...Welcome back, brave adventurers...

You all awake with a start. Muscles in your necks feel stretched. Bones in your legs complain of the cold, while feelings of pins and needles beset you. One by one your eyes get accustomed to the orange glow of torchlight, and the sight it reveals. Are are in a prison?

You have come to in odd surroundings. You have found yourself in a square room no more than twenty foot wide. Plain grey stone meets your eyes, only made interesting by the flickering of a torch in one of the corners of the room. The torch is jammed into a sconce at chest height to a human. Large bricks form a regular pattern on the wall, and a haphazard collection of bumpy stones form the floor.

Something bothers each one of you about the room and the surroundings, but you are all too distracted to work out what it is yet.

On one side of the room is a heavy grate, floor to ceiling, 10 foot wide. It seems like a crude exit except no visible lock nor hinge would allow it to open. And besides, there is only inky blackness visible on the other side. Impenetrable blackness.

Far on an adjacent wall is another exit. A large wooden door this time. This one seems sturdy, made of stout timbers with solid chains at the sides. You could well imagine it could be pulled open.

However, for now these items of interest are only of passing note. The most important feature of the room are the three other figures, strange figures, in opposing corners to each one of you. Each one of you finds themselves not alone!


OOC: Welcome to the game! If you want to make small out of character posts, please us this format and try to keep the comments short. Preferably make all OOC posts (whether questions, tactics or general chit chat) in the other thread.

Ameena's nose twitches slightly. She looks around, her head quickly darting to all angles to take in as much as possible. She's pretty sure she'd been wearing a bag-belt strung with a few pouches containing some random snacks and nicknacks, but can't remember for sure what she did with it. At least she still has her cloak. Her nice, comfortable-but-plain, waterproof brown travelling cloak that serves as both a sleep-nest and a rain-shelter.
But where is she? Inside a room. Not a huge room. But not tiny. There are people in it. She glances at each of them, her whiskers twitching nervously as she wonders whether they mean her harm - from the looks of things, this isn't a place she's going to be able to get out of with any particular ease.
Glancing at the nearby grate, she notes that there is no way she can even hope to squeeze through one of the gaps between the bars - they're too small, even for her slight frame. She briefly wonders whether she might be able to chew through the wood of the other door, however, but resolves not to try it just yet. Right now, she has much more pressing concerns - three of them, each one sitting in a different corner of the room.
Her eyes constantly flick between them, waiting to see what they'll do, not knowing whether they're hostile, whether they know each other, whether they're the ones responsible for her being here...in fact, without really knowing anything, apart from what they look like.
In one corner, a halfling. Hopefully not too much of a threat there, but who can say? Likewise of the half-elf sitting near him. The half-orc, however, may be a different matter. Were she in a place she could escape, Ameena wouldn't be so worried, but in a space such as the one they are currently all in, all it takes is for a bulky creature like that to stand up and it can seem as though he takes up half the room, leaving even less space in which to avoid trouble. All three of the creatures are male, making Ameena the only female, a fact which doesn't bother her but which she merely notices because it's there to be noticed.
She also regards the torch somewhat warily, again thinking of the fact that she knows nothing of these three strangers beyond their physical appearance, and also of the fact that fur, such as that which covers her whole body and even thinly coats her tail, is flammable.

Westian slowly opens his eyes. He then sits bolt upright with shock when he realises that he is not alone. Right beside him he sees a Halfling – probably not a threat. But his bowels clench in fear when he sees what appear to be a giant rat and an orc on the opposite side. He checks his belongings – nothing. No large stones on the ground to use as a primitive weapon. He tries to recall some spell – protection or attack, it does not matter – but everything seems so hazy…
Panic levels rising, he sits still. The rat has moved slightly, the other two seem motionless. He sees the torch on the opposite wall. It could be a weapon, but that would mean getting closer to the orc than his current state of mind would tolerate. He edges himself into the corner near the door. He needs any ally – “wake up halfling, wake up damn you…” he thinks to himself. He is in trouble. Normally he can talk himself out of situations, but in all the books he has read orcs were never ready to listen. Unless he is mistaken, they kill you and either use your appendages as ornaments or cook you. On slight reflection he is less sure about the rat – did he hear somewhere about a race of intelligent rats? Or is that just wishful thinking?
“Lord Larethian protect me” he whispers quietly to himself. And he waits in silence.

For some reason Haynuus always recovered his sense of hearing and smell first, upon entering his misty dawn of wakening.

It was the curious musky smell of digweed that first tickled the hair follicles on the inside of his nose. It was popular to smoke it in and around the rolling hills that the halflings inhabited but some of the well travelled humans used it as well. It possessed no value to Haynuus, and it's users generally presented themselves as no danger. Indeed, digweed users tended to be quite good companions.
Yes that was it. He could hear the rumbling of a halfling's stomach, ready to fuel the hyperactivity of that mischievious half-pint race.

Next it was a light perfumed smell that he detected. Ugh, it had to be either an elf or a human of class. These are companions that tended to regard Haynuus with disdain, if not sheer disgust. His approach with such creatures would be to stand back and let them do the fast talking and thinking. Say nothing and don't look like you want stuff their manicured face in the dirt to fill their mouths with dung when they turn their back.

The last smell was one of potential food. Rat drumstick's to be precise - yet to be ripped off the battered carcass of a hapless creature that had been the breakfast countless times for this half-orc. It would be better to wake up now in case they started appearing in large numbers! Haynuus had never met a Murafu, and it would come as a surprise that such creatures (as in food) were capable of both out-witting him and become a useful ally in a scrap.

The most obvious sensation was that of the angry crackling of a torch, which would bring relief to those who were scared of the darkness.

Haynuus jumped to alert, placing his back firmly against the wall.

Ameena, with her sharp ears, hears trhe half-elf's whisper, and is about to ask him who Lord Larethian is when the half-orc suddenly jumps up, startling her. She flinches and shrinks back into the corner, keeping herself on all-fours in case she needs to dodge an attack. Not that there's really anywhere to dodge too, but it's all she can do - she doesn't want to get any closer to the half-elf, just in case, and is becoming increasingly nervous about what the half-orc might do. Is he a half-orc? Yes, msut be. Not as big and scary-looking, or as green-skinned as a full orc. Still a threat. Very much a threat.
But maybe he's not. Maybe none of them are. Maybe they all woke up here, like she did, and have no idea of what's going on. Maybe. Or maybe not. Still, there is a way to at least try and find out. And find out whether any of these individuals are familiar with her kind, or whether they just think she's some kind of giant rat. Well, she is, she supposes, since murafu must clearly be related to true rats in some way. They just...well, aren't true rats.
So she decides to find out two things at once, and sees only one obvious way of doing so.
"Um...hello." she says, slightly nervously, eyes constantly flitting between the threatening-looking half-orc, the quiet half-elf, and the unmoving halfling. Her voice has a sort of high pitch to it, yet not so much as to irritate the ears. It sounds almost childlike, yet also mature. To those familiar with murafu, it would be recognisable as female. To those unfamiliar, it may be harder to distinguish.

With the squeaking of the supersized-rat in common tongue Haynuus relaxes a little and slows his breathing down.

"Yeah" he replies. It's not the most meaningful of phrases but it's served him well for many years as his one-stop-shop for filling in those awkward conversation pauses.

With the elf muttering incantations and the halfling still half asleep (ho! ho!) he decides it's up to him to make the first intelligent move. Unfortunately Haynuus is anything but.

"I'll get us out of here, then."

And with that he grabbed the torch out of the sconce and instead of going for the wooden door with the opening chains he heads to the solid metal grating and valliantly shoves his arm with the torch through a hole, looking for switches on the other side or monsters in the distant gloom. Nothing to see or do he starts waving the torch up and down on the other side, hoping to attract someone's attention.

"Cooo-eeeeeyy!"

He does all this while absent mindedly picking his nose with his free hand.

With each sudden move by his cell-mates Westian made a tiny flinch, expecting someone to charge and pummel his unprotected body. But what was this...they seemed just as confused as him.
The rat spoke, and in relatively polite and refined tones. He had been right, this one was intelligent. He should have guessed from the fact that she (the high-pitch tone lead him to assign sex as female) was wearing a cloak. Cloaks did not necessarily imply a capacity for linguistic achievement, but perhaps it should count as a good first approximation.
The orc spoke. No, the half-orc spoke, he could see that much now that he was standing up. He had long learned to trust his instincts when meeting new people, and his instincts told him that this half-orc did not have murder on his mind...at least not yet. Seeing him grab the torch and approach the grating he began to mumble “um...maybe you shouldn’t...” but it was too late.
At least his words had not aroused any ire in the mysterious cohort. He hesitatingly spoke again. “Hello. Do you people...um...know where we are?” Again no immediate rise in aggression levels. “I am afraid I don’t remember how I ended up here.” The more he spoke the more confidence he gained. Talking was his home ground. Fighting off rats and orcs with his bare hands was not.
As he continued to speak his voice began to lose its nervous character and to develop its more usual rich tone. He stood up. “If we have met before you will have to forgive my rudeness but I have no memory. My name is Westian. Westian Dallomain.”

Wow... That was a celebration and half... Falkor's thoughts were still of the night before. He wasn't sure if it was the loud grumble emanating from his stomach or the noise of the others in the room moving that had woke him, but very quickly food was the last thing on his mind! Now although Falkor had occasionally socialised with the odd Orc in his time, he tried where possible to keep his distance, pretty sure that if he overstepped the mark or offended one his weakened frame wouldn't stand up to the repercussions an Orc may wish to throw at him... and the Orc he was seeing in front of him seemed to be jumping up and down waving a torch about. This unsettled him somewhat and he hadn't even looked around the room yet...

Oddly enough, what surprised Falkor most was the Rat "thing" in the corner still being alive, if the Orc was a threat surely there would have been drumsticks a plenty.. or perhaps that was the idea, perhaps he was calling for his friends in preparation for the feast...

Falkor, although small and frail, new a good story or two and was sure that he would be able to talk his way out of a sticky situation - and perhaps have some food in the mean time. His thoughts had returned to food - which given his current predicament was not the most intelligent of things to do.

It didn't take long for him to snap out of that again and continue his assessment of the room.. An Elf, well - half elf, this could be a good thing. In all his travels Falkor had often met and socialised with Elf’s - It was a kind of art of his, no matter where he ended up an Elf was never far away. Looking at the Half-Elf in the room though did not instil confidence, was he mad? He seemed to be cowering and muttering to himself, perhaps he was about to cast a spell of sorts? Perhaps he could control the Orc - perhaps not....

"Ah—Ah—Ah... Chooo"

At the sight of the half-orc suddenly grabbing the torcha nd moving her direction, Ameena quickly shifts over as far as it's possible to get without coming within reach of the half-elf. Just in case. Fortunately the half-orc simply sticks the torch through the bars of the grating and starts yelling, something which, considering the unknown circumstances of their situation, strikes the murafu as perhaps not being the most intelligent of moves. Still, at least he's not brandishing the torch at her.
The half-elf, meanwhile, is speaking. She makes a mental note of his name. Westian. Dallomain. She still isn't quite sure why so many of these other races like having more than one name, but then, there might well be plenty of aspects of the Murafu that other races find confusing.
Deciding that the half-elf isn't an immediate threat, and that the half-orc probably isn't an immediate threat, she stands up fully and, with one ear turned in the half-orc's direction (just in case), turns to face the half-elf, to whom she is now standing several steps closer than before after her dodge away from the fast-moving half-orc.
"Hello, then, Westian." she says. "My name's Ameena. Umm, actually..."
She half-turns toward the half-orc.
"Sorry. I probably should introduce myself to everyone at once. Hello."
Now that things are seeming to be slightly less threatening, she finds her typical murafu curiosity starting to return, telling her that she should probably get the scent of these strangers - the usual way in which murafu get to know each other. But she contains herself for the minute. Just in case.
Meanwhile, a sudden sneeze from the halfling causes her to glance in his direction. So, he's awake now too.

The half-orc stopped waving the torch around.

"Ughh, Haynuus. My name is Haynuus..."

"I'm confused!"

It was a frequent occurence for poor Haynuus to state that last fact.

The halfling’s sudden sneeze shocked Westian, and almost reversed his recent recovery of confidence. Closing his eyes briefly and taking a deep breath as he had been taught he struggled to remain composed.
“Yes, Haynuus, it seems we are all confused,” he remarked to the half-orc. “Greetings Ameena. And greetings to you, halfling. I take it no one knows why we are here? Well then the only course of action is to find a way to get out….Speaking of which, what can you see through the grating, Haynuus? And I don’t mean to be negative – you are clearly a man of action, an admirable quality – but it might be best to keep somewhat quiet for now, in case we draw some unwelcome attention to ourselves. Wouldn’t you good people agree?” he asked, turning back to face Ameena and the halfling.

Ameena blinks and cocks her head to ne side, regarding Westian with a curious expression.
"Finding a way out isn't our only course of action." she points out. "We could wait and see if anything happens. But I think being quiet might be a good idea. Just in case."
She flits another glance round at everyone.
"By the way," she adds, "none of you are planning to call me a rat and try to kill me or anything, are you? I just like to be sure of these things."

Bemused by the idle chatter between the strangers Falkor sits and waits for someone to answer Ameena's question, thinking to himself that this seems like a win/win situation. The Elf and Orc seem ok, or at least not too threatening yet, and if one of them chooses to cook up some Rat then at least that would sort out one of the their problems. If they should give Ameena the assurances she's looking for then at least for now they can work together to find a way out - and perhaps have Rat for evening supper...

Once again, Falkor thought it best to remain quiet, both in agreement with Ameena and also because telling a story to the others didn't seem to add any value to the already bad situation. In actual fact, he couldn't remember any - he thought long and hard, but the harder he tried to recall one, the more fragmented his memory seem to become. In any case, one advantage of being a Halfling meant that he rarely appeared a threat and could use that time to look at the others much closer then they would expect - see if there was anything underhand going on. Perhaps Haynuus had set this up, was he really to be trusted? Was Westian's sudden surge in confidence down to the realisation that the Rat and Orc seemed less of a threat?

To appease the others he faced them and nodded, he thought that would be enough... for now!

Ameena notes tha halfling's nod and looks slightly confused.
"You mean you are planning to call me a rat and try to kill me?" she asks.

"Ugh... No Ameena." The über-rat, or whatever this rat-like creature called itself, had the sparkle of a keen intellect in it's eyes and appeared quite capable of clawing your face off your skull.

"We should stay together and punch our way outta here." It would be a party of halves. A half-orc, a half-elf, a halfling and lets face it, a half-edible/half-paranoid companion. Although Haynuus' suggestion was a brutal one, it was actually a good idea.

Ameena glances down at her hands, with their four digits. Not much good for punching. It's not something she's ever really thought of doing. Clawing, maybe. Biting, certainly. But punching? No. It seems that this Haynuus fellow is one of those who thinks with his muscles. Nothing necessarily wrong with that, she supposes, just as long as what needs doing is breaking or smashing a hole in something. Which, she thinks, it usually isn't.
She glances again at Westian, and at the halfling, who still hasn't introduced himself, or even said anything beyond his initial sneeze. While it does seem that she won't receive the usual, somewhat unwelcome, reception from these fellows, she's always interested to see whether anyone's heard of her species. It would seem not - at least, she's seen no apparent signs that these strangers have seen a murafu before. Not that any of them have asked her what she is. In fact, maybe that's proof enough - they're probably just assuming she's a true rat. Still, as long as she doesn't try to do anything horrible to her, she supposes she can live with that well enough. At least till they start calling her a rat.

Westian felt a glimmer of pity when Ameena spoke – clearly she had been badly treated before. “Kill you? Oh my no” he replied quickly. “I am a priest” he added, as if that would be enough to prove his good intentions. “And as for calling you a rat I wouldn’t dream of it. It is clear from your fluent speech and manners that you are far removed from the common Rattus rattus. You are clearly an intelligent…em…an intelligent..em...sorry, if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly are you? I think I have heard tell of a race of intelligent ra…I mean, em…a race of intelligent creatures bearing a superficial, and very minor, resemblance to rats. A very minor similarity, almost non-existent really.”
“Haynuus, an excellent suggestion, we should indeed stay together and pool our might to find a way out. And halfing, I did not get your name.” Reaching out to shake hands he says “I am Brother Dallomain, but you can call me Westian.”

Realising that the nod of approval had indeed been ill advised given the questions and suggestions flying around between the other strangers, Falkor realised that it was about time he spoke and introduced himself. Reaching his hand out to Westian, "The pleasure, I’m sure, is mine. I am Falkor, you can call me Falkor" having said such a stupid thing brought about a sudden surge of embarrassment to Falkor.

Having shook hands with the Half Elf, next Falkor turned his attention to Ameena. Head bowed low and still red from the earlier flush, he started "Apologies Ameena, I meant nothing of the sort and have no intentions of killing you. Rat or no Rat” As his eyes moved around the room he continued "In fact I was merely agreeing with the collective belief that together we should work, and perhaps we can find a way out... or perhaps in as maybe the case..."

Content that although his silence had been broken, only his name was now known, and attention would surely turn to Haynuus... Who seemed increasingly eager to create as much noise as possible, but still willing to listen to the others. Of course whether he was actually in agreement or just simply confused Falkor did not know.

Ameena is pleasantly surprised to meet someone who's actually heard of the Murafu - such people seem to be extremely few and far between. Her whiskers flutter with amusement at Westian's apparent wish to assure her that he doesnt' think she looks like a rat.
"Well, I am related to rats, of course." she says to him. "We are. I mean, my species. We are the Murafu. I'm a murafu. We're...well, we're rats, I suppose, only different. So we're not rats. We're murafu. I understand that plenty of people who see me think that I am just a large version of my smaller cousin-species, because on first glance, I suppose that's what I look like. But look..."
She holds out her forepaws, palms down, fingers splayed.
"Rats have four fingers, yes? Four fingers, no thumb."
She flexes her thumbs.
"But murafu are different - we have three fingers and a thumb, if that's what you want to call it. Our hands are different. And if I were to be the size of a rat, and sitting next to one, you'd notice that my fingers are a bit longer, too. And my thumb. Or you could call it a opposable finger instead, if you like. So we can fiddle around with things more easily."
She looks around.
"Well, I'm glad none of you want to bash me with anything." she says. "Lots of people seem to. It's a reaction we're used to getting, though, really. They seem to think we're going to eat them, or something. I'm never really sure. So many other species seem to enjoy killing each other, or indeed anyone they come across. It's a little strange to a murafu new to the world. but I suppose we sort of get used to it. To being careful."
She looks around again.
"Sorry, yes, I'm takling a lot. I do that, once I get started, you know. I don't get much conversation unless I run into a fellow murafu, usually. Then there's always conversation."
She pauses a moment.
"I wonder if we'll find any murafu down here."
Though she doesn't sound too hopeful.
Her nose is starting to get the better of her, and she starts sniffing in Westian's direction, since he's closest. She tries not to step much closer to him, though.

Haynuus put his finger in his ear, looking for wax or the insects that get stuck in there.
There was a lot of talking and he thinks they agreed on his idea about forming a group, but now he's waiting for someone to tell him to punch something.

With a long frown appearing on his forehead, it was clear Falkor was also concentrating on how they could leave this room. Besides, time was passing and there was still no sign of food. After a long sigh Falkor started to speak...

"Ameena, although I have never met a Murafu in person, I have heard of your species - or at least of a similar race. Could you use your sense of smell on the door, either closed or when partially lifted to detect what might be waiting for us on the other side?"

"Perhaps Haynuus, instead of bashing the door, you could muster your strength to pull the chains beside that wooden door? Of course what we may face on the other side I wouldn't like to guess - but if we prepare ourselfs, assuming your able to open it, we may be able to fight off any immediate threat?"

Worried that Haynuus would be too eager to get started pulling, pushing or punching, Falkor continued... "Haynuus, before you start, we should make sure that we have a plan in place for any eventuallity..." Did he understand? the fragrant look on his face did not give Falkor the confidence he was seeking... "Take a few moments to collect your thoughts, and let's not do anything untill we all agree... ok?"

Ameena glances around.
"Sniffing around is what I was going to do after making sure none of you thought I was something that needed squashing. Now I've made sure of that, I can get on with exploring."
So saying, she turns and starts to move slowly alogn the room, sniffing up and down (at least, up as far as she can reach) the wall and along the floor at its base, taking her time to slowly follow the wall. When she comes to the wooden door, she sniffs this thoroughly too.
"By the way," she adds, "pulling the chains may not be the only way through this thing. It might take a while, but murafu are just as capable as rats when it comes to chewing through this kind of thing."
She grins and continues to sniff the door, whiskers twitching.

At last! A plan. Haynuus grabbed the chain and got ready to pull with all of his might, looking intently at Falkor to say the word.

The problem with Haynuus was that he interpreted Newton's third law of motion literally and assumed that if the chain was to open the very heavy wooden door open it would require an equal and opposite sweaty and profaning half-orc to pull it. He'd never heard of pulleys and counteweights.

Ameena darts out of the way of the half-orc as he approaches the door she's been sniffing at, not because she thinks he might try to do anything to her, but because she's slightly apprehensive as to what might happen when he pulls the chain.
"Do you think that's a good idea?" she inquires, having to crane her neck somewhat to see his face at this close range.


OOC - What happened to the torch? I don't recall you describing Haynuus doing anything further with it after waving it around through the metal grating.

While clutching the chains Haynuus forgot he had the torch between his teeth, but it was his saliva dribbling out the side of the mouth falling onto his foot that reminded him it was there. He tosses it to the halfling, who by chance probably needs it the most in the darkness. The halfling might also use it for something clever such as examine the sconce, check for false walls, secreted buttons or roll another digweed ciggy in only one hand.

Falkor caught the Torch, although not the strongest of Halflings his reflexes were more than adequate. Not too sure why Haynuus had thrown it his way, but now it was in his possession he thought it best to make use of it.

He climbed to his feet and made his way over to the sconce... perhaps there might be something on there that Haynuus had missed in his haste to get the torch.

Westian nodded. “Ok, so we are agreed. Haynuus, you open the door. I was going to recommend that you hold onto the torch and lead us out. With the torch as a makeshift weapon and your own, not inconsiderable, muscle we should be more than a match for whatever we see on the other side. Normally I would be of more help, but I don’t feel at my best today” – he still could not recall the runes that had come so easily to him in the classroom. “Perhaps it is the stress of my unexpected and extremely unpleasant incarceration. Unpleasant in every respect except the company, of course” he clarified with a smile.
His voice managed to remain calm, even though he felt his heart pounding at the thought of opening that door. Something felt wrong, but maybe that was just nerves talking. He rubbed his hands together to try to dry the sweat building on his palms. He knew he had training in combat, both armed and unarmed; he should be calmer than this. Then again his training consisted solely of punching the air and kicking sand-bags. And without being able to remember even a simple protection spell he had never felt more powerless.
With a hearty slap on the back for Haynuus he smiled. “Lead on my brave comrade, and we will follow!”

Seeing that everybody was ready(?) he faced the door the half-orc pulled with an increasing force and exertion until the door went up or his muscles snapped. He wouldn't be letting go unless a three headed cerberus skidded in from under the door and bit him in the ass.

The camaraderie from the elfy looking one registered in the back of Haynuus' brain, and besides... No-one had told him to have a wash yet.

Ameena continues to glance around nervously. Has it occurred to anyone else in the room that in opening the door, they might let in something nasty, which, in coming through the door, would manage to block the only exit? Unless, of course, there was some way to open the metal grating. Or something a little more...inconspicuous.
Moving away from the straining half-orc, she continues to sniff at the walls, occasionally dropping to all-fours to sniff at the floor too. There could be any number of hidden buttons or switches...or traps...in this room - since no-one else seems to have considered looking for them, she figures that she might as well take a look. Doing so will also mean that if anything unpleasant comes through the door (assuming Haynuus can manage to open it), at least Ameena will be further away from it. And therefore probably eaten, squashed, mauled, crushed, decapitated, or disembowelled last.
That is, if there is something on the other side of the door. For all they know it might just open onto another brick wall.
But they must have all got in here somehow, and for some purpose. Surely? Else why bother? Why shove a half-elf, half-orc, halfling, and lone murafu into a stone room and then just leave them there?
Keeping an ear turned toward the rest of the group, Ameena continues to think about these things, and to sniff at the walls and floor around the edge of the room.