Chapter One: Sweet Dreams are Made of These

[Dracos]

Dracos tries to see if he suddenly 'recalls' anything special about the horn and it's proper usage as he reaches and grabs the sword, reading what his 'name' is on it then sheathing it in the balderic.  He then grabbed the helm, slipping it on as he shook his head.  This was weird.

Stretching his arms out he tried to get a good sense of his changed range of motion and balance as well as trying to shake off any remaining sense of sickness.

Dracos

[Brian]

Huitzil: This time around you appear to be a snazzy dresser.  You're wearing nice clothes.  And you know they're nice clothes, for the old days, because they're comfortable, they don't itch, and they fit.

Your boots are sturdy leather afairs, though you have crampons tied to them at the moment (little metal teeth to keep your footing on ice).

You've got two sheaths in your belt for knives, and you've got one of them in your hand.  It is suitable for cutting people, perhaps.  The one in your belt is, perhaps, suitable for cutting warm butter, or using to eat with.

A pack strapped to your back contains a few changes of clothes (you're wearing your cloak at the moment), a wooden case with a wooden flute in it, a number of very small books (they appear to be stories, poems, and songs), and a small leather pouch with some coins in it.  Looks like you've got, uh, some money.  No clue what it's worth yet, though.  Little gold discs, about the size of nickels, quarter-sized copper coins, and a few penny-sized silver wafers.  Your hair is shorter than Dracos's, perhaps seven centimeters long.  You're not sure what color it is.

[Brian]

Bjorn: There's a good number of corpses, probably about forty of them.  Thirty five are orcs, which all look different, have piecemeal armor, and what appears to just be whatever weapons they could get their hands on.

They took poor care of the weapons, as they're rusty, pitter, bent, and even cracked in places.  The armor didn't fare much better.

The other five are humans.  Three of them are dressed identically to you, and were all defeated in about the same spot (a pile between ... whoever was attacking and the lady, you'd guess).  One of them is dressed similarly to Dracos and Rez, and the last looks like a brother to the elf.

[Brian]

Dracos:  You remember every detail of the horn.  From the day you found it on your belt, to the day you looked at it and tried to remember ... uh ... hmm.  Your memories take a sharp left at about five minutes ago, and appear to have switched course from Gibraltar before stopping ... where are you, anyway?

Your body doesn't take too long to adjust to, though it does feel clumsier than you are used to.  Once you start moving, the sense of illness fades.

Rez might feel better if he were to try moving around.  Ginrai looks pretty badly off, too.

[Dracos]

"Bleh."  Dracos glanced around and grunted at Rez, "Gettup bloke.  You'll feel better once you get the blood moving again."

Dracos glanced carefully at the dead guy wearing armor similar to his, both at his equipment and to see if he had any of the strange sense of 'recognition' he'd gotten with the others.

Dracos

[Bjorn]

Bjorn checks the weapons of the corpses dressed in a similar fashion to me, to see if there's any of better quality, and then stands up, frowning, and studies the room, trying to get a better sense of where he is.  He studies the walls, noting their composition, and the temperature of the air, and then tries to make something of the statues.

As he's doing this, he's quickly running through some basic exercises from his martial studies -- not kata, per se, but instead simple drills used to limber up and develop body coordination, trying to get used to his new anatomy.

[Brian]

Rez grunts and struggles to his feet.  He's shorter than you, but built about the same.  His hair is jet black, and he could be (for all you can tell) a cousin.  No visible family crest or lineage on him, though.

The dead man dressed like you and Rez has nothing to name him, either.  But he looks like someone you've never met before.  Whatever you were, he probably worked for you, or was from a similar clan ... or something.  But he's got nothing to say, now.

[Brian]

Bjorn: Your dead companions, while dressed identically, were also apparently armed identically.  They look like they didn't have time to go after their non-ceremonial weapons, as their packs (identical to yours) lie in a pile with the sturdier blades still attached to the sides.  One of them broke his sword.  Otherwise, they're clearly ceremonial.

The lady looks back to see what you're doing, but looks away when she sees you're inspecting your fallen comerades.

[Bjorn]

Bjorn purses his lips, and then takes off his pack again, studying the armour contained therein, this time with the explicit aim of trying to figure out if he knows how to put it on.

At the same time as he does this, he checks the inside of his mind, looking for the mindboard.

[Brian]

No mindboard.

The armor looks fairly intuitive, seeing as it's attached the same way (to judge by appearances) as your current armor.  Only, it's sturdier.  The tunic has an opening along one sleeve that a metal plate covers, that you can lace up after donning it, and there's similar laces on either side of the trousers.

It might take a few minutes, but it'd certainly be doable.

[Bjorn]

Well, I never really wanted to be a telepath anyways.

Acting quickly, Bjorn removes the armour he's currently wearing and puts on the more practical suit, instead.  As much as possible, he tries not to think about what's he doing, and just let his body do it for him -- unless, of course, it becomes obvious that his body has no goddamn clue what it's doing.

[Huitzil]

Paul finally groans, rolling his neck, keeping his eyes on the new lady.

"What happened?"

[Brian]

Bjorn:  The donning of the armor is a relatively straightforward process.  It just takes a few minutes.  The lady glances at you while you're pulling on the chestpiece (you're wearing a thin white tunic beneath it, and the cold really bites at you while you're changing) and seems to approve.  However, while you're getting dressed, she turns to Paul.

"You should remember that, Master Durant," she says, frowning.  "Though, I suppose it is not your forte to be in the battle as much as to tell of it.  No matter ... we yet live, if much diminished."  She nods thoughtfully.  "Bjorn, search through Niel's pack -- he was carrying the draughts of life, and we shall need to bear them further ... I know you don't wish to leave your equipment behind, but we might travel faster if you were to abandon the ceremonial armor."

Turning back to Paul, she continues, "We need to ascertain why we were attacked."  Raising a finger to her lip thoughtfully, she cocks her head, and turns to look at Phil.  "Once Sir Bloom has recovered himself enough, he can assess the situation.  Master Liandral, Master Lorekeeper, do you have any other thoughts?" she asks, turning to regard Ginrai and the elf.

The elf shrugs, and defers to Ginrai, who just looks a bit confused for a moment.

[Bjorn]

Without thinking twice, Bjorn chucks the useless sword and armour, and then starts raiding the packs of the other -- mudhumpers, he's guessing.  

There is a growing and worrying suspcion in his head that he has been incarnated as a redshirt.

[Huitzil]

Paul looks a lot more confused. He doesn't say anything, because his expression asks "huh?"  just as well.