"what? Wait no!"
"But there's problem..", responds a more bestial voice. "Sounds like a riot."
"I realize this. Just help me secure this one first. His resistance to the drugs is remark-"
There is a faint sound which becomes an unmuffled roar, and then faint again as the door slams shut.
"Gah... curse this weak frame and curse those battle-starved orcs leaving me with -"
A winged man with dark hair falls to the ground as he dropped. Aemon opens his eyes.. still weak.
"Oh dear... Frollum!?... anyone there?!"
The figure speaking comes into focus. He is a small blue humanoid.. he is slightly bug-eyed with a nervous gaze. White wisps of hair float above his ears. He is wearing a white jacket as well as a dark leather apron and gloves.
The room is windowless.. made of stone block but with a glossy dark upside-down dome ceiling. There are several tables, and odd iron large.. torture devices? On the tables are cylindrical jars of different sizes. Several look like animal babies with stubs of wings on their back. Two others in liquid-filled jars, are small blue humanoids with little more than stubs themselves. There appear to be more out of view.
There is one steel door toward which the small blue humanoid is pleading for assistance.
It is after you see the door, and the blue figure inching timidly toward it, that you see your gear in a grate-faced cabinet against the far wall.
Ǽmon glances around the room, trying to take in any other details he missed during his first glance.
What is going on? Am I bound, or just drugged? What is this creature? Is he evil? Is there any light in here, or can these things see in the dark too? Who is he talking to? If there are more out there, how many are there. Damn! Why can't I think straight. I feel so weak... Need to... concentrate.
Ǽmon looks at the creature, gazing into its metaphysical self; that part that becomes stained... blackened with every evil deed.
The creature radiates a faint aura of evil.
You are not bound. A metal frame with straps sits behind you... it seems the little blue figure had been attempting to strap you in, but dropped you.
You remember it was night... you saw moving flames like people running with torches. You swooped down to investigate, and the last thing you remember was being hit by a force like an ogre punch.
"Ju- just lie... lie still.. just stay there and I will get some help. Fine? Don't move." he starts to inch closer to the door. Though some of the cylindrical tanks of liquid and mutated forms do give off a slight glow, the only real illumination in the room is a lantern on the table in the center of the room.
Other recently obtained captives occupy the nearby holding cells... awaiting their time with the notable of this ward. The orc jailer who has been less than brutal with the elf, human, and particularly the human's wolf companion, has told them the derro they are about to see is known as the Grafter.
A dull roar echoing through the dimly lit hall has grown. First one, then another of the orc jailers rush off to see what is transpiring. Moments later, a third rushes by... one you had not previously seen. He is moving as quickly as he can while lashing on a spiked shield.
A closer - but still muffled voice now echoes through the now empty hall. A voice calling for help from someone named Frollum.
Evrail rubs his neck a bit, after having been thrown in the cell. He watches as the orcs ran by before looking out his bars to see if he can see anything. Not being able to see much because of the cell he yells out to the voice that he can barely hear.
"I do not know who you are looking for but if it was one of the guards they ran off." At that he yells again having heard someone thrown in the cell next to him. "Hey neighbor you doing alright over there?"
Evrail had run into trouble when assisting with breaking up what seemed to be a normal orc versus half-orc fracas near the orc settlement in the Black Arrow domain.
As he was trying to hold back the orc - one which had been one of the loudest voices encouraging violence, it morphed into a larger, more fluid form. The next thing he knew, he was in a chokehold he could not break, and blacked out soon after.
Ǽmon moves his limbs a touch to see how much strength he has in his weakened body. However strong he is though, he makes every effort to look worse,slumping and failing intentionally at whatever he tries; to try and put the creature at ease.
I think my strength is coming back... but slowly. I need to buy time!
Aemon and the small blue man hear the response from the hall outside to calling for Frollum. The little man glances back at the grating-faced cabinet where quite a bit of gear is stored, his hand starts to reach into a pouch of his apron... but then he looks back at Aemon, and changes his mind.
"Mmm... you might be terribly weak for quite some time... better if you just lie still. Very important work here, fellow. I.. I will be right back." He then moves to the table, and grabs the lantern. He starts to make his way to the back of the room - among the large tanks... taking the only light in the room with him.
When Evrail and Anumil were brought to this wing, they passed two swinging iron gates. They were escorted in manacles by one jailer with a firm grip, and another which carried the gear the two each had been carrying when taken.
Now, as the third orc jailer's footsteps fade, they hear the the two gates creak as they swing, but hear only one latch.
The sounds of large-scale pandemonium remains distant... the screams increase in frequency.
Evrail turns at the sounds coming from where the guards were heading to. He wondered to himself what was going on and hoping that whatever it was, it was not going to end badly for some people. With that he looks around again attempting to see if he can make out whoever it was that was calling out earlier, as he wanted to see if the man in the cell next to him would answer his question.
Anumil's mind drifted as he rested, trying to throw off the lingering effects of what he supposed must have been a drug of some kind. How had he been dosed? He had no memory of eating or drinking for hours before he had tried to take the ferry across the damned river...
Then he heard someone speaking and his eyes opened. There was some kind of commotion in the distance, and he saw one of the guards dash by.
He got up stiffly and stepped to the barred door. What had the voice said?
"Hey neighbor you doing alright over there?"
"What? Oh. Yes, I am well for the moment." He replied, in a rich Taldan accent. "And yourself?
"Ah! Where are my manners! Allow me to introduce myself. I am Anumil Rythen, late of his Imperial Majesties service. Who might I have the honour of addressing?" He almost clicked his heels at that, but elected not to considering the circumstances.He slowly stretched his muscles in a basic fencing excercise, then felt around his belt and pockets; yes his equipment was still gone.
More alert now, he grasped the bars of his cell and tested them while peeking outside. He wasn't sure who this "The Grafter" was, but he felt it would be a good idea to avoid it.
"Doing okay, just wondering what is going on here." He looks around a bit before going back to speaking to Anumil. "I am Evrail Isen. Hey my friend should be in the cell next to yours can you tell if he is doing okay? Yes he is a wolf." Evrail says waiting to see if Anumil can tell him about Feredir.
The walls between the cells are solid stone. As Evrail speaks, you both hear the answer... happy canine panting, which you can imagine comes with a wagging tail upon hearing the voice of his companion.
You then hear a slight creak of the gates to the north, then the click of a latch opening. This is followed by the creak of the second gate and fading footsteps, but no sound of it latching shut.
-- -- -- -- --
Aemon is left in the dark. Just a nearly imperceptible blue glow from the cylindrical tanks in the back of the room. After a few moments his eyes start to adjust, and his strength continues to come back to him.
Evrail nods before speaking out "That answers my question." He turns as he hears the gate and the latch before speaking to Anumil again. "Do you hear that to Anumil or is it just mean?"
"Yes, I heard it." He pulls hard on the barred door.
"I just wish I could take advantage of it." He yanks hard on it again, trying to find a weakness or bending point. A few flakes of rust even!
Yet again you hear the north gate unlatch, creak, slam shut, and latch. Then the second creaks... you hear the footsteps and a whimpering voice.
"Oh its no use... no use.. we are all dead. "
"Oh glutrandle ferochil gromal... denk crik... Jailers and captives all dying... dying... too many breaks in the stone..."
The sounds of fighting and screams beyond the gates to the north continue to gradually increase in volume.
"Burrowing burning skeletons... we're dead."
By the glow of the speaker's lantern, you suspect he is just 5 or 10 feet out of your line of sight (to the north)
You hear the "All dead!" about 30 seconds after he leaves.
Your strength has completely returned.
Anumil presses against the bars of his cell.
"Hey! HEY!" He calls out in Common. "What is wrong? If you free us, maybe we could help!"
Evrail starts to yell the same as Anumil attempting to get the person's attention.
"What?! Hmm? Others were waiting to seee me..." You see the light come closer... Anumil sees the figure's back. "A wolf?"
There is then a faint "pre-growl" sound. "Not you.. not you"
A small blue face pops in front of Anumil's cell. He is bald with white drooping tufts of hair over his ears. He is wearing a white coat, and dark leather gloves and apron. He carries a lantern in his hand, and is about 3 feet from the bars.
"Hmm Elf?... Halfsie? One who fights? Something special or would not be here I would think..." He speaks quickly, and cringes at every nearing scream.
"Oh another, yes?" He ducks his head and lantern over to inspect Evrail.
Anumil nods and smiles. Would this be the 'Grafter'? And what manner of race is it?
"Hello. Yes, I can fight and fight very well."
You recognize the creature race as derro. They are an underground race... notoriously insane. Known to abduct people, and bring them to their lairs for dark experiments. From what you have heard of them, you would not expect this scale of operation.. (a well-constructed complex, sturdy cells of solid stone blocks... orc jailers?)
"Good fighter you likely are... useful items brought in with you for me to inspect yes?" He has a conflicted look on his face as if it had been a better idea when he first thought than now... "But a fighter's things... little use to me."
He starts to reach into the pouch in his apron. "Know this... I let you out is not certain life. You go wrong way and die. No hate in my heart for you... I create. But I can cripple you for life quick as drawn sword." He pulls out a ring of keys... a half-dozen large keys, and a few smaller keys.
-- --
You then hear a pained bestial voice "This... is.."
The orcish voice is interrupted by a male human, speaking with an affected sneering superior tone. "The Grafter's wing? You had better be telling the truth... "
The assumed Grafter whispers "bah-loom", and the lantern he is holding goes out. He tries to get the right key quietly, but finds he needs to set down the lantern first.
The bestial voice speaks again "Maybe not here... his wing, but may have fled..."
"Just... open the gate."
There is the faint sound of keys rustling, then hitting the ground and sliding.
"Foolish.."
The orc screams in pain.
"Do you think me so helpless that I am incapable of retrieving a ring of keys a mere dozen feet from my reach?"
The orc continues to scream, and you start to smell burning flesh.
The Grafter turns the key in Anumil's lock with a slight click, and moves to do the same for Evrail.
You hear everything above after the "-- --", you also have had about 6 rounds of actions of sufficient strength to function.
Once the blue creature leaves, Ǽmon gets quickly to his feet, unsteadily at first, but then with increasing stability as his strength continues to return.
He looks around the room again, taking note of anything that might pose a threat, or perhaps be useful in helping with an escape.
He moves to the rack that contains his gear, checking to see if it secured, or just set loosely upon the shelves as it initially appeared. If the gear is free, he begins to strap himself back into his armour as quickly as possible.
Anumil carefully pushes the cell door open, trying not to make any more noise than absolutely neccessary.
For a moment, he eyes the blue creature with an eye towards jumping him, but shakes his head. The little guy hadn't actually done anything to him after all.
"My weapons. Where are they?" He asked quietly. "The... fighter things?"
At the same time he tries to keep track of where the shouting voices are at.
Evrail walks out after he is sent free looking at the blue person in front of him with a wary look before speaking "Hey can you let me buddy out to? He is useful to." With that he turns to look at Anumil waiting for his question to be answered, so he can regain his equipment as well.
The cabinet has a locked metal mesh facing. With a little time you could probably break it open, but not quietly.
Very quickly looking for a key, you find sketches on the northeast desk. They look like wings similar to yours, and the musculature of the base of the wings and where they attach on the back. No keys
Center table.. small jars.. several vials a little larger than most potions.. No keys
The orc's howls of pain end.
The Grafter whispers and gestures south "Come... to your weapons." He starts to move on.. going past the cell where Evrail was held. He stops and looks at the half-elf with an irritated look, then quickly tiptoes over unlocking the cell without a sound. As he turns back you hear - past him, "estako" and the sound of keys sliding across stone.
Ǽmon looks around again, trying to find a key, or something that will allow him access to his gear.
Anumil follows, trying to be quiet.
Evrail follows the duo, attempting to keep quiet as he can, as he saw the other two doing. He thinks to himself about how odd this day has been.
Feredir exits the cage, and moves to Evrail's side. Anumil bumps one of the cage doors letting the wolf pass. This causes a slight creak... You hear the jangle of keys from the north, and the sound of someone trying the lock.
At the same time - coming from the direction the Grafter is leading you, there is the sound like a metal cage being dropped.
The Grafter quickens his pace again, and turns left to a barred door at the end of a short hallway. He lifts the bar to the door.
The voice from the north speaks loudly; making certain to be heard. "Would that be the derro for which I am looking that I hear? You need not hide... I am only here for your research. In fact... I don't believe I even really need you... "
You find no key. With a couple strong tugs on the grate, you pop the weak lock on the cabinet. It does make some sound, but it could have been worse.
With the sounds of some crisis about to crash in through his door, Ǽmon makes haste getting his gear ready. Instead of engaging in the time consuming process of getting into his plate, he throws on his armoured coat before buckling on his sword. He makes sure his armour is secured within his backpack and then straps on his shield, turning to face the source of the commotion with his weapons ready.
The Grafter opens the door, and is startled by something in the dark. All you see is a silhouette of a winged figure against the blue glow of many large metal framed glass tanks at the back of the room.
The Grafter whispers "Ah-loom", and his lantern lights. In the light, Evrail and Anumil see an armored dark-haired man with white wings and striking blue eyes. The little blue Grafter holds up his hands defensively...
"No no don't fight me! Fight coming!"
They also see the cabinet to their left. It is filled with backpacks and some loose gear, vials, and bottles.
Upon seeing multiple men entering the room in the company of his jailer, the winged man drops into a defensive posture, his shield held prominently to the front and his sword held high, tip towards his potential enemies.
Evrail sees a winged figure just raises an eyebrow "Do not see that everyday. You can attack later, something worse going on outside." With that he goes to his gear getting his weapons ready because if those screams were any sign things were getting bad fast.
Having his own gear secured, Ǽmon backs away from the locker, but never drops his guard. However, if their gear was in the locker as well...
"Are you prisoners or guards?"
"Prisoners." Is Evrail's answer to the man's questions as he goes about looking over his equipment.
Anumil sketches a bow before the exotic winged guy.
"Anumil Rythen, at your service." He glances back over his shoulder, looking for the intruders. "We should get ready. Whoever this is seems to enjoy killing; even his own men."
Unless intercepted, he will go over and grab his own equipment.
"You are right... that is a clone of Magnus Horth. His burning dead burrow, and can see light through many feet of earth. They cannot burrow through worked stone or metal. My master Migthwet has refused to join forces with Horth, and we will pay the price while Migthwet hides in safety. " He turns to Evrail and Anumil as they equip their gear.
"The Eclipse is here... The mindwiper is dead. Without his ease of erasing memories, many factions have come into the light to vie for the power available. War has come, and you stepped into the middle of it."
You hear the gate creak to the north "After you... entirely too much stone in here wouldn't you say? Would you mind smashing a block or two for me?"
The Grafter scoots to the north of the room where the large tanks are. "This is what he is after." He drags his chair over, and climbs on top. He starts turning a valve on one of the tanks until there is a click. He steps down while the liquid inside the tank empties. Inside you see a blond elven female with small wings on her back.
Ǽmon regards the Grafter coldly, searching for the truth of his soul, then doing the same regarding the winged elf.
Buckling on his sword belt, Anumil gives a double take at the appearance of the elven female.
"What is... Who is that?" He asked, fascinated.
The Grafter shrugs, and responds "Some sea elf... some aasimar. There is a world that is lost to us. The only path available to us is through the Plane of Water. We instilled in her a way to emulate divine power without the aid of a god. Unfortunately somehow... that divine power within her led to a true divine connection."
As the liquid empties. she slumps... the Grafter helps her to the chair, and starts gently slapping her face. "We could not have down here the eyes and ears of a god unsympathetic to our cause. I will lead you from here if you take her to Doyle's Run. The mayor will help you."
Out of view to the north, you hear the sound of a large hammer smashing into rock. The sound changes slightly with each strike as the stone floor breaks apart.
"The duergar of the Cruel Citadel have joined him... I don't know who else. The door here leads to an orc settlement northwest of town. We must move quickly." He points to the south, then looks to see how the three released captives are coming along with their gear.
The Grafter emits a faint evil... the winged sea elf does not radiate evil.
Ǽmon warily sheaths his sword and takes the unconscious elf maiden into his arms. He indicates the door with his chin, signalling that he is ready to move.
"This day just keeps getting weirder and weirder." With that he readies his weapons as he starts to move leaving the winged elven woman to the other winged person, while they attempt to get out of this place.
Nodding in agreement, Anumil turns his attention from the girl back to business; he slings his pack on and slaps a bolt into his crossbow.
With that, he nods to the others.
He is ready.
The pounding stops.
The derro Grafter hurriedly reaches into the cabinet, and empties a vial of chunky blue jelly-like globs into his mouth. He then reaches into a mundane-looking folder and palms two wands... which he stuffs behind his apron. "Through this door and then the next." He opens the first door, then tiptoes to the one just south of it.
As you come out Feredir immediately growls... a greyish unarmored dwarf in bare feet is coming to you from the west... wielding a quarterstaff. "I were right! There a back door to the wing, sir! He tryin ta scoot!"
The grey dwarf stops just under the torch. He swings his quarterstaff against the wall to display his might. It hits like a sledgehammer... cracking the stone.
"You stop right there, or I bash you one good."
You do not see the duergar, and he does not see you. This gives you time to start setting down the girl, and arm yourself while he delivers his threat. Or whatever you care to do... point is he doesn't know you are there.
Round 1____
Anumil sketches a salute.
"So sorry; must dash. We send our regrets."
He levels his crossbow and fires at the grey dwarf.
for a possible piercing damage.
Then he discards the crossbow with a sigh. "I do not know why I even bother."
He draws his sword with a metallic hiss and assumes a point first stance, ready to attack or defend.
Evrail just looks at the dwarven man before pulling out his bow to fire at the man, figuring that with such tight quarters and a bit of a distance between them might be best to use it. As he readies his bow he sees that Anumil is doing the same.