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  1. - Top - End - #511
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Kasanip's Avatar

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    Apr 2008
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    Japan
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    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Isera Harvent
    Perist Residence


    Isera mechanically labeled the daughters names away in the back of her mind as Berrick offered up his brief explanation on the Perist girls. Perhaps most important of the knowledge (besides the insight onto their skill with runes...not that that was unexpected) was that the two of them were in the Barony of Gast, which thus would likely be Isera's logical next move as well.

    Isera turned as well at the sound of the new voice, and her eyebrows arched a bit in surprise at the appearance of the man, though she didn't say anything at first. Berrick's own exclamation gave enough clues to the master and missus before them - this must be the Mother and Father (Soneir and Ayse, as it were). The beginnings of a smile started to edge into the corners of Isera's mouth. For all the ill that had been done, it looked like there were still two survivors...and that was something of a relief. A lifting of spirits that had been sinking into grimness in the gray world about them.

    Isera initially refrained from approaching, as Cerise set to work and Berrick supported his friend to the ground. Isera trusted Cerise's handiwork, and knew her friend probably was far superior in healing magics than herself.

    Perhaps it was her own lack of speaking that failed to help her case as Sorein's gaze fell on her. The expression on his face would have been a little amusing on any other day, but Isera knew all too well what fear must have shot through him as he shouted his warning, and she raised her hands up in a gesture of peace, showing she was unarmed.

    As Berrick made his quick explanation, Isera shot him a tight smile, and then nodded, stepping forward lightly over the rubble to bend down on one knee.
    Soneir's jump in conversation almost caught Isera entirely off-guard, as she was prepared to inquire politely to his health. At least she thought she managed not to look too surprised by the astute observation.
    "Well, you are quite right, and may I compliment you on your quick analysis." She said politely. She gestured with her gloved hand at her turquoise eye. "This is indeed a Phantasmal Descrying Eye, as it were. Quite useful in this line of work, as you might guess. May I say, 'Well Met' Mr. Sorein...It's been a busy few days, but it's good to see you and your wife made it through the night in one piece." She offers her flesh-and-blood right hand to the man in greeting, before remembering the bloody runes across her body. She grimaces and pulls her hand back with a shrug.
    "Actually, you probably don't want any of this stuff on your hands...I can assure you it isn't pleasant."
    Kasanip's Sketchbook 2 Thread
    It is difficult to speak English, please excuse mistakes kindly m(_ _)m

  2. - Top - End - #512
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    Gorgondantess's Avatar

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    Aug 2008
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    Not in a human colon

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    She looks at her cloak, almost apologetic. "Ah." With a snap, she straightens it out and stiffens the material in the fabric, laying it over the hole she made. "There ya go, now it's all covered up."

    She sits down on the floor, staring around pensively. "Well, I think I could get up there, if I really tried... if you fly really high, it starts getting a bit iffy, but if you stock up I am sure you could break through.... what's this church? Where can I find it? If they are the ones to spread the word of this Lightbringer, then they're the ones I want."
    Last edited by Gorgondantess; 2009-12-23 at 01:20 PM.
    Marceline Abadeer by Gnomish Wanderer

  3. - Top - End - #513
    Orc in the Playground
    Join Date
    Apr 2007
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    The third dimension
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    Male2Female

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Sohssal

    Sohssal listened as the pirate explained himself, scoffing at the mention of silly mythical beings. If he still had a body, he would've smirked at the end; he did once intend to kill them, but he was low on energy and needed to save it. "I really don't care a whit about you guys. I just don't want anyone on my island. And one way or another you and your 'mates' aren't going to be telling anyone about your detour," he informed them. Then he dismissed the spell and let them drop, though he had the courtesy to have them land on their backs instead of their necks. "I don't care about your treasure, either. Having it here will probably attract adventurers or treasure hunters or something. I've already had enough people come here looking for treasure...the last thing I need is for them to find it!" he ranted. Sohssal expected Roger to be unhappy about not claiming the treasure, but the kinds of things in his lab were far more valuable (and probably far more volatile by now).

  4. - Top - End - #514
    Bugbear in the Playground
    Join Date
    Jun 2007
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    A2
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    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Korram Alstan

    Korram mentally releases a string of curses at the Baron, GHASTs, Ironheart, Azguloth, Miriam, Athelion, Pyrene, the strange woman who released him, this airship, airships in general, Calcifer, evil conspiracies, morality, himself, and just about anything else that could have been interpreted as helping to lead him into this situation. Angrily, he moves around a bit, trying to confuse the trail in case the GHAST had seen him, and crouches down, straining his keen ears for any hint of noise.
    Truly awesome Ark Tamaeus avatar by Bryn. Full size version here.

  5. - Top - End - #515
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    OldWizardGuy

    Join Date
    Jun 2007
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    New York State
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    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Incom Morgan

    Looking around at the contents of the cargo bay Incom starts scanning the cargo bay methodically and carefully looking for any signs of the spill which required the evacuation of personal from this area. Yet there was nothing amiss in the chamber. No signs of torn boxes, damage to the chamber, or anything in matter of fact.

    “Please proceed to Row 14, Container 137.”

    The voice of the Fury echoing through the chamber is unexpected to say the least.

    Query: Contents of Container 137, located in Row 14.
    Sending the query to Fury Incom continues to walk through the chamber when movement catches his attention. A man, minus an arm (though lack of a blood trail indicates that it is not a “recent” injury) running through the chambers. It is but a flash of movement, far too quick for Incom to determine who he is. In fact the only recognizable feature of him is his lack of an arm. However how many humans would be serving the Baron who only had one arm.

    Query: List all personal, passengers and prisoners onboard The Ghastly Truth who lack an arm. Provide summary of all personal who fit the description.
    Sending another query to the Fury Incom does not wait for a reply. Spreading his wings high he fires the thrusters and gentles rises towards the ceiling of the cargo bay. This way he should be able to cover more of the bay with his senses and locate the person. Perhaps he is trying to help the ship. Or he could be an enemy of the Baron and thus some use to Incom.
    My DM Reputation
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    Quote Originally Posted by Inspectre
    I'm good at making you fear the unknown. Pwenet is good at making you fear the known, which had been the unknown five minutes before he pushed you off screaming into the abyss.
    Quote Originally Posted by Kalirren View Post
    I'm feeling this real hard now.
    Curse you, Pwenet. Curse you.... You had my hopes up there...

  6. - Top - End - #516
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Nov 2005
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    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Ander Windrivver

    Ander chuckles into the communication crystal.

    Did you doubt my abilities, Karth? Don't make me give you the same speech I gave Drakeson. But to answer your question, no I did not convince Dawn's Hope to surrender; I've done one better. The Abbot here is interested in joining the fight against the corrupt Council. He wants to talk.

    However, your reputation precedes you and if the Abbot is going to talk he needs you to do a couple things. First, recall Drakeson and have him rejoin the main army. Second, when you arrive at Dawn's Hope you must leave your army outside the town at the base of the mountain. Your and your retinue may proceed to the wall where you will be escorted into the monastery. There, we will talk and hopefully be able to negotiate an alliance. If Dawn's Hope joins the fight, we may even be able to convince some of the other orders as well.

    Don't let your ego screw this up, Karth. Do what I've told you and everyone will be happy.


    He ends the communique.

    Well, that's that. Now we wait to see if Karth holds up his end. Maintain vigilance in case Drakeson and his saboteurs still try and enter the town.

    ((Feel free to fast forward to Karth's arrival, unless Hondshioh still has something he wants to do.))
    Quote Originally Posted by PhoeKun View Post
    Baerdog: super genius.

  7. - Top - End - #517
    Titan in the Playground
     
    Archpaladin Zousha's Avatar

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    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Hondshioh

    "My only concern is that he might suspect this is a trap. If he's as unstable as you claim, things might not go well despite our precautions."
    "Reach down into your heart and you'll find many reasons to fight. Survival. Honor. Glory. But what about those who feel it's their duty to protect the innocent? There you'll find a warrior savage enough to match any dragon, and in the end, they'll retain what the others won't. Their humanity."

  8. - Top - End - #518
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Ander Windrivver

    Ander nods grimly.

    It is a very real possibility, and if that's the case we will have no choice but to kill him. Be prepared.
    Quote Originally Posted by PhoeKun View Post
    Baerdog: super genius.

  9. - Top - End - #519
    Titan in the Playground
     
    Archpaladin Zousha's Avatar

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    Hastings, MN
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    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Hondshioh

    "Fear not, sir. I won't allow myself to be misled again."
    "Reach down into your heart and you'll find many reasons to fight. Survival. Honor. Glory. But what about those who feel it's their duty to protect the innocent? There you'll find a warrior savage enough to match any dragon, and in the end, they'll retain what the others won't. Their humanity."

  10. - Top - End - #520
    Troll in the Playground
     
    Inspectre's Avatar

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    Jul 2007

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Dawn’s Hope - Monastery

    Baerdog7/Archpaladin Zousha

    Karth bristles throughout your communiqué, but somewhat surprisingly he is able to keep a lid on his temper.

    “Very well, Ander. I can see that a discussion on our alliance is required in any event. I will do as the good Abbot requests. Of course, some of my personal retinue will be armed. I trust this will not offend the Abbot’s justified concern about my men inside his town. I will be there shortly.”

    Karth is true to his word. An hour after the communiqué is ended, the guards on the wall deliver a panicked report that dark shapes have appeared on the horizon, closing in fast. Trusting that this is indeed Karth, the captain of the guard gives the order to allow them to approach the Monastery unmolested, so long as they didn’t initiate hostilities.

    The Abbot was still busy with trying to contact the leaders of the other Orders, and so it was up to the two of you, the Captain of the guard, and several other high-ranking members within the monastery to greet the incoming delegation.

    No less than a dozen griffons swoop in from the sky to land in the midst of the gardens, as the angels had done a short time ago. Unlike the angels, however, the massive beasts of war crushed most of the foliage underneath claw. One curious griffon even bent down to pluck a rose up in its beak, savoring it for a moment before determining that the flower was unpalatable and spat it back out.

    On the back of each griffon were two armored figures – a rider and a driver. The riders dismounted first, taking the reins from the drivers before they too dismounted. Once on the ground, the drivers regained control of their griffon’s reins and stepped back, allowing the riders to form up into a double column leading from the center of the formation to the monastery’s welcoming committee.

    Squatting angrily in the center of the formation was an armored wyvern, it’s flaming red plates a startling contrast to its mottled green scales. The beast whipped its tail about itself furiously, occasionally pausing to deliver a low hiss, but surrounded by griffons who would likewise only too willing to return hissed threats of their own, the wyvern behaved itself. Unlike the griffons, there was only one armored figure astride the wyvern, and Karth left his pet to fend for itself after he dismounted and began to approach the group down the double column of bodyguards.

    “So, this is Dawn’s Hope. It has been too long since I’ve been here. Where is the good Abbot? I had expected him to be here in person to welcome his new “ally”.”

    The way Karth spat the last word, it was clear what he thought about Ander’s proposed unification of the Church’s enemies.

    “Well then, perhaps Ander can explain this unexpected turn of fortune. I don’t recall granting him the authority to make alliances in my name.”

    Stonefall

    The Surrounding Forest

    The_Snark

    As you turn to go, Istomilo suddenly speaks up again.

    “No, I . . . I can’t do this.”

    You can hear Titania’s previously triumphant parting smile falter behind you.

    “Milo?”

    “I . . . I am sorry my Queen. It turns out I cannot follow you any longer afterall.”

    “You . . . what . . . how could . . .”

    “You aren’t the woman I used to know, Ti. The woman I loved. And . . . Marisiel is right. We –“

    “Get. Out.”

    Undaunted, Istomilo continues.

    “No, listen Ti. What are you doing? Are you going to slap Miriam’s hand away, after all She’s done for us? Are you going to start a war with the gods over a desire to create an immortal dynasty? Let it go, Ti before –“

    “I SAID, GET OUT! GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT! BOTH OF YOU LEAVE MY SIGHT!!”

    Her tone an uncharacteristic hysterical shriek by this point, it is clear Titania is on the verge of tears. Or perhaps a heartattack, given her mysterious terminal illness and the absolutely livid expression on her face. Having been already on your way out the door, and with your message to deliver to the Valkyrie in hand, you had no reason to provoke the Queen of Phaedra further. And so you left, Istomilo surprisingly following in your wake afterall.

    After a short distance flight away from the castle, you by virtue of your wings and Istomilo by virtue of magic, he turns to you with a wan smile.

    “Well, that could have gone better. Now what?”

    (And now, I do believe this dream is well and truly tapped out. Ball is in your court! )

    The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

    Iethloc

    “Uhhh . . . we could take it back then.” The one pirate offers helpfully in regards to the chest full of plundered goods. His companion offers a disdainful cough, in the midst of which are the words “told you this cave was bad idea”.

    “’Fraid you’d need to talk with the cap’n about that, but he’s . . . reasonable folk. Give us some time to make the repairs we need, and we’ll be out of here with none the wiser. Pirates see a lot of strange things on the sea, and we don’t usually like to talk about them.”

    “Assuming anyone would believe us anyway.” The other pirate groused, looking cautiously at you to confirm he was allowed, before standing shakily back up.

    “Uhhh . . . we could take you to the cap’n now. Lessen of course, you can’t leave this cave. Then we could uhh . . . bring him to you, of course!” The first pirate continued, climbing to his feet as well after it seems his associate wouldn’t be immediately blown to pieces. Together, the two of them move over to the chest and wrestle it back into their arms.

    “So, uhh . . . can we go now?”

    As you consider your reply, Omega’s voice, somewhat weak and distorted, seeps into your mind.

    What is going on? Have you dealt with the intruders?

    On the Road

    The X-Roads Tavern

    WhiteKnight777

    Acknowledging your donation with a grunt, the mass of muscle steps to one side, allowing you and Mellita access to the door. Accepting your arm around her without comment, Mellita nearly stumbles in her haste to follow you inside. The interior of the tavern is dim and smoky, but not so ill-lit that even a human would have a hard time moving about. Not that humans were in the majority here in any event.

    Oh no, the place was a veritable humanoid zoo. Elves, dwarves, half-giants, gnolls, and even less savory creatures swarmed about the interior of the inn along with a handful of humans, drinking the last hour of the night away. Despite being dawn, the party showed no signs of letting up any time soon, and quite the party it was.

    In addition to the typical noisy drinking of a tavern, one table seemed to be featuring a vicious cutthroat game of cards. Quite literally, actually, as in a blur of motion one player accused the competition off to his left of cheating in the same breath as the man’s hand flashed out with a knife, creating a bright arc of blood hanging monetarily above the table. No one even bats an eye, nor says anything as the accuser shoves his victim out of his seat, allowing several bouncers to pick up the body and haul it away so a newcomer could sit down in the just-vacated seat.

    Mellita’s notices the scene as well, and her eyes widen – although you suspect more in hunger than shock. Assuming you could convince whoever was in charge to allow her to have the body, that might very well settle the question of what she was going to eat. As for yourself, however . . . well, that was an issue – was it blood or real food that would satisfy you now? And for that matter, if it was necessary to consume “real” food, what would satisfy your hunger?

    Over the millennium you had occasionally dined on human fare, although more out of politeness than necessity or nostalgia. Quite frankly, while the taste of food was hardly the bitter ash some of the pathetic leeches claimed, it just couldn’t compare to the subtle flavors of someone’s lifeblood. In any event, you had almost forgotten that necessary part of your old life, which meant you weren’t entirely certain what would taste good – and certainly what could be gotten in this sort of place that would be any good.

    Before you could drudge up all the memories of those old feasts you and the other Lords once held, a man slides up to you. He carries no drink in his hands, and fingers the weapons on his belt cautiously. Given the lack of drunken clumsiness in his movements, you assume he’s another of the motley crew serving as bouncers here.

    “Newcomer.” He whispers with a curt nod. “The owner would have a word with you.”

    Turning, he points up to the second level of the large room, where a richly furnished table is just visible on the edge of the balcony. He gestures dismissively at Mellita.

    “Woman stays down here.”

    (As usual, just going to assume you go along with this for the sake of speeding things along. If you would rather Umber bash the poor man’s head in, or simply refuse, we can back things up.)

    Shrugging, Mellita remains behind, looking wistfully after the dead man’s departing body as the trio of bouncers wrestle it quietly into a back room. You follow your own bouncer swiftly through the mass of tables, and then up the stairs to the balcony. Up here it is somewhat darker, but only mildly quieter. Several tables have also been set up here, most of them shrouded in shadow. No doubt the darkness is intended to hide the actions of those seated there, but your still-vampiric eyes catch glimpses of all manner of unsavory activity going on.

    And at the far table closest to the edge, looking down on his assorted subjects was the king of this little rathole, the Owner. Perched in his ornate chair like a shrunken mummy, the face’s weathered face cracks as you come to stand across the table from him. The half dozen guards seated in most of the other chairs do not look nearly as happy to see you.

    “So, a newcomer. We get so few of them passing through these parts nowadays. I bid you welcome. Please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink while we discuss business? We have virtually any drink you could think of here, including some nigh-extinct vintages of Donovale.”

    The owner asks, gesturing to the one empty seat at the table.

    The Gastly Truth

    Pwenet

    Your query reveals that the container is currently empty, and your other gives the startling news that no one is listed as serving the Baron with a missing arm. Various other minor injuries, for those that are in positions that do not require a fully functional body, but none among even them with an entire arm gone.

    Flying up into the air, you quickly clear many of the rows of containers. It is still somewhat difficult to look down inside the entire maze, but you examine aisle after aisle. Eventually, you catch sight of the man once again. Perhaps by random chance, he had reached the container broadcast by Fury, although he seemed more concerned with avoiding you than ducking inside the container.

    Catching sight of his upturned face, you immediately discover the reason for his concern: you identify his face as that of Korram Alstan, avowed enemy of the Baron! Curiously, he was listed as being in custody and awaiting execution – he should be dead within a matter of hours. And yet here he stands in front of you, unharmed save for the apparent loss of an arm.

    A hazy swarm of memories waft through your mind, reminding you that final battle. Korram had been there as well, fighting alongside you with both arms. Despite having endured years of imprisonment and torture as you had (although certainly not quite as many), he looked worse now than then. Of course, losing an arm tended to do that to a human.

    You are sure that the Baron would prefer for you to recapture this man who had apparently evaded imprisonment and execution yet again. However, no doubt believing he was still at the Manor about to be executed, the Baron had no standing order. Which meant that theoretically you could decide his fate on your own, and you were looking for ways to fight against the Baron. . .

    Dorizzit

    As the cruel universe would have it, you found yourself next to the announced container at the end of your avoidance maneuver. Unfortunately, GHASTs could fly, and a moment later the construct soldier you had spotted appeared in the air over a nearby row of containers.

    You noticed that your destination container was unlocked and open, its door ajar and yawning open into empty blackness. You could perhaps duck inside and try to hide, but with the GHAST watching you it would only be a matter of time before you were dragged back out into the light. Assuming it didn’t cut you down where you stood . . . which it oddly wasn’t attempting to do.

    The creature had to know who you were, the other GHASTS certainly recognized you immediately. And yet it hung immobile in mid-air, as if considering your fate silently. For that matter, that was something just damn odd about this GHAST in particular.

    All of them were quite odd even in your vast experiences with the bizarre, but this one seemed . . . different, somehow. Some subtle difference in how it held itself, perhaps, or a slight difference in the blue light emanating from its eye sockets.

    Lonna

    At your admonishments, Nephilium looks up, staring at you in open-mouthed shock. When you are finally finished, he surprises you by letting loose a great, whooping laugh.

    “Hail and well met, milady!” He chortles, doing his best to deliver a bow from his sitting position. He maintains the bow for a few moments, and during that time continues to speak, his voice once again serious.

    “Thank you. I will consider your advice.”

    At your request, he looks back up, a growing frown on his face. It doesn’t take long to guess the source of Nephilium’s displeasure.

    “Cheran.” He spits. “Yes . . . I understand your desire not to serve as his playmate. Unfortunately, if that is the will of Father . . .”

    Nephilium shrugs.

    “I do not know what he intends for you, but since you’re here you are meant to be a . . . special “guest”. I might be able to see about making your stay more comfortable, but other than that.”

    Nephilium shakes his head.

    “I am sorry. Now that I have satisfied my questions, it is time for me to go. Unless you have questions for me – perhaps Nephilium can return advice for advice?”

    (Assuming you have no more questions.)

    “I will need to return you to the way I found you milady.”

    Gathering his meaning but not liking it, you stand up and allow Nephilium to shackle you to the wall again. He then leaves, locking the door behind him. Alone again, you begin to consider seeing to your needs, including sleep and maybe having a good cry. Unfortunately, your rumbling stomach confirms that hunger was soon going to become an issue as well.

    Unable about doing anything about that for the moment, you try to figure out your sleeping arrangements. Unfortunately, short of sleeping on your feet, this was going to be uncomfortable. While you are able to sit down, the relative shortness of the chains between the wall and your manacles means that your arms are held straight up above your head. You suppose you will just have to get used to it – considering the alternatives, whatever time you spend here will probably be considered quite pleasant in hindsight.

    Speaking of your time here, the cell door opens again to reveal the former Ironheart elite, now warden of this new prison. He doesn’t look particularly happy.

    “You whore!” He growls, coming to stand in front of you with a glower. “I don’t know what you told Sir Nephilium, but apparently he thinks you’re quite dangerous. Dangerous enough that I’m to leave you alone, for my own safety. Fine.”

    In a blur of motion, he snags a handful of your hair, using that to pull your head slamming back against the wall. His point made, he releases you and steps back.

    “I’m going to leave you completley alone – for now. But unlike our other “guest”, I imagine you’re going to be getting hungry and thirsty soon. I’ll be back in a day or so. Perhaps by then you’ll be in a little less “dangerous”.”

    With a last disdainful snort, the guard turns and walks out, finally leaving you alone. Although given the interruptions so far, there was no telling when anyone at all could come walking in on you. Still, an hour passes by in complete stifling silence, and then another.

    The Hells

    The Screaming Dark Estate

    OverWilliam

    After Melcara regains her strength, she carries your small group one by one over to the portal, dropping them through to whatever awaits on the other side. She picks you up last, as you can tell only your will is continuing to keep the portal open. Together, you pass through the portal. It is a disconcerting, but only momentary sensation of vertigo and light. Then you are through, dumped out onto the floor of a dark room. You can hear the others moving about all around you. A moment later, light flashes into being as Limier ignites some sort of flameless candle.

    The room is relatively small – a basement of some sort, with wooden stairs leading up to a doorway in one corner. The room is otherwise empty, save for something particularly disturbing. On every wall and across the floor of this basement, strange script has been scrawled in a muddy red ink. The letters almost seem to bend and twist as you focus on them individually, and a sense of wrongness pervades the room.

    The momentary, eerie silence is at last broken by a quiet voice off to your right.

    “A . . . Are we out? S-safe?”

    Turning, you see a pudgy, balding man that, thought he no longer bore ornate scars over his body, bore at least a passing resemblance to the man you knew as Jim.

    “Nowhere is safe. But if you are asking if we have escaped the Hells, then yes. We are back on the mortal plane – I can sense it. Although this room seems to bare some considerable resemblance to where we just left – perhaps the reason of the portal’s existence?” Melcara comments, kneeling down to press her face to the stone, inhaling deeply. She seems greatly perturbed by what she smells, recoiling as if the floor had bitten her. Self-consciously, she wipes at her face and nose with one hand, although none of the seemingly-still wet script had rubbed off.

    “A-angel blood. A . . . a whole lot . . . of angel blood!?”

    Waving the smokeless light around to reveal more of the script covering the walls and, you see now, yes even the ceiling, Limier snorts.

    “Someone was planning something big down here then.”

    “N-no, you don’t understand. This much blood, it couldn’t come from just one or even two angels unless the person was exceedingly patient. This . . . this is at least enough to drain a dozen angels dry! Even if whoever did this was patient!”

    A loud cough interrupts any further discussion of the room’s contents, and all eyes turn to Prince Teareal, still cradling his betrothed despite the fact that both of them were curled up on the floor looking worse for wear.

    “Des nedif corla wer quiditch!” He spits, glaring at Limier.

    The master assassin snorts, seemingly amused as she murmurs a reply back to Teareal in the elven tongue, and then turns to you.

    “Well Tare, it seems now that we’re out of danger, it seems in addition to calling me foul names your prince wishes to review my status. A rather foolish idea, considering your joint condition and the fact that I’ve saved each of your lives. Nonetheless Tare, it would seem you have a decision to make – shall we part ways now or do you wish to resume our battle from where the devils interrupted it?”

    The Perist Residence

    Kasanip

    Despite your hesitation, Soneir is quick to reach out and take your hand.

    “I have endured far less pleasant things these past few days, let me assure you.”

    Looking around at the ruins of his manor with a sigh, Soneir shakes his head.

    “How did it ever come to this?”

    “Do you have any idea what prompted this vicious attack?” Berrick gently pressed, earning another long sigh from Soneir.

    “Sadly, I do. I have noticed a lot of turbulent activity in the spirit world lately. A growing number of spirits have come to believe that someday soon the veil between our world and theirs will be shattered completely. Given the rather destructive effects even a small Nexus can have on our world, I think you can understand my concern with this news.”

    You were aware that a Nexus was a point where the spirit world and mortal realm were one and the same, allowing spirits to travel back and forth freely. They were rather rare, and for good reason – often the only way to create a Nexus was for the area to have a strong spiritual resonance. And once formed, the local spirits would do anything to maintain it, according to their nature and the sort of Nexus that had been formed. Often this meant destruction on a wide scale as the spirits shaped the mortal realm to better resemble whatever was on their side.

    “Most spirits are always saying that. I trust you found something to lend credence to their claims?”

    “Unfortunately, yes. Someone has begun to walk amongst the spirits, organizing them and opening Nexuses throughout the kingdom.”

    At Berrick’s obligatory “who?” Soneir gives his deepest sigh yet.

    “Betrayal is a terrible thing, but no worse than when it is done by one we love. During the attack on our estate, I saw the one directing the Chimera. It was my daughter, Alya. She wore tattoos similar to theirs, although far more ornate and . . . shifting. As if the tattoos themselves were alive! It was a truly terrible sight.”

    “Soneir, are you sure? The attack occurred at night. Perhaps you didn’t see clearly, and merely projected –“

    “No. I know my daughter’s face Berrick. It was her! . . . It was her.”

    Soneir’s face fell, and his exhaustion was more evident than before. Clearly trying to change the subject, he shifts his attention from you and Berrick to Cerise, now starting to stand back up.

    “How is my wife?”

    “She is very weak, but stable. I recommend against moving her very far right now.”

    Finally, Carlain speaks up.

    “Wait. You want us to camp here!? In the middle of this charred mess?”

    Cerise shot you a slight knowing smile as she replies, “Yes, I’m afraid you’re quite correct brother. I’m . . . unsure if Ayse would survive a journey back to the manor. We have sufficient supplies, and we don’t need to camp right here in the middle of the wreckage – we could set up along the forest line.”

    Carlain’s tight-lipped expression was a clear sign of his displeasure, but with a sigh he whirled away. “Fine. I’ll go looking for where the best spot will be.”

    Slumping back against a piece of burnt timber, Soneir closes his eyes.

    “Thank you again. I do not know how I can repay you, nor what aid I will be able to provide for your own investigation. Still, you need merely ask and I will do whatever is within my abilities.”

    (Feel free to skip ahead to camping at night, if you so desire).

    The Capital

    Tackyhillbillu

    (You are free to describe Argan’s infiltration plans in as much detail as you’d like. Hell, these guards aren’t expecting a highly-honed assassin dropping into their midst. As such, you are free to describe your whole infiltration up to acquiring the manifest from the middle of the guard outpost if you desire. I don’t have any nasty surprises waiting for you there, nor any particular means by which you can slip inside. Should you not have any idea how to break in undetected yourself, I’ll try to think of something for us to play out. Otherwise if you do have an idea, have fun. )

    Night comes slowly, but no one pays you any mind – looking much like a beggar slumped in a dark alley like so many others. You notice that the guards’ morale seems fairly high, although perhaps a little subdued. News of the King’s sudden illness had just spread throughout the city yesterday, so it was understandable for his servants, however indirect, to be a bit concerned about their job security. All the same, most were still in good enough spirits to laugh and joke with each other, revealing a good if somewhat distant camaraderie.

    You guessed that most of the guards knew each other by name, although most were only on-duty acquiesces, not the tight-knit unit most soldiers formed with the rest of their squad. At least that is what you had been taught, having never experienced it yourself. For a Hand of the Baron, you were expected to keep a close eye on your fellows for any sign of disloyalty, and to abandon them should they prove unable to continue an assignment (often removing them from the game permanently with a quick knife to the eye). As such, personal relationships tended to be frowned upon. Even ones formed outside of your normal duties as a servant of the Baron.

    Relationships gave you attachments, which in turn could give you a sense of identity and purpose beyond a tool of the Baron’s. This could not be tolerated, for with something to live for you might hesitate to sacrifice yourself without question, or worse yet become distracted during an assignment. A Hand was nothing more than a tool, indistinctive from its fellows and easily replaceable.

    You had been told many times the story of one Hand who had not obeyed this rule. While on an assignment, the man had taken notice of a young barmaid. The two managed to have a secret relationship for several months before the Baron learned of what his agent was doing while he was not killing. He had the agent skin the barmaid alive, and then publicly executed the agent in front of the other Hands for his treason.

    You knew the story was not just told as a lesson to new recruits. It was, in fact, quite tragically true. You should know, as it was you who discovered the tryst in the first place and reported the matter to your superiors. You had been rewarded for this information with a promotion and the honor of slitting the traitor’s throat. Just one more layer of blood on your hands.

    The Northern Forest

    Gorgondantess

    Your companion just sort of shrugs helplessly at your comments about flying up to the Heavens. Typical human, not having any sort of experience with anything beyond his normal hum-drum existence. He does have slightly more useful information in regards to the Church.

    “Ah, that’d be the Church of Light, don’tcha know it. Worship Miriam and Athelion, the Divine Couple. And there’s more than one church really – usually one in every town across the kingdom! Down south, anyway. Tis all wilderness up here, nobody around to bother you. Just the way Pete likes it, although I guess it’s not foolproof, aye?”

    Richard, Pete, or Smelly Human depending on which moniker you prefer, looks uncomfortable for a moment, then shrugs with a bark of a laugh.

    “So, uh . . . would you like a guide? I think I remember ta way back to town, at least the local frontier place where I sell furs and buy what I can’t make meself. From there, you could probably find passage to wherever else you want to go . . .”
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

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  11. - Top - End - #521
    Ogre in the Playground
     
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    Umber

    The Lord of Blood looked around, taking in everything at once. This strange half-life, this bloody-eyed twilight between undeath and rebirth had sharpened his senses to almost painful levels, and he drank in sensations long-forgotten and half-remembered. Food, women, and song - though truthfully he had enjoyed all those things well enough during his long unlife, albeit in slightly different manners than were usual. Still, it was as intoxicating as the swill that most of these cretins were knocking back - and a good deal more refreshing.

    He watched the scene in the bar impassively, idly wondering how best to make sure Mellita got what she needed, and at the same time considering if he might sit and play a hand or two - he was good at reading people, and thus good at cards. But the swaggering man who approached him interrupted that train of thought. He smiled amiable enough at his request, turning to give Mellita a peck on the cheek and approached the wizened monkey who ruled over this pit of wild apes.

    He raked his eyes over the attendant ruffians, mindful for any who might be more than they seem. He suspected this little hole might hide a secret or two - such places often did - but he did not feel particularly threatened. With his power returning, there was little enough in this world that could threaten Umber, the Lord of Blood. Still, he chided himself, pride went before the excruciating death, so best be on his watch.

    He settled his eyes on the Owner, a smile parting his own lips. He hooked a chair out from under the table with one leg, drew it to him, and sat in one smooth, catlike motion, reclining easily with one arm draped over the back of his chair and his boots out in front of him, looking perfectly at ease, like a well-fed cat. His grin, too, was lazy and feline. "I've never been one to say no to a good drop." He said, resisting the urge to make half-veiled comments about the color of the drop. "But I like to know who I'm drinking with, first, and what business they would have of me."

  12. - Top - End - #522
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    The lanky blonde man stood in the alley, watching with a practiced eye the guards. He was shocked at how quickly the memories came back. He'd managed to keep them away, through copious amounts of drink, and quite a bit of concentration, but despite as much drink and women of questionable moral fiber he could find himself, they still waited for a moment of weakness.

    Which this little adventure certainly counts as.

    He waited still, his litany of sins going through hid mind. There were quite a few. More then enough to keep him busy. The story of the Hand's indiscretion was just one. He'd stopped comparing them to each other. His hands were drenched in blood. It mattered very little which was worse. As the cloak of darkness fell, he stirred, clearing his mind quickly. His sins always crowded out of the way for new ones. He stayed a little bit longer, waiting for half an hour, counting precisely the time between the guard patrols. Timing would be critical. If he messed up, and alerted the Warehouse before he wanted them aware, he would be lucky to escape with his life. His mind worked the figures as he stood, predicting how long it would take him to complete each phase. Beyond the wall, he would have to improvise, but planning what he could never hurt.

    Which I'll probably end up adding.

    When he decided to go, he crossed the ground between him and the wall in a sprint, clutching against it, and counting mentally. The next patrol was bit behind schedule. The Light passed over him, he watching it with careful eyes. They didn't pause, seeing nothing out of place, the man up against the wall out of their view. Argan watched them walk, still counting. As he reached the proper count, he gripped the wall, and climbed. Compared to his training, the wall might have well been a ramp with handrails, for the entire obstacle it presented to him. Upon reaching the top of the wall, he soundlessly padded across it. Gripping the wall, he lowered himself down as far as he could, dropping down after that. With that, Argan smiled. First success of the night. He'd need many more, but at least it was out of the way. He waited for the next patrol to go by, counting mentally still. As it walked past, he slipped out into the yard. Now the hard part started. He swiftly crossed the ground, taking cover behind a crate. He had a vague plan, but had no idea how to effectuate it. However, his eyes perceived the words on the crate he was hiding behind, and smile crossed his face.

    Lady Luck is still with me.

    Argan's plan required a couple things yet, but it appeared he was still a favored son of luck. His second break was simple enough. One of the guards went off by himself, exiting the Central office. It seemed likely that he had felt the call of nature. It was simple enough to catch him, smashing the dagger into the back of his head hard enough to send him to sleep. A Tarp of Dark Blue, covering a couple bundles of cloth provided a nice out of sight berth for the fellow. Now clothed in a nice new guard uniform that was only slightly too large for him, he waited for the second stage of his plan. One of the guard patrols was easily to draw to him, pulling them out of sight. The first one went down without a word, the hilt of a Knife colliding with the back of his head. The second turned at the sound of his comrade falling, a swift elbow dispatching him before he could react. The last guard managed to get off a swift cry, his hands fumbling for his Sword, before the lithe blonde man had dispatched him as well, a feint toward his legs leaving him unprepared for the blow to his head.

    Tick tock, tick tock.

    The entire confrontation had taken something less then 7 or 8 seconds, the three guards unprepared for him. Two of them had no visible marks, the bruises that were sure to form hidden by their hair. It was his best guess that the first two would wake up in a couple of minutes, if he didn't do anything about it. There was a middling chance that they would have some lasting effects from this. And the last guard was in worse luck. He had a large bruise on his cheek, but the real danger was in his head. But, it was better then getting stabbed, which someone was pretty sure to happen to somebody tonight. He quickly moved on, opening the crate he had discovered, which contained some very expensive bottles of wine. It had only been here for a day or two. Most likely, it was being saved for the Guard Officers. He picked a pinch of one of the powders he carried on him, and opened one of the bottles, dumping it into the bottle. It was enough to make sure that his friends here would keep sleeping for another couple of hours. He carefully poured some down each of the men’s throats. After that, it was a simple job to pull 8 or 9 of the bottles, spill some on the men, dump more on the ground, and place a bottle in the hands of each one of the men.

    Tick Tock!

    His efforts took him some 4 or 5 minutes. When he was done, he stepped back, surveying his work. The implication of the event was simple enough. With that, he picked up the Torch the men had carried and stepped out, walking over and motioning toward a couple of the patrols, and the men standing guard on the door.

    "Oi! Come look at what I've found. It seems that our friends here decided to enjoy themselves."

    Argan swiftly disappeared back toward the crate, extinguishing the Torch after he reached the place where he had left the three guards. He looped back around, watching the patrols and the door guards, walking over curiously. There was nothing to suggest that tonight was special. He swiftly slipped in through the doors to the Central Office, the laughter of the guards at discovering their comrades music to his ears.

    Another success. Either Lady Luck has taken a shine to me, or she has something nasty in store for me.

    Argan swiftly padded through the office, his foot falls silent, hunting for the Logbook that he knew held the key to succeeding in the primary goal of this mission.

  13. - Top - End - #523
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    ~Tare

    Once through the portal, and particularly upon hearing that they had returned to the mortal world, Tare had never felt so... Mortal before in his entire life. Forced to sink to a seat, even on the blood-printed floor, Tare's head swam and he had trouble paying attention to what was around him. Though the sensation of wrongness did not fade, gradually his ability to pay attention to the others and their conversation returned, and Tare sat, feeling half-dead and looking about the same.

    He was very interested (and in a way, relieved) to hear that Limier could speak Elven. This excitement was immediately quashed by Limier's reminding him of who they truly were to each other. At mention of resuming the hilariously one-sided battle that they had began only dozens of hours ago, Tare sighed a breath that showed his fatigue. "Don't tease me, Limier," He said, his voice slowed by having to concentrate on each word in order to remember how it was formed. "I am in no condition to fight you. Save for Melcara, I doubt that any of us are. I don't know that I ever was, even before Ironheart." Perhaps he was imagining it-- no. He knew better than to suspect his feelings were lying to him anymore. He was starting to hear it... the blood around him, crying out to him. He could only imagine the headache Melcara was likely experiencing at the moment. "I don't know who you work for, or how loyal you're feeling to whom at the moment. Your job, so far as I understand it at least, is to return Teareal to the Elven lands, and most likely his betrothed as well as it will keep him more cooperative. I have been a useful tool to you so far, I'm sure, and even right now I'm sure your Instincts are telling you to kill me. I'm exhausted in every sense of the word-- at bare minimum, if you don't at least leave me behind I will slow you down considerably. But there's something else, isn't there? I've seen your face." Tare managed a tired, worn chuckle. It was more ironic than mirthful. "You don't have to play with me, Limier." He looked Limier right in the eye. "I am at your mercy." The smell... suddenly, it hit him too. Tare felt for a moment as though he could vomit, if he had anything left to do so. He long since had not. "...I always have been, but until now I have been protected by some amount of usefulness. What you do now is not up to me, but to you. I cannot stop you."

    He was sure of it now. The angel's blood... he was hearing things. But it wasn't quite hearing, it was more like... feeling things. That felt a lot like hearing. Tare looked up at Melcara with a look in his eyes of understanding... and Sadness, a look impossible if he was not comprehending the repulsion she was sensing at the moment. "...For what it means to you, or coming from me... I'm sorry."
    Last edited by OverWilliam; 2010-01-06 at 10:04 AM.
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  14. - Top - End - #524
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    Sohssal

    "Hmmm...yes, I shall see your captain. I'm quite capable of leaving this cave, so take me to him," he demanded. Hearing the weakened mental voice of one of his companions, Sohssal turned his head towards the two of them. Being an incorporeal demon, the rest of his body didn't need to follow suit. They're just ordinary pirates. Not likely to be a threat. I'm going to talk to their captain. You could stay here, but I'd also like to remind you that I'm probably the most dangerous thing on this island, so sticking with me would be the safe choice, he thought at them. Then he turned his head back around to face the seafaring duo.

    "I also have two associates with me. Any transgressions against them will be punished as harshly as transgressions against me," he informed them. Not that he was overly concerned about Roger and Omega, but since he wasn't just going to kill all the pirates he felt it was best to keep them cowed.
    Last edited by Iethloc; 2010-01-07 at 02:42 AM.

  15. - Top - End - #525
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    Isera Harvent
    The Perist Residence


    As the conversation turned to the spirits and nexus, Isera listened intently. Her own experiences with what was known as a 'Nexus' was nothing more than the stories she had read and studied, and yet all too often she had experienced close encounters with spirits and the like. Any of the 'exorcisms' and like that she preformed were in some way related to that very balance between the spirit world and this one, and it was often the cause of the supernatural events that she investigated that this balance had been disrupted.

    The very idea that someone was organizing the spirits and opening Nexuses across the kingdom was very disconcerting, and Isera frowned openly in reaction. It certainly didn't bode well for the future, if in addition to these Fey-controlled beasts there was the distinct possibility of other such deeds occurring.

    Her frown turned to a grimace quickly enough though, as Soneir declared it to be one of his daughters involved in the case. Alya Perist. The younger one, as it were. That actually made their work a bit easier, since now they had the name of the girl they were looking for. And in a way, it supported the words Scila had spoken before, which lead Isera to believe that the fey had not been lying about the rest of the story. And that meant the Fey Queen and the Baron of Gast were up to something. Something that involved opening Nexuses and slaughtering innocent people.

    Out of respect for the exhaustion and emotions Soneir must have been feeling, Isera didn't inquire further on Alya for the moment. The fact that she was wearing tattoos similar to the Fey suggested it was possible that, like Isera had been, she was also being possessed by something. Isera hadn't heard of moving tattoos, but the bloody runes she had been covered with had glowed with power when the seal was activated. But the idea that Alya herself was possessed by something was plausible, if not comforting, and Isera kept that theory to herself until she could run it by Berrick and Cerise later.

    Isera turned her attention to Cerise and Ayse as they shifted subjects. The older woman certainly didn't look very well, and Isera was more than willing to trust Cerise's judgment. It'd be chilly at night still, but there was plenty of burnable wood left around, Isera observed, feeling a little dark humor in that.

    "Well, as much as I'd like to get the rest of these runes off...they won't hurt me another night." Isera said with a light tone to her voice. She turned to Sonier as he offered his assistance.
    "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask about your daughters...and specifically inquire more about Alya. But that can wait until this evening. You should get some rest for now too." Isera gave him a reassuring smile. "You're safe for now, so try to get some sleep. Cerise is more than capable of looking over your wife for now, and Berrick can stand watch. I'll go after Carlain and get our camp started." She said with a nod of her head to the others before excusing herself from the group to go after the brooding youth.

    Though she could always use the excuse that it was dangerous for them to be on their own - especially with the lingering threats like before- Isera wasn't quite sure what she hoped to accomplish with the lad. After all that had happened though, she was sure he wanted some time to process it all, and she knew that it'd help if someone could put it into perspective. A perspective that Cerise likely couldn't give him, and that would be grating and perhaps overbearing if Berrick tried. And, she thought with amusement, if Carlain truly was interested in trying to make an informed decision about which of the canticles to join, then she'd be sure to show him the proper way of setting up a Canticle of Autumn's campsite.

    (ooc: We can skip ahead to the campsite if you would like...the talk with Carlain can happen 'offscreen' unless you'd rather)
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  16. - Top - End - #526
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    Maria contemplates, lowering her head, pensive. "Miriam and Athelion... then they're my prey." She grins, clenching a fist. "I don't care if there is one church, or five hundred. I'll hunt them. Obviously, if I do not, they will hunt me in turn, and I'd rather just wash my hands of this church altogether." As she speaks, at first it is zealous, but quickly fades to a simple, matter-of-fact tone. Quite simply, she is going to annihilate them.
    Stepping outside, she looks at Richard/smelly human with pity. "No, no. You people are far too slow, unless you can fly like a hawk... but you can point me in the right direction- I've never traveled with a destination in mind."
    This done, she nods, and concentrates for a moment. A folded pair of wings, forming to her body, begin to form as a crater opens up under her; rather small, though, as they are light wings, based off of a moth's: she enjoyed the creatures. They were aesthetically pleasing.
    Of course, Maria's wings were 20 feet long.
    Unfurling them, she leaps into the air with one jump: unfurling her wings, she sails the drafts onwards.
    Marceline Abadeer by Gnomish Wanderer

  17. - Top - End - #527
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Korram growls in frustration as his attempts to evade the GHAST end up all for naught. He holds no illusions about his ability to defeat the GHAST in his current state. He glares up at the winged abomination.

    "Well? Come on, then!"

    But something gives Korram pause. This GHAST was...off. Different. Subtly, but definitely. Still, that wasn't exactly something to bet his life on, so he doesn't act on it immediately.
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  18. - Top - End - #528
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    OldWizardGuy

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    Incom Morgan

    Tilting its head slightly at the sight of Korram screaming at it Incom debates mentally what to do. While killing this man, easily done in his present state and location it would accomplish nothing really. The vague flashes of memory did nothing to give him insight into the man it would be a waste to simply kill him. After all it already suspected that it was suspect to the powers that be and thus it could be simply construed that it was “kissing up” to said powers.

    Yet clearly Korram did not know who he was which precluded him having abilities of the mind. In fact judging by his scream of defiance he knew that his fate was up to Incom solely. The ultimate power over a life where it was helpless was something that he didn’t care of. In battle all were at the mercy of fate, in this situation it is simply, damning.

    It was with that thought that a course of action is decided.

    “Korram, you will live today assuming you do nothing stupid. What are you doing here and what is your destination?”

    With those words Incom rapidly races through the channels, verifying that there are no signs that Korram has been detected or worse, it’s rebellious nature detected against the Baron.
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  19. - Top - End - #529
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    Korram Alstan

    Korram's demeanor cools, although he still doesn't take his suspicious eyes off of the GHAST before him.

    Hm. So there was something off about this GHAST. Interesting...

    "I'm here to find and rescue my daughter and Pyrene the Temptress, then get off this damn ship. Preferably with a few fires in my wake."

    He folds his arms and leans against a handy crate.
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  20. - Top - End - #530
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    Ander Windrivver

    I don't recall asking for your permission, Ander retorts.

    He turns back toward the monastery building, motioning for Karth to follow him.

    The Abbot had some important business to attend to before your arrival. We were not expecting you so soon.

    Ander leads Karth and his retinue through the stone halls of the monastery to the ritual chamber.

    I hope you've come with an open mind, Karth. Listen carefully to what the Abbot and I propose.

    Ander opens the doors for Karth and his retinue, following them into the ritual chamber before taking his place near the Abbot and his senior advisers. He takes a brief glance at the magical recording crystals in the ceiling before clearing his throat and speaking again.

    I see no reason to mince words here today. Karth, you are on a personal crusade to rally the peasantry and topple the Church establishment. I am on a mission from Miriam and Athelion to eliminate the corrupted members of the Church. I came to you to see if you could be an ally in my efforts and I am as yet unconvinced.

    As it turns out, the Abbot is also interested in eliminating the corrupted elements of the Church. He was skeptical at first, but after subjecting myself to a truth telling ritual and telling my story, I was able to convince him.

    Dealing with the Church is a delicate matter, Karth. You cannot just march on the Cathedral of Light with your peasant army, full of zeal and anger. The effort to cleanse the Church must have legitimacy. It must not be about a power struggle or instead of healing the Church we will have a Schism on our hands.

    The Abbot and I have discussed matters, and have decided to try and bring the other paladin orders into the fight. With all seven orders on our side, not only will our cause have legitimacy but we will also have the military strength to take on the Council's other fighting forces.

    However, we cannot have rogue elements campaigning around the countryside. Here is our proposal, Karth: you can voluntarily give up your personal crusade and join our greater cause as a general and still have a hand in campaign strategy or you can refuse and be forced to give up your personal crusade while we keep you in a cell to await trial when this is all over. Make your choice, Karth. There is no third option.
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  21. - Top - End - #531
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    Hondshioh

    Hondshioh watches as Ander gives his ultimatum to Karth, and hesitates for a moment before speaking up himself.

    "General Karth...I implore you to at least consider General Ander's proposal. He opened my eyes to not only the corruption in the church but to how narrowly I was viewing the conflict. There is no question that things need to change, but none of us can do it alone. I thought I could cleanse the Church of corruption at the behest of angels. I was foolish not to see the true dangers. I know that you are powerful, mighty Karth, and that your anger at the corruption that has infested the Church must be equally powerful, but an alliance of those of us who haven't been corrupted stands a far better chance of victory than simply charging at the corrupted ones with a force that may not stand a chance against the templars that guard the Council."

    He tried to look as deferential as he could, difficult considering he towered over even Karth, but he knew that he had to be as diplomatic as he could, difficult though that was for him.
    "Reach down into your heart and you'll find many reasons to fight. Survival. Honor. Glory. But what about those who feel it's their duty to protect the innocent? There you'll find a warrior savage enough to match any dragon, and in the end, they'll retain what the others won't. Their humanity."

  22. - Top - End - #532
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    OldWizardGuy

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    A rescue mission, coming from a man without an arm and helpless against the common soldiers of the Baron. If it was not real Korram would be treated to a scary sight, a GHAST laughing from mid-air. In fact part of it felt like doing so, laughing and enjoying the sight of a cowering mortal. Yet

    "So you are here to save someone. And what led you here? And why do you want to save this Temptress?"

    Pausing for a moment Incom scans the area to ensure that there are no prying eyes, or ears in the chamber.

    "And if you could, would you take another with you?"
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    Curse you, Pwenet. Curse you.... You had my hopes up there...

  23. - Top - End - #533
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    Korram Alstan

    Korram looks at the strange GHAST seriously. For a second, he seems to be a deadly and powerful warrior, regardless of his current state. Even without his arm or flames, this man is still far from helpless.

    "I needed to make sure my daughter was safe. To get out of my cell, I had to make a deal with a...person...who made me promise to rescue Pyrene."

    He pauses at the GHAST's request.

    "Depends. Who?"
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  24. - Top - End - #534
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    Pyrene

    In response to Sir Nephilium's question, Pyrene mutely shook her head, too tired to do much besides reluctantly allow him to restrain her again. When Larry the warden returned shortly afterward, it took nearly all her effort to hide the depth of her exhaustion from him. His swift slamming of her head into the wall came as little surprise, and her hair blunted the blow enough that she was able to maintain her expressionless facade - barely.

    Just before he left, her inner reserves finally deserted her, and she started giggling quietly, retaining just enough presence of mind to drop her head so that her hair screened her face and prevented his seeing the hysteria that spawned the laughter. Eventually, the laughs turned to quiet sobs, which in turn gave way to silent tears. Leaning against the wall, not bothering to try and brush the hair from her face, Pyrene felt herself drifting off to sleep despite the unusual position. Her last conscious thought was to hope that she woke up before someone came to retrieve her.
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  25. - Top - End - #535
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    Quote Originally Posted by Dorizzit View Post
    Korram Alstan

    Korram looks at the strange GHAST seriously. For a second, he seems to be a deadly and powerful warrior, regardless of his current state. Even without his arm or flames, this man is still far from helpless.

    "I needed to make sure my daughter was safe. To get out of my cell, I had to make a deal with a...person...who made me promise to rescue Pyrene."

    He pauses at the GHAST's request.

    "Depends. Who?"
    Incom Morgan

    Now was the time to test the man, to see where he would move.

    "Sara, the daughter of the Baron. You remember her from the battle in which both of us fought in."

    There is little choice. Backups needs to be made. Now was not the moment to act but in the future when options became available the groundwork needed to be laid.

    "What happened to your arm Korram? Will you be unable to defend yourself without it?"
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    I'm feeling this real hard now.
    Curse you, Pwenet. Curse you.... You had my hopes up there...

  26. - Top - End - #536
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    Korram Alstan

    Korram's eyes knit together as the GHAST mentions having fought with him. Interesting. Korram thinks quickly, his sharp mind weighing possibilities until he comes to a conclusion.

    "Yeah, I remember Sara. Not sure how someone like that could come from the Baron, but hey. I'll do whatever I can to help her. My arm...I lost it in a deal. It was better than the alternative. And if you think I can't fight without fire...you don't know me very well. I can take on regular soldiers just fine, and I plan on staying out of the way of GHASTs, or anything else that might pose a threat."

    He puts a hand to his chin and looks ponderously at the GHAST.

    "So...you're Incom, unless I miss my guess."
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  27. - Top - End - #537
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    Meanwhile . . .

    Theme Music - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Kjka...eature=related

    Looking over the ritual preparations one last time, the Initiate of the Third Circle suppressed a smile of satisfaction. They had been working around the clock to complete the preparations on time. Lord Nihilus would undoubtedly be pleased if the ritual went according to plan, even if no one present would ever receive a commendation.

    “Let us begin!”

    The Initiate announced as his group of acolytes clustered around the altar. For a moment, the Initiate suppressed a grimace as he looked upon the faces of his students. So many of them were quite young, arguably too young for this sort of work. But then, they were performing this ritual in the basement of a confiscated bakery instead of their own temple. Curse the Canticles and their blighted warlock hunt! But hopefully now the tide would begin to turn, and the Canticles could enjoy a hundred years of cowering in the dark corners of the world!

    “Valk Nadak Karakoom!” The Initiate hissed in the ancient tongue of fiends as he drew a rune-inscribed dagger and ran the point down his arm, leaving a thick red line behind. The blood flowed swiftly down his arm, collecting in his palm and from there dripping down onto the floor. In response, the bloody runes carefully painted onto the floor, walls, and ceiling pulsed with a malevolent light.

    Following his example, the assembled acolytes drew their own daggers, repeating the chant as they opened their own veins. The room steadily grew brighter as the runes pulsed more slowly, glowing with an ever brighter and constant light. Despite his training with incantations, the Initiate struggled to repeat the words he had drilled into his head over hours of study. They were unquestionably the most complex he had ever seen, despite the usual simplicity of the fiend tongue.

    When they could, the acolytes repeated the words, although most remained silent, for they had been warned not to risk misspeaking the words for fear of ruining the ritual. Which meant that it was all up to the Initiate, but he was used to working under pressure . . . just not quite so much at once.

    Sweat began to bead on his brow as the chanting entered the next phase, a continuous stream of profane utterances fired off in rapid succession. The first of the acolytes collapsed, a young girl the Initiate had found a few years ago. No one moved to help her, and she silently faded into unconsciousness as her blood continued to flow out of her delicate wrist.

    More acolytes collapsed, one by one as their lifeblood flowed out to cover the scrawlings on the floor. Even through the thick carpet of blood, the glowing radiance of the activated runes persisted. The ground began to shake violently under their feet as the Initiate entered the final phase, struggling to remain conscious and focused. Crying out with all the strength he could muster, the Initiate shrieked out his curses against the Canticles, the gods, and the universe itself. The ground began to split apart and crack, and up through the rifts came the angry cries of devils in answer. And Hell Itself rushed forth.

    *****************************************

    The Baron allowed himself a slight smile as he stepped inside one of the cavernous bays of the Gastly Truth, which had been converted into a training area for his Hands. Despite some minor disruptions to his plans, everything was falling into place as exactly as he had painstakingly planned it to. Of course, now were the crucial moments which would decide success or confirm that this was a complete waste of time. There could be no further disruptions, which was one of the many reasons why the Baron had decided to accelerate training for this particular batch of Hands. With any luck, at least one of them would prove competent enough to be inducted in the Baron’s secretive cadre of elite assassins.

    A piercing scream cut through the room as the Baron quietly slipped in behind the cluster of cloaked figures grouped behind a dark red line painted on the deck. One hundred feet away, an angel was chained spread-eagled and immobile to a wooden backdrop. From this distance, a slim throwing dagger was just visible, protruding from her shoulder. Without a word, the GHAST standing guard nearby walked over and tore the weapon out of her shoulder, allowing the wound to begin healing. Judging from the slow rate at which the wound resealed and the fact that the angel was covered in half-healed scars, the Hands in training had been at this for several hours.

    “Ghood work.” A heavily accented, lilting voice mocked from all around the trainees. “You managed ta hit da target ah least. Though not where I told you, nor evan fatally. Were dis little bitch na completely ah your mercy, your head would now be missing fra your shoulders. Alright, I think she ready for ahnother throw. Who is next? How about you, Numba Ninety-Three?”

    The emblazoned white number on the back of his cloak was the only thing of note about the black-clad man who stepped up to the red line next. Drawing a dagger from the belt wrapped across his chest, the man adopted a loose throwing stance – although even from his position the Baron could see a few places where the man was out of alignment.

    The angel crossed her eyes in a silent, unheard prayer as the voice barked, “Right earlobe! THROW!”

    At the sudden crack of the instructor’s voice, the man’s body tensed slightly, just as he began to pull his arm back to the throw the dagger. This, combined with the slight misalignment of his joints, caused the dagger to sink into the wood two inches to the right of the angel’s head.

    “USELESS!” The voice hissed angrily. “Completely useless ahnd incapable of learning anyting! Da price of failure is death!”

    From the crowd, a dark shadow swept out as one of the cloaked figures burst into action. There was the flash of a blade, and then the long slender knife was embedded in the side of the trainee’s neck. Without a word he fell off the narrow blade onto the floor, the blood bubbling out of his throat to stain his cloak and mask an even darker shade. With a single smooth motion, the assassin’s assassin flicked the blood off the blade and resheathed it.

    “Not evan worth drinking!” The instructor spat, turning to gaze at the silent assembled crowd with her milky, dead eyes. Without fanfare, two more GHASTs stepped forward to drag the man’s body away, his blood streaking on the dark red line, widening it slightly. The two automatons deposited the man’s body on the pile of black-clad corpses that had been growing steadily since morning.

    “You cannot tink, you must KNOW!” The ebon-skinned woman lectured, side-stepping smoothly up to just behind the freshly-wettened red line. “You cannot aim from dis distance with knives. You must instead visualize your target, and know your blade will go where you tell it to! Your body will follow where your mind lead.”

    Turning to fully face the angel, the Hands’ instructor paused for a moment, and then called out, “Left ring finger!” A slender throwing knife, the same make as that used by the trainees, appeared in her hand a moment later. A moment and snap of the wrist after that, the angel was biting back a scream as a dagger protruded from the wood where her left ring finger had been pinioned. The severed appendage lay on the floor at her feet, and the nearby GHAST attendant began to stomp forward to retrieve both it and the dagger. At a subtle motion from the instructor, the construct stopped and stepped back.

    “Right ear lobe! Right wing tip!” The instructor called out, continuing the demonstration with another two rapid-fire throws which each exactingly connected.

    “Heart.” The instructor hissed, as with a final throw she ended the angel’s suffering. Instead of simply dissolving away, however, the angel’s body remained hanging limply from the backdrop, as the GHAST stepped forward to remove it and add it to the significantly smaller pile of angel bodies at the far end of the bay.

    Turning back to the group with a disdainful sneer, the instructor waved the trainees off.

    “Go. Sleep. You have three hours. Be back here not a second later, or you fail.”

    A vicious smile split the woman’s dark lips as the trainees scattered, hustling out of the bay back to their bunks. All of them would be sure to have nightmares. A few might never wake up, having forgotten to set their internal clocks to wake them up in less than three hours.

    Now that they were alone, the Baron quirked an eyebrow at his prime Hand.

    “So will any of them prove useful? Or am I wasting your time?”

    “Possibly.” Came the answer with a shrug. “A few still show promise, but it will be slow. How long do I have?”

    “No time at all, I’m afraid. I have need of my greatest assassin elsewhere.”

    “Oh? It will be ghood to get out, stop raising dese babies. But why do I feel that I will not like dis job?”

    The Baron favored her with a genuine smile.

    “Oh, I think you will. I need you to check up on an old friend of yours.”

    **********************************

    The bloodcurdling scream echoing through the docks was cut short by a loud meaty slap. The young girl stayed down where she had been sent sprawling on the rough cobblestone, although she continued to beg quietly with the two men who had accosted her.

    “P-please don’t hurt me.”

    “Oh, we aren’t going to hurt ya, lass. In fact, this could go quite pleasant for ya, if ye cooperate.” The lead man grunted, the look in his eyes telling the girl more than she wanted to know. The one in the rear was even more disturbing, his eyes cold and his voice completely lacking any passion at all.

    “Why are you out so late, girl? The docks aren’t safe at night.”

    “My f-father. He’s s-sick, and we ran out of medicine. The Dock’s apothecary doesn’t close at night. Please, let me go! My father might die if I don’t get back soon!”

    The two thieves share a look, and the second nods slightly at the first. The first thief’s grin widens as he advances on the girl.

    “Well then, we should get this over with quickly!”

    “Medicine can be quite valuable. Make sure to get it off her before you start.”

    “Oh, I’ll get it off her, heehee.”

    Before the confrontation could escalate to its inevitable conclusion, a thunderous splash of water interrupts. All eyes turn towards the nearby pier in time to see a waterlogged man climb unsteadily to his feet. The man was certainly a curious sight, with his wet dark hair hanging down messily in front of his face, and strands of kelp still clinging to his legs. Most of his body was covered by a long shimmering cloak made up of thousands of tiny fish scales, although here and there hints of golden plate armor peek out. Completing the ensemble was a crown of coral perched on top of the man’s disorderly mane of hair, which he was beginning to brush out of his face, revealing his piercing red eyes.

    “Where is this and who are you?” The strange newcomer growls, earning a snort of derision from both thieves.

    “We are part of this dock’s financial redistribution office, and this is where you get out of here unless you want to get cut.”

    The apparent leader of the pair growls, brandishing a knife, clearly disturbed by the newcomer but choosing to react with irritation rather than fear. In response, the strange man only laughs as he takes a step forward.

    “And if you cut me, what makes you think I’ll bleed?” The man asks, a clear challenge as he continues forward until he is only a few paces away. In reply, the thief simply snarls in rage and lunges forward to deliver a quick stab to the newcomer’s chest. To everyone’s surprise, excepting the newcomer himself, the thief’s thrust is stopped short as the newcomer brings his own hand up, catching his attacker’s wrist in his own beefy hand.

    “Bottom feeders.” The man grunts in disdain as a loud crunching sound is heard, and the thief squeals as he drops the knife. “You should have stayed down in the muck, out of sight. Too late now.” Swinging his head back, the newcomer slams his coral-adorned forehead into the thief’s face, creating another loud crack as the man’s face collapses. Releasing his hold on the thief to allow him to crumple to the pier a bleeding, moaning wreck, the man approaches the second thief.

    In a fit of desperation, the man lunches for the girl. Grabbing hold of her arm, he pulls her back up onto her feet while using his other hand to hold a knife to her throat.

    “Stay back or the girl gets it! I dunno who or w-what you are, but I know she’ll still bleed!”

    The man pauses a moment before shrugging and advancing towards the pair.

    “I don’t know her. She means nothing to me. You and your partner, however, have annoyed me. You can either spend the last few seconds of your waste of a life condemning another to share your fate, or you can attempt to flee and outrun your fate. Choose quickly.”

    What little scrap of courage he had left completely gone, the thief shoves the girl towards the man and turns to run with an exclamation of “Oh gods!”

    Stumbling forward, the girl is surprised as this strange man momentarily pauses to catch her, steadying her with his arm. As he does so, she notices that he does, in fact, only have one arm. The man pauses to study her for a moment, and then seeing she has regained her footing, leaves to chase after the man. To call it a chase would likely be generous, as the overweight thief had scarcely gone more than a dozen steps before his cloak was snagged by the newcomer’s single hand.

    Crying out, the thief whirls, slashing with his dagger. The same bemused expression still on his face, the man lets go of the thief’s cloak at the precise moment he is off-balance from his fast turn, causing the thief to tumble back to the ground in a heap.

    “Stay back!” The thief shouts, holding his weapon up defensively in front of him while trying to crawl away. The man falls with a predatory grin.

    “No. Now what?”

    “Oh gods.”

    “Hmmm. That’s the second time you’ve said that. Which gods are you referring to? I’ve known – and killed – so many in my time.”

    “M-miriam. And Athelion.”

    “Mmmm. I vaguely recall those names. So they are the dominant force now, are they? Figures. Something to put on the to-do list, I suppose. In any event, they certainly aren’t going to help you. Hmm . . . now what should I do with you?”

    “Please sir, have mercy!”

    “Mercy?” The man chuckles, although he suddenly pauses, turning back to face the girl.

    “You. Girl. This man was attempting to rob you, and likely worse, before I arrived. What would you have me do with him?”

    The girl thinks for several long moments, and then nods.

    “Umm . . . I think you should let him go.”

    This earns her a quirked eyebrow from her rescuer.

    “Truly? This man would surely not do the same were your positions reversed.”

    “Yes. I . . . I don’t want to hurt anyone. Please . . . I just want to go home.”

    The man snorts as he steps back and waves the lucky thief off.

    “Very well then. Off with you cretin, and pray we never meet again.”

    Muttering his thanks, the thief crawls back up onto his feet and stumbles off while the strange man walks back over to the girl. An odd light enters the man’s eyes as he gazes down at the girl, easily a head shorter than he was.

    “T-thank you.” She said, nervously looking away, afraid to meet his eyes. Reaching up to place one finger under her chin, the man directs her gaze back up at him.

    “No, thank you.” The man’s lips part in an evil smile, revealing his pointed fangs at last. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a warm meal.”

    And then with a sudden motion, the vampire pulls the girl in close, and sinks his fangs into her neck. After spending the past months consuming only the cold blood of the disgusting fish men, the girl’s relatively thin commoner blood was still heavenly.

    While the vampire lord was distracted with his meal, the ocean tide bubbled and frothed violently as dozens of fishmen flopped up onto the docks. With a pained groan, they twisted their flippers apart, separating them into two humanoid legs. Although he frequently disdained magic, the vampire lord did have to admit that occasionally it was useful, particularly in the instance of allowing a water-bound people to invade solid land for the first time in their history.

    ***************************

    In the deepest depths of a necropolis buried in a ruin long since forgotten, a large pool of blood begins to churn. Slowly, a skeletal shape begins to form just beneath the surface, and then suddenly bursts forth with one long, loud explicative. Looking around his secret underground throne room, Kartul curses Umber a second time for good measure.

    “Invasion go poorly, sir?” Asked the undead servitor, holding up one of Kartul’s favorite, if moth-eaten and threadbare, robes. Kartul answered by blasting the servitor apart with a bolt of lightning. He would have used fire, but that might have torched the robe, and he wasn’t quite angry enough yet to go about destroying one of his few remaining good robes. He’d piece the miserable sap back together later – getting smashed by his master upon resurrection was part of the job description by this point.

    Turning to the sole other occupant in the room as he shrugged into his robe, Kartul felt calm enough to ask, “So, what do you think? Is not immortality exactly what you now possess?”

    Smiling, Helion gave a satisfied nod. “Oh yes, most impressive indeed.”

    ***********************

    Hunched around the viewing globe, the assembled figures debate what they had just seen quietly but urgently.

    “There is no question now that what we face is our ancient nemesis! Athelion the Lifebringer, save us all.”

    “Hpmh. And yet, look at how clumsily it fought! A single team was nearly enough to dispatch it. Do the ancient texts not contain countless stories of entire armies being sent to fight against such terrors!?”

    “I wouldn’t sound so ingrateful. We scarcely have the resources to handle bandits, let alone an archdemon.”

    “All the more reason we should attack *now*, with everything we have! It will only grower stronger the longer it walks amongst us. Soon it may be beyond our ability to combat altogether!”

    “And what about the Preservers? If they aren’t aware of this incident by now, they surely will be shortly.”

    “Bah! Are we really going to worry about some old misguided fools when we have a literal archdemon on the loose?”

    “He does have a point. The Preservers will undoubtedly get in our way. And that’s not even mentioning the other traitors who have abandoned our sacred duty. They too, will undoubtedly flock to the archdemon once word of its existence spreads.”

    “What do you propose we do, then?”

    “We wait. We watch. And we prepare, as we have always done. When the time is right, we strike. That is how the Dusk Wardens have always handled these . . . *creatures* when they appear. And that is how we have always wrestled the world from their grasp.”

    “Victory through vigilance!”

    “Victory through vigilance!”

    *******************************

    With Titania’s blessing, Tur Villid wastes no time in moving his troops in a position to attack. The night after receiving Titania’s permission, the leading edges of his force arrive at the Baron of Gast’s estate. Although inhabited, the scouts report encountering far fewer guards than expected, although they do not engage as per their orders – Tur Villid wants the first strike to be unexpected and decisive.

    Upon hearing the news that the estate was only lightly defended, the Tur begins to consider that the Baron may have already evacuated. Even so, he would have to take the Baron’s estate, in the vain hope that the Baron had left Pyrene behind. Titania would demand no less than a complete search of the estate grounds. When finished, the Tur would burn it to the ground, and march onward to continue torching his way deeper into the human lands.

    A few of his commanders advise caution, citing that no elven force had ever crossed so far into human lands before – they did not know the land very well, and their maps were highly inaccurate. But no commander dared contradict Titania’s orders, and it was entirely possible that if Pyrene was being held in the estate, she would be executed if the assault dragged on.

    Selecting two of his best infiltration units, the Tur sent them on ahead of his main force, with orders to slip into the estate and attempt a rescue operation while the main force led a diversionary frontal assault. As reported by the scouts, the infiltration forces met only token resistance in their efforts to penetrate the grounds. When the main force showed up and the alarm was raised, however, the remaining guards put up a surprising amount of resistance.

    Using guerilla tactics combined with the impressive fortifications worked into the manicured estate grounds, the relative handful of guards were able to rack up an impressive amount of elven casualties. Still, compared to the potential casualties a fully garrisoned estate could have inflicted, the Tur considered himself lucky.

    As the battle worn on, the Baron’s guards continued to fall back deeper in to the estate, forcing the Tur to send several units into the manor after them. Meanwhile, the infiltration units had met up in the manor’s well-appointed kitchen and discovered the stairs leading down to the basement. A quick search of the dungeon area was conducted, and while they did not find Pyrene down there they did discover that the basement level was far larger than initially believed.

    Meanwhile upstairs, the last of the Baron’s guards had fallen back to a panic room near the center of the manor. Thanks to a number of well-positioned murder holes, the guards were able to still threaten several rooms, but were otherwise contained. Bringing up more troops to guard the area and prevent a breakout, the remainder went down into the basement to join the infiltration teams in their search.

    It is unknown what the exact cause was, but eventually someone triggered a trap down in the basement. This in turn triggered the dozens of bundles of explosives seeded through the manor, and together in one massive explosion the entire manor was demolished. In addition to the dozens of elves trapped inside, shards of wood and stone thrown outwards by the explosion wounded or killed dozens more. In return for not having to destroy the manor himself, the Tur lost two teams of his best infiltrators, and nearly a hundred troops besides. It was not nearly enough to stop the invasion force, and indeed spurned many to swear blood oaths upon the humans for their cowardly act, but it was the first significant loss the elves had felt since advancing on Ironheart.

    ********************

    With a deep sigh, Royal Healer Fenrick reached up to close the eyes of the man he had been struggling – and failing – to keep alive for several weeks now. Although the news had been kept as much of a secret as possible, Fenrick was certain word had spread outside the palace. And now, all ambiguity about what had been taking place would be wiped away. King Tallon IV, ruler of the Kingdom of Narle, had been deathly ill. And now he was dead. Dead without an heir. Considering how divisive the nobles could be even with a firm hand on the reins, it would almost certainly be civil war.
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

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  28. - Top - End - #538
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    Marisiel

    Anger and helplessness began to unite as Marisiel took wing, fusing into a single coherent emotion. Yes, she had been wrong-footed by this entire situation, and no, she did not like it; she shouldn't have to think of Titania as an enemy, shouldn't have to consider how to defend herself against mankind. But she did, and someone was clearly at fault for it. If Phaedra was determined to set itself against the Valkyrie, against all sense, then the blame fell squarely upon Phaedra.

    Only the presence of the queen's consort just behind her muddied the waters. Not that she didn't applaud Istomilo's decision—how could she resent him for speaking the truth and acting as Titania should be?—but it did confuse matters. Reminded her, perhaps, of why humans should not be her enemies, of how badly this could go if not stopped. And how little she could do to stop it.

    Faith, she reminded herself. My Lady will know what to do.

    "Now I must return to Heaven," she said by way of answer, "and deliver this news to the Valkyrie. You must remain here, and act as you see fit. I trust your judgment." Her wings tore at the air, sending her aloft. She truly did wish she had more for Istomilo, but she didn't. She simply didn't have the answers.

    She soared towards Heaven, and...


    ... opened her eyes, staring at a wooden ceiling. Grey morning light crept in through the window, dimly illuminating the room. Anger and confusion slowly drained out of her, leaving a quiet, comfortable, wondering feeling.

    Only a dream. But not the first dream Mar had had of the winged woman. No, Marisiel. I can remember her name now. She'd dreamed of the angel atop a tower, on an island, in her old home being punished... even seen her waking. She thought the winged body might have been hers, at least; she couldn't see her own face in the dreams, but it was familiar.

    Maybe it wouldn't have mattered, only some of her other dreams were true. Jacob, for instance. She was sure that had happened, so maybe all her other dreams had happened too.

    They had all died at Daddy's hands, and then he had gone on to find a new daughter... no, that was wrong, because of two things. First, if she were only the last in a long line of wicked daughters, she should have remembered being snatched from her home, shouldn't she? Oh, she could remember after a fashion... but only in dreams; as far as she could think back, she had lived with Daddy in Ironheart.

    The second reason was that, well, he was her Daddy. She knew, somehow, that he didn't just want a daughter, he wanted his daughter. It was why, for the longest time, she had been able to convince herself that he loved her.

    But he doesn't, she had to remind herself, fighting guilt. He hurts me, and I'm not going back.

    She sat up to banish those thoughts, wrapping the blankets around herself to stave off the morning chill. This was already a good day, she thought. Before she came to the house, she just would've had to be cold.

    That thought wrapped around her mind like the blanket wrapped around her body, and for a little while she forgot the dreams.
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  29. - Top - End - #539
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    Dawn’s Hope - Monastery

    Baerdog7/Archpaladin Zousha

    Leading Karth and his retinue of bodyguards along, you come to the ritual chambers quickly. It had been expected that the Abbot’s meetings with the various grandmasters would have concluded by now, but apparently they have dragged on. As you enter, you see the mustachioed face of Oldak Chandler glared down at the Abbot.

    “I will give you one more chance to atone. Renounce your association with these false prophets and I will try to convince the Council they should let you retire quietly. But if you insist in persisting with your blasphemy, it should go badly for you. I swear it!”

    The abbot slams his fist into an open palm.

    “Damn your pigheadedness, Oldak! Are you such a lapdog that you won’t even pause to consider our evidence!? Think, man!”

    Unfortunately, at that point the image of the grandmaster’s eyes shift, focusing in on the entering group, and most especially Karth.

    “Ah, it all becomes clear now, as the puppet master reveals himself. Finally decided to crawl out from under whatever rock you were hiding under, I see.”

    “A pleasure as always, Chandler.” Karth says with a tight-lipped smile. The grandmaster’s image scowls.

    “I do not know how you escaped from your cage, vermin. But I will see to it that you don’t escape the hangman’s noose this time! As for the rest of you, know that the Hells always have room for more sinners!”

    With an angry gesture, the grandmaster breaks the connection, and his image dissolves as the Abbot sighs. “Well, that could have gone better. Not unexpected, but better.”

    Karth listens to both Ander’s and Hondshioh’s pleas with growing displeasure, although he remains silent until they finish. And then he simply laughs.

    Theme Music:

    “None of you truly understand, do you? No one ever truly understands, because you have all blinded yourselves to the truth. The corruption in the Church is not the problem, *we* are.”

    Karth smiles and shakes his head.

    “We have all allowed ourselves to turn a blind eye towards the failures of the Church as a whole. You say that you see the corruption, but have you ever stopped to consider how it came to be? It came to be because we allowed, because the *system* allowed it!”

    Karth gestures dismissively at Ander.

    “You think you can simply come down here from on High and clean up this mess, do you? Rally the troops, unite the Church, and bring the corrupt Council to justice, hmm? And what do you propose then, or are you simply going to ride off into the sunrise?”

    Karth grimaces as he clenches his hand into a fist.

    “Can you really tell me that a year from now, or ten, or even a hundred, that you won’t be coming back down here to clean up the next Council? And the next!? I say NO! No, I will not allow this endless cycle to continue!”

    For a moment, just a tinge of regret crosses Karth’s face, although it is quickly overridden with disgust.

    “The Council is not to blame for this. No, the people of the Church are to blame, from the Council down to us, and on down to the weak maggots who are part of the Church simply because it is the only thing they have ever known. And the only way to break the cycle is to break the Church. I am saddened by the steps I had to take to accomplish that goal, but I do not regret them.”

    “Monster. How many defenseless women and children have been killed in your name!” The captain spits, evidently quite aware of the schism Karth had caused all those years ago.

    “Yes! Yes, I have killed women and children! When a forest grows too old and sick, a cleansing fire sweeps through it. Perfectly healthy trees are burned alongside their rotten brothers, but in the end some survive! And after the fire, they thrive, rejuvenating the forest! And that is exactly what must be done with the Church! It is not just the rotten core which must be excised, but all the weak people, the misguided people, and all those who simply don’t care what happens to the Church so long as there is food on the table. The strong will always survive, but unless the parasites are also culled, the corruption shall always return.”

    Karth hand drops down to the hilt of his sword as he defiantly raises his chin to Ander and Hondshioh.

    “It is weakness, and compromise with that weakness that has led the Church to its current point. Tell me, why should I also compromise my values to you, in return for playing a bit role in your efforts to save the Church that I know in my heart will never succeed?”

    Stonefall

    The Surrounding Forest

    The_Snark

    The dream fades quickly from your mind upon waking, although the last image of the man’s – Istomilo’s – face staring up after you with intense longing, stays with you longer than the rest. There is . . . a strange ache in your chest, and you feel slightly flushed as you gather the blanket around yourself a bit tighter, careful not to twist your wings. Still, it was better than waking up cold, even if it did leave you feeling slightly nostalgic. Things had been so much simpler in Daddy’s cruel care, although you still don’t think you could ever return there. He hurt you, and looking back now it was clear that he enjoyed hurting you, far more than he could if he ever truly loved you.

    A sharp nod on the door rouses you from your reminiscence.

    “Marion? (That was Mar’s chosen name now, right? I can’t quite remember. ) It’s Jacob. I brought you some breakfast. I hope I didn’t wake you up, but I figured you had probably slept long enough – the roosters have long since coaxed the sun out. Are you decent?”

    (If you have specific plans for Mar today, such as going to visit Julian or doing something with the kids, or just exploring the village in general, let me know. Otherwise, we can do a montage (MONTAGE! Even Rocky had a montage!) to cover a couple days to the next relevant event. Dream. Something. )

    The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

    Iethloc

    The pirates nod at your instructions, too awed by your presence at this point to argue. When your two companions reveal themselves, however, one pirate gives a hard nudge to the other. In turn, both of them stare at Roger’s appropriated body in interest. Roger notices the attention being paid to him and sighs angrily.

    “I’m the ghost of a dead man trapped in a dead woman’s corpse. Trust me, you don’t want a piece of this.”

    One of the pirates gives a slight shrug, prompting a disgusted look from his companion and a slow shake of his head.

    “Anyway . . . we don’t we take you to see our captain now.” The second pirate states, getting quickly up to his feet and heaving the chest up onto his back with a grunt. One pirate carrying the chest and the other hacking a path back through the overgrown jungle, your little party quickly makes it down to the beach.

    There, just a short distance out to a sea, a badly damaged ship sat in a small natural harbor, the typical black skull flag flying from its mast. Fortunately, you would not have to go out onto the ship to see the captain. Instead, he was perched in a padded chair sitting on the beach while dozens of sweating men swarmed around him, chopping down trees and shaping them into replacements for the ship.

    Your two guides are able to quickly convince the others of your urgent need to speak with the captain, and the strangeness of your party keeps most of the pirates back, but looking on in interest. More than one, like the two you had met in the cave, seemed particularly interested in Roger’s appropriated body. You heard more than one catcall on your way across the beach.

    “Words cannot describe how much I hate you right now, Sohssal.” Roger hissed, warding one pirate who edged too close back with a clenched fist.

    And then you are standing in front of the captain, who in addition to taking a relaxing break on the beach, seemed to be quite drunk judging by his breath.

    “*hick* Who the . . . devil are you?” The gaudy-dressed man asks, squinting up at you. “You be the guardian spirit *hick* o’ this island, or someone?” The captain blinks, and turns to squint at Roger. “Why hallo thar, lass! *hick*”

    Roger seemed torn between leaping for the captain’s throat, and just ending it all by abandoning his appropriated body. Somehow, he managed to will himself not to do either, and the captain turned his bleary-eyed attention back to you.

    On the Road

    The X-Roads Tavern

    WhiteKnight777

    At your introduction, the wizened man smiles a bit and laughs. His assembled toadies don’t share in the laugh, maintaining their even stares at you. They all seem competent knives, but nothing particularly special. Of course, you had encountered a number of creatures that appeared perfectly “normal” – Ross being the latest among them.

    “We have few rules here – Rules are for the world outside these walls.” The man begins. “We do, however, have one hard rule – no names. So, you may call me the Proprietor, for that is what I am.” The man favors you with an amused smile.

    “As for what business I have with – “

    You catch a blur of movement in your peripheral vision as a mountain of muscle approaches, cracking its fist.

    “You cheating bastard! Where’s my MONEY!?” The half-giant snarls, as it swings a beefy fist around to take your head off. With your split second of warning, you manage to tumble out of the path of the blow, but only by rolling off your seat onto the floor. The half-giant swats the chair out of his path as he closes in for another attempt to pummeling your body into paste, but the Proprietor stops him with a hand.

    “What’s going on here, Mountain?”

    There was a smoothness to his voice, as if he had practiced this line many times. Given the half-giant’s . . . upfront nature in dealing with his problems, except for his faulty memory, this could just be because he was always greeting newcomers with demands for money. Shaking in anger, the half-giant jabs a finger down at you.

    “This guy stole my money! He owes me, and I want it now!”

    The half-giant nods to the floor visible over the side of the balcony, and the sand-filled but empty pit standing in one corner.

    “I want it out of his hide!”

    “Hmmm . . . very well then. Challenge accepted.” The Proprietor turns to you. “We prefer to settle our disputes quickly and openly here, while allowing for a little sport. Mountain here believes you have cheated him out of some money, and the only way to prove him wrong is to settle matters in the Pit. Like the rest of this place, there are only a few rules while in the Pit.”

    The man ticks these rules off on his fingers.

    “Fights are settled personally between the injured parties. Only two people to a fight. No unfair magic. No weapons of any kind – bare knuckles only. And that’s it – anything else goes.”

    Bending down, Mountain reaches out to you, attempting to get a grip on the front of your shirt.

    “Come on, thief. Mountain will show you what happens to those who steal!”

    There was definitely something dirty going on here – you could smell a con. Likely some sort of new guy hazing – sic the angry half-giant on him to beat the man senseless, and then pickpocket his battered body. You had encountered a few of these schemes in your travels, although usually not with quite this much build-up. Yet what choice did you have? The Proprietor undoubtedly wouldn’t like you calling him on this, which could very well lead to a more bloody confrontation than just brawling with this slab of hardened meat.

    The Gastly Truth

    Pwenet

    As you are discussing plans of rebellion against the Baron, your master, you receive a new transmission from Fury. The contents are surprising.

    Tell Korram that time grows short. The intention was for him to hide in the container and bide his time, but circumstances have conspired to make that ill-advised. He is to take a uniform from the spares in Container 224 now and a communication crystal from Container 15. I will give him direct him to his daughter once this is done. Tell him to hurry.

    No sooner have you received this transmission but another, more standardized message arrives. The Baroness Isabella has summoned you. You are to meet with her in her private quarters. No reason is given for the summons, although given her previous displeasure with you it seems likely that another, more thorough tongue lashing is on the agenda.

    Dorizzit

    This day was just full of surprises, both unpleasant and simply mystifying. It seems a wide array of strange and unexpected creatures were willing to help you escape, although with certain strings attached. There were always strings attached, new oaths you had to take and try to fulfill. You bitterly wondered what body part you would end up sacrificing to fulfill Incom’s(?) wish to see Sara free of the Baron’s influence. It seemed likely that an answer would be forthcoming, once the two of you had worked out the exact details. You just hoped your daughter would still be in one piece by the time you got to her – the Baron really didn’t have much reason to keep her alive except out of sadistic spite.

    Lonna

    Your dreams are dark and terrible, a constantly shifting blur of movement, pain, and terror. Eventually, your subconscious exhausts itself, and leaves you with one last, considerably more pleasant dream. Your cell door opens, revealing a blood-splattered, grinning Wulfric who swiftly releases you and escorts you off the Ghastly Truth. Then, with the sudden jumping of dreams that seem to make perfect sense while they play out, you are suddenly in the midst of a grand party. The Countess is there, smiling happily for once as she applauds you and Wulfric, who are just starting to step out onto a cleared spot on the ballroom. The dream fades with you and Wulfric dancing peacefully.

    The screech of the massive cell door beginning to open jars you out of your hazy half-sleep that you lingered in after emerging from that last dream. For a moment, you actually dare to hope that somehow, impossibly, your dream was actually coming true. But reality is far much crueler than dreams, and instead you find the person you *least* wanted to see standing there with the warden. Cheran grins savagely as he steps into the room and makes a point of looking around.

    “Not bad – a little too drab for my tastes though. We really should look into installing a torture chamber in here.”

    “I know. The ones at Ironheart were just exquisite.” The warden said with a reminiscent sigh as he handed a set of keys off to Cheran. Cheran eyes finally settle on you as he walks over, making a point to menacingly take his time.

    “So here you are, surprisingly intact and whole.” Cheran looks back at the Warden. “I would have thought someone would have been in to have a little fun by now.”

    “Sir Nephilium was in here awhile ago, actually. He made it a point to mention that she was dangerous and should be left alone.”

    Cheran actually laughed at that, reaching over to flick your nose none too gently.

    “This little bitch can be a handful alright. But with that pretty little collar on I wouldn’t worry so much. Still, I have to wonder – what was my brother doing down here with you, my little whore? Knowing him, I would guess he was looking for a game of chess rather than some late-night company.”

    Cheran makes a face and rasps, “Rah! The crazy man forgets what to do with a woman!” Laughing, Cheran shakes his head, but he swiftly becomes focused again, glaring at you. “But I do. For whatever reason, Father still wants you alive for the moment, but he never said anything about remaining whole. So I think it’s time for a little fun.”

    Reaching up, Cheran swiftly releases the manacles that have been holding your arms over your head. He then smoothly steps back, dropping a long slender dagger at your feet as he does so.

    “You’re just a woman without your fancy voodoo bull****, so I thought I would make things a little more even than I do with the angels. I’m going to count to five. You had better be ready to defend yourself by then.”

    While Cheran grins at you and settles into a lazy fighting stance, the Warden steps back out into the hallway and closes the cell door behind him. You were now locked in the cell alone with Cheran, free but still trapped, with only an insignificant weapon lying at your feet. Could this day really get much worse? It probably was about to.

    The Perist Residence

    Kasanip

    (We can sort of gloss over the conversation, although certainly if you have specific things you want to discuss with Carlain, we can cover those. )

    Sonier manages a weak smile at your words. “Thank you. All of you. The coming days are likely to be . . . difficult. But I am glad to see that there are still some willing to stand against the darkness.”

    While Berrick helps his old friend find a more comfortable seat in your makeshift campsite and Cerise continues to try and make Ayse comfortable, you and Carlain begin setting up camp. The boy does as he is told, although there is still that quiet distance between you that you had noticed before. This was a rather recent development in your relationship, although it had been a few years since you had last spent any time with Carlain.

    He seemed . . . to almost resent you, although that might be merely his teenaged emotions causing him to resent everything. You could dimly remember feeling similar for a time during your own formative years, particularly while dealing with learning how to use the Phantasmal Descrying Eye.

    In any event, he followed your instructions well enough, and even came up with the good idea to use some of the rubble as a wind break. It is just beginning to grow dark when a new complication arises. The sudden displacement of air near the campsite is the only warning you receive of a teleportation spell before two figures are standing in your midst.

    Fortunately, the two figures prove not to be hostile, and upon removing their cowls reveal themselves to be your father (I don’t remember if we gave him an actual name yet) and Cerise’s uncle Duncan. Which was certainly a surprise, both from a familial angle and the fact that your father was head of the Canticle of Autumn and Duncan was Third in the Canticle of Summer.

    “Hey hey! It’s your uncle!” Duncan began, swiftly moving to give Cerise a hug and offer his hand to Carlain. The boy still looked a bit dour, but was certainly less hesitant to shake his uncle’s hand than he had been in his dealings with everyone else.

    Your father is considerably more focused, as he usually was.

    “We need to talk.” He says to you, allowing his stony expression to slip into a worried look for just a moment. “Something has happened.”

    “I bet you could guess that from the fact that we’re here, together.” Duncan chimed in with a smile, moving back to stand beside your father as he sighed.

    “One of the winter oracles just sensed a massive spike in magical energy, which we believe to be fiendish in nature. We have lost all contact with our member in the small town of Dark Spring, and initial reports seem to indicate that the town has been razed to the ground. We believe warlocks to be involved.”

    “I would think the name of the town would be a dead giveaway warlocks are involved? Dark Spring? Oh, how clichéd.” Duncan added, rolling his eyes, although his expression turned serious again as your father continued.

    “We have no idea what they did or why. If there are warlocks are involved, however, the kingdom could be in grave danger. You are our best paranormal investigator, daughter, and so I’ve come here to ask if you would be willing to help.”

    “I told him you were already on a case here, but he insisted we should rely on your talents.” Duncan said, a note of discontent creeping into his voice. Like Carlain, he evidently didn’t like to lose arguments. “Considering there’s warlocks involved, I suppose it’s not a terrible decision.”

    Warlocks. A name given to those who consorted with demons/devils, and made dark pacts with them in order to gain power. They had been all but wiped out by the Canticles in its numerous witch hunts over the years, but groups of them always sprouted back up. The lure of incredible power was simply too great for some mortal men, and the cost of trading their soul and the souls of others away too low a cost.

    “Will you help with this investigation?” Your father pressed, his eyes boring into you.

    The Capital

    Tackyhillbillu

    The mocking laughter of the guards confirmed that they had bought your ruse, which was another weight off your mind. And thanks to the powder you had force-fed them, none of the unfortunate guards would be able to counter your set up. With any luck, trying to sort this out would pull more guards away from their posts, and it would take them hours to figure it out. If Lady Luck continued to smile on you, you would be long gone by then.

    No one pays any mind to you as you walk right in the front door and down the halls of the Impound Yard’s Central Office. And naturally, why would they with you in your appropriated uniform? Still, some officer could have wondered what a lone guard was doing wandering around the place, and why said guard didn’t seem to know where he was going.

    Still, you eventually manage to find your way to the records room, which for all its importance to the Yard was merely a room filled with dusty, leather-bound books. All of the books were locked away behind iron grates, but the keys were close at hand, hanging on a peg by the door. Evidently efficiency in checking entries was more important than security, given there wasn’t even any one else currently in the room.

    It took another few minutes to locate the position of the logbook for the current week amongst all the rows, and to retrieve the key for the grate. Once found, however, you quickly pull the book out and deposit it on the nearby desk.

    Acutely aware of how easily it would be for someone to walk in on you right now, your mind begins to formulate an explanation that would last at least long enough for you to close to within striking distance. Eventually, you find the entry for the confiscated shipment. It is disturbing, to say the least.

    – Ten iron-bound wooden barrels, obtained during raid on Guild safehouse. Slight sloshing sound can be heard coming from each – presumed liquid inside. One barrel temporarily cracked open to investigate contents. Thick red liquid found inside – smells somewhat like blood but with another, unidentified odor mixed in. No seal of origin found on any of the barrels. All ten barrels stored in Shed E under lock and key until alchemical analysis can be conducted.

    “Hi there.” A soft voice calls from behind you. “I was wondering if you could help me look up an entry from today’s logbook. Apparently, somebody confiscated a noble’s crate of Donovale by accident.”

    Turning, you see a guard standing in the doorway, already walking quietly over to you. At the sight of him, alarm bells begin ringing in your head. Something about the way he walked – it was a very distinct stride, formed after constant training to develop complete control over every muscle. The stride of a Hand. That, and the fact that his uniform was a little too small for him – there was about an inch between the hem of his cuffs and his wrists.

    By the time your brain is able to process this information, the man is halfway across the room. A knife appears in his hand, and then it is flying through the air at you in slow motion.

    A Not-So Ordinary Basement

    OverWilliam

    For a moment, Melcara’s eyes meet your own. Within them you can see gratitude for your sympathy, but also a mixture of anger, disgust, and sorrow. It was difficult to tell which emotion was currently the dominant one. Then Limier’s reply draws your attention away from the fallen angel’s face.

    “It’s true I could kill you all if I wished. I do not – nobody has paid me for your lives. And you have already proven yourself quite useful in keeping Prince Teareal alive.”

    “Uh – what about me?” Jim asks from his corner. Limier briefly looks over at him disdainfully, and then focuses back on you.

    “I care not a whit about you. Stay out of my way.”

    It’s at this point that whatever else Limier was going to say is interrupted by Adamè’s awakening.

    “Teareal . . . Tare . . .” She groans as Teareal crawls swiftly over to her side. “I don’t feel so – BLARGH!!!!” The prince’s betrothed concludes as she spews a stream of blood onto Teareal’s face.

    Limier seems to know immediately what’s going on, as she takes a few steps back towards the stairs leading up while muttering, “Well that certainly took long enough.”

    “What did you do?” Melcara hissed, coming out of her own daze now to begin striding after the assassin. Limier’s pride was thickly laced into her words now.

    “My job. I was only ever to escort Prince Teareal back. The Baron was quite clear with what was to happen to his betrothed, but he left the gruesome details up to me so long as it was . . . oh, how did he put it? “Appropriately agonizing”. So I gave her a taste of my own concoction, a very slow poison that would turn her insides into jelly. I’m amazed that she’s lasted this long – behold the power of true love, I guess – but she doesn’t have much longer now that she’s in the final stages.”

    Although he didn’t understand the words, it was clear that Teareal understood their meaning. Only Adamè’s quiet sob of pain kept the elf prince from leaping to his feet. Instead he remained down on the floor, easing Adamè’s head down onto his lap.

    “You will fix this.” Melcara demanded, continuing to advance on the assassin as she danced back to the foot of the stairs.

    “I probably could – there is an antidote afterall. But I have no wish to, and you’ll have to work quickly if you want to get it to her in time. Time you won’t have if you chase after me. I guess this is good-bye then, Tare. Do try to see that Teareal eventually makes it back to his people.”

    As the fallen angel lunges over the remaining distance, Limier throws the lightstick away into a corner, plunging the room into darkness. You hear a knife being drawn, followed by a high-pitched scream, and then someone lightly running up the steps. A minute later, the lightstick returns, as Jim finally proves useful by retrieving it.

    The light casts a sickly pallor over the room now, and there seems to be a vaguely sinister quality to it. The two elves are still where they were moments before, Teareal completely absorbed in trying to comfort Adamè. Melcara is lying on the bottom step, still alive but with one hand pressed against a bleeding side. The paleness of her skin and shuddering movements with each breath suggest Limier’s knife had been poisoned. Considering the fallen angel’s wounds from your escape can already fully healed, it would have had to be a particularly nasty poison as well.

    The Northern Forest

    Gorgondantess

    At your question, Pete points uncertainly in one direction – south, evidently. Forming wings and unfurling them, you set off immediately, leaving the human behind. He would have only slowed you down anyway.

    Getting to where you were going solely under your own power would have been tiring, and so you ride the air currents, allowing them to carry you along when they could. You kept to a solidly southern direction, not veering off to one side or another even when the wind attempts to push you off-course.

    Eventually, the sights of a small village come into view, a cluster of buildings set into a small clearing in the middle of the forest. It is similar to the village you once called home, although much larger and with a mixture of stone and wooden buildings. Near the center stands a large, ornate stone building that you can only assume is a temple. A temple dedicated to Athelion and Miriam, perhaps? It might be a good idea to start you hunt here.

    (You can approach the village however you wish, although obviously the townspeople are going to freak out at Maria’s current appearance. Of course, if you’re just going to go down there and burn the place to the ground, what the people think of you isn’t really going to matter, is it? )
    Last edited by Inspectre; 2010-01-17 at 05:44 PM.
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

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  30. - Top - End - #540
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Tackyhillbillu's Avatar

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    Apr 2009

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Argan was still considering what the hell it meant that the "Ink" was red, and looked and smelled like blood, with something else mixed in. He was getting the feeling that he was getting mixed up in something that was out of his league. He had killed Wizards, Socerers, and their type, and could again if he needed to. But he didn't understand them, and the forces they worked with, beyond what was needed. But this whole business suggested that something more was going on, and Magic was mixed up in it, less he missed his guess.

    That just raises more questions...

    The voice spun Argan around. The flicker of emotions that passed over his face, his well trained mind evaluating the treat almost instantly. Even so, it was almost to slow. As it was, he was saved by one fact and one fact alone. He was holding a book. He swiftly brought the book up, the blow of the Knife connecting with the thick leather cover almost knocking the book out of his hands. The next instant, he threw the book, aiming for the Hand generally, not taking the time to place it any place particuraly. He wouldn't be able to hit the Hand. The Hand would be ready. But Argan was as swift as him. He dove left, his hand diving for his belt, pulling free one of the Knives there with only a seconds delay, caused by the Guard Uniform being ontop of his clothes. He wasn't playing. This Knife was one of his most deadly, coated in a poison that dulled the Sheen of the Blade. As far as he knew, the touch of the blade was death. It

    That requires it touch him however.

    Argan threw the blade, aiming at the Man's Torso. Poisoned Knives had several advantages. The one he was concerned with at the moment was the fact that he wouldn't have to aim for a vital point.

    However, he isn't likely to be holding back either, and he'll be using poison as well.

    "I'd heard the Hand's had declined in quality, but I'd never dreamed they'd fallen this far. That was pathetic."

    Argan knew there wasn't much of a point hiding his identity. He'd kill the Hand, or the Hand would kill or incapacitate him. The Hand had to recognize Argan's style, and if he hadn't been hunting Argan from the beginning, he knew at least that Argan had formerly been part of the order. Argan threw himself backwards and up, sending another poisoned Knife flying at the man, his hands blurring with the motion, keeping moving.

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