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  1. - Top - End - #601
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Tackyhillbillu's Avatar

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    Apr 2009

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Argan cursed as he saw the trio of figures. The moment he saw them, he knew it was probably the end. There hadn't been much chance to begin with, however, and that was hardly a shocker. He threw the two knives, fleeing back around the warehouse, not even caring what the outcome was.

    Despite everything, this isn't quite the fufilling ending to my story I had hoped.

    Argan hadn't decided what he was going to do, when the fellow on the wagon burst out of the Warehouse. Argan's mind was still trying to catch up with what was happening as the Wagon pulled away running past him. Ordinarily, Argan would have questioned the hand, have asked why this was happening. But his entire universe of choices appeared to have run out.

    Whatever comes of going with him can't be worse then staying.

    Argan grabbed the hand, pulling himself up into the wagon, and flattened himself to the bottom the moment he managed to get inside. The side of the vehicle would offer him some protection... hopefully.

    "I think introductions and such will have to wait, but thanks. Now, lets get the hell out of here."

  2. - Top - End - #602
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    OldWizardGuy

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

    Incom Morgan

    Looking down at the emotionally ruined wreck of Isabella, drunk beyond belief yet possessing that tiny spark of goodness and determination to burn through the alcohol haze. A mother’s determination glows through her, a glow that long ago had started after their secret wedding, a glow which was now another creature bound by hate and twisted by evil. Yet she was hoping, doing her motherly duty, trying to save the last of her untainted children, to save her from herself.

    His son. His wife. His family. All lost to him from what she said, lost and gone.

    Yet there was still Sara.

    ”I will save Sara. You will not know how, or where, or why, but I will save her. That is all I can tell you until we cure you. I won’t stop until I cure you Isabel, until I cure our son, until this world is safe from the Baron and his twisted delusions of grandeur.”

    Knowing that time was becoming limited, for there was no telling would Isabella would do once she sobered up. Would she remember what happened? Would she betray him yet again? Questions he did not know the answer to for he was but a simple man exposed to far too much.

    ”What will you do once you sober up? Will you remember our conversation? Will you betray me again?”

    Soon it would be time to move, to start playing the game of kings once again. Once the answers come that with hope will show that there is still some luck in this doomed world.
    My DM Reputation
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    Quote Originally Posted by Inspectre
    I'm good at making you fear the unknown. Pwenet is good at making you fear the known, which had been the unknown five minutes before he pushed you off screaming into the abyss.
    Quote Originally Posted by Kalirren View Post
    I'm feeling this real hard now.
    Curse you, Pwenet. Curse you.... You had my hopes up there...

  3. - Top - End - #603
    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

    (ooc: okay)


    Isera grimaced as her father continued talking. "Look, it's not like I don't want your help, it's just...look. You wanted this to be an investigation. Find out what they are doing and such, and then we bring the hammer down on them, right? I'll be fine. If there's trouble, I'll call for aid and support."

    As they finished the awkward conversation, Isera decided to at least take her father's offer of teleportation to the nearest town, and then they would walk from there. Looking at a map, they plotted the destination quickly. It wouldn't take too many hours to get to Dark Falls.

    Before they left, she gave Cerise a hug and whispered a promise to be back soon to her before walking over to Carlain and Jean.
    There was the disorienting, tingling sensation and sense of displacement as the teleportation spell engulfed her. And then they were there, the small and sleepy town of Southfair. Since it was still reasonable early in the morning, Isera noted there were not many people moving about as they looked down at the village below. She nodded to her father.
    "See you again soon." She said, though the validity of the words were strange enough that she wondered if that would be the case.
    As her father disappeared, Isera turned to Carlain with an easy smile.

    "Alright Carlain, this is where the mission officially starts. We have to go north of here to get to the town...but like I said before. We're in this together, so I want you to be thinking and coming up with plans. I'll be going 'undercover' for now...which will probably change our group 'dynamic' a little." She said with a faint grin.
    Lowering her gaze for a minute and pulling her hands out of her pockets, Isera began to chant.

    "Three and one stars turning, twelve gates upon the mountains yield
    Truly my heart is pulled and woven within thy light
    As my flesh and blood is warmed by thy sight
    I gaze upon thy majestic glory and ask
    where within me can such errant radiance be found?
    Nir Tek"


    Even as her tongue invoked the last of the psalm and the two syllables, Isera felt her skin itch, and her stomach lurch. She closed her eyes as her phantasmal descrying eye began to burn, momentarily blinded by the rush of magic in the air about her. It was by far the most disorienting spell she could wield as a magus, Isera had learned the first time she had done it.
    Her bones ached as they shifted, and it felt like she had been eaten alive by mosquitoes - the itch was so bad. Almost in a way, like the fiery sensation that had passed across her when the fae had possessed her before with those bloody runes. Following the uncomfortableness came a disorienting sensation of almost 'falling' as she shrunk, and yet as the fiery itch across her skin and body disappeared, a cool sensation like a flood descended from the top of her head to the end of her toes to wash the feeling away. She felt a little lighter, and if anything, just a little less weary from the night and travel.

    The last tingle in her phantasmal eye faded and everything was 'normal,' with the exception of course that Isera had gone from twenty-seven to sixteen in less than a minute. It was a useful spell, though Isera had to admit it was frustrating not having more control over the form altering abilities. So many more potential disguises she could never take- though she'd gladly trade them for her phantasmal eye any day.
    Hopefully anyway, this would help make it easier to relate to Carlain in the mission- and potentially give them a useful edge if the enemy underestimated the pair. At least for the next three days. Then she'd have to renew it again depending on how things were going.
    She looked herself over and adjusted her jacket a little before looking back -up- at Carlain, mentally adjusting to the change. Well, the spell had put them at close enough age, though perhaps ironically, Carlain appeared a little older than she now. Had she overshot? Maybe. How old was he exactly now? Isera should have asked Cerise before heading out. Looking up at him was certainly a change in perspective- perhaps one of the other useful traits of the skill. She could empathize with Carlain's uncomfortableness and misdirected emotions. Now that she was like this again, she remembered all too well her first journey away from home, and the difficulties and trials she had there. The expectations, the excitement, the pain, the worry. All of it had bombarded her, probably similar to what Carlain was feeling now.
    Ah, now is not the time to dwell on the past. We have a mission. She silently reminded herself, blinking and looking away from Carlain off towards the forest.
    "So." She said, resting her hands on her hips.
    "I'd say it's about time we head off to Dark Falls, wouldn't you?"

    Walking to the Dark Falls was a relatively pleasant experience, as far as traveling could go. No real interruptions, the weather was holding up well, and the path through the forest wasn't all that difficult to follow. As the sun rose higher, Isera stepped off the path and turned to Carlain.
    "We should go off the trial here. If there really is big trouble in this town and someone is watching to make sure no one outside comes in, then they'll have eyes on the road. If not, we can always confess to having just gotten lost." She said with a shrug.
    Off into the forest they went, Isera working at a slightly slower pace so not to frustrate Carlain, who despite her assumption that he would be pretty poor at this kind of work, proved otherwise somewhat capable of trekking through the underbrush.

    At last though they came within sight of the town of Dark Falls. Or what was left. Isera felt a cold shiver run down her spine. It was gone. Completely, absolutely ruined. A massive fire must have incinerated everything. Even the earth was dead from the heat. Isera frowned. Definitely someone had been using some incredibly powerful fire related magic here. Her father's warnings rang in her head. These people were not to be trifled with.

    And yet, there was smoke in the air at the center of the devastation. Someone was disposing of bodies.
    Obviously not necromancers then...they would have wanted to keep them. And if the warlocks had been involved in destroying this town, there was little reason for them to be burning the bodies behind, right?
    A tough call with so little information, but perhaps it would give them two birds with one stone- information, and possibly clues as to what had transpired here.
    She looked at the town through her phantasmal descrying eye, trying to find any sign of trap or ward, and then nodded to Carlain.
    "Alright, let's go have a look. Keep your mind running sharp- someone's down there. But for now, let's go meet them." She said with a roguish smile. Isera trotted down the hillside and then fixed an expression of shock and horror to her face that wasn't too hard to fake, considering the circumstances. They approached the smokey fire.
    Last edited by Kasanip; 2010-03-07 at 02:41 AM.
    Kasanip's Sketchbook 2 Thread
    It is difficult to speak English, please excuse mistakes kindly m(_ _)m

  4. - Top - End - #604
    Orc in the Playground
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    Apr 2007
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    The third dimension
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    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Sohssal

    Sohssal continued listening to the devil - against his better judgment, perhaps - but his mind drifted away into anger at the mention of the Baron. "Yes, I have met the baron before...but not on good terms. Isn't there another way I could make contact?" he asked, not quite succeeding in masking the anger in his voice. He had a feeling he'd have to swallow his pride and go through with it anyway. He knew the Baron probably wasn't directly responsible for his imprisonment...but it still happened in his castle and with his (implicit or otherwise) permission, and Sohssal just could not forgive such a thing, even though the Baron had released him.

  5. - Top - End - #605
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    OverWilliam's Avatar

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    Dec 2007
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    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    ~Tare

    Tare seemed to lose his balance for a moment as exhaustion tickled at his eyelids. "Erm... she's not my mistress. But she can handle way more than you think, so poach at your own peril." Tare tried to smile, for Ulrich's benefit. "The rumor is at least mostly true. ...And yeah, that's about how I feel at the moment."

    When they entered the room, Tare felt for the first time in longer than he cared to remember a sense of being... safe. It was so simple, and yet his beleaguered mind could barely understand the concept anymore. He almost fell backwards into leaning on the wall behind him, and then slid down until he was sitting with his knees tucked against his chin, back against the wall. He wanted to just pass out, but it wasn't time yet. The dredging up of old memories that came along with finally realizing that he'd done it... he'd done the impossible... brought up another memory, a much simpler, but so much more important memory. "Ulrich... do you have any Water around?"

    Tare took a shaking breath at Ulrich's question. It was... a really, really long story. "There was this Assassin..." Tare began, slowly building momentum until he had recounted most of the relevant details concerning Limier and the poisoning that he could pull from his memory-- such details to include the precision stab wounds he'd seen on Adame' earlier, and the Assassin's preternatural skill with throwing knives in general. "Limier said that there was an antidote, but she didn't say what kind of poison it was. She mentioned that it was a slow-acting poison and... something about turning her insides to jelly? Does that ring any bells?"
    Deo Soli Sit Semper Gloria

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

  6. - Top - End - #606
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Nov 2005
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    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Ander Windrivver

    Ander gasps for breath as the noose continues to tighten. He grabs the wire, wrapping it around his hands, and heaves with all his might to try and break Vash's grip. At the same time, he tries to get enough slack on the line to duck away from the assassin's attack. Hopefully that would distract him long enough for Hondshioh to land an attack of his own.
    Quote Originally Posted by PhoeKun View Post
    Baerdog: super genius.

  7. - Top - End - #607
    Titan in the Playground
     
    The_Snark's Avatar

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    Apr 2006

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Mar

    The angels are gone.

    Alice's mother's words sent a shiver down Mar's spine, and instinctively she pulled her wings tighter against her back. It was true, and guilt prickled uncomfortably at her thoughts. Like Caroline, she had a vague but firm sense that there were angels. Even if she hadn't, her dreams would have told her that they had once flown through the skies and even walked the earth upon occasion. But they weren't anymore, and she felt ashamed.

    It occurred to her to wonder how she was so sure that there weren't any more angels. Certainly she'd never seen any outside her dreams...

    Then she wondered: why shame?

    The other girl's next question saved her from having to think about it—though it was rather akin to being pulled out of a burning building by ravenous wolves. Where she'd come from was exactly what she didn't want to talk about, not now not ever if she could help it. The more she talked and thought about it, the more it might catch up with her. She vaguely recalled what Jacob had told her to do if people asked her questions, but she couldn't think how to say it. How did you go about telling someone, "It's a secret" without getting such a strange look that it would have been better not to say anything at all? It made her flinch a little to imagine it. Nobody liked her keeping secrets.

    "Um," she said, to fill up the rapidly growing silence. "I'm not—I haven't been here very long." She hurried onwards; maybe Alice would forget. "Caroline, Jacob wanted us to go into town. He said he'd given you some chores to do?"

    Caroline didn't look happy at that, and to forestall any objection that would keep her here under the scrutiny of Alice and her awkward questions, she added hopefully, "You could show me around while we're there, if you like."
    Avatar by GryffonDurime. Thanks!

  8. - Top - End - #608
    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

    Reaching up and struggling to pull down the wire (presumably attached somewhere on the battlements of the wall above him), or at least loosen it slightly, Ander mostly succeeds just at pawing at his savaged throat with his armored hands. He does manage to get just enough slack, however, that at the last moment of Vash’s strike he is able to slip back a step and lean backwards without losing his balance. Instead of going into his eye then, the crystal instead strikes one of his shoulder pauldrons, shattering against the hard armor.

    Vash manages an, “Aw, Hells.” before Hondshioh’s sword finds him. Not quite a fatal blow to the head or neck, Hondshioh’s blade nonetheless has enough power behind it to cut through the leather protecting Vash’s back. Stunned from the massive gash now in existence across his back, Vash falls to his knees. Having found a solid target, and hoping it is not in fact Ander, Hondshioh flails several more times. The next two swings, on account of Vash’s now lowered height, both miss, but the third is the perfect blow he had been originally hoping for. Vash’s head is separated from his shoulders, and both head and body tumble lifelessly to the ground.

    While Hondshioh struggles to recover his sight and Ander struggles to keep his own head, the other assassin closes on Karth. As he kneels down to deliver the final blow, however, a loud crackling voice booms across the courtyard.

    “Our contract is at an end, Karth! Now experience the displeasure of Purifer, Lord of the Inferno!”

    What could only be best described as a massive plume of fire suddenly erupts from Karth’s body, and over the roar of the flames a thin, keening scream of agony could be heard. Not spreading out and dissipating into the air like normal flame, this pillar of solid fire actually gathered itself together. Eventually, the flames stopped rising from the body of Karth, and the mass of fire hung in mid-air for a moment before tearing open a fiery hole in reality and disappearing through it. The portal to the fiery landscape that lied beyond quickly sealed itself shut, leaving behind only a charred corpse of a former Lord General of the Church. A corpse that was still alive, somehow, its blackened lips unable to form anything more coherent than an anguished moan.

    The other assassin was quick to resolve that situation, however, sliding his knife smoothly across the charred throat of what was left of Karth, finishing him. As he did so, the man laid his other hand on Karth’s chest, and both Hondshioh and Ander felt a wave of . . . something wash over the courtyard as Karth expired. A sense of extremely unease passed through them, as they sensed something extremely wrong taking place. Somehow, they knew a terrible deed had just been committed – Karth’s soul had been destroyed. He would not go before the Divine Couple for judgment, his soul would not be cast into the dark depth of the Hells for his numerous sins, nor would he ever return to menace the Church a third time, perhaps in a form more fitting his behavior. He was simply gone, now and forever, his soul wiped from existence with a single touch.

    The deed done, the assassin swiftly wipes his blade off and sheaths it. He then turns to the two of you and delivers a slight bow.

    “My business here is now concluded. I have no interest in killing you or anyone else here, as my sole target was Karth. Nonetheless, I will defend myself if necessary. I’ll be leaving now. Good day.”

    And with that, the assassin turns and moves to the nearby wall, beginning to swiftly scale it up towards the battlements at the top.

    Stonefall

    The Surrounding Forest

    The_Snark

    At your mention of showing you around town, Caroline’s face lights up. She immediately grabs your hand and begins to pull you towards the depths of the small village.

    “See you later Alice!” She calls over her shoulder. The girl gives a sort of frowning mouth twitch, her arms crossed as she watches you leave.

    “Later.” Is her only reply.

    After you’ve gone out of earshot of the young cynic, Caroline leans in close.

    “Alice is my half-sister.” She explains in a conspiratory whisper. “That means we have the same mom, but Dad broke up with Mom shortly after I was born, so Mom had Alice with another man.”

    Caroline frowns sadly.

    “They don’t talk much, and tend to avoid each other around town. I still hear things about her though. Mom says a lot of mean things – not just about Dad, but about everything. I don’t think she’s a very happy person.”

    Brightening with only the suddenness that youth could provide, Caroline steers you off of the main dirt road leading through the center of town. She begins to drag you towards a small, squat building that is heavy, even from this distance, with the smell of blood.

    “Most of my errands involve picking up food. You’ll help me carry everything, won’t you Marion? Our first stop is the Butcher’s – his name is Burton. He’s nice if a little scary – big and hairy, like a friendly bear.”

    As you get closer to the building, the smell of blood becomes overpowering. And it triggers memories. Bad ones.

    The whip hisses through the air again and again, setting your back on fire. The smell of blood, your blood, fills your nose as you scream for mercy. This only insights Daddy further, and the whip cracks faster now. “You are a wicked child! An evil child! And these are the wages you shall be paid until you learn to behave!” Soon, the burning turns to a rolling itch as the bugs begin their assault on your open wounds.

    You had done something really bad this time. Bad enough that it had caused these strange wings to sprout from your back, turning you into a freak. But that was okay, Daddy would fix it. He always fixed what was wrong with you, and one day you would be perfect and would no longer need to be sculpted by such painful tools. You kept on believing that Daddy would help you as he lead you through the hall full of bodies, all women and girls staked to the wall, freaks like you. You had believed him even as he led you into the next room and tied you down to a black stone altar. And even as he plunged a cold stone knife into your chest and cut out your heart, you had believed this was all part of your treatment.


    “Marion?” Caroline calls, shaking your hand in her two-fisted grip. “Come on, Marion, we have to hurry. Dad wanted us back before noon, and we have a lot more stops to make!”

    Despite the plethora of bad memories bubbling to the surface, they were more in the back of your head now – unpleasant images rather than scenes you were directly experiencing. Still, the thick smell of so much blood did make you rather queasy, and you could only guess how bad it would be inside. Caroline seemed to know what she was doing, so she might be able to just go in and handle it by herself while you waited outside and caught your breath. But then, Jacob had trusted you with an important duty, and if you waited outside Caroline would be out of your sight while she was in there – could you really trust someone described as a “friendly bear” and who liked to use knives to cut living creatures apart?

    The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

    Iethloc

    Xerxes considered the question for a moment, and then nodded.

    “It seems likely that you shall have to deal with the Baron of Gast sooner or later – he is the one heading our efforts on the mortal plane after all. But assuming you have some way of accessing the Hells, I have a few contacts you could pass a message along to. Eventually, the message would reach me and from me, Lord Nihilus. On the mortal plane . . .”

    Xerxes shrugs.

    “You could contact a minor level warlock, I suppose, but ultimately the message would be relayed through the Baron regardless. I will leave the contact information for them with you, just in case.”

    Making a slight gesture, you feel a minor magical effect taking place as Xerxes casts some sort of spell. A moment later, he pulls a small sheet of paper out of thin air, with several names written on it that appear to be written in blood. He lays the piece of paper on your desk, and then gives a low bow, arms held out away from his body.

    “Farewell, Sohssal.”

    Stepping backward, Xerxes begins to grow more translucent, fading away into the shadow more and more with each step backward. Finally, he disappears from sight entirely, leaving you alone in your study.

    (You can now go to work on reclaiming your manor, make a decision and attempt to contact one of Nihilius’s contacts with your answer, enact some sort of magical ritual for further information on Nihilus/what his plans are, or something else entirely.)

    The Gastly Truth

    Pwenet

    “Yes.” Isabella answers, hanging her head. “I will remember this conversation, and I will doubtless inform the Baron. I can’t imagine that he won’t try to stop you – or that I won’t try to stop you from saving my daughter from us. You do not have long my love.”

    The Baroness shakes her head.

    “The Baron might already be anticipating something like this. It was he who suggested that I get drunk before speaking with you. I think he wanted you to see me like this, and to learn the truth of what happened. But he might also have anticipated me begging you to do something. Sara is important to his plans somehow, and I know he intends to use her for something terrible. The sooner she is gone, surely, the safer she will be.”

    Isabella chews on her lip, a familiar nervous habit.

    “There may be something that might buy you a bit more time – you could knock me out. Doubtless it will take longer for me to regain consciousness than it will to purge the alcohol – already I can feel the worst of the haze fading. You have protocols to prevent you from injuring me, but a direct order should override most of those. Unless you can think of a better way in the next few minutes.”

    (If Incom wants to knock Isabella’s block off and then leave, you can consider the order given. If you wish to move things along faster, you can also go pick up Sara. Assuming, of course, you don’t have other ideas for Incom’s immediate future – like running up and trying to headbutt the Baron. )

    Dorizzit/Lonna

    At Korram’s taunt, Cheran grimaces in fury.

    “Oh we won’t, because you’ll be DEAD!” He screeches, swaying on his feet a moment as he lowers his hand away from his face, revealing the bloody ruin of his eye. Then the son of the Baron breaks into a run. Despite his injuries, Cheran is still very fast, and absolutely furious.

    Seeing the rapidly approaching threat, even Telest’s eyes widen slightly. He helps Pyrene past him with a shoving hand on her back, nearly sending her head-first into the wall.

    “Go! Go! Go!”

    Drawing a pair of daggers from underneath his cloak, Telest throws first one, then the other at the approaching Cheran. He slaps them aside, acquiring a slight cut on his hand from one of them that almost immediately heals. This does not deter the elven assassin, who continues to draw daggers and hurl them at the Baron’s son until Korram and Katrina are past him. Then, Telest turns and follows after them, Cheran right on their collective heels.

    The metal corridors of the Ghastly Truth appearing as dark tunnels deep beneath the earth, Pyrene forces herself to concentrate as she runs onward. Somehow, the previously packed corridor is currently empty, and Pyrene can see a number of the side halls that were constantly disgorging people on her first trip through were now sealed by heavy metal doors. From behind some of them, loud shouting and pounding sounds could be heard, and Pyrene imagined any one of them suddenly bursting open to admit a slavering beast into the corridor that would catch her in mid-stride with its jaws.

    Behind her, the other escapee and the two would-be rescuers are treated to the horrifying sound of Cheran stomping down the corridor, slowly edging closer and closer. Her injuries somewhat more serious than she’d like to admit, Katrina is the first to begin to slow. In desperation, she reaches out to her father, actually accepting Korram’s shoulder this time as the two of them struggle to stay ahead of the furious Cheran.

    And then, from the hallway ahead of the group, a heavy metal door begins to slowly swing shut. For several tense seconds, it seems as if it would shut ahead of the group, trapping them in the corridor with Cheran. Pyrene manages to duck through, just narrowly avoiding striking her head against the lowering top part of the door. With the last of her strength, Katrina flings herself through the narrowing opening, Korram throwing himself after her. All hear Cheran bellow a furious “NO!”, and then Telest is leaping through the nearly closed hole in the door.

    From the other side of the door, there is a loud impact as Cheran crashes against it, and suddenly Telest’s forward momentum is halted. Peering back through the opening in horror, the group can see Cheran had flew up in desperation, just managing to snag the elf’s foot and pull him part of the way back through the shrinking hole. There is only a moment for the horrified realization to pass across the elf’s face, currently only halfway through the door. Then the door closes the rest of the way, grinding and crushing his body as if it weren’t even there. The messy top half of Telest collapses forward into a bloody heap next to the group who managed to escape Cheran’s wrath. For his all too brief assistance, he paid the ultimate price.

    From the other side of the door, a loud, squishy banging could be heard, likely the result of Cheran swinging the lower half of Telest into the sealed door with bone pulverizing force.

    “I WILL FIND YOU ALL! YOU CAN’T RUN FOREVER, AND I WILL KILL ANY WHO TRY TO SHELTER YOU! AND AS SOON AS I GET WHAT I WANT FROM THAT NOBLE WHORE, I’M GONNA KILL HER IN THE MOST EXCRUCIATING MANNER POSSIBLE!! DO YOU HEAR ME!!!!?”

    There is more squishy banging on the door, and more hoarse screaming from Cheran, which quickly degrades into little more than animalistic grunts and howls. Finally, even that abruptly ceases, presumably as what tiny brain Cheran possessed finally alerted him to the possibility of finding another way around.

    As the diminished group catches their breath and struggles back up to their feet, the communication crystal at Korram’s belt chimes. In the handwriting of his wife, there is only a single word – “Hurry”. Additionally, there is a new plotted map, presumably leading the group down to Cargo Bay B3. Thankfully, it isn’t far.

    The group does not have any more threatening encounters on its way down to the cargo bay – most of the doorways leading anywhere but to the cargo bay being sealed. As they are arriving at the cargo bay, the group hears an unwelcome sound: the piercing shriek of an alarm bell. Clearly, the denizens of the Gastly Truth were finally aware that there were intruders aboard.

    Fortunately, Cargo Bay B3 did not appear to be yet swarming with guards. In part perhaps to Wulfric, who was standing there grimacing in the middle of the cargo bay with a torn open shirt and a small pile of unconscious/dead guards scattered around him. At the sight of the group, he stands up from the box he had been sitting on, holding his wounded side with a grimace. Behind him is a large, irritated looking griffon, with an angry scorch mark along one wing that it seems to be nursing.

    “Elf not with you?” He asked by way of a grunt. Katrina answered with a shake of her head. “Didn’t make it.” She added, not bothering with a blow-by-blow of his gruesome death.

    “Ah.” Wulfric said, frowning. “Didn’t really like the son of a bitch, but he had his uses. So, can we get out of here now?”

    Finally noticing Pyrene’s odd condition, Wulfric ***** his head. “Pyrene . . . are you alright?” He asks. Before she can answer, however, the room fills with the voice of the Baron. Thankfully, it seems to be coming through a magical projection, rather than from his physical presence.

    “Attention, I’ve just received word that we have some rats on my ship, and they’ve managed to pry something loose that belonged to me. Pyrene, if you can hear this, I just wanted to let you know that my agents found your sister. And, assuming you haven’t left yet, I strongly suggest you remain to enjoy our hospitality a little longer. Otherwise, well . . . I will simply have no choice but to let Cheran have Ariella as a plaything in your stead. I know she’s a bit younger than you, but I’m sure my son will find some use or another for her. Why don’t you think it over, and turn yourself in to my guards when they arrive at your position – Cargo Bay 3B, I believe.”

    There’s a moment’s pause, and then the Baron continues.

    “As for the Alstan family, well – you managed to get your daughter out of my grasp for now Korram, but I’m surprised you aren’t staying for the full deck. Surely you want to be reunited with your wife? This is your best chance for that reunion. I’ll give you a one-time offer – turn yourselves in, and I’ll let you see her one last time before I kill you. I’ll give you all three minutes to decide your own fates before my men kick in the door and take you all by force. Oh, and unless you plan on jumping to your deaths, there’s a full compliment of GHASTS flying along outside, just itching for an opportunity for some target practice.”

    “Mom’s alive!!?” Katrina asked, her voice full of confusion as she turns to Korram.

    “Hey, listen – we don’t have a lot of time to figure out a plan here. And I for one, am not letting myself be taken alive. I got myself and Telest in here on Xera – although that was a little weird how unguarded the way in was – and I can get us out, freakish angels be damned!” Wulfric grunts, striding over to the griffon. He seems about ready to mount the griffon, and then pauses as he turns back with a concerned grimace.

    “Of course . . . that was with only myself and Telest aboard, and that elf barely weighed anything. All four of us on Xera is probably going to stress her trying to carry that much weight.”

    The Perist Residence

    Kasanip

    Although he isn’t quite able to manage the same look of shellshock, Carlain nonetheless is impressed with the scene of absolute destruction before you. Attempting to analyze the area with your Phantasmal Descrying Eye quickly proves futile. The reason for this is that the entire area is saturated with lingering magic. Demonic magic, almost certainly given the tainted appearance of the energy resonances. The ground, the buildings, even the very air blur together in a thick haze of slowly dissipating demonic energy.

    Your Phantasmal Descrying Eye starts to itch, and then burn as you get closer to the town, and thus the source of corruption. You want to rub your eye, maybe even claw the damn thing out in a fit of agitated rage. Whatever happened here was far more powerful by several magnitudes than any warlock ritual you had encounter previously. Granted, your experience with demons and their mortal servants was limited to several exorcisms and a single witch, but even you could tell this was the aftermath of an incredibly powerful demonic ritual. More powerful than anything that any member of the Canticle had encountered in years, perhaps even centuries!

    As you encounter the town proper, Carlain gives a low whistle of amazement as you see the devastation up close. Now right next to the buildings, you can see that in addition to fire, something bestial had torn into the buildings, leaving identifiable claw marks in several sections of relatively intact wall. Presumably, the pulverized sections of walls are from when the responsible beast succeeded in breaking through the brickwork.

    Distracted by the sights and your Eye, uncontrollably twitching in agony from the assault of the overpowering residual demonic energy, you nearly miss the woman smoothly stepping from the darkness of a ruined home. Fortunately, Carlain does not, warning you by jumping back as he turns to face the woman, subtly bracing himself for casting.

    “Who are you!?”

    Without a grunt of effort, the woman carefully deposits the mangled body of the villager she had been dragging out of the wreckage and then steps forward into the light, pulling back her cowl as she does so. This gives you a good look at her face, as well as a brief look at the hilt of the massive two-handed sword slung across her back.

    The woman has long brown hair, hazel eyes, and smooth tan skin. Of particular note is the intricate black tattoo snaking down the left side of her face. It starts as a flowery black line at the corner of her left eye, flowing down and spreading out across her cheekbone, down the side of her neck, and out of sight beneath her armor. Small figures dance within the confines of the tattoo, but it would be difficult to identify them all and discern their meaning without several hours of close examination at least.

    In reaction to Carlain’s shouted question (he would one day make an excellent diplomat), the woman crosses her arms and assumes a defiant pose.

    “I think I should be the one asking the questions here.”

    The woman’s face softens slightly, but only just, as she nods her head at the two of you.

    “But, in the interests of civility, you may call me Theresa. Now, tell me – are you children from this village? Regretfully, I have not found a single survivor yet, at least not a human survivor. And the diabolic filth I slew were less than forthcoming about what happened here.”

    The Capital

    Tackyhillbillu

    “Couldn’t agree more.” Your unexpected rescuer grunts, spurring the horse into motion once more with a crack of the reins. As you charge for the gates to the compound, knives rattle off the sides of the cart and the man’s shield.

    “One of us is going to have to get out to open up the compound gates so we can get out of here. Unless you want to try scaling the wall instead – but that would mean leaving behind our prize.” The man grunts almost conversationally, nodding back at the large barrel rattling against the floor of the cart beside you.

    Unfortunately, you are interrupted by a cloaked man suddenly appearing alongside the cart, too focused on sprinting after the cart to throw the daggers in his hands. With one impressive leap, the man clears the distance between the ground and the top lip of the cart. He lands lightly, just behind your rescuer and with the barrel positioned partially between you and him.

    Unable to glance back over his shoulder properly to see your assailant due to his missing eye, your rescuer nonetheless momentarily slips the reins into his mouth, freeing his hand to reach into his cloak. A hand crossbow appears in the man’s hand, and in one smooth motion he swings his arm around to point the weapon directly behind him. Somehow, without even seeing his target, the man fires, the bolt flying true at the man’s shoulder. Off-balance from his recent landing and with both hands full with daggers, the Hand agent is unable to avoid the bolt and takes it directly in the shoulder. The man goes down hard onto the floor of the cart with a grunt, dropping one dagger to clutch at his wounded shoulder.

    Still, he was dangerous, as the man rolls over onto his side, taking a wild swing at you with his remaining dagger. The blow completely goes wide, but continuing to roll, the man closes with you, pushing himself up to rise above you in an attempt to plunge the weapon down into you.

    A Not-So Ordinary Basement

    OverWilliam

    “Um . . . yes. Yes, I have some water.” Ulrich answered with a smile. “I assume you’d like some?”

    Jim looked at Ulrich as if he had suddenly produced bags of gold from his pants.

    “Water . . .” He muttered, following your lead by slumping against the wall across the room. “Oh, I’ve forgotten what that tastes like.”

    “I don’t – um, I wouldn’t mind a glass myself.” Melcara added, and Ulrich rolled his eyes.

    “Alright then, I guess it’s water for everyone! Wait here.”

    A few minutes later, and Ulrich returned with a platter full of plain wooden goblets filled with water. It tasted heavenly, and after a few minutes of everyone savoring their glass, Ulrich pressed for your story. Which you slowly and thoroughly explained, focusing on Limier and Adamè poison for now.

    “Limier . . . “ Ulrich grunted, a note of awe in his voice. “You met him? Or her, I guess.”

    The assassin turned priest chuckles.

    “I suggest you be very careful who you tell that to. Limier has been very careful to keep all knowledge of her identity secret over the decades, likely by killing anyone who learned too much.”

    Ulrich shakes his head.

    “Yes, in short I’ve heard of Limier. Tends to prefer the up-close work over my . . . preferred methods.”

    At your description of the poison used on Adamè, Ulrich gives a slow, drawn-out chuckle. It is not a pleasant laugh, but a bitter expression of hopelessness.

    “Oh yes, I’ve heard of this poison. Reaper’s Kiss – I designed the original mixture. It causes the blood vessels inside a person’s internal organs to rupture, one by one, pulverizing them. Limier must have made her own modifications to the original formula . . . the blood spewing is new, suggests a concentration of ruptures in either the lungs or the stomach. If the girl is lucky, it’ll be the lungs – she’ll drown quietly in her own blood. If it’s the stomach, it’ll probably rupture at some point . . . I’ll spare you a description of the horrors stomach acid can do when released in the chest cavity.”

    Ulrich shakes his head sadly.

    “She doesn’t have long either way – two or three days at the most. With what I have here, I might be able to extend that up to a week, but . . . why? Why prolong her suffering like that? There is an antidote, but Reaper’s Kiss was my greatest accomplishment – a concoction made up of the rarest of ingredients, and intended to resist all antidotes but a specific combination of equally rare herbs. I used it only once, to kill a duke.”

    Ulrich rubs his temples and gives a tired sigh.

    “If Limier’s altered the formula, I would have to experiment to find the right concentrations of each herb again. Those herbs each cost hundreds of gold for a single dose. I don’t know about you Tare, but I haven’t had that kind of money in years.”
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

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  9. - Top - End - #609
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Kasanip's Avatar

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    Isera Harvent
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    Isera fought the urge to claw at her eye, and nearly jumped by Carlain's reaction to the woman's appearance. Quite the diplomat indeed. She wanted to wince at the irritated eye; she wanted to wince at the stupidity of being out of her own guard; she wanted to wince as Carlain's voice rose above the din. If there was anyone else here, then they were certainly aware of their presence now.

    As they turned to face the woman Isera took the chance to rub her eye, just a little. Something to keep it look like she either had something in it, or she was crying.
    Oh, that might be a good addition to the disguise Isera thought ruefully. But no... the woman was clearly not an ordinary traveler. At least, in all the travels that Isera had seen, there weren't many women who carried such a sword, though her look at it was brief.

    Theresa was her name, and by the sound of it, she was a demonslayer. Or something like that. That was interesting, because she certainly didn't seem like she was a Canticle member (though Isera would check for the usual signs, just in case). The fact that she had arrived here before they did meant she had either been nearby already, or someone else was interested in this affair.

    But Isera had another concern, and that right now was hoping that Carlain would keep a cool head.
    Subtly she scooted next to him a little closer, and rose one arm to gently rest against his back as a reminder and a reassurance. She looked up at him to catch his eye, before looking at Theresa. Isera decided to be truthful and dishonest at the same time.
    "No...we're not from this village ma'am." She looked down. "My uncle lived here... And...well... this is horrible." She looked around again, a pained expression on her face (one that was not hard to keep because of the irritated eye). She pressed against Carlain's back as a signal for him to 'take charge.' Hopefully, he'd have caught on to her play and continue -more diplomatically- to question Theresa.
    Time to see what the kid is capable of doing besides bluster or copy Cerise. She thought silently. If he bumbled too much, she'd jump in- and in worse case, they'd reveal that they were mages at least that had felt the power. Not too far off from the truth, but no one- especially not the canticle of autumn- revealed their true background to strangers.
    Kasanip's Sketchbook 2 Thread
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  10. - Top - End - #610
    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

    Reaching up and struggling to pull down the wire (presumably attached somewhere on the battlements of the wall above him), or at least loosen it slightly, Ander mostly succeeds just at pawing at his savaged throat with his armored hands. He does manage to get just enough slack, however, that at the last moment of Vash’s strike he is able to slip back a step and lean backwards without losing his balance. Instead of going into his eye then, the crystal instead strikes one of his shoulder pauldrons, shattering against the hard armor.

    Vash manages an, “Aw, Hells.” before Hondshioh’s sword finds him. Not quite a fatal blow to the head or neck, Hondshioh’s blade nonetheless has enough power behind it to cut through the leather protecting Vash’s back. Stunned from the massive gash now in existence across his back, Vash falls to his knees. Having found a solid target, and hoping it is not in fact Ander, Hondshioh flails several more times. The next two swings, on account of Vash’s now lowered height, both miss, but the third is the perfect blow he had been originally hoping for. Vash’s head is separated from his shoulders, and both head and body tumble lifelessly to the ground.

    While Hondshioh struggles to recover his sight and Ander struggles to keep his own head, the other assassin closes on Karth. As he kneels down to deliver the final blow, however, a loud crackling voice booms across the courtyard.

    “Our contract is at an end, Karth! Now experience the displeasure of Purifer, Lord of the Inferno!”

    What could only be best described as a massive plume of fire suddenly erupts from Karth’s body, and over the roar of the flames a thin, keening scream of agony could be heard. Not spreading out and dissipating into the air like normal flame, this pillar of solid fire actually gathered itself together. Eventually, the flames stopped rising from the body of Karth, and the mass of fire hung in mid-air for a moment before tearing open a fiery hole in reality and disappearing through it. The portal to the fiery landscape that lied beyond quickly sealed itself shut, leaving behind only a charred corpse of a former Lord General of the Church. A corpse that was still alive, somehow, its blackened lips unable to form anything more coherent than an anguished moan.

    The other assassin was quick to resolve that situation, however, sliding his knife smoothly across the charred throat of what was left of Karth, finishing him. As he did so, the man laid his other hand on Karth’s chest, and both Hondshioh and Ander felt a wave of . . . something wash over the courtyard as Karth expired. A sense of extremely unease passed through them, as they sensed something extremely wrong taking place. Somehow, they knew a terrible deed had just been committed – Karth’s soul had been destroyed. He would not go before the Divine Couple for judgment, his soul would not be cast into the dark depth of the Hells for his numerous sins, nor would he ever return to menace the Church a third time, perhaps in a form more fitting his behavior. He was simply gone, now and forever, his soul wiped from existence with a single touch.

    The deed done, the assassin swiftly wipes his blade off and sheaths it. He then turns to the two of you and delivers a slight bow.

    “My business here is now concluded. I have no interest in killing you or anyone else here, as my sole target was Karth. Nonetheless, I will defend myself if necessary. I’ll be leaving now. Good day.”

    And with that, the assassin turns and moves to the nearby wall, beginning to swiftly scale it up towards the battlements at the top.
    Hondshioh

    Hondshioh drops his sword and falls to the ground, exhausted. He can barely muster the strength to remain concious, let alone give chase to this other assassin. The strange malaise that had just swept over the place did not help matters. Struggling to stay up, he moved to assist Ander in getting that damnable garotte off his neck.

    But then he turns back for a moment and yells up at the assassin.

    "WHO ARE YOU?"
    "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."

  11. - Top - End - #611
    Ogre in the Playground
     
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    Argan considered the man's words. It wasn't going to be pleasant stopping, but neither was climbing the walls. They weren't going to do either unmolested. He looked over at the Barrel.

    "I'll deal..."

    Argan's voice was cut off when the fellow leaped into the cart. It appeared one of the Hand's had decided to be proactive. Argan needed to discourage that kind of forward thinking initiative. After all, if they all did that, he and the man were dead.

    Of course, the odds haven't become that much better. Likely we are dead all the same.

    Argan doesn't bother considering just how his rescuer saw the man, preparing himself to take advantage of it. As the man rolled above him, Argan acted without hesitation, slamming his forehead into the Hands nose. Taking advantage of the hesitation that it caused, he grabbed the hand (of the Hand) that was holding the Knife, slamming it into the floor of the Wagon. A roll, and he was up crouching. After that it was simply an arching blow with his Elbow smashing into the fellows neck, with the audible snap. With that he flattened himself again, doing his best to clean the blood the Hand off.

    "Like I was saying, I'll deal with the gates. What is in the Barrel?"

  12. - Top - End - #612
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    OverWilliam's Avatar

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    ~Tare

    The water... was incredible. The cups were nothing fancy, but they were big and full to the brims. On the one hand he wanted to gulp it all down in one breath, but in another it almost felt like he should savor it, just in case it was the last he got for a while. The water itself wasn't the best to be had on the planet. It was a tiny little bit salty, and it tasted vaguely of limestone. Oh, but it was cold, and crisp, and it tingled against his dry throat on the way down. Normally water didn't have much of a taste at all, it was just... water. But to Tare, it was the best thing he could ever remember tasting. Ever. It tasted like Life.

    After Ulrich's explanation, Tare sighed and dropped his head into his hands. "I don't think I've ever had that kind of money." He admitted. And it was probably true. "...I don't know what to do anymore, Ulrich." It cut him on the inside to admit that out loud, especially with the others listening. "We were almost home free. We were almost out..." Tare huffed. "Well... I guess we never were at all, really, if Limier had the poor girl poisoned the entire time." Tare looked over at the elf girl on the little bed, moaning in her fitful sleep. If he couldn't keep her from dying, how could he hope to keep any of the other ridiculous promises he'd made?

    "Isn't there anything we can do? Isn't there magic for reversing poisons, or-- something? I just... I don't know what to do." Tare fell silent for a few long, terrible moments.

    "I'll kill her, Ulrich." When Tare looked back up at his old friend, the closest thing to a mentor he'd ever had and the inspiration for Tare's attempt at breaking from the Thief's Guild to begin with, there was a sickly glow in his eyes. "If Adame' dies... I'll track her down and I'll send her back to hell, to stay this time. I won't forgive her even if she begs on her knees. Which she won't. Maybe I'll give her a chance to, but she won't. She'll only wish she'd killed me too." Perhaps it was the flickering of the sparse candlelight, but the already pale skin in his face sickened a few shades further as he made that declaration. And even despite how ludicrous of a claim it was, even just finding the legendary assassin when she did not wish to be found, but more than that putting a blade into her heart... even despite all of that, it was impossible to look him in the face now and not consider that he might actually do it.

    Still, whatever they had all been through over the last who knew how long... the boy neither looked nor sounded terribly healthy at the moment.
    Last edited by OverWilliam; 2010-03-14 at 11:21 AM.
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    Its offical. Overwilliam is Duke Devlin.

  13. - Top - End - #613
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Korram Alstan

    As the group flees, Korram always makes sure that he is closer to Cheran than Katrina. When she is forced to lean on him, he silently supports her, keeping his growing concern from his face. He pays little attention to the noisy doors surrounding the group; they were useless for escape, and his interest in them ended with that conclusion.

    He grits his teeth in frustration and anger as Telest is killed by Cheran. He hadn't known anything about the elf, really, but he had helped them escape, and no one deserved to die like that. Another reason he had to kill Cheran. Damned if he could, though. Without Calcifer...

    Korram's grim thoughts are interrupted by another chime from his communications crystal. He can't help but smile, if only a little, upon reading the note on the crystal, and with the map they could get to 3B without Telest's guidance.

    Thanks, Sarah.

    As the group continues on towards the cargo bay, Korram grows increasingly uneasy. It was unpleasantly convenient that the security lock down wasn't barring their way. Could they really have caused this much trouble without getting noticed? Time would tell. Still, Korram keeps close to the rest of the group.

    When they reach the Cargo Bay, Korram barely has a chance to catch his breath before the Baron's smug voice fills the room. Korram grits his teeth just hearing it. He then elaborates, to Korram's growing horror, just how much of an upper hand he has over them all still.

    Sinking to his knees in despair, Korram slams his fist into the ground, releasing a long and unpleasant string of curses against the Baron. The voice of his daughter, however, bring back to focus. He stands and rubs his face wearily.

    "Yes...No...Sort of. The Baron explained over dinner. She's part of the..." He waves his hands in small circles, lacking the words to describe it. "...thing that runs this place. I didn't tell you earlier because I didn't believe him, last we talked."

    Korram looks around at the group. They were backed into a corner. None of the options presenting themselves were very pleasant. He bites his lip and scratches the stump of his arm again. The damn thing still hurt, almost felt like it was burning. Damn phantom pains.

    "Well. What do we do now?"
    Truly awesome Ark Tamaeus avatar by Bryn. Full size version here.

  14. - Top - End - #614
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    Lonna's Avatar

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    Pyrene the Questionably Sane

    Pyrene was already moving without Telest's urgent push. For once the drugs in her system helped, as unreasoning fear gave her feet wings. She didn't even look back to see if the others were still with her until she was stumbled and fell after ducking under the heavy iron door.

    The elf's gruesome death moments later stunned her. She stared at the upper half of his body, his face caught between surprise and agony, barely twitching as Cheran shouted and raged on the other side of the door. Only when Katrina used Pyrene's shoulder to pull herself up did she wake up enough to follow them, barely wondering how Korram knew where to go, lost in a fog of despair that flickered in and out of sight and drowned out even the drug-induced paranoia.

    And then Wulfric was there in front of her, looking battered and weary, but handsome for all that, come to rescue her just like in her dream. Oh . . . this is a dream. Or maybe a hallucination, she thought dully, staring at him as she waited for him to disappear or turn into someone else.

    Quote Originally Posted by Wulfric View Post
    Finally noticing Pyrene’s odd condition, Wulfric cocked his head. “Pyrene . . . are you alright?”
    The hallucination spoke to her, in Wulfric's voice, and she collapsed, sudden clarity coming to her thoughts as she realized that he wasn't a hallucination at all, and that she hadn't seen so much as a false fog in several minutes. But then the Baron delivered his horrible news and ultimatum, and she wished she was still hallucinating, so that she could attribute the cruel words to her own fearful imagination. As it was, she could imagine all too clearly what a monster like Cheran would do to the sister she had worked so long and sacrificed so much to protect.

    Ariella. Don't worry. I'll protect you. I'll always protect you. No matter what.

    Quote Originally Posted by Wulfric View Post
    “Hey, listen – we don’t have a lot of time to figure out a plan here. And I for one, am not letting myself be taken alive. I got myself and Telest in here on Xera – although that was a little weird how unguarded the way in was – and I can get us out, freakish angels be damned!” Wulfric grunted, striding over to the griffon. He seemed about ready to mount the griffon, and then paused as he turned back with a concerned grimace.

    “Of course . . . that was with only myself and Telest aboard, and that elf barely weighed anything. All four of us on Xera is probably going to stress her trying to carry that much weight.”
    Without a word, Pyrene pushed herself to her feet and followed Wulfric to the griffon, cupping one hand over the scorch mark on her wing. Forcing herself to ignore the collar burning at her throat, she focused instead on the heat under her hand - the fire of life brought close to the surface by the damage, slowly eating at the edges of the wound, building new flesh rather than destroying it. "*Here,*" she whispered to strange flame, "*use my power.*"

    Despite repeatedly dumping all the power she could into commands over the last few days, letting it out in a trickle like this was surprisingly easy, perhaps due to the interference of the mage collar. Once the task was accomplished ((or if it doesn't work after a minute)), she turned at looked at Wulfric, rubbing the iron necklace absently. "Thank you for coming," she said, smiling sincerely. Then she visibly took control of her expression, becoming solemn and determined. "You need to go. Now, before more guards come. Take Katrina with you - Cheran will kill her if he catches her again. I . . . I need to return to the Baron. If I don't, Cheran will do worse than kill my sister. I can't allow that. I can't." Pyrene felt her control start to slip and turned away so the others wouldn't see her fear and desperation. "Go now. I'll do what I can to delay pursuit."
    I started a blog!
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  15. - Top - End - #615
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    WhiteKnight777's Avatar

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    Umber

    the vampire lord stared at the hungry ghosts for a moment, weighing his options - he couldn't venture too far without Mellita anyway - he might as well amuse himself. At last, he nodded in affirmation, his expression still cool. "Very well... I'll do as you ask."

    The flames adorning his steed's hooves and mane died, revealing simple black hair as he began to nudge the beast out into the daylight surrounding the inn. If he was lucky, he'd find something for Mellita to eat, as well. She'd need her strength for the journey ahead.

  16. - Top - End - #616
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    Ander Windrivver

    Ander gratefully accepts Hondshioh's help getting the damnable wire off of his neck before slumping to the ground while his wounds heal.

    Let him go, Hondshioh, he croaks.

    He lets a moment pass, reflecting on the day's events, before speaking again. Two assassination attempts in one day, Hondshioh. It's enough to make one almost miss the monotony of prison. It seems we've also learned the source of Karth's powers: a fire elemental. I met another man who had a fire elemental bound to him in Ironheart. His name was Korram the Firebrand, a freedom fighter who drew the Baron of Ghast's ire. He reminded me a bit of myself. I hope he's doing alright.

    He stands up and begins to collect his weapons. We should go check on the abbot. Let's go.
    Quote Originally Posted by PhoeKun View Post
    Baerdog: super genius.

  17. - Top - End - #617
    Ettin in the Playground
     
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    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!”
    She frowns, at the admission of his own mortality. "That is... dissapointing. And, strangely, not surprising. Why can't you humans just be like a worm? Cut a part off, and it keeps going. For the dominant species on this earth, you're quite fragile."

    She stares him down with narrowed eyes as he speaks of an army. She sits stone still for a time, thinking.
    An army would be a wise choice.

    But no fun! Why should we rely on humans? As we said, they're weak.

    An army would be a wise choice.

    We can't rely on humans. They're fragile, and they die so easily.

    An army would be a wise choice.

    ...We don't know how to acquire an army.


    Returning from her reverie, she returns her gaze to the man. "Perhaps. I am... conflicted. I need to deliberate. First, tell me more of this Athelion. And tell me... why have you decided to help me? I assure you, if you are lying to me, I can smell it."
    Marceline Abadeer by Gnomish Wanderer

  18. - Top - End - #618
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    Quote Originally Posted by Baerdog7 View Post
    Ander gratefully accepts Hondshioh's help getting the damnable wire off of his neck before slumping to the ground while his wounds heal.

    Let him go, Hondshioh, he croaks.
    "I merely asked who he was, sir. I'm in no state to give chase anyway."
    He lets a moment pass, reflecting on the day's events, before speaking again. Two assassination attempts in one day, Hondshioh. It's enough to make one almost miss the monotony of prison. It seems we've also learned the source of Karth's powers: a fire elemental. I met another man who had a fire elemental bound to him in Ironheart. His name was Korram the Firebrand, a freedom fighter who drew the Baron of Ghast's ire. He reminded me a bit of myself. I hope he's doing alright.[/
    "A fire elemental? Are you sure it wasn't a demon? And how can you feel any sympathy for a criminal?"
    He stands up and begins to collect his weapons. We should go check on the abbot. Let's go.
    Hondshioh struggles back to his feet. "Agreed," he replies. He hefts his sword back into its sheath and helps Ander collect the rest of his own gear.
    Last edited by Archpaladin Zousha; 2010-03-16 at 07:37 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."

  19. - Top - End - #619
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    Ander Windrivver

    "A fire elemental? Are you sure it wasn't a demon? And how can you feel any sympathy for a criminal?"
    How do I know? Boy, I've been fighting demons, devils, and all other manner of Hellspawn for nearly my entire life. Demons aren't much for possession; they would rather rip and tear someone apart than inhabit their body. Devils are certainly manipulative bastards and have been known to possess people but more often than not they prefer to manipulate people from the outside.

    He picks up his dagger, sheathing it, and begins buckling Justice across his back.

    And for Korram? Hondshioh, you are still very naive. You place the law on a pedestal as some sacred thing that people must always abide by. Obeying the law is important but only when the law and the people who make and enforce the laws are just. You clearly do not know the Baron of Ghast. He is an evil, vile, manipulative man who puts on a good face for the rest of the kingdom while he rules his own land with an iron fist and an Iron Heart. Korram was fighting to free his people from the Baron's tyranny. He stops, turns to Hondshioh and gently pokes him in the chest. Remember that what we are doing against the Church puts us in a very similar boat as Korram.

    Ander relaxes, patting Hondshioh on the shoulder, and gathers up Sin-Eater. Ah, but you are still very young yet. You'll learn in due time. Come.

    With that, Ander walks back inside to check on the Abbot and the other paladins.
    Quote Originally Posted by PhoeKun View Post
    Baerdog: super genius.

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    Sohssal

    Sohssal let out a sigh after Xerxes' explanation. There was no way he could get through to the Hells until he gathered up a lot more magical energy. Still, he nods as Xerxes leaves the paper on the desk. "Farewell," he said. He picked up the paper with his wind spell and walked back towards his comrades.

    "I'll explain what happened to anyone who decides to stay after we clear out my manor. Don't worry, no souls have been sold or something - we just talked. So let's get to work immediately, unless any of you need more time to prepare..." he said. He almost eagerly looked back towards the rest of his mansion, and took a couple of seconds to gauge how many sources of magic there were. Sohssal hoped he wouldn't have to chase down dozens of tiny magical blips all day.

  21. - Top - End - #621
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    Hondshioh frowns at being called naive, but doesn't talk back, instead following Ander back in to check on the Abbot and the others.
    "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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    Mar

    Mar allowed herself to be pulled along by the hand gratefully. It wasn't that she didn't like Caroline's friend, but Alice seemed to have all of Caroline's incessant curiosity and none of her short attention span. It was a very uncomfortable combination, and she hoped Jacob would be there next time they met. He was good at telling when questions bothered her—well, actually he wasn't, he'd warned his children not to ask things she didn't really mind answering, but she was a lot more comfortable with that sort of mistake. It made her feel a little safer.

    But somehow she didn't think the two saw one another much; she couldn't imagine Alice, with all her talk of her mother, and Jacob getting along very well. Not after hearing about their mother. Mar tried to put that story, and the flickers of resentment it brought with it, out of her mind.

    It wasn't hard; there were plenty of new things to look at. She'd gotten used to the idea of wooden walls while sleeping in the old barn, but seeing all these buildings at once, from the outside, was like something out of her dreams. It wasn't magnificent or spectacular, but it felt warm. Hopeful. The little wooden buildings were places where people could live nice, ordinary lives, away from angels and monsters and Daddy.

    Save one, a squat thing that smelled all too familiar. It smelled like the worst floors at Ironheart, slick with red and crusting black, it smelled like punishment and things ripping into her back. It smelled like pain. Mar stopped without realizing it as she realized that Caroline meant to go in there. A butcher. Harmless, the little girl said. Friendly. But the smell! Her legs didn't want to move, and she didn't want to make them. Only, Caroline was going in. Mar couldn't run away from the stink, not without running away from Caroline (and everybody else, because could she really come back after that?). She could stand outside while the girl went in by herself, but... but...

    Against her every urge and instinct, Mar followed Caroline through the door.
    Avatar by GryffonDurime. Thanks!

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    Dawn’s Hope - Monastery

    Baerdog7/Archpaladin Zousha

    Now at the top of the wall, the surviving assassin turns at Hondshioh’s shout. He gives a slight bow.

    “I am known as Ardraket. Remember the name, in the event you find yourselves in need of my services.”

    And with that, the man steps off the top of the wall, falling out of sight. Karth’s executioner is gone.

    After freeing Ander from the noose, the two paladins collect their equipment and head back inside after nursing their wounds and tempers. They find cleanup already in progress, with acolytes and fully initiated paladins alike helping to move the bodies outside for eventual burial. Karth’s elite bodyguard fought to the last, their fanatical loyalty a reminder of Karth’s skill in getting people to follow, despite his monstrous actions.

    Returning to the ritual room, it is clear that the worst of the damage was caused here, thanks to Karth’s firestorm. The bodies of many paladins are being carried out, with only a few having survived long enough to require medical treatment. The abbot, thankfully, was one such individual, most of his face already concealed by bandages.

    “Ander . . .” The Abbot rasped upon seeing the two of them. “Did Karth get away?”

    Despite his injuries, the man breathed a loud sigh of relief when it was confirmed Karth was dead – quite likely forevermore.

    “Unfortunate that a former Lord General of the Church could sink so low. But hardly surprising given what the Exarches are doing, I suppose. I managed to convince most of the order leaders to agree to a meeting. I was going to go myself while you focused on removing Karth and personally convincing the few hold-outs, but I think you shall have to go to the summit in my stead Ander. Doubtless the Council will hear of this, and send a representative of their own to argue their side. I doubt violence will break out – the Council will not want to give you hard proof to the order leaders – but assassins and other dark trickery is likely.”

    The abbot turns his swathed face to Hondshioh.

    “And you should make haste to the Blessed City. The Council will doubtlessly be scheming new ways to maintain their power, and if the summit goes as planned they will certainly become desperate. The more we know about what their plans are, the better.”

    Stonefall

    The Surrounding Forest

    The_Snark

    The smell was even worse inside the building. Although the front portion did seem clean and tidy. Reassuringly normal, even, and softly lit by the light streaming in from the narrow front windows. A short way into the room, a high desk stretched across the length of the room, mostly blocking access to the back of the room and the doors leading further inside.

    Other than you and Caroline, no one seems to be present, although you can hear a strange rumbling from one of the rooms beyond the yawning doorways. Singing, perhaps? Interspaced with the rumbling was the thwack! of a heavy blade striking through flesh. Both stopped as soon as Caroline tugged on a small string set up on the desk, which in turn was attached to a small bell. The bell made a pleasant tinkling sound, and a few moments later a massive figure stood into the room from the back.

    As Caroline described, the man was a mass of muscle and furry clumps of hair, looking much like a bear walking upright on two legs. His hands were currently stained a dark red, despite the bloody cloth he was wiping them off with. And yet despite all this, he was smiling, one which was almost reassuring somehow, bearing none of the hidden malice Daddy’s smiles always had.

    “Well, hello there Miss Caroline.” The man rumbled as he walked up to the other side of the desk across from Caroline. “What will it be today?”

    “Just the usual, Mister Burton.” Caroline replied with equal false solemnity, reaching into a small purse to deposit several small coins onto the desk.

    “Certainly, certainly.” The man grunts, sweeping the coins up in one massive paw and depositing them out of sight beneath the desk. “How’s William doing? I heard he had a nasty fall the other day.”

    “Oh, he’s doing much better now. He can even move around, a little, on his crutches.”

    “Good, good.” The bear-man then turns his attention towards you.

    “I will be right with you, Miss -?”

    “Oh, she’s with me, Burton!” Caroline declared, grabbing your hand and pulling you forward, in close towards the counter. “This is Marion.”

    “Well, hello there, Miss Marion. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Burton rumbles, turning to walk back into the back. “I’ll be just a moment with your usual.” At the doorway, he pauses and turns back. “Say, I don’t reckon I’ve seen you around in town before Miss Marion.”

    “Oh, she’s . . . a friend of the family!” Caroline concluded after a moment’s pause, in which she was no doubt considering blurting out the words “an angel”. “She just came for a visit a few days ago!” She concludes, adding more half-truths on to skirt around the real truth. Thankfully, the girl’s efforts are enough to assuage the butcher’s curiosity, and he nods sagely before disappearing back into the other room where apparently he did his actual job.

    A few minutes later, he returns with a carefully wrapped package, which he hands across the desk to Caroline. The girl staggers slightly under the weight, which was apparently heavier than the massive man made it seem with the casual way he handled it.

    The rest of your trip around the village was fairly uneventful, Caroline pointing out the small chapel, the fruit vendor, the well, the pitifully understaffed constable’s office, and the various residences of townfolk. Including a “Mrs. Marco”, who apparently had taken in the injured boy (Julian) that had been found half-dead just outside the village a few days ago. According to rumors, the boy hasn’t woken up yet, nor have they been able to remove his bizarre suit of armor, although they were getting Mr. Blumpkiss, the local blacksmith, up to have a look at it as soon as he recovered from his latest hangover.

    As you were making you way back to the house, however, trouble reared its ugly head. You and Caroline were skirting around the edge of a mud puddle, left by the melting snow, when someone crashed into Caroline from behind, sending her tumbling face first into the mud puddle along with the wrapped packages in her arms. A chorus of laughter resounds behind you as Caroline pushes herself up.

    Turning, you see a pack of five ratty children, no real uniformity amongst them, not even age or gender, with some clearly lanky teenagers while others were just chubby kids. They all did share one thing, however – the hungry look of predators.

    “Well, lookee what I found, a money purse.” The teenaged boy, and evidently leader of the pack, announced as he picked up Caroline’s money purse where it had fallen in the mud. Shaking it disdainfully, he revealed that there were still a few coins left in the purse. “Guess it’s my lucky day!”

    “Hey, that’s mine! Give it back!” Caroline cried.

    “Finders keepers.” The boy retorted, kicking his foot into the edge of the mud pool and splashing Caroline with the water, finishing his efforts in getting her thoroughly soaked. To the great delight of his collection of toadies.

    “Dirty girls don’t own anything, silly. They live down in the muck, leeching off of hard working folk who don’t know how else to deal with them but let them keep sucking.”

    “Hahaha, dirty girl, dirty girl!” Cried a short fat kid, waddling forward to kick more water at Caroline. Evidently he was the chief toadie, as the rest of them started chiming in afterwards. “Dirty girl, dirty girl!” They chanted, over and over, until the leader raised a hand, silencing them instantly. Caroline began to sob helplessly, doing her best to gather up the collection of goods still floating around her. Meanwhile, the leader approached you, walking around you and sniffing loudly. When he came back around to the front of you, he stared directly into your eyes.

    In his own, you saw Daddy. The same inherent cruelty, that delighted in making those around him suffer. It wasn’t nearly as sophisticated, oh no – the boy hadn’t learned to hide it behind a façade of caring yet – but it was still there all the same.

    “And who are you, Rosebud? More importantly, what are you doing hanging around in the muck with dirty girls?”

    The boy leans in close, his hot breath flowing across your face.

    “And do you like it dirty? Huh?” He asks quietly.

    The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

    Iethloc

    “I ain’t scared of no demons. Ghosts either.” Shanks announces, readying his crossbow. “Except, uh, you boss. You’re pretty scary.” He adds a moment later, glancing at your ephemeral form.

    “Oh really . . .” Roger says. A moment later, the woman’s appropriated body goes limp and collapses limply to the floor as Roger explodes out of her chest.

    “RARGLARGHAR!!!”

    “Oh sweet mercy!” Shanks exclaims, reflexively firing a bolt that passes harmlessly through Roger’s body to sink into a nearby tapestry. A tapestry that had cost you a good bit of money back in the day, although after some . . . incidents in one of your older laboratories had become pretty holey and torn. Which was precisely why you had it up here, where nothing of any real import was kept. As such, another hole in it was rather inconsequential.

    After Shanks’s breathing had finally slowed to a manageable level, he shakily reloaded his crossbow and glared at the shimmering form of Roger.

    “Not funny. Not fair either, making me think there was only one of you about.” He wheezes angrily.

    Swooping back down into the woman’s body, Roger laughs through her voice.

    “Hahaha, oh but the look on your face. Simply priceless. Hahaha. Maybe this ghost thing isn’t so bad after all.”

    Having a quick look around, it seems Xerxes’s was truthful. The upper level had been cleared of virtually all traps or other threats, magical or otherwise. The wards leading down into the lower levels winding beneath your mansion were still intact, although those would open at your command. Peering beyond them, you could see a number of magical blips moving about – loose elementals, and perhaps a few minor demons. There were certainly less down there than you would expect – although then again, different types of elementals tended to fight each other whenever left to their own devices. Such conflict was one possible explanation to explain why the herd had been thinned. You did notice one large collection of magical blips, however, clustered around the deepest part of your sprawling laboratory. There, it seemed as if many magical blips were clustered around a much large source of energy, doing . . . something with it. Hrrm, another new small blip just appeared . . . and another . . . and another. Something very curious and potentially disruptive was going on down there, although you couldn’t say for sure what *it* was, beyond elementals being involved.

    On the Road

    The X-Roads Tavern

    WhiteKnight777

    “Thank you.” The ghost horde whispers, the sea of spirits parting to allow you easy access to the rest of the ruin. You find Mellita stretched out on an old cot in one of the back rooms, sound asleep as if the scorched mattress was the grandest bed in all the world. From past experience in dealing with other lesser vampires, you know that she would be almost impossible to wake up, and even then would likely stumble around in a daze and fall back asleep at the first opportunity. Pathetic, really.

    No wonder some pathetic softhearted idiots over the centuries had attempted to paint vampires in a romantic light from time to time. That usually stopped whenever you showed up. Your kind was to be feared, not idolized, damnit!

    Of course, you weren’t really “one of them” anymore, either. Even less so than you had been when your life stretched on in a vast eternity. How much time did you have left now, anyway? Fifty years? Sixty? Such a short time ahead compared to what lay behind you, but with Fianna by your side, perhaps it would be worth it. And there were bound to be other paths to immortality. In any event, you weren’t getting any younger just waiting around here for Mellita to wake up. And she was probably going to wake up hungry. Pathetic, really.

    (Feel free to have Umber go out hunting, and bring back some animal or another for mellita to eat. Or, y’know, some poor lumberjack/trapper. And unless you have any other business to take care of around here, set back out on the road for the capital. You will arrive at the capital next DMing by my count, so you’re welcome to put as much detail into the rest of the day/your trip to the capital as you’d like, or just handwave it all away. Whichever you’d prefer. )

    The Gastly Truth

    Dorizzit

    “Great.” Katrina snorts in reaction to your news about her mother. “You don’t have any brothers, do you Korram? I would really like some warning first before one of these mechanical freaks bellows, “No, Katrina. I AM your uncle!”

    You watch as Pyrene somehow manages to heal the griffon’s wing with fire. Considering what Calcifer used to do with your body back in the day, it wasn’t particularly surprising however. Calcifer . . . you certainly could use his aid right about now. Preferably without having to sacrifice another body part.

    It was too late to reminensce about past battles, however, as a heated argument broke out between Wulfric and Pyrene.

    “You enjoying your stay that much, huh?” he growls. “I didn’t come here for them.” He adds, gesturing at you and Katrina.

    “Feeling’s mutual.” Katrina grunts back, crossing her arms.

    “I figured you were in need of rescue from that . . . lowlife. Now you’re going to stay and throw yourself back into his arms? Over what the disembodied voice said!? What if he was lying!!? What if –“

    Whatever other arguments Wulfric was preparing to make, died on his lips as Pyrene turned back to give him a long, slow glare. Fortunately, he seemed to take a hint, stepping back and throwing up his hands.

    “Fine. You’re a grown woman. If this is what you want, I won’t stop you. Do what you want.”

    Convinced that she had won the argument, Pyrene turns away towards the door. It was then that Wulfric masterfully played his trump card.

    “Hey Pyrene!” He shouts, causing her to look back at him. And in that moment, he swings his fist up and around in a truly hellacious punch that lands perfectly on Pyrene’s jaw. The blow rendered her instantly unconscious, and Wulfric gingerly catches her in his arms as she collapses. Lifting her up into his arms with surprising gentleness, Wulfric carefully carries her over and drapes her across Xera’s back.

    “How charming.” Katrina remarks, earning a black look from Wulfric.

    “And I should just let her stay and get killed?”

    Katrina shrugs. “Hey, Cheran wants to kill me. He’d probably just rape her. After that, well . . . no, actually, you’re probably right. He’d get around to killing her sooner or later. But she’d probably live longer here than she will out there.”

    Katrina concludes, nodding at the cargo bay doors, and presumably the squadron of waiting GHASTs.

    “Better to die free.” Wulfric growls, climbing up onto the griffon’s saddle behind Pyrene. “You coming or not?”

    As Katrina walks towards the griffon with a shrug and a nod, your communication crystal chimes yet again.

    Lower Emergency Store room. Shelf B, Aisle 14 – Emergency Evacuation Packs. There is a nearby service hatch that can be opened to allow egress. You can get there through a door in the next cargo bay forward. Take the others with you. Follow the emergency signs. Hurry, I don’t think –

    The message ends abruptly, followed by your crystal’s image fading into static as it begins to emit a very annoying whine. Apparently, your wife wouldn’t be helping you anymore.

    “You have one minute left. I suggest you savor these last moments of free will.” The Baron announces. “Fifty-nine seconds. Fifty-eight. Fifty-seven.”

    “I really wish we could just shut him up.” Katrina growls, starring up hopefully at the ceiling.

    “Come on Korram! You coming with us or not!?” Wulfric shouts, beginning to urge Xera over towards the cargo bay doors.

    Lonna

    Ignoring the collar burning at your throat, you focus energy into Xera’s injured wing. Miraculously, the wound begins to heal, and within a minute the wing is as good as new. The effort is quite draining, especially after your recent flight of terror and torment at the hands of Cheran. It would be so easy to collapse, to allow Wulfric and his griffon to carry you away from here like in your dream. But this was cold reality, and the Baron’s threat was more than enough to convince you of the necessity to stay.

    Wulfric frowned at your urging to leave, that you couldn’t sacrifice your sister to save yourself. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t save himself, Korram, and Katrina.

    “You enjoying your stay that much, huh?” Wulfric growls. “I didn’t come here for them.” He adds, gesturing at Korram and Katrina.

    “Feeling’s mutual.” Katrina grunts back, crossing her arms.

    “I figured you were in need of rescue from that . . . lowlife. Now you’re going to stay and throw yourself back into his arms? Over what the disembodied voice said!? What if he was lying!!? What if –“

    Whatever other arguments Wulfric was preparing to make, died on his lips as you turned back to give him a long, slow glare. Fortunately, he seemed to take a hint, stepping back and throwing up his hands.

    “Fine. You’re a grown woman. If this is what you want, I won’t stop you. Do what you want.”

    Convinced that you had won the argument, you turn away towards the door. You had only taken a single step, however, before you heard Wulfric approaching from behind you.

    “Hey Pyrene!” He shouts, and reflexively you turn back to look at him. You had to give him credit – he only needed a single punch, and you didn’t feel a thing as everything snapped to black. Whenever you woke up would likely be an entirely different story, however.

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

    You are back in the formless realm of dreams. Like before, you seem to be starring in a number of vastly different lives, although not quite as unpleasant as before, when Cheran choked you out.

    You had heard that Mother wanted to speak with you, and so you had hurried to the Throne Room. She spoke very little to you these days, except during your daily lessons when the focus was on harnessing your gift for magic. It had been a long ten years since Father left and the war began. You had been sheltered from the worst of it, but you had still grown up fast.

    In some ways, it was very aggravating – you were a young woman now, and yet Mother still treated you like a child. Especially on the subject of men – you had learned to take everything she said with a grain of salt. You had also gotten much better at keeping word for your own explorations into the subject from Mother’s ears. Particularly with that dashing huntsman, Darriel – he was so dreamy.

    It wasn’t Mother’s fault really, despite how annoying her constant lecturing was. Her experiences with Father had cut deep – you still caught her staring wistfully at the horizon now and then. But those moments of vulnerability had become less and less as the war dragged on, and the fighting became more desperate.

    Today, Mother had company when you arrived in the throne room. A cloaked figure, swaddled in dark fabric, was kneeling before the dais. You caught a glimpse of intense green eyes and long red hair beneath the cloak’s hood as the figure turns to glance at you. Mother smiles and beckons you forward.

    “Ah, there you are daughter. Come in please, I wanted you to meet your new bodyguard.”

    New bodyguard? New
    spy was far more likely. Ugh, this was horrible! Someone following you around at all times of the day or night, always watching, making sure you were safe and perfectly bored.

    “I have heard much about you already, Princess.” A soft feminine voice announces. “I look forward to making your acquitence.”

    The cloaked figure stands up, stretching as it does so, and something disturbs the folds of her cloak. You catch a glimpse of slate grey wings, peeking out from underneath the folds of the cloak as they flex out briefly.
    An angel!

    You had always harbored a secret fear of the Valkyrie’s servants. Perhaps it was because of the one who stole your Father. Perhaps it was because they always screamed, “Die, abomination!” whenever they saw you. The fact that several angels had managed to sneak into the castle recently and nearly assassinate you probably didn’t help matters much either.

    “Relax daughter, it’s alright!” Mother called out to you reassuringly as you leap back, pressing yourself up against the nearby wall and beginning to summon a shielding spell. “She does not serve the Queen of Whores!”

    “Not anymore.” The angel muttered, ending with a quiet mad giggle. Immediately turning serious again, the angel approached you, making sure to stop several paces away. Drawing a sword from underneath her robes, she knelt in front of you and offered the weapon to you, balancing the blade on her palms.

    “I swear that while I yet draw breath, no harm shall come to you. Not even from my former . . . sisters.”

    “I think you’re going to get along very well.” Mother announces, as out of touch as ever.


    The Perist Residence

    Kasanip

    “He was our favorite uncle.” Carlain lamely added, and then realizing how that sounded, he sheepishly concluded, “Our parents had a big family. Spread out all over the place. Yep.”

    “I see.” Theresa replied non-commitally, examining the two of you closely. Already uncomfortable from your burning eye, the strange woman’s examinations of you and Carlain made you feel even more off-balance. You were going to have to regain control of this situation somehow, and you were just about to open your mouth to do that when Carlain stepped in as you had hoped he would.

    “So, uh . . . you said something about diabolic filth? Are we in danger here?” Carlain asked, looking around in an attempt to appear nervous. The woman actually laughed at his question.

    “No. No, we are not in danger here. At least not any longer. What few devils were left lurking about town when I got here, I hunted down and slew. It seems likely that there were far more of them than those I killed, for them to destroy a town so utterly. Those must have either wandered off in search of new prey, or returned home with their seized prizes – human souls.”

    The woman grimaces in anger for a moment, but then shrugs nonchalantly.

    “In any event, if any of them are foolish enough to come back here tonight, I will slay them as well. You children are welcome to stay with me for now. I figured since I had already taken out the trash, I might as well clean the rest of the mess up before departing.”

    Theresa explains, gesturing at the burning pile of bodies.

    “I can escort you back to your homes afterwards. I suspect the woods will be dangerous for quite some time now, if any fiends are still running free.”

    “We can take care of ourselves.” Carlain grunts, his stubborn pride once again getting in the way. Fortunately, the woman appears more amused than angered by Carlain’s bold announcement. With a shrug, she turns back to the body she had dumped earlier, hefting it back up and beginning to drag it towards the fire.

    “Suit yourself. I have work to do here, and then I must be on my way.”

    Theresa, having apparently confirmed that you were not survivors from this place and had little else to offer, being of course just children, now seemed content to ignore you. Perhaps realizing his earlier mistakes, Carlain moved to help the woman, picking up the man’s corpse by the feet. She still did not seem impressed, perhaps because it seemed she had little need of any assistance. Still, it gave him a brief opening, and the youth actually took it.

    “So, uh . . . do you know how this happened? I’m guessing demons don’t just pop up like this on their own.”

    “Devils.” Theresa corrects. “And you are correct. I located the epicenter of this . . . disturbance on my initial sweep of the town.”

    She nods in the direction of a building down the street, near the exact center of town. It appeared to be a store of some sort, possibly a mystical store of curiosities and minor magic, judging from the signs posted over the windows.

    “I found a number of dark-robed figures down in the basement. I’ll spare you the details, but they were all dead, seemingly sacrificed. I haven’t collected the bodies yet, out of a desire not to disturb the area. I was hoping perhaps I could examine the area more closely and get a sense of what the ritual was for.”

    At this point, even the woman shivers.

    “Unpleasant stuff, that. Such comes from dealing with infernal affairs, however. Sell your soul to the devils for power, and they own you.”

    “What if you gain power over them?” Carlain asked, earning another laugh from the woman as they worked together to deposit the body into the flames.

    “Then they’re playing you. Sooner or later, everyone pays.”

    Apparently satisfied with their work, the woman turns away from Carlain and starts walking towards another nearby wrecked shell of a building.

    “I doubt you’ll find anything left of your uncle’s, but you’re welcome to look. It will probably take me another few hours to finish collecting all the bodies.”

    And then the woman was gone, apparently content to leave you two to your own devices. Shooting you a knowing look, Carlain quickly inclines his head towards the mystical shop, apparently the site of the diabolic ritual that caused all this. Considering how your Phantasmal Descrying Eye was already reacting to this much ambient infernal energy, you weren’t sure you wanted to get any closer to the epicenter. But, it might also be the only way to garner more information on what happened here.

    The Capital

    Tackyhillbillu

    Already injured, the Hand is easy prey as you surprise him with a series of vicious hand-to-hand attacks that leave his neck broken. At your question, the man just shrugs.

    “Damned if I know.” He grunts, although his voice carries a bemused tone. “But I do know that the Baron wants it back!”

    Fortunately, none of the other Hand agents are close enough to leap onto the cart to join the assault, and only a few knives come sailing out of the darkness now. That doesn’t mean you were safe, of course – undoubtedly figures were circling around in the dark, unable to match the cart’s speed but advancing all the same. When you stopped at the gates, they would pounce.

    Speaking of which, you were here. Slowing the uneasy horse to a stop directly in front of them, the man reloads his crossbow and motions for you to exit. You were already in motion, vaulting down off the cart and racing over to the small gate house. Inside where the controls necessary to unbar and open the gate, which thankfully consisted of a few simple levers that you were able to figure out with minimal experimentation.

    Exiting the gatehouse, you could see that the man was now crouched down in the driver’s seat, holding the large shield over him as protection from the rain of daggers three Hand agents were hurling his way.

    “Come on!” He shouts, cracking the horse into motion again. Jumping into a moving cart was ill-advised, as send by the last Hand to try it, but it wasn’t like you had much choice. Hopping into the cart and flinging yourself flat, you somehow manage to avoid being turned into a pin cushion. The cart nearly overturns as the man struggles to control the panicked horse around a tight corner, but as with your previous challenges, you somehow make it through unharmed. A few minutes later, and the man directs the cart into a wide, dark alley.

    Doubtless there were unpleasant individuals lurking about in the darkness, but the guard marking on the cart and the horse’s harnesses seem to convince them not to come out and play. There were no guarantees, however, that you didn’t have eavesdroppers.

    Your rescuer doesn’t seem to give a damn about that, as he breathes a heavy sigh of relief, closing his good eye for a moment. But only for a moment, and then that green-irised orb is focused back on you.

    “Well then, now that we aren’t running for our lives I imagine that introductions are next on the list. My name is Martin Ortese. I believe you go by the name Argan – I’ve been watching you for some time boy.”

    Martin immediately raises a hand and shrinks back a little behind his shield, as if expecting violence at this revelation.

    “Please do not take offense. I’ve been meaning to talk to you for some time now, but . . . well . . . I wasn’t able to work up the courage, not even with a bottle. I am . . . an old friend of your family, you might say, unless all these past years have dulled my memory of your appearance. But before I go into my own tale, tell me – what do you remember of your childhood? Before the Baron got his claws into you, I mean.”

    You remember your tutelage under the Baron vividly. Every murder, every torturous exercise – oh, and of course, the beatings. They beat you only occasionally, having little desire to endanger their investment when they could accomplish so much more via your sister. Her shrill screams as they broke her, laughing at her confused, sobbing pleas for mercy, for the hurting to stop. And you were forced to watch every moment, completely silent and motionless, a statue held by the Baron’s promise that *you* would beat her next if you interfered in any way. Eventually, your sister grew old enough to understand, and with that understanding came a growing hate. A smoldering hatred that you could see in her eyes every time she looked at you.

    You somewhat remember the night your world turned into an unrelenting hell. The mangled body of your father lying in a pool of his own blood. The black-cloaked Baron, sitting perched in the massive chair your father always sat in when he was in the great hall, playing his part as the King of Hells magnificently. Your mother, face contorting in rage as she races forward, snatching up the sword of your father where it had fallen. So focused was she on her target that she completely failed to notice the black cloaked figure detach from the ring surrounding you all, sliding in behind her and smoothly planting a knife in her back. With a hard shove, he sends her stumbling into the Baron, who catches her and plants a kiss firmly on her mouth. Then with a laugh, he lets her body collapse to the floor as the death rattle exits her mouth. And then his hungry eyes turn to you, demanding to know if you would join him, or watch while your sister was torn apart.

    Of the times before that, everything was hazy. Here and there you could remember a moment – sitting on your mother’s lap in a garden, your father play fighting with you using wooden swords . . . and always in the background, Martin. His face was whole in your memories, but could be the ruined visage now before you.

    A Not-So Ordinary Basement

    OverWilliam

    At your desperate questions over an alternate cure, Ulrich sighed and shook his head.

    “No, I crafted it exactly for the purpose of resisting common magical cures. It’s perfect my version of the antidote for Limier’s version of the poison or nothing.”

    Ulrich leans in close, his voice a harsh whisper that only you could hear.

    “There’s a third option, lad. We could spare the poor girl the misery and just slit her throat now. Believe me when I say it would be for the best – things are going to get much worse, very quickly.”

    Crippled with despair, you seek to take refuge in anger against the one responsible for this whole mess: Limier. Somehow, someway, you would find a way to make her pay for this. You swear it. Openly, in fact, which causes Ulrich to sadly shake his head and Jim’s eyes to nearly pop out of his head. Melcara, however, has a much different reaction.

    “You’re giving up!? Just like that, slit her throat and walk away!?”

    Ulrich shoots the fallen angel a look of surprise, as apparently she had heard Ulrich’s whispered suggestion. You hadn’t told him anything regarding Melcara’s identity, simply naming her as another slave held by Vylethar that you rescued. Still, the old man was clever, and he’d likely pick up quickly that this woman wasn’t merely another escaped human soul like Jim. Melcara, for her part, didn’t seem to care as she approached you, towering over you as she laid both hands on your shoulders and leaned in close.

    “You are Tare, master thief! You didn’t just escape from the Hells – a feat that very, very few humans ever accomplish, regardless of how much power they wielded in life! No, you rescued this woman from the heart of a devil lord’s lair, and convinced me in the depths of my despair to follow you into the light. You didn’t abandon her then, and you’re not going to just abandon her now. You can’t!”

    Gripping you by the shoulders, the fallen angel pulls you up to your feet. Even slumping at your full height, you were still a few inches shorter than her, but at least now your faces were roughly even. Melcara’s eyes bore into your own as she gently shakes you to underline her encouraging words.

    “You say that you don’t have the money, you never did, and it’s an impossible sum. But you’re a thief! Just steal it! Or, steal the herbs or whatever!”

    “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Ulrich coughed, earning him an over-the-shoulder dagger stare from Melcara.

    “Well then, don’t you have any other people you know who do have the money? Maybe this Thieves Guild you were associated with? Don’t they help their members?” Melcara adds pointedly, turning back to you.

    “My point is, there is some way to save her. And you will find it Tare, I know it. I . . . I have faith in you.”

    “This is all very confusing.” Jim chimes in from his corner, yawning. “Can’t we all just sort it out in the morning?”

    “Yes, that’s a good point.” Ulrich says, quick to reseize the initiative.

    “I’ll talk to some of my contacts around town, see if they have any jobs being planned. That might be a good place to start at least. I’ll take care of that tonight, while the rest of you get some sleep. Come on, most of you can sleep in a storage closet. Sir Elf and myself will stay here to keep a vigil on our princess-to-be.”

    Ulrich spares a glance at Teareal, who was still kneeling beside the bed, clutching one of Adamè’s hands and apparently oblivious to everything else around him.

    “I doubt anyone could pry him out of this room right now.”

    The next few minutes are a blur of activity to your exhausted mind, as Ulrich leads you into a small room, more empty than full, which should be surprising for a “supply closet” but really wasn’t given the state of the poor chapel. Piling up several of the bags, along with a few handfuls of straw provided you, Jim, and Melcara with beds. They were bumpy and hard, but still heavenly compared to the bitter cold stone of Ironheart.

    As soon as Ulrich leaves, Melcara swiftly stands up, moving over to take a defensive position by the door. She favors you with a smile.

    “Angels don’t need to sleep. Rest easy Tare. I will stand guard while you slumber, and ensure no harm comes to you.”

    (If you have anything else to take care of before tomorrow morning, you can certainly do so in the few minutes it takes to set up the bedroom. You can also fast forward to tomorrow on your own initiative if you so desire. )

    A Meaningless Speck of a Town Soon to be Even Less

    Gorgondantess

    “Umm . . .” The man grunts, holding up a hand as he wrinkles his face up hard in thought. Finally, he shrugs.

    “Athelion is a god, the Creator of the world and everything in it. He has an army of angels and humans who revere Him, and only He knows what else. Mostly that’s up in the Heavens though – down here, there’s only paladins really. A whole lot of paladins – holy warriors given special magical powers by Athelion. And probably a lot of the common people, who support the Church, mostly out of having no alternatives.”

    At your personal question regarding the man’s motives, you see a look of fear pass across his face, and then his expression hardens.

    “Well, I, uh . . . *sigh* I want Power. I’ve been a piss-ant merchant in this ****hole town for my entire life. I’ve seen how messed up the world is, and how much better it could be, but I’m powerless to do anything about it! And I think the Church has a lot to do with it. Athelion just sits up there in His palace in the Heavens, doing nothing. And the Church, feh! The priests just offer platitudes while stealing their idiot congregations blind. So when I saw you, I thought . . . this is my chance.”

    The man shrugs, trying to keep his voice even although you can smell the fear radiating off him.

    “I guess if that’s not what you’re after, you can just kill me now and burn the town to the ground or whatever you’re going to do. Good luck with whatever it is you’re going to do.”
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

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  24. - Top - End - #624
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    WhiteKnight777's Avatar

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    Umber

    Umber nudged his horse on through the forest. Absentmindedly, he gestured with one hand, and the tree-shadows coalesced in his hand, forming an umbral bow, with a quiver to match over his shoulder. It was a curious bit of magic, shadow-shaping, and it left an equally curious mark - chunks of shade were missing, here and there, like little bitemarks taken out of the forest shade. His steed moved through the wood, placid as any mortal beast - it wasn't really a true demon, merely a shell given animation - not life - through the inhabitance of a least spirit, a construct more than anything. Still, it served well enough.

    It did not take Umber long to find prey. A lone woodsman out hunting waved in acknowledgement, and he didn't even have time to cry out before Umber drew his bow. The shade-arrow pierced his breast right where the heart would be, but there was no blood, no wound - the man simply fell, driven into dreamless slumber. Slumped over the back of Umber's mount, he would sleep... the last peace he would likely have in this lifetime or the next.

    Throughout the whole process, Umber was only half-aware. It pleased him that his skill was returning, but he had to ponder what it foreboded. He was alive again - not undead, not the shadow-existence he had been living for so long, but true life. It felt strange - surgings in the blood, hungers and needs that had been only memories of memories for so long reasserting themselves as his body became more than just a vessel for his mind and soul. It exhilirated and disturbed him all at once.

    Most of all, though, mortality preyed on him. Not only mortality... but destiny. Fate. He had shoved it aside, all those centuries ago, but it had waited for him with the patience of the grave. He smiled a little at that thought. Would he, after so much effort, so much sacrificed, end up rotting in the ground again? A foolish question. He'd sidestepped death once - he'd find another way. Once he found Fianna, once he fixed what was broken, they would find another way.

    And, of course, there was so much to do, and suddenly so little time. Kartul wasn't dead, and the method he'd used to tear apart his corpus wasn't one he could repeat. Still, he had his power back, and after years of working with half-measures and scraps of magic, his skills had been honed to a razor's edge. With proper power in his grasp, he'd tear the old bag of bones apart. Kartul had always been the better necromancer, But Umber was by far the more talented generalist.

    And then there was the Baron. Umber had known men like him before, but they were rare indeed - that combination of intelligence, drive, power and capability. He was a worrisome one, and Umber didn't doubt he'd have to deal with him as well, ere all was said and done.

    Still, all these were matters for later. The first step was Fianna - finding her, helping her, and fixing her. With his heart beating again, he surprised and almost a little disgusted to find that it beat only for her. As much as he had loved her, undying as his feelings for her had been, he thought that he'd been above such maudlin, saccharine excesses of emotion. Then again... She was a once-in-a-lifetime woman, even in a lifetime as long as Umber's.

    When he reached the inn, he trod in without ceremony, carrying the man over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He hauled him into Mellita's room propping himself back against the wall and waiting for her to awake. Looking around at the ghosts, he told them simply "Not 'till she's done."

    When the vampiress awoke, he made sure that she fed deeply, then let the ghosts have what was left. Mounting up with her riding behind him, he spurred the horse-construct into the night. The creature pawed its way into the sky, its hooves leaving faint green contrails as they plunged into the aethyr.

    Below them, the nightime landscape unrolled itself like a map. The air was piercing cold - cold, another sensation he'd not missed much - but a quick cantrip made it bearable, if not particularly comfortable. But the view - ah, the view was worth the discomfort.

    The moon was bright and heavy and gibbous, its light silver and radiant, painting the world below them blue-black. Rivers ran like bands of molten silver, forests were bands of darkness from which faint night-sounds could occasionally be heard to echo - the soft cry of an owl as it took some small, quivering thing in the dark, or the chorus of hunting wolves.

    Farmer's fields made a patchwork quilt of the landscape, and their homesteads cast liquid golden light from open windows. Mellita's hands felt comfortable about his waist. Every so often, he could feel her stirring - even though she had fed, the urge to hunt was deep and primal, particularly with the moonsong in her blood. Werewolves were the creatures of the night typically associated with the lunar orb, but most night-folk could hear her song in their blood, bringing with it both wisdom and madness. Umber grinned fiercely. He could feel it, too - the urge to hunt, to kill, to taste the red on his tongue and see the helpess gleam in terror-filled eyes.

    He forced himself to focus on guiding the steed. It had been years since he passed this way, and though he'd studied maps, it took a great deal of focus to make sure they were on course. So much had changed, the map rewritten by hand of man or nature. Still, the sight of the land rolled out below him brought back other old feelings - a sensation of unassailable might. This, he thought, was a view of the gods. He'd fought like this, in the old days, raining destruction in the ranks of their foes and tearing apart whole armies with his magic. It made him smile to remember the conquest, the thrill of victory, and the nights with Fianna afterwards, drunk on slaughter and victory... He shuddered a little. Mellita looked at him questioningly, but he merely gave a smile so vicious even she shrank from it. He laughed, and it was blown away on the night wind. On they plunged, on and on into the night, the daemon-laughter of the Lord of Blood trailing after them like the tail of a fiery comet.

    So it went for the rest of their trip. By day, Umber would find or make some shelter, gather food for them both - usually deer or boar for himself, some unwary and lonesome traveler for Mellita. And he would sleep. And dream.

    He had not dreamed in many a year, and the experience frightened him more than he cared to say. To be out of control of his body and mind was not something to which he was used. But as with all things, his will was master. He forced himself to stare into the chaotic eye of his inner self and drown the nightmares in a torrent of pure thought. And as he did so, he learned much - ancient emotions long buried, hidden thoughts, fears, feelings. But most of all, the return of his mortality - that strange frailty that nevertheless held a hidden strength beyond all others. And in one dream, he fancied he glimpsed something - whether prophecy or memory he could not say. A crown, a blade, an empty throne, and a man walking on the edge of the world, a lunatic grin on his face and the wisdom of madmen in his eyes. When he woke from that one, and found Mellita stirring, he steeled himself when he conjured the steed. For good or ill, they would reach the capital tonight - and the mettle with Fianna would be solved, once and for all.

  25. - Top - End - #625
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Tackyhillbillu's Avatar

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    Argan laughed at the man's words, amused. It appeared his mission had been successful. Who in the hells would have guessed? And he fully appreciated the mans feelings on the subject. The fact that the Baron wanted it was enough reason to keep it away from the bastard. As the cart approached the gate, Argan tensed up, firing himself off the cart like a bow from an arrow, not even waiting for it to stop all the way. Every second they stood still was another chance for the Hands to regroup. What the hell was the Baron thinking, expanding the organization this far? It was supposed to secret, covert. But he could he keep it secret now.

    Thoughts for another time and place.

    Argan forced himself to slow down as he reached the levers, quickly discerning the proper method to open the gate. Speed was good, but so was accuracy. A Hand never traded one for the other without waying to pros and cons of it. The moment the Gate began opening, Argan was in motion again. He had didn't stop to let himself consider the foolishness of what he was about to do, leaping up into the Cart, and going into a roll, absorbing the blow best he could before flattening himself. Argan rested as he saw the gates pass by, not quite believing he was alive. He shouldn't be. Luck had favored him tonight, something that was never wise to count on.

    But I won't turn down the help, no matter its source.

    Argan sighed, pushing himself up into a sitting position, feeling tiredness wash over him, the Adrenaline slowly abating. Then Martin made his revelation, his own eyes meeting the mans. Argan made no motion, blinking once. Argan could kill him from here. Martin was good, but he wasn't moving. From this Range, an unmoving target would be easy to hit. But he didn't. Argan showed no anger, no rage. Just curiosity. If Martin had betrayed him, there was nothing that could be done. Argan would kill him, but not out of anger. He listened as the man spoke, his eyes widening in shock.

    Memories. What is it with them tonight?

    The wash of memories came over him. Childhood, what did that mean to him? Was he still a child when he trained endlessly to kill people with Knvies and his hands. When he watched his only family beaten and broken, again and again. Watching her come to hate him, and knowing that she was right to? No, that wasn't childhood. The night it ended? The scene played over again in his mind. He could remember that night so clearly. But he went back further. Past those crystal clear memories, pain and horror. He had been a happy child once, he thought. Why he couldn't remember that? Dreams of that time would have been much nicer then memories of slaughtered families, dying mothers, and his Sister's eyes, judging him and rightly the condemning as what he was. Flashes, pieces. His fathers voice, congratulating him on his growing skill with a blade. His mother telling him a story. He knew the sound of her voice, but the words themselves escaped him. More then anything, a suffusion of happiness, of security. Of a confidence in a world that was unbreakable, that his father and mother could protect him from the dangers, and teach him to protect himself. Yet, there was another face there, showing up. Someone he knew, someone who should be there. Green eyes, a whole face, but still...

    ...it couldn't be.

    Shock still showed in Argan's face.

    "...Martin? ...how?"

    Argan's voice was soft. His mind wheeled, almost not believing. A trick. His memory creating it. Or a manipulation on the part of the Baron. Yet another of his games. But...

  26. - Top - End - #626
    Titan in the Playground
     
    Archpaladin Zousha's Avatar

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    Quote Originally Posted by Inspectre View Post
    The abbot turns his swathed face to Hondshioh.

    “And you should make haste to the Blessed City. The Council will doubtlessly be scheming new ways to maintain their power, and if the summit goes as planned they will certainly become desperate. The more we know about what their plans are, the better.”
    "I am disturbed by these mysterious assassins," Hondshioh said. "Even though they slew Karth, they tried to kill Ander as well, or worse. How could they have the power to extinguish a man's soul?"

    When the Abbot mentions the mission to the Blessed City, he frowns a bit.

    "Are you certain? I am not a very guileful person, and as the incident with the "angels" showed, I may be...a bit too...gullible for this mission."

    He obviously feels distaste at the possiblity he might have a flaw, but he swallows his pride. This was too important.
    "Reach down into your heart and you'll find many reasons to fight. Survival. Honor. Glory. But what about those who feel it's their duty to protect the innocent? There you'll find a warrior savage enough to match any dragon, and in the end, they'll retain what the others won't. Their humanity."

  27. - Top - End - #627
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Ander Windrivver

    Ander moves about the room, distributing healing to the wounded while the others talk.

    "Are you certain? I am not a very guileful person, and as the incident with the "angels" showed, I may be...a bit too...gullible for this mission."
    Just keep your head down, your ears open, and your wits about you. Ander stops his patrol for a moment to summon three of his holy shards. He hands the three glowing crystals to Hondshioh along with a smaller communications crystal. If you need to get in touch, just use that communications crystal. If you need to get out of trouble, well, that's what the shards of Athelion are for. Be careful with them; the explosion they produce is large and will certainly get you noticed.

    Ander resumes his triage.

    Abbot, who are the holdouts? Have you already decided on a time and place for the summit? Done treating the other wounded, Ander comes over to treat the Abbot's injuries. Also, even though I will be representing the Dawn's Hope at the summit, it is time for the order to choose a new grandmaster. Somebody who the paladins here can rally around. I'll let you and your senior advisers decide while I prepare for the summit.

    Ander waits for the Abbot to answer his questions before leaving the ritual chamber. He meanders around the monastery grounds checking up on the health and temperament of the wyvern (A most impressive beast; I'd really love a chance to fly it.), looking for David, and reflecting on the day's happenings. As the sun begins to set, he climbs the monastery walls and fishes out the communication crystal for Captain Drakeson.

    Hey Drakeson, it's Ander. Listen very carefully to what I have to say. Karth is dead and so is his zealous crusade. I'm sure you know as well as I that without Karth to hold it together any further military action by his army will just end in failure. I am highly encouraging you to spread the word for everyone in the army to just go home. Nobody needs to die, nobody needs to make this personal, just tell everybody to go back home.
    Quote Originally Posted by PhoeKun View Post
    Baerdog: super genius.

  28. - Top - End - #628
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    OldWizardGuy

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    Incom Morgan

    Awareness flickers back to his mind. Walking through the corridors of the Ghastly Truth it is as if waking up from a disturbing dream. Images of Isabella sitting, stone drunk yet more sober than ever before, telling him things. Then finally the order, the order to buy time to save the life of an innocent. Like an disembodied creature his fist flies out, connecting with the jaw of Isabella. It deforms under the impact, snapping her head around, causing the brain to violently press against the skull causing temporary loss of consciousness. The blow combined with the drink (which thanks to a low metabolism will take longer to process through her system) bought him time.

    Moments blurred through time. No clear memories. The order that bypassed the protocols did something, almost like shock, throwing him off and out of sync with himself. Dangerous, very bad. Yet here was Sara and they were walking.

    ”Sara, what happened? How did we get here?”

    Asking the obvious question, hoping that it would trigger new memories. Accessing the network of the Furies to see what the status of the Ghastly Truth is. Maybe there is something that can be done to aid in the escape of Sara.
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    Quote Originally Posted by Inspectre
    I'm good at making you fear the unknown. Pwenet is good at making you fear the known, which had been the unknown five minutes before he pushed you off screaming into the abyss.
    Quote Originally Posted by Kalirren View Post
    I'm feeling this real hard now.
    Curse you, Pwenet. Curse you.... You had my hopes up there...

  29. - Top - End - #629
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    Gorgondantess's Avatar

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    She nods at him, smiling. "I know nothing of these angels, but humans are weak. Humans I can handle..."
    Usually.
    She recalls the black robed men, their daggers... The helplessness.
    Never again.

    To his second reply, as he was talking, suddenly she knew it all. Power. Of course. Doesn't it always come back to that?

    "Of course this is your chance... no, I'm not going to kill you. Is it even worth my time? Besides, why destroy an asset when you can utilize it?"
    She chuckles. "What am I going to do..."
    Lifting up a rock in her offhand, she contemplates it a moment... then with one quick squeeze, breaks it into chunks.

    "I'm going to kill Athelion."
    Turning back to him, she looks for a moment, then speaks.
    "Take me to the next village."
    Marceline Abadeer by Gnomish Wanderer

  30. - Top - End - #630
    Titan in the Playground
     
    Archpaladin Zousha's Avatar

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    Quote Originally Posted by Baerdog7 View Post
    Ander Windrivver
    Just keep your head down, your ears open, and your wits about you. Ander stops his patrol for a moment to summon three of his holy shards. He hands the three glowing crystals to Hondshioh along with a smaller communications crystal. If you need to get in touch, just use that communications crystal. If you need to get out of trouble, well, that's what the shards of Athelion are for. Be careful with them; the explosion they produce is large and will certainly get you noticed.
    Hondshioh's eyes widen as the gifts are given to him.

    "THE Shards of Athelion? I...I do not know what to say! Thank you! I will not fail you! I promise!"

    Feeling more inspired, Hondshioh begins repairing and cleaning his armor and sword. They were more damaged than he was. He just needed a rest to recover his energy. Once that is finished, he begins packing and preparing for the journey to The Blessed City.
    "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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