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  1. - Top - End - #541
    Titan in the Playground
     
    Archpaladin Zousha's Avatar

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    Quote Originally Posted by Inspectre View Post
    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?”
    Hondshioh

    The young giantblood feels his temper rising. He could see that everything Ander had said about Karth was true. He resists the urge to draw his own sword, and speaks. He tries to keep his voice as calm and measured as possible.

    "And when the Church is gone, what will be left? Who will be left? The teachings of Miriam and Athelion are a cold thing when there are none alive to appreciate them. What will the people turn to for hope in the dark times? To learn right from wrong? To become closer to the gods that made this world? The Church has weathered bad times before and has recovered. It is a cycle, yes, but while evil has always risen in the church, good has always risen to meet it and stop it from corrupting the whole. Do you really think you can just destroy the church and it will make it all better? Think about what you're saying. No one man is perfect, Karth. When your crusade is complete, will you fall on your sword to finish the job? Do you plan on making your own church to replace it?"
    "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."

  2. - Top - End - #542
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    Gorgondantess's Avatar

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    It flies above the area for a time, high enough in the air that it wouldn't be noticed by those below. It examines the temple, eyes narrowed. That must be it.
    Taking on the movements of a falcon, she narrows her form, making it completely aerodynamic, and diving down from above to the roof, at the last minute pulling up, and landing on her feet with a crash, shaking the foundations of the building, all in a second. She raises her stony fist to strike through the roof and gain entry... then thinks better of it.
    They use doors. There can be no escape.
    Leaping up and landing near the large double doors, it pulls its fist back, and stands still a moment, gathering energy. The air around it grows cold, and the air stills.
    Then, suddenly, all at once, the fist crashes into the structure before it, slamming one of the doors back and leaving a long split in the wood, while the other flies off its hinges, shattered to pieces.
    Any inside who come near it are killed, as it scans the room for any dark assassins, ready for the accursed stone knives, the thorns, the anathema.
    Marceline Abadeer by Gnomish Wanderer

  3. - Top - End - #543
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    WhiteKnight777's Avatar

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    Umber

    Umber gave the hulking meat-mountain a slow, cool, deliberate look as he stood, lightly brushing himself off from the tumble he'd had to take to avoid being trampled by the great hulking oaf. He looked at the Proprietor and smiled a smile that never quite reached his eyes. "Can I bet on myself?" He quipped, cracking his knuckles and giving the Mountain another speculative look. "And since I'm sure the fact that I've been in this charming little establishment for less than five minutes, and haven't even been near this gentleman during that time is going to do absolutely nothing to mitigate the situation, let's just get this over with, shall we?"

    He looked around the place once more. Frankly, under ordinary circumstances he'd be perfectly happy to burn this entire place to cinders and ash - a quick burst of flame into wherever they stored the booze, perhaps a vicious fire impling or two let loose, and it's be up like a stack of tinder. But he had Mellita to consider, and the irritating truth was that they needed a place to stay for the night. So he supposed he'd have to play along.

    He shrugged off his traveling cloak and moved to the edge of the pit, leaping down. The relatively confined quarters would be something of an advantage for the meat-beast, but Umber wasn't particularly concerned. He'd studied a half-dozen schools of barehanded fighting in his long centuries, and he doubted the Mountain was anything more than a talented ameteur by comparison. He leaned down, picking up a handful of sand and letting it run between his fingers to get a feel for the consistency of the footing, surreptitiously slipping some of it up his sleeve. Standing, he turned, spat onto the sand, and cracked his neck, his face set in its usual confident smirk.

    "Let's make this quick. I've been riding all day and I need a drink." He said, sounding more bored than anything.

  4. - Top - End - #544
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Ander Windrivver

    Ander can only shake his head in exasperation at Karth's speech.

    An unfortunate, but not unexpected, reaction. While you are correct about it being people first and foremost who have allowed the Church to become so corrupted, your methods are wrong. I've had to do a lot of killing in my time, Karth. More killing than you or anyone else in this room could ever imagine but never once have I had to kill an innocent person to achieve my goals.

    The blood of innocents will not be the mortar that holds a new Church together. I hoped that we could convince you of that. Karth Chemonte, your zealotry has overcome your sense. Since you will not join us, I must count you amongst our enemies and by the authority entrusted to me by Miriam the Valkyrie and Athelion the Lightbringer, I condemn you to death. May the gods have mercy on your soul.


    With these last words, Ander unleashes Sin-Eater with a speed born of experience and charges toward Karth, plunging the sword into his chest.
    Quote Originally Posted by PhoeKun View Post
    Baerdog: super genius.

  5. - Top - End - #545
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Kasanip's Avatar

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    Isera Harvent
    *Former* Perist Residence

    (ooc: for Isera's father, I'm thinking "Jean" )

    Carlain's response hadn't been fulfilling of Isera's highest optimisms, but she was quite the realist. Actually, the boy's cooler demeanor and distance reminded her a lot of herself when she had been roughly his age... and so she didn't find it all too strange, though it did make her wonder if something else had been going on that upset the boy. Sometime she would talk to Cerise about it, Isera vowed. As soon as they stopped getting interrupted by business.

    The gust of wind had already brought Isera to rise into an unsteady crouch, though she stopped herself and rose to her feet slowly with a mustered coolness as the two figures pulled down their hoods. The men before her caused her to raise her eyebrows in surprise though she slipped back into a more rigid expression as she clenched her teeth with a sealed mouth.

    What was HE doing here?
    Isera's father, the head of the Canticle of Autumn - the man who hadn't been bothered to see his daughter in five years, and hadn't really given a care for some time before that - was now standing before her. Oh the ironies and stories that could be told! A happy reunion at last! But Isera found that humor bitter and grating, and it did not sit in her stomach well.

    He looked older now. No surprise - she was sure she did in his eyes. The worry that had briefly come to his face though, annoyed her. It was the kind of worry he always had about some mission of extreme importance - the kind of thing he always had focused on.

    Isera met her father's gaze openly with both of her eyes. And she held it for a minute, a myriad of different things she could say running through her mind. She wanted to be annoyed with his use of 'daughter' only when it was serving the ends of the Canticle. She wanted to be annoyed that he was sending his 'daughter' into certain danger for the sake of his job. But she couldn't begrudge him that. That's the way things had been for some time.
    Maybe he would be discomforted by the sight of his daughter covered in bloody runes painted on her by a Fey possessing a corpse in order to possess her. Maybe that would inspire some sort of worry or concern over her safety.

    She toyed with the idea of just not saying anything, but no...that was just childishly bitter. The last time she had seen her father she would have done something like that, but Isera was an adult now.

    A bitterly wry smile came to her face, and she rose her arms up in a shrug of mock disbelief.
    "Ah, Warlocks now is it? First undead, then Fey, then a breach in the spiritual boundary, and now demons." She forced a laugh.
    "Sure, why not? It's not like we can add anything more on top of the work cut out for me, right?"
    Dropping the sarcasm, she stuffed her hands back into her pockets and assumed a more cool, 'professional' demeanor. Like a pond that had been disturbed, and was now returning to it's smooth beginning.
    "Alright. So what do you want me to do? Investigate Dark Spring? Try to find the lost contact? Something of the both?"
    Last edited by Kasanip; 2010-01-18 at 06:33 AM.
    Kasanip's Sketchbook 2 Thread
    It is difficult to speak English, please excuse mistakes kindly m(_ _)m

  6. - Top - End - #546
    Orc in the Playground
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    Sohssal

    Sohssal followed the two pirates to the beach, mostly silent. He was not particularly impressed when he saw the ship, but then again pirates are rarely the ones with luxurious galleys. He was mildly amused by the pirate's catcalls at Roger in his (her?) stolen body. He thought about threatening the pirates to stop, but then he decided they might be more cooperative if they kept desiring what they would never get. He focused on the captain as he came into view.

    "I'm...sort of a guardian spirit. This is my island, to which I have recently returned. And now there are pirates all over my island. Uninvited pirates. This is nowhere near the first time something like this is happened, and time has not sweetened my opinion on intruders," he explained. Sohssal would've included more threats, but he doubted they'd work as well against a drunk man.

  7. - Top - End - #547
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    OverWilliam's Avatar

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    ~Tare

    "NO!!" Tare managed to scream as soon as the light disappeared, but it made no difference. He could only listen in horrified silence as something happened right in front of him, something horrible, and that he could do nothing to prevent. When the light returned, Tare's heart got stuck in his throat at the scene that unfolded sickeningly in front of him. "Oh, no... oh no, no, no..." He muttered pathetically, his psychological soundness straining to somehow accommodate this newest nightmare without breaking under the pressure. As it happened he did need a few moments of time, but started recovering remarkably quickly, all things considered, and began hobbling over to the stairwell. "Melcara... Melcara... What have I done..." Once he managed to drag his way over to the collapsed fallen angel, the thrice-overwhelmed street thief got caught between wanting to do anything to help the angel and not wanting to touch her for fear of making it worse. This came out in a fitful hovering for a few seconds before finally putting a hand against her shoulder. Her skin was cold. "Melcara, help me... What should I do to help you, Melcara? I don't know what to do..."
    Deo Soli Sit Semper Gloria

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    Quote Originally Posted by Innis Cabal View Post
    Its offical. Overwilliam is Duke Devlin.

  8. - Top - End - #548
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    Lonna's Avatar

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    Pyrene

    So busy was she trying to shift her focus from pleasant dream to very unpleasant reality, Pyrene didn't pause to wonder why Wulfric was starring as the hero in her dream. Instead, she did her best to absorb as much information about her tormentor as she could. She already knew Nephilium did not care for his (elder?) brother, and Cheran's comments made it clear there was no love lost in the other direction either. Hoping to yank his chain as he and Larry enjoyed a laugh at Nephilium's expense, Pyrene muttered, just loud enough to be heard, "The blind man scoffs at the beauty of the rainbow."

    A moment later she was wondering if taunting him had really been a wise choice, as she found herself facing a half-angel who boasted of beating full-blooded angels and clearly intended to wipe the floor with her. Without taking her eyes off Cheran she crouched to retrieve the dagger, ready to roll out of the way if he tried anything. The ceiling is high enough that he could fly out of the way if I lunge at him thoughtlessly, but he can't avoid me completely - I'd still be able to reach his feet at least, and maybe drag him down that way. When I burned him earlier (yesterday?) he healed right away, and he won't let me get in a fatal blow, even assuming a normal wound could kill him. His feathers didn't heal though - that makes his wings my best target.

    Strategy decided, Pyrene stood loosely, casually watching Cheran's weight shift as he counted, clearly savoring the calm before his presumed whirlwind victory. He was underestimating her - good. Silently she counted with him, knowing he would move instantly. 3... 4.... 5!

    Cheran lunged, and she rolled under his arm, silently cursing the heavy skirts that tried to wrap around her legs as she came up and pivoted to face his temporarily exposed back. Gripping the knife firmly in her mouth, Pyrene leapt forward, using both hands to pull herself onto Cheran's back by tugging on his long primary feathers, pleased when many of them pulled free in the process. Cheran staggered with the sudden weight, and Pyrene took advantage of the movement to shift the knife to her right hand and swing her arm around his neck. An observer might have thought she was trying inexpertly to cut his throat, but in reality she was merely using her leverage to keep him off balance as long as possible while she scraped the knife against one of the runes on her collar. It was impossible to tell how effective the blow was at defacing the collar, and now Cheran was recovering, wings beating strongly despite the missing feathers as he tried to crush her against the ceiling.

    At the last possible moment Pyrene threw her weight sideways, grabbing (and by extention removing) two handfuls of feathers on his right side to slow her fall and force his left wing swiftly and painfully into the ceiling. The double shock to his wings sent Cheran tumbling out of the air, though he managed to land safely in a crouch. Meanwhile, Pyrene backed up to the nearest wall (the one she had been shackled to, opposite the door) and used both hands to press the knife against the skin over her jugular. "You need me alive for now, correct?" she asked, the implied threat clear. "If you leave now, I promise not to do anything rash."
    I started a blog!
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    Thanks to Kasanip for the great avatar of Pyrene!
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  9. - Top - End - #549
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    OldWizardGuy

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    Incom Morgan – Man of Iron

    Listening to the orders of the Fury Incom is surprised to say the least. Something was clearly up regarding this man and the Fury, a connection that also drove the wedge of betrayal against the Baron. But what was the truth behind the Fury actions?

    ”Korram, time grows short. Head to container 224 and get a uniform from there. From there proceed to container 15 for a…..”

    One new message
    A message that if it still had a spine it would be shivering out of terror, ecstasy and barely contained rage. A private summons with the Baroness Isabella. Eyes reddening as rage, deep throbbing rage which rushes through his mind and soul. Rage of the imprisonment, rage of the torture, rage of the raping of his mind and soul, rage of his death! Eyes reddening and even the thrusters changing their color to spark with red the rage ripples through him.

    ”...communications crystal. If you attempt to betray me I will rip off your remaining arm, and use it to scoop out your eyeballs which will be force-fed to your daughter before I PERSONALLY toss her into a small room with prisoners who are there for their lusts on unwilling partners. Trust me, I know about those types. Do NOT FAIL MEATBAG!”

    Course Projected
    Firing the thrusters Incom shoots up through an opening up into another level of the cargo bay. Landing hard on one of the catwalks it storms towards the closest hatch. With each step it tries to calm himself, for it would not be seemly, let alone inconspicuous to be seen raging through the corridors. Entertaining for the meatsacks as they died yes, for humans were such fragile things. To break them, to bend them, to tear them apart into bloody piles and to feed them to the zombies and gutter zombies. Even Korram, to fry his heart with his beams, to rip good arm off and beat him to death it with. Sara.

    Gasping Incom staggers and nearly falls. Catching himself he wonders why he was gasping. A glimpse of reflection shows the fading of the red rage, replaced by a warm blue which calms him, makes him feel, almost sane. Close enough for his encounter.
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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...

  10. - Top - End - #550
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Korram Alstan

    Korram's face changes little as Incom becomes violent and threatening. He shrugs once the GHAST finishes his little speech and doesn't turn away until it is out of sight. Then he sighs pessimistically. One of these days, something is going to go right for him.
    Sure.
    And maybe Azguloth will decide to open an orphanage. Korram continues grumbling mentally, not daring to make any noise as he follows the instructions relayed to him, first acquiring a guard uniform from container 224. He does his best to pin the empty arm up over the stump in military style, and manages a half-decent result. Then he moves to container 15 and digs out a communications crystal, or what he thinks is one.
    Now what?
    He scratches irritably at the stump of his arm. It was hurting, a phantom pain of some sort. Felt like it was burning.
    Last edited by Dorizzit; 2010-01-22 at 06:14 PM.
    Truly awesome Ark Tamaeus avatar by Bryn. Full size version here.

  11. - Top - End - #551
    Troll in the Playground
     
    Inspectre's Avatar

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    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Dawn’s Hope - Monastery

    Baerdog7/Archpaladin Zousha

    Karth frowns at Hondshioh.

    “And who made the Church in the first place? Someone at some point in the distant past must have raised the first banner in the Valkyrie’s and Lightbringer’s names. Why cannot that happen again? And after I have ensured, truly ensured, that the new Church will not repeat the same mistakes of the old, perhaps I will fall on my own sword! I am an instrument of change and destruction! A raging tempest cannot build a house, it can only tear it down to the foundation to allow a new building to be erected out of the ruin of the old.”

    At Ander’s condemnation, Karth’s frown turns into a sneer.

    “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard those very words uttered by the Council’s lapdogs!?”

    His hand already on his blade, Karth draws the weapon in a flash, bringing it up and around to parry Ander’s attack. So powerful is the former lord general’s charge, however, that the blow is not deflected fully, instead sliding into the crook of Karth’s off arm, drawing a thin trickle of blood where Sin-eater slid along the grooves formed by the armor’s joint.

    Blades locked together, the two former servants of the Church stand straining against each other, their faces inches apart. Despite the injury, Karth still does not seem particularly perturbed, although the strain from the contest of strength is evident in his voice.

    “Before I was Exarch, I was Lord General. The last Lord General to preside over the Crusade, and lead the Church’s forces in disarray and defeat back home. You think you know slaughter, Ander? You should have been there as the last surviving paladins stumbled through the portals, pressed on all sides by the fiends who had become emboldened by years of stalemate and months of slow retreat! And for this travesty, I was made an Exarch of the Church. Every single soul who had ever died in the Crusade, and become irrevocably damned as a result, did so for nothing!”

    Finding strength in his words, Karth put his shoulder into it, shoving Ander a good several paces back.

    “And for that, our Gods can go to Hell! And you can all burn!!”

    Karth makes a gesture, and suddenly the room is on fire. Perhaps not surprisingly, the flames erupt out of thin air in a rough circle around Karth and his men – none of them are touched.

    “Taste the purifying flame!” Karth shouts as he turns towards the doorway and gestures again, putting out the flames in a narrow path between him and the door. With only a handful of still burning (and obviously, screaming) paladins standing in the way, Karth’s tide of bodyguards swiftly sweeps them aside.

    The first two to reach the door pull it open without stopping, crashing into the untouched paladins on the other side. Effortlessly, Karth sends another blast of fire roiling out into the hallway, leaving his men untouched but definitely making it difficult for the paladins just outside the room to fight back. As Karth’s men begin to make headway out into the hallway, Karth turns back to Ander, shaking his head.

    “In another time, we could have been friends. But now, you are simply another obstacle standing in my way. What must be done, will be done. And from the ashes shall arise our salvation.”

    And with that, Karth turns and begins walking away, heading towards the hallway where the rest of his bodyguard waited.

    (As a note, this isn’t some sort of magical paralyzing fire – Ander and Hondshioh can still act. Of course, you are still both on fire, and surrounded by intense heat, so you’re likely a little distracted. Most of the other paladins, including the Abbot, are doing even worse, although the flames seem to be slowly dying down now that Karth is focused more on the fight out in the hallway.)

    The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

    Iethloc

    A look of understanding enters the captain’s bleary eyes.

    “Oh, aye! Well, uh, we don’t have any virgins to offer you in appeasement, I’m afraid.”

    There was a loud chorus of guffaws and “ayes!” from the crowd of pirates.

    “Except Rubert, our cabin boy.”

    Another loud chorus of laughs, along with a loud “HEY!” from near the back of the assembled pirates.

    “But . . . we have gold. Fine silks, a few paintings. Oh, and rum!”

    There was a loud chorus of boos from the pirates at this point – evidently, the captain could make them work out in the hot sun while he “supervised”, but take away their rum and he risked a mutiny. Typical pirates.

    “But anyway . . . you see the ship?” The captain says, finally seeming to sober up a little as he jerks a thumb back at his damaged pride and joy.

    “We can’t go nowhere till we repair it. Give us another two days, and we’ll be happily out of your hair. If you want, we could stay close to the ship during that time. Seems your island is a little low on natives, and their fine native lasses!”

    Another loud chorus of guffaws from the pirates. Evidently, they either liked raiding small settlements or had been lucky enough to survive several storms/ship battles that required them to find somewhere to set anchor for awhile. Giving the crew plenty of time to go out and find new people to bother until the ship was done and they could sail off. You aren’t a bunch of primitive men in grass skirts, however, and if they messed with you they would regret it. For the short time they had left to live, anyway.

    On the Road

    The X-Roads Tavern

    WhiteKnight777

    The Proprietor allowed himself a weasely smile as he shook at his head at your offer to make bets on yourself. Evidently, despite this likely being the standard way they greeted unfortunate travelers passing through, apparently the Proprietor was at least savvy enough to know it wouldn’t work 100% of the time. Or perhaps he was simply aware that those as confident as you were in this sort of situation likely weren’t just making sounds with their mouth.

    In any event, you leap down to the sand pit, drawing a few appreciative murmurs from the crowd who had largely stopped what they were doing to watch the drama upstairs play out. For his part, Mountain was considerably more conservative, choosing to slowly lumber down the stairs and giving you time to test the Arena. The sand was fairly coarse, and formed a relatively thin layer – about two or three inches down it was just compacted dirt. Here and there you could see darker spots of sand, likely the remains of previous blood sport events – did they even use this pit for anything other than to welcome newcomers by having them fist fight a half-giant?

    Cracking his knuckles as he made his way through the crowd that was standing to gather around the pit itself, Mountain steps up to the edge of the pit.

    “Heh. Mountain gonna pound on you good.” He says, grinning. Evidently, conversation really wasn’t his strong point. Fighting, however, might very well be, as he charges forward, seeking to shoulder-barge you out of the Pit altogether and into the wall. Then again, this brute likely had only ever had to thump on idle travelers and fat merchants. Certainly nothing resembling a Lord of Blood. And you were about to give him a really, really bad start to his morning.

    The Gastly Truth

    Pwenet

    Rage cooling as quickly as it had flared up, you stalk through the corridors up to the Baroness’s quarters. The trip is fairly long, as the living quarters are a considerable distance away from the cargo bays. On your way up, you pass by numerous crewmembers and other GHASTs, all going about their own assigned tasks.

    As you entered the private living quarters of the Baron’s family, security considerably tightened along with the improvement of the environs. Instead of the dark iron walls of the airship’s bulkheads, here there was wooden paneling and soft carpeting.

    Surprisingly, there were much fewer guards up here than you believed was customary. In fact, there were no guards at all present at the Baroness’s doors. Usually, the wealth of information now residing in your brain told you, there were two GHASTs standing guard at all times, even when the Baroness was not present.

    Arriving at the door itself, you knew your presence would be announced to whoever was within automatically. After a few moments, you hear a voice cheerily call, “Come in!”

    Under the direction of whoever was inside, the door slides open allowing you entry. Stepping inside, you look around to see a richly appointed living room, complete with several padded couches and chairs. On the table next to one of the chairs you take note of two wine bottles, both of which are Donovale 227 and open. Despite the dark-tinned glass, you can see that one bottle has been completely emptied, and the other is currently about half-full.

    From the next room, the Baroness calls, “Apologies for the wait! I’m sure you were in the middle of some menial task assigned by my husband.”

    A moment later, and Isabella appears in the doorway leading to what you presume is the bedroom of the residence. She looks different now, no longer wearing any make-up or jewelry save her array of rings, and dressed in a simple dark robe. She is still gorgeous, although somewhat older looking than she does in your slowly returning memories. Considering it’s been forty years since you saw her last, the Baron’s family undoubtedly had some sort of anti-age magic going. Beyond just her appearance, her demeanor has changed as well, as she actually smiles at you.

    “I also thought we should have this discussion in private. Ugh, you have no idea how hard it was to get rid of my guards. But at least they’re used to my “moods” by now.”

    Isabella finishes off the small amount of wine left in the wineglass cradled in her right hand, and then stalks into the living room. On the way, her foot catches somehow on the floor, and she stumbles forward. She nearly falls flat on her face, but manages to catch herself on a nearby chair, holding herself up with one arm. Righting herself, Isabella actually giggles as she brushes the hair out of her face with the back of her wineglass-equipped hand.

    “Still a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, as you can see. Although the angelic infusions did help in upping the exact amounts required.”

    It was now clear to you that Isabella was quite drunk. The fact that it took one and a half bottles of wine indicated that these “angelic infusions” helped her tolerance a lot. One of the memories running through your head right now was a night shortly after your secret wedding. Part of the post-wedding celebration involved visiting a tavern, where you convinced Isabella to down a tankard of ale after she confessed having never tasted it. Isabella was ill for two days after that.

    “Yes, and it takes more each time. I’m still not sure whether that’s because of the additional infusions, or because I’m getting used to the alcohol. Or maybe the alcohol getting used to me!”

    Chuckling at her own joke, Isabella walks over to the table, sloppily filling her glass with more wine from the half-full bottle. She frowns upon lifting up her glass again and seeing the puddle of spilled wine.

    “Opps, I made a mess. Ah, I’ll clean it up later.”

    Flopping herself down in one of the comfortable chairs, she takes a sip of the wineglass and then sets it aside. She reaches out, nearly falling out of the chair as she does so, and pats the seat cushion of the nearby couch.

    “Come, sit down. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

    In that abrupt way only drunks are capable of, Isabella’s mood changes from jovial to on the verge of tears.

    “I’m so, so sorry you have to see me like this, but it is the only way. As is expected, when I get drunk, I lose control of myself.”

    Snorting, Isabella reaches a shaking hand over to the wineglass, picking it up for another sip.

    “”I” lose control of myself.” She repeats, setting the wineglass back down. She pauses to look at you, shaking her head.

    “Forty years. They’ve gone by in a blur to me, but they must have dragged on for you in that awful place. Was it difficult for you in there? Did you suffer?”

    Isabella Gast, wife of the Baron, sniffs loudly, as a tear forms in the corner of her eye. Absently, she reaches up to wipe it away, catching it halfway down her cheek.

    “Did you miss me?”

    Isabella hangs her head, her whisper barely audible even to your attuned senses.

    “I missed you.”

    Dorizzit

    It takes a few minutes to locate the new containers, and a few more to slip into the uniform. They were similar to the ones you had seen most of the people walking around in the hangar bay wearing – likely technicians or laborers or some other bottom-rung lackey. Which was good, considering the less important type of person you were impersonating, the less likely it was you would be noticed. Of course, with your luck that just meant that the Baron himself would be strolling down the hallway as soon as you set out. On the plus side, it seems that standard issue for the uniforms was a dirk, which meant that you were now armed.

    Now dressed to act the part, you crossed the storage bay to locate the other container. Row upon row of crystals sat waiting for you inside Container 15. Seeing no difference between them, you selected one at random. It begins to glow in the palm of your hand, apparently activating automatically at your touch.

    Colors swirl within the crystal, rapidly resolving themselves into what appears to be . . . a map? A map of the Gastly Truth. Had to be. Which meant the blinking green dot near the bottom of the ship had to be you – hell, upon focusing your eyes there, the map zoomed in, giving you a more detailed look at the nearby area and the fact that the green dot was in fact labeled with a “you”. Which in turn meant that this red X near the center of the ship . . . located in “Cheran’s Quarters” (that didn’t sound good) had to be your destination.

    As you looked upwards at the ceiling with grim determination, the map returned to its original dimension. It was then that you noticed the odd handwritten words in one corner of the map – “Good luck Korram”. You recognized that handwriting, it being unmistakable even after all these years. It was your wife’s. What in the Hells was going on!?

    Lonna

    It’s hard to tell what effect your efforts on the collar are having, it being locked around your neck. It did seem to be made of a somewhat sturdier material than the last collar was, however, implying that the Baron was even more thorough with security aboard his personal airship than inside his hellhole of a prison. Still, you could feel . . . a slight shiver of power, which was likely the best way to describe it, as one of the runes began to fade into a series of scuff marks and scratches.

    Apparently, missing one rune out of the intricate dozens etched all the way around the collar wasn’t enough to undo the suppressing magic entirely. Trying to buy yourself more time, you held the blade to your own throat, holding it at a downward angle and discretely adding a slight tremor to your hand to allow the tip to continue shaving at another rune. Cheran didn’t seem to notice, although he did momentarily pause as he came out of his crouch. Unfortunately, the crude son of the Baron called your bluff with a loud laugh as he began to walk towards you again.

    “Go ahead, slit your own throat. You’re just another whore to me. The world won’t miss you. And as I understand it, you’ve pissed Father off as well, so the only reason you’re still alive right now is because he hasn’t decided which agonizing way to kill you yet. Really, slitting your own throat is your best bet right now.”

    Cheran crosses the last few feet between you with a lunge, which you had been prepared for. As expected with your threat being a mere bluff, you swiftly drop the blade away from your throat and dance away, hoping to get behind Cheran again. No longer overconfident, however, the half-angel displays his incredible speed as he whirls around on one foot.

    Now face-to-face with the Baron’s son once again, you attempt to fall back, but you were already too close. In another blur of motion, Cheran steps forward, clamping a hand down on the wrist holding the dagger. The other hand he wraps around your throat, using that grip to lift you several inches off the floor. Holding you like that in front of him, Cheran then dashes towards the back wall.

    Your vision dims a bit with pain as your back slams into the wall, sending shockwaves through your body. Not to mention that once again, you couldn’t breathe thanks to Cheran’s apparently favorite tactic. You could tell that you had managed to get a couple more runes scratched off, but it still wasn’t quite enough to get your magic back. The sense that it was almost close enough to touch, and you had almost done it, was incredibly frustrating. With your knife hand trapped against the wall and suspended several inches off the ground in Cheran’s grip, there wasn’t much else you could do, either. Due to him holding you more up than out from him, and against a wall, you didn’t have enough clearance to deliver more than little shin kicks with your feet. He also mostly just ducked or shrugged off the efforts of your free hand to loosen his grip.

    Inevitably, your limbs grew sluggish, and your vision grayed. Dimly, you heard the knife clatter to the ground as your weakened hand lost its grip. Just as you were beginning to skim the edge of unconsciousness, Cheran abruptly releases you, sending you crashing to the floor in a limp heap.

    “That ought to settle you down some.” Cheran grunts, as he grabs a handful of your hair, using it to pull your head up. A moment later, and he swings his other hand up, down, and around in a hellacious slap to your face that drives you back down to the floor. You can feel one of his boots stomping down onto your back as you struggle to pull enough air into your lungs to clear your vision.

    “And that was for my feathers, you bitch. Now, this would be the part where we really start to have some fun, but not here. Oh no. We’re going on a little field trip, and you’re going to help me convince my wife-to-be to accept my marriage proposal. But first, I have a little gift for you.”

    Again, Cheran grabs a handful of your hair, pulling your head up. You hear the pop of a cork being pulled out, and then feel a glass vial being pressed against your lips. Instinctively you tighten your lips, knowing whatever Cheran wanted you to drink would be bad for your health. Unfortunately, just saying no wasn’t going to be enough in this case, as Cheran twists the hair in his grasp, hard enough to get your mouth to open in a silent scream. One that was cut off in a coughing fit as something fiery and bitter splashes into your mouth and down your throat.

    Half of the brew goes down the wrong pipe, and ends up getting spewed out onto the floor as you retch, but the rest remains inside. You can feel your insides begin to twist uncomfortably and burn, and your vision swims as Cheran begins to explain, his voice suddenly far off despite no doubt whispering directly into your ear.

    “It’s similar, I’ve been told, to what was given to Amelia during her stay in Ironheart. Only concentrated, and I had them add a hallucinogen for “extra flavor”. How do you feel now?”

    Of its own accord, your heart starts beating rapidly, and despite your recent strangulation you switch from deep, gulping breaths to short, rapid ones. You feel as if you’re a young girl again, crawling under the bed while your mother’s killer strangles her above you. Only this time, there was no bed to hide under, and the killer was on his way over to you.

    Instinctively, you begin to crawl away, although you can hear the killer following after you, deliberately taking his time. Suddenly, you run into a wall, now trapped. Hearing the killer right behind you now, you turn back and look up, despite the tiny remaining reasonable part of your brain telling you not to.

    Through the curtain of hair hanging down over your face, you see towering above you Edward. His neck is as bruised as yours feels, and his face is ashen and half rotted away. Although, curiously, slate-grey wings hang from his back (those weren’t there before?). A centipede crawls out of a hole in Edward’s cheek, running up and out of sight into his nose as he gazes down at you with hate.

    “Boo.” He says simply.

    (Feel free to continue the above sequence instead of just reacting, if you’d like. This is pretty much Pyrene’s brain on drugs, so just about anything (unpleasant) goes. If you have any questions, feel free to PM me. )

    The Perist Residence

    Kasanip

    “Oh, I’m sure Jean and I could come up with a few more things . . . how’s your laundry holding up?” Duncan said with a smirk as he shoot a glance over to your father. As was usual, your father’s face barely even flickered from anything beyond his usual stern-faced expression.

    “In any event, this is why I argued against sending Isera. She’s always so busy – she hasn’t even had time to visit Cerise for several years now. She’s missed you, you know.”

    “Uncle!” Cerise sighed with a smile as she moved over to join your conversation. “It’s true though. So much has happened I wanted to tell you, Is. And it looks like you have some stories of your own.” She concludes, inclining her head towards your hand, making it clear that she was going to want that story sooner rather than later.

    You notice that Jean catches the nod, and for just the briefest of moments something flickers across his face. Curiosity more than concern, most likely. You doubted he knew anything about your fake hand. Very few people did.

    “As it is dark now, there is no sense in setting out right away. They have tonight to catch up with each other, as I imagine that is what they will do instead of sleeping as they should.” Jean interjects, while Duncan looks thoughtful. After a few moments, Cerise’s uncle speaks up.

    “In answer to your question, searching for the contact is probably pointless. If he was still alive, he would have, y’know, contacted us. So investigating Dark Springs personally is probably your best bet.”

    “It is unknown if whoever destroyed the village will still be present. Caution should be exercised.” Jean added, because of course he couldn’t say “be careful” to you. Or express concern about your wellbeing.

    “Hmm . . . y’know, it might not be a bad idea to send someone along with Isera. Just so we have a better chance of finding out what happened if she fails to contact as well.”

    “Isera would never – oh.” Cerise said, figuring out what Duncan meant a few words too late.

    “Who do you propose, Duncan? Cerise and Isera work well together, but Cerise as your nephew to train as well.”

    “Yes, and I should stay here. Ayse is not out of danger yet, and I’m probably the most skilled with healing magics out of the four of us. And I imagine the two of you need to be moving on to organize the rest of the Canticles in case this incident isn’t isolated.”

    “Berrick, stubborn old codger that he is, will probably want to remain behind as well. Hey – that’s a great idea! Let’s send Carlain out with Isera! Give the boy a chance to learn from the master investigator!” Duncan says with an indiscernible grin. Hearing his name being called, Carlain looks up from where he had been starring into the campfire, ignoring all of you.

    “What?”

    “I imagine he could learn quite a lot from Is. And he wants to see how the Canticle of Autumn does things anyway.”

    Cerise turns to you with a smile.

    “So, what do you think, Is? You going to be able to take care of my little brother, and keep him out of trouble since I won’t be around to bail you out?”

    The Capital

    Tackyhillbillu

    You block the assassin’s throw with the log book, having no more use for it really. The thick binding and numerous sheets of paper work quite well in stopping the knife. However, that same weight didn’t make it a particularly good projectile, although you still manage to clear the distance between you and the assassin. As expected, he swats the book aside with one hand, grabbing and tearing his knife free with his other as he does so.

    With a flourish, he then uses his re-appropriated knife to parry your first throw, knocking the blade out of the air. A fancy maneuver meant to intimidate a lesser opponent. You had been trained to do the same yourself, and so are not impressed. In fact, with his arm outstretched from the parry, he had opened himself up, and you throw your second dagger into the gap in his defenses.

    The blow catches him on the left side of the stomach, quite likely a fatal hit even if he wasn’t about to get a fatal dose of poison. Of course, all of the Hands have been inoculated heavily against a number of poisons that would be otherwise quite deadly. This was both to prevent accidental self-poisonings and was also simply part of making you harder to kill in general. Meant mainly for yourself, the poisoned blades carried a concentrated dose of the nastiest stuff you could procure off the black market without raising alarms amongst the nobles. As such, it would be more than enough to do you in.

    It is this certainty that the battle is already over that causes you to stare in disbelief as the Hand remains standing. In fact, he doesn’t even seem particularly disturbed, idly reaching down with his free hand to pry the blade out of his flesh. With that same cavalier air, he holds your blade up to his nose, inhaling deeply.

    “Poison, expensive too. Niiiccce.”

    Smiling, the man pulls his lips back in a leer at you, revealing his pair of fangs. Vampire. Great. You don’t recall there being any vampire Hands before, but certainly had to admit you didn’t know a whole lot about any of the other Hands either, even as an important member. Considering the guy was wearing expensive flesh-toned makeup and likely contacts, how were you supposed to know?

    In a blur, the vampire assassin hurls his own dagger at you a second time, followed closely by your own weapon. You dodge both easily enough, although have a close call as your dagger hits the stone wall behind you with enough force to shatter. Instantly the thought of poisoned shards of metal spraying into you races through your mind, but thankfully you manage to take cover underneath a desk.

    Rolling out the other side, you come up to your feet, a dagger in both hands, although this proves unnecessary as your assailant is no longer where you saw him last. He’s still clearly in the room with you, however, as his menacing voice echoes through the small room.

    “So, who the hell are you? Not that it matters, but I figure I should report your name when I get back in. One less traitor to deal with, eh?”

    Suddenly, the shelf of heavy books behind you, that had been previously bolted to the floor, suddenly topples over with a squeal of tortured metal and splintered wood. Directly on top of you, as it turned out, although you narrowly managed to dodge to one side again, avoiding being pinned underneath the mass as it crashed loudly to the floor. Which could only be a good thing, as a moment later the vampire followed it in, bounding over the rubble.

    “Time to DIE!”

    A Not-So Ordinary Basement

    OverWilliam

    At your touch, Melcara stirs a little, her glazed eyes struggling to focus on you. Even so, she manages a weak smile and reaches her free hand up to caress your face.

    “Be thankful she didn’t stab me twice.” The fallen angel murmurs, shifting her hand down to your own shoulder. “And help me sit up.”

    Uncertain what else you can do for her, you help pull Melcara up into more of a sitting position, leaning back against the stairs rather than lying on her side on the bottom step. You wince at each pained gasp that comes with every little jostle, but eventually you manage to position Melcara as desired. She rewards you with another wane smile as she leans back and closes her eyes. A small amount of color has already returned to her face, although the grimace of barely suppressed agony is still heavy on her face.

    “That was stupid of me. Why didn’t she finish me?” Melcara groans, popping one eye open to regard you. “Don’t look so worried Tare. I’ve survived worse injuries than this.”

    At this point, Jim moves over to join you, offering the light to you.

    “So, uhhhhh . . . what now boss? Surely that crazy cloaked guy isn’t going to come back down here? Or lock us down here? Starvation is a nasty way to go . . . “

    A Meaningless Speck of a Town Soon to be Even Less

    Gorgondantess

    Ever so faint, you can nonetheless hear a cry of alarm from within the building as you slam down into the roof. Determined to execute this assault without anyone escaping, you quickly shift your focus to the door. A single, intense blow is all that is required to split the door down the middle, sending shards and splinters flying down the center aisle.

    As it turns out, there are quite a lot of people inside, all of them starring out at you in varying degrees of horror. Most are dressed fairly plainly – not quite as ragged as Richard or even the humans at your former village, but still rather simply and in drab colors. The one man who was not was up near the front, dressed in fine white and gold robes. He seemed to be the one in charge here, standing up near the front behind a wooden stand, apparently in the middle of some sort of speech. Of the dark assassins and their cruel stone weapons, however, there is nothing of the sort.

    Then, the moment of silent panic is over, and the humans are all screaming as they scramble over the wooden benches and each other towards the front and away from you.

    “Demon!” “Monster!” They cry. ‘Valkyrie, save us!”

    Meanwhile, the man in the robes is quite befuddled, having been in the middle of a speech before you interrupted. Blinking in disbelief at your hulking form into the shattered doorway, he eventually manages to collect himself. Stepping away from the stand, he begins to walk towards you, making shooing motions with his hands.

    “Demon! Your kind is not welcome here! Begone!” He shouts at you, although the tone of his voice suggests more bravado than conviction.
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

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  12. - Top - End - #552
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Korram Alstan

    Korram smiles grimly at the presence of the dirk. He'd always been better with his bare hands than with any weapons, but...it might be able to help compensate for his deficiency. As he looks over the communications crystals, he sardonically wonders what the odds were that the crystal he picked would try to kill him somehow. He squints into it, recoiling rapidly as shapes begin to appear but manages to restrain his urge to smash the crystal. His eyes narrow into enraged slits as he sees the location of his destination, but the judgment-clouding red haze is dispelled as he sees the note in the corner of the crystal. He takes a step back, leaning against a nearby stack of crates for support.

    Impossible.

    A rush of emotions surge through him. Grief. Loss. Regret. And finally, hope. All, however, fade into determination. Korram memorizes the path needed reach the marked location most directly, then tucks the crystal into his pocket. He begins to run. He has work to do.
    Truly awesome Ark Tamaeus avatar by Bryn. Full size version here.

  13. - Top - End - #553
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Tackyhillbillu's Avatar

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    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Argan had given a grunt of satisfaction when the blade bit into the Assassin. The sense of triumph had turned to ashes once his opponent revealed his identity. A Vampire Hand, huh? Argan hadn't known about that. This was going to be difficult. Argan's knowledge of Vampires was limited. Most of it was myth and legend, and he wasn't sure if any of it was true. The first dagger he dodged easily. He knew the other one was coming, of course. The Vampire might not fear him, but it at least knew that he wasn't going down without a fight. He managed to twist around the blade, a roll swiftly hiding from the Poisoned fragments.

    I'm not going to survive if this keeps going. He isn't any more skillful then I am, but I can't take a Knife like he can.

    Argan bounded up, not sure what he intended to do, but knowing he had to do it soon. He already had a Knife in hand, restraining himself only once he noticed the Vampire wasn't there any more.

    ...this is going to hurt.

    Argan doesn't respond to the voice focusing on trying to spot the attack before it came. The squeal of wood and metal tearing was the only warning he got, and just barely enough. However, Argan knew well enough that the attack would be pressed. He smiled as the Vampire charged at him. The creature still didn't think of him as a threat.

    "The man whose going to kill you, that's who."

    Argan braced himself, pushing himself off the ground and placing both of his feet into the Vampires stomach with a solid kick, and pushing off, using the momentum to pull his legs in, returning to his feet, sending both Daggers forth at once. He'd chosen his non-poisoned ones this time, knowing that anything else would just give the creature weapons to use against him. He had to keep the creature off balence, on the defensive. He'd gotten lucky so far, but he was a Human being. He'd slip up, or tire. The first blade aimed for the Torso. He was counting on the Vampire dodging it. The next aimed for where the Vampire's throat would be, if he dodged it the way Argan would have.

    I'm not sure if ripping his throat will kill him. How the hell did the Baron get a Vampire in his service?

  14. - Top - End - #554
    Titan in the Playground
     
    Archpaladin Zousha's Avatar

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    Quote Originally Posted by Inspectre View Post
    Dawn’s Hope - Monastery

    Baerdog7/Archpaladin Zousha

    Karth frowns at Hondshioh.

    “And who made the Church in the first place? Someone at some point in the distant past must have raised the first banner in the Valkyrie’s and Lightbringer’s names. Why cannot that happen again? And after I have ensured, truly ensured, that the new Church will not repeat the same mistakes of the old, perhaps I will fall on my own sword! I am an instrument of change and destruction! A raging tempest cannot build a house, it can only tear it down to the foundation to allow a new building to be erected out of the ruin of the old.”

    At Ander’s condemnation, Karth’s frown turns into a sneer.

    “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard those very words uttered by the Council’s lapdogs!?”

    His hand already on his blade, Karth draws the weapon in a flash, bringing it up and around to parry Ander’s attack. So powerful is the former lord general’s charge, however, that the blow is not deflected fully, instead sliding into the crook of Karth’s off arm, drawing a thin trickle of blood where Sin-eater slid along the grooves formed by the armor’s joint.

    Blades locked together, the two former servants of the Church stand straining against each other, their faces inches apart. Despite the injury, Karth still does not seem particularly perturbed, although the strain from the contest of strength is evident in his voice.

    “Before I was Exarch, I was Lord General. The last Lord General to preside over the Crusade, and lead the Church’s forces in disarray and defeat back home. You think you know slaughter, Ander? You should have been there as the last surviving paladins stumbled through the portals, pressed on all sides by the fiends who had become emboldened by years of stalemate and months of slow retreat! And for this travesty, I was made an Exarch of the Church. Every single soul who had ever died in the Crusade, and become irrevocably damned as a result, did so for nothing!”

    Finding strength in his words, Karth put his shoulder into it, shoving Ander a good several paces back.

    “And for that, our Gods can go to Hell! And you can all burn!!”

    Karth makes a gesture, and suddenly the room is on fire. Perhaps not surprisingly, the flames erupt out of thin air in a rough circle around Karth and his men – none of them are touched.

    “Taste the purifying flame!” Karth shouts as he turns towards the doorway and gestures again, putting out the flames in a narrow path between him and the door. With only a handful of still burning (and obviously, screaming) paladins standing in the way, Karth’s tide of bodyguards swiftly sweeps them aside.

    The first two to reach the door pull it open without stopping, crashing into the untouched paladins on the other side. Effortlessly, Karth sends another blast of fire roiling out into the hallway, leaving his men untouched but definitely making it difficult for the paladins just outside the room to fight back. As Karth’s men begin to make headway out into the hallway, Karth turns back to Ander, shaking his head.

    “In another time, we could have been friends. But now, you are simply another obstacle standing in my way. What must be done, will be done. And from the ashes shall arise our salvation.”

    And with that, Karth turns and begins walking away, heading towards the hallway where the rest of his bodyguard waited.

    (As a note, this isn’t some sort of magical paralyzing fire – Ander and Hondshioh can still act. Of course, you are still both on fire, and surrounded by intense heat, so you’re likely a little distracted. Most of the other paladins, including the Abbot, are doing even worse, although the flames seem to be slowly dying down now that Karth is focused more on the fight out in the hallway.)
    Karth's words sharpen Hondshioh's anger, and there's a small crumbling noise as his skin takes on a stony appearance once again. The heat of the flames causes the stony body to glow dully.

    "How dare you? HOW DARE YOU MAKE LIGHT THE SACRIFICE OF THOSE MEN?! Those men followed you for a reason Karth! They knew that if they made that Crusade they might never come back, they might be damned. But they made the choice to fight anyway, because they believed that there are things in this world worth fighting for and worth saving! I didn't join the Church because I thought I would live a long life. I joined knowing full well that one day the gods may call upon me to make the ultimate sacrifice. And I knew in my heart that I would be ready to make that sacrifice when the time comes. You're not an element of change and destruction, Karth. You're a bitter old man lashing out at the ghosts of your past."

    He unsheathes he sword and starts running after Karth, blade raised and a battle cry on his lips.

    "You say this is the Purifying Flame? LET US SEE HOW YOUR FLAME STANDS AGAINST THE MIGHT OF THE LIVING ROCK!!!"
    Last edited by Archpaladin Zousha; 2010-01-24 at 09:01 PM.
    "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."

  15. - Top - End - #555
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    OverWilliam's Avatar

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    ~Tare

    Tare did everything he could to help the angel as obediently as was possible, reacting on puppy-brain and barely able to think clearly for himself anymore. The angel's smiles told him that he was helping, and that was good at least.

    When Jim called upon him to think once more, his brain lurched tiredly (beyond tiredly) to motion once more as he struggled to spit out an answer. "..........No. Limier wouldn't lock us in... she could've just killed us and gotten it over with anyway. 'Sides, she wants Teareal out alive. ...That doesn't mean nobody else is going to lock us down, though." Tare struggled through a few breaths. "We need... we need....... sleep. I need sleep." His voice was evidence enough that he spoke truth, though to his credit he did not slur, even through the haze. But then a new enemy, or rather an old one, reared its head exactly when Tare had forgotten all about it.

    The rumbling groan echoed through the whole room. It came from Tare's stomach.

    "...We need food." Never in all his life had he felt more frail. More fragile. More... human. Mere human. It was very humbling. And very scary. "...We... we need time." Glance at Adame'. "...No time." Glance at Melcara. "...No sleep." Glance around him. "...No food." Tare's next breath was as heavy as his last. "..........I don't know what to do." These last words came very quiet, not quite admitting defeat... but coming close to desperation at least. "...Well... For starters, let's try getting out of this basement."
    Last edited by OverWilliam; 2010-01-25 at 12:51 AM.
    Deo Soli Sit Semper Gloria

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    Its offical. Overwilliam is Duke Devlin.

  16. - Top - End - #556
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    WhiteKnight777's Avatar

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    Umber

    Umber looked up at the lumbering brute, watching almost casually as he charged. How to play this? Should he make a show of it? Give the crowd a bit of amusement? Playing with the meat-mountain would probably entertain the locals, perhaps even win him a few friends. People in places like this generally thrived on brutality. Death was an addiction - he knew that well. The thrill of the kill, the joy at the sight of spilled blood. It was like drugs, or sex - and like sex, some people simply enjoyed watching, especially if the show was good. Then again, the thought of sex juxtaposed with the sight of the huge man-beast in front of him actually made Umber's mind reel for a moment. Was he human enough to vomit yet? He felt as though he might.

    Shaking himself from his reverie, Umber looked up at the freakish Mountain once more. Give them a show?

    To hell with it all.

    He moved in a blur - his reactions were slowing already, just as his powers were rapidly returning, so too was he losing the old benefits of being a Lord of Blood - but he was still far stronger and far faster than any normal man. He tossed the sand he'd hidden right into his charging opponent's face, then sidestepped. Even if he didn't quite have his old speed, even in life his reflexes had been quite good - and he'd studied many a fighting art over his long years. He opted for a quick, brutal style, snapping a bone-shattering kick to the back of the mountain's right knee, then driving a two-handed hammerblow right into the spot between his fourth and fifth vertebrae. He could feel the creak and crack of muscle, tendon, bone. He'd killed so often over the years, but it was always a strange experience - that tension as you waited to hear the spine break, the red hunger that had nothing to do with being a vampire - No, that part was all human.

    Not letting up, he continued his assault, driving and elbow into the back of the mountain's skull. Finally, he stood back, waiting to deliver another savage kick if it looked like his opponent were going to rise.

  17. - Top - End - #557
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Ander Windrivver

    “In another time, we could have been friends. But now, you are simply another obstacle standing in my way. What must be done, will be done. And from the ashes shall arise our salvation.”
    F--- you.

    There is a split-second moment of hesitation as Ander contemplates staying behind to make sure the Abbot was okay. No. Karth can't get away.

    Ander charges through the flames after Karth, ignoring the burns as his skin knits itself back together. He launches a pair of holy orbs at some of Karth's lackeys, catching one in the back and another in the hip. Vaulting over the bodies, Ander chases Karth into the Great Hall of the monastery. Summoning a half-dozen holy chains to bind Karth in place, Ander bellows:

    YOU stay HERE!
    Last edited by Baerdog7; 2010-01-28 at 12:46 PM.
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    Baerdog: super genius.

  18. - Top - End - #558
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
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    Pyrene

    As Cheran explained what he had done to her, Pyrene felt reality start to slip away. Desperately she crawled after it, away from the Bad Man who killed Mama. No! He's found me! Where is Ariella? I have to protect her from the Bad Man! Brought to a sudden halt when her head bumped the wall, the tiny reasonable portion of her mind not buried under panic told her that this was all the result of a drug, it wasn't real. With this reassurance, she looked up at her pursuer.

    Quote Originally Posted by Inspectre
    Through the curtain of hair hanging down over your face, you see towering above you Edward. His neck is as bruised as yours feels, and his face is ashen and half rotted away. Although, curiously, slate-grey wings hang from his back (those weren’t there before?). A centipede crawls out of a hole in Edward’s cheek, running up and out of sight into his nose as he gazes down at you with hate.

    “Boo.” He says simply.
    Whatever small awareness of reality Pyrene had managed to hold on to disappeared when she was confronted with a dead and rotting Edward. "I'm sorry I'm so sorry I didn't mean to kill you please don't hurt me I'm sorry!" she babbled, panicked.

    Behind her the wall suddenly became soft, and she found herself lying on a gigantic spider's web, unable to move so much as a finger. Above her the woman with the strange tatoos stood on the ceiling, frowning at her. "What a useless daughter you are!" she hissed in Titania's voice. "I suppose the only thing you're good for is a meal!" Suddenly the tatoos lept off the woman's skin, pulling her apart as if she were a poorly sewn rag doll. And crawling out from the remains was a gigantic spider, which crawled down the wall and ate Edward's wings, taking their place on his back. "He gets you first," the spider explained, still using Titania's voice, "and then I'll suck you dry!"
    I started a blog!
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  19. - Top - End - #559
    Orc in the Playground
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    Sohssal

    Sohssal chuckled at Rubert, but otherwise shrugged off their offers. "There's nothing you have that I need. I just need the least number of people on this island as possible. I'm going to be reclaiming some of my old stuff, and anyone still here is at risk either from an outbreak of whatever stuff has cooked up there over time...or because they saw something they shouldn't have," he explained. He added only a slight hint of malice at the end - the pirates seemed fairly cooperative so far.

    "Oh, and if I run back here with some horrific abomination after me, you should shoot it with whatever you have unless I say otherwise. On that note, if you have anyone reckless enough, I could use some muscle. With the way things have gone recently, there will be fights with things that should not exist," he added. He knew any pirates that came along would either be broken by fear or maimed beyond recognition or get killed horribly (or all three), but hardened killers are useful and he didn't care about their fate. Giving just one or two people a tour of the more easily accessible areas wouldn't compromise his secrecy; the real stuff is or was sealed away.
    Last edited by Iethloc; 2010-01-29 at 03:46 AM.

  20. - Top - End - #560
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Kasanip's Avatar

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    Isera Harvent
    Former Perist Residence


    Isera smiled as genuinely as she could, though she knew it looked just as regretful as she felt.
    "I know Cerise... I have a lot to tell you too. We need a break and somewhere quiet to sit down and talk." She said, a silent promise hanging there that she knew Cerise wouldn't miss. This evening, provided the two had some time to themselves, she would.

    Her father's comment caused Isera to cast a glance his way with a faint trace of amusement. Oh good. I have permission to rest this evening. She thought sarcastically.

    She turned to look back at Duncan again as he started to talk about the mission. Of course it made sense investigate Dark Springs personally. Scrying of any sort probably wasn't going to be too useful - and they certainly didn't need her help on that. Plenty of other magi could do that sort of thing.
    She pretty much sidestepped her father's warning for 'caution.' She could have responded with something like "I'll be careful" or "thanks for the concern" but it was both unnecessary, and Isera wasn't sure she could keep the sarcasm out of her voice if she was to say it.

    The idea of her getting a chance to work together with Cerise on a mission was an exciting thought for the second that she entertained it, but Isera knew she didn't want that in this case. There was too much danger in the affairs right now, and while she knew Cerise very closely and trusted her completely...well, even then there were some things that Isera didn't want to put Cerise through. And besides, she did have by far the best training in taking care of the injured Perists here. Perhaps one day they would have a chance to travel together without the stress and worry of a mission. Well...Isera wasn't sure that would ever happen.

    But the suggestion to send Carlain actually surprised Isera almost as much as the boy himself, so that when he looked up in surprise, Isera herself said "What?" at the same moment.

    Isera gave Carlain and then Cerise a sideways glance. There was no doubt the boy could learn a lot from her...and Isera could keep him safe, she thought. As dangerous a mission as it seemed at first, it really was just a reconnaissance and investigation- not an attack or confrontation of particular sorts. Chances are if they did it right, the cult in question wouldn't even know they were there. She looked at Cerise and mirrored her smile.

    "You know I'll take care of 'em if he wants to come. 'Besides, it seems to be a family specialty of yours to bail me out of trouble. He could be useful." She said with an insufferable raised eyebrow and smirk.
    "But you're old enough for a bit of action and responsibility, right Carlain?" She asked, turning to the boy. While technically it wasn't his decision to make at this point... Isera still felt like it was a good idea to get his assent and approval. If they were going to be working together, then she needed to get his trust again. Strange...she remembered when they were young and the two girls had played with the even younger Carlain... Maybe she had played too many pranks on the kid though back then. "So, what do you say Carlain? Want to come get a perspective into exciting and dangerous job of the Canticle of Autumn?" She asked with a grin.
    Kasanip's Sketchbook 2 Thread
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  21. - Top - End - #561
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    OldWizardGuy

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    Theme Music: Up to the 1 minute mark – Continue after the next narration knowing our illustrious Inspectre

    Incom Morgan

    “Forty years. They’ve gone by in a blur to me, but they must have dragged on for you in that awful place. Was it difficult for you in there? Did you suffer?”

    Vision disrupted as if organic originals blinked. Feelings of shock and confusion. So much confusion. Too much confusion. Were assessments based upon on faulty logic? Were things in bring pink in worlds of black and white? Was this one a pawn or a knight? What was the meaning of all this? A simple solution, one that provides sanctuary from everything. So much easier to run and hide. Hiding, delete the memories, become a mindless drone content in a simple world.

    But naught for one.

    An answers shall be provided. A answer is required.

    "Yes, I suffered. Are we done here? Or is there more that you want to tell me, like what the f*ck is going on?"

    Switchover to alternate processors. Happening for frequently. Need consensus. Need to achieve control. Need answers. Need to restart this roller coaster of insanity and chaos. Need to jump off. Need another way to die!
    Last edited by Pwenet; 2010-01-31 at 07:04 PM.
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    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...

  22. - Top - End - #562
    Titan in the Playground
     
    The_Snark's Avatar

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    Mar

    "Yes," Mar said, still not quite free of the dream's lingering strangeness. Everything she'd heard there seemed so far away, and yet she had a feeling it was important. There was something in it that she was missing.

    But she couldn't just sit here in bed and think about it. Jacob had brought her breakfast, and she couldn't eat it in bed, or else she might spill on the blankets. Unless it was something other than porridge—like the bread and cheese they'd had yesterday? Or was that only at dinnertime?—regardless she shouldn't eat it on the nice blankets they'd given her She scrambled out of bed and opened the door, and there was Jacob, dressed in worn but smooth clothes.

    She was suddenly conscious of her own dress, which was rumpled from sleeping in it. Had she done something wrong? Was she supposed to straighten it out when she got up? Daddy had occasionally punished her for being filthy, but usually he didn't mind, so neither did she, much. The dress wasn't even very dirty; she'd been wearing it for at least a day, but mostly she'd just slept. Standing in front of Jacob, though, she felt acutely embarrassed.

    He saved her by offering her a bowl. It looked like breakfast was porridge after all, but she took it without complaining—and nearly dropped it. It was hot! She wasn't used to that.

    They stood there for a moment, then he shifted a bit, as if about to point towards the dining room. "Oh!" she said, before he could say anything, and moved towards it, and soon she was at the table, discovering that this porridge wasn't much like what she was used to at all. She'd thought the heat would make it uncomfortable to eat, but it wasn't so bad—and it felt nice to have something warm in her stomach. And it was a lot thicker than what she was used to.

    The dream lay quite forgotten. There was a new day ahead, and for once—even if she was nervous—she wanted to see what it had for her.
    Avatar by GryffonDurime. Thanks!

  23. - Top - End - #563
    Ettin in the Playground
     
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    Siftly, lithely, it leaps across the room, landing before the man. With one quick jab with her massive claw, she snatches him by his left hand and lifting him into the air. She stares him in the face, then breaks out in peals of laughter. "Demon? I've never been called a demon before. How fun: I'll need to remember that. Ehhheh..."
    With that, it crushes his hand to a pulp in her stony fist, and stares him in the face. "Now. I desire information. Lord Athelion the Lifebringer... I presume you are not he, as certainly such a foe would be better protected. Where can I find him?"
    Marceline Abadeer by Gnomish Wanderer

  24. - Top - End - #564
    Troll in the Playground
     
    Inspectre's Avatar

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    Dawn’s Hope - Monastery

    Baerdog7/Archpaladin Zousha

    As Hondshioh summons his rocky skin and charges through the flames, Karth looks back in open-mouthed shock. He summons another blast of flame which catches the young paladin firmly in the chest, searing away what was left of his tabard and tunic. The attack had minimal effect other than this, however, and Karth barely manages to bring his sword around in time to blunt Hondshioh’s charge. As with Ander before him, Karth locks blades with the young paladin, engaging him in a contest of strength. A contest of strength that Karth begins to narrowly lose as his blade is slowly pushed back.

    Rapidly changing tactics, Karth skillfully pulls back and sidesteps, sending Hondshioh stumbling forward. Karth attempts to stop the half-giant’s momentum with a knee to the stomach, but again the blow simply bounces off his rocky skin with an angry clang. Karth grimaces, and then clenches the hilt of his sword firmly in both hands, bringing it around like a club across Hondshioh’s face. This time, the blow seems to have some effect, as Hondshioh is knocked back a step as stars dance before him.

    As Hondshioh recovers, Ander enters the fight with a pair of hurled orbs. The impacts from the orbs sends the men staggering, but as they are men in heavy armor and not fiends, they seem more winded than injured. The holy chains he summons as a follow-up seem to work better, snagging several of Karth’s men on their way to the rebel leader. Despite this, Karth actually laughs as he steps back away from Hondshioh, allowing a pair of his elite guard to take his place.

    “I am a paladin as well, and I seem to remember the dispelling ritual being something like – this!”

    Gesturing rapidly, Karth summons a blast of holy magic that lances out to slice into the chains, shattering them completely. However, the assault of both Ander and Hondshioh, despite being the only ones in the ritual room still standing, cause Karth to re-evaluate his priorities. No longer covering their retreat, the rebel Exarch instead pushes his way to the front, taking the lead of the small band as he blasts the remaining hallway guards with flame. Meanwhile, most of the elite guard shuffle in behind him, closing in on Hondshioh and Ander to block the way with their own bodies.

    Stonefall

    The Surrounding Forest

    The_Snark

    Setting yourself up at the kitchen table once more, you slowly eat the hot porridge. It was a new experience for you, and a mostly pleasant one at that. Still, your efforts at deciphering how best to eat this new delicacy did not keep you from noticing the large cloak stretched over one corner of the table. It was fairly drab and plain, like most of the clothing you had seen, but it was wide and seemed to be made from two separate cloaks stitched together.

    “I’m making you a cloak to wear outside.” Jacob explains as he sits down in the chair nearest to the cloak’s corner, and picking up a spool of thread and a needle. “Your wings might make other people . . . uncomfortable. And this is a small town, with a lot of noisy people in it. They’re already going to be curious about you – some of the bolder ones might even stop to question you. Don’t answer any questions you don’t want to – tell them to mind their own damn business.” Jacob snaps, and then sighs, frowning.

    “That came out wrong, sorry. Just direct them to me if they start to make you uncomfortable. For the most part, they ought to leave you alone if you make it clear you aren’t there to answer questions.”

    Jacob squints as he starts a new line of stitches, which appear to be the last line needed to make the joint between the two cloaks seamless.

    “Anyway, I’d like to avoid the whole unpleasant business altogether, but William still isn’t really able to walk around. I need Caroline to run some errands for me, and more importantly, I need someone to keep an eye on her. I would do it myself, but I have some business of my own to take care of.”

    Jacob pauses to look up at you wistfully.

    “Unfortunately, that means you have the job. I hope you don’t mind, I know this is rather sudden. It should be only for a few hours this morning, then you can both come back here and do whatever you wish.”

    Jacob finishes the last stitches and knots the thread before snapping the spool free. He holds the cloak up for you to see.

    “Well, how’s that? It should be enough to comfortably conceal your wings without making you look too strange. But, perhaps you should try it on first just to make sure I got the stitching right.”

    The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

    Iethloc

    “That will happen pretty definitely if my men see anything scary.” The captain admits when the topic of some abomination showing up is raised.

    “So . . . do we get paid if we come along?” A barrel-chested, hairy pirate grunts, earning himself a hard rib from one of his fellows.

    “Pretty sure that’s the sort of mission you don’t come back from!” His associate hisses, earning a scoff from the particularly muscular and handsome pirate.

    “Eh, they said the same thing about shark punching. Heh, I made a hundred gold that day!”

    Apparently having talked himself into it, the pirate steps forward a moment later.

    “I’ll come along gov, long as you pay me when we get done. Shanks be my name, in case you need to holler it at some point.”

    Shanks winks at Roger, earning another exasperated sigh from your ill-fated associate.

    (Assuming you have no further business with the pirates, moving right along.)

    Leaving the pirate camp behind and untouched (for the moment, anyway), you begin the long walk up to your manor. As you get closer, you can begin to feel the hum of magical energy in that direction. Good – that might at least not all of your experiments and elementals had escaped and left. Of course, they could all be wandering around loose, but you had put them all away in convenient jars once – you could do it again.

    “So – how we doing this?” Shanks asked casually, fingering the butt of the crossbow slung across his back and the hilt of his saber.

    “We crashing in the front down, or sneaking in the back door all quiet and quick-like? Does your place even have a back door?”

    (If you had a particular layout for your mansion in mind, by the way, you are certainly welcome to lay it out. Otherwise, I’ll just try to make up things as I go along, and blame it all on those damn loose experiments if something isn’t where it should be. )

    On the Road

    The X-Roads Tavern

    WhiteKnight777

    (So, I really was planning on having this interesting social situation develop. Then, I heard this song, and decided it made too perfect of a theme to pass up. )

    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cN9jTnxv0RU

    Dodging the brute’s clumsy charge, you give him a faceful of sand, following by several swift and brutal blows. The mountain of muscle topples, and hits the ground with a low groan and a rumbling tremor. Silence reigns for several long moments, as the half-giant fails to rise and everyone else looks on in complete shock.

    Finally, a slow clapping comes from the balcony in the back, as the Proprietor looks down on you.

    “Most impressive, Newcomer! And now everyone, I have an important announcement! Everyone, ATTACK!!”

    Although clearly uncertain when they look at the broken mountain of muscle lying behind you, everyone in the bar nonetheless does as they are told. A few draw weapons, but most close in either bare-handed or with makeshift weapons typical of bloody bar fights – broken bottles, appropriated chairs, and the like.

    “A thousand gold who brings me his head!” The Proprietor decrees as the first waves of the rabble crash down into the sandy pit.

    (Basically, all of these guys are even more rabble than Mountain was. So feel free to go nuts with this and have some good old-fashioned beat ‘em up fun. Or blow them all away with some powerful spell because Umber is bored now. )

    The Gastly Truth

    Pwenet

    At your words, Isabella looks up numbly. She holds her one hand up for inspection, fingering the silver ring you had given her all those years ago.

    “You gave me this ring.” She says simply, pausing for a moment to consume another swallow of wine.

    “I’ve never taken it off, not once in all these forty years. He doesn’t want me to. He . . . he thinks it’s funny. An amusing trinket to remind me of my first sin – my betrayal of you.”

    Isabella leans back in her seat and closes her eyes, as a fresh batch of tears flow.

    “Gods, I did it for you!” She grates out, struggling to remain control of her emotions as she takes yet another sip, draining her glass. She slams the glass back down onto the table angrily, looking up at you.

    “One dark night all those forty years ago, I wake up to find a man standing by our bed. I recognize him as the new Baron of Gast, having recently inherited that position from his father – or so I thought at the time! He introduces himself anyway, and gives me a simple choice: I could either come with him willingly, or he would slit your throat and take me anyway. You were completely out, possibly drugged or enchanted. So, figuring this was some kind of ransom scheme, I agree and get out of bed.”

    Mechanically, Isabella reaches over, grabbing the bottle and pouring the remaining contents into her glass.

    “I was wrong. The Baron leads me into the next room, where another man, cloaked in shadow, is waiting. This man you also know – the Hierarch.”

    Instantly, images of the black-robed man with the iron crown flash through your mind. The man who killed you.

    “Reminding me that you were just in the next room, the Baron explains that his friend was going to cast a spell. I was to willingly accept it, not because it was required but because it would make his friend’s efforts easier.”

    Isabella slowly shakes her head, taking in a ragged breath.

    “I should have said no. I should have flung myself at the Hierarch – he had no personal stake in this, and would have just killed me out of hand. And then the Baron would have killed you, and we could have been together, maybe. But . . . gods help me, I said yes. I allowed the Hierarch to reach out to me, and welcomed his presence into my mind, my soul. All because the Baron promised he would let me decide what should happen to you afterwards.”

    Isabella nervously takes a sip of her remaining glass of wine.

    “The pain was indescribable. I felt as if my entire being was being torn apart, piece by piece. And it just went on, and on, and on. Gradually, I felt myself fading away, my soul torn out and discarded by the Hierarch. Well, just most of it. What was left, he rebuilt. Hate, envy, cruelty – these were what he used to fill the holes he had torn in my soul. A fitting monster for the Hierarch to mate with his newest pet. Although the Baron never was the Hierarch’s pet, nor anyone else’s.”

    Isabella gives a half-snort, half-cackle as she takes another sip, this time actually pausing to savor the wine for a moment instead of immediately swallowing.

    “And then, of course, they asked me what I wanted to do with you. It was out of the question for me to remain married with you – no, I had to move on to bigger and better things, by the Baron’s side. To this day, I don’t . . . I don’t know why I did what I did. Maybe there was still some part of me still there, wanting to save you, or maybe I really did think it was the cruelest option available. I told the Baron to imprison you.”

    Closing her eyes as if bracing herself for an outburst, Isabella downed the last of the wine in a single gulp.

    “It was my idea to lock you away beneath Ironheart, although it didn’t take the Baron long to expand that idea into converting the whole fortress into a prison. And when the time came, it was my idea to turn you over to the dragon cultists. And to revive your soul as a GHAST. The Baron kept his word - it has always been my choice what your fate should be.”

    Isabella hangs her head.

    “It’s my fault, all of it. I’ve caused you such pain, so much suffering . . . I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I thought you should know the truth. The real truth, not whatever poisonous lies I would spew out if asked while sober. I don’t know why, but the alcohol – it reacts with the angelic blood somehow, and temporarily I become the woman you remember. The woman you loved once, and who loved you. Who loved you so much, she made a foolish mistake, and condemned you to endless agony. Oh Incom, I am *so* sorry!”

    Dorizzit

    With the map and the path you would need to take to reach your destination burned into your mind, you set out. At first, the corridors are relatively empty, but as you move further out of the bowels of the airship you run across more people. No GHASTs, thankfully, at least not close enough for them to examine your face or missing arm. The people you pass are much less suspicious, thanks to your uniform, although a few do shoot confused glances at their fellow crewman lacking an arm. More than one also grunts a curse at you as you rudely race past, having no time to follow the pleasantries of traveling down high-traffic hallways.

    As you race onward, visions of Cheran carrying out the threats he whispered in your ear regarding your daughter race through your mind even faster.

    Your daughter is obnoxiously good at avoiding capture, unlike you. But she’s running out of rocks to hide under, and we are going to find her. And when we do . . . I’m going to hurt her. I’m going to take my time. Savor it. Before I’m finished, she will agree to do anything if it will convince me to put her out of her misery. And after I’ve taken everything from her, and only then, I’m going to kill her. And put her head on a pike for everyone to see. So smile, chump. When you come back in six months to return to prison, you’ll get to see your daughter’s face again. One last time.

    You had just managed to find your daughter again. You were not going to lose her again. Not like this, another victim consumed by the Baron’s casual cruelty.

    You push yourself to run faster, thoughts of arriving only a few seconds too late urging you onward far better than any whip. You ignore the looks being thrown your way as you push through groups of people, dancing around others walking at a sedate pace, unaware and uncaring of the life or death situation being played out aboard this airship. Bastards. You’d make them all pay for their indifference. But later.

    Unfortunately, you finally go around one blind corner too many, and crash head on with someone else. A someone who doesn’t stumble back and fall over, allowing you to plow over top of them and keep going, heedless of the mess.

    It wasn’t a GHAST, thankfully. But it was, perhaps, far worse as you rebounded a few steps, shoved harshly back by the person you had collided with. Snow-white wings flare outward in a mixture of curiosity and anger as Nephilium brushes himself off.

    “Man who doesn’t stop to smell flowers often finds his grave covered in them.” He snarls, although his angrily expression swiftly fades as his gaze switches to a point just over your shoulder. The Baron’s perhaps maddest son seems to be . . . distracted. Even more than usual, from what you’ve been able to tell in your brief encounter with him beneath Ironheart. Suddenly, his gaze returns to you, and he frowns.

    “Hmm. Or perhaps it is I who should have kept his eyes open. My apologies for running into you.”

    Nephilium looks back over his shoulder. Behind him, a few corridors down you can see the hallways becoming far less populated, but also much more richly furnished, with wooden paneling and carpet.

    “Perhaps you were even looking for me? I was in my quarters just now. Father is up on the Bridge, if it is he you were looking for instead.”

    Nephilium shakes his head, actually looking wistful for a moment.

    “Few people ever come visit me. The shortest man is looked down upon by all.”

    Lonna

    Edward and his pet spider leer down at your helpless form, clearly pleased.

    “Not so smart now, are you? I’m going to enjoy making you scream.”

    Reaching down, Edward grabs a handful of your hair, sending small coin-sized spiders skittering down from his hand onto your head. He does however, pull you free of the web, allowing you to follow him on hands and knees as he drags you along behind him. He pounds on a section of the wall, and it splits open a moment later, revealing Alphonse, his flesh pale and frozen, not quite as rotten as his brother but still quite obviously dead.

    “Woah, hey Sir Nephilium. Um, where are you going with the prisoner?”

    “I’ve got something special planned for this bitch back in my private quarters. So I’m checking her out for a bit. Don’t worry, I’ll return whatever’s left in a couple hours – Father will still have his - well, whatever she is to him right now.”

    “Are you going to be alright with her free like that?”

    Edward gives your head a vicious shake.

    “She still has her collar on, and she’s so hyped up right now I’m not sure she can even hear us. But eh, if it’ll get you to stop whining, why not? Come on, on your feet!”

    Edward pulls you up to your feet by your hair, while Alphonse moves out of sight. A moment later, you feel your hands drawn behind your back, and hear the spider queen cackle as something cold and hard snaps into place around your wrists.

    “You’re trapped now. No escape, no hope! Why don’t you just lie down and relax? This’ll go so much easier for you that way.” You feel a sharp prick on your neck, something biting into it.

    No, not something, but someone, as the face of the first man you had killed, the murder that had sent you to Ironheart, appeared. He was holding a knife to your throat, the same knife you had used to kill him in the ensuing struggle. It would be considerably more difficult this time, with his iron grip on your hair and with your hands tied behind your back. Like Alphonse and Edward before him, this man too was clearly dead, a vengeful ghost back to take his long overdue wrath upon you. Curiously, like Edward, this man also had slate grey wings hanging from his back.

    “Come on, let’s go.” The man growls, no doubt planning to take you somewhere quiet where he could finish what he tried to start. You aren’t entirely sure what happened next, as everything for the next few seconds blurred together in a rush of terror, desperation, and madness. But you are quite aware of what snapped you out of it, as a powerful slap snapped your head back and sent you roughly tumbling to the floor. For a few moments, you could see clearly, Cheran and the self-appointed Warden standing over you.

    “She goes ape**** like that in the hallway, there’s going to be problems.” The warden grunted, earning a derisive snort from Cheran.

    “She does it again, and I’ll just choke her until the problem is resolved, one way or the other.” Cheran grunts, reaching down to grab a handful of your hair again.

    “Come on, we’re wasting precious time here.”

    Cheran drags you several feet before you can manage to get your feet firmly under you again, and then you are forced to follow him as he leads you out the door by your hair. You have only gone a few steps down the hallway before something rustles underneath Cheran’s wings. In an explosion of flying feathers, the spider queen makes her triumphant reappearance, leaping out at you, and you’re back in the land of insanity.

    It was becoming quite clear to you that you were dead. That was the only logical conclusion. You were dead, and this was the Hells. Everyone always told you this was where you would end up, and now here you are. As you are dragged down the hallway, you pass countless figures, demons who follow you with hungry eyes, or deceased spirits, people whom you had known long ago.

    Some were former clients, others were members of your mother’s bordello. All of them were ripped apart, tormented by the demons capering about. And you would be joining them, forever and ever. But first, all of your victims, the people you had killed, the people you had wronged – they would get first crack at you, as it were.

    Looking up to see what awaited you, you see your mother standing before you. The bruises on her throat stood out against her pale skin, and her bright eyes had been replaced with empty sockets.

    “All whores go to the Hells, daughter.” Your mother growls, as her face morphs, becoming spider-like as she lunches forward, fang-filled mouth wide open.

    For just an instant, you are back in that room on that awful night your mother died, hiding under the bed with Ariella. Above you, you hear a harsh voice repeat the phrase your mother had just said to you, laughing as he did so. And then the collar around your throat burns, and you’re somewhere else.

    A surge of anger rushes through you, making your other cheek hot to match the burning of the cheek that had been slapped. Every Rose had its thorns, or so they said. You had a solution for that – break every thorn off before you could get pricked. And then snap off the flowers for good measure, leaving an ugly, scraggly bush that nobody would ever want again.

    That was how to deal with troublesome women, and that was how you would have dealt with it if given the chance. But no, you had to be civil, and being civil meant not ramming the bitch’s teeth down her throat with your fist. Even if she started it, reacting to your quiet suggestion to go somewhere private with an angry slap that caught the attention of everyone present at this stupid ball.

    You had never been good at controlling your temper, and so you might still have repaid this public humiliation in kind had your older brother not decided to step in. Meddlesome Seraph – he would get his too! One day . . . when Father wasn’t looking. He wasn’t as strong as you were, no one was except maybe Nephilium, and *he* was an idiot.

    Rose Volesin would also get hers, somehow. Father and her father had some sort of arrangement going on, which was why she was here, hopefully to be married off to one of them. Which meant tonight wouldn’t be your only chance – Rose would likely still be around in some fashion or another, despite her obvious distaste for all of you. You’d have opportunities for revenge, you would just need to bide your time. Oh yes, you would have your revenge sooner or –


    “WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME!!?” Cheran snarls, holding you in mid-air by your throat. Snapped out of your bizarre dream, but still quite panicked by your sudden lack of air, you are completely unable to answer him. Fortunately, things start going dark again rather quickly, and you hear the spider queen cackle as something bulbous swings down from above.

    You had to keep moving. Although night had fallen over your home, the battle was still raging. You could still hear the fighting, battle cries and spells being chanted in the distance. Overhead, occasionally you could saw dark shapes race by, most of them headed directly for the high towers of the castle that had so recently been your home. Even so, the mere sight of them caused you and your bodyguard to huddle back into the dark alleys.

    “Stay close, Princess.” Your dark bodyguard whispered for the hundredth time, stepping with supernatural grace over the bodies of your fallen countrymen that littered every street. They were always human though – never did you see a single body of the enemy.

    Suddenly, you hear a massive explosion echo through the streets behind you, and feel a coldness tighten in your chest. Your mother and father were gone. And then there was a loud, foul howling wind, which came dangerously close to sucking you back down the street was it not for the strong arm of your bodyguard pushing you forward.

    “Keep moving! Hurry!”

    Above, the sky was suddenly alive with dark shapes, as they flocked to get away from the city through the heavy wind. Not all of them made it, but many did. And then there was one dark shape, arrowing effortlessly across the sky, which suddenly swerved and dived. She must have seen you, as the angel swooped over the buildings magnificently despite the wind, and landed lightly before you. She greets you with a cold smile as she draws her spear from her back.

    “Princess Pyria, last of the Phaedran Abominations. Allow me to send you on to join your parents personally.”

    “You won’t touch her!” Your bodyguard hisses angrily, stepping forward to interpose herself between you and the angel. This only seemed to amuse your adversary.

    “*You* are doing to stop me, traitor? I would like to see that.”

    For a moment, your bodyguard turns back to you, favoring you with a forced smile.

    “Never give up, Princess. Your people need you now more than ever.”

    She shoves you away, towards a side street that would take you around the plaza where this confrontation was occurring.

    “Now go! RUN!” And with that, your bodyguard flings herself forward, and battle is joined. For your part, you run for all your worth, concentrating every last drop of your energy into running as fast as you can. When you finally can run no more, you collapse to the ground exhausted, twisting yourself around to look at the remains of your home.

    The city is gone, fading away into a blinding white vortex that even now is closing away into nothing. Above you, countless dark shapes soar, the victors of this war. One by one, they soar off into the heavens, disappearing through portals back to their own home. You were alone.


    The Perist Residence

    Kasanip

    “What? Go with Isera to some random backwater town!? I don’t know . . . it doesn’t sound terribly interesting to me.”

    Both older men bristle at Carlain’s usual sledgehammer style of conversation. Even Cerise looks disappointed with him.

    “This doesn’t have to be a request.” Jean mutters darkly. Duncan sighs and shrugs.

    “Fine, suit yourself. Instead of looking into a possible warlock cult, and unearthing all their secrets, you can just stay here. Maybe I’ll go with Isera instead. And since you did want to study each of the Canticles in detail, perhaps you can learn under Jean’s tutelage instead. I’m sure he’d have plenty of fascinating exercises for you to run through.”

    That last comment finally seemed to sink in through Carlain’s thick skull. Having experienced your father’s brand of teaching, that wasn’t a fate you wouldn’t wish on anyone. Apparently Carlain wasn’t a complete idiot, as he pushes himself up to his feet, brushing himself off while looking contemplative.

    “Well, since you put it that way. Um . . . could I have an hour or two to think about it? Cerise still hasn’t quite taught me everything I wanted to learn about the Canticle of Winter.”

    “Carlain, we’ve gone over all the most important bits already. Are you just hesitant to go on an assignment with Is? Alone on an assignment with Is?” Cerise pressed with a slight smile. Carlain’s face grew flushed, as he stormed off from the campsite.

    “I just don’t want to be pressured into a decision, damnit! Give me some time to think!”

    Cerise blinks in surprise at Carlain’s sudden outburst, and sighs.

    “I apologize. He’s been increasingly moody as of late. Hormones, I guess?” She offers with a helpless shrug. Duncan simply chuckles and replies with a shrug of his own. Jean remains taciturn as usual, turning away to move over to Berrick and the Perists.

    “A decision will have to be made before we go to sleep. Isera should leave at first light.”

    Duncan watches your father go, and then nods.

    “He’s probably right. We could just teleport you there, but doing so might tip off any warlocks still lingering in the area. And that would be bad. Now then, I believe you two old friends have a lot of catching up to do, so I’ll leave you girls to it.”

    Duncan then walks away, leaving you alone with Cerise. She motions you over to the small fire that Carlain had abandoned with a smile.

    “So, I see a lot has changed . . . “ She begins quietly, nodding at your artificial hand. “But some things will never change.” She concludes, nodding at the distant form of your father.

    The Capital

    Tackyhillbillu

    The vampire stumbles back as your feet connect with his stomach – at least he wasn’t completely invincible. He does still have his significant advantages, however, and he knows how to exploit them. He doesn’t even bother trying to dodge your knife, allowing you to bury it deeply in his chest. The vampire Hand doesn’t even flinch, but instead laughs as he slashes at you with his own blades.

    Again, you narrowly manage to spin away, leaving your blade in the creature’s chest. This time, you hear a quiet rip and feel a slight breeze across your chest. Looking down, you notice the point of the vampire’s blade has sliced through your uniform – but thankfully, it didn’t break the skin.

    “Pathetic.” The vampire snorts as it swats the knife out of its chest, allowing it to drop to the floor while leaving behind a gaping hole in his chest. Advancing again, he lightly leaps up into the air, delivering a hellacious snap kick to your chest. You go flying backward, smashing into one of the bookshelves lining the walls. Pain flares down your back as you come to a moment later, finding yourself sitting on the floor. Thankfully, nothing seems broken, but you couldn’t take many more injuries such as this before getting sloppy.

    “And now, I’m going to squash you like a bug.” The vampire announces, sheathing his daggers and grabbing another one of the bookshelves. In an incredible display of strength, he tears the bookshelf free of its moorings, and then hefts it up over his head. Clearly, the plan is to lob it at you, and indeed most likely squashing you in the impact.

    Thankfully, fortune smiles upon you for once as a trio of armed guards suddenly burst into the room. Their cries quickly fade into quiet disbelief, however, as the vampire turns to face them.

    “What!?” He snarls angrily, and then hurls the bookshelf at them instead of you. The guards scatter as the bookshelf smashes into the floor in an eruption of wooden shards and leather-bound books. Howling in fury, he then draws his daggers once more and charges forward towards the guards before they can recover. One flung dagger catches a guard in the throat, another in the arm (a sure kill once the poison sunk in), and then bodily tackles the third guard. Holding the struggling man down, the vampire savages his throat with his fangs, lapping noisily at the bloody ruin. At least the guards bought you a few seconds.

    A Not-So Ordinary Basement

    OverWilliam

    “She?” Jim repeats, obviously quite confused.

    “Yes. Limier is a woman – I doubt that is information she would prefer widely known, however.” Melcara grunts, although she manages a slight smile. “Although, perhaps disseminating such information would lead her back to us. Assuming we could manage to do better than we have in such a fight, perhaps we could acquire an antidote that way.”

    Melcara pauses thoughtfully for a moment, frowning.

    “Speaking of such – urg – perhaps we could make a potion from my blood. I understand humans sometimes use angel blood in curative poultices – although I would caution that my own blood is tainted. In any event, we would require an alchemist, and matching alchemical equipment, to even think of such a thing.”

    Struggling to her feet, Melcara flaps her wings reflexively for balance as she wobbles. Gritting her teeth, Melcara takes a deep breath and steadies herself, still holding a hand against her side.

    “I am ready to go.”

    At your suggestion, Jim dim-wittedly nods and dashes up the steps, partially obscuring your only source of light as he reaches the top. In the dim light you can see Melcara weakly turn and begin staggering up the steps, while Teareal collects the comatose form of Adamè into his arms. The elf moans quietly, and seems to shrink in on herself even more than she already has. How long did she have? Minutes? Hours? A few more days of unconscious agony?

    As you move in behind the group, you hear Jim give a hushed report.

    “There’s a door up here.”

    The sounds of a doorknob being jingled softly reach your ears.

    “It’s unlocked.”

    Perhaps the best news you had received since leaving Hell. Ha, what a thought!

    “Should I open it?”

    “Yes!” Melcara rasps, clearly getting impatient with the mindless lackiness of your other associate. The door opens a moment later, relatively flooding the room with light. Jim gives a ragged cheer as he stumbles out into the room beyond. As you and the others climb up into a shabbily furnished room, you find Jim rolling around in front of the window.

    “Sunlight! Sunlight! Oh gods, I never thought I’d see the sun again!” He groans, stretching like a cat as he tries to rub the sunlight pouring in through the window into his flabby, pasty-white body (now completely absent of burnt markings and scars, interestingly enough).

    Looking out through the window, you can see that you seem to be in a slum of some sort. A sinking feeling passes through your stomach as you think you recognize some of the grime-covered buildings. You were in the slums of the capital city. In the section of the slums heavily owned and operated by the Thieves Guild.

    Thankfully, no one seemed to be home at the moment. Either the party using this safe house was out, or the place had been abandoned for some reason – perhaps the runes down in the basement?

    A Meaningless Speck of a Town Soon to be Even Less

    Gorgondantess

    Unfortunately, your only answers from the priest are “Oh gods, my HAND!”. The man then gives a little squeal, much like the pigs that used to inhabit your old village, and then he lapses into unconsciousness. Also, you detect a foul odor coming from the vicinity of his legs, as a dark spot begins to spread out across the lower part of his robes.

    The surrounding crowd of cattle give out even louder screams, and some of the bolder ones attempt to flee out through the back of the church, thinking you distracted. The rest meekly cower in their seats, staring at you with lamb eyes.

    “H-heavens. He’s in the Heavens!” A young boy suddenly calls from one of the pews nearby. He is staring at you with a curious mixture of terror and awe. A look that meets with a glance of disapproval from the older woman seated next to him (his mother?), although she is too cowed herself to say anything.

    From outside, you suddenly hear a loud bell being sounded, and cries of alarm. Evidently, what few people who lived in this village, who had not been inside the church at the time of your entrance, had finally gotten wind of you Not that it would likely seem to matter much – unless those outside were the assassins you were looking for, this village didn’t seem to be the source of the threat against you..
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

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  25. - Top - End - #565
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Tackyhillbillu's Avatar

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    Argan sighed as the Vampire ignored the Dagger. Of course. He did his best to react to the kick, at least absorb some of the force. Unfortunately, it didn't appear to do much good. Flying through the air was an oddly restful experience. Of course, smashing into the Bookshelf was quite to the contrary. He blacked out as he smashed into the bridge. A few scenes of past experiences flashed up. For some, that might have been refreshing. However, Argan spent most of his time supressing his past.

    A Woman cries out as a Dagger slams into her back...

    A little girl sobbing, a man standing over her grimly...

    A man lies on the floor, his face frozen in a look of despair, his wife and two daughters dead beside him...


    Argan awakens, clearing away those memories as he tried to stand, to protect himself. It seems fate is still on his side, however. As the Guards rush in. Of course, they are quickly incapacitated, but Argan has the opening he needs to recover.

    Don't aim to kill. Slow him down, and I get the hell out of here.

    Argan pulls out another two daggers. He was going to run out if he didn't finish this soon. He throws them, looking to obstruct the creature, instead of killing him. One went for the Vampires Right Achilles Tendon, the other for his Left Eye. With that, Argan ran for another one of the Bookshelves, pushing it over towards the Vampire. Leaping back, he ran for the Door. Hopefully the Vampire would be slowed by one of those things. Either way, he was done. The Thieves Guild was the least of his problem. He'd been getting the hell out the Capital.

  26. - Top - End - #566
    Titan in the Playground
     
    Archpaladin Zousha's Avatar

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    Hastings, MN
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    Quote Originally Posted by Inspectre View Post
    Dawn’s Hope - Monastery

    Baerdog7/Archpaladin Zousha

    As Hondshioh summons his rocky skin and charges through the flames, Karth looks back in open-mouthed shock. He summons another blast of flame which catches the young paladin firmly in the chest, searing away what was left of his tabard and tunic. The attack had minimal effect other than this, however, and Karth barely manages to bring his sword around in time to blunt Hondshioh’s charge. As with Ander before him, Karth locks blades with the young paladin, engaging him in a contest of strength. A contest of strength that Karth begins to narrowly lose as his blade is slowly pushed back.

    Rapidly changing tactics, Karth skillfully pulls back and sidesteps, sending Hondshioh stumbling forward. Karth attempts to stop the half-giant’s momentum with a knee to the stomach, but again the blow simply bounces off his rocky skin with an angry clang. Karth grimaces, and then clenches the hilt of his sword firmly in both hands, bringing it around like a club across Hondshioh’s face. This time, the blow seems to have some effect, as Hondshioh is knocked back a step as stars dance before him.

    As Hondshioh recovers, Ander enters the fight with a pair of hurled orbs. The impacts from the orbs sends the men staggering, but as they are men in heavy armor and not fiends, they seem more winded than injured. The holy chains he summons as a follow-up seem to work better, snagging several of Karth’s men on their way to the rebel leader. Despite this, Karth actually laughs as he steps back away from Hondshioh, allowing a pair of his elite guard to take his place.

    “I am a paladin as well, and I seem to remember the dispelling ritual being something like – this!”

    Gesturing rapidly, Karth summons a blast of holy magic that lances out to slice into the chains, shattering them completely. However, the assault of both Ander and Hondshioh, despite being the only ones in the ritual room still standing, cause Karth to re-evaluate his priorities. No longer covering their retreat, the rebel Exarch instead pushes his way to the front, taking the lead of the small band as he blasts the remaining hallway guards with flame. Meanwhile, most of the elite guard shuffle in behind him, closing in on Hondshioh and Ander to block the way with their own bodies.
    Hondshioh

    Hondshioh charges as fast as he can.

    "ANDER! GET TO KARTH AND STOP HIM! I'LL GET THESE FOOLS OUT OF THE WAY!"

    He doesn't slow down to swing as he closes in on the elite guard, crashing straight into them like an avalance, hoping to knock them all aside.

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    Hondshioh. Living bowling ball!
    "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."

  27. - Top - End - #567
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    Lonna's Avatar

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    Pyrene the Many-Lived

    Quote Originally Posted by Inspectre View Post
    The city is gone, fading away into a blinding white vortex that even now is closing away into nothing. Above you, countless dark shapes soar, the victors of this war. One by one, they soar off into the heavens, disappearing through portals back to their own home. You were alone.
    And then she wasn't. A crowd surrounded her, jeering up from below the platform on which she stood. A man in slightly less tattered clothes was standing on the platform in front of her, just beyond the pile of wood and straw that was stacked to her waist. He was reading out of a book even more bedraggled-looking than the scum who had condemned her, rightly, for witchcraft. In his other hand he held a torch. Unfortunately, she had exhausted most of her power ensuring the escape of the rest of the coven, and a night confined in the slime pit that served as the villiage jail had done little to restore it, otherwise the whole situation would be laughable. As it was, she knew that no matter what she did, she would not make it out alive.

    "-last words?"

    Staring at the torch, she spoke as casually as if standing in the market square, doing her best to ignore the fear that set her heart to pounding in her chest and froze her flesh despite the summer heat. "I have a bargain to make with you."

    The rest of what she might have said was lost as the outraged crowd roared for her blood, and the unnerved judge dropped the torch onto the pyre before hastily backing away. As the first flames licked her feet, a crackling voice hissed in her ear. "We accept."

    She was unable to keep from screaming as flames suddenly burst out of her stomach, consuming her from the inside out. Her last sight was of the flames leaping out from the carefully prepared execution pyre as the demons fullfilled their end of the bargain - her remaining lifeforce and power for revenge against the villagers. Then her eyes were consumed, and her world was nothing but pain.


    Her world shrank. The Bad Man was hurting her again, hurting her in the place that she didn't want to think about. He had been hurting her for a long time this time, longer than ever before. She started crying. He hit her, hard enough that she saw stars, but she couldn't stop. Snarling incoherent vulgarities he lifted her small body up and smashed her against the wall. Then he pressed against her, hurting her until she screamed, and he hit her until she couldn't scream anymore.

    The scream of the angel in front of her was almost as beautiful as the bloody line left on the supernatural being's stomach, and the whip in her hand snaked out skillfully to elicit another. "It's really too bad that Umber couldn't join me today. Playing with you always makes us so excited," she said tauntingly, laughing as the angel screamed again, this time in rage, and strained against the chains that bound her.

    To both their surprise, the chains gave, their anchors ripping from the wall with a crack of shattered stone. The angel, unfortunately, recovered a hair faster and leapt at her, weilding the chains very much like the whip in her hand. She dodged the chains, but a piece of stone few from the end of one and struck her temple, knocking her to the floor and muddling her thoughts.

    Before she could catch her breath the angel was sitting on her chest, hands wrapped tightly around her throat. Vaguely she knew she ought to cast a spell, but her head hurt and she could not think of anything. She began to black out, faintly hearing cries of dismay and anger over the roaring in her ears. Then she knew nothing.


    She woke to the sound of someone calling her name softly, a faint note of panic in the familiar tenor voice. Opening her eyes, she saw her lover glance nervously at the door, then down at her, seeming relieved that she was finally awake. "I'm sorry to wake you, but they've caught up with us. We have to leave. Now."

    Bolting upright she hurried to get dressed and pack while he prepared the horses. She was anxious, but not really afraid. After all, they had eluded their pursuers for nearly two months - ever since they had eloped. It seemed impossible that they would not do so again. She was nearly finished when a sudden commotion outside sent her racing out of the abandoned inn - and straight into her stepfather's iron grip.

    A dozen mounted soldiers bearing torches stood around the yard, simultaneously illuminating and blocking all possible escape routes. Two more held the reins of the extra horses, including those she and her companion had been riding. But it was the last three figures that made her blood run cold, as she saw two soldiers force her beloved to kneel in the center of the yard, facing the door of the inn.

    Without so much as loosening his hold, her stepfather turned to face the young man and examined him coldly, addressing her brusquely as he did so. "It took a good deal of negotiation, but the Viscount will still take you, damaged goods though you are now." He nodded to the soldiers. "Kill him."

    "NO!" Shrieking, she managed to pull out of her stepfather's grip and rush toward her lover, who likewise had slipped free of his captors and was rushing the nearest mounted soldier, clearly hoping to spook the horse and create an opening for escape. In this he was half-way successful. The horseman spurred forward, leaving a gap through which she could have escaped, at least temporarily, if she had had the presence of mind to do so.

    She did not, because all she could see was the length of sharp iron thrust through her beloved's body, stained scarlet with his blood. Screaming his name, she rushed to him as the soldier jerked the sword free. He was still alive, barely, his heart blood pumping over her hands into the dark soil as she sobbed. Weakly he stirred, and she strained to hear what he might say, trying to show by her face and touch what she could not find the words to express.

    But his last words remained unsaid, and with a gurgling sigh, he was gone, leaving her alone with her bloodstained hands...
    I started a blog!
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  28. - Top - End - #568
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Kasanip's Avatar

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    Isera Harvent
    Hopefully will one day be rebuilt-Perist Residence


    Isera rolled her eyes with Carlain's comment and felt a rueful smile grow on her face. He had a thick skull all right...but then again, she was pretty stubborn herself. Especially at that age, she thought with a grimace.

    "Go ahead Carlain, make the decision yourself." She said calmly as the boy stormed off. As it were in the Canticle of Autumn, it was a good trait to be able to think and decide for oneself...Though she had to wonder how much of that had been her own decision, as she glanced out of the corner of her eye at her father. As stiff and cold as ever. Isera shrugged her coat around her shoulders a little tighter with a cool evening breeze, and moved over to the campfire to sit next to Cherise.

    At her comment, Isera smirked as wryly as she could. The same old Isera smirk that she had shared for years with Cherise.
    "He's as uptight as a badger still..." She said with a forced laugh, trying to release some of the tightness in her chest.
    "But...by Miriam, Cherise!" She said, lowering her voice. "This is the first time I've seen him in..in years, and he acts like it's nothing! Just send me off on another mission..." She sighed and tucked some loose hair behind her ear.
    "But...well, you know how it's been...since then." She said said, a little glumly, her eyes narrowing a little as she looked into the campfire. Her turquoise eye glittered with golden specks in the light, and she looked distracted for a minute before turning back to Cherise.

    "But I haven't seen you in too long Cherise...And I did promise to tell you about this." She said, taking off the glove over her left hand. It revealed the artificial hand- a mechanical contraption, well crafted, though quite obviously not a real hand upon inspection. Isera looked at it and tapped it with her right finger.
    "Can't make it do anything like this...There's a glyph in the glove that let's me manipulate it like a real hand...hence why I don't take the glove off." She said with a faint smile. But she couldn't keep it up, feeling guilty she hadn't told her friend before.
    There never was time. She thought.
    "Here's the story though..." Isera said, pulling the glove back onto her left hand and then flexing it experimentally.
    "It was about two years ago. Was investigating reports of a terrible beast that had been wreaking havoc at night in this town. Quiet place normally. Nice folks, but unused to this kind of threat. I thought it was probably something not too unusual you know? Maybe a pack of gnolls had come down to do some raiding. Or maybe it was a werewolf or something."

    She shrugged, and scratched the side of her face near her turquoise eye. A self-concious habit of embarrassment that she had picked up.
    "Well, I decided I'd stay in one of the stables that night, and sure enough, the attack came. But it wasn't gnolls or a werewolf... No, it was actually a bear spirit who had been wounded by one of the townsfolk a few days before the attacks started. Needless to say, no one thought to inform me of this, and I was...overconfident."

    She flexed her hand again, and frowned. "It's not good to be overconfident in this line of work. You make a mistake, and you're dead. And I should have been, except I got my hand in between me and the spirit, and it took it off. I managed to get my incantation finished and bind the creature...but the hand was a loss. Nothing you can do about that in a small town...but it served me right. Luckily the only one injured in my screwup was myself.

    But that's always the way it works for me, isn't it?"
    She asked with a tense smile, looking at Cherise again. The eye, the hand...she had made mistakes, and she wouldn't forget them.
    She sat in silence again for a few minutes.
    "It's been a rough few years Cherise." She said softly, resting her elbows on her knees as she leaned closer to the fire. She tilted her head and looked at her best friend.
    "How about you? What have you been up to? Oh, and what's the deal with Carlain? I don't ever remember him being like this." She raised an eyebrow.
    Last edited by Kasanip; 2010-02-08 at 12:59 AM.
    Kasanip's Sketchbook 2 Thread
    It is difficult to speak English, please excuse mistakes kindly m(_ _)m

  29. - Top - End - #569
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    Gorgondantess's Avatar

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    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Maria stands, shocked, holding the man for a few seconds. She knew full well the actions of humans when they died... but so easily? Just because of a little crushing, and not even to a vital part? Of course, humans are frail, but now it seems they're made of glass- though not even glass could do these thing's frailty justice. Words could not describe. She didn't know whether to pity these things, or loathe them for their weakness.
    Carelessly tossing the body aside and turning about as it crunches against a far wall, she kneels in front of the boy, making sure to avoid crushing him.
    "What do you know of Lord Athelion the Lifebringer?"
    Last edited by Gorgondantess; 2010-02-08 at 01:38 AM.
    Marceline Abadeer by Gnomish Wanderer

  30. - Top - End - #570
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    OverWilliam's Avatar

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    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    ~Tare

    Tare's eyes widened and he stopped walking as he caught glimpses of the world outside the building whose basement they seemed to have found themselves in. "....Crap." He was quickly awoken from any stupefied daze he was trying to descend into by the startled 'thump' of Melcara running into his back at his sudden stop. "Oh!" Tare spun, supporting Melcara and making sure she did not fall backwards down the stairs. He then tried to give similar assistance to Teareal, burdened as he was with Adame's poison-wracked form. Then he saw the sun. "Oh..." With similar appreciation, Tare wobbled forward until it covered most of his body; his bare chest rejoiced at the blessed touch; he could even feel the warmth purging his body of the cold that had seeped so deep through the coarse burlap shorts that were the only remaining clothing he had. Truly, he was in rather rough shape... but he was Alive. Both wrists were chafed and bruised, still bearing the bottom rings of metal left behind by his restrictive leather Gloves back in Ironheart. His feet, not even protected by thin sandals, had been cut and bruised as well by the tooth-like rocks that were common in that pit. Tare reached up an exhausted hand to pull his bangs out of his eyes, taking a deep breath. "......Crap."

    He turned to Melcara. "...I think I know where we are." He pulled a weary smile from somewhere, though he didn't look like he had too many of those left in him. "Listen, I know someone who might be able to help us. He runs a little Chapel somewhere near here-- I'm not exactly sure where yet, I need to get my bearings. Would you be ok with going there to rest and try to heal up? It's been a while since I've seen him, but... if he's anything like he used to be, I trust him. He's not going to rat either of us out..." He said, looking into the former Angel's eyes with that same strangely accurate sense of Empthy, highly unexpected in a Mortal, and even for a situation of relationships that he could not possibly understand. ...Could he?

    I won't abandon you, Melcara... please trust me...
    Deo Soli Sit Semper Gloria

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    Its offical. Overwilliam is Duke Devlin.

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