Where Am I?

[Stix]

John's scenery changes in an instant from the peaceful and cool white marble to an impossible din and a choking stench like burning flesh. A reddish light glares off of slick, unfinished cavern walls, and a layer of tarry paste coats the floor.

...And everywhere, as far as John can see, are tanar'ri.

Dretches are tied pitifully to serving trays, stooping about the place to bring drinks to yowling rutterkin and rictus-grinning babau. Along one wall stands a molydeus, keeping watch over the goings-on. A succubus, an armanite, and a bulezau take turns bouncing small darts off the floor in an effort to stick them in a wailing human strapped to a spinning dartboard.

One by one, some of the patrons take notice of John in his white cotton robe and slippers, and an unsavory laugh begins to spread throughout the crowd....

(Kn/Planes check, if you like)

[john]

John curses, looking around for something, anything, a weapon, something to make his personal desire not to admit defeat, not to be ground down by these monstrous creatures known, even as his mind quietly but surely catalogues just how horrible his day is likely to be.

[dice=20+14][rand=4634723382270501498663457252345915610427146076324773807115815017]

[Stix]

(It's unmistakable: the number of tanar'ri, the latent gates all around the room... this is the first layer of the Abyss, the Plain of Infinite Portals. Almost every archway on the Plain is connected to another place, with the vast majority leading to deeper pits of the Abyss. Some lead to other Lower Planes -- no doubt there are portals to Carceri and Pandemonium within a stone's throw -- and a few lead to the Outlands, the gate-towns, or back to Sigil. Which ones are which, though, is a mystery.)

The tanar'ri watching John savor his dread and negative emotion like gourmands, but surprisingly, none of them makes a move for him.

"You're a long way from home, cutter." The words resonate in John's mind, as if he were the one thinking them. "Try to lie low, get out of this room, and I'll help you get out of here alive."

[john]

John's more angry than afraid, at the moment. His cotton robe and slippers being about the least intimidating regalia possible, at present, and his eyes slide across the horrific scene, looking for an exit or at least a place to make himself less of an obvious problem. He doesn't speak, and his expression twists into the normal, homely frown of a street-level thug who is confronted with long division.

[dice=20+7] spot[rand=94090489562759587800591752687709149422241654941908030679914574135]

[Stix]

Toward the rear of the room, John spies a misshapen archway leading to another chamber. Occupying most of its space is a bar-lgura, a simian tanar'ri of about John's height, covered in brown, orange, and rust-colored fur.

[john]

John heads for that archway, unsure of how he's going to pass the tanar'ri

"Got any ideas, voice in my head?" he thinks to himself as he approaches the possible exit to this extremely nasty situation. "And maybe an explanation of how or why I'm here?"

[Stix]

The ape-demon lumbers a few steps in John's direction. "Drink!" it demands, flecks of its last refreshment all over its jowls and protruding jaw. "Buy drink! We'll be friends!"

[john]

John nods slowly, realizing he's buggered either way, and heads in the direction of the "refreshments" hoping that the ape-demon will lower it's guard for a section for his favorite kind of trick, a blitzing run for the exit as soon as it turns it's back or side to him and he's out of the reach of those long, nasty arms. He pats his cotton robe, making a show of reaching for a nonexistent coin purse.

[john]

Bluff check to trick the ape-demon.

[dice=20+10] (Yay buying up that point of charisma.)[rand=78876932447729492099319982863098290646214554913149299023534799701]

[Stix]

John darts around the drunken bar-lgura with ease, unwholesome laughter following him across the threshold.

The next chamber is overcrowded with tables and seating, forcing the Taker to stop in his tracks. A few lesser fiends shamble through the room with drink trays, but the patrons in here are mostly tieflings, humans, and a few other humanoids, outfitted as heavy infantry (Blood War mercenaries, most likely). A towering vrock -- unarmed but for its wicked talons and beak -- falls into step some distance behind John, interfering with any attempt the ape-demon might make to pursue him.

"Don't worry about the vrock," the voice in John's head adds promptly. "Try not to make any eye contact; I'll follow you to the door."

[john]

John proceeds as per his directions, his body clenching occasionally under the ridiculous cotton robe as anyone gets too close to him, vrock aside, and doesn't bother asking questions. He knows his best chance to survive here is to follow orders and take decisive action at the correct moment. The question is, when?

[Stix]

As John picks his way through the human and tiefling crowd, he finds his path blocked by a hezrou -- a great amphibious fiend with horn-like protrusions on its head and back.

"It's the Taker of Blood!" the fiend croaks jovially, splaying its long arms and spindly, taloned fingers. "I wonder what he's doing here! Hey, Taker! Which Lord protects you in the Abyss?" The hezrou wears an enormous fanged snarl and taps its twitching claws on the table next to its drink.

[john]

John contemplates that question for a minute, and tries to decide if it's safer to lie his way out of this one, or just grunt and move on without a specific answer.

[dice=20+14] knowledge planes[rand=4916023064119093596592923370767671492579018659718811805244897509]

[Stix]

(On the Abyss, the only mortals tanar'ri "respect" are those who're sworn to an Abyssal Lord, and even then it's chancy. Hezrou are the recruiters for the chaotic side of the Blood War, so ignoring it is likely to make it angry and try to impress John into servitude at best.)

[john]

"I'm not. Sworn. To a lord. That would suggest a degree of servitude I'm not comfortable with. No equivalent exchange there."

[he sighs, and thinks, "Well, this ought to be ugly, eh voice? Riding along to watch me die, or do you have a plan here as well?]

[Stix]

The Hezrou gives a malicious, croaking laugh at John's expense.

At the far end of the vaulted chamber, John observes one of the great wooden doors slowly creaking open to admit a terrified-looking human covered in blood. He shouts something and waves wildly to draw attention -- a cry for help, perhaps? -- but the fiend's guttural noise drowns him out from this vantage point.

"You're about to --"

The doors explode in a shower of splinters and jagged scrap wood as the newcomer is skewered through the stomach from behind by an enormous iron barb. Filling the door frame is a massive bebilith, slavering a deadly venom as it draws its kill to its mouth, tearing the poor sod in two at the waist.

The waystation erupts into panic. The hezrou bounds over the nearest table and makes for another chamber to distance itself from the demonic spider-beast. Mercenaries and tanar'ri alike flood toward the other rooms, shoving and trampling without regard. The only advancing figure is John's vrock escort, its path cleared in the chaos to escape the room.

[john]

"Far be it form me to ignore a chance like this."

He follows the vrock and makes for the cleared path so he can get out of here, preferably intact. He keeps himself prepared to get the hell out of the way should someone assail him, but assumes that pausing to grab a fallen weapon would make him a big target.

[Stix]

From the remains of the hapless victim, a bluish-white ball of energy rises into the air. Tendrils of light lick off of its surface like solar flares, and one lashes out and tethers itself to the nearest living being -- the bebilith.

At this, the vrock in front of John begins shifting in form, shrinking in height but bulking in stature until before the Taker stands a monadic deva: earth-brown skin, jet-black hair, white feathered wings, and a stout mace in hand.

"That is mine!" booms the celestial's commanding voice. The suddenness and shock of the appearance of a deva in the Abyss silences and stills all other activity save the spider-beast messily gorging itself on the last of its prey. The strange energy ball begins to draw itself toward the creature, and the celestial advances threateningly.

The bebilith roars in defiance and raises four wicked, barbed limbs as the deva charges in to meet the beast head-on....

(Devas usually shed light in their natural form. This one, however, does not.)

[john]

John blinks, quite confused and likely forgotten in the scrum, kneeling and watching the fight ongoing. At this point, the vrock, his helper is revealed, and he looks around for a weapon, a way to help, anything. He considers for a moment his position, then smiles, a plan forming. He tries to use the carnage of the fight to his advantage, and if he can, will grasp and throw the energy ball to the deva like a regular sport-ball of some sort. Not that John has ever spent much time sporting, as it were, being far too serious and brute-minded for such things.

[Stix]

A second tendril of light flares out to connect with the bebilith as the deva brandishes his weapon and lifts off from the floor, bounding toward the creature and deflecting and dodging its fearsome blades with expert timing. The more the spider-fiend moves, the greater hold the ball of energy takes of it -- three tethers, four....

John bolts toward the hovering energy formation. The beast clamps its serrated jaws onto the deva's chest and arm in one fell bite, tearing away flesh and trailing celestial blood behind it as it recoils from the angel's weapon, taking the blow on one of its forelimbs instead of across the face.

The Taker leaps for the energy ball as a fifth ray of light connects it to the bebilith, and one reaches out to grasp at the deva. Like an undulating bolt of lightning, another beam of light lashes out towards John's outstretched hand....

There is a brilliant flash of light just before John feels a terrible impact to his face, finding himself cast onto the floor next to a discarded bandoleer holding a half-dozen throwing knives. The shoulder of his robe is quickly reddening with shed blood. Inspecting his injury with one hand, John lays his fingers directly on his blood-slicked jawbone, flensed entirely of its skin.

The weakening deva lands one solid blow, then another on the bebilith -- the ball of light is curiously gone. With its newest injuries, the beast withdraws out the door and dashes off in a blur of motion.

The aasimon looks at his wound, panting heavily, speaking directly to John's mind as it observes the staggering number of tanar'ri no longer held at bay by the fearful presence of the bebilith. "I need your help. We need to get far from here. Now."