The Black Dahlias [IC]

[BelGareth]

The Black Dahlias

The heavy, metallic sound of unlatching seals echoes through the cold, dimly lit chamber. A row of cyro tubes, lined neatly against the stark grey walls, begins to hiss and steam, shrouds of icy vapor curling into the air. As the front panels of the tubes slowly slide open, figures step out, each one shivering slightly as they adjust to the abrupt change in environment. Their movements are sluggish, yet deliberate, as they glance around with wary eyes.

Around their necks, each figure wears a dark, metal collar, etched with arcane symbols that faintly glow with a pulsating red light. The collars are a stark reminder of their status — not heroes, but tools, bound and controlled.

Behind them, a procession of figures draped in dark, hooded robes marches in. These are the Magewrights, their robes embroidered with intricate patterns that speak of powerful magic and ancient knowledge. Each Magewright stops behind a respective criminal, their presence both imposing and unnerving.

Sergeant Hackford, a stern man with a piercing gaze and a well-worn military coat, steps forward. The medallions and badges on his coat rattle softly as he moves to the center of the line, his eyes sweeping over the assembled group. He stops and places his hands behind his back, his expression unreadable.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Hackford begins, his voice echoing slightly in the cold chamber, "welcome to the Black Dahlias. You have been selected for this task force not because of your virtues, but because of your capabilities, which are extraordinary, even by the Empire's standards."

He pauses, allowing his words to sink in. "This team is the hammer," he continues, "unlike the Rose Petals, who are the scalpel. You are not here to make precise cuts; you are here to smash, to break, and to obliterate obstacles in the way of the Empire. Each of you is bound by more than just the physical chains you wear. Today, you will be bound by a geas of loyalty and obedience."

As he speaks, the Magewrights step forward, beginning a synchronized chant. Their hands move through complex gestures, weaving magic into the air. One by one, they approach the criminals, touching their foreheads briefly as they invoke the geas.

"This spell," Hackford explains, "will ensure that you follow my commands to the letter. Disobedience is not an option. Success, on the other hand, may earn you some degree of redemption. Each act of exceptional service will be recorded and considered when your sentences come up for review."

He looks at each of them, his gaze hard but not without a certain respect. "You are tools of the Empire, but even a tool can earn its place back into the world, should it prove itself worthy. Fail, and you return to cryo until we see fit to thaw you again. Succeed, and there may yet be hope for you."

As the last of the geas is cast, the Magewrights step back, their job done. The atmosphere is charged with a new energy, a mix of fear, anticipation, and the faintest spark of hope.

"Prepare yourselves," Hackford concludes, turning on his heel to leave. "Your first mission brief will commence in one hour. Make no mistake—this is your life now. You succeed or you freeze. Welcome to the Black Dahlias."

Along the wall facing you, lies a locker for each of you, with your gear all present and accounted for. Once garbed, the null-collars all click and unlock as one, allowing you to place them in the locker. Nearby is a table with some plain food, cheeses, bread, and cold water.

Spoiler

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Any actions, attempts to speak or anything really, is suppressed by the collars entirely, those of you activated before will know that, those that haven't will not. totally up to you on which one you are.

[CozJa]

Waking up from forced sleep was something of an annoyance, as was resisting the first urge to snap the necks of the first people around. Turns up it wasn't such a bad idea, considering the collar is still active.
"Escaping this place might not be difficult, but rashness won't get me out of here... at least for now" Heikros looks around, and as his eyes adapt to the dimly lit environment. He observes the other ones stuck in the place with him. "A bunch of losers and a... strolling war machine?" puzzled by the strange creature, the Killer is about to speak, when he realizes he can't do it. Every thought about his next move is forgotten when a military man enters the room. A sergeant.

Listening at his speech, Heikros glances around the place, taking mental notes of possible escape routes. When the Magewrights do their work, he tries to memorize as much as possible of their actions, as you never know when you happen to find a rogue enchanter who can dispel the very thing you want dispelled.

The mercenary heard about something like the Black Dalhias during his years of service for the crown, but he would never have expected to be something so... big!

[Forsaken]

The tall and imposing heavy knight walks up to where his weaponry is kept. After rearming himself his red eyes glower. Processing all of the information. His first desires were to slay the mages who have entrapped him. But hearing what was said he thought to himself. Rose petals...might be a good steppingstone in the future.

Further listening he is pleased that these people will grant him potential enemies to temper himself in his goal to become the strongest in the land. Drawing his blade to make sure it is in still good fighting shape. He attempts to swing it. Unable to do so he reshealths his blade. Now there are more tasks. (1) acquire resistance or immunity to being frozen. (2) acquire resistance or immunity to movement restrictions. (3) A way to be uninfected by these mages.

Silently nodding to himself he walks in front of everyone just staring at the people who are supposed to assign the tasks. Unmoving. Unblinking. As his large mass awaits the task.

[Metastachydium]

As Hackford begins to ramble on and on about some kind of mission, Rijn stares at him, all stone-faced. The wole matter doesn't strike the Earth-Man quite as complicated as the sergeant makes it sound like. What day is this? he tries to interject, to see things clarified somewhat, but oddly enough he can't hear (or feel) himself speak. WHAT DAY IS THIS?! he tries to repeat a lot louder… But it doesn't really get louder.

It's only after the collar comes off and there's nobody important to shout at that Rijn finally figures out that he might have been magically silenced. Very unneccessary. What day is this? he repeats, once more, as he armours up (his bulky golden second skin looks good; and so does his shield and spear – apparently someone even polished them almost as well as he would while he was out. That's something, at least). Maybe these black flower people around him were actually told something he wasn't. If it's been more than four month, they could have just asked. he adds, audibly quite offended by the whole magical compulsion failsafe. The NUMBER hears the order, the NUMBER acts! No need for magic there. He's not a criminal!

[3SecondCultist]

The girl in the fourth frozen chamber blinks awake with ease. Frost-clad white locks shake around her shoulders as she begins to move experimentally, cracking her neck and back and taking some visible delight in the silence of the motions. Her pale, long, and eerily-symmetrical features twists into a childlike smile. She glances at the magewright standing behind her, pointing at the collar around her neck and sticking up her thumb to confirm that the device is doing its job. Golden eyes dance with unfettered amusement as she takes in the rest of the assembled prisoners and guards. She waves excitedly at those Dahlias she's worked with in the past, regardless of any bad blood or prior misunderstandings.

The arrival of the officious looking sergeant prompts the young-looking woman to stand a little bit straighter but she never fully drops the grin, not even when the chant is underway or when the closest mage touches her forehead. She simply stares at the spellcaster, unblinking, with the face of a hopeful schoolgirl.

Then the big performance is over, and the collar is gone. She's already begun to speak, so the moment the metal parts from her neck her voice fills the chamber.

"... think that it would have been more effective to relay our directives to us telepathically. From a psychological perspective, it would imply omnipresence and would have allowed them to play us off each other in case any one of us goes rogue. A panopticon, but in our minds!" Estari holds out her hands around an imaginary sphere in front of her, as though to indicate someone's brain. "A speech works too, I guess. But I thought enterprising people of our capabilities deserved a little something extra, you know? Hammers get no subtlety, I guess."

She skips towards the table, famished, intent on being the first to get a bite to eat, but pauses halfway through loading her plate.

"This isn't poisoned, is it?"

[Auranghzeb]

Hammer Hagan did not see himself as a Hammer. In fact, he was not a tool at all, not even a craftsman. Let others get their hands dirty.

As the collar came out, Hagan fixes his shirt collar and checks his nails. The good thing about cryo was that it was hygienic.

He nodded during the part of the speech about the Geas, didn't these magewrigths now anything? He let the enchantment wash over him, tingling his will, Oh, he could play the Jester, the puppet, his kind had been doing that for millennia. He'll let them think their geas had worked.

Thanks for the opportunity for redemption. One can appreciate a monarchy with due process of law and that does not waste talent.

He looked at the others, discretely evaluating them and picked his gear.

Spoiler: Sense motive

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Evaluating his companions
(1d20+11)[17]

[BelGareth]

As the Black Dahlias recover from the effects of the cryo stasis an ornately carved sliding door reveals itself, with a deep rumble, the door slides open, revealing a starkly lit chamber lined with maps and arcane instruments. The air is thick with anticipation.

Sergeant Hackford steps forward, his presence commanding the attention of the group. "Follow me," he says curtly, leading them into the chamber. Once inside, the door slides shut with a definitive thud, sealing them in.

Turning to face you all, Hackford begins the briefing. "You are about to be teleported deep into the heart of the Empire of the East Sun. Your mission is to infiltrate the 'Kurultai of Blades'—a summit where the highest-ranking generals of their legions convene. These generals are the tactical heart of the Hobgoblin war machine"

He pauses, allowing the weight of their task to sink in. "This will not be a subtle operation. You are to sow chaos, eliminate as many leaders as possible, and disrupt their command structure ahead of our main forces' assault. Each kill will destabilize their ranks further and provide us a greater advantage in the upcoming war efforts."

Hackford walks to a table, unrolling a detailed map. "Here," he points to a fortified location marked deep within enemy territory. "You will materialize here, at the edge of their encampment. Use the cover of night for your approach. Remember, you were chosen not just for your prowess but for your expendability. Success may earn you your freedom or at least a reduction of your sentences."

As the seriousness of their mission settles in, Hackford gives a nod to a robed figure by an arcane device. "Prepare yourselves. The teleportation will commence shortly. Stick to the shadows, strike swiftly, and do not underestimate the Hobgoblins. Dismissed."

With that, the team members exchange grim looks, making their final preparations as the robed figure begins the incantation that will whisk them away to one of the most dangerous assignments of their lives.

Hagan notices, among other things, that Sgt Hackford gives him a nod and a wink in particular as you depart.

[Metastachydium]

Rijn examines the map with great (if mostly feigned) interest and nods gravely. He lookms up at Hackford and strikes the ground hard with the butt end of his spear. THE NUMBER STANDS! I WILL KILL OR DIE! he rumbles without much in the way of warning, seemingly quite content to just stand and stare motionless until such time as the group gets dropped in the middle of the enemy.

[3SecondCultist]

Still stuffing her face, Estari follows the rest of the group into the map chamber. Her eyes widen at the revelation of their target, and she fights to chew and swallow her food as quickly as possible so that she can ask a cavalcade of questions.

"Oooh, hobgoblins? Does the Kurultai deal with pan-goblinoid factions, or are we facing pure hob muscle? How many generals will we be expected to target for mission success? Can you tell us anything about the kinds of defenses we're expected to encounter? How many flying creatures or mages capable of flight do they have? How do they treat prisoners they've captured in battle? How..."

The shaper continues in that vein for some time, not ceasing her chatter even as she busies herself re-equipping her garb, which includes a set of scholarly robes and snug boots, a simple silver circlet, a voluminous cloak, and a pair of fine gloves. However, Estari's attention is focused on the backpack with the dizzying array of buttons and pockets. Laying it out on a low side table, she pulls out a glass monstrosity. At first glance it looks like an oversized bowl, except for the hermetic seal at the top and the ten valve slots along the sides. Piece by piece, Estari assembles an army of vials and screws them into the chamber's side ports.

Then she puts on the last piece of her ensemble: a leather hood that covers her whole head, with some kind of strange apparatus that covers her mouth and nose. When she breathes, the movement is accompanied by a soft crinkling noise.

"This should be enough for the first aerial bombardment." Estari then begins to hum to herself as she readies her crafting gear and gets to work.

Spoiler: OOC - Estari's Plan

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So a single manifestation of Psionic Minor Creation can get me up to 30,000 doses of poison. That's obviously a ridiculous amount, but I figure I can load up the better part of 80 vials with a deadly inhaled gas. The one in question is Plague Brush Spores, an inhaled poison with a base DC of 33 that deals 2d6 Str and 1d4 Con damage. I'm going to have Estari enhance the spores further with Night Venom, which puts people who fail the initial save against the poison's primary damage to sleep until they have to save against the secondary effect.

There is not a guarantee it'll work automatically - the Greensickness poison I'm using has a Craft DC of 35, even with the +26 bonus she's rocking. So I figure this might take multiple tries. But that's okay, because it only costs her 1 PP to manifest. She can make Night Venom automatically (the Craft DC for that is lower than her Alchemy bonus).

She will then load up her flying astral construct with as many enhanced spores as possible and dive-bomb the entire camp with them. It should incapacitate and weaken enough enemies to soften up their security a healthy amount. I am also planning on having Estari on its back to direct it and throw down some Walls of Ectoplasm to cordon off high-value targets and guarantee poison saturation.

[Cygnia]

Great Mephistopheles, please grace me with another chance! I did not mean to fa--! I...I... The paper-white humanoid with even whiter eyes frantically looked around as the stasis wore off, pathetic pleas for mercy forcefully restrained in his mouth. Which, as he slowly remembered the How and Why of his imprisonment, was probably a good thing.

Not being able to shift, however, wasn't so pleasant. He felt vulnerable and exposed. No doubt, a self-righteous voice of justice somewhere would sneer on about how he "deserved" it. That his "poor victims" had been treated much worse by him...

This sergeant's speech, however, was unexpected. And the fear he initially felt was soon replaced by curiosity -- with the barest trace of resentment as well. This "Hackford" even said it -- they were nothing more than tools. Disposable. As the sergeant continued to speak, the changeling looked him over again and again, trying to take in every tic of movement and twang of speech. Accursed geas or not, it might prove useful for later.

As the collar clicked down, he pulled it off immediately and threw it in the locker in disgust. Soon his features shifted back into his favorite form -- a human male with a rakish grin. The shiftweave morphed into an appropriate outfit a short time afterwards, suitable for the look of a mercenary. Then he looked over the rest of his items. He picked up one of his wands to grant him Endure Elements. Better to have it on just in case.

"Does anyone speak Goblin then?" Knowles finally spoke.

[Forsaken]

Spoiler: knowledge history

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(1d20+14)[20]

Mainly on the terrain he is unsure how long he has been frozen so is comparing the map to the ones he has previously seen. Also seeing if he can recall any potential information on where would be best to start looking for these general's

A hobogoblin war machine. It could be a good challenge. Lucian thought to himself.

What are the numbers of enemy...and which is the strongest in comparison to you. Lucian says while staring at the Sergeant with his red unblinking eyes awaiting an answer while planning on rehoning his skills from his imprisonment.

[CozJa]

Opening the chest and finding Wargird's Armor still there made for a single, comfortable moment of peace for the grizzled veteran. "Still mine... not that many things changed... not the relevant ones, at least." As he feels his regenerating powers kicking in, the mercenary feels even more sure of himself, almost ready to be in action again.

As they join Hackford in the briefing room (or what works like it in this place) Heikros listens to his description of the task. "Full on point. Lack of details. This is being in the army again."
He rolls his eyes behind his mask when they are quickly shown the way to the teleportation zone.

As the others start considering their options, the ronin ponders what to say.

"An aerial strike could be useful, but you will be alone in the sky next, do you have ways of not becoming a sitting duck?" He says, answering to the strange girl's words.

[Metastachydium]

While Rijn himself doesn't break his silence or change his posture throughout the exchange, he seems to be listening, so far as that much can be told from looking at the rocky features of his face. The weird weasel-thing that stumbled into the room with him and is now still standing on its hind legs beside the mercenary, a toothy rictus on its face, constant even as it jerks its head about, makes a chilling vocalisation not unlike a mad giggle at the mention of the Goblin tongue. It's not a sound a weasel should or should be able to make.

[Auranghzeb]

Poison is a good approach, I must say I don't like combat very much. But if we are going in, I'll first need to make all of you immune to my breath, it can be quite stiffening, you see.

If you'd allow it.

Then he proceeds to incant those willing with Endure Exposure.

[Cygnia]

Knowles' wand protected him from natural elements -- but avoiding any "friendly fire" from these so-called "allies" he was now stuck with would be a smart idea. Now, if there was a way to avoid the damn poison or get some sort of protection against it, he might (literally) breath easier...

[BelGareth]

Sgt Hackford merely sucks some air between his teeth at the barrage of questions.

He barely moves "the fact of the matter is, we don't know, intel is hard to come by right now, which is why you are even awake at this point"

[Forsaken]

Lucian looks away from the sergeant as he awaits transportation not saying all to quiet Useless. Unable to grant basic information. Looking over towards the rest of the group and tries to ascertain if any of them are capable as he silently judges them.

[CozJa]

"Well... he surely drives the point home on the expendability side of things... guess we have to work with what we've got"

[Metastachydium]

Rijn remains stationary, looming stone-faced in the background: there's glory in a good death, and more glory in a good victory. He has a good feeling about this; a sharp blade has done more against worse odds! The weird weasel-thing standing beside him makes a point of repeating its idiotic giggle.

[Auranghzeb]

Noisy and eager.
Hagan already didn't like this crew, asking for intelligence on an intelligence gathering mission which parameters had already been set to be risky.
Used to easy work

Rjin seemed the most reliable, but Hagan knew he had to be careful with the lot of them. Was he the only one free from the Geas?

His mind raced through the possibilities and the outcomes. He didn't like his chances, they weren't a hammer, they were cannon fodder. He had to be alert. Survive, Hagan, he told himself. Just make sure you are the one standing when it is all over.

[BelGareth]

As you step into the teleportation circle, a surge of magical energy engulfs you, whisking you away across the vast expanse to the edge of a dense forest. The air crackles with residual magic as you materialize, the forest around you teeming with life and mystery.

Emerging from the treeline, you find yourself standing at the edge of a sprawling clearing that overlooks a grand fortress. The structure before you commands attention, its imposing presence dominating the landscape with its sheer magnitude.

The fortress stands proudly amidst the open fields, its walls rising from the earth with a sense of ancient strength. Made of large rocks interlocked together, the walls have a slight decline, giving them a formidable appearance that speaks of centuries of defense and resilience.

Tiered levels rise steadily from the ground, each one adorned with intricate carvings and embellishments that hint at a rich cultural history. The rooftops boast a distinctive style, reminiscent of the architectural marvels of a bygone era, with sweeping curves and elegant lines that evoke a sense of grace and sophistication.

Towers punctuate the corners of the fortress, standing tall and vigilant like silent sentinels. At the heart of the fortress, a single gate stands as the sole entrance, guarded by sturdy doors that have weathered the passage of time.

As you take in the sight before you, a sense of awe washes over you, tempered by a feeling of anticipation for the challenges that lie ahead. This fortress, with its storied past and imposing presence, will be the setting for your next adventure, a journey into the heart of mystery and intrigue.

As you take in the sight before you, there is a subtle sense of being watched, as if unseen eyes are observing your every move from afar. A chill runs down your spine, a premonition of the challenges that lie ahead in this mysterious land. But despite the sense of unease, you steel yourself for the task at hand, knowing that your mission is of utmost importance and that you must succeed at any cost.

Spoiler

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Everyone attempt a will save please, and post any situational bonuses you may receive for will saves.

[Cygnia]

It took a moment for Knowles to recover from the teleport. And as that uneasy sense of paranoia in an unknown area struck him, his hand immediately dropped to the hilt of his rapier. His gaze darted wildly. Thoughts of the hobs having some sort of alert against enemy magic being used nearby flooded his thoughts. Or perhaps the threat was whatever dwelt back beyond the treeline in those dark woods.

He hated feeling like this. Utterly exposed and not in control. He needed to kill someone for this...

Spoiler: OOC Modifiers for Will Save

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+2 racial bonus on saving throws against sleep and charm effects
Least Crystal of Mind Cloaking: +1 on saves against mind-affecting effects
Craven: You take a -2 penalty on saving throws against fear effects