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  1. - Top - End - #571
    Orc in the Playground
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    Apr 2007
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    The third dimension
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    Male2Female

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Sohssal

    "This is a good a time as any to give you a quick rundown on my manor. It is built to withstand heavy assaults from both outside and inside. There's no real back door unless you teleport in, but the rampant magical energy makes that unsafe. The front door will be no problem to get through. The lobby, however, is full of magical traps and valuable art - a lot of which also has traps. There's no telling what's become of them by now. The rest of the above-ground section is straightforward and not as dangerous, mostly more art, magical energy storage devices, caches and some guardian golems," he explained to all three of his comrades. He sniffed the air a bit to get a better taste of the magic. Sohssal definitely wanted to know how bad the decay was before he got anywhere close to his old place.

    "But the underground passages," he continued, "are filled with dangerous traps and experiments. Most of the approaches are connected by various tunnels and magical wards are everywhere. The traps are non-lethal at first, but that changes the farther you get in. The absolute most dangerous experiments have their own areas away from the others. We won't try to deal with them right now...but they're more likely to have escaped. They're all designed to be easily cut off from the outside world in case of an accident, but there's no guarantee of that now!" As he started getting closer to his mansion, Sohssal gathered up a bit of magical energy into his hands. The front door was probably closed by then, so he was prepared to blast it open. Besides, it's more than likely that there was also something nasty behind it.

  2. - Top - End - #572
    Troll in the Playground
     
    Inspectre's Avatar

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    Jul 2007

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Dawn’s Hope - Monastery

    Baerdog7/Archpaladin Zousha

    Heedless of the weapons impacting against his armor and bare skin, the half-giant plows into the midst of Karth’s elite guard. Even these well armed and trained troops cannot hold the charging paladin back, and he begins to shove a clear path through them for Ander. In desperation, the other half of the guards bodily throw themselves onto Hondshioh, their combined weight finally enough to slow him, and then topple him to the ground in a confused tangle of limbs and armor.

    Even from the floor in the midst of all these bodyguards, Hondshioh can see his efforts were successful. Only two bodyguards stood between Karth and Ander now, down from a dozen. However, at the same time, the last of the paladins in Karth’s way finally succumbed to the relentless assault of flame. He and the remaining two bodyguards began to lumber up into a run towards the courtyard, where their mounts awaited. Of course, more guards and paladins awaited them, but it was clear by now that no one save for Ander and Hondshioh could withstand the searing flames Karth could summon and command nigh-effortlessly. Such teachings were certainly not part of the Church’s instructions for paladins. Where then, had he gotten such incredible power?

    The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

    Iethloc

    “You remember where all these traps are, aye?” Shanks asks, shooting a glance at you.

    Well, one way or the other, I say we let Sohssal take point. He’s pretty much invulnerable, and this is his mess anyway.

    If Omega had an opinion to share, she did not share it on the journey up to the manor’s front door. Indeed, she seemed quite distracted, occasionally pausing to frown or shake her head as if to clear it.

    Arriving at your manor was fairly simple. You hadn’t really bothered to add walls, already being on an island. Nor had you trapped the grounds, again seeing little reason to bother with no one living on the island besides yourself. Inside the manor, of course, was a different story.

    Curiously, extending your senses to the manor reveals that most of the upper areas are devoid of rampant magical energy. Down below, however, you can still faintly sense mystical auras gone awry. Considering all of the wards you had placed down there, being able to sense anything at all was a pretty good sign that you did have work to do.

    On guard at the unexpected absence of magical auras on the aboveground portion of your residence, you blast the front doors of your manor apart from afar. You would be able to repair them easily enough later, and it was better to be prepared for trouble than walk right up into it.

    Fortunately, no slavering beasts emerge from within to foolishly try to rip you apart. Entering the manor just slightly ahead of the others, you are surprised to find someone waiting for you after all. Or rather, some thing as the creature who smoothly stands to greet you is no man judging by his cloven feet and gilded horns.

    “I bid you welcome home, Sohssal. I am Xerxes, and as you might have guessed, I hail from the Hells. My master has sent me here with a proposition for you. We can discuss it here, or – “

    “Woah, a devil!” Shanks exclaims, finally moving up to within sight of the interior. Having already been warned about how to deal with the loose denizens of your former manor, Shanks’ trigger finger is particularly itchy, and a bolt is immediately loosed. The bolt hits Xerxes in the shoulder, burying itself firmly. With a look of irritation that a human would reserve for plucking off a flea, Xerxes pulls the crossbow bolt out of his chest before tossing it aside.

    “Now that introductions have been exchanged, allow me to finish. We can discuss the details here, or retire to your study. I’ve taken the liberty of having it removed of any dangerous traps – imps can occasionally be useful.”

    The Gastly Truth

    Lonna

    A stinging slap sets your cheek ablaze, shocking you awake. You find yourself in a richly appointed room, chained to the wall by the wrists and ankles. As expected, Cheran is nearby, leering at you. Over his shoulder, you can see Countess Amelia perched on a nearby couch. She is pale and looks ill, and seems to be cocooned in spider webs. Hanging from the far wall opposite of you is Kris, similarly chained. At least, you assume it’s Kris – the creature’s face is heavily bruised and appears demonic, complete with horns.

    “Wake up. It’s time for the main event.” Cheran sneers, turning his back to you – revealing the spider queen clinging to his back – and spreading his arms wide.

    “Now then Amelia. I will give you one last chance to accept my proposal. Then . . .” Cheran menacingly cracks his knuckles, earning a snort of disdain from Kris.

    “You’re going to what – beat her up? Beat me up instead? You haven’t laid a finger on her yet, and how many times does she have to say “go to the Hells” before it finally sinks in?”

    Cheran grits his teeth, and then forces a smile.

    “Oh no. I’m not going to lay a finger on Amelia. She’s a noble, you see, and so must freely consent to be married. Father wants this marriage completely impeccable. Her friend Pyrene, however, is just a common whore.”

    Cheran whirls, backhanding you hard enough for you to see stars, and now the other side of your face is aflame.

    “I can touch her however I want. And if Amelia doesn’t want to watch her new friend slowly die piece by piece over the next few hours, she will give me what I want.”

    “I watched my entire household butchered before my eyes. Servants I have known since I was a little girl were tortured to death in front of me, one after another. I did not say yes then, and I will not say yes now! This woman means nothing to me!” The Countess hisses in reply.

    “YOU WILL!” Cheran roars back in reply, jabbing a finger at her. Struggling to remain his composure, Cheran runs a hand through his blond hair and forces the smile back on his face as he shrugs. “You will, sooner or later. Everyone has a breaking point. But for now, since this woman is apparently worthless to everyone, I’m going to have a little fun.”

    Without further warning, Cheran slams his fist into your solar plexus, knocking the wind out of you. It is easily the hardest you have ever been hit, and your legs give out from under you. Had it not been for the chains pulling your arms taut, you would undoubtedly have collapsed into a heap. Laughing, Cheran grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back up so he can stage whisper into your ear. His voice is the same as the man you had been forced to kill, starting this whole long slide into the Hells for you.

    “What do you think – where shall we start the pain?”

    Cupping a hand under your chin, Cheran lifts your face up, while releasing his grip on your hair with his other hand. His grip is deceptively gentle as he sweeps your hair back away from your face.

    “How about your eyes. You have such beautiful eyes. It would be such a shame for you to become permanently blind.”

    Edward’s rotten face leers down on you as the spider queen descends down his outstretched arm towards your face, fangs clacking excitedly.

    “Open your eyes wide and enjoy the sights, whore. This is going to be the last thing you ever see.”

    Holding your head still with the hand cupped under your chin, Cheran takes his other hand and clasps it against the left side of your face. Slowly he lowers his thumb down onto your left eye, relishing the moment as your heart begins to race out of control. Reflexively, your eye lid closes as your eye lashes feel something brush against them. It does little to help as something pressed down against your eye lid with increasing force. The sensation quickly turns excruciating, and –

    “Alright alright! Stop Cheran! Please, stop!”

    The pressure suddenly stops just short of popping your eye, but does not relent. You hear Cheran snort.

    “Why?”

    “I . . . I can’t do this anymore. I’ll do it. I’ll marry you.” The Countess whispers, her voice weary. But a moment later, it regains its former steel. “On one condition. You let Katrina and Pyrene go. Unharmed.”

    The pressure on your jaw and eye suddenly stop as Cheran releases his grip, stepping back to regard Amelia with a slow smile.

    “Hmmm . . . alright. I suppose I can convince Father to let that be your wedding present.”

    A wicked smile forms on Cheran’s face as he slowly shakes his head.

    “However, I doubt he would be willing to let them both go. Particularly Kris, a dangerous rebel, who is the daughter of a dangerous rebel, and is in desperate need of killing. So I’ll let you choose . . . one. Which shall it be, I wonder? You’ve already sacrificed your own freedom once for Katrina’s sake – or at least you thought you did. But are you willing to sacrifice Pyrene’s?”

    “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a prick, Cheran?” Katrina snarled, earning a smirk from Cheran.

    “My father would be so proud of me to hear you say that. Actually, he probably wouldn’t, but he will no doubt be happy to hear of my impending marriage. So – hurry up and choose so I can start making the arrangements.”

    The Countess looked helplessly back and forth between you and Katrina, no doubt weighing the merits and drawbacks of each heavily. Finally, she hangs her head, her voice barely above a whisper.

    “I’m sorry Pyrene. Cheran, please tell your father to release Katrina.”

    Cheran’s smile was positively radiant.

    “Excellent. Thank you my dear. I’ll go start making the arrangements right away. But first, I have some unfinished business to take care of.”

    The flesh from Edward’s face practically peels away as he grins at you, reaching his hands once more up to your face.

    “I want to hear you squeal, sow. I want you to beg me not to leave you a crippled, blind, disfigured whore.”

    “Oh, bull****. **** you, Cheran!” Katrina snarled, tugging angrily on her chains. “You’re a damn coward! Seriously, it’s not enough that you’re so lacking as a man that you have to beat up women, but you have to keep them chained while you do it?”

    His yellowed teeth clacking together angrily, Edward turns his head to look back over his shoulder.

    “You’re about to get a second chance at life, Ugly. I wouldn’t ruin it by running my mouth if I were you.”

    “This is what I think about your “deal”!”

    Katrina gives the ancient hand gesture of defiance.

    “But I’ve got a counter-offer for you, if you’ve got the stomach for it. How about a rematch?”

    Cheran actually scoffs as he releases you, his attention now fully on Korram’s daughter.

    “A rematch? I seem to remember beating you senseless the last time we fought, and you were even armed!”

    “Maybe so, but I know enough that your father is never going to accept this deal. So I propose a rematch. You win, you get to kill me, tell your Father I somehow got loose and was attempting escape. Then Pyrene gets let go instead of me.”

    Cheran snorts as he pulls a ring of keys out of his pocket and walks over.

    “You’ve just found an exciting new way to commit suicide, Ugly! But I’m afraid your little sacrifice is going to be in vain. Your corpse will get dumped out unharmed as Amelia’s gift, as per our agreement. Pyrene is still going to stick around for some more playtime.”

    “Please . . . don’t do this!” The Countess sighed, earning her a surprisingly confident smirk from Katrina.

    “Don’t worry. I’m not going to lose to this pig a second time.”

    Without further comment, Cheran unshackled both of Katrina’s hands.

    “Don’t try anything smart until I say it’s time to start. Then, anything goes.” He grunts, bending down to free Katrina’s feet.

    “Whatever you say.” Katrina replies, as she fishes something out of the sleeve of her dress. You catch a glimmer of metal in her hand . . . is that – a spoon?

    Cheran quickly frees Katrina’s feet, and then begins to rise. Without a word or moment of hesitation, Katrina stabs down with the handle of the spoon at his face. Even distracted and unprepared, Cheran is horrifyingly fast. He manages to get his hand up in time to deflect the blow partially, enough to prevent it from going directly into his eye. Instead the spoon penetrates down through his lower eye socket into his cheek. Cheran howls in agony as he clutches at the wound, tearing the makeshift weapon out of Katrina’s grip as he staggers back.

    “How do you like it!?” Katrina snarls, relentlessly following him to deliver a perfect rising kick to his groin.

    Cheran turns and staggers back even further, his howl reaching a new, higher pitch. You see his face contort in mad fury a moment later, however, and while his one hand remains cupped around the spoon now jutting from his face, his other clenches into a fist. The backhand catches Katrina full in the face, sending her spinning back into the wall. Before she can recover, Cheran is on top of her, wrapping his hand around her throat and lifting her a full foot off the ground.

    The rebel’s daughter desperately flails at his face with her hands, but he easily manages to duck down out of reach, and twists aside to deflect her kicks to his torso harmlessly. Pulling Katrina slightly away from the wall, Cheran slams her back into it with bone-breaking force. Katrina’s struggles grow weaker, and weaker still when Cheran repeats the body slam a moment later. It seems as if this effort, valiant as it was, would not be enough. And then, in one final desperate move, Katrina uses Cheran’s grip on her throat as a fulcrum to swing her legs up into his face. He manages to lean back away from the blow enough to avoid most of the force, but Katrina’s right foot nonetheless manages to graze the head of the spoon sticking up between his fingers.

    Cheran howls again and releases her immediately, raising both hands up to his face protectively. Coughing as she sucks in breath, Katrina staggers over to a nearby table, snatching up a large glass flower vase. As Cheran turns back for yet another round of confrontation, Katrina swings it around full into his face, sending him tumbling to the ground in an explosion of glass shards.

    Cursing as she sucks on a wounded palm, Katrina uses her other hand to tear off a strip of cloth from the arm of her dress. She then picks up the largest shard of glass from the floor and wraps this strip of cloth around it, forming a makeshift shiv. She glances towards the fallen form of Cheran, who was already beginning to stir, and the door. And then she spares a look at you and Countess Amelia, and sighs loudly as she glances up to the Heavens.

    “Damnit.” She sighs, bending down to scoop up the keys where they had been dropped. Some of her blood from her cut palm spreads onto the keys as she tosses them to you in a light underhand toss.

    “Prostitute, free thyself!” She snarks as she rushes over to the Countess, beginning to furiously slice at the ropes with her glass implement. Amelia firmly shakes her head, her eyes affixed on the form of Cheran as he begins to push himself up onto his knees.

    “No no no, get out of here! Don’t worry about me! Run!”

    Meanwhile, you look up to see that instead of a set of bloody keys, you currently hold the spider queen in your hand. The creature smiles a moment before it sinks its fangs down into the palm of your hand. Or . . . not? The spindly legs look sort of key shaped . . .

    The Perist Residence

    Kasanip

    “Maybe you should try to talk to him? He might just be trying to give you space, or something. And you’ve never gotten along very well.”

    Cerise comments, looking out from the campfire towards the dark shape of your father. She watches with interest as you reveal your mechanical hand, allowing her a closer look at it than she last had. She listens quietly to your story, although she does give a grim chuckle towards the end.

    “Typical Is. Always rushing forward, face-first into trouble. I am . . . sorry, that we haven’t kept in closer touch. I tried writing some letters, but I suspect with you wandering all over the countryside getting them delivered to you was impossible.”

    A mournful expression on her face, Cerise stares into the fire.

    “Mother is sick again. This past winter’s cold got into her lungs, and she’s been bedridden ever since. The healers are doing their best to keep her comfortable, but . . . it’s unlikely she’ll live to see another year. Father has taken the news poorly – we all have really.”

    Cerise stares off into the dark woods where Carlain disappeared.

    “I’m worried about Carlain. He hasn’t been the same since we got the news. He’s been a bit moody since becoming a teenager, but now he’s downright taciturn. Duncan thought getting him to apprentice in the various Canticles would be a good way to distract him, and I agree. He’s more focused than he was, but sometimes he seems . . . driven, or at least determined on a course of action.”

    Cerise forces a smile and shakes her head.

    “That’s the biggest piece of news from me. The rest is mostly just work – investigate an apparition sighting here, enchant a suit of armor there.”

    (If you would like to talk with anyone (Cerise, Jean, Carlain, etc.) further before fast-forwarding to the town of Dark Falls, now would be the time. )

    The Capital

    Tackyhillbillu

    The vampire is just finishing his meal of the last guard as you get back up to your feet and hurl a new set of daggers. The first strikes his Achilles tendon with perfect accuracy, causing him to snarl more in surprise and irritation than pain. On his knees, he whirls to face you, countering with a thrown dagger of his own.

    But just as he prepares to release his weapon, your second dagger strikes him in the left eye, blinding him. His aim suddenly thrown off, the vampire’s dagger thuds harmlessly into the bookshelf next to you as you rush forward. He snarls again, this time in considerable more alarm when with a Herculean effort you repeat the same trick he’s been using on you.

    He is unable to leap clear with only one good leg, and disappears under the bookshelf as it crashes down on top of him. You don’t even bother to see if that finally finished him, instead running for your life out the door. The sound of loud crashing and cursing behind you is confirmation enough to know that the vampire was still on your trail.

    You make it halfway down the corridor before another detachment of guards come around the corner, heavily armed with freshly loaded heavy crossbows. With you in a mangled guard’s uniform, however, they do not present the business ends of those weapons. The officer in the lead holds up a hand, motioning for you to approach.

    “What’s going on here, soldier!? We’ve been hearing a hellacious racket, and from the looks of you something’s loose!”

    Suddenly from outside, you hear another alarming reminder from your past life – a Hand hunting call. Usually a mimicry of an average bird of prey, this call was often used to signal that a coordinated attack was about to begin. Presumably, they must have sent the vampire in ahead of time to gather intel, and then when he didn’t immediately come back due to running into you, the leader decided not to wait. In another few minutes, it would be lucky if anyone still alive anywhere in the complex would live to see the sun rise.

    A Not-So Ordinary Basement

    OverWilliam

    At your mention of “chapel”, Melcara reflexively winces. A host of emotions play openly across her drained face. Fear, of course, and perhaps a touch of resentment, but most of all was . . . shame?

    “I will not have much peace there, even if I am not unwelcome.” Melcara whispers after a moment’s pause, matching your gaze until she finally looks away. “I know what will happen to us if this peacher’s superiors find out about me – even the Hells seem pleasant compared to some of the stories I’ve heard of Church Inquisitors. Of course, those are just stories, whispered from one imp to another – there may not even be any truth at all to them. It has been . . . a long time since I have walked among mortals, save for my most recent all too brief visit.”

    Slowly Melcara nods, risking a slight smile as she pulls a bloody palm away from her side, which now is no more than a thin scratch.

    “But if you trust this man Tare, then I will also. Besides, I have ways of avoiding notice. You may not want to watch this next part, however.”

    Walking into the upstairs room, Melcara retreats to a nearby dark corner, facing the wall. She stands there silently for a moment, seeming to contemplate the cheap wood paneling. Then, her whole body seems to spasm. Her wings twist and unfurl, only to collapse back against her back a moment later. They begin to shrink, seemingly absorbed by her back. You catch a glimpse of Melcara’s face, her skin seeming to bubble. The experience looks acutely painful, although it doesn’t seem to bother Melcara – indeed, despite how it looks the transformation may be nothing more than an optical illusion. Finally, Melcara turns around, looking similar but . . . less. More human.

    Melcara self-consciously brushes a lock of hair out of her face, looking down at the tattered rags passing for her own clothing.

    “Well, other than perhaps requiring a change of clothing . . . how do I look?”

    A Meaningless Speck of a Town Soon to be Even Less

    Gorgondantess

    (Actually, I probably should have been clearer – the priest pissed himself out of fear/pain, and then passed out. The order of events there probably made it look more like he died. Considering the nice crunch he made when hitting the wall though, it’s pretty much a moot point. )

    The boy’s courage falters once your full attention settles on him.

    “Well, um . . . H-He lives in the Heavens. With M-Miram, the Valkyrie. And He’s good . . . and stuff.” The child explains, scuffing his toe absent-mindedly on the floor.

    “What do you want with us!?” The boy’s mother cries, her desire to protect her son overriding her own fear of you.

    In your peripheral vision, you see more people slowly and quietly making for the door. Most of those in your direct line of sight remained where they are, or dropped to the floor before attempting to crawl their way to safety.

    “Isn’t it obvious!? This thing wants our SOULS!!!” A still-panicked villager cried out from near the front, prompting another round of terrified squealing from your remaining victims.

    You note that no more villagers are exiting the chapel, just as a trio of armed men appear in the doorway. As one, they all fire their weapons at you, pelting your back with a trio of wooden and steel rods. Really, they shouldn’t have bothered – with your defensive augmentations, none of the bolts penetrated more than an inch or two beneath the skin. Furthermore, these were not the hated weapons of your enemies – the wounds, if they could be called that, barely even stung.

    The men, it seems, are immediately aware of their weapons ineffectiveness, as they quickly duck back out of sight while crying out for “Backup”. Whoever that was.
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

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  3. - Top - End - #573
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    WhiteKnight777's Avatar

    Join Date
    May 2006
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    The other side of the sky
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Umber

    (Crap. Totally forgot I hadn't posted.)

    The foes came on in a wave. And Umber smiled, his teeth gleaming white in the gloom. As one of the more eager combatants reached him, he drove his fist through the man's chest and tore out his heart, bits of shattered bone embedded deep in the still-quivering flesh. He just shook his head and chuckled as he took a bite out of it, tasting the iron-rich flesh, feeling the blood gush down his chin as a snap kick broke the spine of another approaching warrior. Tossing the lump of dead flesh away, he swallowed, looking around with a disdainful expression. He raised a single hand, and spoke a single word in a voice that crackled with power.

    "Taproot."

    Strands of livid green light burst forth from his hand - one for every fool bold enough to try their hand against a Lord of Blood. The tendrils burrowed into flesh, pierced bone and drank blood, marrow, life-force, drawing it all into him, feeding him on the very energies that sustained these men and less savory creatures, leaving them dry and withered husks. With a word, Umber levitated back up to where the owner sat. he looked down at him giving him a pleasant smile. "I don't suppose you can give me a reason why I shouldn't spend all the hours 'till dusk seeing how many ways I can make you scream?"

  4. - Top - End - #574
    Bugbear in the Playground
    Join Date
    Jun 2007
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    A2
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    Male

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Korram has to consciously focus to avoid lashing out at Nephilium. Still, of all the Barons sons, this one was perhaps the best to have run into. If he had to have run into one of them. Gritting his teeth, he dips a low bow quickly so that Nephilium doesn't get a good look at his face.

    "I'm sorry, it was my fault...sir. Thank you, but I really should get back to my duties."

    Korram tries to walk around Nephilium and continue running once out of his sight.
    Truly awesome Ark Tamaeus avatar by Bryn. Full size version here.

  5. - Top - End - #575
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Kasanip's Avatar

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    Apr 2008
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    Japan
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    Female

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Isera Harvent
    Perist Residence


    Isera shrugged a little uneasily at Cerise's suggestion about her father. It was the kind of suggestion that, if it was to work, would actually make things incredibly easy. But it wasn't her fault that her father refused to deal with her except on business that required her skills.

    "I could try." She said doubtfully. "But it's not my fault. Sure I've made my share of mistakes in the past...But..." She stopped and she lowered her voice as memories of old crept into her thoughts.
    "You remember that time, Cerise? When I came back after that miserable year? My father didn't even give me a hug. Nothing was the same after that incident Cerise...Well, except for you and your parents. I've always had you."

    With the news of Cerise' mother though, Isera's face tightened and she reached her arm out and pulled Cerise into a hug. The news was devastating an unexpected for Isera. She hadn't known.
    Mentally she cursed the distance that had come with her journeys. How long had Cerise been dealing with this? Her mother was as much Isera's as well, for all the time she had known her.
    "I'm so sorry... I. I wish I had known sooner."
    Embracing her dearest friend, Isera was silent for a minute as the news sank in. She remembered her own mother, dying back when she was little. It had been rough. Moreso because her father was always away. But she had Cerise, and their family. And that was how she had grown up from then on...
    "I know how hard that is... But you're not alone. I'll always be here for you, and Carlain, and your father too... So, if there's anything I can do to help, let me know. Wherever I am, I'll come running." She said softly with a positive smile, pulling back a little and looking Cerise in the eyes.
    It was a promise she knew would be hard to fulfill...With the mission they had before them. But if everything went as planned, then she would be back before too long, and with Carlain as well. And there wouldn't be any missions to interfere after that. It was painfully clear she had been out of touch for too long with the people she cared about. Maybe she would even confront her father after this whole affair was over. Yes, that was a promise, Isera thought.

    As Cerise stared off into the woods, Isera nodded silently. Some of the pieces started to fit together then. No wonder the boy was moody. But the best way to keep your mind off of something is through action. She thought silently.
    "Maybe he'll grow up to be the 'strong and silent type.'" She offered as a lame joke in reference to Carlain. "Duncan is right... It's a good way to keep him focused on the positive things... Well. Not really the 'positive' things." She corrected, thinking about the day's work so far. With a cult ahead to deal with, it wasn't promising to get any friendlier. "I'll look after him though, don't worry." Isera said.
    Isera kept talking with Cerise for a while longer - remembering old stories and the like, until finally she stood up and stretched sore muscles.
    "I'm going to go find that rogue of a brother of yours before we go to sleep tonight." She said with a smirk and a wink to Cerise.
    With a casual wave she turned and meandered out into the dark, towards the woods where Carlain disappeared. The wind had gotten a little chillier now that it was night, and Isera stuffed her gloved hands back down into her jacket pockets to ward off the chill.
    The woods were dark, but with enough starlight and moonlight overhead, paired with her phantasmal descrying eye to be plenty navigable.
    But the chilly air paired with Cerise's earlier talk about her mother reminded Isera of a lot of memories when she was younger. But even as she thought to dwell upon them, she pushed those thoughts aside. No, the beckoning shadows on the trees were a little too dark for melancholy memories.
    Idly though, Isera wondered if Carlain's thoughts were following the same tracks as he had meandered through the forest. How would the boy react to her coming? Probably withdraw inwards. He hadn't seemed like he wanted to talk much in the open earlier, and Isera expected that unfortunately it would be the case now. Still, there was always hope the boy would be more open- especially since they were soon to be traveling on the same mission together.

    Isera smiled to herself as a stray thought clicked. Well, of course Carlain didn't particularly want to talk to people. He was surrounded by a bunch of 'adults' - though he was not too far from that label himself. But the word didn't just refer to age, but also experience. He had to feel pretty low grade- and no one ever liked that.
    Which of course didn't bode well for the relationship between the two of them to come, if that would put them at odds. Isera was more experienced than a lot of the canticle members, though she dampened the rising pride by clutching her left fist a little tighter in her pocket. She wasn't perfect of course. The age factor wasn't as important..at least to Isera. She had traveled all alone when she was his age, and she knew enough about 'wanting to do things one's own way' to be able to give Carlain advice without smothering him.

    Ah. Maybe that would be the trouble. Isera remembered Carlain's reactions earlier to the small jokes she had poked him with to help diffuse the tense atmosphere...But in hindsight now, this made sense too. Carlain was a boy, and definitely at an uncomfortable age too. Isera stopped and tapped the side of her temple as she shook her head silently.
    That was true. She hadn't really thought about it too far into the mission. Generally when she was traveling on her own she was fine with blending in. But a woman her age with a teen would likely entertain the questions on how exactly they were related. And of course, Isera looked nothing like Cerise's younger brother. And Isera sincerely doubted Carlain would be anything but more moody with the paths that conversation could take. Parent? Hell. His mother was dying, and Isera was far too smart and sensitive to even think to offer a stupid cover story as that. Not that she wanted to even treat the boy that way.
    Well, she had a spell to put them on equal terms in age. An utterance of the double syllables Nir-Tek could potentially take her back to that day she had gained her descrying eye. That might work. Potentially it'd keep for three days, though she'd have to be more careful with other magic use during that time. She expected Carlain's reaction to that plan would be even more amusing, though maybe it'd shake him out of his shell. Not like he could withdraw any deeper.

    But Isera pushed the thoughts aside as she spotted the boy in a small clearing and called out to him.

    "'Evening Carlain." She said with a nod of her head. "How are you doing?"
    It was a polite enough question, but stated casually that Isera was sure the boy would pick up on the meanings. Of course she wasn't just inquiring about his health, or even about how he was dealing with the bizarre events of the day... In the more general sense of how life was. After he answered, she asked "How are you feeling about the mission?"

    (ooc: this post was a little longer than I expected...
    Isera basically will mostly try to get Carlain's feelings on the mission worked out and hopefully try to get him to 'warm' up a little - though she won't push too hard on that... Hopefully bring him back to the camp and be done for the 'night')
    Last edited by Kasanip; 2010-02-13 at 12:34 PM.
    Kasanip's Sketchbook 2 Thread
    It is difficult to speak English, please excuse mistakes kindly m(_ _)m

  6. - Top - End - #576
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    OldWizardGuy

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    Incom Morgan

    The blue glow of his eyes fades upon the final revelation and apology. Mental functions cease as waves of invalid data rush through the construct. Unable to process everything simply goes to the most basic state possible.

    Initiating System Restart
    The glow returns to the eyes as Incom struggles back to consciousness. Looking at Isabella he tries to think of what to say. This could be another trick, another way to torture him, to ruin his life even more. However what would be the purpose of that. Would there be any reason to do that?

    ”Isabella, if you are the woman who you once were, is there anything that could be done to help you? To cure you? To save all of us? Baring that, can you adjust me, release the holds that the Baron has over me so that we can repay him for all the evil he has caused?”
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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...

  7. - Top - End - #577
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    OverWilliam's Avatar

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    ~Tare

    Tare is reassured, though duely understanding of Melcara's words regarding the church. She was right, of course... but unless things had changed more than the beleaguered street thief believed possible, 'superiors' were the least of their problems when it came to Ulrich.

    Tare wanted to make a promise to Melcara, something reassuring like "I won't let them hurt you," or "I promise I'll keep you safe." He realized however, they both knew, that he was in no position to make such promises, not yet. The heartfelt intention that would have been behind those promises came through instead in the only thing he could say. "Thank you, Melcara."

    It couldn't be easy... he didn't know her story, or rather only the parts of it that were the fault of his interference... but after spending as much time as she said she had in as much anguish as he could only imagine she was in... To put this much trust in a Mortal that she'd only known for a matter of hours... She was accepting a huge risk with him, and had to know it too. Though he couldn't say it out loud, he promised to himself. I won't let you down.

    Tare watched Melcara's Transformation with a grimacing sort of fascination. Part of him wanted to look away, but the other part felt that he owed it to himself and to Melcara to know what she was going through for him and the others. When the process was over and Melcara stepped back into the sunlight, Tare was struck speechless for a few long moments. "...Wow. You look... You're very beautiful, Melcara." He admitted, for the first time having the opportunity to notice. Some other time. The thought whispered into his mind, and he agreed, shaking his other awkward attempts at words out of his head for the time being. "Well, not having one of us walking around with wings will certainly help... but there's not much we can to do change matters. We all look pretty terrible." He almost chuckled, but it came out tiredly as a smiling sigh. "There's not much we can do about it at this point-- the five of us are sure to draw some attention, looking the way we do. Good news is, the sun isn't all the way down yet... And it's not straight up either, or we'd be dealing with a different kind of attention. Seems we've hit it just about right... Lucky break for us. But... other than try to get where we're going quickly, there's nothing much for it. We'll just have to chance it... and make our own Luck." Catching himself for a moment (A pep speech? Is that what I'm doing? Really? Good grief...), Tare decided to conclude by turning to the door of the shabbily furnished room and peering out. "Here goes nothing."

    ((Tare's going to do some quick exploration, trying to find a landmark or recognizable feature that will let him know where he is and therefore where he needs to go to get to the Chapel. He'll be avoiding spots that are just advertising for trouble, like over-dark alleys, behind Taverns, and near buildings that have the feel of 'guild safehouse' about them, etc., but otherwise will keep to the unobtrusive passages as much as possible.))
    Last edited by OverWilliam; 2010-02-13 at 02:50 PM.
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    Its offical. Overwilliam is Duke Devlin.

  8. - Top - End - #578
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Tackyhillbillu's Avatar

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    Argan couldn' help but feel some elation. He had escaped. He'd revealed his existence, something that would surely have consequences, but he was alive.

    And that matters why? You were hiding to protect more then you.

    Not even the appearance of the guard could kill the elation he felt. After all he had just gone through, he wasn't about to slip up because of a couple of guards. The uniform he wore, forgotten in the scuffle, continued its task. However, the call eradicated all that.

    Damn it... if I don't get moving, I will end up dead. There isn't any real way around that, is there.

    Argan kept his face straight, moving toward the officer quickly, though not threateningly. He did his best to look utterly terrified. His appearance, and the fact that he was probably helped out with that.

    "Sir! In... the r...ecord room. Killed the... other three. Got lucky... knocked over bookshelf.... it caught him. Still back there!"

    Argan tried to continue past the Officer, making it look like he was gibbering in fear. He really would rather not fight any of the Hand. He'd survived the encounter with the Vampire, but that was just as much luck as it was skill. And while Argan would take all the luck he could get, he wasn't about to start relying on it.

  9. - Top - End - #579
    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

    Heedless of the weapons impacting against his armor and bare skin, the half-giant plows into the midst of Karth’s elite guard. Even these well armed and trained troops cannot hold the charging paladin back, and he begins to shove a clear path through them for Ander. In desperation, the other half of the guards bodily throw themselves onto Hondshioh, their combined weight finally enough to slow him, and then topple him to the ground in a confused tangle of limbs and armor.

    Even from the floor in the midst of all these bodyguards, Hondshioh can see his efforts were successful. Only two bodyguards stood between Karth and Ander now, down from a dozen. However, at the same time, the last of the paladins in Karth’s way finally succumbed to the relentless assault of flame. He and the remaining two bodyguards began to lumber up into a run towards the courtyard, where their mounts awaited. Of course, more guards and paladins awaited them, but it was clear by now that no one save for Ander and Hondshioh could withstand the searing flames Karth could summon and command nigh-effortlessly. Such teachings were certainly not part of the Church’s instructions for paladins. Where then, had he gotten such incredible power?
    Hondshioh

    "ANDER! STOP THEM! WE CAN'T LET THEM GET AWAY!"

    Hondhshioh struggles to force the pile of men off him. Karth could not be allowed to escape, or he would destroy Dawn's Hope. There was no time to worry about strange powers now.
    "Reach down into your heart and you'll find many reasons to fight. Survival. Honor. Glory. But what about those who feel it's their duty to protect the innocent? There you'll find a warrior savage enough to match any dragon, and in the end, they'll retain what the others won't. Their humanity."

  10. - Top - End - #580
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Ander Windrivver

    Ander hurls several holy orbs into the dogpile of bodyguards attempting to overpower Hondshioh.

    Better finish those mooks off quick, Big Guy! Ander shouts while charging off after Karth. He'd bet anything that Karth was headed for his wyvern and there was no way Ander could allow that to happen. Sure he could follow after on Sharpbeak, but Ander much preferred fighting with both feet on the ground.

    Tapping into his wellspring of divine power, Ander puts on an extra burst of speed holding Sin-Eater like a lance and hoping to stick Karth right in the back.
    Quote Originally Posted by PhoeKun View Post
    Baerdog: super genius.

  11. - Top - End - #581
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    Lonna's Avatar

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    Pyrene

    Cheran's slap broke through the bizarre dream-vision, his leering face replacing the pale, still one at which Pyrene had been staring. From one nightmare into another! she thought fearfully, eyes darting around the room as she subtly tugged on her chains, hoping Cheran was too busy threatening the others to notice. In her panic, she didn't even recognize the significance of the situation, too busy chasing her thoughts in circles as she tried to remember how the Countess had managed to think when she had been dosed with anxiety drugs.

    SMACK!

    Cheran's backhanded strike was a blessing in disguise, the pain cutting through the confusion and panic, allowing Pyrene to think clearly for an instant. The drugs! To make me see things and act paranoid. They're wearing off; I just need time. Time she didn't have, she realized, the import of Cheran's words sinking in for the first time. It seems they think I'll persuade the Countess without even trying... And they're probably right, she thought bitterly, remembering her own inability to watch Klaus hacked apart even with the promise of freedom - and Amelia was being offered no such promise.

    Even though she knew it would be coming, Cheran's fist stunned Pyrene for a moment, shaking her already tenuous grasp on reality. Fear snaked through her belly as he handled her face with deceptive gentleness. It's just the drugs. Don't react. It's just the drugs. Don't react. It's just the drugs, she chanted to herself, trying to hold back the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. This task became more difficult by the second as it became obvious that the spider queen intended to make her suffer. Glaring at the hideous arachnid and her dead puppet through her open eye, Pyrene's world narrowed to this tiny conflict. The pressure on her eye increased until she thought she could not stand it, but she bit down on her cheek until she tasted blood, fighting pain with pain in her determination not to give her tormentor the satisfaction of a scream. But even this could not help her for long, and she opened her mouth to give voice to the pain -

    Which was gone. Blinking, Pyrene tried to refocus on what was happening, ignoring the spots that swam through her vision and the panicky thought that this was only a temporary relief. Shaking her head, she forced herself to pay attention to the conversation in front of her.

    Quote Originally Posted by Inspectre
    “However, I doubt he would be willing to let them both go. Particularly Kris, a dangerous rebel, who is the daughter of a dangerous rebel, and is in desperate need of killing. So I’ll let you choose . . . one. Which shall it be, I wonder? You’ve already sacrificed your own freedom once for Katrina’s sake – or at least you thought you did. But are you willing to sacrifice Pyrene’s?”

    “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a prick, Cheran?” Katrina snarled, earning a smirk from Cheran.

    “My father would be so proud of me to hear you say that. Actually, he probably wouldn’t, but he will no doubt be happy to hear of my impending marriage. So – hurry up and choose so I can start making the arrangements.”

    The Countess looked helplessly back and forth between you and Katrina, no doubt weighing the merits and drawbacks of each heavily. Finally, she hangs her head, her voice barely above a whisper.

    “I’m sorry Pyrene. Cheran, please tell your father to release Katrina.”
    Pyrene didn't respond, merely started shaking where she stood. She had expected something like this. After all, Amelia had said herself that there was nothing between them anymore. Besides, it was unlikely Cheran would make good on his promise no matter what she chose. With grim resignation, she waited for the pain to start again, knowing she would not be able to keep her dignity this time.

    Quote Originally Posted by Inspectre
    “Oh, bull****. **** you, Cheran!” Katrina snarled, tugging angrily on her chains. “You’re a damn coward! Seriously, it’s not enough that you’re so lacking as a man that you have to beat up women, but you have to keep them chained while you do it?”
    "He has to," grated Pyrene, putting as much contempt into her tone as possible. "Otherwise those big bad women slap his face." She wasn't certain that was truly his memory, and part of her was screaming that taunting Cheran had already been painful, but the need to do something other than take his torture was stronger than even the drug induced fear.

    Fortunately, Cheran seemed to find Katrina's offer to fight of more immediate interest than punishing Pyrene's smart mouth. As the scene unfolded in front of her, Pyrene tried desperately to think of something, anything, that would allow her to escape. She had just decided to try to reach her magic, hoping she had done enough damage to the collar to allow her to do something usefull, when Katrina shattered the vase over Cheran's head. Startled out of her circling thoughts, Pyrene just barely managed to force herself to catch the flung spider queen.

    Face contorting in irrational rage and fear, Pyrene smashed the giant web spinner against her other wrist shackle to kill it before fumbling with the key-legs. After an eternal moment of scrambling, the first wrist was freed, and Pyrene spared a glance at the rest of the room. A giant imp, looking somewhat the worse for wear, had replaced Katrina and was cutting away the protective chains wrapped around the Countess, who oddly did not seem to be resisting. On the floor, a figure that seemed to flicker among the identities of the men she had killed braced itself on hands and knees as it gleefully clawed out its own left eye.

    Looking away quickly, Pyrene focused on releasing her remaining bindings, occassionally smashing the spider queen as she tried to come back to life in Pyrene's hand. When she was finally free, she dropped the filthy creature and darted toward the door. Stopping abruptly, she turned back to the chameleon on the floor, which currently appeared to be Alphonse, and delivered a swift kick between the legs. "Leave us alone you bloody bastard!" she hissed venemously. "I killed you once and I won't hesitate to do it again! Amelia, come on!"

    Not waiting to see if the others followed, Pyrene bolted out of the room, hoping against hope that she could outrun the nightmare her life had become...
    I started a blog!
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  12. - Top - End - #582
    Orc in the Playground
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    Sohssal

    "Of course I remember where the traps are. But whatever things lurk within could have moved them or messed with them," Sohssal replied. He appreciated Shank's curiosity on the situation - most of the pirates Sohssal has met over the years just wanted to wade in and fight.

    Not long after that, he raised a non-existent eyebrow at what appeared to be a devil. He didn't find devils particularly threatening, even ones immune to normal weaponry. If worst came to worst, he could just toss an anti-devil spell on Shank's weaponry. "Stand down for now, Shanks. This...Xerxes has at least saved us the trouble of clearing out part of my manor. We may as well listen to what he has to say...in the study. You'll still get paid whether I accept his deal or not, and you won't have to be a part of it if you so wish," he said. He knew very well it could be a trap, but he didn't care whether he could get surrounded or not - explosive spells could take care of things either way.

  13. - Top - End - #583
    Titan in the Playground
     
    The_Snark's Avatar

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    Mar

    "I can do that," Mar said. She tried not to sound too uncertain. It was, she told herself, only another chore. She'd never really minded working, even back with Daddy; in fact it was sort of relaxing. Work was safe. Besides, she didn't want to lie around and make Jacob and Caroline and William do all the work. That would be... bad; she felt a twinge of uneasiness at describing it like that, but that didn't make it go away. She wouldn't want them to think she wasn't good for anything.

    With a flicker of pride, she realized Jacob already thought she could do at least one thing, or he wouldn't be asking her.

    She took the cloak and awkwardly fumbled it over her wings, pressing them tight against her back so they wouldn't stand out too much. It was a little uncomfortable, but she didn't say so. "It's good." And it wasn't bad, not really; it would be warmer, and it wasn't falling in two pieces, and of course there would be other people—

    She caught a glimpse of Jacob's face—he was wearing a look she remembered first seeing on Julian's face, which she now knew to be worry—and realized she'd been standing there for a few seconds. "I'll go get Caroline," she said quickly, and before he could say anything to stop her she had vanished out the door, heading for the nearby sound of small children.
    Last edited by The_Snark; 2011-01-05 at 06:11 AM.
    Avatar by GryffonDurime. Thanks!

  14. - Top - End - #584
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    Gorgondantess's Avatar

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    "Good? Good? Hardly good. Assassins in the night isn't good. Talented, maybe, powerful, yes, but good? At least, a more respectable foe than these humans," She says, as the bolts meld into her form. "I can see you can offer no more information for me," she says, and gets up.
    Bolting over to the men in less than a second, she quickly snaps 2 of their necks with quick blows, then lifts the last one up by his face, crushing it like a ripe fruit. Standing in the doorway and blocking it with her wings, she addresses the people.
    "Where is Lord Athelion the Lifebringer?"
    Marceline Abadeer by Gnomish Wanderer

  15. - Top - End - #585
    Troll in the Playground
     
    Inspectre's Avatar

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    Dawn’s Hope - Monastery

    Baerdog7

    Passing the dogpile of Karth’s bodyguards and Hondshioh, you fling a number of holy orbs into the tangle of bodies. This helps out your new ally considerably, who was starting to get pinned beneath several angry bodyguards. Unfortunately, you can spare no more time to aid him, chasing after Karth as he nears the courtyard and his mount.

    Putting on a burst of speed, you attempt to bring this chase to an end. Unfortunately, one of Karth’s remaining bodyguards looks behind him to see your approach. With fanatical zeal, he turns to engage you with a battlecry, practically throwing himself onto your sword. Sin-Eater tears through his armor, and then his chest almost effortlessly, and his lifeless body tumbles to the ground a moment later. But still, the man’s sacrifice is enough to slow you for another few precious seconds, and then the second bodyguard is on you.

    Screaming, he hacks at you with reckless abandon, actually managing to land a glancing blow across your arm that cuts flesh. But the wound heals almost immediately, and it’s the only success he has before you cut him down. Still, another handful of precious seconds wasted, and you look out through the thrown-open doors to see Karth mounting his pet wyvern.

    As you race out into the courtyard, Karth sends a blast of fire up into the men on the walls, scattering them. He jabs his sword at you once, and then sheathes it as his wyvern limbers up and lurches up into the sky.

    “We will finish this another time, Ander! After the Church has faced the wrath of the Purifier!”

    Suddenly, a dark shape emerges out on the wall above Karth’s rising wyvern. With an impressive leap, the figure clears the considerable distance between them, landing on the back of Karth’s wyvern just behind the mad general. You see a flash of steel, and hear Karth scream as the knife goes in. The wyvern turns drunkenly, obeying its master’s spastic commands, and slams directly into the side of a tower. The creature roars in fury, bucking wildly and throwing off its former master and its new passenger. The strange newcomer lands lightly, while Karth lands heavily in a heap. He struggles to his knees as the newcomer pulls another blade and advances towards him.

    Before you can join in this macabre display, you are attacked yourself. A thin loop of wire suddenly drops down over your head, slipping easily underneath your helm and cutting deeply into your neck as the loop is pulled taut. To make matters worse, whoever had lowered the loop begins to raise it, forcing you up onto your tiptoes or risk being beheaded.

    From the corner of your eye, you watch as a figure cloaked as a guard of Dawn’s Hope drops down next to it. With a swift kick, it swats Sin-Eater out of your hands, and then reaches over to unbuckle the sheath holding Justice to your waist, allowing that weapon to clatter to the ground as well. Apparently satisfied, the figure slides around to in front of you. You don’t recognize the young man now standing before you, and his features are plain enough that he could blend easily into any crowd.

    “Hello Lord General. I’m Vash. Welcome to your own personal Hells!” The man says pleasantly as he produces a vial. Uncorking it, he sprinkles the foul-smelling contents over you. The liquid seems to slowly collect itself into runes on your armor as the man begins to rapidly chant in a foul language. From what you could tell, it seemed to be some sort of unholy binding ritual. The ground beneath your feet begins to grow hot as the man begins chanting. But, with your neck trapped in a dangerously-close to tearing your head off wire noose, and disarmed, what could you do?

    Archpaladin Zousha

    Lying in a huge dogpile of armored men was not conducive to using weapons effectively. Most of Karth’s men seem to figure this out quickly, abandoning their weapons in favor of kicks and gauntleted fists. The blows have no more effect on Hondshioh’s armored skin than their weapons did, although it’s likely he will feel battered and bruised later.

    A couple of the men manage to get a grip on Hondshioh’s arms and legs, starting to twist them uncomfortably. Fortunately, as he runs past Ander peppers the group with another round of holy orbs, knocking the men back. This in turn buys Hondshioh enough time to regain his feet, as a few of the hardiest bodyguards likewise stand back up.

    With a roar, one of the bodyguard madly charges forward, bodily flinging himself against Hondshioh, and actually manages to knock the half-giant back a step. But only a step before the paladin reflexively digs his heels in and pushes back, bringing the man’s bullrushing charge to an end.

    However, while the half-giant was grappling with this man, the other bodyguards were getting up to their feet and collecting their weapons. In another minute, they would be ready to set themselves back up as a living wall across the hallway, stopping anyone else from following their master. Not that there was anyone beyond Hondshioh who was capable of doing so, but the half-giant could hear angry shouts of alarm from further back down the corridor as fresh ranks of paladins were brought in.

    Stonefall

    The Surrounding Forest

    The_Snark

    If Jacob uttered a farewell or last-minute instruction, you didn’t hear it as you left in search of Caroline. At first the cloak was uncomfortable, but in the cold morning air it quickly became a welcome accessory. For a moment, you had the irrational fear that you were being bad. You were used to the cold, and the cloak was so warm – surely Daddy would not approve. But being comfortable wasn’t really bad in and of itself, as you were learning and that past life of fear slowly faded into memory.

    Attracted by the sound of children playing, you head outside and hang a left. Around the side of the cabin you find Caroline, playing some sort of game with another young girl. The game seemed to involve scratching marks into the dirt with sticks, one at a time with each girl alternating. At the sight of you, Caroline dropped her stick with a delighted smile.

    “Marion!” She cried, running up to throw herself around your legs before turning back to the other girl.

    “This is who I was telling you about, Alice. . . the angel!”

    The girl crosses her arms and looks up at you doubtful. “Nuh uh! My mother says angels don’t exist!”

    Caroline gasped in shock.

    “She *said* that!? Why!?”

    Now, Alice’s lips pout up in superiority.

    “Well, she says maybe they once existed, but not anymore. Otherwise, why don’t we see more of them? Why aren’t they down here fixing everything, huh? So, they must not exist.” Alice concludes with a shrug.

    “You’re wrong!” Caroline whispers, tapping your leg and looking up at you pleadingly. “Marion, tell her!” She whispers to you.

    Alice, the young skeptic, rolls her eyes up at you.

    “Hey, I haven’t seen you around the village before. Where did you come from?”

    The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

    Iethloc

    “Well, so long as you don’t go selling my soul to this . . . fellow, I suppose you can take your own chances if you want.” Shanks says, eyeing Xerxes carefully. The devil simply smiles as he spreads his muscular arms.

    “I have nothing to hide. For once. This is merely a courtesy call, not a bargaining session.”

    Gesturing towards the study, Xerxes allowed you to take the lead as he followed your ephemeral form.

    We’ll be here if you need us. Just think or something.

    It may be better to make some sort of noise. I feel . . . tired, and my mental link is weakening as a result.

    As if in response, you felt Roger & Omega’s familiar presences in your mind fade as you stepped into the study. For better or worse, it would seem that your meeting with the devil would be a private one.

    “I imagine in your current form, you have no need of imbibing substances. An unfortunate side effect of immortality, really, as then one has no convenient excuse to drink.”

    Xerxes smirks as he settles into a chair set up in front of the desk – quite possibly arranged there for just this purpose, as you don’t remember having a guest chair in your study before. At least the devil was smart enough not to try to sit down on your chair behind the desk.

    “Of course, we can make our own reasons for drinking. There’s a wonderful liquor we make back home, from the blood of fresh arrivals. Ah, it is so . . . bittersweet. I wish I had thought to bring a bottle with me, but no matter. To business, I suppose.”

    Xerxes looks thoughtful for a minute, and then simply shrugs with a smirk.

    “Let’s just cut straight to the heart of the matter. My master is a rising force within the Hells – Lord Nihilus. He has been gathering like-minded individuals to his side for quite some time, and I sense the time for action will soon be upon us. A war is coming, Sohssal.”

    Xerxes gestures, and an image of a great battlefield spins itself into existence on your desk. Hulking, monstrous figures clamber out of dark smoking tunnels in the earth, rising up to meet the shining army descending from the sky.

    “The inevitable war between the Heavens and the Hells is about to start up again. It’s been on hold for countless thousands of years, but it can’t stay that way forever. The Valkyrie and Her pet whores will never stop until everyone kneels before Her, or has been wiped from existence!”

    The devil steeples his fingers in front of him as he leans back in his appropriated chair.

    “Given that sort of choice, what sort of choice do you really have Sohssal? When the war comes, you will be forced to choose a side. And do you really think the Valkyrie will welcome you with open arms? No, but we will!”

    Xerxes sinks a fist into an open palm.

    “With your inventiveness, you would rise quickly through the ranks. And standing at Lord Nihilus’s side, the rewards will be considerable should we win. And if we lose . . .”

    Xerxes smiles and shrugs. “We won’t lose this time. So what do you say, Sohssal? Will you join us in our efforts to spit in the Valkyrie’s eye, or will you stand alone and one day watch in horror as Her agents grind your island to dust?”

    On the Road

    The X-Roads Tavern

    WhiteKnight777

    The proprietor’s death-like grin matches your own.

    “That was most entertaining, newcomer. Much more exciting than anyone else who’s stumbled in here to join us.”

    Suddenly, the room seems to shift strangely, twisting and bending madly before your eyes. When the sensation passes, you are seated at a scorched table, in the fire-gutted ruin of a tavern. Dark, translucent figures cluster around your table, their hunger nearly palpable. From within their shapeless ranks, the Proprietor’s voice whispers out.

    “We get newcomers stumbling in from time to time. They all tend to become part of the group, one way or another. But you . . . I see you’re different. So I propose a truce – you and your walking corpse friend get out of here, and we go our separate ways. How does that sound to you, human?”

    The Gastly Truth

    Pwenet

    Isabella shakes her head, fighting back the tears.

    “No, it’s too late for me. It’s too late for all of us!”

    For a moment, your former wife is lost to tears, but she eventually manages to regain control of her drunken feelings.

    “I might be able to alter the holds on your behavior. But it would take time, time we don’t have. Especially since we’re only going to have a few more minutes here before I start to sober up.”

    Isabella hangs her head.

    “There’s just enough time to tell you the last of the sad story, and ask you to do something for me.”

    Isabella sighs, and suddenly seems quite nervous.

    “You’ve probably met Celestan, the firstborn of our sons. His soul is trapped like yours is in one of those metal abominations. But once he was a man . . . many years ago, a sweet boy. Forty years, in fact. I had him the year you went into Ironheart. And . . . I’m pretty sure he’s not the Baron’s son.”

    Your world once again receded to a single point in as many minutes. And yet Isabella’s words continued after you, hammering down to your very soul.

    “Do you . . . understand, Incom?”

    It wasn’t true. It was impossible! And yet your feelings, your heart told you that it was.

    “Celestan is your son. The Baron wasn’t his father. You are, Incom! I . . . I don’t think the Baron knows. But maybe he does. Maybe that’s why he takes such irrational pleasure in hurting you.”

    Eventually, whether you’d like it to or not, reality forces itself back onto your consciousness, and you are forced to deal with the insane mockery of reality your life had become.

    “Incom . . . Incom . . . I’m sorry. I thought . . . you deserved to know. And I hoped, maybe . . . it would convince you to help me. You can’t help Celestan now, but there’s someone else who needs you.”

    Isabella frowns.

    “My daughter. You’ve taken to calling her Sara. We never even gave her a name. I refused, because my cruel heart hates her, and the Baron loves to encourage that side of me. You have to get her away from here! I still don’t know quite what the Baron has planned for her, but I know it’s going to be unpleasant. Please, he’s turned all of our other children . . . and Celestan . . . into monsters. He can’t be allowed to do the same to Sara! You have to take her away from here, some place far away where he can’t touch her!”

    Isabella’s voice takes on a desperate pitch.

    “I could order you to do this, but then it’d be just another order to you. You have to choose to do this of your own will, it’s the only way you could possibly have the strength to save my daughter. Please . . . help her. You can’t save me. You can’t save our son. You probably can’t even save yourself. But my daughter, Sara . . . she’s the closest thing to an innocent in this whole sordid family. Please . . . if you ever loved me, Incom . . . save her.”

    Dorizzit

    “Mmmm.” Nepihilium grunts, looking at you intently. For a moment, the urge to go down fighting rushes through you, especially when he reaches out a hand to you. But then the urge passes as he straightens the collar of your uniform and tugs on the folded up sleeve of your missing arm, sharpening its folds.

    “Appearance is important. Practice makes perfect, and perfection is expected.” Nephilium explains, and then finishes with a hardy slap on the back that sends you staggering forward a step. “Keeping working on it in front of the mirror every day, and you will get it, despite your disability. Have a nice day.”

    And with that, the Baron’s mad son was gone, apparently finished with his impromptu uniform inspection. Thankfully, none of the other Baron’s sons or servants make an appearance for the rest of your trip towards Cheran’s room. It seemed likely that the twisted spawn of the commoner-turned-noble monster was currently present in his room, however, and you still had no idea how to deal with him.

    For once, fate seemed to smile on you as chaos exploded when you were only a short distance from the room. From inside, you heard an unholy roar of “YOU WHORES ARE ALL DEAD!”, followed by a wild-eyed Pyrene dashing out into the corridor, directly into the arms of a passing guard. Your daughter followed a moment later, rocketing into the surprised guard and slashing his throat with a makeshift glass dagger.

    She had obviously been beaten, several times likely, but somehow was still standing out of sheer spite. Spite which served her well as she beckoned the remaining two guards between you and her forward.

    “Come on, you bastards! There’s enough left for you too!”

    Lonna

    If anything, your blow to his nethers only energizes the amalgamation of past male tormentors. As you turn away, you catch a glimpse of Cheran leaping up to his feet, both fists clenched, his face a bloody ruin.

    “YOU WHORES ARE ALL DEAD!” He screams, his words only helping your very strong desire to immediately flee.

    “Go go go! Get out of here!” You dimly hear Amelia cry, followed by a curse from Kris and the sounds of another struggle.

    Whatever else happens fades away into nothingness as you stumble over to the door leading out of this nightmare, throwing it open and stumbling outside . . .

    Right into the waiting arms of a guard. The thick stench of booze washes over you as spidery limbs wrap around you, holding you immobile as strands of sticky thread begin to wrap themselves –

    No. You were just in the hallway outside, having crashed into a confused guard. Who was doing his best to grab hold of your flailing limbs, in part for his own protection as any attempt to restrain you. Still, he was the enemy. He deserved this.

    A swift knee to the groin caused him to abandon his previous plans, and he careened back into the wall now in painful shock in addition to confusion. He didn’t have much more time to figure out what was going on either, as Kris suddenly rockets out into the hallway. In one fast, but not particularly graceful, motion she stumbles out across the hallway, slamming into the guard and bringing her glass shiv up and around. There is a bright arc of blood, and then the guard is down, gurgling as his lifeblood leaks from his neck.

    Further down the hallway, another two guards curse in surprise as they draw their weapons, and a third guard moves in from behind. Kris motions all three of them forward with a mad, fangy-grin.

    “Come on, you bastards! There’s enough left for you too!”

    Meanwhile back in the room, you can hear Amelia urgently speaking.

    “Come on, Cheran. Why don’t you just stay here? . . . With me? And we could, um . . . celebrate our impending wedding and –“

    Cheran’s only reply is a wordless snarl, and then you hear a loud crash and Amelia crying out in pain. And then slow, heavy, deliberate footsteps. He was coming, he was still coming. Kris couldn’t stop him, you couldn’t stop him, and Amelia couldn’t persuade him. And when he caught you, you knew even without the “aid” of the drugs rushing through your body, that you would scream before you died.

    The Perist Residence

    Kasanip

    Looking for Carlain, you wander off into the dark woods. As you go, you travel back into your own past, and your own unpleasant memories from your youth. Perhaps Cerise was right and you should try talking with your father, but your memories only underline an unpleasant truth. Your father wasn’t there for you. He doesn’t care about you, beyond how you could make him look good.

    What was there to say to that? Nothing. Just as there always was, which was maybe exactly how Jean wanted it anyway. So much simpler for him, as then he doesn’t have to deal with you on a personal level.

    And then you heard Carlain’s voice. It was barely more than a whisper, but the cold wind carried it further than expected. It helped you find your way towards him, and as you got closer the words gained clarity. At first you thought he might have been praying, but as you got closer it seemed more like a conversation.

    “Yeah, I’m sure I got this. . . . worry too much . . . keep in touch . . . what she’s found. I should get back. Nartholk Vardirthi!”

    As you are approaching the clearing where Carlain was, you nearly run into him as he bursts out of the darkness. Narrowly avoiding running into you, Carlain jumps back and favors you with a frown.

    “Er, hello Isera. Uh, kinda cold out here, isn’t it?”

    Deciding not to press the lad immediately, you ask him how he is to try to set him at ease. The boy was still suspicious, but he seemed to relax a little at the benign question.

    “Well enough. A little cold.” He admitted with a shrug and slight smile. “As for the rest of it, well . . . it’ll be nice to work with someone other than my sister. Sometimes, she just doesn’t know when to shut up.” Carlain concluded with a dry chuckle, turning serious again a moment later. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

    At your next question, Carlain actually tensed. It was a subtle motion, but one you picked up on.

    “As for the mission, well . . . I’m excited, I guess. Cerise is always talking you up, so it’ll be nice to see what you can do with my own eyes. I’m just hoping you can teach me something more interesting than revealing spirits and creating some basic wards.”

    Carlain shakes his head, and for a moment a note of truth enters his voice. “She wanted to start small I guess. Like I couldn’t handle anything more complex. Still thinks I’m a child, I guess.”

    Carlain sighs.

    “I dunno, I just want to be doing something . . . important. Bet you deal with this sort of thing all the time. Angry fey, *crazy* warlocks, right?”

    By this time, you had reached the edge of the camp again. Cerise favored you with a smile once she noticed both you and Carlain had returned. Most of the others seemed to be fast asleep, although you did notice Jean and Duncan were still up, talking quietly.

    (If you have any further questions, feel free to ask. For now, I’m going to fast forward you to tomorrow morning.)

    The night passes without incident, but all too quickly. You are one of the first ones up, having learned to become a light sleeper during your trials and travels. As you are preparing breakfast, one by one the others awaken until the entirety of your small camp is moving about. Breakfast proceeds with an uncomfortable, expectant silence. After it’s over, Jean comes over to you.

    “Duncan and I have other matters to attend to, but the situation is serious enough that for the moment any limitations on teleportation are waived. If you’d like, I believe I could teleport the three of us near to Dark Springs so that you don’t have to exert yourself. I would not be able to wait for you, of course, so after your investigation is concluded you would need to find your own way back to report in. I will be meeting with the other Canticle heads, so the best way to get back in contact with me would likely be to leave a message at our home.”

    Now this was somewhat unusual. Usually your father expected you to handle everything yourself. Was it concern? A desire to spend more time with you? Or was he concerned you were going to screw this up and wanted to keep oversight on it for as long as possible?

    The Capital

    Tackyhillbillu

    Whether or not the officer bought your panicked story or not proved to be irrelevant. As you reach the group, they raise their weapons, pointing at something behind you. You hear a harsh voice snarl “Found you!” from the direction of the log room, and then the guards open fire. You don’t wait to see if their barrage of crossbow bolts is any more effective in finally ending the vampire. Instead, you make use of the distraction to continue on past them, running for your life.

    You still aren’t entirely sure how you are going to get out of here with a group of Hand apparently about to attack the place, but exiting the headquarters seems to be a good start. You manage to reach the front doorway when the screaming starts. Panicked screams, anguished screams – the last act of the damned, to give voice to their doom.

    The Hand rarely killed noisily, or messily – you were one and all professional dealers of death. But occasionally, occasionally you pet monsters were slipped off the leash entirely. You were not just allowed, but encouraged to indulge your sadistic natures in a tsunami of blood. It was how the Baron punished those who had made the mistake of irritating him. There usually was just as many survivors of one of these massacres as there was of a professional hit – that is, none – but the process was more drawn out. It was a production of terror, each victim an example of what was about to happen to the next.

    Now it was certain you could not be caught here. Otherwise, you would be the last to die, and whoever was sent to investigate would find your broken corpse still mewing pathetically. Unfortunately, you had already used most of your poison on the vampire, but a few swift cuts to a vital artery would do the job just as quickly. It wasn’t quite to that extreme yet, however. But they were coming, and you had precious little time to find a way out, prepare to fight, or make your peace with the world.

    A Not-So Ordinary Basement

    OverWilliam

    With a self-conscious smile, Melcara brushes her hair, sweeping it back away from her face.

    “Thank you Tare. Of course, my angelic perfection might still attract unwanted attention. Perhaps I should alter my appearance further? Do humans still pay no attention to elderly woman?”

    (Regardless of whether or not Tare suggests Melcara go grey or not, I believe we can proceed roughly the same.)

    Gathering your strange group together, you lead them out into the streets, trying not to be seen while not being invisible either. As you were only too aware, being invisible was impossible down here, and trying was only likely to get you turned into the target of a dark alley mugging.

    For the most part thankfully, no one still out on the street paid you much mind. No doubt most of them were busy attempting to get off the streets before nightfall themselves. Of course, that didn’t count however many sets of eyes peered out at you from behind windowed curtains, but there was little you could do about that.

    A few passerby did stare darkly at Teareal, muttering angrily amongst themselves for some reason. Elves were a rare sight in the capital, but hardly hated enough to earn such stares from random people – something must have happened. Of course, with his typical suicidal flare, Teareal proudly met the stares with withering glares of his own. Although he didn’t speak and didn’t understand the language, his body language was clearly “if you want some, just ask”. It was a testament to Teareal’s strength of personality that no one took him up on his offer. Of course, many of the same people who considered picking a fight with the elf prince were also distracted by Melcara. More than one catcall followed after your group, causing Melcara to wince.

    “Why are they whistling at us? Is that some kind of threat?” She leans over to whisper to you. (And yes, even if Tare does tell Melcara to go grey, there are still a few cat calls.)

    Finally, you arrive at the chapel where you had hoped to take shelter for the evening. It looked even more rundown than you remembered, although at least there were no thugs hanging about right outside. The doors were closed, but not yet barred for the evening, and you walk right in after a moment’s hesitation (and any last-minute instructions regarding your “friend”).

    The inside is dimly lit by only a handful of cheap candles, and you can see a number of people in flimsy blankets already lying amidst the pews. It was warmer now than it had been, with winter little more than a memory, but down on the bottom of society’s shoe it was still damp, and damp meant cool if not cold. A shiver, and not one entirely born of the environment traveled down your spine as you saw your contact standing near the front of the chapel, dressed in priest robes. Ulrich looked just as seedy and sleazy as he always did.

    A Meaningless Speck of a Town Soon to be Even Less

    Gorgondantess

    Again, the insect people squeal and cower as you destroy those assigned to protect them with no more effort than one of them would take to crush a bug. And again, they seem to have no good answer to your roared question – Where was Athelion the Lifebringer?

    But then, a man detaches himself from the crowd. As humans go, he was particularly ugly – fat, balding, and with a nervous tic in his right eye. But his thin, reedy voice was still of great interest to you.

    “I’m a-afraid Athelion the Lifebringer is not h-h-ere right now. But I agree whatever He’s done to you, it’s wrong. And I would like to help. I know I can help, if you give me a chance.”

    “Bruce, what are you doing?” One of the townspeople hissed, only to be waved off by the bald fat man as he slowly walked towards you. Stopping about halfway, he falls to his knees, stretching his hands out to you.

    “Oh great being, allow me to serve you! I don’t know exactly where Athelion is right now, but I have a few ideas of where we could start looking! Give me a chance to prove myself!”
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

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  16. - Top - End - #586
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Tackyhillbillu's Avatar

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    Argan shut out the cries and screams. There was nothing he could do to help. All he'd do by trying to fight was make his end inevitable. Of course, that wasn't a huge difference, at the moment.

    There is still a chance. They likely are disjointed, caught up in the bloodlust.

    Argan knew what it was like. He hadn't been an unwilling participant in the slaughters the Baron had ordered, not entirely. The chains that had bound him to the Baron's Will had removed his inhibitions, ability to resist. But there was more to it then that. The sense of power, the knowledge that one held a life in their hand, and then savagely taking it for no reason other then he could, there was a pleasure in that, dark certainly, but no less exquisite. The darkest parts of him had gloried in the slaughter, and missed it.

    Enough of this. It hardly matters now.

    Argan didn't have a plan. He was just reacting now, moving quickly down the path, darting to and fro. In the end, his death was likely no matter what, now.

    More then anything, Chaos serves me now.

    Argan got a grim smile, and began to move quickly. He grabbed the two Lanterns the lit the outside, ripping them out of the fixings with a shriek of Metal. He didn't have time to be subtle about this. One he threw inside, in the Hallway, hoping that it would catch. Dashing off into the night, the other he threw at the Crate of Donovale he had discovered near the entrance. The Crate would hopefully do something impressive, maybe even in the way of an explosion. Might even set some other crates ablaze. It would draw attention from outside. And maybe the building would catch fire as well. Argan had no idea how likely he was to succeed. He didn't have the option of thinking it out. But the Flames would add confusion, chaos. That was his best hope for escape. Even so, he wouldn't have taken that bet.

    Done all I can. Live or die, I'm in Miriam and Athelion's hands now, I suppose. Somehow I doubt I'm going to get much help from that quarter.

    Priests talked nonsense about forgiveness, but Argan knew better. Some sins couldn't be forgiven, tainted you forever. He'd done them. All of them, most likely. He had excuses, but that didn't change the facts. He'd done it, and in some way, he'd enjoyed it. Filled with these dark thoughts, Argan darted off into the darkness, seeking the corner of the yard he had entered in. He kept to the crates, the maze hopefully keeping him from being stumbled on. He just had to make it to that corner. The building there would shield him as he made the climb, limiting his exposure. Argan was down to his last couple of knives, but drew two of them anyways. As he ran, his eyes scanned the darkness, looking for any figure. He wouldn't have the luxury of checking if it was a guard or a Hand, if it came. There would just be time to release. The Guards were all dead, no matter what anyways.

    Just another sin with an explanation, I suppose.

  17. - Top - End - #587
    Titan in the Playground
     
    Archpaladin Zousha's Avatar

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    Hondshioh

    Hondshioh wastes no time, clapping the man on the head to knock him out

    "TOO SLOW!" he cries as he picks up his sword and charges again. Unlike the previous bullrush, the guard isn't a half-giant with stony skin, and knocks them aside like nine-pins.

    As he makes it out into the courtyard he watches Ander being attacked by this mysterious newcomer.

    “Hello Lord General. I’m Vash. Welcome to your own personal Hells!” he says.

    "Not if I send you there first!"

    Hondshioh charges at the man, battle-cry on his lips.
    "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."

  18. - Top - End - #588
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    WhiteKnight777's Avatar

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    Umber

    Umber gave the proprietor a long, level look. "Possibly. To be frank, I'm tempted to take this seething mass of souls and bind you all into something useful. I'm not one to waste resources, nor to forgive an annoyance... then again, I've better things to do. Too bad, though, my friend could have used a meal."

    He shrugged, summoning up his unearthly mount with a few gestures, the massive black destrier with flaming green mane and tail appearing in eerie silence. "Word to the wise - be careful who you entrap. If I had more time, I'd melt the lot of you down for fuel."

  19. - Top - End - #589
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    Lonna's Avatar

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    Pyrene

    "There's no escape," whispered Pyrene. "Hee-hee, there's no escape!" Suddenly she was laughing, a high, cackling laugh that cut off abruptly as she locked her gaze on the nearest guard.

    "Not for either of us," she added conversationally. Racing forward, she attacked the guard, letting her muscles remember the blows she had known from her childhood, to knock aside, to incapacitate, and if he was unlucky or resisted too much, to kill. A small detatched portion of her mind noted that the drugs must be wearing off, and that she was either hysterical or slightly insane, but it was powerless to influence her body as she whirled gracefully to the center of the hall, facing the last guard without bothering to check that Katrina had successfully taken down the other.

    "Shall we dance?"
    I started a blog!
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  20. - Top - End - #590
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Ander Windrivver

    Ander's mind races as he tries to piece the past several seconds together. An assassin? Killing Karth first and now after him? Ander gasps for breath as he realized just what kind of ritual the assassin was performing: he was trying to send Ander to Hell.

    The assassin was trying to send Ander to Hell.

    The assassin was trying to send Ander to Hell.

    Heh.

    Vash had done a poor job of disarming Ander, for his dagger was still sheathed on his waist, hidden beneath his cloak. In one smooth movement, Ander slides his hand underneath his cloak, draws his dagger, and plunges it into Vash's chest.

    You first, you son of a b----.
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  21. - Top - End - #591
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Kasanip's Avatar

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    Isera Harvent
    Perist Residence


    Though Carlain's reaction was suspicious, Isera placed it back in the corner of her mind. He had been talking to someone, but she had no idea who. The awkward response could have been anything, perhaps first of all being surprised that it was Isera who had come to find him and not someone else.

    Still, after he started talking Isera considered it a good thing he was trying to lighten the mood a little. Especially after being as dour before.

    Quote Originally Posted by Carlain
    "She wanted to start small I guess. Like I couldn't handle anything more complex. Still thinks I'm a child, I guess."
    Isera smiled at that and shook her head as they walked.
    "Well, she means the best. Cerise has always been the one to worry about you, or me, or anyone really. It's a nice trait to have in a friend, or a sibling... Though I know what you mean." She said in response.

    Carlain tensed up again, and Isera wondered briefly if it was in connection with his suspicious activity before, or if it was just catching him off balance.
    Quote Originally Posted by Carlain
    “As for the mission, well . . . I’m excited, I guess. Cerise is always talking you up, so it’ll be nice to see what you can do with my own eyes. I’m just hoping you can teach me something more interesting than revealing spirits and creating some basic wards.”

    Carlain sighs.

    “I dunno, I just want to be doing something . . . important. Bet you deal with this sort of thing all the time. Angry fey, *crazy* warlocks, right?”
    Isera dodged a low branch lightly as she chuckled.
    "I'm afraid to disappoint you if you're expecting exciting days like this one everyday. Most of the work is actually pretty routine- traveling new places, seeing new things, meeting new people. Not bad work, but not 'exciting.' That said, it looks like you're getting the full experience this time."
    She turned to look at Carlain.
    I won't be easy on you."[/color] She said, pausing long enough to let the words and hidden meaning stew in his mind before she continued as they walked.
    "You're not a child, so I'll be dropping you in on things. The only way you can learn instinct and judgment is to do it and get it right. Chances only happen once in this line of work. But as long as you trust yourself and your partner, it works out." She shot him a tight smile.
    "Once we're in, we'll have to lie low. Undercover work...so I'll be in disguise, and we'll get you sorted out too. Once that's in place, we'll have to adapt to the circumstances and react appropriately... Can't really teach that beforehand, though it'll require some quick thinking and tact at moments."

    Isera thought for a minute. How had she learned those things? Well, all of it had been trial and error. A nervous thought ran through her mind. Could she really teach Carlain? This would be dangerous but... No. She was doing fine. If the boy made a mistake, she'd cover...and he was a bright guy to be able to preform as he had earlier in the day.

    "What that means is..I can teach you some tricks and tips...maybe even a psalm or two to help. But once we're there, we need to be able to work together. A lot of this is using your head...and I'm not going to claim to know everything. We're going up against an unknown foe, so we'll have to use our wits. Good ideas are good ideas, whether they come from you, or me. I'll listen to your opinions and advice, and I hope you'll do the same."

    Isera caught herself. It wasn't a lecture...yet. But she had no intention of turning a brief 'information' session into a lecture. She smiled as they approached camp. "..But I'm not going to lecture either. Get some sleep- we'll be busy tomorrow."

    Splitting off from Carlain, Isera headed over to Cerise to talk for a few minute before lying down and getting some well deserved rest herself.

    ------
    (Morning)

    After breakfast, Isera turned to find her father coming over to her. Unexpected, though she felt a little of the energy within her withdraw just at catching his expression.

    At his suggestion though, she couldn't keep a frown from tugging at her jaw.
    "Not that I mind being chauffeured around...but didn't Duncan bring up the point teleportation might just tip off the warlocks lingering in the area? Not a very wise move." She responded.
    "If it's not too terribly far from another town, it may be better to 'drop' us off there and we can walk the rest of the way. Besides, that'd give me a little time to prepare Carlain." She said, lowering her voice. "Besides, it'd be very poor taste to walk completely into a situation as dangerous as this sounds like it could be. Completely razed off the map by warlocks, and you want to teleport near it?" She asked, a little bit of mock surprise in her voice. No...What was her father thinking? Did he want this whole thing to be finished that quickly? She didn't mind the 'drop off' too much- she had a sneaking suspicion that Carlain would get bored quickly with the walking, and though she could maintain her disguise for some time, it'd be nice to not have to renew it. She wasn't sure how long it would take to get to the town...but still.
    And leave a message at 'our' home? It hadn't been 'her' home for years now! Though the words brushed against a wound on her heart. Was he intentionally trying to say something with that point?

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    If you want to continue to speed things up, Isera will agree reluctantly if pressed on the teleport issue.

    Isera doesn't have a particular desire to start her disguise in front of her father, though she'll activate it soon after he leaves.
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  22. - Top - End - #592
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    She stifles a giggle, as she looks down at the groveling creature before her. The whole town, in seconds, was an insect in her palsm, ready to be toyed with, manipulated, maimed, and plopped into her mouth. It was... amusing, to say the least.
    Taking on an imperious air, and lifting the man with one arm, "I shall give you a chance." Raising a finger, "One. And if I find you have deceived me, I won't hesitate to do to you as I did to him," Pointing to the man with the destroyed head. "And then I will return and do the same to the rest of these people." Regarding 'the rest of these people', with a wave of the hand, she smiles manically. "Your life is in his hands, now. And if you don't trust the poor fellow, I advise you leave while you still can, if you value your face." Taking the fellow by the arm, she leaves the building, and flies over to a likely tree, though making sure not to go too fast and kill him. They are so fragile, these people.
    Depositing onto a tree, she narrows her eyes at him, accusatorial. "I've become wary of deception, in these past few days. Admit now that you don't know where Athelion is, and I'll only tear your arms off. Or would that kill you?"
    Marceline Abadeer by Gnomish Wanderer

  23. - Top - End - #593
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Korram the Firebrand

    Korram, quite unnoticed due to the commotion caused by Pyrene and Katrina, quietly walks up behind the final guard and calmly slams a foot into his groin. As the guard doubles over in pain, Korram reaches around, loops his arm around the guard's neck, and snaps it in a simple motion. Discarding the corpse, he looks around. Pyrene was apparently going insane. Wonderful. No time to worry about that. One thing at a time. He looks over at Katrina, and feels rage rising to uncontrollable levels as he sees the extent of the beating she has taken. No. One thing at a time. Forcing his anger down, he strides over to her, offering her a steadying arm if she looks like she needs one.

    "Are you alright? Wait. Sorry. Stupid question. What's the situation?"
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  24. - Top - End - #594
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    Pyrene the Slightly Crazy

    Pyrene watched the guard's unusual behavior with some interest, noticing that one of his arms seemed to be made of flames that extended and shrank as he moved. Then he spoke, and a voice she recognized caused the arm to shatter into flaming spiders that scattered around the room and disappeared.

    Quote Originally Posted by Korram View Post
    "Are you alright? Wait. Sorry. Stupid question. What's the situation?"
    "Oh, it was just the drugs," Pyrene said, sounding disappointed. Then she remembered the evil man behind her and became frightened again. "Better run from the big bad wolf!" she warned the rebels, and suited her actions to her words, fleeing down the hall without waiting for a response.
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    Sohssal

    Sohssal followed Xerxes, not letting his guard down. Upon reaching his study he sat down in his chair - or rather motioned as if sitting down. The chair probably wouldn't retain its enchantment of solidity to the incorporeal by this point, but since he became incorporeal long ago it was more a matter of familiarity with being solid than actual utility. Then he listened warily to what Xerxes had to say.

    "I do doubt that the Valkyries would ever forgive me for imagined sins. But I hope you understand that I'm rather skeptical about what a devil says - from my experience everyone exaggerates the strength of their side. I've seen first hand that the Valkyries have agents of considerable power, or at least people with goals that occasionally coincide with theirs," he said. He knew that, more likely than not, he would have to throw his lot in with theirs. After all, even if the Valkyries offered him redemption, being part demon would complicate what kind it'd be.

  26. - Top - End - #596
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    ~Tare

    Tare did not request that Melcara alter her looks once more; ostensibly, he was more concerned with making haste to the chapel, but in reality he did not want her to have to undergo the transformation process again... it looked rather painful.

    Tare noted the reactions to his companions from the random passersby (who were thankfully few), but there was little that he could do about it for now. "Well... yes. A Threat disguised as a Compliment." That was all he could manage in reply to the unexpectedly world-innocent angel. Tare breathed a prayer of thanks when they came within sight of the little slum church.

    With a last reassuring glance for Melcara, Tare led his rag-tag group inside.

    Indeed, the place was more run-down than when Tare had seen it last... but it hadn't lost the quintessential air about the place that made it more than what the five senses could detect... Perhaps some connection to the higher planes, as tended to happen with more 'ratified' churches over time, but more than that the same air that hung around Ulrich himself. A quiet sort of strength.

    The pews were full-- one or two of the pews themselves were collapsed, or broken into splinters right in the middle to leave the two sides tented intward. Times looked tough-- Tare remembered when these pews had been new. Not even the faintest scent of polish still clung to the worn and beaten wood. Several dozen people clung to them still, though; streetwalkers, drunks, homeless. Serving girls who'd been forced to supplement their compensated duties, then kicked to the streets when they'd come up pregnant. By blood, the whimpering toddler clinging to his exhausted mother's undernourished chest was probably rightful heir to a fortune that they would never see a cent of as long as either of them lived. Which probably would not even have been as long as it had were it not for Ulrich sparing whatever food he could (likely even some from his own plate) to keep them alive. But, unfortunately, there was no money to be made in a slums church. Those who came had nothing... and those who had enough to give either attended churches where their giving would be rewarded with the appropriate fanfare, or rejected the Church altogether. Still, by luck, work, and maybe even blessing, the little place had held on so far.

    And there was Ulrich himself. Truly, he looked as seedy and sleazy as he always did... which had never been more than was manageable. His neatly trimmed mustache and short goatee looked several days (or maybe even a week) untended, and his hair was tangled and longer than it typically had been. Though, in the big picture analysis, sleep was likely higher on the list of priorities than proper hygiene, when free time presented itself.

    And yet, despite the bags beneath his eyes, and the even worse condition that Tare himself was in, as soon as the two made eye contact, Ulrich lit up the dim Chapel room with a smile as bright as the sun. Well, almost as soon. There were a few seconds of shocked disbelief, perhaps the waking dreams coming back again to punish him for not giving them their proper time, after the sun had gone down. "Tare!!" When the two met in a manly, manly embrace a moment later, there was no doubt about it-- this was no ghost and no mental delusion. Here the boy was, in the flesh. Ulrich hugged him as though he'd come back from the dead. "Tare! My gods, boy, you're Alive!!" Tare laughed. "Just barely, you old man, now quit trying to finish the job!" Ulrich laughed deeply, from the heart, at Tare's joke, though he did let up from squeezing his lost friend's throat quite so tightly. "Oh-- oh, hey, let's keep it down some, huh? I keep forgetting I'm in a Church..." His eyes twinkled. It was then that he noticed the rag-tag entourage that trailed into the Chapel after the street thief. "Oh... who are these? I hope you don't need me to feed them..." He warned, the sense of welcome not diminished by his open honesty about his own limitations. "What, no three-course meal? Why did I bother coming to see you again then anyway??" Tare jibed, and Ulrich laughed. "Look at you-- What are you wearing anyway? You look like a bondage slave," He said, in jest, but didn't know how close to the mark he'd hit. "Well... Not entirely by accident, at that." Tare grinned. "And besides-- the ladies dig bondage slaves, anyway." Ulrich responded with a deep, rumbling chuckle that lasted for several, sweet seconds. When it faded, so had his smile, if only slightly. "So tell me, Tare... Where have you been? And how did you get back here?" Tare smiled, the exhaustion creeping back in on him. "You... wouldn't believe me if I told you. ...Listen. We need somewhere to stay for a while. We'll try to pull our weight, but... well... we've been through Hell the last couple of days. All of us."

    "Oh, and... what do you remember about Poisons? ...From the old days?"
    Last edited by OverWilliam; 2010-03-08 at 07:40 PM.
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  27. - Top - End - #597
    Troll in the Playground
     
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    Dawn’s Hope - Monastery

    Baerdog7/Archpaladin Zousha

    Smashing his way through the line of Karth’s guards and leaving them for the other incoming paladins to deal with, Hondshioh rushes out into the courtyard. He arrives just in time to see Vash begin his incantation. As the half-giant rushes towards him, Vash breaks off his chanting with a frown. He waits until Hondshioh is nearly on top of him, and then explodes into action.

    Throwing one arm out to point directly at the onrushing paladin, Vash releases a cloud of dust into Hondshioh’s face. The assassin smoothly steps back and to the side, allowing Hondshioh to rush through the cloud and then go stumbling past him. Despite his stony skin, the half-giant’s eyes and mouth were still vulnerable, and he quickly found himself blinded and retching.

    “Ah, paladins. Always so quick to throw themselves on the knife.” Vash announces with satisfaction, turning away from the half-giant back to Ander. Just in time to receive the concealed dagger Ander had drawn in the shoulder. The would-be assassin gives a decidedly unmanly shriek as he stumbles back from Ander, badly wounded but not dead.

    “I . . . can’t believe . . . you got me . . . with this crap pigsticker!” Vash wheezes, pulling the dagger out and quickly shoving a prepared scrap of cloth into the gaping wound. Judging by the relieved sigh Vash gives a moment later, as well as how his eyes momentarily rolled back into his head, the cloth scrap had been soaked in some sort of drug.

    “Ardraket, help me out here!” He grunts, looking over his shoulder at the other cloaked figure dealing with Karth. The other assassin doesn’t even look back as he approaches Karth, passing untouched through a stream of flame the desperate psychopath conjures.

    “Busy right now.” The man rasps, stabbing a dagger through Karth’s outstretched hand and then grasping the wrist, wrenching the man around onto his back and dropping a knee onto his chest. Flickers of flame sputter along the length of Karth’s body, but despite his obvious attempts the pyromaniac can no longer create blasts of fire.

    Meanwhile, Vash steels himself and saddles up to Ander with an angry grimace.

    “Screw this mumbo jumbo crap.” He growls, delivering a rising kick to Ander’s groin. Thanks to the armor the former lord general was wearing, the kick seemed to inflict more damage to Vash than Ander. However, the impact of the blow did threaten to knock Ander off his toes, and he momentarily slipped, the wire noose biting deeply into his neck. Only his divine regeneration kept him alive, his flesh struggling to seal back up around the wire loops now firmly lodged in the middle of his neck.

    “I’m just going to kill you, and stick your soul in this.” Vash grunts, pulling out a hand-sized crystal from his belt. “Have fun being someone’s desk knickknack, *******.”

    And with that, the assassin wound up, preparing to stab one sharp end of the crystal down into Ander’s right eye.

    (As a note, the blinding cloud has worn off enough on Hondshioh at this point that he can act again, through his vision is still rather blurry. Ander’s also free to act of course, though he’s partially decapitated at this point so things aren’t pretty for him no matter what. )

    The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

    Iethloc

    At your arguments, Xerxes spreads his hands wide.

    “It’s true my kind uses deception – but what need do I have for that when the truth is so much more effective? As you just said, you have seen first-hand the power of the Valkyrie’s lackeys. Sooner or later, they will come for you. You’re powerful Sohssal – we wouldn’t be having this conversation if you weren’t – but not even you can stand alone against a goddess!”

    Smoothly, Xerxes stands up.

    “If you don’t want to make such an important decision now, I understand. But you should decide soon, before your choice is made for you. In any case, if you wish I will give you some time to think it over. When you have made your decision, you can get in contact with us through Lord Nihilus’s contact with the mortal plane. I believe you have already met him once – Baron Demitrius Gast. We can hash out the exact details of your role when and if you decide to join us. Now, unless you have any questions for me, I will leave you to the reclamation of your manor.”

    On the Road

    The X-Roads Tavern

    WhiteKnight777

    As you begin to summon your magical steed, you note through a broken slat that sunlight is still pouring into the dingy room. Apparently, the ghosts’ illusionary powers did not extend to causing the sun to rise or set any faster than usual.

    “Wait . . .” The ghosts surrounding you hiss.

    “Perhaps we could help each other. Few people come this way through the forest anymore, and we cannot leave. If you were to bring some newcomers for us to welcome, we could reward you in turn. Old hauls, buried treasure . . . we have no use for money now.”

    The ghosts give a chorus of rasping chuckles that would have been unpleasant if you had been a normal person. But of course, you were far above normal – indeed, this sort of thing was your normalcy.

    (In the event he goes looking for her, Umber will find a disappointed/hungry Mellita passed out in a nearby (and fortunately intact interior) room. Daytime = sleepy time for normal vampires. )

    The Gastly Truth

    Dorizzit/Lonna

    Pyrene takes down one – very surprised – guard in a flurry of punches, while Korram slides behind the other, swiftly snapping his neck. Upon seeing that the third guard was in fact her father, Katrina breathes a sigh of relief but is quick to spring into action. Waving Korram off, Katrina tosses her glass shard aside and kneels down beside one of the dead guards, drawing his dirk.

    “The situation is that we are all running for our lives.” Katrina replies conversationally as Pyrene takes off down the hallway. A moment later with a howl of blind fury, Cheran appears in the doorway, one hand still clasped over his ruined face. His remaining eye narrows in hate as he sees Korram and Katrina standing together.

    “I’ll kill you ALL!” The Baron’s son vows as he staggers out into the hallway.

    “Move your ass old man!” Katrina grunts as she breaks into a run, following after Pyrene who has already reached the corner where the hallway meets up with the main concourse running through the airship.

    As Pyrene reaches the corner, she nearly collides head-on with another guard carefully sliding into view. Despite her temporary(?) madness, Pyrene does note that the man appears to be, in fact, an elf, and he does not immediately react with hostility. Instead, he looks at Pyrene intently for a moment, and then gives a short bow.

    “(OOC: Princess *snigger*)Pyrene? My name is Telest – I am here to rescue you.”

    Telest looks down the hallway at the approaching Katrina and Korram, and the pair of dead guards lying in the hallway. He almost seems . . . disappointed.

    “It seems, however, that I will not need to kill anyone to take you away.” (total pick-up line! )

    Stepping back, Telest gestures down the hallway.

    “Quickly, this way! My associate Wulfric is hidden in Cargo Bay 3B, with a griffon.”

    The Perist Residence

    Kasanip

    (I’m not sure we’ll need to PM a conversation about Isera’s disguise unless it is particularly elaborate.)

    Jean closes his eyes and sighs – perhaps irritation, perhaps something else.

    “You are right. I was simply trying to offer what aid I could in your investigation.”

    Jean pauses for several moments, and then sighs again.

    “In any event, this is your investigation now. I should leave the details of how you conduct it entirely up to you. If you require anything, you know how to get in contact with a number of Canticle members and allies across the kingdom.”

    Jean frowns.

    “Still. Warlocks are an opponent you have not faced before. From personal experience, I can tell you that they are exceedingly dangerous. . . . You should be careful, and not hesitate to seek aid if you need it.”

    Still frowning, but with a note of another emotion – anger? Regret? in his expression, Jean turns away.

    “In any event, Duncan and I will be present in camp for the next hour. After that, we will be departing in separate directions. I wish you luck.”

    (I’m going to fast forward ahead to your arrival at the town. You are welcome to decide how Isera and Carlain get there, either by walking, taking Jean’s teleport, or teleporting to a nearby town and then hoofing it.)

    It was approaching noon by the time the town of Dark Falls comes within sight through the trees. Or rather, what was left of the town – even from this distance you can tell the place had been razed to the ground. No, not just razed – even from this distance you could feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise. There was something peculiar about the wreckage, something very wrong.

    Most of the buildings had been scorched to piles of blackened timbers, but those made of stone were still largely standing – if with gaping holes in the walls. Even the ground surrounding the town had been burned and withered to cracked earth.

    Interestingly, you do see a thick plume of smoke rising into the air from near the center of the devastation. Judging by the greasy nature of the smoke, you suspect this is not a smoldering ember from whatever destroyed the town. No, this was more recent, and although you were not experienced enough in such matters to be sure, you suspect the smoke is coming from a massive pyre. Someone, at least, was still in the area and interested in disposing of the bodies.

    The Capital

    Tackyhillbillu

    Adding a little more chaos to the mix in the vain hope it would be enough to save your life, you flee for the corner of the complex you had entered from. As you round the corner of the building, however, you find a trio of cloaked figures bounding over the wall. You launch your pair of daggers at the group, to no real effect but serving to scatter them somewhat and give you time to duck back around the building.

    By the light of the flames starting to consume the guard headquarters, you can see more cloaked figures clammering over the wall on the far side of the complex. This was not a mere surgical strike, but a full-blown invasion! Clearly, the Baron had decided to greatly expand the ranks of his Hand.

    Feeling increasingly cornered, you were beginning to consider ducking into one of the nearby warehouses, there to make either your final stand or quietly slit your own throat. However, before you could enact such a plan the wooden doors to one of the nearby warehouses are thrown open, and a horse-drawn wagon bursts out into the courtyard.

    A single figure is seated in the driver’s chair, urging the horse forward at a rapid trot. Matching the single figure is a single large barrel sitting in the back of the wagon. As the wagon draws closer, you get a better look at the man driving it.

    Half of the man’s face is a ruin, a continuous mass of scars running from his temple down to his chin, and across from his mangled ear to his nose. A black eyepatch runs diagonally down across the wrecked flesh, covering the presumably ruined eye. Still, the man’s other green eye is shining and alert, and the intact part of his face is home to a neatly maintained half-moustache.

    Wrapped around the man’s one arm is a large wooden shield, which he seems to be using to shield himself from the occasional projectile flying his way out of the darkness. As he approaches, the man slows the wagon to a near stop alongside you. Leaning half out of the wagon, he extends his empty hand down to you.

    “Come with me if you want to live!”

    A Not-So Ordinary Basement

    OverWilliam

    “Food won’t be necessary. Well, at least for me.” Melcara chirps, looking quite . . . distracted, perhaps, was the best word.

    “Well, well, hello beautiful.” Ulrich mutters with a self-aware smile. Elbowing you gently in the ribs, Ulrich manages another quiet laugh.

    “I’ve heard all sorts of stories about what happened to you lad. Including one or two that involved you running off with a very fine lass. She’s not your mistress, is she?” Ulrich adds, leaning in close. His jovial expression fades, however, as he reaches out to grab your right arm, turning it over so your palm was up. The motion revealed the series of numbers burned into your forearm, just forward of the elbow.

    “I also heard rumors you got sent to Ironheart.” Ulrich says quietly, staring at the brand. “But that place is a death sentence, so I can only assume you got sent somewhere just as unpleasant. You look more than half-dead, lad.”

    Taking you gently by the arm, Ulrich begins to lead you out of the worship area that was now more of a home for the homeless.

    “We should discuss this matter further, you and your friends, in my office. There are too many ears out here . . . and things have changed around here during your absence, Tare.”

    If his expression had turned serious upon seeing the brand on your arm, Ulrich’s expression was downright grim upon your mention of poison.

    “Oh, I remember more than I care to. . . . What exactly have you gotten yourself mixed up in, lad?”

    A few moments later, you had reached a door set into the back of the worship area, and Ulrich pulls out a small key, unlocking the door and pushing it open to grant you entry into the back area of the church. From there, Ulrich guided you over to another door, which he likewise unlocked, revealing a small cramped room packed of a bookshelf, an unmade cot bed, and a small rickety desk.

    “I’m afraid I don’t have any chairs for you, but things will be cramped enough as it is.”

    Eyeing Teareal and Adamè intently, Ulrich waves the elf prince over to the cot after a moment.

    “Aw hell. Why don’t you take that load off your arms, lad.”

    Although he didn’t understand the words, clearly Teareal got the intent. Without so much of a smile of thanks, Teareal carefully laid Adamè down onto the bed. Even so, as she settled into the messy cot, she gave a harsh moan of pain.

    Ulrich shoots a glance over at the poisoned elf and frowns even deeper.

    “Yes . . . what exactly have you gotten yourself involved with here, lad?”

    A Meaningless Speck of a Town Soon to be Even Less

    Gorgondantess

    At your “generous” offer, the man’s eyes widen.

    “Er . . . y-yes, that would kill me. And I never said I know where Athelion is exactly.”

    Hastily, the man throws up his hands.

    “Wait wait wait wait! Listen to me, I wish to help, nay, serve You! Athelion has many worshippers, followers, servants – countless numbers of them, in fact. Some of them are very powerful – surely You cannot fight them all alone! Let me help You – we can build an army of our own! Further to the south there are many more towns, and much larger ones – with larger churches to match! If You want to weaken Him, and get His attention, You should start there!”
    Last edited by Inspectre; 2010-03-05 at 10:02 PM.
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  28. - Top - End - #598
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Korram the Firebrand

    Korram's response is equally conversational, if sarcastic.

    "Good to know. That's my favorite part."

    When Cheran rages out into the hallway, it doesn't take long for Korram to get a general idea of what happened before his arrival. He forces back another surge of anger and glares at Cheran, eyes burning with pure, unadultered hatred. His voice is tight and angry.

    "Pray that we never cross paths again."

    Turning, Korram flees after Katrina, barely giving Telest a second look before following his directions.
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  29. - Top - End - #599
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    Pyrene

    Upon identifying the new arrival as an elf and hearing his self-introduction, Pyrene giggled slightly, grabbing the wall to steady herself from her near collision. "There sure are a lot of you," she commented. "Let's go see Wulfric. Quickly," she added, glancing back and Cheran and bolting in the direction Tereal indicated.
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  30. - Top - End - #600
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    Hondshioh

    Hondshioh chokes as the dust gets in his face, but he whirls around to the sound of Vash's voice, and brings his sword down on Vash's head with every ounce of waning strength he could muster, silently hoping to every god and his mother he killed this assassin before the assassin killed Ander. The time for loud bravado was over.
    Last edited by Archpaladin Zousha; 2010-03-09 at 02:26 AM.
    "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."

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