[Planescape] Coils Within Coils
- Thread starter Shoel Sweeny
- Start date
Kafkonia
First Post
"Seems right likely," Aki agrees. "Sure wouldn't want to try taking a caravan through that." He nods towards the shimmering. "Well, best if we show ourselves present and accounted for."
He heads towards the courtyard, keeping as far from the shimmering wall of light as possible.
He heads towards the courtyard, keeping as far from the shimmering wall of light as possible.
Shoel Sweeny
First Post
Saelya & Aki, Prophayat
Now that imminent danger i, as best as can be observed by the camp, alleviated, the adventurers begin to speak in hushed and excited tones about the phenomenon just outside the outpost. The member of the Planes Militant with the clipboard, whom you now remember as Gerenbost a self-important Whte robed mage from Krynn, looks both of you over disdainfully as he checks off your names from a list.
There are eight others lounging, jabbering, or collecting their things in the courtyard, most of them barely out of their teens (or what passes for teens for the myriad of races displayed in the Primewalkers Guild) but giddy about seeing their first in-guild action. The real decision makers of the guild are staying within the center of the outpost, bouncing data off of each other as they grapple with whether or not to stay on Prophayat, partly out of recent events, and partly because there is very little of Prophayat left visible. Perhaps bored at the sudden sandstill in the action, both of your gazes drift to the dancing curtain of light and the dust and sand which whips about within. Is it just your idle imaginations, or do you see sihlouttes dancing about beyond the luminous barrier...?
[sblock]OOC:I need will saves for Aki and Saelya, toss in a +2 bonus for both of them for their obvious aversion to phenomenon. Feel free to roll your own dice or provide a link to ICastle[/sblock]
Now that imminent danger i, as best as can be observed by the camp, alleviated, the adventurers begin to speak in hushed and excited tones about the phenomenon just outside the outpost. The member of the Planes Militant with the clipboard, whom you now remember as Gerenbost a self-important Whte robed mage from Krynn, looks both of you over disdainfully as he checks off your names from a list.
There are eight others lounging, jabbering, or collecting their things in the courtyard, most of them barely out of their teens (or what passes for teens for the myriad of races displayed in the Primewalkers Guild) but giddy about seeing their first in-guild action. The real decision makers of the guild are staying within the center of the outpost, bouncing data off of each other as they grapple with whether or not to stay on Prophayat, partly out of recent events, and partly because there is very little of Prophayat left visible. Perhaps bored at the sudden sandstill in the action, both of your gazes drift to the dancing curtain of light and the dust and sand which whips about within. Is it just your idle imaginations, or do you see sihlouttes dancing about beyond the luminous barrier...?
[sblock]OOC:I need will saves for Aki and Saelya, toss in a +2 bonus for both of them for their obvious aversion to phenomenon. Feel free to roll your own dice or provide a link to ICastle[/sblock]
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nonamazing
Explorer
Meanwhile...
Ronthias and Haildon follow a quiet canyon though the Hinterlands, ever wary of any possible danger. The Master makes his way quickly through the rough terrain, leaping nimbly from rock to rock, occasionally shouting 'encouragement' at Halidon.
As dusk falls, Ronthias calls a halt, then scrambles down the side of a rock spire to stand beside his companion. "We've made good time, boy. Just ahead, around that bend, is the monastery of the Broken Turtle. There we should find my old rival, Bitter Ebony. He is an odd character, easy to offend, so be on your toes. Although he and I have never gotten along, he is a follower of the Transcendent Order, and should aid us if we are polite in the asking." Ronthias pauses. "I hope."
The monastery is unimpressive--from the outside it looks like nothing more than a vast jumbled dome of broken rocks. Inside, the thick black smoke from a massive bonfire obscures all vision. Some sort of greasy meat is being cooked in the fire. The smell of it is overpowering.
A hawk-headed humanoid tends the fire. It turns around slowly as Ronthias and Halidon enter. It glares at Ronthiasm but remains silent.
The Master bows slightly. "Ah, Bitter Ebony! I must apologize for interrupting your meditation, but I am forced to seek out the use of your great fire. My friend and I must make our way to the City of Doors."
The hawk-headed man stares at Ronthais for several awkward moments. The Master merely smiles and cocks his head to one side slightly. Finally, Bitter Ebony screechs something unintelligable and gestures angrily at the flames behind him. Ronthias bows again.
"My thanks to you. I hope your hunting continues well." Ronthias looks back over his shoulder at Halidon. "Come, student! And do not dare to hesitate for the slightest fraction of a second!" With these cryptic words, Ronthias suddenly runs forward and leaps into the fire!
Ronthias and Haildon follow a quiet canyon though the Hinterlands, ever wary of any possible danger. The Master makes his way quickly through the rough terrain, leaping nimbly from rock to rock, occasionally shouting 'encouragement' at Halidon.
As dusk falls, Ronthias calls a halt, then scrambles down the side of a rock spire to stand beside his companion. "We've made good time, boy. Just ahead, around that bend, is the monastery of the Broken Turtle. There we should find my old rival, Bitter Ebony. He is an odd character, easy to offend, so be on your toes. Although he and I have never gotten along, he is a follower of the Transcendent Order, and should aid us if we are polite in the asking." Ronthias pauses. "I hope."
The monastery is unimpressive--from the outside it looks like nothing more than a vast jumbled dome of broken rocks. Inside, the thick black smoke from a massive bonfire obscures all vision. Some sort of greasy meat is being cooked in the fire. The smell of it is overpowering.
A hawk-headed humanoid tends the fire. It turns around slowly as Ronthias and Halidon enter. It glares at Ronthiasm but remains silent.
The Master bows slightly. "Ah, Bitter Ebony! I must apologize for interrupting your meditation, but I am forced to seek out the use of your great fire. My friend and I must make our way to the City of Doors."
The hawk-headed man stares at Ronthais for several awkward moments. The Master merely smiles and cocks his head to one side slightly. Finally, Bitter Ebony screechs something unintelligable and gestures angrily at the flames behind him. Ronthias bows again.
"My thanks to you. I hope your hunting continues well." Ronthias looks back over his shoulder at Halidon. "Come, student! And do not dare to hesitate for the slightest fraction of a second!" With these cryptic words, Ronthias suddenly runs forward and leaps into the fire!
Dog Moon
Adventurer
"Glad I'm not the only one that sees that," she says.
[SBLOCK=Will Save]
Will Save (1d20+6=16)
[/SBLOCK]
[SBLOCK=Will Save]
Will Save (1d20+6=16)
[/SBLOCK]
Shoel Sweeny said:
Magnus brushes aside the momentary chill that always comes over him when he corresponds with the arcanaloth. Rerolling the vellum scroll, he lays it on the bed, takes a look at himself in the mirrors and then turns and sweeps out the door.
Leaving the Fat Candle, he moves swiftly through the merchant ward towards the gambling hall, Fortune's Wheel.
Shoel Sweeny
First Post
Mei-Ying, Sigil: Clerks Ward, Hall of Speakers
Sigil is everything you've heard, and far more then you've expected. All around you even at this late hour of the night men, women, and creatures from every concievable dream argue and hagle at the very air around them. Here a Firre eladrin holds his hands two feet apart as shadows and light dance in the air between his palms, a string of residents around him making corrections, cheers, and or disagreements as his air thin voice illustrates his new thoughts on the origion of art. Less then ten feet away two vrocks armed with stilletoes jump, lunge, and dodge twoards and away from each other; snarling and yipping the vulture demons begin to tremble as the spores buried deep inside their tainted hides begin to uproot. Three philosophers , one of them a Secundi Modron, the other two Sodkillers, prattle on about the tanarri's play dance, discussing the finer points of conflict in the grand scheme of progression of self and society. North of that and almost perched on the lower podium of Sigils great Tionia statue sits a small gnome squinting behind specatcles and handing out tracts, further inspection proves them to be descriptions of a class held in a yet to be named demiplane, expounding on the uses of seduction and addiction in the arts of torture. A hundred other sights of academia and it's practice fill the Hall of Speakers as knowledge, prayers, and blasphemies are raised and silenced moments apart. Above it all a woman in a garment that seems made from human faces calls out for individuals to "have the floor" as each one is pointed out their voice becomes suddenly and almost unbearably loud. Groups of youngsters dressed in a motley assortment of culture-crossing garmets run too and fro between the sources of these amplified voices, excitedly taking notes in chalk, in tatoo ink on themselvesl and their fellows, and some even with pen and paper.
Stuck in a state somewhere between horror and awe you're not even allowed to catch a breath as would be philosophers of all stripes attempt to pass around you, over you, and through you. It is in fact a testament to your own grace that you're able to see the off balance Buleza demon and dodge out of it's way before it falls into your path. The fact passes right over the Buleza's head as it begins to stand and passerbys give way between those near the demon and those not. The tanarri's breath is warm and fetid in the smoky air of The Cage.
You, no not you, not you, You! The fiend's sparse and mangy hair raises on it's heckles as it twists it's gaunt and muscular arm to it's back to tretrieve a massvie ranseur.
You would cause me to stumble in this pavement, you want so much to see a road sloshed with blood? I will show you then! The crowd whoops and hollars as the Buleza arcs his ranseur over his head and jams it, now red stained, into the back of the academic just to your left. The fiend gives a grunt of satisfaction as the human falls, turning ninety degrees to cut down another of it's imagined transgressors, this time a goldenhaired spirit-folk that would've held high esteem in the Courts of Shayesta back home on Arcadia. You watch in horror as the aasimar falls to it's knee's under the tanarri's blow.
hey leatherhead, this isnt' the kind of place you wanna stick around on your first day in the City, C'mon before you wind up like that poor berk
A hand grabs your arm and urges you back into the circular push of bodies and away from the carnage. The portion of the crowd oppisite to you gives way for what seems like armed and armored officers of the peace as the buleza takes out it's grievances on all it can reach. In the chaos you can't tell who is leading you on, but you have less then moments to decide if you follow or stay to see what develops.
Ronthias and Halidon, Outlands, Sigil: Clerks Ward
The flame pit flares brightly before throwing you down beside hindquarters of the Triona statue. The former official faction headquarters of the Transcendant Order stands huge and statueseque as ever only twelve blocks down, and luckily enough you've seemed to arrive at an hour befitting foot travel, as almost empty as the Cage's roads seem to be. The sounds of a large commotion temporarily draw your focus, screams and curses filter through the courtyards of the Hall of Speakers and into Sigils night air. Looking closer at the Great Gymnasium though, you can clearly see a single purpel light burning between the black marble windows in the smoke and haze of what passes for Sigils sky, someone is burning a welcome light in a terrace window of the former faction hall of the Transcendant Order.
[sblock]Magnus, Saelya, and Aki in the next post, out of time for now[/sblock]
Sigil is everything you've heard, and far more then you've expected. All around you even at this late hour of the night men, women, and creatures from every concievable dream argue and hagle at the very air around them. Here a Firre eladrin holds his hands two feet apart as shadows and light dance in the air between his palms, a string of residents around him making corrections, cheers, and or disagreements as his air thin voice illustrates his new thoughts on the origion of art. Less then ten feet away two vrocks armed with stilletoes jump, lunge, and dodge twoards and away from each other; snarling and yipping the vulture demons begin to tremble as the spores buried deep inside their tainted hides begin to uproot. Three philosophers , one of them a Secundi Modron, the other two Sodkillers, prattle on about the tanarri's play dance, discussing the finer points of conflict in the grand scheme of progression of self and society. North of that and almost perched on the lower podium of Sigils great Tionia statue sits a small gnome squinting behind specatcles and handing out tracts, further inspection proves them to be descriptions of a class held in a yet to be named demiplane, expounding on the uses of seduction and addiction in the arts of torture. A hundred other sights of academia and it's practice fill the Hall of Speakers as knowledge, prayers, and blasphemies are raised and silenced moments apart. Above it all a woman in a garment that seems made from human faces calls out for individuals to "have the floor" as each one is pointed out their voice becomes suddenly and almost unbearably loud. Groups of youngsters dressed in a motley assortment of culture-crossing garmets run too and fro between the sources of these amplified voices, excitedly taking notes in chalk, in tatoo ink on themselvesl and their fellows, and some even with pen and paper.
Stuck in a state somewhere between horror and awe you're not even allowed to catch a breath as would be philosophers of all stripes attempt to pass around you, over you, and through you. It is in fact a testament to your own grace that you're able to see the off balance Buleza demon and dodge out of it's way before it falls into your path. The fact passes right over the Buleza's head as it begins to stand and passerbys give way between those near the demon and those not. The tanarri's breath is warm and fetid in the smoky air of The Cage.
You, no not you, not you, You! The fiend's sparse and mangy hair raises on it's heckles as it twists it's gaunt and muscular arm to it's back to tretrieve a massvie ranseur.
You would cause me to stumble in this pavement, you want so much to see a road sloshed with blood? I will show you then! The crowd whoops and hollars as the Buleza arcs his ranseur over his head and jams it, now red stained, into the back of the academic just to your left. The fiend gives a grunt of satisfaction as the human falls, turning ninety degrees to cut down another of it's imagined transgressors, this time a goldenhaired spirit-folk that would've held high esteem in the Courts of Shayesta back home on Arcadia. You watch in horror as the aasimar falls to it's knee's under the tanarri's blow.
hey leatherhead, this isnt' the kind of place you wanna stick around on your first day in the City, C'mon before you wind up like that poor berk
A hand grabs your arm and urges you back into the circular push of bodies and away from the carnage. The portion of the crowd oppisite to you gives way for what seems like armed and armored officers of the peace as the buleza takes out it's grievances on all it can reach. In the chaos you can't tell who is leading you on, but you have less then moments to decide if you follow or stay to see what develops.
Ronthias and Halidon, Outlands, Sigil: Clerks Ward
The flame pit flares brightly before throwing you down beside hindquarters of the Triona statue. The former official faction headquarters of the Transcendant Order stands huge and statueseque as ever only twelve blocks down, and luckily enough you've seemed to arrive at an hour befitting foot travel, as almost empty as the Cage's roads seem to be. The sounds of a large commotion temporarily draw your focus, screams and curses filter through the courtyards of the Hall of Speakers and into Sigils night air. Looking closer at the Great Gymnasium though, you can clearly see a single purpel light burning between the black marble windows in the smoke and haze of what passes for Sigils sky, someone is burning a welcome light in a terrace window of the former faction hall of the Transcendant Order.
[sblock]Magnus, Saelya, and Aki in the next post, out of time for now[/sblock]
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Mei-Ying, startled into near insensitivity, does not resist the arm dragging her backwards for a moment. Then her wits crash back into her and she tries to pull free.
"What is this?!" she demands, for the moment forgetting decor and formality. "It commits murder on the street!"
Mei Ying twists, trying to see who her saviour is, her face pleading. "Is this not Sigil, the City of Doors?! I was told the portal would take me there! If this is one of the Lower Planes, please understand I came by mistake and let me leave!"
"What is this?!" she demands, for the moment forgetting decor and formality. "It commits murder on the street!"
Mei Ying twists, trying to see who her saviour is, her face pleading. "Is this not Sigil, the City of Doors?! I was told the portal would take me there! If this is one of the Lower Planes, please understand I came by mistake and let me leave!"
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