New OOTS products from CafePress
New OOTS t-shirts, ornaments, mugs, bags, and more
Page 24 of 41 FirstFirst ... 141516171819202122232425262728293031323334 ... LastLast
Results 691 to 720 of 1229
  1. - Top - End - #691
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    Lonna's Avatar

    Join Date
    Jan 2008
    Location
    MD, DC area
    Gender
    Female

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Pyrene? the Temptress

    The strength of Wulfric's reaction caught Pyrene completely off-guard, and she found herself sitting silently through his tirade, shock smothering the flame of her anger until it was merely a flickering ember. When he finished and stormed out, Pyrene merely stared after him numbly for a moment before reflexively getting up and closing the door. Now that Wulfric was gone, she was remembering a number of things that she had failed to notice or acknowledge in the heat of the moment.

    He was watching over me, taking care of me. He came to save me. He was injured. He came back for me, and I...

    “Oh dear.”


    Pyrene sat down hard on the stool Wulfric had occupied when she woke. She had been half-hysterical, but that didn't change the fact that he was right: she had never given him any indication of her motives. She had, in fact, assumed he wouldn't care – not about her and certainly not about her reasons. It was not his fault that he had not understood why she felt she had to stay. Under the circumstances, could she really blame him for forcing her to leave?

    Attempting to shake off the gloomy direction of her thoughts, Pyrene set about exploring the little room – and promptly discovered the file, chisel, and other tools Wulfric had laid out in a corner. Apparently he had intended to help her remove the mage collar as well.

    Grimly, Pyrene began scratching at the runes on the iron neck-piece, trying not to think about the man who had provided the tools and utterly failing. By the time she felt the jolt that meant the collar was dead, she had replayed the shouting match in her head a dozen times over. Pulling the ruined deterrent off with the same ease as in Klaus' cabin, Pyrene shook her head and sighed.

    No matter how you look at it, Wulfric was right, at least so far as what happened on the Ghastly Truth. He probably saved my life, and he certainly secured my freedom, at least in the short term. I owe him.

    Taking the remnants of the bandages Wulfric had used on his shoulder, Pyrene wrapped her arm from wrist to elbow to conceal the numerical brand that identified her as a prisoner of Ironheart. It was unlikely that anyone would be actively looking for escaped prisoners here (wherever “here” was), but it was better to be safe.

    ((OOC: If there is anything else obviously useful, such as a coin purse, knife, map or something like that, Pyrene will pick it up before she leaves. For the sake of moving along I'll assume she finds Wulfric, either immediately downstairs or else in a relatively nearby tavern, and leave the description along the way to you, Inspectre.))

    Pyrene sat down next to Wulfric, watching him warily out of the corner of her eye. He glanced over at her and scowled.

    “Go. AWAY. SHE WITCH.”

    “You were right. I never told you about Ariella, so you could not have understood my reasoning. Under the circumstances, I suppose I can't really blame you for forcing me to leave. And... thank-you, for coming after me. I didn't- well, let's just say I've learned not to rely on dreams coming true.

    “You don't trust me. I understand that. It's fine; I'm used to it. But there are things that I should tell you that ought not be said in such a public place, including some things that might help you to trust me. I also might be able to heal your wounds, if you'll let me.”


    Pyrene hesitated, then spoke again, more softly. “I'll leave you to your drink and go back to the room now, if you like. Or say the word and I'll disappear from your life: I'll leave this place and you'll never see me again. But I owe you my life and my freedom, and I hope you'll give me the chance to repay my debt.”

    ((OOC: Regardless of Wulfric's response, Pyrene will put anything she took from the room next to Wulfric's drink when she's done talking – basically a silent apology and way of saying that she's doesn't want to take advantage of him.))
    Last edited by Lonna; 2010-06-14 at 12:09 AM.
    I started a blog!
    Beware of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup...

    My Player Profile

    My current characters:
    Spoiler
    Show


    Thanks to Kasanip for the great avatar of Pyrene!
    Full version:
    Spoiler
    Show

  2. - Top - End - #692
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Tackyhillbillu's Avatar

    Join Date
    Apr 2009

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Argan sighed at Mina. This wasn't what he expected. He supposed he was jaded and cynical, but her offering to help, that wasn't what he was prepared for.

    Honestly... it is more dangerous though, isn't it?

    Argan sighed, yet again, and shook his head.

    "Nothing quite so simple as any of those. Its politics, my dear, a dirtier business then drugs, thieving, and murdering combined. Money won't get them off my back, I'm afraid. Mina, take my advice. Take that money you have saved up, and get out of here. Give Grodo the same warning. The people I'm being hunted aren't the type to shy away from murder. I'm safer alone."

    Argan sighed, tossing off his shirt as well, and shaking himself out. He'd been through way to much today. Likely, he was leaving Mina and Grodo behind to die as well. They wouldn't listen, and they'd be dead.

    Not much I can do to change that...

    Argan looked at her, shrugging.

    "There isn't anything you can do to protect me, Mina. This problem is one I'll have to solve myself."

  3. - Top - End - #693
    Titan in the Playground
     
    The_Snark's Avatar

    Join Date
    Apr 2006

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Mar

    Mar's composure—always a fragile thing, but propped up oh-so-carefully in front of Jacob—crumpled under Caroline's tear-rimmed scrutiny. It was a little like looking into a mirror: she knew that look, pain and shame and misery rolled up into a wretched little bundle. She wanted answers, wanted to know why bad things had to happen to her. Mar had wanted that too, so badly that she'd taken any answer they gave her and convinced herself it was true. She still wished she could have that answer, actually, but she didn't think she'd ever get it. There just wasn't a good reason to hurt other people like that, and she wasn't going to give Caroline a lie.

    There was something in Caroline that didn't seem familiar, though: a certain set to her jaw, an intensity to her stare that had never been there in Mar. Anger. Mar the servant girl had pleaded to know why so she could avoid being punished again, or failing that in hopes that there would be some small comfort in knowing why it had to happen. She'd never demanded.

    Had she actually changed, Mar wondered? Did she feel angry? There was something that hadn't been there before, but it didn't feel quite like she felt anger ought to. It was more like anger's ghost, a translucent, passionless reflection of the real thing. She knew Caroline's treatment had been wrong, that something in Firkas was wrong, and she ought to feel something about that. But any indignation she could muster was drowned out by horror and bewilderment and fear, because something was terribly wrong with the world if people behaved like that.

    Perhaps she ought to try harder? She'd made a lot of mistakes in Ironheart; was not being angry one of them?

    She'd have to think about it later; Caroline was still waiting for her answers. Mar sat down on the bed next to her, impulsively extending a wing from beneath her cloak and enfolding the girl. "I don't know," she said softly, tentatively drawing her close. It was the first time she'd done that, but Caroline was always hugging and touching; surely she wouldn't mind? "They don't... there isn't a good reason. I can't tell you why they did it."

    It wasn't very comforting, even to her. "They shouldn't have," she added fiercely, and wished she could reassure Caroline that she wouldn't let it happen again. But that was the problem with things like this, wasn't it? You didn't let them happen, they just did. If you could stop them whenever you wanted, they wouldn't be so bad. So instead she said "It's okay now," because that, at least, was true. This house was safe.
    Last edited by The_Snark; 2010-06-15 at 05:38 AM.
    Avatar by GryffonDurime. Thanks!

  4. - Top - End - #694
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    Gorgondantess's Avatar

    Join Date
    Aug 2008
    Location
    Not in a human colon

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    She of course ignores the simple human man's sputtering- she'll attend to him later. There is more of interest to see about, now.

    She stares up at the angel, a bemused look on her face, mouth open, and she circles around her, nodding and smiling. "Huh."
    Quote Originally Posted by "Maurice" View Post
    “I would ask you to explain yourself, where you come from and what has precipitated your actions, but I suppose it does not matter-
    "No. No, it does matter. Do you think that I've done all this for... how you say... sh*ts and giggles? No. Until just a handful of days ago, I had never antagonized another living being. I considered myself, all in all, to be a... benign spirit."
    She sighs. Where did it all go awry?
    ....
    Well, probably when we were stabbed and almost killed by men in robes... but don't worry. They'll get what they deserve.
    She looks back up at Maurice, resolute.
    "But then, as I was speaking with a mortal man, and presenting him with a generous bounty of fishes, I was assailed by a large group of trained men with stone daggers the likes of which I'd never seen before. For the first time, I felt pain. For the first time, I bled. For the first time, I felt my life slipping out of my grasp, and into nothing."
    She closes her eyes, trying to shake the memories of helplessness. If she had tear ducts, she'd probably be crying.
    Finally, she opens her eyes, and forces a smile. "Well, I fought them off. Obviously. And though I do not remember the particulars, one of them said a prayer- praying for strength, in his quest in the name of Lord Athelion the Lifebringer.
    You see, Maurice... all of this, all the killing and conquest, has been in the name of Justice. In fact, one might say it's all in the name of Lord Athelion the Lifebringer- if not for him, I'd never have dominated this little town.
    I will storm his gates... and he will grovel before me, and beg forgiveness, and give me a reason for all this insanity. And if he does not, I will kill him."
    The look on the ostensible child's face is so hard it could crack granite. It would be farcical to an outsider, seeing the child giving a literal angel a look like that.
    "But you, Maurice, you owe your allegiance to a... a different being, this Valkyrie? I'll not strip you of that... but are you a servant of Justice, Maurice? Join me, and Justice will be done. Help me do what I've set out to do, Maurice. You know as well as I this Lifebringer never done any good for this world."
    It transforms back into its combat ready God form, and holds out its hand to the angel, a grim smile on its face.

    Spoiler
    Show
    Now, I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume that Maurice is not going to go along. If so:

    It closes its eyes for a moment, almost sighing. "Pity. Very well, then.", and with a quick motion, it lashes out with its dexterous right hand, and gets a firm grip on Maurice's wing. Using this to hold it in place, it takes hold with the strong, craggy left hand, and tears the wing off. Wing still in hand, it lunges forwards, enveloping Maurice in a bear hug (or beating her down until it is able to do so), and with a peaceful look on its face, stroking Maurice's hair, she assimilates her, torn wing and all.
    Temet Nosce.
    Marceline Abadeer by Gnomish Wanderer

  5. - Top - End - #695
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    WhiteKnight777's Avatar

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

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Umber

    Desperate hope flared up in Ember's heart, as surely as the burning inn behind him. More lives ruined in his wake, but he spared not even a moment's thought for them. His heart pounded a little faster, and he could taste the anxiety, the iron-bitter bite of fear on his toungue, the light patina of sweat that covered his forehead, both from the heat of the burning building and the rising stress. He'd thought of this day for so many years - and perhaps now he would finally have a chance to put right what had been wrong ever since that fateful night all those millenia ago.

    He smirked a little, shaking his head ruefully. Drama and fool's hopes. Very likely they would all die in the stink and the muck, buried in the bowels of the city. But he had no choice but to try. Motioning for Mellita to follow, he tore the grating to the sewer open and began to descend, nearly slipping on the slime-slick rungs of the ladder. The stench assaulted his nose - and for once, he was glad to have lost his vampiric sense of smell. He wove a brief enchantment to enhance his night eyes, and then, having helped Mellita down, began to walk, searching for signs of Fianna's passage. One way or another, this quest so long ago begun would soon be at an end.

  6. - Top - End - #696
    Orc in the Playground
    Join Date
    Apr 2007
    Location
    The third dimension
    Gender
    Male2Female

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Sohssal

    Cracking the ice would be no trouble. Sohssal simply concentrated once more upon his force dome spell, and it began forming around him, straining against the ice. It took only a moment before a crack appeared, allowing Sohssal to escape. Immediately, he summoned to him the shard to which Crimson Jake was bound. With the elemental nexus nearby, it was a simple task to banish him. Sohssal pointed the shard at the nexus, and the beam shot from the shard once more, this time depositing Crimson Jake somewhere in the plane of water. He might find his own way back, eventually, but for now Sohssal didn't have to worry about him.

    With the shard emptied, he was free to use it on Nepton. Sohssal stabbed the shard into one of Nepton's tentacles and unleashed a surge of magical energy into it. "And you're not exactly all-knowing," he said. He doubted the shard could completely hold Nepton, but Sohssal was confident he could immobilize him with it.

  7. - Top - End - #697
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Kasanip's Avatar

    Join Date
    Apr 2008
    Location
    Japan
    Gender
    Female

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Isera Harvent
    Dark Falls


    Ironheart...

    Isera knew the name. It was the name she had heard in many inns or bar in whispers and dark conversations.
    Not a pleasant place...
    And it was in the Barony of Gast, which had it's own terrible rumors growing day by day. But even more, Gast had been linked to the missing Perist daughter.

    The Fae, the Perist Family, now this cult who may have come from Ironheart...
    Isera had been working like this for long enough to know to trust her intuition.

    Right now her intuition was working. There were keys to every door. There were answers to every question.
    For every action there is a cause.
    And right now it seemed there was a number of growing causes coming from Gast.
    She could not link these things. Surely the cult and the fae were unrelated, or else she would have had demon evidence at the Perist estate. But they may have had a common origin. And that was something Isera had to find.
    But she was half-blind. Losing her Eye of Odynn had left her crippled. Carlain had a good point- she should contact her father to check in. Maybe even get help to heal. Did she really want to have to explain that to her father? That she had had a vision and lost her eye? That the cult maybe had ties to Ironheart and the Barony of Gast? He would want more information. Cherise knew her father. He was always meticulous.

    Would he send a team after her and Carlain if they did not report tonight? She was not sure about that. Good order would mean she should report with the information...but right now that might ruin the disguise. Unless she stopped lying to Theresea. Could she be trusted? Maybe. She seemed to hate magi though. That might not be a good thing. Perhaps they could go away to report and then come back to Theresea? It would not take too long. And depending on what the Canticle decided they wanted her to do next, she would consider telling the truth to Theresea.

    Isera wanted to sigh, and so she let herself do it.
    "Thank you for your kindness ma'am. But first... I- I think I need to take a walk. To get away from this place." She said with a shiver. She took that time to hug Carlain's arm and whisper to him so that Theresea couldn't hear her.
    "Make an excuse like 'I'm worried about her' and follow me after a few minutes."

    And then she went off to the forest.

    When she had gone far enough to be out of sight and far out of hearing, Isera leaned against a tree and waited- listening to her surroundings. When Carlain came she would make the message to call her father, and teach Carlain how to do it. She had promised to teach him after-all. Though he was doing quite well with only a little nudging from Isera so far.
    Isera made a tight smile, but it disappeared. She needed to figure out a way to get her eye healed.
    Last edited by Kasanip; 2010-06-18 at 03:56 AM.
    Kasanip's Sketchbook 2 Thread
    It is difficult to speak English, please excuse mistakes kindly m(_ _)m

  8. - Top - End - #698
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    OverWilliam's Avatar

    Join Date
    Dec 2007
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    ~Tare

    When Tare spotted the churchgoer that didn't belong (which was almost instantly) he immediately tensed up, and his mind snapped through a few mental gymnastics with a speed he had not remembered was possible-- it turned out getting a good night's sleep really did make a difference. His immediate instinct was Flight-- but they had been spotted already. Instantly following that one was the impulse to Fight, but, as his rejuvenated thought processes reminded him, he did not know why this person was here or what he wanted. Running now might only trigger suspicion where there currently was none. And so his third impulse took hold; Bluff your butt off.

    "Actually, Ulrich hasn't made it back yet. He mentioned that there was a new baby born on the East side, and after the Christening he was probably going to spend the night." All of a sudden Tare held himself completely differently, projecting an inexperienced, but helpful air, his hands carefully placed in front of him. Given that his wardrobe had been borrowed from Ulrich, he could easily be an Assistant Minister of some kind. "We are watching the Chapel for him until he gets back..." Tare indicated Melcara behind him, and tried to give the impression that it was their first time watching the place alone for so long. He cleared his throat in a 'It's ok, I can handle this' sort of way. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
    Deo Soli Sit Semper Gloria

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

  9. - Top - End - #699
    Pixie in the Playground
     
    NecromancerGuy

    Join Date
    Apr 2010
    Location
    On amirite.net
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    There were a few options here. In order of least desirable to most, they were as follows: He could not learn the demon wing transformation and risk his life trying to find a way up, he could use the considerable amount of life force in his staff, likely depleting it a great amount, or he could kill one of his slaves (probably the large one to be safe) and use all of that life force to power his spell. The problem with his master teaching him is that he has no time to experiment and find that perfect balance that uses the least power. Oh well, if wishes were fishes... You'd have a massive pile of useless, smelly fish
    "Fish that I could use to power this spell of yours"
    True enough
    "Anyway, as I was thinking, there is a certain setback that will arise from killing one of my slaves."
    Do tell. The intricacies of human interaction interest me to no end...... not
    Ignoring his master's sarcasm, Reaper continued"Well, if I kill one of my slaves, then the other will surely think, not incorrectly, that he shall be meeting the same fate. I will need to find a way to keep him in place, preferably without something as energy consuming as a conditional death spell." pausing to think for a moment, an idea came upon him. "I could fake it though."
    You could what? In my experience, which is far greater than yours mind you, I find a spell only works if you DON'T fake it.
    "As you and I have both seen, these slaves are both gullible and superstitious. There is no reason to truly cast the spell, as long as they believe it is cast. Their fear of a slow excruciating death followed by eternal damnation will surely be enough to keep the twig I'm allowing to live in place."
    The Puppet Master scoffed,As if even something as foolish as a slave would believe you have the power to send them to hell
    At this Reaper smiled. "I assure you, by the time I'm done with the large one, he will believe I myself am a demon and don't merely have one within me. Now teach me the spell and we can return to camp, so that I can show you my plan instead of merely telling you about it"

    After learning precisely what he was to do, Reaper was confident that the life of the slave would be enough to maintain the spell for up to a day, though probably slightly less. He could also bolster it with other life before it ended if need be. His primary concern was how long it would take him to learn to use the whole new set of muscles he was adding, but The Puppet Master has offered to provide that muscle memory for him. With how forthcoming his master has been being lately, Reaper can't help but wonder if his master has a hidden plan for him that is nearing fruition. Or perhaps he is merely finally seeing Reaper's true power and potential, unlikely but possible.

    With the spell learned, all that was left was to enter camp and deal with the slaves. It would be easiest to kill the other in his sleep, cast the spell, then wake up the other and fake the conditional death spell. The slaves were looking tired as he entered, so he told them to get right to sleeping. The sooner they were soundly asleep, the better. Once Reaper could be sure they were asleep, he went over to his bag and gently pulled out a black leather knife carrier. Each blade had a perfectly sized sheathe of soft but strong leather. These were his masterpieces of his human research. Each blade magically imbued with the power to do something to the human body. His fingers danced over the unique, silver-cast handles that protruded until he came to the one with a skull at the base. Slowly removing it from its sheathe, he carefully caressed the blade. Although the most simple of his blades, this one was his favorite. A foot long, thin, and sharp enough to pierce bone, it glowed softly in the glow of the moon overhead. This needed only to pierce a human heart and the person would die instantly. Not good if you wanted any of the organs to remain intact, but very effective for simply killing.

    Shaking himself out of his reverie, Reaper crossed the camp to where the slaves slept a few feet apart. He smiled. Any normal assassin would have trouble not waking the other with his murder, but he was no normal assassin. Kneeling on the side opposite the other slave, he swiftly plunged the dagger into his victim's heart. His eyes flashed open pain showed briefly on his face, then he was in death's frozen grasp. Acting quickly, Reaper sat cross-legged on the dew covered grass a few feet away. Briefly focusing his thoughts into a precise, sharp tool like his bloodied dagger by his side, he drew out the life force freshly freed from the corpse of his slave. Maintaining his focus, he drew the life into himself and set about bringing his master's spell to life. he felt the tug and itch of new growth, followed by the pain of his own muscles being rearranged to make room for the massive wing muscles to sprout out. The was a slow ripping sound as the wings grew from his back and pushed themselves from his robe. As his wings continued to grow, Reaper threw in some horns on his forehead for effect to better scare his slave. At least that was what he told himself. As the pain of the transformation subsided, he felt a new weight on his back that hadn't been there before. Twisting his new wings around, he gasped despite himself. They were massive things. Red flesh with spines protruding at the joints. Opaque webbing stretched between the fingers and down to his back. Giving an experimental flap, he was tugged up a bit, not enough to achieve lift, but the power was certainly there. He also noticed the tattered bits of robe from his back. As the days went on, a robe was seeming less and less practical. He made a mental note of that, as he checked to make sure he had an extra for after the transformation.

    After getting the feel for his new wings he walked over to the other slave and gently woke him with a kick to the stomach. To say the slave screamed when he saw Reaper would be an under statement. It's a good thing they were in wilderness and the only things startled awake were animals. Grabbing the slave by the back of his ragged shirt, he dragged him to the middle of the camp. "Stop squirming or it will be the worse for you," He said in frustration. The man stopped. "Your companion is dead. I killed him, but you are not next, understand this. I'm going to leave now and you're not going to run, do you know why?" The slave shook his trembling head. "You're not going to leave because I'm going to cast a spell on you and the camp as incentive. Should you try to leave after this spell is cast, you will be tortured to death and then your soul will be forced to go to hell. Not very pleasant, I'm sure you'll agree. The slave merely continued to tremble. Sighing, Reaper walked to the edge of the camp with his staff in hand. Remembering his knife, he went back to it, cleaned it, and placed it back in its carrier. Then he grabbed the carrier and strapped it to his back between his wings where it would be safe. Going back to the edge of camp, he picked his staff back up again. The slave was where he was before, hyperventilating. "You'd better not die of fright. I'd just bring you back and torture you for inconveniencing me. Now raise your hand in front of you palm facing the ground. Very good, now hold still." He didn't need as much focus for this particular spell. It was 1 part power 9 parts imagination. Light and a bit of heat, that's all. Cracking his neck and stretching his arms, carefully avoiding his wings, he outwardly prepared for his spell. None of it was needed of course. Most of this spell was for show. He used the base of his staff to carve a pentagram with demonic symbols at each point (drawn slightly wrong of course. wouldn't want to bring up any unexpected nasties.). Then he started chanting some gibberish words and thrust his staff into the earth before him. When his staff made contact with the ground, what appeared to be and pillar of fire shot from the pentagram. It was, in reality, just light, but it would serve it's purpose. When the pillar got about 50 feet above the ground, it formed into a massive dragon made entirely of flame. It then dived at the camp, flying once around it in a circle. The second time it circled the camp, it breathed more fire onto the grass, this time it was actual fire and it scorched a black circle around the perimeter of the camp. The dragon then flew high up and moved so that it was above the slave. Compacting its form slightly, it dove toward the slave's outstretched hand. Shrinking the whole time as it plunged, it was eventually hardly as wide as the slave's hand, but very long. Again adding a bit of heat, he plunged the dragon into its target. The slave screamed as the shape of a dragon was branded into the back of his hand. "Done and done" Reaper said to himself and his master, smiling at his handiwork. Picking up his small satchel of food, he flapped his wings and flew to the top of the mountain.

  10. - Top - End - #700
    Troll in the Playground
     
    Inspectre's Avatar

    Join Date
    Jul 2007

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Dawn’s Hope - Monastery

    Archpaladin Zousha

    Katashiko regards you with a critical eye for a moment, looking you up and down. Then, she simply sticks her tongue out at you.

    “Nope! I was just trying to see if I could rattle you. I must say, not a whole lot gets under that rocky skin of yours, huh? Oh well, I guess I’ll look at it as a challenge, seeing how we’ll be spending a whole lot of time together. We didn’t give them a timeline for our little joint effort, and I certainly have no incentive to get this kid squirted out. Especially since if I really am going to have a daughter, I’m not going to have it with the first slack-jaw I stumble across. Spending some quality time with a gent is one thing, but a girl’s got to have some standards when it comes to continuing the race and all that.”

    You do not fail to notice that for just one moment, a genuine emotion crosses over the mad earth maiden’s face – sorrow.

    “Actually, I knew a fellow I might not have minded “settling down” with, or however you’d like to politely term it. Assuming he had actually been capable of the deed – I never found out. Died before things got that far. Damn shame.”

    And then the emotion was gone, replaced by Katashiko’s expressionless shell as she pushed herself up onto her feet.

    “But there’s plenty more hunks of meat in the butcher shop, so let’s go find one that I actually like enough to get this over with. Were you actually going somewhere in particular, or are you one of those freaks that just wanders around aimlessly until you see some “heathen” in need of smiting?”

    Stonefall

    The_Snark Theater: Return of the_snark

    The_Snark

    Apparently, your act of comfort was exactly the right thing to do. Caroline clings to you, starting to sob uncontrollably. This seems to be a cleansing release of emotion, and after a little while Caroline’s crying slows and finally stops.

    “Someone has to stop Firkas, because he won’t.” William mutters darkly.

    For a little while longer, the room is silent as Caroline slowly comes out of her funk, and everyone is lost in their own thoughts. Then, the little girl nestles up against you, and seems to be drifting off to sleep, her head resting against your shoulder and the inside of your wing.

    “I . . . love you . . . Marion.” She whispers. Despite the softness of the whisper, William seems to hear it as well.

    “She’s never had a mother.” William explains. “So she’s getting really attached.”

    William scratches his head and blushes.

    “I’m . . . uh, really glad you’re here too.”

    A thought seems to put into his head, and a look of anxiety begins to form on his face.

    “You aren’t planning on leaving us soon, are you? I . . . I’m sure you have important things to do.”

    William scratches his head sheepishly.

    “Well, more important than this place anyway.”

    William nods at the sleeping Caroline.

    “It’s only the middle of the day, but I think my sister has the right idea. I don’t know about you, but I think I could see a nap myself. And I know Jacob will come wake us for supper.”

    The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

    Iethloc

    REVENGE! The wraith screams as it is cast through the Nexus. Although presumably the wraith might be able to return the same way he was cast into whatever elemental limbo awaited beyond, it was hard to say if Crimson Jake was smart enough to do so. In any event, it would likely be busy for the next few minutes dealing with all of the elementals doubtless clustered about on the other side. Certainly more than enough time to finish your current bout.

    Jabbing the now-empty crystal into one of Nepton thrashing tentacles, you hear the beast roar in pain and fury as the crystal attempts to draw the elemental lord inside. Again as you predicted, the small hand-sized crystal was not quite large or powerful enough to contain Nepton’s full essence. Indeed, hairline fractures began to spiderweb across the crystal’s surface from the strain, and even underwater you can begin to hear a high-pitched whine coming from it.

    Fortunately, while the crystal is still intact, it is doing it’s job of immobilizing the elemental lord. At least some what – the beast’s tentacles still flail around in slow motion, a few coming dangerously close to you but beyond easy to dodge at their current speed. The rest slam against the walls, floor, and ceiling of the chamber, cracking the stone further and allowing the sea water to seep in at a faster rate. You would definitely have a lot of repair work ahead of you.

    Outside the Capital

    Lonna

    Using the tools Wulfric had left behind, you swiftly remove the collar and cover your brand with the remains of what he had used for bandages. Looking around the cramped bedroom, you see little else of note – except Wulfric’s sword. It was still propped up against the chair he had been sitting in, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice. Remembering his injured shoulder, you deem it likely that Wulfric only removed the weapon from its scabbard because it would have been difficult to draw with the injury. In any event, it was only the work of a moment to gather up the weapon in the remaining folds of bandage fabric, concealing it from view as anything other than a cloth-wrapped package.

    Items in hand, you take one last look around to make sure you didn’t miss anything, and then departed. Once you were out in the hallway, it was clear that you were on the top floor of a small inn. To your right, several more plain doors stood, no doubt leading to cramped bedrooms similar to yours. Immediately To the left, the set of stairs that Wulfric had departed by.

    Hastening down the stairs, you do your best to ignore the stares you received from the handful of locals drowning their sorrows in the downstairs tavern. Wulfric was not among them, and you were feeling your chances of finding him start to dwindle. Fortunately at that moment, one of the intrigued patrons spoke up.

    “I saw him go across the street. Bastard’s too good to drown his sorrows with us, apparently.” The man muttered, shooting you a glance that told you he was under no illusions why Wulfric had sorrows to drown. Considering the two of you had been shouting at the top of your lungs, it would probably be a miracle if the whole town didn’t give you that same knowing look of distaste. Wonder what they would do if you told them you were a whore on top of it all, assuming they hadn’t grasped that bit already.

    In any event, you stalked out into the street to find you were in a charming small, but well developed hamlet a short distance outside the capital. Although you didn’t know the name of the town, you had operated within the capital of Narle long enough to know that you were indeed nearby. Probably no less than a day’s walk away, if that.

    You were about to enter the tavern across the street in question when someone came barging out of it. Judging by his speed and the way he was cradling his bleeding nose, it had not been a voluntary exit. A moment later, another man comes sailing out through a glass window, and it seems very much like a full-out barroom brawl was taking place inside.

    You arrive to peer in through the doorway just in time to watch as Wulfric hurls a man up into the air, only to hurl him back down heavily to the floor. It seemed as if it was most of the bar not against each other, but Wulfric alone as one man breaks a chair over his back, send him staggering forward into a punch through by another man.

    Before you can grow concerned for Wulfric’s welfare, however, he fells the man in front of him with a flurry of punches and then turns to face the man who just hit him with the chair. Still brandishing the chair leg like a club, the man attempts to hit him with it as Wulfric closes. Wulfric catches the makeshift club in mid-swing with one hand, before using the other to grab the man about the neck and start choking him. This doesn’t go on long before another two men jump onto Wulfric from behind, attempting to pry his hand off their friends’ neck.

    Twisting his first assailant’s chair leg out of his hand and into his own, Wulfric then proceeds to abandon choking the man in favor of using the chair leg to beat first him, and then Wulfric’s two newest attackers, senseless. Breathing heavily and nursing a cut lip of his own, Wulfric drops the chair leg and a handful of gold coins onto the bar.

    “Thanks for the drink.” He grunts, snatching up an abandoned tankard of ale and downing it in a single gulp as he heads for the door. When he notices you, he pauses, and then barges the remaining steps out the tavern and past you.

    “Go. AWAY. SHE-WITCH.” He growls as he storms past you, not even looking in your direction. At your blurted out apology, he stops, and slowly turns back to face you. He listens to the rest of your offer, and then approaches, stopping only a pace in front of you. Apparently, while he was still willing to have this out in public, his rage had cooled enough that it was far more insidious.

    “I wish I had never met you.” Wulfric seethed. “You have brought nothing but misfortune and disaster into my life since that day. And like the worst sort of disease your kind is purported to spread around, you don’t go away. But even with all that, I –“

    Wulfric suddenly hesitates in mid-rant, choking on the words a moment. Something odd that you can’t quite read flickers in his eyes for a moment, and then he presses on as if nothing had happened. “don’t see why I shouldn’t finish what I started. Fine, apology accepted.” Wulfric then plants himself in the middle of the street and crosses his arms. “But, I don’t see why you can’t tell me whatever it is you think will help get me to trust you in a public place. Or are you afraid someone will notice you turning on the old charm magic?”

    Dark Falls

    Kasanip

    To your great surprise and relief, a short time after leaving the village, your Phantasmal Descrying Eye comes back. At first the images it displays for you are grainy and blurry, an indecipherable mélange of swirling colors. But it was so much better than the inky blackness coming from that side of your head that you nearly cheered out loud. Apparently the eye had been merely overloaded by the residual magic in Dark Falls, and not actually burned out. Which was very, very good as you had no idea how to repair a burned out eyeball. By the time Carlain showed up a few minutes later, the Phantasmal Descrying Eye was almost back to normal.

    “So, what’s the plan? Are we going to report in to the Canticle now? Incidentally, if you don’t mind hearing my opinion on the matter, I think that’s a bad idea. We don’t have a lot to tell them beyond “warlocks did it!”, which they already know. Course, I don’t think going to this Barony of Gast place is a good idea either – ghost stories about that place give me the willies.”

    Suddenly, Carlain claps his hands together.

    “Hey! I heard something about some people maybe, somehow, escaping from Ironheart a few weeks ago. Maybe it was these guys! Yeah, they made a deal with the demons, who brought them here . . . and then . . . it was time to . . . pay up?”

    Carlain’s train of thought, once roaring ahead came to a sputtering stop as even he realized the growing absurdity of it. He shrugs helplessly in conclusion.

    “You have a better idea why people locked up in Ironheart would become warlocks, come all the way out here to some backwater town, and cut themselves up as part of a ritual to summon demons?”

    The Capital

    Tackyhillbillu

    Mina examines you for a moment, nodding slowly as she absorbs your words. Then, her jaw sets and she pushes herself up off the bed.

    “So, cut and run huh? Thanks for the advice, Argan. I’m sure if our situations were reversed, you’d be taking your own advice. Well, I’m not you, and I’m glad I’m not! I don’t leave my friends when they’re in trouble, even if it is dangerous. You don’t think I know how to handle myself, living down here?”

    Mina angrily shakes her head, and moves towards the door.

    “But fine, have it your way Argan. You can handle everything by yourself, like you always do. It was nice knowing you, what little of you I got to know.”

    On her way out, Mina slams the door behind you, leaving you alone. Except for the specters of your past, which were always near. Morning couldn’t come soon enough.

    WhiteKnight777

    It was fortunate that you could enhance your eyesight back to its Lord of Blood levels. Otherwise, navigating the pitch black sewers without a light source would be . . . problematic, at best. Thankfully, you did not have to decrease your sense of smell – although rank and damp, the stench in this part of the sewers was tolerable.

    Suddenly, you realized something was wrong – your breathing was becoming labored as your chest began to tighten of its own accord. The tips of your fingers were burning as well, which caused you to pause and examine them. Covering them was a thin residue – no doubt from the rungs you had used to climb down. You had just thought it was part of the filth covering everything down here, but no. The treacherous little minx had coated several of the rungs with contact poison!

    It has been quite awhile since you had found yourself concerned by poison. But now evidently that concern was back in full force, and you were made aware of it in the worst possible way.

    The good news was that you were familiar enough with Fianna’s methods and the effects of various poisons to know exactly what poison it was – Nightfall’s Caress. It was similar to the poison she used for her little knockout lipstick, only much more concentrated. You were fortunate that was all she probably had on her – you had perhaps another minute or two before you passed out, followed by your inevitable death a couple minutes after that.

    OverWilliam

    At your bluff, you see the man’s shoulders slump in disappointment.

    “No, that’s alright. I’m afraid that this is a personal matter which I can only speak with Ulrich himself about.”

    At this point, the man sits back down on the barrel . . . which definitely hadn’t been here last night. Which implies the man had brought it in with him . . . why? There were no helpful markings on the barrel itself, so unfortunately you were back where you started – nowhere.

    “Well then. If you’ll excuse us – right now.” Melcara says with a forced pleasant tone. Discretely, she wraps her fingers around your arm – steel would have been softer. After she has dragged you off a couple paces, she leans over and begins whispering urgently in your ear.

    “I smell blood on that man. And not just blood . . . angel blood. I don’t know what he has in that barrel, but it can’t be anything good!”

    A Meaningless Speck of a Town Soon to be Even Less

    Gorgondantess

    Maurice ***** an eyebrow at you. “Athelion the LIFEbringer?” The angel shakes her head. “No, you must have heard him wrong. It’s Athelion the LIGHTbringer. Although, humans can never be relied upon to get it all right.” Maurice sighs.

    “And clearly you really aren’t a demon. The Valkyrie and the Lightbringer are the Divine Couple, the wed rulers of this world. For me to stand with the likes of you against Athelion would be insane . . . not that it hasn’t happened before.”

    Maurice shakes her head sadly, and for a moment seems to be reliving a past moment. At that moment, you strike, stomping forward in your war form to grab hold of her wing and tear it off. The angel shrieks, and seems shocked at the damage, although her expression quickly hardens. To your surprise, despite her injury she moves quickly, ducking under your clumsy bear hug in a blur of motion. Then with a loud shout, she drives her bare fist into your side.

    If you were capable of feeling pain, barring the use of those accused knives, this probably would have been an occasion for it. As it was, it was mildly disconcerting to feel the armor plate covering that side of your body crack under the impact. As you swing around to face her again, Maurice dances back and utters a word you don’t recognize.

    A moment later, a flash of light surrounds her, solidifying into a suit of armor around her body and a blade in her hand. Furthermore, the spray of blood that accompanied the loss of her wing seems to have slowed to a mere trickle.

    Although for the moment it seems the angel is unable to harm the core of your being in the same way those men with the stone knives did, she was able to continue harming your current body. Coming back in, Maurice dances under your swings, feinting high but cutting low, nearly severing your left leg entirely. Pirouetting around and past you, Maurice delivers another punishing blow to your back. More armor plates crack under the assault, but thankfully hold. Again the angel dances back as you swing around to face her once more. Her wing is no longer bleeding at all, although at least it remains torn and useless. You definitely would not like to have to fight her in mid-air.

    “I am but one of countless many in the Valkyrie’s army.” Maurice taunts. “You will not win this war.”

    Interestingly, your forced contact with the angel’s blade provided you with some puzzling information. Whatever it was made out of, it wasn’t a natural object, or at least any you’ve had experience with, like a tree, or a rock, or a . . . fish. While this made sense given Maurice’s origin, it also meant that you probably wouldn’t be able to dissolve the material.

    And yet . . . there was a . . . a resonance you felt coming off the metal of Maurice’s sword and armor. It was a strange feeling – like you were touching the objects in question with your actual appendages, only with your mind instead.

    The Ruined Archive

    Totobean

    That was good work. I really didn’t think he would fall for that. Proof that there is no limit to human gullibility. The Puppet Master chortles in your mind.

    Now ready to begin your flight, you take off into the air, rapidly making your way up the side of the eastern peak. It was really quite exhilarating, and yet over all too soon.

    Now perched at the narrow summit of the mountain, you feel as if the entire world is at your feet. After a few moments of marveling at the view, you hear the Puppet Master starting to make grumbling noises in your head. Back to work.

    But before you can start looking for any sign of your next destination that hadn’t been worn away by the elements, you notice something shocking. Traveling across the night landscape at about level height with you was a trio of pyramids. Black, obsidian stone pyramids. Flying pyramids. Even the Puppet Master didn’t seem to have anything to say about that.

    The good news is that they are not traveling here, but seem to be crossing your field of vision. Where this trio of pyramids is going, however, you have no idea. But you would certainly like to meet the man who was not only capable of levitating a single pyramid, but three.
    Last edited by Inspectre; 2010-06-27 at 10:17 PM.
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

    Threads I'm currently DMing:


    Threads I have successfully completed:

  11. - Top - End - #701
    Titan in the Playground
     
    Archpaladin Zousha's Avatar

    Join Date
    Apr 2007
    Location
    Hastings, MN
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Hondshioh

    "As a matter of fact, yes, I was on my way to the capital of my faith."

    He pauses for a moment, but he shrugs, figuring she didn't give a damn about the profits of the Council, and probably wasn't interested in giving him away.

    "I'm going there for something very important. A...secret mission, if you want to call it that. I'm part of a group that seeks to end the corruption and tyranny of our church's Council, and I'm being sent to the Council to spy on them."
    Last edited by Archpaladin Zousha; 2010-06-27 at 10:29 PM.
    "Reach down into your heart and you'll find many reasons to fight. Survival. Honor. Glory. But what about those who feel it's their duty to protect the innocent? There you'll find a warrior savage enough to match any dragon, and in the end, they'll retain what the others won't. Their humanity."

  12. - Top - End - #702
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    Gorgondantess's Avatar

    Join Date
    Aug 2008
    Location
    Not in a human colon

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    She shrieks with laughter, clapping her hands as Maurice dodges away. This was going to be fun.
    In the fight, she moves fast- god, she moves fast- and she's entirely implacable, no matter how fast and hard Maurice strikes, reforming with each blow. It... hurt... if you could call it that, but it was nothing compared to the pain of the knives, and with each step she assimilates a portion of the ground- a minute in, it's riddled in pockmarks. With every wound it suffers, pops and cracks can be heard around her as it pulls the air itself to fill up the wounds.
    While Maurice is a skilled warrior, her opponent is just powerful. Smart, sure, and ridiculously quick, but she telegraphs movement, and doesn't have the awareness of a hardened soldier. She gets a plan of attack in her head- go for the leg, or go for the eyes, or block with the left arm and make quick strikes with the right- and uses it almost stubbornly, until it stops working entirely once Maurice gets the hang of it.

    At Maurice's words, she laughs again, and picks up a stone off of the ground, heating it up as she speaks. "Good- Great. Excellent! It gives me faith in this world to find that there are so many of power such as yourself, so many worthy beings, even if they are under the sway of this cruel, spiteful being. I suppose you wouldn't reconsider my offer? No?"
    She stalls until the stone melts into lava, sucking up the smoke it creates both to hide her weapon and fortify her hand against its heat. If the angel's smart, she'll notice the craters forming around her feet.
    With that, she flings it at Maurice, and continues the fight, going for a disarm.
    "Say, that's a nice sword you've got there. What's it made of? Like nothing I've ever seen, that's for sure."
    Her tone is amiable and not at all violent- like someone talking to an acquaintance.
    Last edited by Gorgondantess; 2010-06-27 at 10:42 PM.
    Marceline Abadeer by Gnomish Wanderer

  13. - Top - End - #703
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Kasanip's Avatar

    Join Date
    Apr 2008
    Location
    Japan
    Gender
    Female

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Isera Harvent
    Outside of Dark Falls


    It was a welcome surprise and relief for Isera when her Phantasmal Descrying Eye came back. To be able to see the colors...she understood now the pain of those who were blind. Carlain finally approached and Isera waved him over.
    To Carlain's question Isera nodded 'yes.'

    "Yes, we need to contact the Canticle." She was slightly pleased that Carlain had not said 'your father' but had kept it professional.
    She gave Carlain a wry smile when he concluded his own theory and asked for her thought. When she spoke, her face became more serious again.

    "I don't think they became warlocks after they left Ironheart. From what I know of the place, more than likely they were there [i]because[i] they were warlocks. Which means they had been captured in the past and put into prison. If we can figure out who they may have been, then it will help us perhaps understand better what they were thinking." Isera winked at him.

    "And when it comes to researching this sort of history - which the Canticles may have been involved in- there is another Canticle with better skills than mine. So hopefully we can leave that part to the Winter Canticle...while we head to Gast."
    She finished.

    Then she raised her hand.
    "Now I'm going to teach you something useful... So listen carefully."

    She paused and took a deep breath.

    "Three stars far from home
    Pass across the sky alone,
    Oh ship of heavens travel safe
    on my song "

    And Isera began to open the contact spell to begin the report.
    Kasanip's Sketchbook 2 Thread
    It is difficult to speak English, please excuse mistakes kindly m(_ _)m

  14. - Top - End - #704
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    OverWilliam's Avatar

    Join Date
    Dec 2007
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    ~Tare

    Tare watched, intrigued, and stared at the barrel as though he wished he could suddenly see through wood or something. Then, he bit back a yelp, just barely, when Melcara's vice-grip sank into his bicep. He gingerly allowed himself to be pulled off to one side, mostly because just focusing on breathing and trying not to whimper was just about all the mental effort he could manage, though he did have the presence of mind to turn away from the man so that in case his expressionless mask slipped (and it did) the grimace would not alert him that anything was amiss. As soon as he was able, he uttered a strained whisper, "Melcara, you're hurting me." His voice was calm, but involuntarily infused with pain.

    Tare gasped when Melcara quickly released him, in a way the pain in the newly released appendage worsening before it got better. Though he couldn't help tensing every muscle in his body in reaction to the pain, he gritted his teeth and tried to keep his body language neutral. His lungs ached for a few seconds, but he forced them to take slow, even breaths and got the pain under control. Three months ago, he would never have suspected himself capable of any such feat of willpower.

    "...What?? I don't... I don't understand," He said once Melcara had repeated herself. Instinctively, and almost without trying, he tried to push a little something of his mental awareness toward the man and his barrel. A small, inexperienced, lost little sort of stretch, a reaching out with feelings he'd never consciously controlled before. But like a bloodhound with an acute memory, he had something to reference. In his minds-eye he constructed an image of the Basement where the Gang had fallen out of the portal and back into the real world. The imagined voices, cries for pity. The smell, once belonging to something sweet, but now acrid, like burned metal. But mostly the sense of... Wrongness that absolutely drenched the scene. The sense left behind by anything evil enough to bleed an Angel for personal gain. Keying in on these emotions, Tare tried to investigate the man in front of him, unsure and unable to predict what he might find, or how it would reveal itself to him...
    Deo Soli Sit Semper Gloria

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

  15. - Top - End - #705
    Troll in the Playground
     
    Inspectre's Avatar

    Join Date
    Jul 2007

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Archpaladin Zousha

    Katashiko raises an eyebrow at you.

    “Corrupt priests? No, say it isn’t so!”

    Katashiko laughs and snorts.

    “I wish you the best of luck. But really, you’re wasting your time.”

    Katashiko spreads her arms.

    “Everyone is corrupt on some level. Push them on a particular matter hard enough, and they’ll cave – even if only just a little. Of course, people will cave over different things, heh, in fact most will sell you out for even just the promise of gold. Or power, whatever turns them on. Put all the people together, and viola, the system fails.”

    A smirk tugs at Katashiko’s lips.

    “Or do you plan to change human nature? I’d like to see that one.”

    After another moment’s thought, Katashiko shrugs.

    “But no matter – I’d love to see you try in any event. Lead on holy man – unless, of course, you actually have a name. You didn’t have to give that up as well with your vows, did you?”

    (Next post will be moving on to the Cathedral of Light, so if you have any further questions or ground rules to lay down for Katashiko, now is your chance. )

    Dark Falls

    Kasanip

    For a moment, Carlain sits in quiet silence at your revealed theory. After a moment he shakes his head.

    “Okay, but how are we going to find out who they are? All we’ve got is their cell numbers, and the only one who’s going to have those records are the people at Ironheart themselves. You . . . you aren’t thinking of going there ourselves, are you!!?”

    When you mention that the Canticle of Winter might have some records – it was likely they would have some information of any known – and thus caught – people suspected of demonic pacts. That being said, real, actual warlocks – the kind who seemed to be responsible for this ritual, even if it had resulted in their own deaths – had been exceedingly rare for many years now.

    The corollary to this was that every few decades, some small group of people got it into their heads to become warlocks. Fortunately, the Canticle had gotten exceedingly good at hunting these small groups down and dismantling them before they spread and became an actual problem.

    “We . . .we’re heading to Gast? GAST!? Have you even heard the rumors of what goes on in that place!?” Carlain gasps, his teenage hunger for the disturbing and macabre now coming back to haunt him. Some of the rumors were probably true, but it seemed unlikely that all of them were – after all, you had heard one by a peasant that swore she heard the Baron of Gast derived sustenance from the blood of new-born babies. Ridiculous, unless the Baron was a vampire and that was extremely unlikely unless he had managed to find a way not to burst into flame upon contact with sunlight.

    At mention that you were about to teach him something useful, however, Carlain quieted down and started paying attention. Beginning the spell, you were pleased to find that the ritual, despite interfering with your eye, was not disrupting any communication magicks. A minute later, and you heard the voice of your father, coming from a spot a few feet away from you.

    “Yes Isera? What have you managed to find so far?”

    OverWilliam

    At your quiet admonishment, Melcara releases you and winces as if she had been struck.

    “Sorry.” She whispers, looking at you with concern. “I forgot my own strength for a moment – are you alright?”

    At your request, Melcara repeats herself. Dimly, you can hear her repeating herself a third time, this time enunciating each word as if you were a child and didn’t understand. In some ways you didn’t – how could anyone do what you had seen down in that basement, and why.

    You had seen evil, and done evil yourself – you were a thief after all. But nothing like this . . . it didn’t seem to make any sense. You didn’t want it to make any sense, because that would both mean those responsible consciously knew exactly what they were doing, and that they had a reason for it.

    Not liking it but realizing it was necessary, you stared at this strange man trying to get a read on him. As you did so, almost without realizing it you reached out with your mind. Naturally it wasn’t a focused attempt as you weren’t doing it consciously, nor would have known what exactly to do if you were trying to do it deliberately.

    Even so, your mind began to pick up on details, your senses honing themselves to a fine point. Although the man kept a cowl down over his head, you still got a glimpse of his face – one side of it was a mass of ruined flesh. You doubt he could even see out of that eye. His clothes were rumbled, and his moves were a bit stiff – he had been sleeping out here last night, possibly on this very barrel. As for the blood Melcara smelled on him, you still couldn’t pick up that particular odor, nor did you notice any blood on his clothes. However . . . you did notice just the faintest smear of blood on the rim of the barrel, caught between the rim and the top.

    Looking at the man again, your mind attempts to piece these facts together, when your mystical sense suddenly kicks into overdrive. You find yourself in a richly decorated hallway, watching as a younger and whole version of this man fought against a group of black shrouded figures. It was a valiant effort, for which the man got his face flayed open by a long dagger, and then left for dead by the figures as they moved on into the room beyond. From the room beyond come screams of alarm, and the sounds of even more fighting, although these do not last as long. A minute later, more shrouded figures enter the hallway and stride towards the room, these making no effort at stealth.

    In the center of this last group is a man similarly shrouded, but something about him holds your attention. He has a magnetic personality, or your bizarre sense in whatever this was silently telling you that he was important, or something – but there was definitely something about him. And, just looking at him made you sick – violently, head-splittingly sick. The remaining functional part of your brain made a note never to pull a similar trick to what you just did on this man, because you would not like what you would see – and quite possibly, would never feel whole again. Finally, as the man and his entourage enter the room beyond the hallway, you are forced to look away.

    As you do, the vision breaks, and you find yourself staring into Melcara’s worried eyes. Her hand was on your arm again, although this time the grip was surprisingly gentle.

    “Tare . . . are you alright? You seemed confused by what I was saying, and you were looking at the man, and all of a sudden it didn’t seem as if you were there at all.”

    Only a few moments could have passed from where you stretched out your senses, although to you it admittedly felt like much more time had passed.

    A Meaningless Speck of a Town Soon to be Even Less

    Gorgondantess

    Maurice is nearly as strong and fast as you, and she has at least some combat experience. Interestingly enough, she also seemed able to regenerate as well – although she doesn’t seem to require absorbing her surroundings in order to accomplish that. It was quite curious – perhaps it was some of this “magic” nonsense you had been hearing about from your followers. Evidently, some humans and most of the Gods’ followers had powers different from yours, but able to accomplish a variety of impressive feats. Until now, you had thought that perhaps they were exaggerating. Even so, despite her skill and powers, Maurice was unable to effectively hurt you at all – and you were adapting quickly.

    “I’ll never join you. Even if I were willing to betray my Lady, what possible reason would I have to do so for your sake? You’re going to lose – badly.” Maurice retorts to your continued offers to join forces.

    Disappointed but not surprised, you unleash your next tactic – hurling a glob of molten lava and then closing in for the kill. Maurice is caught off-guard, but narrowly manages to duck to one side as the lava sails past. Even so, the heat from the glob of molten earth sears her face and burns away her hair along one side of her face. Incredibly, even as you watch the injury begins to heal. Still, the lava accomplishes its purpose – Maurice is disoriented and off-balance as you slam into her. One hand strikes her wrist, wrenching the blade out of her hand, while the other hand slams into her face. The servant of your enemy goes flying back, striking the ground heavily. A moment later, and she’s back up on her feet, dazed and injured, but still standing and slowly healing. Damn, this bitch was durable!

    “A gift from my Lady, made by her hand.” Maurice replies, spitting out a glob of blood. “I’d be happy to give you another demonstration of its magnificent edge.”

    Then, she is charging drunkenly towards you. Was she committing suicide, or has the pummeling you’ve given her simply sapped all sense out of her. You pull back another fist to greet her, but it seems the angel was expecting exactly that. As the blow descends she sidesteps, sliding to a halt right in front of you and delivering a kick powerful enough to shatter your right knee. No matter, the wound would be healed in moments, but it did cause you to nearly topple forward. With perfect timing, Maurice leaps into the air, landing on your lowered shoulder before pushing off again, somersaulting over you entirely. As you whirl about, you see her land and push off one final time, this time attempting to clear as much ground as possible. She is diving for her fallen weapon, fingers outstretched – and as she is doing so, her attention is wholly on the weapon, and not on you.
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

    Threads I'm currently DMing:


    Threads I have successfully completed:

  16. - Top - End - #706
    Bugbear in the Playground
    Join Date
    Jun 2007
    Location
    A2
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Korram Alstan

    At first, Korram smiles in satisfaction at Katrina's quick thinking and resourcefulness at forcing the GHASTs away. Then it becomes more clear to him that she isn't just trying to force the GHASTs away; she really intends to hurt Sara. His face darkens with alarming rapidity, and he takes a step forward.

    "Katrina. Let. Her. GO."

    He takes a step forward, his remaining hand clenching.

    "Yes. She is the daughter of the Baron. That means nothing. She hasn't done anything to deserve this. Not all of the Baron's children are like Cheran."
    Truly awesome Ark Tamaeus avatar by Bryn. Full size version here.

  17. - Top - End - #707
    Titan in the Playground
     
    Archpaladin Zousha's Avatar

    Join Date
    Apr 2007
    Location
    Hastings, MN
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Hondshioh

    Hondshioh scowls at Katashiko.

    "Not everyone is as corrupt as you say. I know that I would NEVER betray my principles for the promise of wealth or power. For me, fulfilling my duty to Miriam and Athelion is its own reward. And my teacher would say the same. The Council tortured him and threw him in Ironheart, the very same prison you were held in, solely because he tried to do the right thing and would not take their bribes. If what I do on my mission saves even one person from the Council's injustice my ghost shall rest easy."

    He speaks in a firm but gentle tone, indicating to Katashiko that he's a lot stronger-willed than he looks, but his expression softens as his skin changes back to normal.

    "Before we proceed, I'm afraid I must lay down a few ground rules. First of all, I will be your protector on this journey, but should you decide to harm people without my consent I will also become your executioner. I will let you know if and when it is safe for you to cut loose and kill. Second, I will try to be as lenient with you as I can possibly be, so long as your actions do not result in the violation of my code, which forbids fraternization with the obviously evil or irredeemable. I know that you value your freedom more than anything, and I will do my best to respect that freedom. Next, I will be with you until you make your choice to bear a child. Once that child is born, hopefully we will be able to hand it over to your sisters, and I can convince them to leave you in peace. After that, you will either be dead, or my custody of you will be ended and you will truly be free. I know it may seem tempting to just stall until I get fed up and leave, die in battle or to simply kill me and escape. I believe that all of those options will only make things worse for you, because the moment you no longer have my protection, I think your sisters will definitely try to come for you. Holding up your end of the bargain is the easiest way to earn your freedom. Finally, and most importantly, do not compromise my mission in any way. I know that you do not share my beliefs and you obviously don't care about the repercussions if that mission fails or succeeds, but if I fail in my mission, I will be punished by the corrupt Council, likely leading to my own incarceration or death. And if that happens, I won't be able to protect you. I'm not going to bother asking you to help me. Your obvious cynicism has made it abundantly clear that you'd laugh in my face if I did. But since you will be forced to accompany me on this mission, I simply ask that you do not try to betray me to the Council or make it impossible to complete my mission through your interference."

    He holds out her hand to her.

    "Are these terms acceptable to you, Katashiko? I am called Hondshioh, by the way."
    Last edited by Archpaladin Zousha; 2010-07-05 at 01:24 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."

  18. - Top - End - #708
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    Lonna's Avatar

    Join Date
    Jan 2008
    Location
    MD, DC area
    Gender
    Female

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Pryene matched Wulfric glare for glare. "First. Despite what you seem to think, I am not an old hand at this whole magic thing. I only discovered my power a few days ago, and most of the time since then I've spent in a mage collar or running for my life or both. I haven't exactly had much time to experiment," she hissed. "Second. I spent years distancing myself and my reputation from my sister. If you are right and your ex-employer was bluffing, I'd rather not ruin all that work by announcing my story on the street!"

    Pyrene glared at him an instant longer, then exhaled forcefully, some of the tension leaving her body. Her gaze turned inward, and she shivered unconsciously as she spoke. "Besides, it's a long story, and one I haven't told before. We'll probably both need to sit down by the time I'm done."

    Pyrene's eyes refocused and the trembling stopped as she firmly pressed Wulfric's cloth-wrapped sword into his hands. "You left this behind. Not that it looked like you needed it, wounded shoulder or no," she added dryly. "Now, if you don't want to go back to the room that's fine. Pick any place that you are comfortable sitting with me that we can be relatively certain of not being overheard."

    [[OOC: I'm assuming Wulfric goes along with this, out of curiousity if nothing else.]]

    When they were both comfortably seated, Pyrene turned to Wulfric with businesslike briskness. "First let me see what I can do for your shoulder," she directed, barely waiting for his approval before beginning. She removed the crude bandage with surprising gentleness, hissing slightly but not otherwise reacting to the sight of the raw, inflamed flesh. Carefully she examined the wound, making sure no loose threads or bits of debris remained behind. When at last she was satisfied that the area was clean, she placed one hand on the solid flesh on either side of the wound.

    "What I'm about to do is accellerate your natural healing, like I did with your hippogryph before. I suspect that healing this will take most or all of my magical reserves, so at least you can be certain that I'm not charming you when I tell you my tale afterward," she explained. Without waiting for a response, she focused her attention on the heat under her palms, the same steady life-flame that had pulsed in the hippogryph. No... no, not quite the same. This one burned lower, yet hotter. Nevertheless, it behaved as before, lapping slowly at the edges of the wound and rebuilding rather than consuming. As before, Pyrene addressed the flame, silently offering power with which to rebuild.

    This time there was a hesitation, a brief moment in which Pyrene knew that she had somehow offered the choice to Wulfric himself. Slowly, then with increasing speed, the power flowed from Pyrene into the living flame as he accepted her aid. Pyrene's consciousness flowed with it, maintaining the delicate web of magic and flame necessary for the healing.

    An instant or an eternity later, she removed her hands and half fell against her back rest, gazing with satisfaction at the tender pink flesh that had taken the place of the raw wound she had last seen. "There," she said, tiredly but with satisfaction. "Now that that is taken care of..." With a visible effort, Pyrene sat up perfectly straight. "I'll tell you the whole messy story. I'll warn you, much of it is unpleasant, and most of it I've never told anyone before. Once I get started I probably won't stop, but I'll answer your questions at the end."

    [[OOC: If Wulfric wants to change venues or ask questions here, Pyrene will deal with that before starting in on her tale.]]

    "Once upon a time," Pyrene began, twisting her mouth wryly, "there was a small girl who could not remember any life but the one she lived with her mother in an elegent bordello. She secretly observed the customers by night, learned self-defense during the day, and was generally pampered by all her "aunts." When her half-sister was born, the midwife told the little girl, who was around ten summers, that she must take good care of little Ariella, and the girl took this charge very seriously. The small family lived an odd but happy life like this for another three winters, before a fire destroyed the bordello and forced them onto the street.

    "The girl took Ariella with her to wander the city, sometimes begging, sometimes fighting other street children for edible scraps of garbage. Meanwhile their mother took what work she could, but always ended up falling back on her previous trade to keep a crude roof over all their heads and a bit of food on the table for supper each night. By the end of the second summer, she had started taking clients almost every night, trying to pay the ever rising rent and feed two growing daughters. The girl tried to help, but work was scarse and no one would hire a woman with a child in tow, so she started stealing food for herself and Ariella during the day."


    Pyrene took a deep breath and averted her eyes from Wulfric's slightly. "One night the sisters came home to find their mother with a client. This wasn't totally unusual, but what was unusual was that he didn't get angry at the interruption. Instead he took one look at the girl and declared that he'd much rather have young fresh meat than a tired old whore. The mother refused, so he hit her in the face. She reeled, then hit him back, ordering her daughters to run. The girl saw that there was no way to get past them, to the door, without being caught, so she took Ariella and hid in the cupboard that would have held their food, if there had been any left, while the man was distracted fighting the mother.

    "The man was too drunk and too angry to realize that the girl had not gotten away. He didn't even look for her. Instead he started hurting the mother. The girl covered Ariella's ears so that she would not hear their mother scream, and turned Ariella's face away from the crack in the cupboard door. Eventually the screams became whimpers, and then pained moans, and then there was no sound but the dull thudding of the man's fists. Later the girl found that he had cut the mother's throat, but she was already dead, beaten beyond identifiability, when he did so."


    Pyrene cleared her throat and swiped at the tears streaming down her face as if only just noticing them, shaking her head slightly. "When at last the man was gone, the girl took Ariella out of the house, vowing that Ariella would never need to live the life their mother had lived. She found a priest who helped her get Ariella adopted by a kind, childless couple. For the next several years she took up her mother's trade, and whenever she could she sent money to Ariella's new family. She moved frequently, changing her name each time, trying to make sure that Ariella and her adoptive parents never knew where the money came from. She wanted no hint of scandal to touch Ariella.

    "One day, shortly after the girl had taken up the name Pyrene, she was approached by a group of young nobles who said they wanted to hire her as a graduation present for a classmate. The girl agreed readily, because Ariella was ill with the Black Fever, and even knowing she could never raise the money for medicine in time, she was desperate to do something to help her little sister. She did her best to focus on her job that evening, deflecting Wulfric Terman's questions about herself with practiced ease. On an impulse, she stole his expensive uniform, reasoning that he could easily buy another, and sold it at a price that allowed her to both send Ariella the expensive medicine and pay her rent for the month.

    "Still calling herself Pyrene, the girl began targetting wealthy men and taking their purses as well as their clothes. She found that, when she put her mind to it, she could convince any man she chose to hire her. Only much later did she realize she was charming them into her bed with more than her good looks. She became infamous as the Temptress, and soon she didn't need her charms anymore, as her victims sought her out - with full knowledge of the price she claimed for a night's pleasure, no less.

    "Then the girl's luck ran out. She took a client, the eldest son of a local noble, who attempted to do to the girl much what had been done to her mother. When the girl tried to escape, he pulled a knife on her. There was a struggle, and somehow in the confusion the blade nicked one of the big veins in the man's throat. By the time the girl realized what had happened, it was too late. She knew that no one would believe it was self-defense, not with a noble dead and no other witnesses. So she ran. Soon enough she was caught and a brief trial was held. She was infamous, and the court wizard started squawking about her being a powerful sorceress, so she was sentenced to Ironheart.

    "In Ironheart she was put in the Prism, a crystal prison that leaves the body intact but torments the mind with endless nightmares as vivid as reality. For three months she saw Ariella subjected to every torment and degredation that the girl had tried to spare her from, over and over, in endless combinations that always ended with Ariella dead, or broken by pain and suffering. Needless to say, when there was a chance to escape, the girl took it."


    Pyrene hesitated, then continued, switching out of her third person description now that she was past the most painful parts of her tale. "I'll spare you the details of the escape, but suffice to say that I managed it. I discovered my magic shortly after I got out of the Prism, when my mage collar activated for the first time, but I didn't have a chance to use my magic until I was outside the prison walls."

    Meeting Wulfric's eyes squarely, she wordlessly dared him to judge her as she finished. "I killed four more men during my escape. Two of them were nobles and mages, the sons of Duke Volesin. And yet of the five lives I have taken, I regret only one. You were correct, Wulfric. I do bear death and destruction with me. I will not impose them on you if you choose to leave."

    Her tale ended, Pyrene closed her eyes and sighed, tension draining out of her at last as she sat back and murmured one last thing under her breath, clearly not meant for Wulfric's ears. "I hope you'll stay."
    I started a blog!
    Beware of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup...

    My Player Profile

    My current characters:
    Spoiler
    Show


    Thanks to Kasanip for the great avatar of Pyrene!
    Full version:
    Spoiler
    Show

  19. - Top - End - #709
    Orc in the Playground
    Join Date
    Apr 2007
    Location
    The third dimension
    Gender
    Male2Female

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Sohssal

    Sohssal paid little heed to the wraith. He let out an aggravated growl as further damage was done to his lair. Working quickly, he tore out one of his last chunks of magical energy and shot another beam of force, this time point blank at Nepton. Sohssal did not hold back at all at this point - he wouldn't get any other chances and the crystal wouldn't last long.

    He had not felt this angry since Ironheart. "Vandal! Misfit! You had the chance to see how sophisticated my lab was, and you expected any outcome other than this?! You're lucky my equipment is damaged, or else I would have bound you!" he declared. With that, he renewed his attack, this time trying to push Nepton back through the Nexus (while hoping the thrashing is enough of a deterrent), though not before trying to recover the crystal - even broken, it made Sohssal curious.

  20. - Top - End - #710
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    Gorgondantess's Avatar

    Join Date
    Aug 2008
    Location
    Not in a human colon

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    "Lose? No, not at all. Fire doesn't lose, the wind doesn't lose, death does not lose, life does not lose. I can not lose. But you? You can."
    With those words, she flings out the lava, and disarms Maurice.
    As Maurice replies with the knee-shattering kick, she realizes that Maurice is better than her. Much better, in fact- when it comes to combat prowess, Maurice has her beat in all realms but sheer speed and power, and in those she's damn close.
    But, as opposed to Maurice, she was inexorable. She could mess up as much as she pleased, and it would only cost her seconds. Maurice could only mess up once, and here it is.
    Sucking in a patch of grass, she leaps after Maurice, the air popping as it's sucked up for regeneration and speed. By the time she lands, her other leg is already healed. Reknitting is much easier than remaking.
    She raises her strong left fist into the air, assimilating the matter around her for one strong killing blow, putting every fiber of her being into it. A blow that would tear a chunk out of granite. She flexes, and swings downward... and changing her trajectory at the last moment, changes a killing, pulverizing crush into a swift, elegant, precise clip across the back of the head- a knockout blow.
    Marceline Abadeer by Gnomish Wanderer

  21. - Top - End - #711
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Kasanip's Avatar

    Join Date
    Apr 2008
    Location
    Japan
    Gender
    Female

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Isera
    outside of Black Falls

    Isera cleared her voice and began to report the findings.
    "The town was destroyed. We have investigated and located the spot where the cultists began their ceremony, and have discovered each one has a string of numbers on their arms."
    She got the list of numbers again from Carlain and read them.

    "I was hoping to get the Canticle of Winter to investigate these and see if we cannot get further information. The only lead we have is that they may be former Ironheart prisoners, which means they could have been criminals that we may have records on. In addition, if the trail is to go to Ironheart, then we need to travel to Ghast to continue this investigation.

    It is my guess of course, but with all of the bad rumors and even the word of the Fae we had talked to earlier in the day, there seems to be trouble in Ghast. If these prisoners were released from Ironheart, then there could very well be another larger incident happening. Since we have very little information, I thought I would go that way."
    She said.

    Of course, Isera had always been one to not ask this sort of permission. And she wasn't asking her father's permission, or the Canticle for this.
    But she had Carlain here, and while he had certainly handled himself very well so far, Isera was going to give her father the option to change his mind on this.

    Not that he would do such a thing. Isera was a little cynical about her father's stubbornness.
    It seemed to be a family trait.

    "We also have encountered a demon hunter who was willing to help us. We'll spend the night with her here and then continue on our journey. Unless you have other plans or questions?"
    She tried not to have too much sarcasm in her voice. But a 16 year old Isera saying the sentence in the same way she normally did...maybe it was a little rebellious. Oh well. Isera looked up at Carlain.

    "Is there anything you would like to add?" She asked him.
    Last edited by Kasanip; 2010-07-09 at 08:20 AM.
    Kasanip's Sketchbook 2 Thread
    It is difficult to speak English, please excuse mistakes kindly m(_ _)m

  22. - Top - End - #712
    Troll in the Playground
     
    Inspectre's Avatar

    Join Date
    Jul 2007

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Dawn’s Hope - Monastery

    Archpaladin Zousha

    Katashiko sighs and rolls her eyes as you lay down the ground rules for your little association. When you are finally finished, she shakes her head and smirks.

    “Always a catch, isn’t there? I want you to keep my sisters at bay, I have to play by your rules, eh? Deal! Put ‘er there, partner!”

    Hocking up a sizable wad of spittle, Katashiko spits into her own hand and then slaps it into yours.

    “Nice to meet you Hondshioh.” Katashiko says in a pleasant tone, giving your hand a firm squeeze – not enough to cause injury, but a little pain. Then she releases your grip and steps back, turning to indicate the scenery with a wave of her hand.

    “Alright then, lead on. The sooner we get your little mission done the sooner we can actually go somewhere fun!”

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

    Several days later, you find yourself standing before the gates of the Cathedral of Light. Of course, a sizable city had grown up around the cathedral itself, so the name was a little bit misleading. Likely, it would be difficult to get into the Cathedral itself anymore, as you had heard that even areas open to the public had recently been sealed off. Which meant going in through the front door and convincing them of your “honest” intentions might be the best and perhaps only way in.

    Fortunately, the gates leading into the city itself were not heavily guarded, and the two young paladins standing guard there today simply waved you through upon seeing your armor. When they started to approach Katashiko to ask for her papers, she simply smiled and ran her fingers down your back.

    “I’m . . . with him. For now, anyway.”

    The two paladins scowl, correctly deriving her meaning, which while still the truth carried a much different reason than the truth. Still, they wave the two of you through, clearly glad to be rid of you both. As you pass through the gates into the city, Katashiko laughs.

    “This might be more fun than I thought! So, where to first? I rather doubt a town made by sticks in the mud, for sticks in the mud, is likely to have much of a nightlife.”

    As you move a little further beyond the gate, you see an old woman sitting off to one side of the street. As people pass by, she extends a wooden cup to them. A dirty beggar, made all the more of a pathetic wretch by the fact that a cloth is wound over her eyes.

    “Ooo . . . a beggar. Can I put the little cockroach out of her misery, can I? I’d be doing us *all* a favor.”

    The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

    Iethloc

    “One day, you will pay for your crimes against my people!!” Nepton roars, as the wave of force slams into its body. The impact is enough this time to tear off one of the elemental lord’s tentacles, which rapidly dissolves into the water. The beam of force is enough to press Nepton back against the Nexus. As you renew your assault, the crystal shatters, and the elemental lord returns to being a storm of whipping tentacles. Before it can take advantage of its newfound freedom, however, your second blast of force sends it careening back through the Nexus.

    Nepton does not come back through, however, and with his departure the Nexus slowly begins to close. Before it does, you manage to siphon off a fair bit of elemental energy, which is good since your reserves after this fight were running dangerously low. On the plus side, you seem to have complete command over your home once more. Fixing the foundation and pushing out the seawater would likely take some time, as you would have to work carefully to prevent any further damage. You would also likely have to find a new source of magical energy, since most of the elementals and demons you had down here to feed off of were gone.

    Still, things were looking up. You were free, you had your home back, and you had a few new ideas for research once the lab was operational again.

    Outside the Capital

    Pwenet/Dorizzit

    “It means everything, Korram! Did it matter to the thrice-damned Baron that I was an innocent child!? Did it matter that Kurt and Joanna’s only “crime” was to agree to raise me!!? How about all the other innocent people in Callaway and everywhere else that the Baron has slaughtered for no other reason than that it pleased him!!? BLOOD CALLS OUT FOR BLOOD! And if shedding this little tart’s blood will inconvenience the Baron for even a moment, I’ll drain the little bitch dry!”

    At that moment, Incom decided that there had been enough talk. Snapping up one wing and firing a low-powered beam from the tip in one smooth motion, the prisoner-turned-GHAST aims for Katrina’s knife arm. The narrow beam misses Sara and the knife itself completely, but sears into Katrina’s forearm and shoulder. With a high-pitched scream, Katrina recoils, dropping the knife and toppling back to the ground. Even so, the daughter of Korram Alstan manages to keep her wits about her, and maintains her grip on Sara so that the two of them fall down together.

    After landing heavily, Katrina manages to maintain her grip for another few moments, before Sara’s squirming results in Katrina’s burned arm being touched. With another loud scream, Katrina convulses, allowing Sara to slip out of her grip and roll away. As Incom adjusts his wing to take aim and fire a second, and likely more fatal, shot, Sara surprisingly leaps in between the two.

    “No.” She says firmly, shooting a glance back at the prone Katrina before focusing her full attention on Incom. “There’s been enough death because of me.”

    Sara gestures at Katrina, her gaze still locked with Incom’s.

    “If we kill everyone who doesn’t like me, then we’re no better than my father.”

    After a moment’s pause, Incom relaxes, returning his wing to back around behind his back. Whether he had been convinced or simply realized Sara was resolute about this, no one was sure. Upon seeing Incom’s agreement to stand down, Sara turned back to Katrina.

    “As Korram said, I am not my father. I have seen many, many terrible things recently. I don’t know what to think of my father, let alone the rest of my family, anymore. But . . . I . . . I think my father may have to be stopped, before he hurts anyone else. I . . . don’t know if I can stand against him, but I do know that I won’t be able to do it alone if I do try.”

    Then, Sara leans down and extends her hand to the woman, really a girl barely more than a few years older, who had just confessed to wanting to kill her. Katrina stares at the hand a moment in disbelief, and then pointedly looks away. Cradling her wounded arm against her chest, Katrina braces her remaining hand across the ground and pushes off, slowly getting up to her feet unaided.

    She pauses to look at Sara, to Korram, and then to Incom. She then leans down and scoops up the discarded knife with her remaining good hand. For a moment, a host of emotions plays openly across her face: shame, disgust, and hope among them. But then her jaw sets, and Katrina chooses the same emotion that has always served her well in the past: rage.

    “I’m outta here.” She growls, and then turns away from the three of you and starts limping off into the forest.

    Lonna

    For a long moment Wulfric considers your offer, and finally relents with a nod. He offers a thin smile as he accepts his weapon back. “I wasn’t even aware I had forgotten this. Thanks.” Apparently accepting your offer, he then leads you to another, slightly more upscale bar. Here they apparently have private rooms for drinking and gambling for those who wish to remain out of sight, which Wulfric assures you are actually respected by the providers and other clientele. You would have all the privacy you wished in one of the back rooms, yet it was only a few steps to be back out in sight of everyone out drinking in the main part of the tavern.

    Wulfric grunts a little as you remove his bandages and heal his injury, although he again offers a slight smile and a nod at your aid. He rolls his shoulder and flexes the arm, his smile growing as he discovers the limb is fully healed and functional again.

    At your pre-story explanation, Wulfric quirks an eyebrow but nods in agreement.

    “I only have one question for you right now. What is your real name? I assume you have one, even if you barely recognize it as yours.”

    As you delve into your unpleasant past, Wulfric’s flippant tone completely dissolves. He listens with rapt attention, not interrupting once, although you note he tenses in anger at several points in your story. Finally, your harrowing story is over and the both of you can relax.

    After leaning back and closing your eyes, you are surprised when Wulfric lays one of his callused hands over yours.

    “I am sorry.” He says, his chair squeaked across the floor as he slides a bit closer to you, allowing him to claps both hands around your one.

    “For the part I have played in your difficult life, and my disgraceful behavior a little while ago.”

    Wulfric shakes his head, his voice low and hoarse.

    “I wasn’t sure what to think of you. When I found out about your magical powers, I thought perhaps . . . perhaps you had chosen your path in life. It was . . . well, the only thing that made sense – that you had chosen to be Pyrene the Temptress because you enjoyed it – the manipulation, the stealing, the thrill of avoiding the law. Why else would a woman with such gifts do it?”

    Wulfric chuckles and shakes his head.

    “But I suppose none of us get to really choose our path in life, do we? Events conspire to push us in one way or another, and we have to cling to something or be swept away. We will find your sister, and make sure she is safe.”

    Wulfric looks you straight in the eyes as he says this, no doubt in an attempt to convince you of his own honesty. But it also gives you a glimpse into what he’s thinking. And there, you can see both a newfound level of respect for you – and pity.

    Dark Falls

    Kasanip

    For a few long moments, your father is silent as he processes your information. He was always like this, so careful with his words and thoughts. It left him more than a little distant and cold, especially as a father figure, although he had abdicated from that position long ago.

    “Very interesting. I believe there was a small cult of warlocks broken up a number of years ago. I will check with the Canticle of Winter for the relevant records and get back to you. It is unfortunate that you were unable to find our contact in the town – although it now seems likely he perished with the rest of the inhabitants of Dark Falls.”

    Typical for your father – always business and never a word of praise. And now he switched to his one other mode – disapproval.

    “I’m not sure traveling to Gast is wise. It would be a journey of several weeks unless you arranged for a teleport.” Your father began, growing even more quiet. “Furthermore, a number of our agents in Gast have suffered from . . . “accidents” . . . in years past. It would be suspicious, but none of the other agents we sent in after them ever found anything.”

    Your father pauses to think for a few more moments, and then continues.

    “Hmmm. Perhaps whoever was responsible for our agents’ deaths is also the person who arranged for the release of these warlocks. I would speculate that this person is none other than the Baron of Gast himself, but not even we can accuse a noble lightly. You will need to gather more evidence first.”

    Your father again goes silent, but you faintly hear the rustling of papers, suggesting he was looking for something. A minute later, his voice began to whisper into your ear again.

    “We did have one successful agent, a former member of the Canticle of Fall in fact, now retired. She still keeps a hand in Canticle affairs, of course, but her age and poor health prevent her from serving in anything other than an occasional advisory capacity. Her name is Cynthia Whitehall, and she currently resides in a Canticle-provided house on the outskirts of the capital. I believe the capital should only be a few days away from your position – perhaps you should consult with her before traveling into Gast?”

    It wasn’t a suggestion, based on your father’s tone. Then again, you always took his orders as suggestions anyway. At your request for input, Carlain shakes his head – he had nothing to add.

    “I suppose . . . unless you have anything further to add, this conversation is over.” Your father sighs. “Very well, proceed with your investigation Isera. And be careful!”

    You are just about to break the communication link when you hear another, unexpected voice calling out from somewhere nearby – Theresea’s voice.

    “So . . . not local children after all. Are the two of you even human are all, or merely glammered as such by whoever you’re reporting to? Doesn’t particularly matter I suppose, but I’m curious all the same.”

    A Meaningless Speck of a Town Soon to be Even Less

    Gorgondantess

    The blow connects with the back of Maurice’s head perfectly, and the angel slumps to the ground – not dead, but unconscious. You approach the body, cautious that this might be some sort of trick, but it quickly becomes clear for the moment at least, Maurice is not faking it. No longer threatened, you manage to pick up Maurice’s sword by the hilt, feeling a slight jolt run through your palm as the weapon’s material resonances even more strongly.

    Examining the weapon closely, you can see that it is not surprisingly made from an unnatural metal. An extremely well-designed metal - lightweight but durable. You realize with a certain amount of envy that, for the moment at least, you lacked the expertise required to form such metal yourself. However . . . yes, most interesting. The material that the sword, and indeed Maurice’s armor, are made of respond to your touch, behaving more like clay in your hands than the exquisite metal.

    In all, your fight has taken perhaps a minute. As such, it is predictable that your studies are interrupted a few moments later by curious gawkers. The entire population of the town floods out of the chapel, your followers and their converts in the lead. All of them react with shock upon seeing the fallen angel and you standing over her, holding her sword. Whispers start to ripple up and down the crowd, but your high priest is quick to take advantage of the situation.

    “BEHOLD THE POWER OF THE TRUE GOD!” He shouts, gesturing at you and Maurice. “BEHOLD THE DECEPTION OF THE GODS YOU FOLLOW! WE COME BEFORE YOU OPENLY, WHILE THEY SEND SPIES TO WATCH YOU IN SECRET!!”

    The murmurs quiet down somewhat as your servant continues to pontificate.

    “FEAR NOT!! AS YOU CAN SEE, THE SERVENTS OF THESE TRICKSTER GODS ARE POWERLESS AGAINST US!! FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO DO NOT BELIEVE, PERHAPS YOU WISH TO RETHINK YOUR ALLEGIANCES!?”

    Predictably, more than half of the people who had apparently chosen exile over joining their brethren in serving you moments ago now surged forward, begging for a chance to serve. While the rest of your growing band of followers handed out robes and the remaining diehards slowly shuffled away to pack up their belongings, your high priest comes over to join you.

    “Is she . . . dead?” He asks, openly curious as he toes Maurice’s remaining wing with his boot. “Huh. I have never seen an angel before. What would you like done, Highest One?”
    Last edited by Inspectre; 2010-07-11 at 01:19 PM.
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

    Threads I'm currently DMing:


    Threads I have successfully completed:

  23. - Top - End - #713
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    Gorgondantess's Avatar

    Join Date
    Aug 2008
    Location
    Not in a human colon

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    She almost groans as her zealous "high priest" begins his screeching, but at least it was to good effect. She accepts her new worshipers with a magnanimous wave of the hand, and nods to the high priest. "Quite alive. She's a fighter, that one... yes, I do need something: first, find me a suitable jail cell. I want something windowless at best, or small, high windows if needed, a small room with one sturdy, lockable door. Stone walls and floor preferable. Second, I want a large quantity of sturdy metal... iron, I suppose. An anvil would work. Bring these things to the room you've found."
    This done, she takes the sword and impales it up to the hilt on her hip as a makeshift sheathe, and takes her prisoner, wing and all, into the church. She looks for a likely room as she's described inside the church first, but if she can't find one, she lays Maurice on the altar, and strips off her armor. She puts it into a pile with the dismembered wing. She looks over these items, studying them for a scant moment (though always keeping an eye on the captive angel for signs of stirring), and she toys with the clay-like properties of the armor. Then, taking a latin phrase out of context, assimilates both the wing and the armour. Assuming this is done, she restructures her bones with a core of the metal from the armor, and replaces her moth-like wings with some similar to the angel's, though a ruddy brown color.
    All in all, this will probably take an hour, and it can wait once the room and metal is found: she takes her angel and swag to the room, takes the iron, and has her servants lock her in with Maurice. She fashions some heavy chains from the iron, binding them to the wall and then forming manacles around Maurice's arms and legs. This done, she finishes with her restructuring, then shadowfences with the sword until Maurice wakes up. She kneels by Maurice, and smiles broadly.
    Marceline Abadeer by Gnomish Wanderer

  24. - Top - End - #714
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    WhiteKnight777's Avatar

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

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Umber

    Umber sighed. Poison. Of course there would be poison - why hadn't he considered that? It was one of her favorite ploys. Of course, not having a working body for poison to affect for a few millenia had somewhat dulled his instincts in that regard. Frankly, he'd lost count of the times people had watched, struggling to hide their astonishment, as he quaffed glasses full more of wine than of poison - or of the times he'd fed on blood so tainted that it might as well have been venom.

    Growling, he told Mellita to wait, and concentrated, turning his Second Sight inward. He forced his mind along the twisting pathways of the blood, focusing on it, seeking out the impurities - he could visualize them, like an oily sheen gleaming in an unhealthy rainbow, spreading swiftly through his veins. With a roar of pain and effort, he sent the white fires of purging magic through his blood. He fell to his hands and knees in the muck, retching as he forced a purge from his body. Eventually he stood, pale and trembling, but alive.

    Of course, he thought, as he trudged through the disgusting sewer sludge, alert for any more hidden pitfalls, now he was even weaker than his normal mortal frame would suggest - and no doubt his love would know of his approach...

  25. - Top - End - #715
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    Lonna's Avatar

    Join Date
    Jan 2008
    Location
    MD, DC area
    Gender
    Female

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Pryene the Temptress

    Pyrene was relieved when Wulfric went along with her plan, and more relieved when her healing seemed to sweeten Wulfric's mood a bit.

    Quote Originally Posted by Wulfric View Post
    “I only have one question for you right now. What is your real name? I assume you have one, even if you barely recognize it as yours.”
    Pyrene paused, the faintest of sad smiles coming to her lips as she remembered. "Jaqueline. My mother called me Jaqueline."

    Then she snapped back to the present, and the sentimentality was gone as she launched into her tale.

    When Wulfric touched her hand at the end of her recitation, Pyrene's eyes, closed out of sheer exhaustion, snapped back open. Glancing briefly at her hand held between his, she met his eyes and sat very still as he spoke, like a wild animal deciding whether or not to flee.

    "Do not misunderstand me," she replied stiffly. "I took pride, yes, and pleasure as well, in my work as the Temptress. That I did not know my true power in no way lessens that fault, if it is as a fault that you choose to see it."

    Pulling her hand away from his, Pyrene finished coldly, "I do not want your pity." She hesitated and looked away, seeming to struggle with herself, then added reluctantly, "However, for Ariella's sake I will accept your help."

    [[OOC: After answering any other questions Wulfric has, Pyrene will want to go back to the room and rest. She may or may not actually have the strength to go anywhere at the moment, but she'll do her best not to let Wulfric help her while she thinks he's offering out of pity.]]
    I started a blog!
    Beware of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup...

    My Player Profile

    My current characters:
    Spoiler
    Show


    Thanks to Kasanip for the great avatar of Pyrene!
    Full version:
    Spoiler
    Show

  26. - Top - End - #716
    Titan in the Playground
     
    Archpaladin Zousha's Avatar

    Join Date
    Apr 2007
    Location
    Hastings, MN
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Hondshioh

    "Random murder doesn't do anyone a favor, Katashiko. Remember we're not trying to attract attention here, and even a beggar's death might cause notice. Besides, beggars see everything, even if they don't have eyes."

    He fishes out some money, at least enough to feed her for the day, and kneels down in front of her.

    "I'll help you, but in exchange, I need your help," he tells the beggar in a low voice.
    Last edited by Archpaladin Zousha; 2010-07-12 at 11:52 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."

  27. - Top - End - #717
    Bugbear in the Playground
    Join Date
    Nov 2005
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Ander Windrivver

    Ander surveys the room before speaking, taking in the faces of old friends, new acquaintances, and mortal enemies. Up to this point he'd been so sure of his course of action but now, with all these eyes upon him, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of doubt.

    I would like to thank you all for coming here today, he starts, clearing his throat. I look around this table today and I see many different faces. Old, young, each with their own unique experiences and histories. Despite our varied backgrounds, each an every one of us came together at some point in service of the Lord Athelion and Lady Miriam. Today, with the power given to me by Athelion the Light-Bringer and Miram the Valkyrie, I challenge the authority of the Council of Exarchs on the grounds that they have broken their sacred oaths.

    You all should have seen the testimony I gave to the Abbot and elders at Dawn's Hope under a truth spell so I will save you the gritty details of my recent history and get right to the point. The corruption of the highest levels of the Church is not a recent event, in fact it was going on 25 years ago when I left my position as Lord General of the holy crusade. I was poised to advance on the final level of Hell when the Council at the time recalled me and ordered me to hold my position. They thought that if I were to end the Crusade, the flood of men and wealth and public support would dry up. This was the first sign I had of the Council beginning to put their own desires over their spiritual obligations.

    Years later, after I was defeated in battle by a demon lord, Miriam and Athelion spoke to me in Heaven. They told me of the corruption that had been festering in the Church and sent me down to investigate it and root it out. I was presented with several divine gifts, which you can see me wearing today.
    Ander stands up and walks around to Oldak Chandler, Grandmaster of the Keepers of the Faith. He draws the sword Justice and lays it on the table in front of him. Grandmaster Chandler, I am told that you are an unmatched duelist. Surely one of your martial skill could identify that sword as being of godly make. He waits for Chandler's appraisal before resheathing the sword. So how was I, a divine messenger, treated when I came before the Council 15 years ago? Ander turns to Exarch Crane. I was captured, stripped of my possessions and carted off to Ironheart without so much as a kangaroo court.

    While in Ironheart, the Church's agents kept me chained to an unholy symbol of Slevir with a collar inscribed with demonic runes around my neck. It does not take a grandmaster to realize that the use of such magic is forbidden in the Church. And who was in charge of my internment? None other than the very Exarch Crane who sits before you. Exarch, would you care to tell the assembly what your favorite pastime was in Ironheart? No? Fine, I'll share. Ander unbuckles his gauntlets and arm armor and pushes up the chain and arming shirt underneath, revealing the long jagged scars on the insides of his arms. These scars are the result of being ritually bled for years while hanging upside down by my feet. Ander draws his dagger, slamming it into the center of the table. The good Exarch and his acolytes used that very dagger to do the deed.

    Ander rolls down his sleeves and begins rebuckling his armor as he continues to speak.

    If you have seen my testimony, you will know that the very bowels of Ironheart were controlled by a demonic cult which, with the assistance of the Warden, was devoted to summoning Azguloth himself into the world. You will also know that Ysora the Teacher was one of the sacrifices to be used and that without the combined efforts of myself and several prisoners not only will the ritual have succeeded but Ysora would have been slain. If the Council had agents deep in Ironheart, why would they not try to stop the Warden's plan? Did they forget their oaths to defend the world from Azguloth and his minions?

    After buckling on his last gauntlet, Ander retrieves his dagger from the center of the table. He walks over to the wall behind his seat where he has stowed the long bundle he brought from Dawn's Hope and lays it in the center of the conference table. And now one more thing. While I was at Dawn's Hope speaking with the Abbot and several other paladins, we were attacked by three beings. Ander slices open the bundle and whips off the wrapping. The corpse of one of the angelic abominations slides out, its head coming to rest in front of Exarch Crane. She appears to be an angel at first glance, doesn't she? Look closer at the runes etched all over her body. She was once an angel but what attacked us at the monastery were abominations. Bloodthirsty. Claiming to act on the orders of the Council. They attacked and several good paladins were slain before these angel beasts were destroyed. One of them, before she perished, spoke Exarch Greyson's name. Before coming here I sent another body to Grandmaster Winril Milner of the Guardians of the Eternal Mystery. When I am done I hope he can shed some light onto the nature of these creatures.

    Ander retakes his seat.

    I demand that the Council of Exarchs abdicate its power while a group led by the grandmasters of the Paladin Orders investigate its actions regarding Ironheart and these experiments on angels. If they are found guilty of corruption, a new Council will be formed. One that I hope will realign the Church with its sacred mandate to uphold the will of the Gods on earth and lead mankind to spiritual salvation.
    Quote Originally Posted by PhoeKun View Post
    Baerdog: super genius.

  28. - Top - End - #718
    Orc in the Playground
    Join Date
    Apr 2007
    Location
    The third dimension
    Gender
    Male2Female

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Sohssal

    "That's nowhere near the first time I've ever heard that," Sohssal said calmly as Nepton was pushed back through the Nexus. Then he went about collecting the shards of the crystal. There were so many things Sohssal had in mind now - finding a way to reopen the Nexus, studying what's left of the crystal, and other various...experiments inspired by what he'd seen in his time away. But first he'd have to repair his labs, and even before then he had to check on his remaining assets.

    Sohssal floated back out of the water over to where his associates should be. "Turns out there was an Elemental Lord here. I defeated him and his forces, but sadly the mess he made remains," he reported.

  29. - Top - End - #719
    Titan in the Playground
     
    The_Snark's Avatar

    Join Date
    Apr 2006

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Mar

    Mar shook her head. "I don't have anywhere else to be." She wondered why both William and his father assumed she would leave. Didn't they remember where they'd found her? Hiding in the barn and trying to find something to eat in the snow? She didn't want to go back to that.

    She nodded at William's suggestion, looking down at Caroline. She wasn't that tired, but she didn't mind lying down for a while either, and she wasn't sure she could get up without disturbing the sleeping girl. Mar lay back very carefully, and managed to ease Caroline down beside her without waking her. She didn't manage to get her wing out from beneath, but after a few moments she found she didn't mind much. Caroline was not very heavy.

    This accomplished, she stared at the ceiling and thought, and before long her thoughts turned to dreams. Would she have another of those oh-so-vivid dreams if she did get to sleep, she wondered? They didn't come every night, but they were coming more and more frequently. There had been three since she arrived here, yet she didn't recall having any at all before meeting Julian in Ironheart—about the time she had grown wings, in fact.

    Wings.

    Mar shivered slightly. She didn't mind the wings—well, she didn't like the way they made her stand out, but the wings themselves weren't bad. They didn't get in the way much, and they'd helped her keep warm back in the barn. What she'd really been afraid of, ever since she first saw them, was what they meant. Normal people did not grow wings. Even Mar, who was coming to realize that she had only the most tenuous idea of what was normal and what was not, knew this. So why her?

    The woman—no, say it; angel—the angel in those dreams had had wings. She hadn't just dreamed about her, she had dreamed being her. That, too, was not normal. But she couldn't be that person, because that person lay dead in Ironheart. Marisiel's face was not Mar's face.

    —that name! Why hadn't she noticed before? So similar. What was that supposed to mean?—

    In one dream, she'd been taken to Daddy and named Mar. Were those her real memories? If so, why the wings? Why did she also have Marisiel's memories, and Caroline's memories, why was she named for a dead angel?

    These were not restful thoughts, and for a long time she stared upwards, memory weighing down on her like a lead blanket; but eventually her mind wandered, and sleep claimed her. Just before it did, she remembered what had started her thinking about all this. She'd been telling the truth when she told Jacob she had nowhere important to be. She really didn't know where she would go if she left. But it felt somehow uncomfortable to say it.

    As if, without even knowing it, she'd lied.
    Last edited by The_Snark; 2010-07-17 at 05:36 AM.
    Avatar by GryffonDurime. Thanks!

  30. - Top - End - #720
    Troll in the Playground
     
    Inspectre's Avatar

    Join Date
    Jul 2007

    Default Re: Flight From Ironheart IC

    Dawn’s Hope - Monastery

    Baerdog7

    Throughout your speech, Crane remains silent, cocking an eyebrow or smiling smugly at certain points but otherwise politely allowing you to finish. After examining your sword, Oldak is forced to admit it does seem to be of divine manufacture, which he attests to with a simple, huffy “Yes.”

    When you finally sit back down, the abbot gestures at Crane.

    “Before we hear from Grandmaster Milner, Exarch Crane may present the Council’s rebuttal to Ander.”

    Remaining seated for the moment, Crane nods.

    “Thank you, Abbot. Now, after Ander’s firebrand speech, I am sure you are all wondering if it’s true – if the nagging black doubt at the back of all your minds is true. Is the Council corrupt – has been corrupt! For years now, and all of you have not really been doing Miriam and Athelion’s will because of it.”

    Crane’s shoulders slump.

    “It is with immeasurable sadness that I tell you Ander is correct – there is corruption within the Council.”

    Despite the fact that only the Grandmasters of each paladin order are present, ideally the wisest, strongest, and best members of their respective orders, pandemonium reigns within the chamber for the next several minutes. Eventually, however, order is restored as Crane holds up his hand, indicating that he wishes to continue.

    “However, as I was going to say, that only means that there is corruption within the Council – not that the Council is corrupt.”

    Crane smiles and shakes his head, his eyes focused on you.

    “Think about it. There have certainly been corrupt members of the Church over the many, many centuries of its existence. It is not inconceivable for one ambitious man to clamber up to the very top, somehow deceiving us all. But with the Council seats changing hands every so often – I was only just made an Exarch myself last month! – it would be impossible for a single corrupt group to maintain power – certainly over the span of many decades, as Ander is suggesting! Unless, of course, he is suggesting that the conspiracy is so vast, and so entrenched that the entire system has been corrupted. Make no mistake – were that so, we would all be lost.”

    Crane gives a false shudder at the idea, and then shakes his head firmly.

    “Fortunately, that is not the case, although I must wonder at Ander’s reasons for spreading this paranoia. I have my suspicions, which I will voice after I finish explaining myself.”

    Looking away from you, Crane digs through his robes, pulling out several sheets of paper. These he slaps down on the table in front of him dramatically, before sliding them over to the abbot.

    “What I have here.” He announced, pausing a moment for effect. “Is proof that it was just one, very devious and cautious, man who managed to fool us all for years. While still quite troubling, it is hardly the apocalyptic situation Ander has described, I think you will all agree, especially as the perpetrator has finally been caught.”

    The abbot skims the several pages, his face contorting into one of disbelief and quiet horror. Finally, he lowers the pages.

    “This is a confession from Exarch Quincy, stating that he has manipulated the Church for his own personal gain for years now, even long before he was ever made Exarch.”

    Crane bows his head, his voice low, a perfect match for that of the penitent man.

    “I am afraid that he has fooled us all. While appearing to be merely a somewhat ineffectual administrator, Quincy has secretly built up a web of intrigue throughout the Church. All for the sole intent of making him steadily grow in power, until at last even the Speaker was beneath his thumb. Thankfully, his plans were at last exposed and brought to light. Rest assured, he will be punished to the full extent of Church law, but for now he is isolated until we can be sure the last of his co-conspirators has been exposed.”

    Crane tilts his head and eyes you as he concludes, a knowing grin spreading across his face.

    “As even Ander here can attest, Quincy is one of the oldest members of the Church Council, having sat there even when he returned to us fifteen years ago. But rather than detail all of Quincy’s countless plots over the years, allow me to return to Ander . . . and his accusations against the entirety of the Council.”

    Although he folds his mouth up now into a neutral expression, you can still see the damnable smile in Crane’s eyes as he begins to spin his web of lies.

    “Let’s start at the very beginning, shall we? For those of you who are not aware of all the pertinent details, Ander Windrivver was our Lord General some thirty years ago, the result of a meteoric rise up through the Crusader ranks. Twenty-five years ago, he resigned from his position after disagreements with the Council, after which he was not seen again for nearly ten years. His reappearance was not widely known, due to being quickly spirited away to Ironheart, where he remained for the past fifteen years. These are all historic facts, which are widely known, at least in some circles. However, what many of you may not know are the details surrounding Ander’s past.”

    Settling back into his chair, Crane folds his hands in front of him, as if delivering a dissertation.

    “About forty years ago, Ander Windrivver was not a paladin, nor a warrior of any sort. He was a farmer, living in the small town of Fallenshire. One day, he returned home to find his home in flames and his entire family – brothers, sisters, parents, wife, child, and even dog butchered by demons. Shortly thereafter, he joined the Crusade, not an entirely unexpected reaction. What is unexpected is his motivation for doing so.”

    Crane digs into his robes again, producing another set of papers, which he also hands off to the Abbot.

    “These are transcripts of several conversations Ander had with guards within Ironheart. During these conversations, he claimed that he had received visions from Miriam and Athelion after returning to the ruin of his home. In them, he led the forces of the Crusade to victory over the hellspawn. In another conversation, he claimed that after he died, he met with the Divine Couple, and was asked by Them to return and cleanse the Church of corruption. Certainly, from anyone else these statements would be considered utterly mad delusions of grandeur, but Ander has some proof – namely that sword of divine manufacture. So, if these statements are not mere madness, what possibly other explanation could exist for Ander’s return?”

    Crane folds his hands in front of his face, hiding the smile spreading across his face as he closed in for the kill.

    “Allow me to postulate a different history. Ander said that he was reunited with his family in the Heavens after his death, despite them being slaughtered by demons. We can confirm that this part, at least, of his story is true – his family really is up in the Heavens. But, we all know demons love nothing more than to drag unwilling souls down into the Hells, so how is it that they were spared? I’ll tell you – Ander cut a deal with them.”

    Again, a low murmur of shock and anger passes through the chamber, although the sentiment was still building, rather than exploding the way Crane’s previous admission had.

    “You might want to hurry up and explain. My fists are getting itchy.” Belroar growls, prompting Crane to hold up his hand.

    “Allow me to finish first, and perhaps even you will admit it’s a plausible alternative to Ander being here to tear the entire Church down to the ground under the orders of Miriam and Athelion. So, Ander makes a deal with the demons who slaughtered his family – the release of their souls in return for his aid. They agree, and Ander joins the Crusade for the explicit purpose of destroying it from the inside out.”

    The low murmurs trade places for snorts of disdain, and Belroar actually chuckles.

    “What, destroy the Crusade by going on to become the most successful lord general in its history?”

    “Yes. A success built on the deaths of thousands upon thousands of his fellow paladins, who were all willingly sent to their damnation! Isn’t that how Ander conducted his battles – victory at any cost, even if it meant eternal damnation for countless brave young men and women? Even if Ander made a simple exchange agreement with the demons, one mortal soul for another, they recouped their investment ten thousandfold!”

    Crane shook his head.

    “Before Ander came along, we had only made slow progress in the Crusade. With him as the most successful Lord General of all time, we made it down to the gates of the Ninth level, at the cost of one of the highest casualty rates in the Crusade’s entire history! Ander’s reckless progress stretched our supply lines thin, and we were dangerously vulnerable to a counterattack – a fact that was proven, was it not, after Ander left and we were forced to give all our gained ground and more back to the hellspawn? It would be easy to assume Ander simply didn’t care about the fate of those under his command, but what if he did? What if he intended to lure the entire Crusade down into the darkest depths of the Hells, the Ninth level, and present them all to his lord and master, Azguloth Himself?”

    Here, a loud shout of outrage comes from Belroar and several others, but Crane continues to shout out his points.

    “Have any of you seen the predicted casualty results from the Ninth’s level invasion!? Even if everything went smoothly and Ander’s motives were pure, we would have lost over half of our entire force! Half of an entire generation of crusaders, damned and lost forever! All so Ander could go down and what, fight Azguloth within his own divine home and defeat him one-on-one? MADNESS! The entire council at the time balked, and when Ander realized he could not convince us of his mad plan he left in “disgust”!”

    At last, the shouting grew completely out of control, and the abbot was forced to slam the hilt of his sword onto the table repeatedly in order to bring the madhouse that the chamber had become.

    “Order! I demand immediate order! There will be civility in this chamber room or I will declare an immediate recess until the next day so we can all learn how to compose ourselves!”

    Scowling, the abbot nodded at Crane once more after the outburst had finally died.

    “Continue, Exarch Crane. But please, try to keep the inflammatory statements to a minimum.”

    Crane smiles as he nods.

    “Of course. I am sorry that the truth is so hard to accept. In any event, after his dismissal from the head of the Crusade, Ander wandered aimlessly. Until one day, he was approached by one of the few remaining demon lords, and brought down to ninth level of the Hells for a conversation. Although the attempt to overextend the Crusade had failed, Azguloth had greater aspirations, and now set His sights on the Church itself. Ander was the perfect weapon to accomplish this – a charismatic war hero that most of the crusaders would gladly die for – they had already pledged to sacrifice their souls in darkness, so what greater sign of devotion was there?”

    Crane spread his hands wide.

    “The plan was a simple one. Ander would return under the guise of being sent by Miriam and Athelion, here to “purify” the Church. He would be given various gifts to help with this illusion – you did say his weapon was of divine make, did you not Oldak? Meanwhile, Quincy would pull in the opposite direction, and together the two of them would tear the Church apart. Much as is happening now, wouldn’t you say?”

    Crane smirked as he drummed his fingers on the table.

    “Of course, Ander didn’t consider the idea that the Forger of Oblivion had other plots spinning at the same time. Quincy was made aware that Ander would be coming to challenge us directly, and convinced us to lay a trap. How else would we have been perfectly ready to capture him when he appeared before the Council? At that point, the Council realized the threat that he posed, and it was an easy matter for Quincy to convince them all to send him to Ironheart, out of sight and out of mind. We’ve all already seen the damage Ander’s mere resurfacing fifteen years ago caused – remember Karth? Can you imagine what would have happened if Ander’s arrogance had not caused him to appear before the Council right away, instead of attempting to build an army first?”

    Crane leans back in his chair, looking quite smug now.

    “Once at Ironheart, unknown to the rest of the Council, Quincy handed Ander over to the cultists lurking in the depths. Despite how far he had fallen, Ander was still a paladin, and his blood was useful – particularly since Azguloth had injected power into his blood that would help the cultists with their goal: summoning the Forger of Oblivion once more into this world! If He could cross over into this world personally, there would be no need to manipulate the Church into civil war – He could crush us all Himself! Thankfully, the plan failed, and so the original plan went ahead with Ander’s release: destroy the Church through civil war. Luckily, we have finally enough evidence to discover Quincy’s role in all this, and to prevent him from doing any further harm. Now the only question is – will you allow Ander to win, and irrevocably divide the Church anyway?”

    Again, shouts echoed throughout the chamber as each Grandmaster attempted to be heard, all at once. Crane, for his part, simply sat back and smiled.

    Archpaladin Zousha

    “Oh fine, have it your way. Coddle the human filth all you like – there’ll always be more than you can help. But I suppose that’s true of our situation in general, and still you insist on trying to save the world. Fine, have it your way - I’ll be over here, watching and rolling my eyes.”

    True to her word, Katashiko moves over to a nearby street wall and leans up against it, an annoyed expression on her face. You pay her little attention, save that she is still there, while you approach the beggar and offer the coins. At your words, the beggar looks up and smiles.

    “Oh, finally a young man who understands the tenements of his faith. So many others just walk on past, like I’m not even here.” The old blind woman shakes her head and shrugs her bony shoulders.

    “Oh well, I suppose it’s better than the alternative – in other cities some bored dandy would beat me to death, simply because he could. But enough about me.”

    The old woman pats the hard packed ground next to her.

    “Come sit down. It’ll look like you’re lecturing me, and no one will pay any further attention.”

    The woman waits until you’ve seated yourself, and the nods, her voice a harsh whisper.

    “So, since old Emma must sing for her supper, what is it that you’d like to hear?”

    Stonefall

    The_Snark Theater: Return of the_snark

    The_Snark

    Disturbed by your thoughts of recent events, you find it difficult to drift off into sleep. But eventually, inevitably, do you so, and find yourself caught in the web of yet another memory/dream of the angel woman.

    It was different than last time, even if it was the same angel woman as always, and in the same place as your last dream. Something had happened to the great city lying spread out behind you – war had happened. A long, disastrous war that had dragged on, and on, and on for many years. At least, that was how the mortals viewed it – from up in the Heavens, the angels viewed it all as scarcely longer than the blink of an eye. And now the war was finally going to end, as you cut off the head of the beast at least.

    Titania, Queen of Phaedra, had to die. And not just die, but have her soul be drawn into a crystal and imprisoned for all eternity within it. Otherwise, she might claw her way back up from the Hells, or make even more dark pacts with the remains of Azguloth’s forces – more and more demons had been seen amongst the ranks of Phaedra’s troops. The very act of imprisoning a mortal’s soul in such a way was inimical to everything you believed . . . and yet you understood the necessity.

    Titania was by far the most powerful human mage the world had ever seen. It was largely by her efforts, and her efforts alone, that Phaedra had withstood the constant assault of the forces of the Heavens for the past ten mortal years. Miriam had been seriously considering taking an even more drastic step – destroying her soul utterly – until Istomilo had proposed the soul crystal imprisonment as an alternative.

    Below you, the massive city of Phaedra, some sections destroyed and others transformed into fortresses, lay waiting. Down there, the remains of the kingdom’s people were waiting for the final battle to begin – you could see the flickering of lights from the various protective wards they were continuously erecting, and the screams of fresh demons being summoned forth into the world. Demons and devils, once banished from the world entirely save for a few isolated pockets – what had the humans been thinking!? Above you, stretched the great army of the Heavens, countless angels arrayed in full battle gear, ready to descend upon the city and bring the war to its inevitable conclusion. Beside you were your sisters, Ysora and Hephestia, apprehensive and thrilled about the coming battle, respectively. And finally mounted on a Pegasus directly next to you was Istomilo, starring wistfully down at his former home.

    Just like with his idea for a crystal prison for his queen’s soul, Istomilo’s treacherous efforts had served you well the entire war. He had developed countermeasures to each new magical defense and attack that Titania and her subjects thought of, and he handed them over without protest. He did not at any point, however, fight directly against his people, always remaining back from the battle. Why he was here now, for the death of his wife and the abolishment of his homeland, you had no idea. Perhaps he didn’t even fully understand himself, either.

    “We will break through into the palace directly. You are to isolate the palace grounds from the rest of the city, and prevent anyone from coming to Titania’s aid. Perhaps after we display the dead body of their queen to them, the rest of the humans will submit to the will of the gods. If they do not, you are to continue to execute them until all resistance has ended.” Hephestia instructs to one of her lieutenants, who swiftly nods and flies back to the rest of her unit to relay the orders.

    “How did it come to this?” Istomilo mutters quietly, his voice thick with grief. So quiet was his whisper of despair, that only you were able to hear it, despite Ysora and Hephestia also being nearby. But then, Hephestia was being readying the army for the final assault, and Ysora seemed to be meditating. Perhaps if they had not been distracted, or had simply cared to hear, they likewise would have heard. Then again, did even you care about how one human traitor felt?


    The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

    Iethloc

    Looking at the watery stairs you had just floated up out of, Shanks nods and whistles appreciatively.

    “Boyo, I’ll say! If this were a ship I’d be trying to remember the prayers I was taught as a boy right about now!”

    For a moment, Shanks looks thoughtful, as he ***** an eyebrow at you.

    “I shouldn’t be trying to remember those prayers right now, right?”

    “So – we’ve cleaned up all but the mess. Does that mean we get a chance to rest now in your no doubt opulent furnishings upstairs, or is there no rest for the wicked?” Roger says, directed his appropriate body to stand up from where it had been sitting up against the wall. For her part, Omega was silent, kneeling a short distance away, her eyes closed and what might pass for a meditative expression on her demonic visage. Even so, there was something about her that seemed drained – since leaving Ironheart she had grown increasingly withdrawn and hesitant in using her powers to their full extent.

    Perhaps the climatic battle had been more tiring than expected – you, certainly, were immune to exhaustion save the depletion of your magical reserves. Roger was much the same now, whether he cared to admit it or refuse by clinging to his old human nature. And Shanks . . . well, Shanks was unreadable for the most part yet, having just joined your little troupe, although he seemed human enough.

    On the pro side for resting right now, you had cleared all known threats from your manor, and to a lesser extent, the island. The pirates would likely leave as soon as they could finish fixing their ship, clearly having no desire to try your patience further. The elementals and demons were all either slain or driven back into their cages. And, while your laboratory was still underwater, there was nothing done there that would be adversely affected to spending another evening submerged in seawater. On the other hand, you had no need for physical rest anymore, and some of those ideas for new experiments were really quite intriguing . . .

    Outside the Capital

    Lonna

    At your cold words, Wulfric jumps in his seat as if you had slapped him.

    “I wasn’t . . .” He begins, and then pauses as he lowers his head and thinks back.

    “Okay, maybe I was a little. I guess you don’t like the soft touch then, eh?”

    Wulfric chucks.

    “Alright, fine. I still think you could have found another, more respected, line of work – but I suppose your situation required the money.”

    Wulfric thinks a moment, and then stands up with a slight groan.

    “Well, I think I’ve had enough revelations for one day. Why don’t we each get some sleep, and then start figuring out how to find your sister in the morning? I’ll rent a room here, so you can go back to the other inn alone. I’d prefer to wake up tomorrow morning with my clothes still here.”

    Wulfric grins as if he had just said the most amusing thing.

    “Little joke. Anyway, here is a little spending money, in case you wanted a nightcap or something. Don’t spend it all in one place.”

    Wulfric approaches you, laying a trio of gold coins out on the table in front of you. Some nightcap! As he leans over the table next to you, he pauses for a moment, looking into your eyes. His face is unreadable, but the momentary pity seems to be gone, replaced by . . . something else. After a moment, he merely smiles sadly.

    “You are going to be here tomorrow morning, aren’t you?”

    The grinning smile returns, although it seems more forced now.

    “Because I’ll hunt you down again if I have to!”

    The smile fades, and Wulfric steps back from the table.

    “Good night.” He says simply, and then walks out of the room, leaving you alone with the gold coins.

    WhiteKnight777

    If Mellita said anything during your struggle to remain conscious and therefore alive, you either failed or chose not to hear it. Indeed, all of your senses were currently dulled, and remained that way after purging the toxin from your blood. You were drained – a sensation you had not felt for quite some time. In a way, it was oddly appropriate – the Fianna of old had done much the same to the old you on several occasions, back at the start of all this. The challenge was part of what had made it all worth it – and even now, you were wearily rallying to meet tonight’s competition.

    On the plus side, it seemed followed the contact poison, Fianna had been relatively confident in her escape. You encountered no other traps barring your way, and were able to follow Fianna’s path through patches of scuffed filth, lingering traces of magic, and the occasional whiff of her scent that still managed to cut through the overpowering stench that only continued to grow as you ventured deeper into the sewer network.

    At last, you find yourself down in what had to be the oldest section of the sewer, a place that was now thankfully free of fresh filth, and had only the barest amount of odorless crust everywhere. Even so, the stench from the above, still fully-functional sewers, seemed to settle and concentrate here. For a moment, you wondered how Fianna could stand it – and then you realized that being emotionless, she probably didn’t care one way or the other even if she did smell it. It was just a scent with no particular emotional context attached, good or bad.

    It was good that you had finally found the entrance to Fianna’s lair – you must have spent at least the better part of an hour down here, following the trail. Although the stench’s effect on you had finally begun to fade, it was still starting to give you a nagging headache, and your back was beginning to protest being bent double from the low ceilings. Annoying reminders of your new status as a mortal man once more – or, you noted with a touch of irony, that you were getting old. Hah!

    In any event, there would still be plenty of time to fix that once you had fixed Fianna, one way or another. Unfortunately, here the path of her footsteps were all jumbled up, mixed together in her comings and goings – she had apparently been using this little secret place as her private hideaway for quite some time. It was therefore impossible to know if she were actually in at the moment, or out causing some more mischief. What you did know was that the secret stone door leading into her chambers from this ancient sewer was magically trapped. It could be a simple warding spell, designed to let her know whenever someone was trying to break in, or it could be the trigger for yet another overly complex death trap. Either way, you would have to deal with it – or the consequences of triggering it, at least – before you could proceed into Fianna’s secret sanctum.

    A Meaningless Speck of a Town Soon to be Even Less

    Gorgondantess

    As it turns out, the very church you had assaulted did have a basement. One of the rooms fit your specifications quite well, being a former root cellar that was quickly converted into a windowless prison. The door was unfortunately not very sturdy – being nothing more than an interior wooden door – but with a little extra scrap iron you were able to reinforce it with iron bars at least. In any event, the strong iron chains you were locking around Maurice’s wrists and ankles would keep her away from the door. *If* she were able to break free of the chains, than any sort of door would likely be only a minor inconvenience to her.

    Absorbing the metal into your own body was an . . . unusual experience, both unpleasant and comforting. Situated around your bones underneath your flesh, the metal continued to resonant faintly – the sensation akin to what humans might call “teeth rattling”, only across your entire body. At the same time . . . somehow it just felt right, and a reassuring warmth spread out from the metal, as if it realized it were home . . . very strange. In any event, the metal should ensure that your bones were resistant to breaking, although there was still not enough metal present to make them completely unbreakable. Still, the next angel that attempted to slice your limbs off would be in for an unexpected surprise.

    It took some time for your captive to awaken – apparently she had lapsed into some sort of healing trance. Her wing was still gone, although the ragged stump was starting to sprout new feathers – at its current rate the wing very well might be back to normal in a week. The rest of the angel’s injuries had already faded, leaving her perfect face once again whole, instead of bruised and burned.

    Even so, she came back into consciousness slowly – your disabling blow had done its job well. Finally, with a low groan, Maurice opened her eyes, looking at your leering face a moment before tracking to the metal chains. She slumps then – although you suspect less in defeat and more out of a desire to maintain her serene façade.

    “So . . . now what? Are you going to have your lackeys offer me up as a sacrifice to you? Or are you simply so desperate for intelligent conversation that you have seen fit to make my stay in this village permanent?”
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

    Threads I'm currently DMing:


    Threads I have successfully completed:

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •