Dolus snaps awake mid-groove — dreams still thumpin’, room still jammin’. No door. No exit. Just wild funk and magical madness. He struts, beak gleamin’, eyes like twin spotlights — unblinking, unforgiving, always schemin’. Feathers flare like suspicion incarnate. Pupils scan for the con behind the curtain.
Walls? Lava lamps the size of trees, pulsing neon ooze. Ceiling? Disco sky — constellations shaped like breakdancers. Floor? Soul-record tiles, etched with arcane grooves. A Spellcaster’s dancefloor — part jukebox, part spellbook. Jellyfish bob to the beat, glowing rhythm. A vending machine spits mood-shifting shades. Dolus moonwalks past a robotic crab. It offers a smoothie — tastes like victory and bad decisions.
“Well damn, baby… this got flavor. Got my junk, my jive, even Crackjaw’s boots hangin’ like holy relics. Smells like the Infinite Jam — but too clean. Too curated.
Yo… where’s the exit?”
No answer. But he sees it — the workshop beneath the wonder. Benches float in rhythm, cluttered with groove-tech.Tools spin mid-air. Blueprints pulse neon. A Forge thumps molten metal into enchanted shapes. He Duets with a singing chandelier.
He laughs— not sharp, not guarded. Just joy.
“Yo… maybe this is the Jam.” Groove realm — where sound bends truth and style makes spells.
He pops a finger. The room answers with a chord so sweet it tingles. Beat hits harder. Lights swirl. Bassline grabs his bones. He dances. Dolus Avis, conman and mimic, forgets the hustle — just for a moment — and becomes the music.
Rye will try to sit up and check herself first for any abnormalities. Using a mirror in the room if available. If she seems okay, she'll look for her belongings, and after that will see what's going on with the walls/lack of doors.
The first thing Nail feels is a gentle breeze rustling a meadow of wildflowers on its way to a forested headland. They can smell sage and the sea. Waves crash against rocks in the background.
They stretch and sigh. “Aylurin, we must get back soon. It’s a fair hike from The Farmeadows to the headwaters of the River Andulith.” Nail’s brow then wrinkles. “Wait, where am I? This is a memory,” they mutter. Rising on their elbow, it does appear they are in The Farmeadow on Evermeet Island but Aylurin is not there. Fey lights dance in the corners of their vision and what appeared as vast distance now swells and fades when one looks too directly.
Nail rises, their fey senses heightened and begins to explore this familiar, but false, place. It’s obviously enchanted but they wonder if there’s a way out.
Bartok regains consciousness. The last thing he recalls was enjoying a cup of tea, in a comfortable over-stuffed chair, next to a fire, reading a book about the differences between the traditional songs of the Ona-Flaga and Fligga-Flaga Aaracockra barbarian tribes of the southern continent. With a startle, he realizes all at once…the tea is on the end table with the book next to the chair, the fire is red glowing coals…and something seems off. A look around and everything appears pretty normal, but it isn’t. Sure, all of his favorite familiar things are there. The layout looks pretty close, but off just enough. His roll-top writing desk with the hoop back chair, the shelves of books, the Knick-knacks of trinkets on the walls, the framed drawings of maps and of ruins…all there, but not quite correct. It is when he is looking at the wall that he notices it. The windows are shuttered. He gets up and goes over to open one of them…just a wall behind it. He moves to the round yellow door with the knob in the middle…same stone wall behind it. He pushes slightly on it…solid. Resigned for the moment, he goes back to his chair and sits. Picks up his tea and takes a sip. He considers his situation and attempts to recall all he has learned from past studies that might apply to this current predicament. “My, this tea is tasty.” He thinks to himself before saying out loud, “Wonder if anyone would care to join me for some?”
Rye will try to sit up and check herself first for any abnormalities. Using a mirror in the room if available. If she seems okay, she'll look for her belongings, and after that will see what's going on with the walls/lack of doors.
That requires a perception to check for abnormalities and your items.
The first thing Nail feels is a gentle breeze rustling a meadow of wildflowers on its way to a forested headland. They can smell sage and the sea. Waves crash against rocks in the background.
They stretch and sigh. “Aylurin, we must get back soon. It’s a fair hike from The Farmeadows to the headwaters of the River Andulith.” Nail’s brow then wrinkles. “Wait, where am I? This is a memory,” they mutter. Rising on their elbow, it does appear they are in The Farmeadow on Evermeet Island but Aylurin is not there. Fey lights dance in the corners of their vision and what appeared as vast distance now swells and fades when one looks too directly.
Nail rises, their fey senses heightened and begins to explore this familiar, but false, place. It’s obviously enchanted but they wonder if there’s a way out.
OOC:
Arcana=19
Investigation=21
As you investigate, you seem to walk into an invisible wall, showing you that this place is some sort of fusion between a high level illusion and a high level conjuration.
Bartok regains consciousness. The last thing he recalls was enjoying a cup of tea, in a comfortable over-stuffed chair, next to a fire, reading a book about the differences between the traditional songs of the Ona-Flaga and Fligga-Flaga Aaracockra barbarian tribes of the southern continent. With a startle, he realizes all at once…the tea is on the end table with the book next to the chair, the fire is red glowing coals…and something seems off. A look around and everything appears pretty normal, but it isn’t. Sure, all of his favorite familiar things are there. The layout looks pretty close, but off just enough. His roll-top writing desk with the hoop back chair, the shelves of books, the Knick-knacks of trinkets on the walls, the framed drawings of maps and of ruins…all there, but not quite correct. It is when he is looking at the wall that he notices it. The windows are shuttered. He gets up and goes over to open one of them…just a wall behind it. He moves to the round yellow door with the knob in the middle…same stone wall behind it. He pushes slightly on it…solid. Resigned for the moment, he goes back to his chair and sits. Picks up his tea and takes a sip. He considers his situation and attempts to recall all he has learned from past studies that might apply to this current predicament. “My, this tea is tasty.” He thinks to himself before saying out loud, “Wonder if anyone would care to join me for some?”
You hear a disembodied voice in a British accent saying, "maybe later, after you meet the boss"
you do not notice anything abnormal about your body, just the fact that it feels a bit... off. like it hasn't always been yours. you also notice all the items you had before you appeared in the room in oddly convenient places like on tables or in chests.
“My, this tea is tasty.” He thinks to himself before saying out loud, “Wonder if anyone would care to join me for some?”
You hear a disembodied voice in a British accent saying, "maybe later, after you meet the boss"
An actual answer makes the Halfling jump. “It was a rhetorical question!” He thinks to himself. “Am I having one of those one-person, two-sided conversations such as one does when they argue with themselves?” Comes the next thought.
This time aloud, “No, I don’t believe I have gone crazy…yet.” Quickly shifting back to usual mannerisms Bartok embarks on trying to make sense of the situation. He gets up and strolls around, trying to determine where the voice might be coming from. His curiosity peaked with the new ‘roommate’.
“So, you do enjoy tea then? How wonderful! Any particular flavor or manner. I myself prefer a different one depending on the time of day and the activities surrounding the occasion. I shall make a note of it…” Bartok begins to record the future engagement in a calendar on the wall. “Tea with…oh, but I don’t know how to call you?”
Nail rubs their forehead, sore from running into the invisible wall. Their Fey ancestry and knowledge of arcana reveal the rooms illusory nature. If it’s channeling a place from my memory, perhaps I can cause it to change with a new thought.
Nail concentrates on a simple room with a door slightly ajar.
Nail rubs their forehead, sore from running into the invisible wall. Their Fey ancestry and knowledge of arcana reveal the rooms illusory nature. If it’s channeling a place from my memory, perhaps I can cause it to change with a new thought.
Nail concentrates on a simple room with a door slightly ajar.
in each of your rooms, you hear a disembodied voice speaking in a British accent saying "it is time for you to meet the boss". A glowing rectangle appears in the centre of each of the rooms. You then hear the voice say "please follow my voice through the glowing door to the Censer of Dreams".
Dolus Avis Narration.
Dolus snaps awake mid-groove — dreams still thumpin’, room still jammin’. No door. No exit. Just wild funk and magical madness. He struts, beak gleamin’, eyes like twin spotlights — unblinking, unforgiving, always schemin’. Feathers flare like suspicion incarnate. Pupils scan for the con behind the curtain.
Walls? Lava lamps the size of trees, pulsing neon ooze. Ceiling? Disco sky — constellations shaped like breakdancers. Floor? Soul-record tiles, etched with arcane grooves. A Spellcaster’s dancefloor — part jukebox, part spellbook. Jellyfish bob to the beat, glowing rhythm. A vending machine spits mood-shifting shades. Dolus moonwalks past a robotic crab. It offers a smoothie — tastes like victory and bad decisions.
“Well damn, baby… this got flavor. Got my junk, my jive, even Crackjaw’s boots hangin’ like holy relics. Smells like the Infinite Jam — but too clean. Too curated.
Yo… where’s the exit?”
No answer. But he sees it — the workshop beneath the wonder. Benches float in rhythm, cluttered with groove-tech.Tools spin mid-air. Blueprints pulse neon. A Forge thumps molten metal into enchanted shapes. He Duets with a singing chandelier.
He laughs— not sharp, not guarded. Just joy.
“Yo… maybe this is the Jam.” Groove realm — where sound bends truth and style makes spells.
He pops a finger. The room answers with a chord so sweet it tingles. Beat hits harder. Lights swirl. Bassline grabs his bones. He dances. Dolus Avis, conman and mimic, forgets the hustle — just for a moment — and becomes the music.
Rye will try to sit up and check herself first for any abnormalities. Using a mirror in the room if available. If she seems okay, she'll look for her belongings, and after that will see what's going on with the walls/lack of doors.
The first thing Nail feels is a gentle breeze rustling a meadow of wildflowers on its way to a forested headland. They can smell sage and the sea. Waves crash against rocks in the background.
They stretch and sigh. “Aylurin, we must get back soon. It’s a fair hike from The Farmeadows to the headwaters of the River Andulith.” Nail’s brow then wrinkles. “Wait, where am I? This is a memory,” they mutter. Rising on their elbow, it does appear they are in The Farmeadow on Evermeet Island but Aylurin is not there. Fey lights dance in the corners of their vision and what appeared as vast distance now swells and fades when one looks too directly.
Nail rises, their fey senses heightened and begins to explore this familiar, but false, place. It’s obviously enchanted but they wonder if there’s a way out.
OOC:
Arcana=19
Investigation=21
Bartok regains consciousness. The last thing he recalls was enjoying a cup of tea, in a comfortable over-stuffed chair, next to a fire, reading a book about the differences between the traditional songs of the Ona-Flaga and Fligga-Flaga Aaracockra barbarian tribes of the southern continent. With a startle, he realizes all at once…the tea is on the end table with the book next to the chair, the fire is red glowing coals…and something seems off.
A look around and everything appears pretty normal, but it isn’t. Sure, all of his favorite familiar things are there. The layout looks pretty close, but off just enough. His roll-top writing desk with the hoop back chair, the shelves of books, the Knick-knacks of trinkets on the walls, the framed drawings of maps and of ruins…all there, but not quite correct.
It is when he is looking at the wall that he notices it. The windows are shuttered. He gets up and goes over to open one of them…just a wall behind it. He moves to the round yellow door with the knob in the middle…same stone wall behind it. He pushes slightly on it…solid.
Resigned for the moment, he goes back to his chair and sits. Picks up his tea and takes a sip. He considers his situation and attempts to recall all he has learned from past studies that might apply to this current predicament.
“My, this tea is tasty.” He thinks to himself before saying out loud, “Wonder if anyone would care to join me for some?”
That requires a perception to check for abnormalities and your items.
As you investigate, you seem to walk into an invisible wall, showing you that this place is some sort of fusion between a high level illusion and a high level conjuration.
You hear a disembodied voice in a British accent saying, "maybe later, after you meet the boss"
Perception: 10
you do not notice anything abnormal about your body, just the fact that it feels a bit... off. like it hasn't always been yours. you also notice all the items you had before you appeared in the room in oddly convenient places like on tables or in chests.
"Strange. Hello!?" Rye shouts
An actual answer makes the Halfling jump. “It was a rhetorical question!” He thinks to himself. “Am I having one of those one-person, two-sided conversations such as one does when they argue with themselves?” Comes the next thought.
This time aloud, “No, I don’t believe I have gone crazy…yet.” Quickly shifting back to usual mannerisms Bartok embarks on trying to make sense of the situation. He gets up and strolls around, trying to determine where the voice might be coming from. His curiosity peaked with the new ‘roommate’.
“So, you do enjoy tea then? How wonderful! Any particular flavor or manner. I myself prefer a different one depending on the time of day and the activities surrounding the occasion. I shall make a note of it…” Bartok begins to record the future engagement in a calendar on the wall. “Tea with…oh, but I don’t know how to call you?”
Nail rubs their forehead, sore from running into the invisible wall. Their Fey ancestry and knowledge of arcana reveal the rooms illusory nature. If it’s channeling a place from my memory, perhaps I can cause it to change with a new thought.
Nail concentrates on a simple room with a door slightly ajar.
OOC:
Intelligence = 12
nothing happens
in each of your rooms, you hear a disembodied voice speaking in a British accent saying "it is time for you to meet the boss". A glowing rectangle appears in the centre of each of the rooms. You then hear the voice say "please follow my voice through the glowing door to the Censer of Dreams".
Rye collects herself and heads through the portal