(YBA) Lovecraft in the Cathayan Tombs

[Ciaran]

Pale tendrils whip around you, binding your arms to your sides, then lift you from your feet with unnatural strength. Everything flashes past you as the vines slam you into the ground. Dazed by the impact, you can only watch as you are drawn inexorably toward the black well. As you lose consciousness, the last thing you see is the lit circle of the well mouth receding above you as you descend into perfect darkness.

 

[Ciaran]

You return to consciousness over some indeterminate length of time. A potent chemical odor leaves you groggy and nauseous, but you fight against its pull toward sleep. You are not sure how long it takes before you wrest yourself fully awake.

The next thing you notice after the smell is the pain. Streaks of burning tightness envelop your limbs, and you quickly realize that you can scarcely move. When you do stir, your whole body sways, intensifying the nausea. Sticky cables bind your arms and legs tightly, and you feel a strange slithering as other cables begin to move across your torso.

Opening your eyes reveals a low grotto, lit but dimly by an unnatural bluish radiance. Ropes… no, vines, or perhaps roots, dangle from the ceiling, and similar pale growths crawl across every stone surface. You yourself are bound in a web of these white roots. To your horror, you realize that the roots have somehow eaten through your garments, leaving them in rotted tatters, and that the burning sensation surely presages the deliquescence of your own flesh. Bones gleam in the blue light.

What do you do?

(Note: all of your items have been destroyed. Ouch.)

 

[Yellow Sign]

OOC: did the plant hit me for 3 points that round?

 

[Ciaran]

OOC: did the plant hit me for 3 points that round?

(Yes; the additional strike generated by Fist of Fury matched one of its signature moves.)

 

[Yellow Sign]

OOC: Ouch! It looks like I died from that last attack. After reading the death rules and if you lose a fight and take more that 1 point of damage from a attack your dead. That is unless you want me to die in a more terrible manner .


Well, Lovecraft tries to pull himself free from the vines that hold him.


The scorpion mangles the volcano; silences the energy of the insect!

 

[Ciaran]

You pull at the sticky web of roots, but they hold fast against your efforts. The pain in your wounds makes you gasp. Undaunted, you pull harder, applying all of your strength against your vegetable prison. Blood pounds in your brain, and the world starts a slow, vertiginous roll. Eventually, you hear a creaking noise, a crackling, and you wonder if your own muscles have started to tear under the strain.

Then the roots around your arms and shoulders give way with a snap.

Hot, dark fluid spills from the ruptured roots, scalding your abraded flesh. All around you, the pale tendrils writhe and spasm, filling the chamber with a slithering as of a thousand maddened snakes. The dim blue flow reveals no obvious exit – every available surface is webbed with roots – and from above you, you hear the rustling of vines. The sound grows steadily louder as you disentangle your legs from their bindings.

What do you do?

 

[Yellow Sign]

Dizzy and feverish from the pain, Lovecraft tries to think. He searches his person to see if he has any means to start a fire and he looks above to find the source of the buzzing. Also he tries to orient himself and remember where the exit was.

 

[Ciaran]

You tear through the rotted shreds of clothing that still hang on your body, but find nothing; whatever you might have had in your pockets has either fallen to the bone-strewn floor or been melted away by the roots' acidic secretions.

Looking up, you see a tiny circle of light far above. You remember being dragged into the well. It would seem you are in some deep underground chamber, far below the tomb you were exploring. And in that circle of light overhead, you see movement, movement that quickly resolves into the relentless squirming of vines as they wriggle down the shaft towards you like leprous white worms.

 

[Yellow Sign]

Lovecraft quickly searches around the chamber looking for a exit. Pulling the wiggling roots away as I look for any type of tunnel out of here. He will also keep looking up to check on the progress of the vines coming down the well.

 

[Ciaran]

A shadow behind the vines suggests an alcove, and opening... a tunnel! But as you approach, the roots draw themselves together, forming an impenetrable curtain that mocks your efforts to escape.

You claw at the roots, futilely at first, until you get a good grip. Then more corrosive dark fluid spurts as you rip away great handfuls of the roots. You cover your ears as an unearthly scream echoes through the chamber. Frantically, the roots tangle and untangle themselves. It might be possible to wriggle through at this point; but the roots might catch you and hold you, and even if you escape, the passage beyond is utterly lightless.

In the dull blue glow, you see the tips of the vines emerge from the opening above. They twitch like the noses of hounds seeking a scent. In a moment, they will be upon you...