I gave up and sent a mass email.  I wonder if anyone will visit due to getting it?

Brighte loyally allows himself to be used as a human stepstool while the Power Services clone cimbs on top to get a look at the power conduits. 

It would seem that if the darkness is possibly due to sabotage and treason, the sabatuer perhaps figured that someone may try to repair the damage.  Ammpe fumbles about in the dark, reaches for his hammer at his belt...

What happens next is difficult to explain due to the darkness.  There is a painfully bright discharge of energy, and both clones go toppling to the floor.  Ammpe groans and pulls himself to his feet, but Brighte makes no sounds whatsoever, and instead lies still on the ground.  A quick inspection (complete with fumbling around, tripping over Bright's leg, and fingers being jabbed in the wrong places) reveals that the HPD & MC clone is not breathing, nor does he have a pulse.  The acrid scent of burnt hair battles with the unsettlingly appetizing aroma of roasted meat here in the corridor. 

Once again, Friend Computer's voice chimes from the same crackly speaker somewhere in the ceiling.

"Attention, Troubleshooter team MAO-17859 Dot R-2. Sensors indicate that your team has sustained another regrettable casualty. Mission success relies upon a full strength team; please stand by as a replacement clone is activated and dispatched to your location.

Have an enjoyable day in Alpha Complex."

The speaker falls silent.

Again, it is roughly a ten minute delay before the same hidden door slides open, and Brighte-R-NNU-2 is force marched into the corridor by a Vulture Squad.  "What did you trobleshooters do to the lights?" one of the Vultures demands, though he does not bother to lilsten to replies.  Instead, they strip the dead clone, transfer his blongings to the replacement, and drag the corpse, feet first, thought the hidden door which again seals behind them. 

Once again, the full strength team stands in near total darkness.

That all makes sense.  If I was an adventurer, I would want my gear to be used, not burned for nothing. 

I figured the reminder was in order.  Despite my reputation, I don't kill off THAT many PCs (this game is likely an exception, as all have been warned). 

I have Atharis as worshipping Jusarin, god of knowledge... so he'd want his spellbook preserved, even if nobody in the group could use it.  His religion isn't overly fussed with burial rites; to be honest, cremation is likely fine (though let's not pretend that lamp oil and a stack of corpses is real cremation). 

Midge will insist that Atharis' necklance (a plain gold band on a plain silver chain, with his initials engraved within) be retained.  It is his mark as a Circle mage, and should be returned to his order if at all possible. 

I actually logged into chat for a half hour or so.  Of course, I was the only one there.

The only thing to do, I think, is to game.  We've always had great people here - insisted that people act decent, so you get decent people. 

I may script out a mass email "drop by and see us some time" type thing. 

Gotcha.  That makes perfect sense. 

I wonder if anyone (Kithran?) will remove the man's purse.  Seems disrespectful, but he doesn't need the coin anymore...

I was swapping emails with Roger (Alacrity) this morning, and was hit with a little wistfulness. 

Today, the Red Dragon Inn is but a dim shell of what it once was.  Ah, but there was a time - some fifteen years ago, I suppose - that this place was busy, warm, vibrant!

Today, there are a small handful of games running to various frequencies.  Back then, there were probably three times that many.  Plus all sorts of off topic chatter, posting games in the forums, and so forth.  The recruitment threads were always hopping; new faces were contantly showing up.

Do you remember chat?  Today, our archaic chatroom almost always sits empty.  Oh, I've talked of revamping it - I've even coded most of it.  But is there any demand for such a thing?

Back then, it was rare to see chat empty; it was an extemely common sight to see two, three, four rooms going.  Some were dedicated to specific games, some were simply in-character chats for those who wnted to escape real life for a bit.  The Common Room itself was always populated, inviting, friendly.  And sometimes, silly or juuuust a touch racy (hot tub, anyone?). 

There was a time when the active number of site staff was probably greater than the number of total active posters we have today.  And they were needed!

There was the Great Crash, and the Great Crash Two.  There were my various flake sessions, where I would disappear into my depressing for weeks or months at a time.  We've lost great people to disease, to accident, to the allure of shinynew technology with new and updated websites, to the wear and tear of life. 

I know that the Inn will never again be what it once was, but I wonder... is there any chance to buid this community up, even a little?

But, even if that is not the case... I want to offer a sincere thank you to everyone who had a hand in building those warm memories.  And to all of you who have gamed - or still do game - here at the Inn.  Happy adventuring, one and all.

So... do you guys intend to torch Atharis' body right here in the street?  Will you recover his personal possessions or burn them, as well?

Ayrn said he'd be spotty this week; I would assume that Midge will not want Atharis' spellbook to be destroyed.  If he does not get a chance to post before my next update, I will NPC him to that end.

No doubt, Artie is a hoot.   

I'm waiting for Keeper to post as to whether or not he follow's along with Ammpe's instructions.

Also... haha, I'm enjoying how everyone is providing rationale as to why they should be last in the marching order.

I have to say, I am extremely impressed with the reaction to Atharis' death.  This has been excellent reading! 

I am really looking forward to the story unfolding.

Love the cat humor.

Kith is fine.  Relatively minor gash on the forearm; just the same temporary paralyis that Ch'dau and Gib have both survived already. 

What, indeed, does it do?

The retconned Midge is still a Circle mage.  Not the same order, yes, but it would behoove him to send word that Atharis is dead.  They are one overall organization, after all. 

Does the party still care to look for Atharis' contact?  That's up to you guys. 

Note that there are still a double handful of zombies that were turned from the last fight that are wandering the town.  The watch can probaby handle them if they work together, bt they do need to see to the gates.  Up to you guys if you want to hunt the stragglers. 

And then what - if anything - you want to do about seeing where these came from, etc.

Health:
Ch'dau - moderate wounds
Aranwen - moderate wounds
Gib - minor wound
Kithran - minor wound
Midge - minor wound
Cedric - moderate wounds
Atharis - dead

Magic:
Midge has three mana points remianing.

Both Cedric and Gib have their compliment of second level spells remaining, but have exhausted all of their first level magic, save Cedric having one bonus light spell. 

Cedric prays for Solanis' favor, and the sun god answers, causing the priest's staff to glow brightly.  The light is cheerful, though it does not seem to penetrate far into the mist...

The town watch fights on, but the look in their eyes shows desperation more than bravery.  These are men fighting to the death not because of choice, but because they have none.  Three scattered men lie dead farther down the road where they were cut down in an attempt to flee, and a fourth lies among the bodies where he fell to his knees and begged for mercy that would not come.  These remaining know that their doom has arrived, but they fight on, refusing to accept D'hurgen's dark embrace. 

The day may come where some question the wisdom of the cidal wizard known as Midge... but not so where his bravery is questioned.  Heedless of the danger, the diminutive caster invokes a fan of flames as he rushes directly at one of the giggling abominations.  The little mage catches the undead off guard, and the flames billow into the giggling creature, setting his rotting clothing afire and causing serious harm to him, while also sizzling the zombies that flank it on either side. 

Naturally, that bold move comes at great risk, as the giggling monster spins and slashes Minto with its corrupted claws for his trouble.  The wizard stumbles back, feeling the icy cold of the grave grip at his heart... but he is able to shrug it off, and reaches for a sling bullet, even as he backpedals from melee.

Ch'dau leaps into the fray, roaring his battle cry.  The giggler advances too far, and the kazari is able to plunge one of his blades deeply into its chest while the second removes its arm just below the elbow.  This one, at least, will giggle no more.

Gib and Cedric call out to their gods, and quite a few of the zombies are turned away - though more approach from the mist.  Still, it offers the watch a brief respite, and a ragged cheer rises from them as they redouble the fight. 

Aranwen advances on the second giggler, moving gracefully, deftly, with purpose.  Her gleaming blade strikes once, twice, opening gaping wounds on the creature, though it somehow remains standing. 

Kithran moves to support Gib and Cedric, and as zombies approach from the flank, she is able to avoid their attacks and plunge her blades into them, causing one to fall. 

The fighting continues.  Another guardsman falls, but multiple zombies soon join him.

In the din and confusion of the battle, Atharis is slow to close the ground.  The mage's head is still fuzzy from the alcohol he has consumed and the sleep from which he was disturbed from.  Screwing his eyes closed, he tries to banish the bleariness from his mind and begins an incantation.  "Ast amroth es garna tu matra..."

From his crouched position in the mist, the figure wearing filthy robes that were once sky blue watches for his opening.  One of the newcomers is isolated, alone as he chants.  Somehow, it manages to refrain from giggling as it pads, silently, behind the man in dark blue vestment. 

As the mage's incantation ends in a choking gurgle, the ghoulish remains of the Lysoran pilgrim gives in to the urge and giggles maniacally.   It withdraws claws from its victim's back as it slides around the motionless form of the wizard, whose eyes are locked open in terror.  The undead abomination grins in fiendish joy as it drives its claws into the belly of the mage, stares deeply into his terror stricken eyes as it leans forward and rips the man's throat open with its fangs.

The mist and the mayhem hide the end of the dream of Atharis the Great as the mage slumps to the ground.  No one bears witness to his final breaths as the monster rips his belly open while the mage lies motionless in the mud.     

Gib is the first to realize that something is wrong.  He spots the undead creature bent over the form of the mage, and calls out a warning.  "Atharis!" 

Ch'dau and Aranwen can do nothing, as they are surrounded by a press of undead foes.  Midge fires a sling bullet into the creature's back, and it spins around and to its feet, with the mage's lifeblood dripping from its mouth and fingers.  Kithran cries out, closes the distance with Cedric right behind her.  She cuts the loathsome creature, but it rakes claws along her arm in response, and her own heart is grasped tightly by the icy grip of the grave.  The rogue cannot move, can only stare in the direction that gives her a clear view of the body of her companion. 

Cedric bashes the creature with his stave, pushing it back and away from Kithran - for the moment.

Soon enough, Gib is freed from the clumsy undead he is fighting, and he is able to step in and run his blade through the hateful creature's chest, felling it in revenge. 

The tide turns in the battle, as sylvari and kazari lay about with ferocity.  Somehow, no more watchmen fall; soon the battle ends as the last of the undead is struck to the ground. 

The guard are incredibly grateful for the aid.  Amazingly, the gate guard is among the half dozen survivors; the man bears a huge gash across his arm, but he lives.  One of the hateful guards from the Inn is present, as well; his companion is also here, but lies among the dead. 

"Gods be praised," the gate guard speaks.  "Ye saved our lives, ye did.  One 'o those laughers cut me at tha gate, I couldn'a move, an' they all came in.  By tha time I could do summat, they were movin' in tha town.  We fought them, but they just kep comin'!  If na fer tha lot 'o ya, tha whole town'd be lost!"

He looks around, confusion evident on his face.  "Cap'n Stran 's dead.  So's Les an' Ben.  Mother protec' us, I don' think tha any o' tha officers are still alive!"

Christmas good!  Fire bad!

lol... I loved that set of skits so much. 

No worries, man.  My own post shall be forthcoming.

Once Blackthorn posts to the game thread (or at least drops something here in the Q&A to let me know his plans), I'll put the next game post up.

Kudos, BV!  Excellent job!

At Slipp's request, everyone does their best to reach peak cleanliness.  However, this proves to be difficult; no one has a spare set of clothing, nor does anyone have much in the way of cleaning supplies on hand.  There is spit, but that only goes so far... fortunately, the bleeding done by lasers tends to be minimal, thanks to the cauterization of the wounds.  Still, there is no clone that can truly be considered "clean", even after their best efforts. 

This is obvious to everyone.  All five you you have treasonous apperances to some degree.

Meanwhilee, Friend Computer continues with expected efficiency as Blowz-R-UPP-2 is activated, force-marched into secret corridors, and sent on his way. Less than ten minutes after the "stand by" notice is given, a previously undetected door opens in a side wall, and the replacement clone steps out, glancing nervously over his shoulder at his Vulture Squad escorts. The Vulture Squad efficienty strips the body of Blowz-R-UPP-1 of his belongings, transfer them to clone number two, then grabs the body and retreats into the secret corridor.  The hidden door slides back into place, and once again, SWR sector is empty save Team MAO-17859 Dot R-2.

After the goons depart, the replacement clone seems rather cheerful at the developments, all things considered.  He proudly dons that fuzzy red hat and addresses the team. "Comrrrades!  Ees goot day for mission, da?  Enemies of de state haf no chance veeth us on de job!  Hy!"

A glance at your surroundings reveals a very dimly lit maze of corridors and pipes. Every junction is labelled numerically - but the labels appear to not be in any particular order. To confound things even more, quite a few of the numbered junctions contain letters and/or odd symbols mixed in with the numbers, which seem to only confuse the issue further.

A few moments after the replacement clone arrives, the blast door that seperated the team from the defense turret also slides shut - pitching you into darkness.

Sadly, no one is carrying a flashlight; surely, these will be distributed among the standard mission gear (which you have yet to receive). Ah, the fun of life in Alpha Complex...

Eol has helped multiple people really spin up their writing. 

If I can help... feel free to PM me, too.  I want to maximize the fun for everybody!

Don't be intimidated, man!  We have some quality players here, no doubt.  But look at the jump that Blackthorn has made from his first post to his recent efforts.

The trick is to get out of the mindset that you use when you're sitting around a table with your buddies.  When you're playing tabletop, it's a never ending conversation.  It's plenty to say "my priest turns the undead, then hangs back to heal." 

But in PBP... that would be super boring if you had a DM setting the stage, and a half dozen people only posting their actions. 

You don't have to go as far as some do, but if you'll just put together two or three short paragraphs that include what your character is thinking, feelings... it quickly becomes riveting reading, a collaborative story.  Don't worry about being some genius writer, just share things from your character's perspective.  As with most things, you get better with practice!

DM's note: things have gotten a little wonky; Ch'dau was supposed to be backposting about gogin to look for Mort, as the party had already left the Inn, but peope started reponding to that.  So in an effort to make things make sense, I'm mashing it all together.

The mist is thick and sticky, but the stable is the next structure over from the inn, and the party is able to make their way to it with no trouble.  Inside, they spot three bodies crumpled on and at the bottom of the stairs.  Two are rotted, missing chunks of flesh - and each have their skulls staved in.  The third is that of the big innkeeper, Mort. 

Nya sobs at the sight, whcih causes the prone form to start and sit up.  "Aye now, wha's all this?" be grumbles. 

The serving wench rushes up the stair to embrace him as the Innkeper groans and grimaces while trying to take his feet.  "Damned walkers came shamblin' up tha stairs," he explains.  "I 'ad 'eight on 'em, bashed their damned 'eads in right proper, but one 'o tha bastards caught me bad knee an' I fell like a sack 'o taters.  Musta clipped me 'head on tha way down," he adds with a sheepish grin.  "It looks like ye're all well, then?"

Nya recounts the attack on the Inn and the bravery of the party, and Mort shakes his head.  "I cannae thank ye lot enough.  So much fer me repayin' me debt, eh?" 

He gives the group a critical once over.  "I expect tha watch will nae object to tha lack 'o peace knots now," he states with a chuckle.  "Ye'll be seein' to the trouble, I'd wager?"  He tries to fall in with the group, but his limp is extremely pronoucned.

OOC: assuming some positive response. 

Mort nods.  "Right, then.  Nya and I'll go back inside tha Shill an' 'unker down there.  May Shinara watch over the lot 'o ye."

************************************

The party follows the sounds of the fighting to discover the town watch - or what is left of them - locked in a mortal struggle with multiple zombies, as well as at least  two of the gigglers; it is difficult to tell due to the heavy mist. 

A handful of uniformed, armed men are pulled in tight, desperately fighting as they are surrounded.  At least as many lie motionless on the ground.   The undead press in from all sides; it is obvious that without intervention, they will all perish. 

Well, crud.  We have lost our first player.  Who would like to assume the role of Blowz-R-UPP?

PrincessAli is going to be out a few more days, so her character will go along wth the party's plans - but don't expect anything innovative from her at this time. 

Hello?

Friend Computer is getting bored, Citizens.

lol @ Brom.

Anybody hear from Blackthorn lately?

Long weekend over.  Let's see some posts!