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PLEASE DO NOT POST IN THIS THREAD UNLESS YOU ARE LISTED AS A CO-AUTHOR BELOW

CO-AUTHORS (followed by role/character name)
Manchu (GM)
Shane (TBD)
chaplaingrabthar (TBD)
dogma (TBD, "Eyes")
Orkeosaurus (TBD)

This is an experimental forum-based RPG. Rules are to be determined as we go. As they are determined, they will be listed in this post.

Rule 1: In Character text should be in bold. Out Of Character text (when you are speaking as a co-author to another co-author) should be written as: (OOC: . . .)
Rule 2: You may narrate your own characters' actions and those of any "NPC" you create but not those of other characters or their "NPCs".
Rule 3: You may make up an NPC at any time but please PM me with the details before inserting him or her into the storyline.

As it stands, this will be more of a collaborative narration than a game so I think it's better at home here in Dakka Fiction rather than in Survivor Games.

His calloused right hand traces the bas-relief statue, the lines in his face deepening. It must be light... The voice in his head - his voice? He couldn't be sure. It must be light to stay afloat. Was it a memory? He tried to focus, but that brought a dull throbbing pain behind his eyes. He shook his head, cursing softly as hair fell into his eyes. The voice that cursed was dry, raspy. Unrecognizable. Is it the same voice, the one in my head? He let go of the question as he half-turned to face the alcove.

What is... The shape at the end of the hallway was half-seen, guarded by shadow. It didn't matter. His curiosity about the statue was secondary to his need to... To what? He didn't know what, but he was sure that his answer was at the top of the stairs. And so, turning his back on the alcove, he brushed the graying shoulder-length hair back over his shoulder.

(OOC: Nevermind.)

(OOC: Yes. Sorry. I just wasn't sure if I should go ahead and act, or wait on someone else. My bad.)

Freed from the curious chamber he had awoken in, he was overwhelmed by the size of the hallway he found himself in. It was the longest room his memory could register. Stepping forward, he examined the statue that had marked the door to his chamber.

Walking slowly and stealthily towards he staircase, he felt an urge -- or was it an instruction? -- to pull at another of the myriad statues lining the hall. As he did so, the image of the blue door flashed on the back of his mind, and was gone, as elusive and opaque as his current predicament had been. Disconcerted, he gathered up the hem of his tunic and ran towards the robed figure. in the stairwell, crying "Wait!"

OOC: Hope that's not too many actions for one post.

Well this is quite the predicament. No memories, a strange building which resembles a temple, and a potentially nefarious man just a few yards away. His dress is similar to mine, but his bearing lacks the uncertainty that I imagine to be written all over me. An authority of some sort? A supervisor? Best to avoid detection for now.

Its strange that I feel compelled to think in this manner, what was I before being here? A question that be put off if I am to ever answer it.

I move quickly towards the pedestal; doing my best to remain silent. Perhaps its markings will contribute towards an answer for my question; jog a memory. A memory that is something other than a pulsing blue light, a pulsing blue light...and a figure. A figure that was moving towards me. A man, maybe the man in the hall? I have to find out, perhaps I can subdue him. My body feels well conditioned, though I do not know why. Abruptly I reverse my direction; stalking towards the mysterious man.

(OOC: What happens next seems up to chaplaingrabthar--do you hear dogma's character's approach or not?)

I hear soft footsteps behind me, the silence of the room amplifying their sound. I turn to face the approaching figure, wondering if he knows anything about the image of a blue door that keeps flashing into my vision. I kneel and hold my hands out in front of me, open palmed, showing this new arrival that I am unarmed.

"Who are you?" I ask, as my left hand instinctively begins to ball into a fist.

Unfortunate, my intended target has heard me. Though I suppose that should have been expected. Interestingly he has placed himself in a submissive position in order to avoid a conflict. It seems I was mistaken in my assessment of his status. Or perhaps this place isn't the hostile environment I had initially imagined it to be? No, there is a definite menace in the air, but not necessarily the result of this man's presence.

He spoke to me, "Who are you?" An interesting question. No use in hiding anything, "I don't know."

"Do you know who you are? Do you know how you got here?"

There is an explosion, muffled but not too distant. The light from the top of the stairs swells briefly and the whole world seems to rock. (dogma) and (chaplaingrabthar) manage to keep their footing but (Shane) slips and falls back down the several steps he had climbed thus far. In the brief surge of orange light (chaplaingrabthar) notices that (dogma) has one green eye and one blue eye.

(OOC: If anyone has question about what can be done or how to do something, just ask in an out of character "bubble" like this one.)

I answer (dogma), "No, Eyes, I don't remember who I am. Or how we got here." I nod my head towards the crumpled form of (Shane) on the floor. "No idea who he might be either. I do remember seeing your eyes before somewhere though, if only I could remember."

Standing back up, I walk back towards the stairwell. "I do know something is exploding up there, and I don't want to be here if it happens again. Any suggestions, Eyes?"

I pause. but before "Eyes" has a chance to answer I add "I don't suppose you saw any blue doors around here, did you?"

OOC: I'm nicknaming dogma's character "Eyes", until such time as I/we find out his name as that's a distinguishing feature and because it seems unnatural to type (dogma) or (Shane) between the bolded text.

"Wait!"

The sudden shout is incongruous, startling. I whirl on the stairs, turning to face the man who cried out. One hand shoots out toward the wall to steady me on the narrow stairs, but I find (somewhat to my surprise) that there was no need. I am poised on the balls of my feet, ready to fight or flee. I witness the odd scene between the two men with some curiosity. Is it odd? It's difficult to say, I've no frame of reference.

They play out a scene that is at the same time familiar and disquieting, as if they were speaking my own thoughts aloud. At least I'm not the - My thoughts are violently interrupted as the catacomb that has become my new world lurches suddenly, throwing me off my feet. I see floor, ceiling, floor, ceiling, and then I am sprawled on the hard stone. My vision swims, my hand comes away from my forehead sticky with blood. I mutter a curse, and finally my voice sounds familiar to my own ears. I struggle to one knee, groaning. I know that my wits are dulled by the sudden violent surge of sensory input (pain, noise, light), but that knowledge is small comfort as it doesn't seem to speed my recovery. Left hand on left knee, I push myself to my feet and attempt to take stock of the situation.

You all hear a cry of agony come from behind one of the statues, nearest to (chaplaingrabthar). A moment later, it budges outward a fraction of an inch. Another moment passes and the door swings open and a fourth man stumbles out. He appears to be in pain.

Explosion. Sense of menace intensifying. Ritual? Battle? Production? In any case, it seems something has our captors preoccupied.

The man I approached, he called me eyes. Strange, but it isn't important now.

"No, I haven't seen a blue door. Though I do have a memory of a pulsing blue light obscuring what might be an approaching man. I thought it may have been you. As for what we are to do: I suggest you help our injured friend up, while I interrogate the stirring newcomer."

He wants to leave, as do I, but there's no sense in proceeding when there are possible sources of information at hand. That alcove I had intended to investigate earlier should be a priority once this potential threat is assessed, though I fear ascending towards the explosions will be our only way forward. Slightly worrying, but then the light was the same color as that which proceeded it, if more intense. Perhaps our captors intended the disturbance. In any case, I approach the newcomer.

"You appear to be in pain, is it a sensation behind your eyes? Can you remember anything before this moment?"

Unsure why Eyes is giving me orders, but his suggestion seems most sensible at this time.

I approach (Shane) slowly, not wanting to further alarm him in his current disorientated state. I unwrap the remains of my robe/jacket from my arm, tearing off a strip that must have frayed during my encounter with the chair earlier.

"Do not be alarmed, stranger. I'm trying to help you," I say, as soothingly as I can muster given the circumstances. I clamp the strip of fabric over the stranger's head wound, stemming the bleeding. As the flow of blood ebbs and slows, I cradle his head slightly and tie the cloth tightly around the back of his head. As I finish binding the wound with this makeshift headband/bandage, one thought overwhelms me.

I have done this before.

(OOC: @chaplaingrabthar: Very cool background building and exactly what I had in mind. I had really envisioned that everyone would take charge of their own development. If you want to be able to do something but aren't sure if it's possible in this admittedly confusing world, just write it up here in an OOC bubble or PM me. If we ever get out of this hallway, things should become more interesting.)

Another explosion, smaller and seemingly further off, goes off somewhere above you. The light from it briefly reveals details of the statues. The figures are dressed in robes like the ones you are all wearing with their hoods pulled down over their faces. Some hold scrolls, books, bottles, and other things harder to recognize; others wield weapons; one that is still closed has empty hands, its palms turned up.

Explosion again. More distant. No immediate response from the newcomer suggests that he is in a predicament similar to our own.

The details on the doors are interesting. Perhaps a description of the prior lives of those in residence? Perhaps a description of the intended future lives of the same?

Either way, the chaos above is moving away; increasing our chance of entering at a safe distance from it.

"It seems like it might be clear. I'm heading up the stairs." I said to everyone in the vicinity; moving quickly in all the while.

Strange that I seem to feel greater clarity now that events are accelerating. Strange also that I can put phrase to images I cannot recall having seen. Whatever I was before it must have conditioned me terribly.

I stand patiently as my wounds are bandaged, and eventually manage a crooked half-smile. This seems familiar, somehow. I'm no stranger to injury, it would appear. "Thanks. That was absolutely ruining my robe." My grin spreads as I realize I've just made a joke. So I have a sense of humor. At least that's something.

"I was just headed that way myself," I say, raising my voice so that 'Eyes' can hear. He called him 'Eyes.' What do I call myself? "Before all the ruckus broke out." I still feel shaky, but there's a certain devil-may-care flippancy to my tone that pleases me for some reason. I begin ascending once again, behind 'Eyes,' my right hand dropping to my waist as my fingers close firmly around... Nothing. It used to be right there. I wonder where it is. I don't know what "it" is (or was), but I know it's missing.

Ah well. Add that to the list.

I gaze at the statue with the empty hands. Wondering if I should investigate further. I dismiss the notion as it seems my new companions are ascending the stairway, leaving me back in splendid isolation.

I begin to head up the stairs after Eyes and the stranger I bandaged. I stop head back down and attempt to support the newest, injured arrival's weight and try and drag him up the stairs with me. This man has a story you must hear. A voice tells me. I'm not sure if it's in my head, or if one of the two gentlemen further up the stairwell addressed me.

Some of the monks want to talk to me, I think to myself. I don't want to talk to them, though. I have yet to find a god who has turned waking eye to this world in the last 26.. 25? 27? years and I don't need to hear another parable about how this is all the more reason to care about them.

Whatever they say is as coherent as the noises insects or frogs make anyways; I vaguely wonder if they're even speaking New Common. Monks always know older languages, probably because if people knew what they were saying they'd realize what a scam they were running from the start.

Self conscious of the fact that I am around others, at least, I use the sleeve of my robe to wipe the grime from my face. I brush back a little of my hair and am reminded of my ears as well, and wipe that blood away as best I can. I move slowly, trying to form thoughts but not getting anywhere.

With no progress being made in that front, I look at the statues and reliefs that the monastery seems saturated in. Just whose temple I'm in is something of a mystery, as they're not the symbols and images of any deity I can think of.

Just my luck; if I don't know who (The Dreamer) this fething god (The Dreamer) is then they're going to want to spend the next week telling me all about him (Awakens).

The stairs are steep and narrow. As you ascend, the orange light of fire becomes brighter but there is another tint, the blue-gray of morning. Finally, the stairway opens up into a huge room with a dome ceiling. Half of the circular room is made up of arches open to the outside. The dome has partially fallen in. There are bodies everywhere, dressed in the same robes that you're wearing except in dark blue rather than white. There is a bonfire in the middle of the room. It looks as if books and bookshelves were the fuel. It has been burning for sometime. None of the books are salvageable. Beyond the arches, you see the ruins of buildings. There are fires everywhere. In the distance, you hear screams.

I feel my steps slow, unbidden, as I walk into the room. I catch myself with my mouth hanging slightly open at the sight of the carnage, and clamp it shut. "It looks like their day has been even worse than ours," I say with a grin that is half grimace. Who were these people? And why does that question seem more pressing than the question of my own identity?

I bend to the grisly business of sorting through the bodies; surely there is some clue as to their identity here. Perhaps I'll even find one still breathing. I survey their wounds, doing my best to avoid blood, soot and the like. My sole possession in this world is a pristine white robe. It wouldn't do to soil that.

The dead are covered in stab and slice marks. The rents in their robes are seared and their wounds are fused shut. It occurs to (Shane) that whoever did this used self-cauterizing blades.

I drop my burden as we reach this new chamber, letting (Orkeosaurus) fall gently to the ground.

As I breath in, I gag on the stench of burning and the unmistakable smell of death. I shudder, overcome by the scale of destruction that I see before me.

I notice that (Shane) is apparently more used to the sight of death than myself as he goes to check out the bodies. Why is he trying to keep his robe clean? I wonder Does it mean something more to him?

Eventually overcoming my revulsion, I take one of the blue robes off a relatively unharmed body and wear it over my white tunic. I need protection from the cold, and my white robe has been tattered and torn in my escape and healing endeavors.

I look at the fires. Some unbidden part of me tells me it's wrong to use books for fuel, but doesn't tell me why it's wrong. I also don't understand the need for so many fires, the air itself has no chill to it at all.

Hearing screams in the distance, I sprint to the cover of the collapsed dome and try to see who or what is screaming and what could force them to make such an eerie, keening wail.

There is no movement barring the flicker of bonfires and the occasional collapse of masonry, as far as the eye can see. There are bodies in the street. Nearer to this domed structure, which is raised from the road below by wide marble stairs, the corpses are dressed in blue robes. But there are others beyond them: men, women, children. They seem to have been slain indiscriminately if methodically. A voice cries out from an alcove opposite the open side of the building. "Arbyat! What is going on there? Arbyat, you fool! Report at once!"

So much death. It strikes me on a primal level, and yet it also feels supremely unusual that it would do so. A monstrous combination, though I say nothing of it. Indeed, it seems I am rarely moved to speech of any sort.

My companions have gone about the business of searching through the dead. I can already tell that this was an extermination by surprise, as there seems to have been little resistance on the part of the now deceased. Even so, whoever was here must have been either highly skilled or numerous to overcome so many individuals; defenseless or otherwise.

The use of books as fuel is curious. It seems unlikely that our captors would have destroyed their own possessions. Perhaps a component in the motive for the attack? If so, given the presence of the fire at the moment of my awakening, and the current state of the tomes, it seems safe to assume that the aggressors were here for some time prior to our ascent.

There is a voice coming from an alcove behind me; calling for an Arbyat. Time to get some answers: I move to investigate.

The voice emanates from a round black stone embedded into the wall. When you hear the voice, the opacity of the stone clears somewhat, as if dense black clouds are swirling within it.

*Thump!*

I don't recall having fallen unconscious, but I must have, since I've just been awakened by someone unceremoniously dropping me onto a flagstone floor. I rub my head, and wonder vaguely if it would be sore without having knocked it against the ground.

It's a short time before I realize that the smell that's been filling my nostrils since I woke up is burned flesh, and I stand up with a startle. There are corpses strewn about, wearing blue robes, all stabbed from the looks of it.

One of the white robed monks (are they on my side?) is messing around with one of the corpses. I don't know if he's trying to help the guy or loot the body. The smoldering pile of books in the center of the room annoys me to no end; another fething holy war, no doubt. I don't know if the blues are with or against the whites, and I only care so far as I can avoid being attacked by whoever would think that with my white robe I'm up against them as well.

One of the monks is yelling at another ("Arbyat"'s his name, I guess), and I start to worry that if I don't get the gist of the politics in play soon I'll have to make assumptions I don't want to be making. I see one of the monks looking at some rock in the wall, and I call to him.

"Hey! Hey, excuse me, but I've been out of commission for a while, and would appreciate it if you got me up to speed with the.. situation here."

I stand from my search with a quiet but heartfelt curse. "I suppose a pair of comfortable boots would have been too much to ask." I'm not sure what to make of the scene. How do these people (these corpses) relate to me? To us? They were attacked, butchered. But why? Was someone trying to free us? Is this attack related to us at all? No weapons among the corpses. Gods. Did these people not account for a single one of their attackers? How is that possible?

The voice from the wall earns a curious glance, but now I'm thinking more clearly. What if they come back, and they're unfriendly? I find an overturned chair, and brace my foot against it as I pull at a leg. Blast. I thought this would be easier. I grunt as I deliver a well placed kick, then curse my bare feet. With the next wrenching pull, the chair leg comes free. As I watch "Arbyat" (Is that a name? A title? It doesn't sound familiar.) interact with the stone, I take a couple of practice cuts with the chair leg. "This will never do. The weight's not right at all." I keep it anyway. Just in case...

I address the stone: "Arbyat is almost certainly dead, along with everyone else. There's been an attack. Who are you?"

By inferring that I was not among those counted among the else, and that I was not in the know, I gave away more information than I would have liked, but desperate times call.

Then a call comes from behind. The newcomer seems to have regained consciousness. I move from the stone in an attempt to shield it from my next statement:

"There isn't much I can tell you. I awoke much as I expect you did: in small rooms, on sturdy chairs, with disorienting pain burning the backs of our eyes, and a total lack of memory. All was well, if slightly ominous, until an explosion shook this temple; right around the time you stumbled out of your room. I expect that hole over there was its result. If you need aid, I expect that our shoe seeking friend may be able to help you, he did a good job bandaging our newly christened knight of the chair leg."