Lethal Reword 7 * True Lethal (IC)

Overcoming the stench of blood Aaron forced himself to the from of his cell and reached through managing to grab hold of the torturer's body and pull it closer to his cell bars. There was a wet squelch as the man's head separated from the bar. He almost retched as the smell almost doubled in potency but desperation and stubbornness wouldn't let him stop pulling. Finally the man lay against the front of his cell and he reach through patting around the belt for anything metal, rolling him to feel every inch. The only place his hands refused to search has hear the bleeding head.

With a clink his hand brushed metal and he grasped an large key. He pulled on it only to find it caught of hooked on something, a belt hook or some other hay of keeping it secured. With a jingling sound he shook the key and a few seconds later felt id come loose. "HA!" He withdrew his hand and felt for the hole in the lock on his door then tried a key. It refused to budge. The next didn't even fit in the lock. Fourth, no luck. But the fifth turned stiffly and with a clang the bolt shot onto the door and is swung outwards.

Across from him was Mick and he stepped over to his cell figuring if anyone was listening they would have heard the lock. Hey Mick see what you can do about Oliver." he tried a few keys and found the right one unlocking the cell before going to Frost's cell and repeating the process. He worked his way down the row unlocking every occupied cell.
 
"Good job!" Sage whispered fiercely. He was glad to be out of that blasted cage, and already he felt better, as if there was something stifling him from inside of the bars.

He gave the cages a wide berth as he stepped into the middle of the room. It was still dark, but with the small pinpricks of light around the room, he could make out the others. They were all human, or at least, humanoid. One of them was a large, draconic-looking thing, with scales and horns. But he spoke with intelligence, and eloquence, introducing himself as Frost.

"You feeling alright, Frosty?" Sage asked, setting a hand on his shoulder. Building familiarity, early; that was something Sage was good at. In a situation like this, all they had was each other. Best they come to trust one another quickly.

Before he could get a response, he saw another of their number tumble out from their cage, and noticed a lithe, yet sensuously curved body. He blushed lightly and, thinking quickly, tore away the dead man's robes. He stepped gingerly up to her, and draped her small form with the dirty, yet covering, fabric.

"You alright?" he asked her.
 
Michael stifled the series of curses that he would have uttered he heard the jingle of keys, and for the first time, several names and things tarted to click together.
sage.... say-ge.....aaron....malaysia.....frost.....sweet mother of all things fucked!
"no worries brah, on a side note, do the names Iwaku or WMD mean much to anyone?" he asked, moving over to 'Frost'
"righto matey, let me get a look at you, see what can be done with your injuries, fuck me sideways. this shit looks bad, but then again, i know i can fix this, gimme a sec" Michael knelt in silence for a few moments, his face twisting into a grimace of concentration
"Right, sage" he said, stressing the "ge", almost twisting it into a "gee"
"see if you can find me some water, we're gonna need to clean these wounds, i'll see what can be done for bandages" he asked, pulling off his shirt and heaving at one of the seams, tearing it open, from which he proceeded to tear long strips.
"Right, Frosty mate, if we can find water We're gonna clean these wounds then bandage em up, if we cant, well, we'll just have to bandage em up then clean them at first opportunity, relax and dont worry mate, We'll get outta this shithole together, and if we're lucky, maybe even get to make a few of the dickless wonders that run this place pay, but rest up mate, you're gonna need to gather some strength" he said gently, looking to Sage, to see if he had been able to rustle up some water, but he'd moved to check another prisoner, and Michael easily stifled the annoyance that threatened to surface, knowing that he'd have done the same
"looks like we're just gonna get to the bandaging mate" he said to frost, starting the process of applying the makeshift bandages.
 
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In the confusion, Tinde felt lost, as though she'd been swept up by a wave and dragged against her will or knowledge. The voices rang in her ears and she tried to smile weakly at the man who'd covered her with a cloak. She accepted his proffered hand and climbed unsteadily back to her feet, glancing around wildly for the guards. "My name is, hmm, Tinde." Allowing herself to ease a little, she let him lead her to where the others had gathered around the broken looking form of a scaly, reptilian creature that seemed more humanoid than she would have imagined.

Sympathy and gentleness welled up in her and she slid to her knees next to him. She took the bandages from the gruff talking man who, by his voice, had clearly been the one swearing. She was nervous around him, halted and cautious in her movements, but gently began to apply the bandages. When she carelessly laid her hands on his chest, an almost electric white seemed to form a haze around her fingertips. Surprised, she pulled back away from him and flashed the others suspicious looks.

"We... should be going, right?"
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Frost looked up to where the gruff man's voice had been, "Actually, 'Iwaku' sounds familiar, but probably not the way you think it is..." At first, assuming he was speaking of some place in this new world called 'Iwaku'... he paused as the man slowly sounded out 'Sage'. "...Ah." The dragonman sighed, shaking his head, "...I didn't initiate a Reword... someone else must have... odd, I thought I was the only Reworder on Earth... but why drag us all down here...?" Thinking to himself, he closed his eyes - though it had no real use, since the darkness made it impossible for him to see anyway. When the rough hands of Micheal were exchanged for the softer, gentler hands of Tinde, he sighed gratefully.

"You must be the one they dragged off after me... I hope you're alright..." He nods, looking towards the voices of the others, "...We should really go, though. The magic-user in the other cage that was dragged off... we should save him... the torture chamber's in the next room..."

In said next room, Grave looks up from the torture job. "Ahh." He turns to look at the door back to the cells, grinning, "So this will get more interesting." He looks to his minions, "Finish the job, but keep at least one alive. I have work to do." One of them cautiously looks up at him, "Sir?"

"We have our orders." He states, walking out the next door.

Frost shakes his head, "I'll be fine. I think dragonfolk's natural healing abilities are quicker than human's," he lied - he was still quite sore, but at least he wasn't bleeding anymore. "Pick up a rock or something - we're getting out of here." Rising up to his full height, his presence of 'big, monstrous thing' became obvious. Standing at least a head taller than everyone else, his form was large, even in the pitch darkness of the room.
 
With a frown he suddenly was trapped the Iron Maiden was a tight fight and the spikes grew even closer. The walls were closing in on him and he began to panic, every twitch would poke him with the spikes, he couldn't think, he couldn't THINK, his brain reeled back and he retreated within himself, he would pass out if he didn't calm down, but the calm didn't come, questions barraged him and he couldn't speak his voice was caught in his throat. All that came up were soft gurgles and random gibberish in Elvish, which Nick wasn't even aware he knew how to speak. As soon as his panic caught him he passed out, but it was less passing out and more going into the Eladrin Trance, both looked the same but he stopped moving, freezing in place, he was still completely aware of his surroundings. His sub-conscious had forced him "asleep" and it hoped that it would work for the plan that formulated for the conscious mind.
 
"Tinde, nice to meet you," he said as he guided her to the others. She was timid, but has a strength of spirit about her, birthed from compassion and sympathy, he felt. She knelt down and laid gentle hands from the Aussie, and began to apply the bandages herself. Then the light gushed forth from her fingertips as she laid a hand on the dragonkin's chest, and Sage's eyes went wide. What the frack was that?! he asked aloud in his head.

He kept his question to himself as the bigger question of their escape came up. He grumbled irritatedly as he took true notice of his nudity, but didn't complain about it. He couldn't help but notice how his body had sharpened after his rebirth and resurrection. Nothing was truly different, as far as he could tell, but he was proud of his physique. He made no effort to cover himself.

"We need to get that other guy, yeah. It'd be bullshit if we left him to those bastards." Sage clenched his fists at the command to gather weapons; he didn't need a weapon to fight anyone off!

"Tinde, stay behind me, all of us. Alright folks, let's do this!"
 
As 'Tinde' took over the tending to Frsot's wounds, Michael stood slowly, turning to Sage
"It'd be worse than that mate, leaving that poor bastard would be bloody murder, pure and simple" he said, moving towards the door, and standing to the side he assumed would allow him to burst through as soon as the door was opened.

"So, who else has played war video games? lets do the whole 'stack up' thing on this door, big unhurt blokes at the front, walking wounded at the back, and let the good times roll" he added motioning for sage and Aaron to move up.
 
Mick..... WMD... Iwaku..... you big bastard! Catching Mick's drift He smiled. "You should probably call me Vay, or Vagre. Always liked names beginning with V." He looked on to the tanding of Frost's wounds before heading towards the door under Mick's lead searching for any key that stood out from the others on the ring in case the door was locked. "Can Frost walk?" he asked looking back. He didn't like the though of devoting two out of their three man to carry the dragon-man, but wasn't about to leave him behind either he looked to the faces of each one present reading what he saw. No one here was going to give in, whatever they were in they were in together. "Well if everyone's ready, I don't think they'll leave us alone much longer, we storming out or ambushing?"
 
Sage heard the words Iwaku, WMD, Vay... he even heard his name pronounced strangely, not sayj but say-jee. It was strange, but not altogether unfamiliar. All of the words rang true in his mind, but they were hazy memories. They were there, the information was there, but it was like it wasn't coming together like it should. When he really gazed into his own mind, he could strangely see a wealth of knowledge that was there but wouldn't allow itself to be accessed by him. Not yet.

Growling, Sage pounded his fist into his palm. He decided to ignore his mind for now, and go with the flow. Iwaku... Hm. They must all know each other.

"Walk or not, if he can't fight, he'll just have to stay in the back. I say we all crowd around the door, and when it opens, bam, jump the first one and engage the rest as they come up."


((Roll for initiative?))
 
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She felt like crap. Like worse than a first day period-crap. But now that she was starting to grumble about her discomfort she noticed other things; what she was laying on was most definitely not her lumpy twin bed and secondly her limbs felt... wrong. Wriggling her fingers and toes she noted they felt even more off than her arms or legs-- about now as probably a good time to open her eyes and look at herself, maybe she slept in a weird position again.<o:p></o:p>
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She opened her eyes and looked, "...WHAT. THEMOTHERFUCK."

Even that didn't feel right coming out, it felt more like a particularly nasty clump of phelgm tried to parkour out of her esophagus. The light wasn't particularly strong but she could see enough that the contours of her limbs weren't natural-looking, not by a longshot. She felt the base of her spine and the pit of her stomach start to roil and curl in herself in an emotion she's only ever had to categorize as Dread a few times in her life. But weren't her dreams self-aware sometimes? Obviously, otherwise how else to explain her distorted limbs? <o:p></o:p>
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"Fine, just let me get up first... Ow." Her spine hurt, it felt so sore! She blotted out the reason why it might and plowed onto at least rolling over which she noticed was slightly difficult to do with the sore back and the fuzzy-weird feeling in her limbs. It felt like she was rolling back and forth forever before she made it onto her side and then her stomach all of which reinforced the increasingly foreign feeling in her limbs as she looked over her body again and saw that her "arms" and "legs" had curled under herself in a most troubling way. Like a dog... The bubbling feeling of Dread started to grow in her center again and this time she felt herself forcefully pushing it aside-- for a self-aware dream she was starting to dislike the notions it was giving her. She only liked those dreams when she woke up and found that what she found so disconcerting in her dream to be just that upon awakening, a dream.<o:p></o:p>
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And that's when she noticed the tortured-to-half-their-death body lying a few feet away from her. <o:p></o:p>
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And that's when she let out a very long scream.

Which turned into a squeal. Which then trailed off into some weird hybrid of a sob and a hitched throat. Hundreds of thoughts gathered and crowded in her head, rationale was slowly losing out to panicked speculation because a small but persistent voice in the back of her head was pointing out that it wasn't a dream. The thoughts became so crowded her ears began to buzz and she started to recognize the biological signs her body was beginning to exhibit. The upset stomach with the jitters going up her spine, the pull of her facial muscles as they strung taut into a frown, the breath in her lungs starting to catch and the very warm and very wet feeling of tears starting to ooze out of her eyes. She threw away rationale completely and in a most discouraging way began to immediately think and embrace the very, very negative of her purely speculatory thoughts.<o:p></o:p>
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She wasn't where she should be and that means her family, her friends, her everything were existing without her there. …To protect. She immediately thought of her parents-- how old they've become and how the house hasn't been elderly-proofed. They lived damn near right over a ledge! It wasn’t safe! What if the next big earthquake happened without her there to help guide them out? That’s when her thoughts started to spiral into the ridiculous side of the Worry Spectrum. Her first fatalistic thoughts were of her family.
That her mother tended to do things in haste and thus cause injury like lifting a sofa too fast that causes her to lose grip and it comes smashing down on her toes which are already riddled with arthritis when she already can't run too far, how her father does anything to achieve the means like putting a plastic hamper lid on the toilet seat to get that extra inch to be able to reach the ceiling light in the bathroom only to have it slip out from under him and send him crashing onto the seat of the toilet whose bones don't deserve that after serving in the navy for so long and now doing manual labor for the state or how her sister's high-stress job is already driving her to smoke excessively and might be showing signs of an eating disorder which isn't helping her sister and her disability to delegate stress she goes through on a daily basis and then... him.


Somehow the dread that gripped her about him caused a new flood of tears to come streaming down her face. How long had she known him? How long had they even been going out? Why did he have to be the first? She didn’t want him to be the last—not like this. She didn’t even get to see him… today? Yesterday? Whatever day occurred before she found herself here in this horrid place with the half-dead corpse just a few feet away from her. She panicked-- she didn’t feel the ring she wore for him on her finger…! How could she? It wasn’t really her finger anymore, was it? What was he going to do when he found that she wasn’t there anymore? She didn’t want him to cry or feel abandoned especially after how they first began to date, above all else she didn’t want him to feel abandoned. She couldn’t leave him alone like that not without saying goodbye. …She didn’t even get to say goodbye to him. She didn’t get to hug him. Or kiss him one more time.<o:p></o:p>
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…And we didn't even get to go shopping for our seven months' anniversary... she thought followed soon thereafter by a sob. Then another. And another. Soon she was a tiny, huddled mess on the floor of who knew where. A prisoner to her own crushing negativity, the usual speculation done on how to resolve a way out and back to her friends and family drowned out by the Could Haves and the I Can’ts. Somewhere in the far back and below of her mind, her subconscious very carefully hid and locked the door to the memory of her death.
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All she wanted was to wake up.<o:p></o:p>
 
"I can walk." Frost stated, rising to his full height and looking around as best he could, eyes adjusting to the pitch-blackness of the room - at least enough to see the shadowy outlines of the others. Taking a moment in silence to think, he nods. "...I'd really like a weapon. Rocks... won't do." Taking a few strides over to where the corpse of the jailer lay, he leaned down and grabbed onto a leg. Placing his foot on the corpse, he yanked. The meaty sounds of separation clearly heard, tendons being strained as they slowly rip. The bone popping out of place. Still not loose, he began to twist. The sliding of muscle ended with a wet-sounding 'pop', and Frost had his weapon. Not impressed, he states, "It'll do," before moving towards the door.

"I'm not injured enough to be in the back row," he hisses, "As long as I can stand - think - I'm going to protect you all." It wasn't a boast, he meant it as a pledge - still, the worlds came out wobbly... worried, for what was going to happen next.

View attachment 1926

Stifling heat washes over the members of those who entered into the next room... not environmental heat, but the heat of bodies. Sweat and blood can clearly be detected, assaulting the senses immediately. The floor itself seems sticky, changing from gravel to stone floors. Dim candlelight flickers among the screams... Various torture equipment, from an iron maiden (C2) to a row of 'Racks' (J2, L2, N2, P2) are seen among the furthest wall. A bloodsoaked chair (D5) still held a variety of bladed items... a cage (K6) holds a prisoner, still-unconscious. Another lies upon the rack. The young man who was dragged from his cell earlier must still lay in the iron maiden.

Black-robed torturers all look up from what they are doing, grabbing torture devices from the wall to act as weapons. Silent as the grave, they move forward...

Roll Initiative.

The Blue Squares are allies. The Red Squares are enemies.
Player Placement:
Zypher - C2, within iron maiden
Koori - L2, on rack
???? - K6, in cage
Micheal - G12
Vay - H12
Frost - I12
Sage - H13
Tinde - I13
 
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DM: Hopefully, you all can see this battle-map. The 'key' is in the post above this one.

Since the initiative will be going alphabetically, this is the order:

Player Round: /Coju/, Frost, Mick, Tain, Tinde, Sage, Vagre, /Zypher/, /???/
Enemy Round: Jailers 1-12.
Those of you in /brackets/ are restrained, and cannot attack or move in this fight. However, you may post whenever you wish.

The Jailers are all Minions, each with defenses of 8, and 1 hp. If you hit, you're free to embellish on their horrible demise as you see fit.

----

Frost, being one of the first into the room, stepped forward. He coughed through the miasma of blood, sweat, and the presence of sick, twisted people. Grinding his massive, brutal teeth, he stepped forward, just out of reach of one of the jailers. Frowning - suddenly conscious of his nudity... mostly, his lack of armor. Gripping the severed leg he was wielding as a club, he coughed again...

His chest felt weird, and he breathed heavier. It might have been the area he was in... gripping his muscled chest, right over his heart... it felt horrible... like he was about to vomit, though not from his stomach. Not wanting to look... weak... he stared at the jailer he stood in front of - and yelled... roared would be the better term. From his heart, the horrid feeling crept up, and into his mouth... a grand torrent of white erupted from his mouth. It chilled Frost's teeth, numbed his mouth.

His opponent fared far worse. The white powder stuck to the jailer, who screamed in horror... and was cut short. He teetered, fell forward... the front of the man shattering against the floor, what was left unfrozen bleeding out. Thoroughly disturbed, and looking the part, he still attempted to grimace menacingly at the next individual...

(Frost moves to F11, and uses Dragon Breath on the jailer at F9. He rolls 1 against the jailer's Reflex, with a bonus of 7. This JUST hits the jailer's Reflex, which is poor as a minion. The minion has 1 HP, and thus dies at the attack.)
 
Musical Score - The Monster's Loose - Meatloaf

As frost moved Behind him, Michael strode forwards, and even as Frost's breath destroyed the man to his left, he could only see the man in front of him
even as he took his first step, he began to bellow words at the man he approached, he didn't know where they came from, he didn't know why, it was all he could do to not scream them and loose control.

"I've walked a slippery road, Felt a twitch in my soul, Through the wind and the cold, With no protection, Just one direction, Destruction!" he felt a scratching sensation in his throat as he screamed the words, passing the mutilated corpse of Frost's victim as the word destruction, lowering his head and shoulders, breaking into a run

"I've paid for all my mistakes, Taking all I can take, Until I'm ready to break, I'm feeling vicious, and so outrageous, It breaks us" he screamed, slamming shoulder first into the man's gut as the word break left his mouth, taking the robed man off his feet with a pained grunt, the pair coming crashing into the floor with the loud wet crack of a snapping spine
Michael swung himself around, straddling the acolyte.

"I'm leaving, Still breathing, I'm tearing through these chains!" he roared, his voice cracking and sounding hoarse as he delivered a withering barrage of punches to his opponent, who had stopped moving after the first few punches, as he finished yelling, he pushed himself off the bloody rags that was his enemy, and looked to the next who was standing with an ally before a cage, within which Michael saw something, though of what he was unsure, his voice becamer a hoarse whisper as he glared at the acolytes.
"The monster's loose and now you have to choose, and prove you can take it, To the top and never fall" he growled making to move forwards.


(Michael runs to G7, slamming into the minion there, crash tackling him into G6 before killing him with an unarmored attack roll of 8 plus a bonus of two, surpassing the minions reflex of 8 as he rises, he turns to face the minions at J6)
 
The whole process of being torn apart at the dimensional seams and reconstructed in a dank dungeon that stank of pennies and shit already had Tain in a less than enthusiastic mood. Being beaten soundly on his way to the cells did nothing to improve that. His shoulder pressed against the cool, damp stone of the hallway leading into the torture chamber. While a number of thoughts were flooding through his mind, the most prevalent one was not coherent. Instead, it was a mish-mash of spider-webbed flashes of red accompanied by rage and bloodthirst.

He took a few steps around the corner and squared his feet to face two of the torturers, who up until the arrival of the motley looking party of prisoners had been jabbing at a figure inside a cage. He wanted to lash out, but his body felt weak. His eyes focused, and his mind opened in a way he had trouble describing. He suddenly knew that he could reach the bastard that had his back turned to him.

His arm came back, tightened into a fist and swung downward as though throwing some invisible object. To his surprise, not only was what left his hand not invisible, but it also crackled a brilliant blue that temporarily illuminated the gloom of the room. The rope of lightning found the neck of one of the torturers and found purchase, but even as the muscles in Tain's arm flexed to hoist the sadistic bastard to himself the lightning rope sizzled and ate through the flesh of his neck. By the time he yanked back, all he had succeeded in doing was yanking the body free of the head, which fell to the floor with a gruesome "plop."

"We're coming for you!" His voice croaked to the figure in the cage. "We're coming for you all!"


(Roll to hit (1d20): 12
Roll for Lightning Lure damage (1d6): 1 + 3 (Int mod)

Tain gets his senses together and moves to K11, the uses Lightning Lure on the minion at K7 killing it outright.)
 
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Tinde watched silently at the carnage going on before her eyes, following each movement of the group she was with, she didn't dare call them all allies yet. She tried to move forward but her legs seemed weak until she saw the crackle of lightning. This seemed to spur her into motion and she darted delicately near the side of the lightning wielder. Her awe was unspoken but she was determined to stand by their side and aid them in this jarring experience.

A thump of metal from a necklace she wore alerted her to the realization that this was somehow unusual for her. She slipped her hand around the ovular metal piece and felt it warm, warmer than her own body heat, and inscribed with something. She clasped her slender fingers around the oval and wished, desperately wished, that she could achieve something worth while and do something to aid her little ragtag group of tortured survivors.

As if in answer to her silent pleading, a golden glow emanated from the disk around her throat. She glanced around the room and the first person she saw gained a golden hue, if only for a second, the one who looked like a warrior, a meathead.
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Tinde uses Lance of Faith (1d8)+3 radiant damage; one ally seen gains +2 power bonus on attack roll against target.
If this isn't right, you can cram it correct me gently and realize I tried and don't have any idea what I'm doing.
 
She had no idea how long she'd be lying there.

After the shocking revelation that her old body died, she had stayed where she was flitting in and out with reality trying to comfort herself with fantasies that this was an extremely elaborate dream or that her old body was still alive and she had a chance to regain it and reunite with her loved ones or that she had gotten abducted by aliens. In the times she touched back down to the reality of her situation she jiggled the foot that was tightly clamped with a manacle that was probably a good third of her entire body weight. Coju most definitely did not like the metallic scraping sound it made when she moved just for the fact that it reinforced the idea that she had died and was resurrected into this body and into this strange place but more so that the place just might be hell and she had done something extremely evil. That in itself provided what felt like days of rigorous self-flagellation.

She had laid there morosely being existentially emo until two commotions briefly snapped her out of her self-pitying reverie, what sounded like a large thing shattering on the floor and the crackle of... lightning? She battled with herself to determine whether it was even worth it to attempt to turn around, roll over or do something to see what those sounds were. The cold stone slab had already physically sucked out what warmth and energy from her body which was not unlike the current state of her will to live yet she managed to twist at least her upper half and tilt her head to get peripheral vision and considering her state of mind, the sheer impossibilities presented as real sparked up the little remaining fuel of hope in her and the sudden flashes of possibly returning to her real body urged her onwards to act, to maybe gain redemption and a ticket out of this hellhole!

So with the ever shrinking amount of physical energy left to her she tried to yell out, "Over here! Help me, I'm on the rack! HELP!" but for all intent it probably sounded more like...



[Okay, I'm totally done with using videos in my posts... for now. Coju is still tied up on the rack, making doggie sounds because she has no idea she isn't speaking Common. Someone call the SPCA!]
 
"Holy shit!"

That was all Sage could even think of saying as he witnessed the release of... of... nothing short of magic. Mick surged forth in a fury, barreling into one of their captors before pummeling him to death. Frost belched forth a wicked white breath that proved to be some kind of ice, killing that minion outright once it fell and shattered. Tinde launched a ray of golden power, felling yet another of their captors! And finally, a new-comer stepped forth launching a surge of impressive lightning, a rope of some kind, frying one of their enemies.

"H-hey! Can I do any that?!"

Sage stepped forth and reached deep within for... for something, anything. Lightning, ice breath, golden light...

He found nothing. He made a face of annoyance, but when he stopped focusing on trying to find the right words to conjure a fireball or to summon a magical sword, something happened in his mind. He could... feel the room, and the enemies all around. He could make out the space in which they occupied, them and his 'allies' alike. They all made certain impressions on the room. He could feel rage, anxiety, worry, determination, fear...

He zoned in on one of the more unpleasant feelings. A feeling of sadistic eagerness, and when he focused on where it came from, he could see one of their captors standing smugly with his cloak and weapon, ready to do harm to them all.

Taking several steps forward, he began to focus entirely on the cloaked minion and began to see all the channels of it's warped and twisted mine. He felt sick, looking and wading into this... this creature's mind, and was filled with the desire to... to crush it, destroy it, so it could not fulfill it's sick needs and desires any longer.

He reached in suddenly and it was as if he was simply... punching through all of those walkways, and pathways, and doors and locks and everything else the thing had called it's mind. He punched in with his mind, a mental, invisible fist, and destroyed everything in his way. The minion turned to stare at him viciously for a moment, and Sage could feel him attempt to mentally push him away.

Suddenly, red liquid began to leak from the minion's ears, nose, and eyes. He convulsed violently as his ears rolled into the back of his head, the blood now gushing. His eyes rolled so far back one popped, and the creature that had once called itself a man fell into a heap. Dead.

"I-I killed it. With my mind!"


Moves to H9 and uses MIND THRUST on Minion at P9.
To-hit: 1d20+4 = 10.
Damage: 1d10+4 = 10.
 
Vagre ignored the energies flying around him his eyes locking on the first jailer he saw. it didn't matter that his allies were unleashing impossible attacks that defied imagination, he had two fists and someone to use them on and more critically a reason to. The familiar buzz of adrenaline filled his head as he rushed forwards.

Inertia broken the impact of what he had seen his impromptu allies had done and the side of his mind not mocked on his opponent reeled. A scaled man clutching the bloody arm freezing a jailer with his breath, shafts of light and burning flesh and a may crushes teleceneticly. No he could do none of those thing, but he didn't need to. He wasn't a killer, simply a desperate man with nothing. Only his captor at his mercy. Once he would a way out of here hi wasn't going to need to kill again, or so he though.

He charged right at the man his anger becoming a roar in his throat. Then he swung his around his left leg leaving the ground and swinging in an ark all his momentum focused on the bolls of his foot as his toes bent upwards out of the way. Bone impacted on bone and the torturer's head snapped to the side from the weight of the blow Vagre coming down on a low stance and using the momentum of the spin to snap his torso around his fist coming around and flowing into the man's throat.

The torturer fell propelled by the impacts on his body as Vagre looked down watching him fall. At that moment he felt no hate for the man, nor any concern if he had just killed him or not. He was certainly making no move to crushed his crushed windpipe. Disconnected, just as he had been taught to fight so many years ago. To use his head and let the heart come after the battle is over, even if the tenant of restraint was seemingly out the window.

(Vagre moved to L9 and lays into the mook at M8 with an unarmed strike. Death ensues.)
 
As the guards are one-by-one taken out, the others not being attacked stand - watch. One near the back calls out, "Distract the ones closest to you!" - He then begins to move, running towards a door near the right side of the room. The others all draw their weapons, moving to interpose themselves between the speaking jailer and those in-between. Rushing forward without heed to their own lives, they strike out!

The jailer at D3 gave the order, using a double-move action to flee towards the door. Two jailers approach Vagre, two move to surround Michael for a flank (giving them both a +2 to hit!), and one charges Sage (for a +2 bonus to damage - however, that guard is at -2 to his defenses for one round.

[Frost has rolled 1 20-sided dice with results: 10 [Total: 10 Average: 10]]
[Frost has rolled 1 20-sided dice with results: 14 [Total: 14 Average: 14]]
[Frost has rolled 1 20-sided dice with results: 10 [Total: 10 Average: 10]]
[Frost has rolled 1 20-sided dice with results: 10 [Total: 10 Average: 10]]
[Frost has rolled 1 20-sided dice with results: 13 [Total: 13 Average: 13]]

These minions do 2 damage when they hit.
Vagre defends himself from one attacker, but the next does 2 damage.
The flanking maneuver on Michael was successful - he takes the 2 damage from each (total of 4).
The final man succeeds on charging Sage, goring him for 4 damage!

EscapefromJail2.jpg


---------------

Frost lets out a stone-shaking roar - inhuman, baring his teeth at the escaping jailer... he was, unfortunately, on the opposite side of the room as the man. All he had right now was the human leg he was wielding as a club. The mass of muscle turns, glaring at the two jailers flanking Michael.

The roar let out no frost... so, it seems, he was out. While his movements and stance seemed feral, his mind was working on a different level. Half to protect an ally, half to clear a further way to the man, Frost crashes the human leg down on the attacker behind Michael... with enough to send it partially into his ribcage, falling swiftly to the ground. "Got your back," the rough voice states.

Frost moves forward to F9, killing one of the men flanking Michael.
[Frost has rolled 1 20-sided dice with results: 17 [Total: 17 Average: 17]]
[Frost has rolled 1 6-sided dice with results: 1 [Total: 1 Average: 1]]
(Total: 6 damage.)