Deuce Traveler
Adventurer
The 25th of Yearsend Month, 1:52 AM
Sometimes dreams seem so real, like now as you dream you are in this room soaked in crimson paint and standing against your will amongst your travelling companions.
"By Lothian! What the hell hit this place!"
Dreams aren't always the enjoyable kind. This one certainly isn't, as you imagine a face from nightmares staring at you and whispering a carress in a horrid language you wish you could block from your thoughts. Its a sickly-white and hideous thing, with multiple eyes on a bald head, tendrils that fall from the side of its face like bizarrely-placed dreadlocks, and mandibles in the place of teeth. The language continues, telling you not to move... to stand caked as you are in guts and blood. Your mind rebels and tries to wake from this nightmare, but instead your dream is twisted and you remember happier times such as sharing drinks with your companions.
It was one happy night, when you were drinking with your companions, that a man walked in to the tavern. He wanted you to take a job, and offered you quite a bit of money. He wanted you to investigate... something. Said your reputations preceded you. You try to remember his face, and realize he's hiding something, but the pays good and... why can't you remember his face?
"These three are dead. Mutilated. Who could have done this? Let's head upstairs. It looks like the fighting continued up there."
You remember a nightmare in which you were stepping into some kind of field where the investigation was supposed to start. But it was in the city, wasn't it? Or was it outside, or under? Some monks walked towards you and threw off their robes, showing weapons underneath and came at you, but you slew their leader and began to rout the others. That's when the others came out to attack you, half-naked men that smelled of filth and creatures that looked like demons. It was a trap. An ambush. Blackness comes and the nightmare is thankfully over.
You hear footsteps, then someone throws up. "I wish I had never seen such evil. What have they done to these bodies? And why did they paint the walls like this? Back away, men, we don't want to tangle with the likes of these devils. Davies, go get reinforcements. Davies! Snap out of it and get! Good lad!"
You are bound, while men in robes chant around you. A creature with a hideous face full of mandibles stands amongst them, arms raised and your past nightmare and the current one seem to blend and mesh together. You want this nightmare to end, but instead can only watch as they cut the creature along the chest and collect the ichor from the wound in a large pan. They mix the ichor with other ingredients that you thankfully cannot quite see, but then hands force your mouth open and a cup is held in front of your lips. Realization hits you. You scream and try to fight, but all that comes out is a gurgle as the liquid reaches your throat and your mind begins to grow dull. Hands clamp your mouth closed and once more your vision fades to darkness. But you are no longer alone. A voice whispers in your mind in a language both ancient and hideous. And there are two other voices, garbled in your memory.
"I know you want to use them soon, but the brainwashing will not be complete. Our ally has said he may lose control of them and that there is risk."
"Yes, but our situation is getting desparate and we have to move against the knights now. Besides, the control only has to last long enough for them to do their job. Once our little group of assassins here completes their task, they will be arrested. And then they won't last the night because so many adventurers that loved Kaira and her companions will be out to make sure of that. Vigilante justice is swift, and who will believe anything these Tarsisians say?"
"They aren't moving? It's like they're in a trance. Blokes are probably worn out after the slaughter here or are on something. Tillian and Mitch, try to manacle a couple of them and let's see what happens. Maybe they won't give us no trouble."
This last dream seems more pleasant, but you know already how it ends. You struggle to snap out of it, your mind not wanting to see this one to the finish. Kaira Swanwing and the rest of her companions seem puzzled by your visit, but she welcomes you with a smile. After all, you and your companions have done good things for the city. You say all the right things and smile at the right times. Still, you are not yourselves and the gathered knights of the Golden Cross soon become suspicious and reach for their weapons. But they were having an informal meeting, and were not prepared for battle being unarmored and unequipped for the slaughter to come. Three die outright, and the rest you follow through the house. Kaira is the last to fall, and she does not die well; she looks at you with tears and asks the one question that rages through your mind: "Why?"
You and your companions begin to tear strips of cloth from the fallen, then proceed to butcher their bodies. You then soak the rags and approach the walls so that you may put the symbols of Destor on the walls and disgrace the golden cross that hangs near. Mentally you buck again, and you feel your companions doing the same through some kind of mental rapport held together by the whispering creature. It tries to soothe you in its language, then begs, then threatens, but the more you can feel the struggles of your companions the harder you yourself fight. There is a scream of rage, then you feel that your mind is yours once more and the beast along with the mental link is gone.
"Back off, they're looking right at us! I think they've come to!" Your eyes snap to see two members of the city watch backing away from you in fear, manacles in their hands. Their fear, the red-soaked walls painted in the full moons and hour glass symbols of Destor, the mutilated bodies beneath you, and yourself and your companions covered in caking blood; you hope this is a dream, but this feels both too real and at the same time a reality you wish nothing more to deny.
"Oh, too hell with these murdering scum! Draw swords and take no prisoners!" A city watch captain yells as ten blades are unseathed and surround you and your companions.
----
Morty: You've used a summon monster V and summon monster iii.
Percival: You've used a ray of enfeeblement
Sometimes dreams seem so real, like now as you dream you are in this room soaked in crimson paint and standing against your will amongst your travelling companions.
"By Lothian! What the hell hit this place!"
Dreams aren't always the enjoyable kind. This one certainly isn't, as you imagine a face from nightmares staring at you and whispering a carress in a horrid language you wish you could block from your thoughts. Its a sickly-white and hideous thing, with multiple eyes on a bald head, tendrils that fall from the side of its face like bizarrely-placed dreadlocks, and mandibles in the place of teeth. The language continues, telling you not to move... to stand caked as you are in guts and blood. Your mind rebels and tries to wake from this nightmare, but instead your dream is twisted and you remember happier times such as sharing drinks with your companions.
It was one happy night, when you were drinking with your companions, that a man walked in to the tavern. He wanted you to take a job, and offered you quite a bit of money. He wanted you to investigate... something. Said your reputations preceded you. You try to remember his face, and realize he's hiding something, but the pays good and... why can't you remember his face?
"These three are dead. Mutilated. Who could have done this? Let's head upstairs. It looks like the fighting continued up there."
You remember a nightmare in which you were stepping into some kind of field where the investigation was supposed to start. But it was in the city, wasn't it? Or was it outside, or under? Some monks walked towards you and threw off their robes, showing weapons underneath and came at you, but you slew their leader and began to rout the others. That's when the others came out to attack you, half-naked men that smelled of filth and creatures that looked like demons. It was a trap. An ambush. Blackness comes and the nightmare is thankfully over.
You hear footsteps, then someone throws up. "I wish I had never seen such evil. What have they done to these bodies? And why did they paint the walls like this? Back away, men, we don't want to tangle with the likes of these devils. Davies, go get reinforcements. Davies! Snap out of it and get! Good lad!"
You are bound, while men in robes chant around you. A creature with a hideous face full of mandibles stands amongst them, arms raised and your past nightmare and the current one seem to blend and mesh together. You want this nightmare to end, but instead can only watch as they cut the creature along the chest and collect the ichor from the wound in a large pan. They mix the ichor with other ingredients that you thankfully cannot quite see, but then hands force your mouth open and a cup is held in front of your lips. Realization hits you. You scream and try to fight, but all that comes out is a gurgle as the liquid reaches your throat and your mind begins to grow dull. Hands clamp your mouth closed and once more your vision fades to darkness. But you are no longer alone. A voice whispers in your mind in a language both ancient and hideous. And there are two other voices, garbled in your memory.
"I know you want to use them soon, but the brainwashing will not be complete. Our ally has said he may lose control of them and that there is risk."
"Yes, but our situation is getting desparate and we have to move against the knights now. Besides, the control only has to last long enough for them to do their job. Once our little group of assassins here completes their task, they will be arrested. And then they won't last the night because so many adventurers that loved Kaira and her companions will be out to make sure of that. Vigilante justice is swift, and who will believe anything these Tarsisians say?"
"They aren't moving? It's like they're in a trance. Blokes are probably worn out after the slaughter here or are on something. Tillian and Mitch, try to manacle a couple of them and let's see what happens. Maybe they won't give us no trouble."
This last dream seems more pleasant, but you know already how it ends. You struggle to snap out of it, your mind not wanting to see this one to the finish. Kaira Swanwing and the rest of her companions seem puzzled by your visit, but she welcomes you with a smile. After all, you and your companions have done good things for the city. You say all the right things and smile at the right times. Still, you are not yourselves and the gathered knights of the Golden Cross soon become suspicious and reach for their weapons. But they were having an informal meeting, and were not prepared for battle being unarmored and unequipped for the slaughter to come. Three die outright, and the rest you follow through the house. Kaira is the last to fall, and she does not die well; she looks at you with tears and asks the one question that rages through your mind: "Why?"
You and your companions begin to tear strips of cloth from the fallen, then proceed to butcher their bodies. You then soak the rags and approach the walls so that you may put the symbols of Destor on the walls and disgrace the golden cross that hangs near. Mentally you buck again, and you feel your companions doing the same through some kind of mental rapport held together by the whispering creature. It tries to soothe you in its language, then begs, then threatens, but the more you can feel the struggles of your companions the harder you yourself fight. There is a scream of rage, then you feel that your mind is yours once more and the beast along with the mental link is gone.
"Back off, they're looking right at us! I think they've come to!" Your eyes snap to see two members of the city watch backing away from you in fear, manacles in their hands. Their fear, the red-soaked walls painted in the full moons and hour glass symbols of Destor, the mutilated bodies beneath you, and yourself and your companions covered in caking blood; you hope this is a dream, but this feels both too real and at the same time a reality you wish nothing more to deny.
"Oh, too hell with these murdering scum! Draw swords and take no prisoners!" A city watch captain yells as ten blades are unseathed and surround you and your companions.
----
Morty: You've used a summon monster V and summon monster iii.
Percival: You've used a ray of enfeeblement
[/sblock]
