they mean however, is completely lost to you.

Nearby, a large leathery winged creature who seems one part attitude and the other part equally divided among teeth, claws and muscles begins roaring as one of the mosquitoes performs its tattooing upon its flesh. Leathery Wings begins thrashing about, apparently all the waiting, the lines and now the pesky mechano-bugs have gotten to it; it picks up an innocent bystander and is in mid-toss when the air hums with power, pressure and danger.

The air above Leathery Wings shimmers, like magic, and reveals a massive thing. Something that seems to be a cross between a giant mechanical eye and a floating, balloon-like squid is left in the shimmer’s wake. Two large, angelic wings flap lazily as the mechanical iris slides smoothly down the surface of the flying sphere, pausing to rest directly above Leathery Wings. In the blink of an eye, a bright shaft of light zaps down over Leathery Wings and both he and the giant eye thing vanish. You have a mental picture inserted into your brain of poor Leathery Wings who has just instantly earned himself a ride to the very back of the line.

You, and about one-hundred million others, turn your faces to the rear and look at the distant horizon behind you. Some sigh. Some chuckle. Some merely shake their heads in pity. You are all grateful for the lesson and consign yourselves to “grin and bear” it all...
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OOC: No actions yet, gang. More to come!

Intro, Part II

As you turn your heads, the air shimmers like on a hot summer’s day. At first, you think it is nothing more than heat, yet soon, your eyes make out the forms of many very large things. Lumbering, yet with a silent and fluid grace, these massive construct-creatures move nimbly in and around the lines, their shapes hard to pin down with your eyes; dull basal voices drone outward from their forms.

“Proceed to the S&S’er’s......Please remain in your assigned lines......Proceed to the-”, over and over again they repeat, like a broken record.

These large robot-like things seem to carry a large shield affixed to one arm, while from somewhere in their massive bulk snake several whip-like tentacles. Occasionally, with these rigid appendages they gently pick up one of the naked (and it is at this point that you realize that you, too, are completely naked) line-standers and plop him down into another line.

They gently herd you until you near the infinite span of doorways. Above your door, written in cold, almost militaristic lettering is “C2”; it is a bold, thick, black font – it hurts your eyes to look at it. As you avert your eyes, you then see what you are being directed towards – an S&S’er, apparently.

This new, strange thing is a conglomeration of biology and technology – what appears to be a robotic flying machine, of sorts. It is adorned with two, long, massive tentacles sprouting from its mid-section and a thick trunk of smaller, red tentacles growing from its belly. Atop this strange device sits a large green lizard with eyes like onyxes. Around its neck is an equally ebon collar – the lizard takes no notice of you, however, as it is quite busy gobbling up all of the eldritch mosquitoes that are flying about. As it eats the magical mosquitoes, the lizard’s forelegs fly across some sort of control panel atop the flying device.

In response to this new stimuli, the bottom device, which you hear someone in a line to your left (line “C4”, you believe) call a “snagger”, reaches out with one of its longer fore-tentacles and picks up one of the individuals in its line. It pulls them inward, towards the trunk of smaller tentacles, which then begin wriggling in seeming delight. The snagger’s red tentacles slither all over the newly captured person, a bald dwarf, you believe, lingering on his forearm and his navel for a moment or three. As the snagger sets the wide-eyed dwarf down, you notice two things: first, he now has something small, withered and black hanging from his bellybutton and second, the skin beneath his mosquito-given tattoo is now the purplish-green of a bad bruise on the mend. The raised, Braille-like marks of the mosquito-tattoo itself is the pale coloration of a dead and bloated fish. Needless to say, the tattoo stands out quite readily.

The dwarf shakes his bald head in disbelief and then steps through the dark doorway into whatever lies beyond...
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OOC: No actions yet, one more section to post! Sorry - soon - I promise!

Intro, Fini...

Soon, it is your turn and the snagger snags you with a tentacle that feels and smells like cold clay. Even if you wanted to struggle, you seriously doubt that you could break free, so strong is the creature’s grip. It feels like you are encased in solid, cold stone and you have to mentally struggle just to continue breathing. As you are tucked underneath the thing’s mass and into the mass of wriggling red tentacles, you notice that the larger tentacle moves, allowing the smaller tentacles access to your tattooed arm and your belly. These red tentacles are completely smooth and dry; a few stray tentacles also slide across your face and you note the strong scents of cinnamon and loamy earth.

The snagger sets you down and though you did not feel the process, it has inserted something small, black and shriveled into your navel. You look down for a moment at this thing and it touch it – it feels like thin hardened, lacquered wood and if you did not know better, would swear that it had always been a part of you.

You hear a squawk form above – the sound of a strangled bird. You look up in time to see the lizard atop the snagger looking down at you crossly. It motions with an ebon-tipped claw towards the gaping black door before you – you notice that several of the smaller red tentacles point in the same direction at the same exact moment. The larger tentacles are already gently, but unavoidably, scooping up the next individual in line.

You enter into the doorway and see before you a small, non-descript, square room the color of long dead ash. No ornamentation adorns the walls, ceiling, or floor and precious little furniture is present; a solitary lecturn stands before you and behind it stands a thoroughly uninterested-looking young woman. You have to search your memories for the last time that you saw someone so utterly and completely bored looking – however, fleeting, a chord of sadness is struck within your heart for the young woman, standing there in her strange-looking grey dress; her black eyes (as perfectly black as her hair, in fact) boring into you with the undeniable force of a pillow-fisted giant.

Affixed upon her lecturn is a tiny, militaristic-looking steel plate. ‘Controller Annui’, it reads, and once your eyes fall upon it, almost as if triggered to do so by that very act, the young woman begins talking. Her tone is completely deadpan – the words of a person who has repeatedly said something over and over again for so incredibly long that she no longer has to provide a conscience thought in order to do so again. Words, evenly-placed like pearls upon a string, tumble out of her mouth; your mind is rife with a thousand questions, but there is little doubt that even if you ask them during this regurgitated vocalization, they will fall upon unhearing ears.

“Welcome to the C.O.R.E. itinerant debriefing and reclassification chamber for Cycle Two. There is little doubt that you have many questions, given that this is your first time as adult sentients to experience the process. Please listen closely and all will be revealed in time. However, please bear in mind that after this debriefing you will remember very little, if any, of what is said here. At best, even the brightest or most shattered minds can only recall vague impressions and sensations of the C.O.R.E. facility and assignees. This is, of course, by design and for the best interest of everyone.”

Controller Annui takes a measured breath and like a well-trained marathoner, continues on with her diatribe.

“Regardless of what you know, or think you know, you are wrong. There is only one source of all things – sentient and non-sentient – in the whole of the omniverse; that source is the C.O.R.E. and we all stand within a single (of many) physical manifestation of the C.O.R.E. This particular manifestation is known colloquially as the Central Orientation and Reinsertion Edifice – it functions to maintain the insertion flow of sentients into and out of the various multiverses and to track, monitor and analyze the complex procedural flows of intertemporal, interspatial and interrelational relationships between those sentients.”

Again, a pause, and you can almost swear that you saw her blink.

“In short, those of you that stand in this room, at this moment, are bound by ties of fate that neither death, nor time, nor physical form can mar, bend, break, or sever. These binding relationships may have been known to your in your former existence, which we call ‘C-ONE’, or it may have never been realized. For whatever reason, the C.O.R.E. has deemed that your prior incarnations where not suitable for the work which it had deemed you created for, and so you find yourselves here, and you must be reinserted into the appropriate multiverse and timeflow coordinates in order to begin anew.”

Controller Annui’s right index finger moves ever so slightly and she depresses something unseen on the lecturn. The bright, cheery “Ding!” of a recently arrived elevator is heard from somewhere and the wall behind Controller Annui dissolves into blurry white light, which then gives way to something that makes you blink a few times. At first, you think that your eyes are deceiving you, but despite your best attempts to turn it into something more sensible, it remains: a tiny, garishly painted and interconnected string of roller coaster cars, complete with track.

There are thirteen cars, one for each of you. Controller Annui motions with her right hand; it is a tired, well-worn and half-hearted expression. She continues staring forward as she speaks, as if she had known all along what would be lurking behind the evaporated white wall. “Please step into your assigned car, there is no need to worry, as I said you will not remember any of this; also your umbilical should provide all that you might need.”

Each of you, as if controlled by puppet strings, steps into a car: Nebiros, Jalen, Airole, Vargo, Wato, Wayne, Ory, Larris, Adauth, Ganshinji, Kalador, Roth, and Gundakar. The moment the last one steps in and sits down, the little, bizarre train zips away straight into blinding whiteness. When you again gain your sight, you are barreling down a track that is suspended in a vast sky or pure white. Wind rushes past you at such a speed as to make your heart instantly leap into your throat and to make your stomach do flip-flops; the chop-chop-chop of the wheels on the tracks threaten to rattle the teeth from your head. Like a rollercoaster ride out of the mind of a lunatic, the tiny train whips sharply up and down left and right, teetering, threatening to tip over at any moment and spill you out into the great white void that yawns around, below and above you. Here and there, far off in the void, you can make out what seem to other tiny, rickety coaster tracks, with equally rickety coasters upon them, each beating their own choppy rhythms. Up ahead, you see a switch-track, complete with an old fashioned cross arm control for determining which track is in use.

Without warning, Nebiros cackles wildly and rips his safety bar and hurls it ahead of the coaster, striking the cross arm. Ominously, the track slides to the right with a clack and the imp cackles with frenzied glee...
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OOC: Roll init, everyone!! Neb, your init may be modified by me this round... (FYI)
Also, everyone remember that you are completely naked at this moment. You have only your mark upon your arm and your umbilical...

*Jalen gives a faint scream, one that was building through all of this time, as their odd transportation begins to give way.*

*Roth, on the other hand, had been chattering with non-stop inane questions to those around him, until they stopped their ears to save their sanity. He continues his questioning monologue even in the face of possible death... again.*

"I've never seen anything like this, have you? My car is a pretty color, it's blue, yours is red, what's the color up front? You think we're going to go flying now? That would be fun, unless we fall, and that would be bad. I hope that doesn't happen. Do you think that fellow is crazy or just angry? I might be if I hadn't had lunch, which I haven't..."

OOC - Init for Jalen - 6. Init for Roth - 24.

Still cackling maniacally, the tiny fiend twisted in his car and fluttered his leathery black wings to get a better view of the other passengers. Oh no, they wouldn't be taking this imp back to hell! Not as long as he had any say in it, at least.

Rolled a 13 (is that some sort of omen?). My +7 gives me a 20.

(I'm assuming that spellcasting was allowed in line, so Adauth cast heroism before his encounter with the Snagger. I'm also assuming that Adauth can, as a swift action, activate his motivate dexterity aura and receive the benefit to Initiative. The only other person affected in Shinji, because he's the only one I know.)

Init: A whopping 11. (+2 Dex, +4 aura)

What on... This isn't good!

"Shinji, prepare yourself! I think we've attracted some unwated company! Keep an eye out and watch my back!"

Adauth's voice cuts through the sudden confusion and his companions' nattering as he is roused to sudden wariness and readiness for battle after the long stupor of the C.O.R.E. His unhesitant commands to his old friend steel both of their resolve for whatever unpleasantness might follow (in the form of a +2 inspire courage for Adauth and Ganshinji only).

Adauth keeps an eye on the maniacal imp, ready to try something if he continues to act erratically. He gives him a withering look that has been known to make experienced soldiers flee immediately (demoralize check as an MEA due to Steely Gaze).

(And then rolls a 1! Confound it! Total: 32.)

EDIT: Forgot the size modifier for Intimidate.

*Grundakar cracks his knuckles, feeling the claws brush up against each palm. He lets his tongue run against his teeth, feeling the sharp fangs that have killed more than once when needed.*

Great... First Nero disappears, I die and now I am on a fun ride of doom... Blizzard must have really wanted me dead to send me on this...

*Grundy opens up his jaw slightly, getting his breath weapon ready in case he needs it first*

- Rolled 12 + the 8 init mod makes 20 -

Edited: Because I couldn't read... *sigh* One of these days, it will happen...

Wayne is jerked in his cart as everything goes on around him. He blinks. He blinks again. He wonders when he'll wake up. He doesn't like this dream at all.

((OOC: WOOT I rolled a total of 8!! ))

Wato Q'Yar

The hair on the naked back of Wato raises when he heres a CLAK! as the Imp sitting in front of him hits the cross arm. He tries to swear but he is just to scared, not of the Imp, but of the idea of where the roller coaster is heading, without any kind of guide or permission
Wato sits on the floor of the wagon, with his eyes over the edge looking on what will happen to them next.


Init: Roll(1d20)+6:5,+6Total:11

*Milo grips on to the coasters bar so hard that his knuckles turn white. Instictively, he lowers himself as far into the seat as he can. Then he screams a loud, horrid scream that makes his throat hoarse"

Int - rolled a 2 +5 = 7

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ooc - Milo is a halfling - so I am assuming that he would be below the top of the car and most likely can not see anything