D&D 5E (IC) Fitz's Folly

[FitzTheRuke]

By then Myrral had started into his tale. The severed hands crawled around him, forming a circle and they sat down on their palms as if listening to the story. The corpse-man stayed in his chair, his back to Myrral, and he took a new piece of parchment and scratched away with his quill, taking notes. Myrral realized that he was alone, and he wondered why no one had joined him, but he kept on with his story, performing it in the style of his people, with a lot of body movements that he worried his host would miss, bent over his desk.

 

[FitzTheRuke]

OOC: What does everyone else want to do? Myrral's story is not short. 1) Wait it out; 2) Break down the door (no visible lock). 3) Leave the foolish tabaxi to his fate and move along (I am kidding, but it's an option!)

 

[MetaVoid]

Ussal is still busy looking at the skulls. He seems to not notice anything untoward.
"...ninety-nine, one hundred, hundred and one..."

His tail dances left-right as he counts left-right left-right ninety(left)-nine(right)

@Neurotic what were you thinking!?

 

[FitzTheRuke]

Everyone looked around at each other in disbelief as Chrysagon crossed the hall and tugged at the now-locked door.

OOC: Chrys, Ussal, and Myrral have taken their turns. The rest of you? Anyone have any ideas?

 

[Kobold Stew]

Miss Imogen doesn't want to go into a cramped workspace, but knows it is a mistake when the door is closed, and she sees there are no handles.

"I can try to buckle the door to get in. What do we do? What is Myrral thinking?

OOC: frost-themed Mold Earth if called for, otherwise Miss I has a knocked arrow and wants something to shoot. Plain and simple, like.

 

[Prickly Pear]

C'mon! We need to open the door, shouted Chrysagon. Any lock picks around? Otherwise, I will start bashing it, he said and lifted his flail.

 

[FitzTheRuke]

Chrysagon began to pound on the door with his flail, while Miss Imogen tried to make it brittle with her cold powers. Neither was particularly effective, though they were making some progress. Inside, Myrral continued his story in spite of the thumping from outside, which was quieter than one might expect. When he finished, his host took a moment to finish writing and then said, "Thank you. Send the next one in."

And the door opened, while Myrral reminded the masked undead that they had a deal, and it was time for him to reciprocate.

OOC: Guns blazing, or when the door opens and Myrral appears fine (though surrounded in crawling claws) do you wait? The door would have eventually been broken down, but it's got a lot of HP.

 

[Kobold Stew]

OOC: We don't know enough for guns blazing, and we'd be unlikely to get a surprise round out of it in any case. I say wait and see.

 

[Neurotic]

"Don't step inside!" Myrral calls out "This one didn't tell his story."

 

[FitzTheRuke]

The masked figure stood from his desk and made a wheezing sigh, saying, "Yes, I suppose that I will tell you my tale: I am Withers, overseer of the Tomb of the Nine. Once, I was Gorrah, a humble Omuan architect. When our true Master arrived and killed the false gods, I served as lead designer on their tomb. My work so greatly pleased the Master that he blessed me with immortality, so that I may continue to serve, and to follow my own interests."

He wore an amulet shaped as a blackened skull. Now and then, the eyes of the skull would glow, and Withers paused in his speech, as if he was listening to someone speak.

Finally, he said to Myrral, "Now, leave me and send in the next speaker."

The severed hands surrounding Myrral parted after drumming their fingers on the floor in a mockery of applause.