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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Rules-based RPGs --> Dungeons and Dragons --> The Corruption Hidden Beneath the Surface...
Related thread: D&D/Horror game
Related thread: Hidden Corruption Q&A
GM for this game: t_catt11
Players for this game: Raven, Bromern Sal, Eol Fefalas, Reralae, breebles
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    Messages in The Corruption Hidden Beneath the Surface...
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Eol Fefalas
Keeper of the Kazari
RDI Staff
Karma: 454/28
7871 Posts


In a cage once more.

The conflagration of wrath in the paralyzed kazari’s heart and mind was stoked further at being disarmed by the ghouls... Fueled even more by the condescending tone of the death-priest’s words… Then, when the cleric allowed the gigglers to eat Midge, he may as well have dumped lamp-oil into the inferno. At the sight of the ghouls falling on the Cid’s body, Ch’dau felt as if he might tear himself from his own body and the explosiveness of it might serve well enough to bring the place down. He hoped it would happen. Willed it to happen. In the end, though, despite the fury that threatened to consume him quicker than his wounds, it was not to be.

Instead, the pompous priest of D’hurgen had his chittering minions drag them further into the temple’s foul depths and put them in cages. “You will remain here at my leisure,” the death-cleric leered as the last cell door was shut, “You have no weapons, no way to call upon your gods.  You live - for now - because I allow it…”

And you live only because your gigglers were able to still me before I reached you, Ch’dau seethed even as the touch of the grave began to loosen. If only it could have done so faster, perhaps, the kazari might have been able to reach through the bars and, at least, tear the monkey’s smug face off of his grinning skull before he walked away.

“…If you are wise, you will be good houseguests, and I may reward you.  If you make a nuisance of yourselves, you will have no value to me, and I will deal with you accordingly,” the D’hurgenite continued, “I hope that you understand, and are wise enough to comply.  If you attempt escape, the ghouls will rend you to pieces, and I will not intercede again.”

Ever defiant, Ch’dau growled, though the sound scarcely made it from his throat.

“Goodbye for now,” the priest said, sauntering out of sight only a moment before the grip of the grave finally released the cat-man.

Ch’dau’s roar chased the cleric down the hall but was quickly drowned out by the maddened laughter of the ghouls that remained. For several moments, the kazari paced the floor of the tiny cell, snarling and chuffing and fuming. Finally, though, the severity of his injuries caught up to him and the growling diminished into a pained moan and he slumped to the floor, his back against one stinking wall in order to keep himself propped up. For a good while, he languished in the pain that washed over him; he might have even lost consciousness a time or two. After suffering the pain enough that it had begun to numb, though, the kazari let go of a shuddering sigh that gave way to a weak chuckle.

“In another k’tomba cage,” he snorted softly into the dank dark of the dungeon. “There is something ironic about that, yes, Ara? The path we have walked together began with me in a cage and Kithran on the other side of the door and, now, it seems, it will end the same way…”

He shifted his weight, thinking his injuries forgotten, but the effort refreshed his memory and another agonized groan escaped the kazari. He fell silent for a bit, the fresh waves of hurt coursing through him, but, again, everything went numb. “I am sorry, khatun,” he sighed over the incessant giggling, “that you have to be here at the closing of that circle. Sorry to you all, my friends… m’rra’fiki… that I could not spare any of you from this.”

With a grunt, Ch’dau forced himself back to his feet and stumbled for the door of his cell. Gripping the bars to hold himself up, he pressed his face against the repulsively cold iron. “I have been honored to know all of you, rrow’ka’a,” he rumbled, “Honored to have fought so long beside warriors the likes of you, honored to have called you friends, and I am honored to go to the Hunt with you at my side.” He sighed again, heavily, and closed his eyes. “And Aranwen Galandel,” his voice scarce a whisper, “no matter what failure you think was enough for you to drop your blade, you have never failed me… You never could… I have loved you since Davnor… and that, too, has been my honor.”

((OOC: Kazari translations - k'tomba = "f**king," m'rra'fiki = "my friends/clan"... And, yeah, I said it! I love you! Take that!  )



Posted on 2019-11-11 at 19:17:26.

Reralae
Dreamer of Bladesong
Karma: 133/12
2206 Posts


Resolve

After her prayer, Aranwen did what she could to stem the bleeding, undoing her armour to better use the leather straps for holding her injuries closed so they may clot, but the fact remained that she was a mess. She leaned back against a wall, and found herself adrift between wakefullness and unconsciousness.

“In another k’tomba cage,” Ch'dau snorted softly into the dank dark of the dungeon. “There is something ironic about that, yes, Ara? The path we have walked together began with me in a cage and Kithran on the other side of the door and, now, it seems, it will end the same way…”

Aranwen's head perked up, and she looked in the direction of the voice, "Not yet," She replied, her voice quiet but far firmer than her last appearance would have suggested, not at all a voice to match the look of the silent, defeated Syl who was led to this cage.

“I am sorry, khatun,” he sighed over the incessant giggling, “that you have to be here at the closing of that circle. Sorry to you all, my friends… m’rra’fiki… that I could not spare any of you from this.”

Aranwen smiled sadly in the darkness, "Do I really deserve to be called that? Would a true khatun have done as I have done?" she asked, her voice a bit weaker as it echoed the ache in her heart.

“no matter what failure you think was enough for you to drop your blade, you have never failed me… You never could… I have loved you since Davnor… and that, too, has been my honor.”

Aranwen's breath caught in her chest, and she felt an icy panic grip her heart.

Part of her wanted to disbelieve; that was the safest response for herself. For a Sylvari to deeply love was dangerous. Only another Sylvari would potentially live as long as she might; any other species would not live so long, and she didn't know if she could take that. Not again.

Part of her, however, recalled to her mind Ch'dau's warmth, and she began to relax. She held a hand to her chest, and nodded to herself.

"Thank you, Ch'dau," Aranwen replied, finding the warmth returned to her voice. My dearest friend; my love. The only reason she didn't reply with these words was because she knew what she had to ask of them all, and those words would only make it even harder for Ch'dau.

Finding the flame in the abyss once again enkindled, Aranwen took a deep breath and drew of its warmth. She looked around her at the other three nearby, her golden eyes once more burning bright.

"This path I led you all down has ended up here. Would that I could have made it otherwise. But I fear I must ask of you still more, if not as a leader, then as someone who wishes you all to survive this. I will say this but once - I did not choose this to steal the honourable death rightfully earned by you in battle. I chose this as one last gambit. One last chance.

Temper your spirits in the flame of your will. Forge your hearts into blades that are yielding, but strong. Even should it be bent in two, let it bend but never snap. And if you must lash out, lash out at me. Curse my name. Strike me down. Forsake me. Do what you need to do.

The only advantage we may yet gain is whatever can be gained by ceding ground which complacency assumes will never be trodden again.

Do you understand?"

Aranwen knew what she was asking of the people she had called allies. Not so much of a plan but a desperate gamble. Something to buy them time to learn, to plan, and, should the opportunity come, strike.



Posted on 2019-11-12 at 02:45:32.

Bromern Sal
A Shadow
RDI Staff
Karma: 145/11
3969 Posts




Death's pale grip releases him mere minutes after the torturous and painful trek to the cell. Wounds torn through his flesh and clothing by fetid, rotting tooth and nail collect stained hay and earthen grime with childlike abandon. Finally free from the paralysis, Gib is wrought with pain that commands contorting muscles stealing his breath with feverish hunger. Forcing his consciousness back in control, the warrior-priest clenches his teeth against the stinging and throbbing, the blue heat, and the fear that accompanies such masters. Shifting his knees underneath him, Moreno stifles a grief-stricken groan. As much elicited by the anguish of his weak movements as the gruesome memory of Midge's body being devoured. 

Let it live in my mind, Mighty General, he begs. Let the deaths of my friends live within me as fuel for your Flames of Battle. Smoldering ember flames peer from his skull as he lifts his head to look out the iron gates. Give me that righteous battle, my lord. Grant me this one wish before you call me to the Halls and I swear by my eternal soul that you will have victory!

Ch'dau's roar echoes with the sounds of a thousand beasts in these halls. Settling limply on his haunches, Gib allows his head to fall backwards, basking in the thunder.

There is no need for reality to break through fantasy here. The priest of Therassor is grimly aware of their predicament. Reason is their only weapon at this point. Resolve is their armor. Drawing in a ragged breath, a practiced mind sets about determining the extent of his many wounds. Their time may be more limited by the onset of infections unless the injuries can be remedied.

“In another k’tomba cage,” Ch'dau snorts softly into the dank dark of the dungeon. “There is something ironic about that, yes, Ara? The path we have walked together began with me in a cage and Kithran on the other side of the door and, now, it seems, it will end the same way…”

"Not yet," Aranwen replies, her voice quiet but firm.

“I am sorry, khatun,” the Kazari sighs over the incessant giggling, his reply barely audible to the warrior-priest, “that you have to be here at the closing of that circle. Sorry to you all, my friends… m’rra’fiki… that I could not spare any of you from this.”

"Do I really deserve to be called that? Would a true khatun have done as I have done?" Aranwen asks, her voice a bit weaker as it echoes the ache in her heart. Gib remains quiet, still considering their current options.

“no matter what failure you think was enough for you to drop your blade, you have never failed me… You never could… I have loved you since Davnor… and that, too, has been my honor.”

"Thank you, Ch'dau," Aranwen replies after a moment's silence.

"This path I led you all down has ended up here. Would that I could have made it otherwise. But I fear I must ask of you still more, if not as a leader, then as someone who wishes you all to survive this. I will say this but once - I did not choose this to steal the honourable death rightfully earned by you in battle. I chose this as one last gambit. One last chance.

"Temper your spirits in the flame of your will. Forge your hearts into blades that are yielding, but strong. Even should it be bent in two, let it bend but never snap. And if you must lash out, lash out at me. Curse my name. Strike me down. Forsake me. Do what you need to do.

"The only advantage we may yet gain is whatever can be gained by ceding ground which complacency assumes will never be trodden again.

"Do you understand?"

Gib forces another breath to cool his lungs and closes his eyes. "You did as you thought best, Aranwen," he sets the words sailing on the soft winds of his expelled breath. "We did not choose you to lead this companionship because you sing a pretty song, my friend. Heavy is the mantle of leadership and you wear it well. I would follow you down these same halls knowing the results unchanged. There will be no cursing of your name, no forsaking of this companionship. Rest easy your heart.

"Everyone, find the cleanest parts of your clothing. Rend it. Create bandages and clean out your wounds. Use your own spit for there will be nothing cleaner in these cells. We must do the best that we can to fortify ourselves from infection and gangrene if we are to patiently wait for our opening.

"It is my council that we do as Aranwen suggests. We pretend compliance, not defiance."

Knowing a little of the rumors surrounding the evil gods' habits with prisoners, Moreno hope's and prays that they will be able to withstand the tortures long enough for the opening to present itself and that they are all--Kith included--strong enough to take advantage.

"I wish that I were close enough to administer aid," he continues. "I am going to pray now. I will ask for what healing miracles Therassor can spare me. Perhaps if I am made whole, I'll find a way to get to you and do the same."

(OOC: Cure Light Wounds does not require a holy symbol. Gib will request what healing he can from Therassor to return him to full strength if possible.)



Posted on 2019-11-12 at 21:23:41.
Edited on 2019-11-12 at 21:26:40 by Bromern Sal

   
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