"Damn it all, the artefact's going critical!"
"Fine time for Blasphemus to roll a one."
"It happens to the best of villains sometimes."
"Alton, use the scroll."
A quiet voice muttered arcane words in rapid order, and the world turned a brilliant white.
"Lirr, guide this foolish soul."Alton muttered, picking himself up from the hard metal flooring. "By the Nineteen, who builds a floor out of metal? A novice wizard with grease could take this dungeon solo."
Though blinded-that is to say under the effects of a blind spell or enchantment, not actually blind-he casually dusted off his sleeves, rolled his shoulders, and waited for the effects to wear off.
"Hey Wrex," A female-human, judging by the sound of it-voice shouted from somewhere to his left. "Do we still have any…what the hell?"
Ahh. He thought. That would be the alarm.
"Yeah," A more guttural throat-Half Orc? Orc? Troll? He couldn't place it-spoke from behind him. "I see it." He felt a cold circle of metal pressed into the back of his neck. "He's got a nice sword. Tell Shepard we have a stowaway."
Stowaway? He couldn't possibly have heard that right? Who with a modicum of sense would build a ship from metals?
Within six rounds-each precisely six seconds for those as confused as Alton is-the room around him was flooded with the sounds of metallic boots hitting the floor.
Gods, the ship is metal, their boots are metal, the dwarves must be making a killing. What next? Are the weapons and armour here all made of gems?
When blind finally wore off and Alton opened his eyes, it appeared he was wrong. The figures around him, the ones pointing strangely blocky handheld devices at him, seemed to sport onyx armour.
Alton tried as casually as possible to make his spot checks, glancing around innocently. Some of the humanoids around him seemed very off core-namely what appeared to be a sentient purple gas with glowing eyes encased in armour, and a strangely conical, an obviously dragonborn man with a blue shard over one of his eyes.
Hells. Alton thought. Enchanted equipment was a sure sign that this was a tougher than average group. If he still had his party, he might be able to escape, but as it was, they'd have him at negative hitpoints in less than a round, considering they all looked like they had actions readied.
Charisma, don't fail me now.
A door in the back of the, rather spacious, room dinged and rolled open. Out strode a tall, imposing woman. Her hair, a fiery red, was realty tied back, and scars crossed her face. She wore imposing black armour with a trio of stripes-two white, and one red-down its side.
PC. He begged silently. PC,PC,PC, please be a PC.
If experience taught anything, it was that anyone with such a presence existed, they were either a Person of Character, or a villain. She, and the colourful people around her, looked like the ideal party, but judging by his surroundings-especially the lighting-it was very likely that they were, in fact, quite evil.
The woman moved to stand directly in front of him, easily towering at least a foot over his head, and eyed him warily.
Don't antagonize, you have seven hit points. Don't antagonize, you have seven hit points.
Don't antagonize, you have seven hit points.
"Alton." He greeted, holding out his hand and smiling nervously. "Alton Baltek, gentleman adventurer."
"Commander Shepard," The woman replied, pointedly ignoring his outstretched arm. "Council SpecTRe. Now what the hell are you doing aboard my ship?"
"Hells." He corrected automatically, unable to resist correcting the woman. Officer! "Slightly trembling-not from fear, but from exhaustion, thank you-he continued. "There are, where I'm from anyway, nine hells." Then the thought hit him, that her statement might have been literal. "We're…we're not in the hells are we?" Though that would help explain the metal ship. "Which one? There are several devils on the eight level who's plans I've helped foil, and I'd really rather not run into them again."
There was complete silence for several-six-seconds, then the thing behind him began to cackle uproariously. Alton sneaked a glance around to the figure, then immediately snapped his head back around to look again at the commander.
Great. A hell spawn. Please let him be a demonic one.
(As everyone knows, demonic and devilish forces have been at war since, and until, time immemorial, and thus if the hideous monstrosity behind him was a demon, it would be less likely to gut him and then devour his soul.)
The imposing officer stared blankly at him for a moment longer, and then turned to her dragonborn party member.
"Garrus, cuff him and take him to the conference room. Everyone else, back to your posts."
Alton was elated as the one she called Garrus bound him and led him to the elevator. After all, the party's thief had practically forced the rest of them to take a few ranks in escape artist. That, and he wasn't being taken to the brig.
Unless…unless they don't have one. Or don't need one.
Alton gulped, and decided to ready an action. Just in case.
A/N: This is a trial fic, created for the purpose to gauge reaction. If there is interest, then I will continue this story. As aforementioned, this is an attempt to gauge reaction, please let me know if I should devote time to writing more, or not. Thank you.