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Post by skelterjohn on Aug 2, 2009 23:29:31 GMT -5
The past few days have been nothing but a swirling confusion. Slipping in and out of consciousness, semi-lucid for only minutes at a time to fight brief struggles against nausea and thirst.
Where am I?
Hard to be sure. He's been moving. He's been carried. Right now it's cold. Some kind of cell with an unpleasant familiarity. The only light comes from under the door; there is a flickering torch on the other side. He's lying against the back wall, about five feet from the door. The room is only slightly wider than the door. With effort he struggles to a seated position and instinctively reach upwards, not surprised to feel the ceiling with his fingertips. I've been here before... maybe.
What happened to me?
A job... a 'loth. A job for a 'loth? Maybe ending up like this is the best a sod could hope for. Something in fire. A delivery with three ugly bashers and something went wrong. How long ago was this? Maybe a week. Lies, but that wasn't unusual. A new name...Jocyl. A name for Sigil. Some sort of plan about a genasi's mother. All dirt at this point.
Who am I?
Not Jocyl. The past needed to be hid. It doesn't do to let history catch up to you. Bashers with a balance always want to collect, and a berk always had to stay ahead. What else is there? What could be more universal than this motivation of self fulfillment? Sods who follow the powers, serving some foolish ideal... they were best used as fodder and more often not, that was exactly what happened. Following a power... Skelter (for he has recalled his true name at this point) remembers a tenuous relationship with a power. Loviatar, goddess of pain. She was an ideal, but to be emulated rather than served. Her benefits were many, but she exacted a price. Fair is fair.
I know this place.
His senses regained, Skelter tries to rack his brain for why this seems so familiar. He has definitely been in a cell like this before but... the perspective is all wrong. Right now he is at the back, and it's dark. There are memories of tossing prisoners in. Unconscious, often as not.
Ribcage.
That's it...he's in Ribcage, where he was exiled from a short time ago. A cell in the Blackguard stronghold. He's stripped of his cloak and other gera now but his armor is exposed, bearing the insignia. They surely know of the connection the moment they see it, and it was only a matter of time before they figured out who he was. The punishment for violating exile is death, and Skelter was not likely to fight his way out of the 'cage.
The light from under the door flickered, getting brighter. Someone with his own torch was approaching. Not enough time to hide the armor, or the boots. Maybe the best bet is to play it straight, at least to some extent.
There is a heavy noise of grating metal as a bar is slid away from the other side of the door, and it swings open.
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Post by Stix on Aug 8, 2009 9:39:37 GMT -5
The grating bar slides hesitantly, making the slightest noise every few seconds. It doesn't sound stuck -- someone is trying their damnedest not to make any noise.
The door swings open to reveal a cowled figure in a shozoku night-suit, a live flame cupped in one hand. Stepping in to get a closer look at Skelter and confirm his identity, the intruder casts the flame aside, scattering the embers across the floor, where they quickly gutter out.
In the renewed darkness, Skelter feels his manacles open, one at a time. When the last link remains, a faint whisper fills his ears.
"Best you be silent and follow close, berk. Make a noise, draw attention, an' I'll gut the 'escaped prisoner' myself. Clear?"
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Post by skelterjohn on Aug 8, 2009 21:38:58 GMT -5
Skelter stands, coercing his aching limbs back to life. He momentarily considers inquiring about the who, the why, but decides that the alternatives to not going
"I have some effects that I'll need to recover. Take me to them - they should be nearby."
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Post by Stix on Aug 12, 2009 13:35:14 GMT -5
"It's taken care of. Now, it's time to slip the leafless tree."
The stealer-in draws a long, wickedly curved knife and slips silently into the narrow hallway, slinking past the other cells, the slight noise of footfall covered by the sobbing anguish of a blubbering prisoner. Using the blade's reflection, the intruder peers around the nearest corner, beckoning Skelter along before very delicately stepping over the pooling blood of a dead Blackguard.
"Step carefully."
(Dex check to avoid leaving a few bloody tracks, if you please)
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Post by skelterjohn on Aug 17, 2009 11:34:26 GMT -5
[dice=20][rand=68250251117127919064713999150196636589745010085654188708034272]
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Post by skelterjohn on Aug 17, 2009 11:51:24 GMT -5
(With a dexterity of 14, and a modifier of +2, I think this means I avoid tracks)
Skelter gingerly avoids getting blood on his boots, snatching the prison guard's cudgel as he passes. Once past the corpse, he does his best to put together what he has observed from his rescuer. There are elements within Ribcage that would want him dead in a way he might have been able to avoid with a trial; he did not return of his own will, after all, so there may have been a defense. Or, some power could have set this up in order to foster a sense of obligation. Said power would be mighty naive, but wisdom and power were uncorrelated, in Skelter's experience.
(Sense Motive 4, +2, with wisdom 14)
[dice=20][rand=5409081336233367369451057996046167137878615002732977521421992885]
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Post by skelterjohn on Aug 17, 2009 11:52:14 GMT -5
(I mean wisdom of 15, with a +2 modifier)
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Post by Stix on Aug 20, 2009 8:46:25 GMT -5
(With a dexterity of 14, and a modifier of +2, I think this means I avoid tracks) (We're back to 2e, now, so that makes the Dex check perfectly.) Dumb Luck roll [dice=20][rand=87364341787420298264602300692897620017008608653863291994544882] |
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Post by Stix on Aug 20, 2009 8:58:14 GMT -5
Liberator and escapee sneak through the halls, finding them completely deserted. Finally, the pair stops at an empty cell, the door slightly ajar. Keeping the noise to a minimum, the stealer-in tosses Skelter a simple black robe.
"Put it on. Come along."
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Post by skelterjohn on Aug 20, 2009 10:40:18 GMT -5
Skelter quickly dons the robe, attempting to mask his frustration. He still knows nothing, and without knowledge there is no control. Without control, there is no way he can spin the situation to his advantage. He feels continually uncomfortable without his possessions, especially the small vial kept for blood and the holy symbol of Loviatar. No knowledge, no power. A rat on a leash following the promise of cheese. No, a donkey being ridden, urged on by a carrot tied to a stick.
Skelter asks, "You tunnel into a cell or something, berk?" as he inspects the robe, trying to determine if it has any properties he can recognize, or really is just a simple black robe. Once finished, he slips the black cudgel into one voluminous sleeve, ready to drop out if needed.
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Post by Stix on Sept 20, 2009 13:49:40 GMT -5
Inside the cell is a bricked-over archway, thrumming to the planars' sixth sense with the latent energies of a portal. The intruder grabs Skelter's hand, pressing into it a barber's straight razor.
"Put it between your teeth and step through the gate." The intruder grabs a second robe from the corner of the cell and begins to slip it on....
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Post by skelterjohn on Oct 19, 2009 14:21:19 GMT -5
(OOC: oops - didn't realize that you had posted! Is there some way to get email notifications for threads you have posted to in the past?) As the unknown rescuer is donning the robe, Skelter waits for a moment when the man's arms are both half way settled into the clothing, and 1) if the man is facing skelter:
lifts up the razor to display it as if he were going to ask a question. Then as fast as he can manage, feints a jab to the midsection with the razor, hoping to get the man to suck his stomach back and lean his head forward forward into the path of the cudgel in his other hand.
or 2) if the man is looking away while dressing:
swings the cudgel in a fast arc to the back of the man's head in an attempt to dash his brains out.
(OOC: perhaps it's not fair taking actions that might in all likelihood get my character killed, knowing that in "the future" he is chatting with folks in an Elysium monastery, but it ain't easy being evil...) |
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Post by Stix on Oct 20, 2009 8:19:03 GMT -5
(No worries -- I wanted to leave things a little nebulous and leave the options open to you. Any way it goes down, Skelter's going to be leaving Ribcage alive, but the specific circumstances may be very, very different. As far as receiving email when replies are made, I'll poke around at it and see what I can find. There's got to be something.)
(Since this scene is taking a turn toward combat, we'd better get Skelter's sheet up to date [which is to say, back in the old edition we're using]. Go ahead and start a thread called "Skelter 2E" or somesuch, so we can both edit it.)
(Skelter is face-to-face with his victim, for the record.)
Surprise check: 1, 2, or 3 and Skelter gets the drop on him
[dice=10][rand=523517405017485845992094685539775121579044235909046788142061013566]
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Post by skelterjohn on Oct 28, 2009 10:45:23 GMT -5
Despite the mysterious rescuer's complete lack of surprise, Skelter still swings the bludgeon as hard as he can towards the man's temple.
Hit roll, THAC0 18, AC unknown...
[dice=20]
Potential damage roll (treating it like a club)
[dice=6]
If the attack hits, Skelter will then try to make another quick blow to the wrist of the hand carrying the razor (counting on the dazing factor of the temple shot to disorient the fellow), hoping to dislodge it.[rand=99569052174114634964874793297675699166743510195616714329405218946]
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Post by skelterjohn on Oct 28, 2009 10:45:51 GMT -5
(god dammit)
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Post by Stix on Nov 2, 2009 10:28:38 GMT -5
Feint/Grappling Block
[dice=20+4][rand=380952333601871752767811047893513667579077632849365051748542512043]
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Post by Stix on Nov 2, 2009 10:34:47 GMT -5
The stealer-in advances a step on Skelter, threatening a blow to the face that throws him off and allows the intruder to deflect the club before the swing begins, pinning it against one hip.
"Do you want to die here, berk?" (s)he hisses, raising a fist to strike in case it becomes necessary.
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Post by skelterjohn on Nov 2, 2009 11:31:21 GMT -5
Feeling distinctly outmatched, Skelter's composure changes from aggressive confidence to an almost pathetic cringing, as he continually flinches from the raised fist.
Conscious of his new demeanor, he tries to sound belligerent in his reply, "You steal in here, killing my comrades, saying nothing while dragging me along to some bleeding portal to who-knows-where at the behest of who-knows-whom, not even allowing me to get my affects?!"
In reality, Skelter could care less for his comrades, where he is going (as long as it is away) or to whom he will be beholden. The bit about his gear, though, was honest. The thought of remaining separated from his vial of blood and holy symbol and, therefore, being powerless has him on edge. He yearns to grab ahold of his rescuer and violently drain the life from his body, but is simply mentally unable without the supposed assurance of Loviatar.
"Bring me my things and I'll go along with you."
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Post by Stix on Nov 2, 2009 14:11:39 GMT -5
"My partner has already delivered your belongings to our employer... for leverage." Shouts begin to echo from somewhere deeper in the maze of hallways.
"If the Blackguard catch you, you're a deader and I'm out my reward jink: they win, we lose. Put the chiv between your teeth and step through the gate -- we're the best chance you've got."
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Post by skelterjohn on Nov 2, 2009 15:44:03 GMT -5
Stunned that someone would actually pay to have him spirited out of...well...anywhere, Skelter assumes a thoughtful look and calmly bites down on the razor. After a moment he turns his back to the cloaked figure and steps through the gate.
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