Game thread

[Ubernoob]

I'll add in opening fluff tonight.

[Ubernoob]

Chapter One:  Elemental Assault

Your world is collapsing into the base elements that it is made of.  Fire, earth, water, and air separate and head to the four portals at the four corners of the earth.  In just one week all of the prime material will have escaped into the elemental planes.  The cause of this is well known.  The Elemental Lords are the culprits.  They have brokered a dark pact to siphon away all the energy in the material.  The only way to seal a portal is to enter the portal, defeat its dark patron, and use the creature's soul as a key to lock the portal.  Several hundred elite creatures from all walks have been called to the emergency meeting to pick an assault squad to take down the elemental lords.  The sun is rising in the east and you are restless to get moving, but first the heroes selected must greet one another and form an assault plan.

Everyone needs to simply make one post of description of their character and how they survey the room before they continue.  You all know you've been selected and stand as the first squad together.  You all know of each other even if you don't directly know each other.  Essentially, you are all powerful enough to know of other reputations.

The balcony where you stand shimmers with craftsmanship as the sun peeks over the mountains on the west.  After a long winded speech about the gravity of the situation, the high mage motions for someone to begin with an introduction.

[Tshern]

A human woman whose face shows no emotion peers around the room with eyes used to evaluate all creatures with but a glance. Beneath her red robes and cloak one can spot parts of a beautifully crafted mithral armour, her long brown hair is knotted to a tight ponytail and even though her face is devoid of emotion, her appearance is surprisingly attractive. She carries a black staff and an amulet of the Paragnostic Assembly.

"I am Laura Thembaren and I am not native to this area, so most of you probably have not heard of me. Normally I concern myself with issues far more down to earth than this, but what is a threat to the entire existence naturally fights against the pending victory of law over chaos. I came here after receiving a tip from an informant, whose identity is none of your concern. Who might I be working with? Laura said quickly, yet clearly, with a warm voice.

[skydragonknight]

The cloaked figure was sitting in the corner, his clawed hand over a well-made quarterstaff covered with tiny symbols of shields. When he pulled back his hood he revealed a man with a shaven head in the style of martial artists with a well made black bandanna around his forehead. Though he appeared human, he had certain qualities about him that the well read or well traveled would recognize as belonging to a Kalastar.

Mentos of the Clawed Fist. It seems like we'll be working together...very well. he spoke aloud, in a low voice which surprisingly carried well across the room.

Anyone who knew of his reputation knew that this monk blended martial arts with psionic ability to create a superior style, much as the Githzerai do. However, he does it so well he puts them to shame. Those who follow the martial arts world also know that he is seeking to become a Grandmaster at the unprecedented age of 24.

[Kaelik]

A small man covered in a bright blue cloak much to long for him looks up from a corner. His white shoulder length hair blows in an imperceptible wind. Glimpses beneath his cloak show a wiry corded look, despite his small stature, and flashes of Mithril. His ice blue eyes look mournful,

Your "Down to Earth" actions are not as distant as you think Laura. This is a council of the highest, we all like to stay informed. I am Rollanor.

Despite the word's obvious bite, all this is delivered in a dull monotone, and Rollanor returns to his perusal of the floor.

[woodenbandman]

A tall cloaked figure seems to bend like a spring as it rises out of a chair near the wall. A clever eye will note the lack of feet at the bottom of the cloak, and the absence of footfalls as the figure glides over. Two short arms pull the hood up, revealing a gnome with a thin nose, a smooth face ending in a pointed chin with a light goatee, and platinum hair fringed with very light blue at the ends. His spectacles rest precariously on the end of his proboscis, and he has an air of thinly veiled distrust when looking upon laura and rollanor and his voice has a strangely round, baritone quality despite the obvious fact that he is a gnome.

To Ubernoob:

http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1801028/ (binding checks)

First one for Balam, Second one for Acerak (1d20 + 14=33, 1d20 + 14=26) The new binding checks (adjusted for my last open feat, with which I took Skilled Pact Making. Now I can be nice to other party members yay

EDIT2: I actually failed that second one, I reduced the bonus on my pact making by 6. Still passed the one for Balam, though.

Hello, all. He twitches a bit, as though a nagging voice were in his head. He spits on the ground and breathes a curse under his breath.I'm sorry about that. I am Sheredak. *cough*False*cough*

Sheredak got his start at mage school at a relatively late age as gnomes go, but he picked up the talent well. His parents were apprehensive to send him due to his strange qualities; they often found him talking to what they saw as nothing, and he drew strange pictures. Despite his strange tendencies, the academy graduated him top of his class, and he has since embraced his strange nature that his parents saw as quaint to further his quest for greatness. A powerful wizard in his own right, he attributes much of his success to the guidance of his "soul guardian," whom he's apparently talked to since a very young age. Although he's certainly strange, nobody can argue with his skill, and he's lately been working hard to find the secret to bring the unreal dreams of the world to life. To what end, only time will tell...

[Jaggyd]

Juggernaut. Behemoth. Vicious.

In short – a monster.

A gender is difficult to discern from the armoured form that broods over the balcony’s artisan-wrought railing. Its back is to the rest of those gathered, and it seems to glower in a manner not terribly unlike a large carrion bird mantling over its meal. There is no embellished curvature to the armour, revealing little to nothing about the body that presumably resides beneath it.

The details that one can distinguish are rudimentary. A long, tattered cloak with a steely-grey worgskin mantle trails several inches above the ground, attached to the suit with utilitarian clasps meant to unfasten upon a particular sort of pressure. The articulated pauldrons that are crested by lethally-barbed spikes of various sizes only help to further augment the breadth of the being’s shoulders. The wrists, upper arms, thighs, calves and boots all bear the same style of spines – attachments that proclaim that a grapple with this individual would likely be an unintelligent decision. As for the armour itself, it shows signs of extended use and wear, but is generally well-maintained in such a way that implies deliberate care during the aftermath of its trials.

A massive array of weapons can be seen upon its person, but the more remarkable of these is one of the two greatswords fastened into a locking harness beneath its cloak and between its shoulder-blades. The sword itself is intentionally unremarkable, forged from an inky metal and shaped in such a way that is meant to rip and tear its way through the entry and exit points of an inflicted wound.

Its helm and visor are shaped like the maw of a ravening wolf, with fangs bared and lips peeled back in a perpetual snarl.

Nothing about the trappings of this individual strays from the monochrome of grey and black.

When the briefing has concluded, the figure turns its armour-obscured face towards its strange companion, then turns to face the rest.

With reluctance, it removes the helm and holds it crisply under its corded, metal-shielded arm.
Perhaps at some earlier point in time, the union of elven and human figures would have made this… woman(?) seem attractive. ‘Pretty’, even – but all semblance of that past have been marred completely by the intricate knotwork of visceral scars that splays across her features. Overtop of the left portion and extending over the bridge of her aquiline nose is the tattoo of a wolf in the typical heraldic rampant pose. Her beak of a nose has been broken multiple times, by the looks of it, and has healed crookedly. Long hair of a tint that rivals that of a raven’s wing is bound tightly at the base of her skull, wound in a practical manner to keep it from getting in the way.
She carries herself in such a way that she seems calm and reserved – pensive, even. No hint of the hideous, frigid torrent is visible beneath the surface of her placid mask. Indeed, she seems ever so much like a predator at ill ease.
But, perhaps most otherworldly of all… are her eyes.
Or at least, her good eye. The left appears to have had its cornea ruptured in keeping with the long gash that cleaves that portion of her face in two. Bloodshot and rheumy at the same time, it seems capable of only registering light (or its absence). No, it is the right eye that is the more fascinating. A slit pupil rests within the white-blue sea of her iris. The sclera around it is jet black, catching the light in such a way that makes the cerulean portion seem to emit a light of its own.
When she steps forward, she is quiet – save for the creak of her armour. The voice that breaches the space that is implied for her introduction is broken by one word.
“Jaggyd.”

[Judging Eagle]

In the middle of the floor a slick black armoured figure slowly fades into appearance, the figure appears to have been sitting, and is fiddling with a ring on one of its fingers. The head of the figure is either topped with an arachnids head, or the creature truly is an arthropod under the heavy silk and steel armour. Thousands of fine spines made of different materials stick out from the surface of the armour, making the figure look as if their carapace is covered in hundreds of coarse hairs. A bottlefly-green laquered sheild covers most of the figures back and aside from a heavy chopping knife, the figure appears to be carrying no weapons, unless it's overly-sized bracers and gauntlets ending in three massive talons are also weapons.

The glittering facets of the creature's eyes glint as the creatures turns its head to look at the creatures that entered the balcony and listend to the speech.

The black-plated creature suddenly stands, puts its claws together in front of itself clasping them together and closing them, locking them in place.

A wierd high-pitched rasping voice speaks "I am In-ar-dez Dri-ink-er. Gre-eet-ings Not-Brothers. May your fangs al-ways stay clean, and may you out-run an-y fe-mai-les you mate with, or eat any males that enter your hunting home."

The creature's head seems to keep turning to look at.... nothing.

"Chir-ir-up!"

The eye-studded head tilts to one side and the spiney-haired creature swings one of its arms at nothing, the claws of it's hand separate from the arm and snap in the air, hitting a  the ground about twenty feet away before being retracted back just as quickly as they flew out.

The creature examines its now retracted claw and with its other clawed hand lifts a centipede that it just grabbed helplessly wriggles in the air. It speaks in the same lilting shifting toned voice, and then the creature's voice becomes flat and gravelly.

"Ev-Ev-en I wo-ou-ld no-ot eat you. Menace of hunting homes."

The free set of claws goes to the body of the hapless vermin, and the three claws come together, more crushing it than slicing it.

Spot Check for the centipede that "Innards" has been waiting to get close to him.

DC: 22 [centipede, diminutive, +8 to Hide check, 20 feet away, +4 to hide check
Minimum Spot Check: 45

Grapple DC [Centipede]: 10 - 12 = -2
Grapple Modifier [Innards]: +14
[Pre-gone conclusion]

Target AC: Spider 10 + 4 (size) + 3 (dex) = 17
Attack roll: 22

OOC: Yes, that was completely unnecessary, but I feel that it helps establish who the character is.

[Ubernoob]

The High Mage takes all of this in with a curt nod as it has all been foreseen.

"Well, not time for small talk."
The High Mage then hits the ground thrice with his ornate silver staff.  Behind him an opening is formed in the floor leading to an extra space below the balcony with glowing green stairs illuminating the blackness.
"Thembaren, Rollanor, Sheredak, Jaggd, Theria, Drinker.  You come with me.  The rest of you?  Head back to your rooms.  There's a good chance that you will be needed if this first squad fails."
Then as the six warriors surround him and begin to follow he speaks in lower tones.
"This is dangerous.  You are all proven warriors and the best we have at this point.  If you fail we all get that much closer to total destruction.  All four lords are known to be incredibly dangerous in their home planes, but to destroy them anywhere else will not yield the Key to seal the portal behind you.  At the end of this staircase are four portals.  Each one leads to a strategic spot divined to give you the best chance at destroying that Lord.  You have one hour.  If you do not return from which ever portal you so choose within an hour I will assume you have been defeated and send the next best group.  I can only wish you the best of luck as our fates depend upon your actions."

At these final words you reach the bottom of the staircase that opens into what appears to be a cave.  As you descend the spiral staircase to the floor you can see that in each of the four cardinal directions is a portal going to a different elemental plane.
"Now, any questions before you make your assault?  Time is of the essence."

[Prak, the Mad]

"Eh, hold your horses, young shit, not everyone's as quick as these youths you've got..." a hunched figure, covered with a heavy robe, shuffles into the room from the stairway, an odd scraping/clacking sound heard as he moved. The figure raises his head and pulls back the hood covering it, carefully pulling it over the horns that had protruded from two holes, revealing a short muzzled face, covered in coarse grey fur. Two old but keen eyes stared out from it taking in the scene. The old goat pulls out an apple and takes a bite, he chews slowly and delierately, then swallows, and takes another bite. An odd expression seems to dawn on his face, almost as if he'd momentarliy forgotten, then remembered why he was there, around the mouth full of apple he says "Oh, I'm Master Mu-Xe, and these damned beurocrats called me out of retirement." he says to the assembled party "You were saying, sonny?" The goat sits down in a nearby chair, and his robe fell open. He was dressed in old, worn peasant's clothing, and his body seemed decrepit, but strong. His very presence seemed to make the atmosphere at once calmer and more frenzied. While he eats the apple, his other hand taps on the arm of the chair, it's thick black nails clacking on the material. He seems tired, so very tired and weary, but also alive, like few others are. You almost expect him to simultaneously disintegrate into a pile of ash and burst into a frenzy of movement.

[Judging Eagle]

The spider's head rotates completely around its neck to watch the newcomer, and tracks the goat-creature as it makes its way across the floor.

Innards looks at the other members of his hunting clutch and chitters before speaking.

"Do we-e stalk-alk the one that-t we can hurt-t the easie-sie-est-est, or the weakest-est first of our choi-choi-ces-es-es."

He looks at his shadowy employer and asks,

"Mother, which-ich of the four is-is easy-y for us to harm-arm? Which-ich is weakest-est of the four-or?"

[Prak, the Mad]

"Well, one of my techniques allows me to shoot flame from my hands and mouth. If we tackle fire first, my utility will be somewhat diminished. I can develop new techniques as we go, but this is what I've got right now, I also have a technique which produces a sonic burst, doing substantial damage to targets within 30'. I would suggest earth first, as this way I can do a good bit of damage as I am, and have some time to develop new techniques before we tackle planes where my effectiveness would be reduced. But I'm sure some of you might be in the same circumstances, so let's hear what we've got." The goat finishes his apple, and waits for other's to speak up.

[Psychic Robot]

Previously...

A man clothed in brown robes steps forward.  His only distinguishing equipment are the two sheathed blades at his side and the small backpack that he wears.  The man pulls back his hood, revealing himself to be in his mid-forties, his hair a snowy-white.  He glides across the room and bows.

Greetings to all, and may the peace of Pelor be over you, he says quietly.  I am Serase Theria, monk of Pelor, and my skills are at your service.  Serase stands and recedes back.

______________________________________________________________________________

Presently...

I am not well-learned on these things.  I  live to answer Pelor's call, and he has not called me to learn of these foreign matters, Serase says.  With a glance at Thembaren and Rollanor, he adds, I would defer to the judgment of those more familiar with these unearthly beasts.

Although, he continues, a smile tugging at his lips, I believe that Innards has the right idea.

[woodenbandman]

"Well, Serase, I'd like to sayYour deity plays card games in hell!" Sheredak chokes on his words, his floating form rocking back and forth in the air, and he spits on the floor again. "I apologize for that, and to you as well, Laura and Rollanor. I'm afraid that I'm not quite myself lately; it seems that I'm going slightly mad! Down with the church! Down with *slap*

He slaps himself and wavers for a second in the air, and his glasses fall to the ground. He smoothes his hair out, and picks his spectacles up, dusting them off, and sets them back on his nose.

"As I was saying, the Dark Lady won't leave me alone. It is in her nature to distrust the religious. I myself am open to the concept, and I sorely regret if I've offended any of you. I'll say goodbye to her the next chance I get. What's that? No, I don't think that burning them would be appropriate!"

Not burning them isn't breaking the influence. Also, the build has changed, but even with the adjustment, I've still made a good pact with Huares, just barely.

[Tshern]

"Our group seems to be up to this task, but still a few questions are in order. Firstly, how do we get to the portal? Secondly, are there any special preparations we ought to make? Finally, can we trust each other enough to pull this off? Personally I have hardly anything positive to say about anyone, but you, my allies, are definitely not the worst bunch of misfits I have found myself working with," Laura said in a cold, meticulous voice revealing her arrogance and knowledge of her and, more importantly, Hell's superiority everything and everyone else. Her words echoed in the building as to give them more weight while her face told nothing of his real thoughts or even her integrity.


OOC: As a remark, especially to woodenbandman, Laura's affiliation with the Nine Hell's is not common knowledge, but I have no problem with your characters knowing that. Let everyone pick what they know in that regard, more RP freedom.

[Judging Eagle]

The loud talking made Innards bring his claws to his head to cover the sides of his head and bow his head until the shouting stopped.

"You-oo speak-eak too-oo loud-deh. Innard's innards hurt-urt."

He, it, whined at the bold and strident tones that the others were speaking in. He hoped that he would be able to walk separately from them, if only for a while, during this mission. If not their noises would split his head with pain.

"All-all I do-o is hide-ide, fight-ight, kill-ill, think-ink, know-ow and see-ee. Which-ich Plane-ane gate-ate do we-e take-ake? Then-en we-e plan-an. I thirst for the blood and flesh of my foes."

A monotonous voice concluded.

[Ubernoob]

The diviners have already seen fit to check for the threads of betrayal.  We assure you that while you are on this mission there are forces at work within this elite group so that betrayal is an impossibility.  To get to the portal you need only walk through.  Those are effectively Gates at the edge of the cavern leading to each plane.  You'll probably need to take protections from the raw elemental forces before walking through, but you're all experienced soldiers.  I wish you the best of luck.

[Jaggyd]

The algid and mismatched gaze of the half-breed scans those gathered.
The woman with her nose high.
The taloned monk.
The son of the Winds.
The potentially unstable mage.
The eccentric arachnid.
The gruff old goat.
The servant of Pelor.

Interesting.

Since no decision had been made, and the paths of conversation had begun to potentially meander, she frowns. The sound of clearing her throat is not to draw attention, but to prepare her damaged voice for speech.

“Roight then. No’ fire. Ice. Unless thar be any complaints.”

Her sharp face moves abruptly, like a raptor shifting its gaze. “Easy, Legs. Ye’ll git yer chance.”

It's quite clear that the dynamic of this group of vastly different individuals will be trying at the best of times. It is also clear that there is no room in her demeanor for caring about those who are indignant to her suggestion. Terse as she may seem, it is out of necessity. After all, time is of the essence. Talk and chatter is next to useless; so much more can be learned about a person by in the ways they fight (or do not fight), how they react when hurt, how they work with the group, or work for themselves. If one of the collected person has difficulty with her selection, she has left the opening for them to speak their piece - so long as it doesn't take too gorram long.

[Judging Eagle]

The arachnid chirped, and chittered and whined.

[more later]

[Prak, the Mad]

"Sounds good to me, miss. With those techniques I sould easily be able to tear through ice opponents while enjoying a nice cup of tea." the goat says, gesturing with the small porcelain tea cup that had come from nowhere "Might I suggest we handle the decisions of watch schedule now, before we get out on the field? Casters should likely take first or last watch to allow a full eight hours of rest straight..." He takes a sip of his tea ahh... very nice tea... huh, oh, as I was saying, does anyone not need sleep, and how many of you need to rest and prepare spell casting?"