Losa: Land of Shadows & Aberrations

Status
Not open for further replies.

pythor229

Member
Whether you were together or apart, the mists gather around and ensnare the six of you, bringing you to a land that is dark, cold, and unfamiliar. When the mists disperse, you find yourself laying in a bed of soft white snow. As you look up, you can see the starry night sky, yet there is no moon. Even more snow continues to fall ever slowly down to the ground where you currently rest. The world around you is in a twilight state, only giving those without the ability to see in the dark a dim light in which to see their surroundings. There is darkness in almost every direction, until you look behind you. There in the distance, about 60 feet away, is what looks to be a small settlement. Wooden houses are being lit up by sputtering torches and and what looks to be magical light. At the entrance of the settlement, you can just make out a sign with the name Lond written into it with thick black ink. The darkness around you starts to feel overbearing, compared to the warm light of the village. You shiver reflexively, and you don't know if it's because of the cold, or from something else. You feel the need to rush towards this light, like a moth to a flame, before the darkness around you becomes suffocating.
 
Nuts and bolts rattle as a shiver goes through Arthur Arthimus’ frame. He’s pretty sure something shakes loose.

“Damn rust bucket.“

The voice sounds like it comes from deep inside a hollow body, like it’s not real. His face hardly moves when he speaks; instead his jaw moves to let out the sound. Violet eyes brighten and dim to the cadence of the words, before going dim when he quiets down again. A small layer of snow gathers on top of his body, cold and lifeless as it is.

Eventually Arthur Arthimus sits up. He slowly turns his head around as he scans his surroundings, finding little in the way of danger but much in the way of strange company. “Now where the dickens am I?” the warforged says. “And more importantly, who in the Gods’ noses are you?” His expression doesn’t change, but his voice takes on something akin to confusion.

Arthimus gets up. His movements are careful and methodical. Despite this, a bolt still rolls out of a gap between his hand and a wrist. Muttering to himself, the words inaudible through the vocal distortion, he bends down to pick it up and forcibly shove it back in. There, solved. Some top notch engineering, if you’d ask Arthimus.

The warforged carefully turns around, his feet pointing towards the haven of light on the horizon. “Very strange. I think that warrants some out-checking.”
 
Lying on her back in the soft white snow, Sid'nee felt groggy as she wearily opened her eyes and took in the foggy sky overhead. She was aware enough that she was spread eagled on the ground - in her armor. Which meant she hadn't just gotten drunk and passed out. Sitting up, the most striking thing about Sid'nee was the sheer amount of spider web styling on everything she owned. On her leather armor, on each of the pouches that adorned her belt, on her ankle high boots. Her arms, aside from the leather pauldrons that covered her shoulders, were bare. Long waist length white hair cascaded down her back and was now matted with snow. A small golden spider shaped like a black widow appeared to be sat in her hair just over her right eyebrow though closer inspection would reveal this was a comb worn in the hair.

"Crikey, who stuck us in the Esky mate?" said Sid'nee as she stood up, putting one purple hand on the ground as she got her feet under her. Hearing the synthetic voice of Arthur, Sid'nee asked "Eh, what you wearing all that metal for mate? And more importants, where's me brekky?" Shaking the snow out of her long hair, Sid'nee gave a smile, "Me name's Sid'nee," said the woman, reaching into one of the ten pouches that she wore on a belt around her waist. Pulling out a white field mouse, Sid'nee suddenly squeaked a little before announcing, "An' this me ol cobber, Steve."

Looking in the same direction Arthur was facing, Sid'nee said, "Too right mate, hope they got a few coldies in there somewhere."
 
Arthimus turns as he registers the sound of a voice. He looks at the drow lady curiously, taking in her bare arms and the way she doesn’t appear to be wearing very much underneath her armor. Paternal concern overtakes Arthimus. Why, isn’t that a little cold for this weather, little lady? Aren’t you sure that you should get your coat before going out in the snow? The words come out like he’s said them a million times, a standard phrase. His mouth closes again as he listens to the drow’s words.

Then his mouth opens. His eyes light up like he’s going to say something. His mouth closes, his eyes dim. Mouth opens, eyes light up. This process repeats for a good ten seconds before the warforged’s mouth stays open and lets out a high, piercing tone for another twenty seconds all the while his eyes flicker erratically. His mouth shuts again. Arthimus stays quiet for a bit, before his mouth opens again. And then—

Excuse me, you were saying something?Arthimus pauses, staring ahead for a few moments before continues. What’s your name, young lady? You may call me Arthur Arthimus, former merchant and current father of a beautiful daughter.
 
Sid'nee did feel a chill in the many gaps between her leather armor and her navy blue leotard, its spider web piping almost hidden beneath her leather chestpiece, though she wasn't going to admit she was cold.

"Eh, I'm alright mate," said Sid'nee, "Don't have no coat though, never needed one."

As Arthur started letting off shrill squealing noises and random beeps, Sid'nee covered her ears, "Are you alright mate?" When the beeping had stopped, Sid'nee figured Arthur hadn't heard her the first time.

"Ace, I'm Sid'nee. Me mouse's name is Steve. Where're you from Arthur?" asked Sid'nee, hugging her arms to her sides in a grudging effort to keep them warm.
 
The dwarf stared into the sky for a moment, almost relaxed by the darkness before his reflexes kicked in. The plate covered figure stood from the ground, his body sheltered by beaten dull armor that seems to have weathered a good few battles along with a pristine dark blue cloak, in such good condition that it could’ve been bought only moments ago. “Oh Gods, this does not bode well” he surveyed the area and moved closer to the two speaking “You two seem to know about as much as I do in regards to our situation here. I do not recognize this land from my travels.”
 
Somewhere in a dark, dimly lit cave. Uneven footsteps can be heard walking on the gravel ground.
Only source of light flicking from the burning torch in Drone's hand. Limping around a corner at an unnatural speed, he instead of finding more darkness, finds himself surrounded whiteness.

Quickly going on alert. Drone raises his wooden shield, giant eye embedded in it facing out-ways.
"Show yourself mage! Don't... Who are you lot?" A creaking strained voice calls out. Drone shifts his heavier more deform left side towards the other people in the room.
Drone's skin ripples with tiny spores, ringing across his body. Multiple parts of his body bulging in weird ways, most prominently on his left side. His unnatural asparagus eyes scanning the other occupants that he shares the space with.
"Which one of you did this?" He eyes the other warforged, carefully maintaining his distance, he unconsciously just muttering. "Warforged, not one I have seen off. Friend or Foe? Doesn't appear aggressive."
Looking at the behavior of the occupants, he finishes his though. "Social interaction. Not foe."

Standing there for a moment, he tries to recall what one should do in a social interaction. "Introduce with a name yes? Yes. Find something in common. Where are we? Yes." Taking a metaphorical breath, he limps over closer to the group. "Uhh, hi? My name is Drone, may I have yours?"
 
Zarra blinks at the white flakes falling above, flexing her hands in the snow beneath her. "Is this your doing, mother?" she asks aloud, but at the sound of other voices she's on her feet in one quick movement, spear before her in a flash, cloak whirling out behind her.

Her white hair is trimmed short and haphazardly, showing that she probably does it herself, with two barely pointed ears. Her skin is deep purple and her face might have been beautiful if not for a nose that appears to have been broken a countless number of times.

Her eyes flit across the group, uncertain of the two... were they constructs? But when she finds the drow, her eyes stop. "It doesn't snow in the Underdark. What the fuck is this is?"
 
Realising she were being addressed, Sid'nee looked to see another woman with a similar skin tone to her own, only with smaller ears and much less hair. "Eh? I dunno mate - hadn't been down under since I was little." Sid'nee rolled her shoulders, showing that her leather pauldrons were strapped loosely to her shoulders. "I grew up in a forest with a buncha sheilas living in the forest. Worshippers of Eilistraee, the ol' hoon." Looking the other woman over, Sid'nee shrugged with a smile on her face, "It ain't half dardy out 'ere mate, maybe there's someplace in that town Lond where we can hav' a piss up and some ciggies an' bond in there 'stead out here."
 
Zarra's brow furrows. "You ... what?" Aside from a mention of Eilistraee, she caught none of that. She relaxes her stance a bit, but keeps a firm grip on her spear. "Any of the rest of you speak fucking common? Where the fuck are we?"
 
Pleasure to meet you, Sid’nee. Are you cold? You seem cold. Aren’t you sure you should get your coat before going out in the snow? Arthur asks the question with the exact same intonation as before, seemingly having forgotten that he posited the same phrase barely a minute ago. He is too busy trying to understand the drow’s funny way of talking to remember things.

Arthur goes quiet as more people appear to wake up. He turns to each person in turn, his eyes glowing only dimly as he studies them. Eventually his mouth opens again. Greetings, everyone. You may call me Arthur Arthimus, former merchant and current father of a beautiful daughter. He turns to Drone first, studying the other warforged for a moment. Fascinating. You are a metal creature! I have never seen something like that before.

Then the warlock turns to the half-drow. Watch your language, young lady! He wags a reprimanding finger. Otherwise you can say that puppy for your birthday goodbye!
 
“Hey drow, I don’t know where we are either but I wouldn’t waste your energy getting upset. We need to get to that village and out of this cold, something feels wrong here” the dwarf retrieved the battleaxe from his back and held it in his hands, shifting its weight between both gauntleted fists and bringing his gaze to the town “that sentiment goes for the rest of you as well, it seems as if we’re all confused as to what’s happening and why we’re here”
 
"I do not think I have seen such amounts of snow before. I rather get inside." Taking limping steps behind the half-elf. He directs his attention to the other warforged. "Metal creatures? Is that what they call us now? Better then being called scrap."

Going back to his mental trance, he starts to think out-loud. "The drow speaks in a weird manner. Or do I speak in a weird way? No, the others have a similar way of speaking, however she does seems to have experience. Maybe I can learn off her?"
 
As you all start to walk towards the settlement, a few of you feel something off about the air around you, even before Zarra's weapon alerts you all to danger telepathically. Behind you, six looming figures, made entirely of shadow, come into existence. They stand six feet tall, and they each have a shadowy weapon at their sides. They stare at all of you, or at least you think their staring. You can't make out any details in their form, only their general shape. Zarra's weapon continues to warn you, and the settlement's lights look even more inviting now. The six shadow figures all raise their dark weapons in unison, and they all point at Arcturus. They make a ghastly sound, not unlike screaming, but not as loud as a typical scream. They start to proceed towards you all at the same time, sliding effortlessly across the snowy ground as they do so.
 
Renault looked towards the shadowed figures in his gaze and groaned, here for ten minutes and already trailed by some shadowy monstrosity he drew his shield and shouted to the others “you have six seconds to tell me if we run or fight, of we’re fighting, then get behind me” into the soulless inky black the dwarf stared, in his soul he could feel it staring back. He laughed, softly and only for a second, more of a chuckle really, and exhaled hard through his nose, a soft puff of steam coming from his nose and chilling on his beard or floating into the air
 
Arthimus stares at the creatures of shadow, before turning back to the dwarf. He opens his mouth, and there is a second delay before he speaks, like he is overthinking his words. “My apologies good man, but there does not seem to be a whole lot for us to get behind! I suggest we run instead!”

It’s a shame that these villainous creatures came to ruin their merriment! Arthur finds himself very intrigued by his companions, from Sid’nee with the weird speech pattern, to Drone who was called scrap before and musical performance of Arcturus. He hopes that he can get an encore later.

Despite the suggestion that they run (and the subsequent few paces he takes in the direction of the village) Arthimus reaches up to his chest. There is a bit where metal has been chipped away, revealing an ominous maroon glow. He reaches for it, and from it he draws a great sword of malicious looking red light. It solidifies in his hands seconds later, looking like a real great sword for all intents and purposes— other than the stark red lines that follow the length of the blade like a filled blood groove.
 
With the sudden feeling on unease descending upon her, Sid'nee looked behind her as she clenched her right fist. A pale obsidian light glowed around Sid'nee, seeming to form the outline of some platemail armor that covered her from head to toe though her belongings were still visible beneath the glow. In the center of her chest glowed the outline of a large Drowish woman's head atop a spider's body.

"Crikey - those shadows mate - I don't think they're fair dinkum. We should run mates."

Having seen a threat, another obsidian light glowed around her right hand and a large boomerang with a sharpened edge appeared within Sid'nee's hand.
 
Noting the best of the two clear options available. Drone limps behind the half-elf. Curious of the music that resonates around. "You have an affinity with music if I do stand corrected. Curious. Do you feel your in control of the music, or is the music in control of you?"

Having seen some of the actions of the others, Drone decides to also pull out his wooden staff. As to confirm form himself, he casts a simple Druidcraft cantrip to play the sound of a cricket, as to confirm the lack of magic interference.
 
Just as she's a out to relax, a blade pierces her skull, or at least that's what it feels like as the spear warns her of danger. Hideous shadows of inky blackness loom nearby, approaching, wishing to fight.

A point of impossible cold in her chest thaws and warmth spreads through her body. Inside her head a voice growls, "Yesssss."

"Um, fuck no." Zarra says aloud in response. Together they might take them, but these others were question marks, though they clearly seemed ready for a fight. "Yeah, town sounds good. Let's go have a drink." She begins to trot after them to the village, glancing back over her shoulder. The icy point hardens in her chest again. It's not happy.
 
The shadows follow the party as they run to the safety of the town. They make so sounds as they move, and they continue to point their swords towards the party. As soon as everyone crosses the threshold into the settlement, the six figures stop. They slowly lower their swords back to their sides, and after a tense couple of moments, they melt into the darkness.

Taking time to looking at your new surroundings, you see no immediate inhabitants of this village. It's quiet and empty, but it is brightly lit and looks well maintained enough. Torches are lit all around, and in some places there is even light spells that have been cast to provide magical light. The sheer amount of light has also produced shadows of different objects around the town. You've never felt uneasy about shadows until now, and it's hard to tell if these ones are real or not. When you walk in a few steps, you can see a three story building to your right. The sign at the front of the door reads The Fleeting Respite Inn. It uses the same thick black ink that the sign at the front of the town had. A cold wind suddenly blows through, speckling you all with more flakes of snow. One of the torches on another building to your left flickers for a bit, then goes out suddenly. When you go closer to the inn, you can see that the lights are on inside, and you can hear the faint noise of objects moving around.
 
“So it seems we’ve got lucky then with our escape” the dwarf put a hand on his knee and caught his breath. It was to cold to sweat, but he was definitely heated up. His armor thiugh, it almost hurt to be in from the frosty winds and snow “I hope to see you all inside” he groaned and stepped into the bar
 
Stopping just outside the bar and glancing back, Sid'nee was thoroughly creeped out by how the hostile shadows just melted away. 'At least most of the time I can see my enemy,' thought Sid'nee, glad she'd spent some of her earnings a while back on a set of glasses that looked completely ordinary though made it so that Sid'nee was aware of a lot of things she would otherwise miss.

Looking to Arthur, Sid'nee shuddered a little as the cold whipped through the gaps between her armor. "Crikey, let's get in the warm mates," said Sid'nee as she headed into the bar behind the man whose name she hadn't caught.
 
Arthimus runs, glad his newfound compatriots are doing the same. He’s cursing in Gnomish as he does, rattling and leaving a nut and bolt here and there in his wake. It’s a relief then when they make it to the light of the village and he can stop losing bits and pieces of himself in a mad dash for safety. His sprint turns into a little jog before he comes to a standstill, turning his head to catch the shadows melting into darkness.

Well, that was bad eggs! the warforged says, putting his hands on his hips. I didn’t like that at all. I wonder what those miscreams were up to!

Arthimus looks around the little village and nods to himself in apparent satisfaction. Looks quite quack,he decides. Are we all going to the bar then? It’s been a long awful time since I’ve had a drink. Like the dwarf and drow, Arthimus heads to the bar.
 
The inside of the Inn looks pretty ordinary, as far as Inns are concerned. The entire room is lit up with candles, and even magical light in some places. Tables and chairs are laid out neatly, and the bar sits in the back of the room, with empty stools lined up at it. Stairs lead up to the second floor on the left of the bar. There are a few patrons currently sitting at different tables in almost complete silence, but not enough to make the Inn look filled at all. They all glance at you as you come in, then go back to their drinks quietly. A scruffy and unkempt man in his mid 50s tends the bar quietly. He has long black hair and a matching beard that is almost equally as long. He looks up at the group as they come in, and his eyes widen in a mock surprise. "Well now, I don't think I've ever seen people this weird looking walk into my Inn. I don't recognize you as residents of Lond, please come and sit down." He speaks in a deep and rough voice, and he grabs a mug and starts filling it with ale. "My name is Dimitri Kezkov, and welcome to The Fleeting Respite Inn. I would advise you to take the name seriously."
 
Zarra lowers the hood on her cloak, the shimmering patterns that made it almost look like she wasn't there at all going dull. The short half-drow slides her spear into one of the straps on her pack and leans her elbows on the bar, standing on her toes. "What does that mean, pray tell? You're gonna kick us the fuck out after an hour?" She looks around at the few people sitting quietly at the tables, nursing their drinks. "Seems like it would be bad for business, and we just doubled your number of customers. Unless people dropping out of the sky is a regular fucking occurrence." She forces a genial tone, despite the cursing.

She slides a gold piece across the bar to the hairy barkeep. "I got the first round." She looks at the others, though avoids meeting the drow's eyes. "To make up for my typically shitty first impression."
 
Status
Not open for further replies.

Users who are viewing this thread

Back
Top