115 HP MAX 115 HP 108 EN MAX 108 EN Cyriac had returned from his pointless examination of the other route, having seen nothing. It was expected, really. He made his way along with the group after rejoining them, eyes peeled for tripwires and the like in their path - even the most basic traps might spell doom for their party, after all. Thankfully, nothing of the sort was encountered, and they proceeded without issue. When they arrived at the clearing, though, Cyriac would examine the place carefully. A lot of vases...tons of them. It looked like a china shop. And then it hit him. "The patrol is transporting the vases from here to...wherever they took it. Which means that..." That Ms. Magpie was right and going straight ahead would have most likely led them to the right place. Oh well, they could backtrack if needed. Also, he wasn't going to say that out loud, are you crazy? But other than that, there was the fact that these vases were valuable. Or at least, the intact ones were valuable. He moved towards the second cell, holding the sleeve of his clothes to his nose to ward off the scent of death and putrefaction. It wasn't too effective, but it helped. He began breathing through his mouth, trying not to let his nose suffer from the stench. "...they're going to return soon. Pace yourself, folks." He examined the goatman in the cell, and even a brief glance made him avert his eyes. Horrible stuff, to the point he almost felt the bile rise in his throat. It helped that the dimness of the cave hid most of the more gruesome aspects, and he wasn't going to examine too closely. Or at least, not right now. "I'm thinking this man's a dissenter among the goatmen...poor devil." He tested the lock on the cell. It rattled, indicating that it was locked. Well, obviously. He slipped his hand into his pocket, bringing out a single lockpick. Hey, this was why people even paid rogues their keep in the first place, so they could pass whatever traps, hazards, and barriers people erect to protect their secret. He hoped his teammates would look around for anything else, like say the third cell, or perhaps why all the vases were placed outside. Before he got to work earnestly on the lock, he quickly glanced around, trying to see if this room would lead to another: if this was a dead end, they'd need to backtrack. After giving a casual look for that, he kneeled before the door, placing the Brotherhood's Box (which he shall name as Boxie, for ease of reference both in thought and in speech) down, readying his pick and tension bar, and blotting out all the noise and hubbub the others made as he tried to jiggle the mechanism. This was delicate stuff, of course, and he can't afford to try and pick the same lock twice. First time's the charm. Action Summary: Cyriac searches off-handedly for the exit of the place, whether it exists or not. He then gets down to business trying to pick the second cell's lock.
116 HP MAX 121 HP 113 EN MAX 113 EN Sean had thought he was going to get caught. He was probably done for. However, one of his teammates' quick thinking saved him. They jumped on him and made him not there at all. As they got up, Sean also stood. His back was still aching a small bit, but he could deal with it. He turned to the one who saved him and bowed. "Thank you! I'll be sure to repay you somehow!" He turned to the corner and shrugged. "Let's go, I guess." Sean expected a crying goatman needing a nice talk, not a jail. He suddenly got a sinking feeling in his gut. "What the...?" He looked at the three cells. One had a rotting corpse that was giving off the smell of a thousand farts, one had a crying pot, and the other some random movement, most likely some indistinguishable figure. He watched as the one who saved him went over to the cell with the pot in it. I also have to take action, I need to set an example! Sean began to run straight forward for a moment, but stopped and pondered something. Corpse or indistinguishable figure? Corpses are disgusting as hell, but the figure could kill me... The corpse is safer, while I can avoid the smell if I go to the figure... If I get into trouble, I can just stab the figure... Indistinguishable figure. Sean took out his shortsword and slowly approached the cage. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt you..." He whispered to the figure, trying to get it calmed before he reached it. As he reached the cage, he stopped a good foot or two from it and checked to see if his magical ring was on. He confirmed it was on and flicked his hand, sending a small ball of fire into the cage to light it up and allow him to see what the creature is. Unknown shadow thing, reveal yourself! Action Summary: Sean approaches Cage 3 and sends a light source in to uncover what is inside.
105 HP MAX 105 HP 100 EN MAX 100 EN Faced with yet another choice, it seemed. As his three companions broke off, evidently confident in their decided actions, he remained at the entrance to the long corridor. Each cell drew him closer, called to him in one way or another. The second, especially, fascinated him. The stink of the rotting flesh hung heavy in the suffocating heat, but Chaol schooled his face into an expression of disinterest. Were he to openly react to the smell, it might give off some sense of weakness. Besides, mind over matter - if he told himself the scent was not a bad one, eventually, it would not even phase him anymore. But this was a quest, in a game, written by creative masterminds. Would a mastermind merely want him to go investigate the cells? Or were they a misdirection? The black haired young man let a small smile quirk his lips. No, he could be smarter than that. The urge to check out the cell still nagged at him, but it was satiated when he noticed Cyriac kneeling before it. Good. Let him cover that territory, while Chaol did some searching of his own. Long strides carried Chaol to the remains of the shattered vases. Slowly, carefully, he eased himself down to the ground. Then, mindful of the sharp edges, he began to pick through the pieces. The various colors stood out to him, vibrant among the plain colors of the dirt ground. "I wonder if these colors are significant," he mused aloud. It was tempting to continue playing detective all by himself, but as he shifted through the broken pottery, he realized that he was setting himself apart as a sort of loner. Was that the best move, this early in the game? With this on his mind, he twisted to face Cyriac. His fingers still sifted the pieces, but his gaze, and attention, remained on the other player. "Dissenter makes sense," he agreed. "Doesn't look like they have much sympathy or tolerance for that sort of thing." Action Summary: Chaol investigates the broken vases.
Cycle 4 @Sean Poteitoku The moment you commanded the ball of light to cast its radiance on the dark abyss that was the third cell, a loud crash can be heard as the monster behind the bars continuously threw itself against the iron frame of the prison, its voice hoarse and ferocious. From what detail your eyes were able to pick up, you could see that it was a Goatman with sharp claws and fangs, which were rather untypical. The eyes that stared back into your soul were completely blank and devoid of sanity. Thankfully, the thick bars kept the beast from leaping onto your and tearing you apart. Its overreaching arms appeared rather thin, its fur: ragged, all the hints indicated that it had been imprisoned for a long time, kept barely alive by what little ration the warden had been giving it. @Cyriac Felix The old lock was crude, providing some challenge your novice-level lock picking skill, however, you were able to open it with persistence and time on your hands. Opening the door into the cell spread filled the entire prison complex with the scent of the decomposed Goatman. If you couldn’t tolerate the stench your body would have been overwhelmed by nausea, plaguing all of your subsequent movement with sluggishness as you explored the cell, in which there was no exist but the entrance. If you spent some time to investigate the corpse, you would have noticed some scratches on the ground written in a language completely foreign to you, the language of the Goatmen, you figured. @Chaol Most of the pottery appeared to be broken or smashed, your most significance finding seemed to be that there was not a single gold or silver colored vase among them. If you tipped one of the upright vases onto its side some ethereally blue sand would pour out from within before being swept away by a gentle breeze. That was when you realized that there was another path branching out from the prison complex. @Ms. Magpie You could not come near the talking silver vase because of the locked door. As such, you beckoned for its attention outside the cell. The vase responded, its voice strangely hollow. When you noticed that the mouth of the vase was glowing a cyan color every time the voice was heard, you confirmed that the vase was indeed speaking. "Hello, please, you have to get me out of here… the Goatmen… they are sacrificing us in droves for some nefarious purpose. Our people are often referred to as Arkalis, in our culture, powerful magic users are often stored in these vases against their will, which allows the living to use our power whenever they please. I can’t remember how I got here, but if you can somehow free me from this vase without smashing it, I will help you on your quest, heroes. Please!” Hub & Template | Trackers | Communication | Rolls Currently, you can continue to explore the prison area, travel back to where you came from (also where the Goatmen went), or continue forward on the path leading beyond the prison. What do you do? @Ms. Magpie @Chaol @Sean Poteitoku @Cyriac Felix
115 HP MAX 115 HP 108 EN MAX 108 EN Cyriac didn't make it. Going to the corner of the cell, he took a minute to regurgitate Juliette's cookies and milk, but nothing more than a bit. Thank goodness he hadn't eaten too much! When he was done, he still felt pretty darned sick, but it just left him with a queasy feeling in his gut. Slowed, but not stopped. He hoped nobody noticed that minor lapse in stoicism. Once he was done, however, he pressed the sleeve of his clothes against his nose and firmly examined the place. Sure, he felt sick to his bones but that won't stop him! The writing on the floor was of special interest - a condemned Goatman's last words? A confession? Is a secret written out to spite his jailors? He studied the text carefully. Completely foreign, but he still noted it down, memorizing glyphs and words. His Human capacity might let him at least recognize similar writing should it be encountered elsewhere. Other than that, he could not understand anything. He straightened up and sighed. Vases, they had found vases. It seems the vases could hear and speak, but could they see, or read? An idea, an inkling of an idea, formed in his mind... He left the cell and sighed, wiping his mouth. "Y'all need lockpicking, call me. I just need a bit o' fresh air..." Well, relatively fresh air, as compared to being mere feet away from the stinking corpse. He examined the broken and empty vases, as well as the blue dust. He decided then that this place was critical to the Goatmen. "We're not leaving yet, folks." That imprisoned Goatman, if he could be restrained and threatened into working for them, might help with the reading and translation. Otherwise, they could always try to kill him through the bars of the door to check his cell. As for the first cell with the vases...he let that be handled by Ms. Magpie. Magic wasn't his forte, not at all, and he'd rather do hands-on stuff rather than dabble in things that he neither understood nor wanted to dabble in. What he could do now was... "I'll keep an ear peeled for the Goatmen if they're returning for that silver vase. They're going to have to come through where we did, and it should give us enough of a headstart to hide...or set up an ambush." Action Summary: Cyriac studies the text for a bit in the hopes of at least recognizing similar things later on. He then returns to discuss the situation, votes to stay and goes to the entrance of the prison complex to keep an eye out for the Goatmen patrol.
