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 No.753511[View All]


Seven months ago, five drifters arrived in the far flung pocket of reality known to the outside world as the Echoes. With nothing save for their names and the clothes on their backs, they carved out a living for themselves, beginning a journey across the foreign land, gaining new allies and new enemies alike. The winds swept them across the wilds, bringing them to a forsaken desert known as the Shifting Sands, where they met someone they did not expect: a being long thought myth, known to many as Discord. Wisely opting not to free him, or retrieve the artifact he coveted, they moved on.

In Braildorn, one of the great cities built in this world, they crossed their most mortal foe of all: Lysander, a dragon of great renown and a collector of rare and magical items. They bested him, claiming his ship as their own, and were marked as his enemies forevermore. This caught the attention of an unusual couple: Dawn Chorus, a great magician, and her knight Carabas. Mortal foes of Lysander, they joined forces with the drifters, explaining the object of his desire: the Cuckoo's Egg, a harbinger of dimensional annihilation, and the very same artifact they had discovered in the Sands. Lysander wished to claim it in the name of an entity that haunts the Echoes, known only as the Oneiromancer. With the help of Cecile Grosvenor, Lady of Braildorn, these three would stop at nothing to claim the Egg for themselves.

Fate carried them across the plains, back to the fiery Shifting Sands. There, Discord was freed, and Lysander was on his way to retrieve the Egg for himself. Not only that, but he had betrayed the Oneiromancer; he rejected the entity from Outside, wanting the Egg for himself and claiming some of the Oneiromancer's powers. A great battle ensued, and Carabas was lost amidst the sands, but the Egg was wrenched from Lysander's claws, safe with the drifters, for now.

While traveling with the Egg, the party was subject to several fortunate and misfortunate adventures including the return of the Oneiromancer to the corporeal plane. The question remained of what to do with the Egg from here; after much deliberation, a plan was hatched. They would set sail for the Isle of Glass, a forsaken, beast-infested rock far removed from the rest of the Echoes. Here, they would challenge Lysander to a decisive combat, and determine the fate of the Echoes once and for all. On the eve of their final voyage, two of their number abandoned them to pursue their own goals: the warrior Hermodur, their ally from the start, and the great warlock Black Pudding. The latter departed with a nebulous promise of his return ere the end of their ordeal.

Now, the drifters prepare for what the dawn will bring. Lysander's ship lies ahead. Below, a great volcano. Above, the stars align for a celestial event. Behind, a great storm brews, and the skies blacken over the mainland.

The stage is set for war, and to the drifters, fate's finger beckons.
970 posts and 12 image replies omitted. Click reply to view.


She turns her head towards the minotaur, trying her best to get a look at him despite the angle. She is reminded of something she cannot describe, and speaks softly to the minotaur.

"You have been here for a long time, yes? Imprisonment has taken it's toll on you." She says, trying to get him to open up.

His words of 'them coming around' concerns the dragon. "What do you mean? Them? There are more of those creatures? They seem… predictable. Perhaps we could trick them?" She thinks out loud, hoping the minotaur will volunteer more information.

Persuasion [1d10+2]

Roll #1 1 + 2 = 3


"I think so. Honestly it's easy to lose count after a while. 'Specially with no sunlight and all."

"Yeah, they use these things as guards mostly. And soldiers. Genius, really. They used to be suits of armor, then enhanced zombies, but this new iteration is all metal and gears. Guess that's one way to solve a weakness."

"Excuse me? Who's they exactly?" Liliane joins the conversation.

He shrugs. "Dunno what they call themselves. They're not exactly talkative. I don't even know what they want or where we are to be honest. Same as you I imagine."

Liliane nods. The minotaur looks back to you. "Don't suppose you have any bright ideas for an escape plan. What did you say your name was?"


The dragon sighs. "Tlawīli." She says in flat, unenthusiastic disappointment. "We know nothing of our captors and their strange devices. Not even their motives. Though, for some reason, they do not take you away from your cell after all this time. Why do they not desire you for their purposes?" She inquires, still lost on what to do.


[1d10] Perception

Roll #1 3 = 3


"Tlawili, huh. Mouthful, innit."

The prisoner shrugs. "Maybe they just like my hair," he quips. "Any case, it doesn't really matter. If they wanted me dead I would be by now. Best thing to do, I reckon, is sit pretty and wait for an opportunity." He leans back and folds his hands behind his head, resting his eyes. He doesn't seem very fussed about the current situation.

"Excuse me? Sir? You didn't give your name," Liliane points out. "I'm Liliane."

"Fernald," he replies without opening his eyes. "Best get comfortable, you two. Patience is the name of the game here."


Tlawīli sighs. She leans against the side of her cell with her claw to her head. She holds it in pain, the adrenaline from combat and her situation finally wearing off and leaving her with a headache. She eventually moves off of the wall, walking away from the other two and taking a moment to sit on the floor.

Her mind stirs her mounting frustrations delving into one another as her thoughts move from stressors to stressors leaving the dragoness princess nearly on the verge of tears. She takes a deep breath while feeling her scaled chest expand without constraining armor for the first time in a long while.

She is clouded with more haunting images, her dead and dying friends, the history of kingdom of Trakali falling in her future, and the imagery that has haunted her since entering the echoes. masatl.

She closes her eyes, taking a few breaths before thinking further. This spiral of fates she has suffered gives her this sensation of falling. Falling from the graces of Trakali and failing to defend it and the people she cared about. This torment from her home and this realm thrives in her. And yet, a great, inexplicable internal light shines. A younger Sunbeam would call this the light of Trakali. Tlawīli, still falling, does not.

She lets herself fall into it.

She takes a final, calming breath. She was going to pray, but stands up, figuring she already has.

"We wait then." She says solemnly.

Overhealing [1d10]

Roll #1 4 = 4


Perception [1d10]

Roll #1 10 = 10


Accepting your fate for now, you take a deep breath and wait.

You're not sure how much time passes. Five months? Three days? Your strange, mute captors enter every so often to grab a prisoner. Sometimes they get brought back, trembling and catatonic, refusing to speak. Often times, they disappear entirely. Fernald, oddly content with his lot, spends most of the time asleep. Liliane huddles in a corner, clearly afraid, but trying to be brave. On some occasions, you hear her quietly crying at night.

Then, it happens.

One day, while awaiting your turn, you hear more running than usual. Something seems to be happening outside of the dungeon. You hear cries of alarm and surprise. Liliane looks around nervously. "Wh… what's going on?…"

"An opportunity," says Fernald, roused from his eternal slumber.

It's then that you notice something that you hadn't before. The chain that binds your ankle to the wall. The connection to the wall has a crack in it. With enough force, you could wrench your ankle free, likely taking a piece of the wall with it. It'd slow you down considerably, but at least you'd be able to move.

You also see that the clockwork sentry has stopped patrolling, and is standing unmoving on the opposite end of the hall, where Liliane is held. You notice its fingers have odd grooves in them, almost like keys. Perhaps one of its hands could unlock your cell, if you could only neutralize it…


The dragoness rises from her meditation, surprisingly unaffected physically from whatever time has passed. Whether that be by mental control or just not much time actually occurring, she's not sure. She responds to Fernald. "This is what you were waiting for?" She asks.

As she notices the crack in the wall, a plan hatches in her head. "Fernald. We need to get that… guard-thing over here." She says, still not sure what to call it. "I can incapacitate it, and free us all." She boldly claims, her draconic eyes thinning in determination as she gathers her strength to rip the chain clean off the wall. She puts one foot at the base of the chain attached to the wall and pulls the other hard and suddenly, trying to break it all at once rather than slowly wear it down.

Break these Chains [1d10]

Roll #1 2 = 2


"I was waiting for something to happen," he answers. "Something's happening, innit."

Fernald raises his eyebrows and grins smugly. "That I can do." He gets up and moves over to the bars, banging and rattling them loudly. "Oi! Tincan!" he bellows. "Bloody get over 'ere!"

The sentry stands stiffly for a moment, then starts cautiously approaching him. "Open the door! I want to speak to the manager! The service here is disgraceful! I've been waiting to get my entrees for weeks!"

It comes a little loose, but only just. A few specks of rubble crumble off. Barely anything, though.

Liliane watches eagerly as you both do your thing. "What should I do?" she whispers as Fernald continues to complain loudly to the sentry.


She pulls against her chains again, realizing she's running out of time to get them off before the guard sees through their plan. Her expression turns from confidence to panic as she pulls harder and harder.

"Just be ready to catch, Liliane." She says, her voice strained through her pulling.

I Can Break These Chains! [1d10]

Roll #1 4 = 4


The sentry stations itself completely in front of Fernald. "And the ambience! Ugh! What even is this place! No water, no appetizers, no music even? Don't expect me to pay for my meal!" He gives you a side wink. Seems he has its full attention, but not for long.

Liliane nods. The chains come a little looser, but not by much. By the look of things, you have two more rounds before the sentry loses interest in Fernald.


"At least he is good at complaining." She says to herself.

She grits her teeth, grabbing her leg as she pulls her whole body away from the wall.

Just Break Already [1d10]

Roll #1 9 = 9


You take a moment to steel yourself, and with an almighty heave, you wrench your leg. The crack spiders outward and crumbles. You stumble forward and almost trip; there's a large piece of rubble still chained to your leg, but at least you can move, albeit slowly.

"Kept me waiting, ey," says Fernald. With surprisingly nimble movements, he grabs the automaton by the wrist, wrenching its arm forward and twisting. He grabs it with his other free hand, then pulls with the first one, completely dismantling its left arm. He kicks the limb towards your cell while he continues to grapple it, now holding down its head. A panel seems to be trying to open on it. "Quick, unscrew… the hand," he grunts, struggling to keep the guard under his grip.


The freed dragon is surprised at Fernald's sudden strength, and at him ripping off the robots limbs so quickly. In her mind, she was planning to burn off the limbs herself, but it seems he had planned for this for a long time.

She quickly gets over to the hand, trying her best to comprehend it's strange design as she unscrews it to retrieve whatever looked like a key and unlock her cell from the inside. As she does she notices Fernald's struggle and decides to help him out.

Dragon Breath [1d10] (Robot Head)

Roll #1 3 = 3


You use one of its fingers as a key, unlocking the door. Joining the fight, you unleash your dragon breath in a stream, but Fernald's struggling only results in him searing his hands on it, and being forced to let go. He grunts and stumbles backwards, as does the robot. Liliane watches anxiously as the guard stumbles away from both of you, recovering as a panel opens up on the top of its head. A brass trumpet-shaped device starts coming out from inside!

"Quick, tackle it!" Fernald urges you, cradling his hands. "Don't let it call for help!"


She lunges for the device, her draconic talons plunging into the opening panel and tearing out whatever she could. She tried to tear out the trumpet, the plate it was attached to, the robot attached to that and really, maybe some of the ground below it.

She also tosses the hand-key to Liliane, while trying to rip off the other to give to Fernald.

Rip and Tear [1d10]

Roll #1 1 = 1


You toss the severed hand to Liliane, who seems to freak out for a bit before fumbling to free herself. You hurl yourself at the sentry, but it manages to sidestep you. A screeching siren like the wail of an angry cat starts sounding, calling for help!

Liliane throws her cell door open and bursts out, pummeling the robot with an armored right hook, knocking it to the ground. Gears and springs go flying as it collapses, silencing the alarm for good. Someone's bound to have heard it, though.

You unlock Fernald and finally free your ankle of the wretched chain. "Cheers," says Fernald as he and Liliane do the same. "Now let's get the hell out of here. We're lucky something's got their attention up above for now."

It dawns on you that you have no idea which way is out from here. Noticing your prison break, the other captives along the hallway start reaching out and clamoring for help as well.


There's no hesitation as Tlawīli goes to take the hand from Liliane and unlocking as many cells as she can. She urges Fernald to do the same. "The events above give us time, we will need as much strength and allies as we can. Help get these ones free." She says, opening cell after cell and ushering them out of this row.

Noticing just how lost she is, she hands the keyhand back to Liliane and tries to figure out which way is out, trying to recall guard patterns.

Perception [1d10]

Roll #1 5 = 5


The prisoners look as grimy and worn down as Fernald does, but they look ready to throw down and get out of here. You suddenly realize you must look pretty shabby yourself. "Who are you?" some of them ask. "Did someone send you to get us out?" They seem awed by your daring escape. All in all, there are eight of them, plus the three of you.

You head to the western end of the hall, where you've seen most of the strange cultists come and go from. You're in luck; this seems to be the room where they keep most of the stolen gear from their captives. Your new allies waste no time in grabbing their things, swarming the room eagerly and arming themselves to the teeth.

"Let's not lollygag," says Fernald as he scours the property room for his own gear. "In a minute this whole place is gonna be swarming with those freaks." Sure enough, you can hear many footsteps heading your way, both mechanical and otherwise.


The dragon gathers her things, putting her cobbled armor back on and reuniting with her sword. She lifts the hefty blade, examining it for any damage. Her eyes thin at Fernald's warning.

"Good. I have some vengeance to enact." She says, drawing her blade and stepping out of the room to venture further towards the exit. As she does, she keeps a close eye on Liliane, who Tlawīli worries may be worn down from the traumatic experience.

Watchful Eye [1d10] (Liliane)

Roll #1 6 = 6


It's a little more worn down, but nothing major. Liliane just grabs her traveling supplies, while Fernald takes a moment before grabbing a wickedly pointed dirk and a small one-handed crossbow, along with a hooded fur cloak. "Beauty," he grins.

The other prisoners gear up. The footsteps grow ever louder, and all of a sudden, everyone braces for combat. Liliane assumes a fighting stance, while curiously, Fernald snaps his fingers and just… vanishes into thin air.

You don't have much time to ponder this, however. "Here they come!" one of your followers calls. "Get ready!…"


The heavy wooden and metal door is kicked off its hinges as six sentries bust in, equipped with brass swords and intricate repeating crossbows. All hell breaks loose as they start attacking you and the others indiscriminately in a full blown riot!

As chaos unfolds, one of them fires a volley of crossbow bolts at you!
[1d10] [1d10] Higher roll counts

Liliane moves to help you take him out, tanking a barrage of hits with her protective armor as she charges to knock down your attacker with a fierce shout!
[1d10+2] Slam

Roll #1 3 = 3 / Roll #2 8 = 8 / Roll #3 3 + 2 = 5


The armored and ready dragoness steps forward, ready to swing her sword in a wide cleave at the sentries just as she notices Lilianes charge. She quickly lunges towards her to lift her up ever so slightly to hit a more essential piece of the robots machinery.

"Be more careful next time, Liliane!" She says, before swinging her blade down into the same sentry in an attempt to further the damage Liliane causes.

Greatsword [1d10] (Sentry 1)

Roll #1 9 = 9


Team combo! You work in unison to take it down, severing its crossbow arm before Liliane barges in for the finisher, slamming the hapless robot to the floor.

It's then that you feel a sudden jolt of pain up your left arm. Looking down, you can see that the sentry got you with its shots before you could take it down. Two fierce metal quills have struck you in the left arm, wearing down your scales and causing a minor injury. You shake it off.
>Tlawili takes 3 hits

The battle rages on. Two of the prisoners are struck down by a volley of quills, but one avenges him and pummels a sentry into oblivion with a steel chair.
>6 prisoners remain
>5 sentries remain

As the others keep them busy, one of them falls back and lines up a calculated headshot on you!

"We have to keep moving!" Liliane manages to shout before she is beset by a mace-wielding sentry, keeping her from being able to assist you for now.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the door at the top of the stairs open, as of its own will. Fernald?

Roll #1 7 + 2 = 9


She grits her teeth at the pain, the weight of the chaos around her mounting as some deep memory inside her arises. Something she used to have, an ability tailored exactly to these moments of overwhelming odds. A pinnacle of rage and vengeance. A wrath she had long forgotten. She searches her soul and finds… nothing. It's not there.

She closes her eyes, and tries her best to recreate that feeling.

Dragon Breath [1d10] (All Remaining Sentries)

Roll #1 9 = 9


You stagger as another quill goes flying. It strikes your right horn, sending a chip flying. You take a knee and almost fall on the spot. With a deep breath, you retaliate, unleashing a searing white beam of light from your mouth. With a roar, you cleave the room, splitting the remaining five sentries in two with a single stroke. A burning horizontal scorch mark is left in the moldering stone walls. There's a moment of silence as Liliane and the others stare in awe at your display.

The rush of energy from the exertion fades, and the pain of the head and arm injuries catch up with you. You sink to all fours, and Liliane quickly rushes to help you up. You hear your fellow escapees muttering in both fear, awe and excitement, arming themselves further with the remains of the sentries.
>Tlawili takes 1 wound, now at 5/4

There's little time to rest, though. More are on the way, and you need to find your way out of this place, and fast. You hear a soft rumbling in the distance, almost like distant thunder, but coming from beneath your feet.


With every exhausted breath, tips of tiny white flames pulse from the downed dragon, her body slowly recovering from the exertion. She takes a deep breath as she stands up, breathes out a final flame, and surveys her handiwork.

"Good." She says, her words cut off by her heavy breathing. "We go now."

She searches around her, looking for any method of going up. Stairs, elevators, even mystical teleportation circles would work.

Perception [1d10]

Roll #1 1 = 1


You, Liliane and the others creep along. Outside of the room you were just in is a flight of circular stairs, which leads to another level. It looks like you're in some sort of tower; the walls of it are lined with occult insignias and depictions of a black stag. You're not sure how many levels down you are from the exit, but Fernald seems to somehow know the way. Doors keep opening ahead of you as you go, guiding you onward.

As you round a corner, you move into the next level up - straight into the enemy patrol! This one's a mix of both sentries and the magician cultists that own them. You are both taken by surprise by the ambush, disorienting you for a moment.
>4 sentries remain
>3 cultists remain
>6 prisoners remain

Liliane clobbers two of the cultists with a roundhouse punch!
[1d10] Cleave

The remaining cultist focuses you as the leader of the bunch and starts casting a familiar magic circle of weakening at your feet!

One of the sentries fires a volley at Liliane!

The prisoners keep the others busy for now!

Roll #1 7 = 7 / Roll #2 3 = 3


Tlawīli snarls at the vile spell below her, dashing forward to bring divine punishment to the cultist daring to remind her of it. In her short-tempered attack, she forgets she could just inure the vile magic away, but is satisfied with merely punishing the caster instead.

Thwack that Cultist [1d10]

Roll #1 1 = 1


You rush to pummel them, but too late; the magic circle flashes brilliant purple, and you feel your strength ebb.
>-1 to all rolls for 2 turns

The quills ping off of Liliane's armor. She's not wounded, but it slows her down, only knocking the two cultists off balance.

Two of the sentries are taken down by the prisoners in a team effort, but they are weakened and injured during the skirmish.

The cultist that hexed you backs off, casting a dazzling light upwards to call for reinforcements. Before he can pull it off, however, a gash appears across his throat, and he slumps to the floor. Fernald's pulling some strings from the shadows, it seems.

>2 sentries remain

>2 cultists remain
>6 prisoners remain

One of the cultists shouts hoarsely and lashes at you with a fiery conjured whip!
[1d10] [1d10] Magic Bolt

Liliane rushes to defend you from it and counters with a powerful uppercut!
>Tlawili is Protected

The other cultist backs away from the ongoing fight to unleash a powerful curse on the escaping prisoners!

Roll #1 1 = 1 / Roll #2 1 = 1 / Roll #3 7 = 7


The familiar darkness slips into her. The familiar feeling makes her sick to her stomach, but is strangely comforting to feel something familiar in such a foreign land. With Liliane's coverage, Tlawīli attempts to stave off the sickly, ichorous feeling before it gets worse.

Inure [1d10-1] (Darkness) (Self)

Overhealing [1d10-1] (Self

Roll #1 5 - 1 = 4 / Roll #2 7 - 1 = 6


You try to cast a counter-spell to stave off the gnawing dark, but your head feels light, and you can't muster the will to fight it. Refusing to succumb, you turn inwardly, and bolster your physical strength with magic, granting you greater resilience than before even in the throes of this sapping curse.
>+1 max HP, now 6/4

Liliane rushes forward, tanking the lash of the cultist's whip and countering with a ferocious uppercut punch that physically lifts him off the ground with its force. He falls to the ground, out cold.

The other cultist's spell works. Drained of their strength, your fellow escapees can do little to fight back. Two more fall in the battle, slain by the clockwork sentries. Fernald scores another kill, downing one of the other cultists.
>2 sentries remain
>1 cultist remains
>4 prisoners remain

One of the sentries opens fire on you!
[1d10] [1d10] Higher roll

Liliane rushes to block it, charging the sentry with a drop kick!

The cultist conjures a burning spear and hurls it at Liliane!

Roll #1 9 = 9 / Roll #2 9 = 9 / Roll #3 10 + 2 = 12


She exhales deeply through her nose, gathering whatever willpower she has left to try her inuration again. Her claws glow with light as she places them on her chest and focuses despite the chaos.

Inure [1d10-1] (Darkness) (Self)

Roll #1 9 - 1 = 8


You keep focusing inwardly, clenching your fist and calling on your magical prowess. You feel warmth beginning to permeate your body, from your chest outward to your fingers and toes. Looking down, you notice you're glowing slightly.

Liliane's armor starts to give way under the barrage of quills. It could be a trick of the light, but you swear you see one pierce through the gaps in her helmet, with no reaction from her. Such a wound should kill a mortal man, but Liliane seems to shrug it off like it's nothing. Or so you think at first. This onslaught, combined with the devastating thrust of a flaming spear to her chest, causes her to cry out softly and collapse with a hollow rattle and clank. She doesn't move.

The remaining prisoners manage to take out one sentry. Fernald reappears to you briefly, looking disheveled and panicked. "What are you waiting for? Run, you idiots! You can't kill the whole tower!" He vanishes again into the upper levels.
>1 sentry remains
>1 cultist remains
>4 prisoners remain

The remaining sentry starts sounding an alarm like the one in the dungeon, calling for reinforcements!

The cultist starts charging up a magic orb to hurl at you!
[1d10] [1d10] Magic Bolt

You hear that rumbling again, this time accompanied by the earth itself moving. Everything is thrown off balance briefly. Whatever's happening outside, it's something big…

Roll #1 7 = 7 / Roll #2 7 = 7


She collapses towards Liliane as a soft "No." escapes her lips. She slings her over her shoulder, charging towards the direction Fernald is headed in with her.

Get through [1d10] (if necessary)

Roll #1 10 = 10


You haul her over your shoulders, and in so doing, find nothing but an empty suit of armor, held together by some unseen magic.

There's no time to think about this too much, however. You are struck in the chest by the magic orb, burning you to your very soul. You shake off the unpleasant feeling quickly.
>Tlawili takes 2 hits

As you start running for it, the prisoners give up the fight and join you in fleeing. It's not long before more join the pursuit, both sentries and cultists alike. One of the prisoners lags behind, and gets subdued.
>3 prisoners remain

You keep running, following Fernald's hints. More than once you come face to face with a robot or a robed madman, but barrel past them in a mad, blind escape dash. The higher up you go, the more sinister the tower becomes. Occult symbols and scrawlings line the walls, and you see stone altars covered in grim stains, and jars full of unmentionable things. The recurring image you see as you run through this terrible place is a black figure, sometimes hooded and bipedal, sometimes depicted as a stag. The same one from that strange dream you had, so long ago.

Your ragtag rabble of runaways keep moving for what feels like an eternity. Eventually, you start feeling a powerful, knife-sharp wind. You must be close to the surface by now. There's several doors ahead of you now, and none of them look inviting. You've given your pursuers the slip for now, but there's no sign of Fernald, and you are effectively lost as to where to go.
>roll Navigation


Tlawīli tries not to let Liliane's strange disappearance bother her. She charges through each and every door, in a mad panic to simply leave before things get worse. Her heart aches seeing a prisoner go down but she continues undaunted.

She tries to examine each door carefully, focusing her cluttered mind the best she can.

Navigation [1d10]

Roll #1 4 = 4


You go through a door. It leads to an adjacent chamber consisting of a large room with a single stone structure in the center. It's curiously bereft of anything else; a vast, empty room with nothing but the structure. Closer examination reveals it's a sort of archway, consisting of one stone slab atop two pillars. There's no markings on it or anything to denote its purpose at all, yet you get bad vibes from it. Something tells you it's a bad idea to walk through the archway.

Needless to say, this doesn't seem to be the way to go.

Before you can try a different way, the door bursts off its hinges, and a throng of cultists and their clockwork minions burst in. A split second head count reveals three cultists, and four - no, five sentries. You're outnumbered, and cornered to boot.

You do a slight double take as you see who's leading the mob: a familiar green, rake-thin saurian in a white coat. It's the same one that kidnapped you in the first place. He clenches his fists, beginning to spark with lightning, letting out a low, guttural hiss. Liliane begins to come to, stirring and eventually climbing off your back, while both your followers and your enemies ready themselves for a fight…


Tlawīli turns to face the saurian, Liliane over her shoulder and her blade in her other hand. She brings it around, the dull tip scraping against the stone before she points it at him, claw trembling in both exhaustion and exhilaration.

"Answer. Me. I will tear this entire temple to the ground if I have to. You see what I have done to your prisoners. Capture me again, and this will happen again. Answer me now, and you may be spared. Who are you. What is this. ximitschiua nechasikamati? (Do you understand me?)" She says, holding together as intimidating a visage as she can towards him.

Intimidation [1d10]

Roll #1 10 = 10


The cultists seem wary of getting near you, though whether it's because of your menacing demeanor or because of whatever's happening to the facility, you can't be sure. Their leader simply curls his lip and points a crooked, sparking finger your way. With a hoarse, rasping voice, as if he hadn't pronounced words in a long, long time, he speaks:

"Scriniarii. The Dreamer has chosen you."

The word rings strangely familiar in your mind. You swear you've heard it before, somewhere. Before you can question him further, however, another quake causes a cultist to fire off a magic bolt in reflex. Another brawl quickly breaks out between the group, throwing everything into chaos!
>3 prisoners remain
>5 sentries remain
>3 cultists remain

The cultist that spoke clenches his fists and his bracelets glow, lightning sparking around his wrists and ankles as he falls back into a kung fu pose, ready to fight you!

A sentry opens fire on Liliane!
[1d10] [1d10] Higher roll

She counters by hunkering down into a defensive stance, blocking all incoming attacks!

One of the other two cultists fires a bolt at you!

Roll #1 8 = 8 / Roll #2 2 = 2 / Roll #3 4 = 4


"Tell them to find a new chosen one. I am busy." She says without a shred of care for this saurian's petty dealings. She steps to him, raising her blade above her head and twirling it around before slamming the edge down with her opposite hand clenched in anger. "Go away!" She bellows before swinging the blade up and into the saurian's torso.

Attack the Snek [1d10]

Roll #1 5 = 5


You shrug off the magic attack and lunge at the leader with a powerful uppercut slash. As you do so, however, he lashes out to meet you head on, stomping one long leg down. With uncanny speed, he manages to catch your blade, pinning it to the ground with one sparking foot. He focuses and sends a shock through the blade, stunning you momentarily and knocking your weapon aside, disarming you!

One of the cultists gets stabbed in the back by an unseen foe. Fernald seems to be around again to lend a hand. One prisoner takes a shot to the gut, but keeps fighting, taking down a sentry before collapsing from his injuries.
>2 prisoners remain
>4 sentries remain
>2 cultists remain

Now in melee range, the leader's hands glow with lightning before he extends them in a finger gun pose, firing electric arcs towards you point blank!
[1d10] [1d10] Dual attack

Liliane takes no damage, charging the sentry attacking her as it fires again!
[1d10] Liliane
[1d10] Sentry

Roll #1 9 = 9 / Roll #2 1 = 1 / Roll #3 4 = 4 / Roll #4 10 = 10


The dragoness is shocked to see her blade so easily dispatched. She tries to move towards it as the lightning begins to form in her foes hands. She takes countermeasures as soon as she can, her own claws glowing with anti-magic.

Inure [1d10] (Lightning) (Self)

Overhealing [1d10] (Self)

Roll #1 2 = 2 / Roll #2 5 = 5


You don't have time to cast the spells before he fires his lightning. You dive to the ground and recover the sword in one swift movement, pummeling him in the chest with the hilt. He hisses and falls to the ground, scrambling backwards.

Liliane takes a devastating blow that breaks her charge, but powers through it, shaken but not downed again just yet. Nearby, another sentry is downed, but one of the two remaining prisoners is injured in the process. Two of them and the other remaining cultist bear down on them, outnumbered…
>2 prisoners remain
>3 sentries remain
>2 cultists remain

As the leader scoots backwards, he starts conjuring a lightning blast through his feet, kicking a volatile crackling orb at you!
[1d10+2] [1d10+2] Magic Bolt

Liliane's guard is slipping, but she tries to take out the third sentry in a last ditch lunge!
[1d10+2] Slam
[1d10] Sentry attack

Roll #1 4 + 2 = 6 / Roll #2 4 + 2 = 6 / Roll #3 8 + 2 = 10 / Roll #4 9 = 9


Tlawīli's attention shifts to the suffering prisoners, she is torn for a moment, but ultimately keeps her focus on the leader, knowing that striking him down would affect the morale of his subordinates.

She raises her great blade above her head and swings down with a massive vertical strike onto the leader.

Slice the Snek [1d10]

Roll #1 9 = 9


You take a lightning bolt to the chest, making you seize and falter. You power through it, and with gritted teeth, bring the blade down. You cleave him at the shoulder, leaving a grievous wound across his torso. He hisses in agony, flailing to get up. His left arm dangles uselessly, out of commission for now.

Liliane takes three quills, slowed down and injured, but with a battle cry, throws herself around the sentry, wrapping her arms around it and smashing it to the floor. With two solid punches, she destroys the sentry for good. She takes a moment to recover, rolling onto her back in exhaustion.

The prisoners manage to hold their own, taking down the last cultist, but the wounded one succumbs to his injuries and passes out, down but not out. The last one standing for now prepares for a 2v1!
>2 prisoner remains (1 downed)
>2 sentries remain
>1 cultist remains

Their leader starts backing off, firing off another blast of lightning from his good arm before starting to sprint towards the strange archway!

The ground quakes again, and debris starts to fall. The ceiling seems to be slowly crumbling…

Roll #1 6 + 2 = 8


"You can end this." She says, looming over the downed lizard. She opens her mouth to speak, but is cut off by the rumbling around her.

"Liliane! We need to go. They are retreating and we must as well." She says, going over to her to help her up and begin their escape.

Navigation [1d10] (if necessary)

Roll #1 4 = 4


Liliane groans and gets up. "I'm awake, I'm awake. What's… oh."

The 'oh' is directed at a large spidering crack in the ceiling, through which you can see a pale green light beginning to shine through. This distracts you for long enough to get hit from behind by the leader's lightning bolt, knocking you flat on your face. You recover just in time to see him leap through the archway. There's a flash of white light, and a sound like beating wings, then… nothing on the other side.

The last prisoner manages to fend off the sentries, picks up the injured one in a fireman lift and races past you to the doorway where you entered. As you move to join him, there's another quake, and chunks of loose debris almost crush you, blocking the way out. Fernald reappears next to you, looking up at the strange green light seeping through.

"It's finally her time…"

You're not quite sure what he's talking about, but there's not much time to ponder it. Liliane quickly springs to action trying to dig through the rubble to the exit, but it doesn't seem to be doing much. The building will collapse on you before you can get out that way.



The dragon struggles to stand, her legs trembling beneath her. "Have I… No.." She stops, knowing herself to still be alive. She rises, trying to take account of what's going on.

"Her time?" She says, holding her head. "Not a time for prophecy."


He smirks. "Don't worry. You'll catch up if you survive. Or not."

Rubble falls around you, coating everything in a dusty haze. Liliane soon gives up on going that way, following a crumbling sound from the other side. "No… it can't be over…" She starts looking around frantically for any way to escape, even going so far as to try and climb the walls. To little avail. Fernald doesn't seem all that fussed, given the circumstances. "You just gonna keep standing around?" he asks casually, making his way through the crumbling room towards the mysterious archway.

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