HI! MY NAME IS.... (D&D Play-By-Post)

[erosan]

{human male}

"Thank you, I'm fine though." He said while slowly getting up. His movements were deliberately slow, as to keep the distraction going for as long as possible. After taking (quite literally) a hit for the "team" --funny how when you do not remember a thing you are fast to rely on strangers-- he had to keep up the charade for as long as possible.

"Feed the flames. Yes I can do that…"

He was not sure faking a slight limp was overdoing it, but he did anyways… he wanted to appear even weaker than he was.

Grabbing a shovel wasn't such a bad idea anyways…

[pwallace]

Three weeks pass and you feel your body's reserves starting to weaken. Between the back breaking labor and the minuscule portions of water downs broth and crusty bread, your reserves are starting to fair fast. The male elf who was first with you has been put into a different work detail in a separate part of the cave system. You do not know if he is alive or how he is fairing. Things are starting to seem hopeless. There is one blessing that has started to arise though,brief flashes of memories have started to emerge out of the haze that clouds your mind. The feel of sunshine on your skin, the sound of the wind in the trees, the embrace of a loved one. Other things have started to rise to the surface aswell, more useable memories. The feel of a weapon in your hand, small incantations, names of towns and villages you believe you have traveled through, and most importantly, your name.

Word is spreading of a jail break. The young elf, whose beating you witnessed when you first arrived, has started to gather others to his cause. It is after the evening meal and all of the slaves have been gathered before the flame lit. Shanasta stands before you, his back to the flames. All eight of the guards are gathered aswell, scattered in front of the grouping of slaves, cudgels and short spears held at their sides. Even though three to one, the guards do not seem worried. Your original group (minus the male elf) stand together next to the leader of the coming uprising.

"The flames grow cold!" Shanasta exclaims once all of the slaves are gathered. The great SssssSalmisra, devourer of the world, demandsSss blood! Fear not, if you have been working hard assSss you should be you shall not be the sacrifice! Her worship desiresssss blood mor SsssSweet than you can offer." At ththe end of this speech, two if he guards, one with a cudgel and another with a short spear, push your group aside and grab a young elf from the group behind you. Dragging the youngling forward, you recognize it to be Eswasha, a lad of only 6 years!

A low growl escapes the residence leaders throat and your feel something pushed into your hand. Looking down you see a make shift weapon (as follows)

Erosan- a broken pickaxe shaft, the top sharpened into 2 points

StarPuck - a jagged piece of rock snapped to a sharp edge and point roughly the size of a knife.

Joedog - s broken shovel haft with a rock lashed to the top, roughly half the size of your head.

Kishi - a spade with a broken shaft 2 feet long

Ormac - a hand full of rocks and a length of old fabric to serve as a sling

Sent from my phone, through the banging of weights, to the chimp translators aboard the tardis powered by the dylithiam crystal flux capacitor.

[Oramac]

[male half-elf]

 

Gathered in the group, feeling many around me quivering in front of Shanasta, I revel in the memories I’ve been glimpsing.  Fleeting images of the Elven home I was raised in, or of the times I had to sneak out in order to train, or the feel of a greatsword in my hand.  And, my name!  Oramac.  It took a long while, but even these fiendish reptilian nuuko-ra couldn’t beat that out of me. 

 

I’d been asked by the elf whose beating I witnessed many days (weeks?) ago to join his cause and fight our captors.  He didn’t have to ask me twice!  When the guards took the small boy forward for sacrifice, I felt my anger rising.  The blood boiling in my veins, I was handed a strip of cloth and a handful of rocks.  Not my preferred weapon, to be sure, but better than nothing.  Stepping back to get some range, I thought briefly about attacking Shanasta himself.  But I decided it would be better to help the child, if I could.  Besides, with a few pebbles and sling, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hurt Shanasta anyway. 

 

Having the range, I load the heaviest rock into the sling and spin it at my side, gaining speed.   Once it’s ready, I take aim at the guard carrying the spear and let fly the rock…….

[erosan]

{human male}

 

"Oh. Crap."

Weeks of planning his next move reduced to nothing...

For weeks now he had been getting glimpses of his past. He now knew his own name was Afrorum (and that was good, for now more than ever he understood that names are a powerful thing).

From these flashbacks he had been scribbling on the dirt of his "cell" lots of arcane symbols, meditating on their meaning, feeling their magic like power running in his mind but not risking freeing it on the guards for fear of losing his one advantage. But today his plan was supposed to be set in motion. He would conspire in whispers with a select few to machinate a plan for their escape.

And then, Shanasta and his let's-sacrifice-the-kid speech happened. And then the half elf started a fight. And just like that, the time for stealth was gone. Not that he blamed the elf… His own instinct to protect the youngling was overwhelming, even if doing so could very well spell doom.

Its like the god watching over him didn't give a f*ck about what happened to Afrorum. In fact it was almost certainly JUST that; they didn't call Boccob the uncaring for nothing.

Now everything had been reduced to a choice: helping the kid, or trying to survive.

"Bah. Who wants to live forever, anyways?"

Holding the pickaxe shaft on his left hand, he used his other one to cast. The free hand moving faster than what seemed possible, he drew arcane symbols on the air, while whispering a simple incantation. A small greenish dot materialized close to his hand and quickly expanded into an orb of green fluid (half liquid, half gas) which moved quickly following a flick of his wrist, propelling the orb towards the face of the other reptile (the one with a club).

"It's showtime…"

[joedog]

[female dwarf]

 

Over the last three weeks bits and pieces of memory had returned. I had been approached about joining a resistance movement. Of course I was in. I didn't leave the mines of my clan for this. As the guards pulled the youngster away, I felt my heart rate quicken. We could not stand by and allow this to happen. I felt a something pushed into my hand, a makeshift club.  I swung the club up to my shoulder and charged at the guards, aiming for the one with the cudgel. 

[starpuck]

[Female elf]

Days, how many days had I been down here? Weeks now I thought... There were so many unanswered questions though and now, suddenly, bits and pieces were coming back. I wouldn't call myself heroic, more ...thoughtful survivor if anything. But if the others were about to jump into action then that suited my style just fine. I'd been handed a couple of jagged rocks, they were nothing like the twin elven daggers I now recall wielding, but they'll do. Now, just find the shadows and wait for the opportune moment.

Posted from 30,000 feet. Loving that my sister works for Gogo!

[Kishi]

[Human Male]

 

The days have blended together. There is only the work, an endless, oppressive rhythm - get up, go, bang-bang-bang, return, sleep.

 

It's been the kind of life that lends itself to noticing things that are different. Callouses grow up, tiny white peaks sloping out of the dust of my hands. I have found myself tracing them in the night, wondering why the feeling of my skin turning to leather satisfies me.

 

The nights are filled with dreams. I find myself standing in a barren plain with the sun bearing down on me. The heat soaks into me through my skin. I raise a staff and plant it on the ground, and green rolls out from me like a carpet. Or in another: a shadow stands before me, and I speak words of fire that consume it.

 

I wake and find myself moved to say something, but I know not what.

 

Until now. I see the youth, Eswasha. I have given him of my bread when I see him, because he is a child, and he should be able to grow old. He should be able to grow old.

 

IT SHOULD NOT BE THIS WAY

 

Something snaps, and it's as if a tiny sun shines inside my chest. "Dax," a voice whispers in the still place between thoughts. And I remember... if not everything, a great deal of what's important.

 

A broken spade is pressed into my hands, I choke up on the grip, and murmur, "Oh Pelor, my lord. Forgive my absence. Guide my hands, and may I not falter in the deliverance of your justice."

 

For as an old man once told me: I kick ass for the Lord.