Oasis is Hell - Exalted 2ed - IC

[Gargulec]

Rude Awakening

Rose

It was hard to say when it is the night-time in Oasis... or in Malfeas at general. Of course, tomescu howled at the beginning and the closing of the day, but what was the difference exactly? Ligier shone the same, night and day, and that diminutive moon of the Hell's sky circled the Green Sun all the time, and besides was so fickle that Luna seemed to be a paragon of stability compared to her. Only the Lawgivers could easily and precisely determine the time of the day or night, but for every other citizen of Malfeas, setting time to go to sleep was a true nightmare - especially given how laws of Cecelyne forbade clocks.

Yes, maintaining a sleep schedule was hardly possible in this blasted realm.

Yet, people and demons still slept - Hell or no, the body wore down the same, weariness and fatigue bringing even the mighty Second Circle Souls to bed from time to time.

Abyssals were not exempt from this, too. Most of the time, that is. And so, even the mighty Zsofika-vanquisher, Rose, had to lay her head down a few idle hours after getting back from the trip to Amalion, that was both tedious and fruitless for her.

Spoiler

Show

I am assuming that Rose had the opportunity to fill her bladder with some blood from a street bar in Malfeas or something like that, so she is at full motes right now.

There were disquiet dreams in this sleep for her, ones that barely had any coherency or shape, but leaved an unshakable feeling of wrongness long after they had passed back in forgetfulness. Dreams of chains and cages, bottomless dungeons and oubliettes that allowed no sun inside. Dreams of the shadows dancing wildly, revelling to the music of a might hunting horn, tearing themselves free from the true matter that bound them before. And there more uneasy dreams, too. Of beings rapping at the door, lurking at the threshold, binding one in his sleep...

...small candle-flame sparked in the darkness, sizzling quietly and smoking heavily.

'Morning' long unheard voice spoke 'Rose.'

The abyssal opened her eyes to see a very unpleasant sight. Not that it was horrible, but it - or he, to be exact - was a being that seldom portended good occurrences.

Handsome, young boy, white haired and red eyed, with a playful smile dancing on his lips and a dark, round bruise on his brow, clearly visible in the dim light of the candle he was holding. The One Who Caresses the Final Shadows was his name, and he was, just like Rose, a Deathknight at the service of the Lover Clad in the Raiment of Tears. She remembered his without much clarity, there was nothing really extraordinary about him that piqued her interest back in Creation. Yet another Day-caste, a snarking assassin of the kind that populated the cheap stories in dozens. He also had a strange taste in chains, wax, ropes and other such... things, thought that was hardly surprising, given his liege. And contrary to Rose, he had not defected.

Which, in the current situation, he really did not bode well. Especially as the Dusk-caste realized that the last part of her dream was very, very real, with thick, black iron manacles shut around her wrists and ankles, spreading her on the bed.

'You could drop your guard down from time to time, sweet' he sighed, with a complaint in his voice 'sneaking up on you had been a nightmare. And don't mind the restraints, they are not half as bad as many paint them, really.'

Delicately, he put the alight candle on Rose's flesh, the soft wax clinging tightly to the skin, and starting to slowly drip around. He picked the spot expertly, the sensation was really, really unpleasant.

'Now, please, do tell me where the book is, would you kindly?' he asked in a beseeching tone 'it is quite valuable thing, you know, dear...' with an excessive motion, he snapped open a small, dark switchklave 'I do believe that you might not be in the best position to hold it right now.'

[Zoronos]

Or Better than Kings, Gods

Bartrand folded his hands in front of himself, and chuckled quietly. A massive structure of light winked into being in the air, traced in lines of bright vivid green and dark cobolt.

He gestured to the Night caste sitting to his right, "Indeed, perhaps this is of no interest to Makarios." Bartrand looked quite pleased with himself. However, absent deep occult knowledge, the diagram was likely to go completely over the heads of those assembled. Likely Punch was the only one to grasp it in its totality. The construct of light was a breakdown of the motic structure of the drug itself, decomposed into its constituent essence. "As you can clearly see, this is not just a hallucinogen. It still requires some refinement, but it is also a cure for a hangover, something sorely lacking in the demon realm. Also."

The diagram spun, and enlarged, emphasizing a small bright yellow section, an odd pattern or perhaps a symbol. "I think perhaps you would recognize this, Jade. The mark of Makarios, encoded into the drug itself. Normally, he requires his imprint upon the flesh of a subject to harvest their dreams, but it allowing them to ingest it should work just as well to imprint it, quite temporarily, onto their insides. Any hallucinations the drug causes would be sent right on to Makarios for processing into his works."

He leaned back, and the diagram zoomed back out to once more encompass the entire structure of the drug. "Of course, if Makarios is not interested in selling a narcotic hallucinogen that cures hangover, and as a byproduct resulting in people paying him for the privileged of dreaming for him, then we can simply use the favors you alluded to previously to secure the pocket."

[Flare]

Rude Awakening

Rose shook her head. She was still rather sleepy, at the least. She idly pondered her bed-head, though she let the man talk. When the wax hit her skin, she gritted her teeth- not a single fang was shown in her mouth, but she didn't speak a word, though the smell of burning wax was a bit annoying. He probably used something hot because of how used to the cold she was- having died in a blizzard-, then again, maybe he wasn't that smart. She idly pondered if she should purchase a shift for when people broke into her room. It was painful, but she did not scream. As he finished, she sighed, then smiled, an actual smile.

"Hello again, little Boy." she said, finally. She'd have brushed her hair back if she could, but instead she simply stayed still. "I do so apologize for being hard to sneak up on. I suppose it is simply a remnant of when I was still working for the Lover. With little Boys like you attempting to get into my rooms at night, It is only natural I became a light sleeper." She betrayed no signs of fear, or even caring that she was chained up by a loyalist from her betrayed Deathlord. She eyed the knife with a grin, then sighed "As for the book..." "Which book do you mean? If it is your diary of girls and men you have had willing relationships with, instead of relying on your chains, You should ask Oramus or perhaps Nara-O. I can't say to have an interest in what you do in your rooms at night alone." she said, twisting one of her hands, it would be a wave-off if she had her free hands. She idly considered strangling him with his own chains, but decided to wait for a time.

[Sallera]

Brass Murders, Quicksilver Motives

Tewi nods, pulling on his gloves and tapping the lens he wears over one eye to send half his vision ranging far above and ahead of them. "Not too far from here, looks like." Of course, walking anywhere in Malfeas takes longer than it seems it should, but now that he knows where he's going, Tewi can spot trouble before they reach it, and while demons do not always respond to the same triggers as mortals, he has plenty of experience in judging when and where violence is likely to erupt. The somewhat circuitous route he leads the others on is remarkably free of unnecessary disruptions; certainly the crowd is as thick as before at times, but the journey for those whose perception is at street level lacks the worst sights of their earlier mad dash through the city. Change this? You've certainly got your work cut out for you, Vana.

Eventually, they reach a low silver wall, and Tewi reaches into his armour and withdraws an unset hearthstone, touching it to the metal. A ripple spreads outward from the point of contact, rebounding from the outline of an unseen door, which slides out of sight into the wall. He steps through, beckoning the others inside, before touching the stone to the wall again to seal it. "Welcome to the Once-Soaring Tower. Mind the walls, and don't trust that everything's where it looks to be." Inside the wall reveals only a second and third ring, each slightly higher, and Tewi travels precisely halfway around each ring before revealing the door. The center of the third appears to be only a flat plane of basalt, but he walks carefully forward, swinging down into the ground and briefly vanishing from sight before his head pops up above the illusion. "Ladder's right here. It's a bit of a drop."

'A bit of a drop' turns out to be a shaft some two hundred feet deep, the walls carved in bulging lines that appear to represent dripping sap or flowing water, but nonetheless form an obvious geomantic pattern, funneling essence from the rings above to the manse below. The bottom consists of yet another silver ringwall, but once past the door, the route becomes slightly surreal. The first room appears to be a well-appointed entry hall; Tewi scratches his head, as though he's never seen it before, then shrugs and gestures to the various sculpted coathooks and weapon racks, tucking the hearthstone away inside his armour again. Three doors, clearly visible now, lead further into the manse; he taps each one in sequence, generating a series of chimes, then opens the one with the lowest tone, revealing a long and gently curving hallway. Each door he passes receives the same one-knuckle tap; he appears to be navigating by the sounds produced, moving deeper into the manse each time.

A simple glass garden, each blossom a fragile construct; a tiny closet that somehow fits nine doors and not a single shelf; a traditional hall of mirrors, every reflection a different shade, producing an incongruous blast of colour; a workshop, well-kept but mostly empty; a second long hallway, wider than the first and seeming to form at least a partial ring around what lay before. Finally, he opens the last door to reveal a small dining area, with a silver table that seems to grow out of the floor and some rather out-of-place blue cushioned chairs. A small counter and several cupboards cover the back wall; Tewi considers tea before realizing anything he could make would pale in comparison to Amalion's offerings, and extracts half a bottle of his swiftly-dwindling stocks of Creation-sourced wine and a set of glass goblets from the depths of a cupboard instead.

Waving his guests to seats, he pours for everyone present, offering a small grin and a raised glass. "Sorry for the inconvenience; this place is a bit odd, but it suits me. Now, should we start with the obvious matter?" He nods to Zsofika, hoping to deal with the question that required planning before the one that might end up leading to violence. "Alveua seems to be after you, and pretty dedicated to the prospect. Do you know why?"

[Gargulec]

At the Market

The guard gulped, and motioned one of his companions to open the gates, while trying to bow, ogle and smile at the new Oriasta simultaneously, to the effect that quit description, though probably the word "grotesque" could be used to at least get close to the infinite depths of awkwardness achieved there.

But the original goddess' and Lunar's attention was placed elsewhere, at the gates. As soon as the human pulled a long, engraved lever, a green spark jolted through the sculpted muscles of the demons bound within brass.

And in a heartbeat after that, they have all opened their mouths and begun to wail, their voices infernally beautiful, so perfectly bringing to you the suffering that was their fate for now and for ever. The vitriol-tainted sinew constricted, and to the dirge, a new sound was added, of brass grinding against basalt - it should be a disharmony, yet it was just another tune of a grand orchestra of unthinkable torment the gate was.

Ah, the wonder of Ligier craft! No one but him knows so well the similarity between the torture and the ecstasy, between what is abhorrent and what is beautiful. Nowhere but on his anvil (and in the minds of a few Lawgivers of the Old Age) had the suffering been forged into perfection, tears of loss catalysed into the songs of pleasure.

Truly, the gate was a wonder - and as disgusting as it was, one could not help but to marvel.

The streets of Malfeas opened before the Lunar and the goddes, their pulse and song inviting them to join the wild revelry. It was a time of a carnival, after all. The first one in the realm of the Green Sun since the dawning of time.

The demons paid little attention to Oriasta. She was a goddess, they could see it easily, but even as a half-naked flower-lady, she was one of the most normal-looking members of the crowd, and the protection of the huge, burly Lunar to her side made her more or less safe - from deeds, at the very least, because words... well, even the Full Moon could not shield it from them.

'Gaia's whore!'

'...we'll get you, wretch!'

'Unquestionables notice you, traitorous bitch, and may all your bells fall silent!'

And more, more, more. Some demons lobbed junk when they could, others screeched and hissed. A goddess. A traitor to the Titains. Worst kind of a being, something deserving only to be desecrated, rendered down. And if not for Fury, some of them would have made the necessary steps already.

[MrPrim]

Oriasta sighed as she walked, her eyes focused forward, attempting to ignore the invectives of the demonic crowd.

Demons. Worse than elementals, they were, the fleas and parasites of the yozi. Their jeers were and insults did not phase her, they were the enemy in every way, and breaking from their side was one of the few important and momentous things that she had done in her entire millennia of existence.

Still, her green hand found Fury’s arm and pulled herself closer to the Full Moon.

She was scared. And angry.

The Dragon would pay for this sort of slight.

[AmberVael]

Brass Murders, Quicksilver Motives

It felt odd, following Tewi deeper into the manse. The dragon-blood's lair was entirely unknown to her, but each trick and wonder felt familiar, a series of secrets that were clearly his own, but felt intrinsically identical to Vana's own craft. Smoke and mirrors, puzzles with an unseen answer in plain sight; a stage magician's craft worked into a powerful structure and a home. Her insatiable curiosity prompted her to examine each as carefully as possible... but at the same time, she felt as if she were intruding, a thief stealing the work of another.

"It's no trouble at all." Vana answers Tewi distantly, her gaze moving slower than the rest of her, only reluctantly pulling away from the rest of the manse to focus on the current room and her companions. "I can't say I feel out of place myself..."

She leaves it at that, however. His interest was largely directed at Zsofika at the moment, and she felt it was better to let him carry the conversation if he was the one starting it.

[Gargulec]

Or Better than Kings, Gods

Forsaken Sword took a closer, longer look at the map presented by Punch, quickly adding a number of lines on his own, scribbling some bizarre names beneath them.

'Yes, that would work' he muttered finally, leaning back. 'I shall dispatch a raiding party in a few days. You shall get a warning first. Do you want me to lead the defences, or do you want fame for yourself?'

'I would suggest that you do it yourself, Adamu' the Eclipse advised 'The stronger your position within Bartertown is, the better.'

'True enough' the Bronze Tiger agreed, nodding 'I shall message you with all the attack details in advance, as well as the force composition. It should be enough for you to organize the defences accordingly.'

'You also make a fine point of creating a public face for our... organization, but maybe we can assume that this has been already accounted for, thankfully' the Eclipse smiled, switching the map back to the general view of the Oasis, and then quickly zoomed in to the Slagheap, to a large, round amphitheatre not far from the tower you were in. 'The new Deliberative. Opening session of the Upper House should take place during the Calibration, if no delays in the preparations happen. This means that we can present ourselves as one of the circles there, certainly a very influential one, with an agenda of supporting the development of the Oasis' infrastructure.'

'This, however' Forsaken Sword sighed 'makes all our actions much more obvious and also can lead to an easy exposure of our conspiracy, given how every Solar will be able to draw a clear connection between the each of us. I insist on never becoming an official body. Instead, I propose that we involve ourselves into the factionism of the Deliberative, yielding a bit of our influence to various parties, so that we gain trust and renown, while, officially, staying in a different political options.'

The Regent eyed Forsaken Sword with surprised, not expecting the Dawn to disagree with him. It did not shatter his composure, though.

'And I allow myself to suggest that we put this matter under a vote' he stated. 'Given how we are a circle of peers, this seems to be the only fitting way of resolving such conflicts.'

'Fair enough' the warlord nodded again. 'Let us resolve all other manners, and then we can decide together on our course.'

'Regarding manses' the Regent quickly tapped on a small curio at his belt, checking something 'we should soon receive a charter for up to forty baxians of manse power, if Amalion stamps the papers without any modification. Given the limitations on the demesne capping imposed by the Pillars, that should make thirteen permits for manses three-baxian manses and one for a single-baxian manse. How many permits do you want to distribute among your peers and subjects?'

'I shall ask for one, preferably the least powerful one' Forsaken Sword replied 'as soon as I am done with Arianna, I should give her a small manse to occupy her while I look for a better applications of her skill.'

'I need none personally, though I would like to have a few permits to use as a bargaining chips. Three should be enough' Jade spoke up again, turning to Bartrand, of all people. The sudden movement, even if minimal seemed overly expressive for her. 'Makarios may even go for it, but I remain sceptical, Copper Spider. This is however a genuinely interesting design. Could you modify the dream-transmitting procedure so that it can be targeted at someone else? A poison that grants access to people's dreams would be of invaluable use for me.'

Brass Murders, Quicksilver Motives

The hunter demon did not take the opportunity to sit on a cushioned chair, choosing the floor instead, sitting down cross-legged on the cold surface. Maybe she was feeling unworthy of sitting in the presence of her masters, and maybe she just scoffed such comforts. The angylkae, however, quickly climbed into one of the armchairs, putting her knees to her chin, curling up and hiding her face in shame. She was not silent, she could not be, after all, but only her music spoke for her.

'Alveua?' the demoness shrugged, combing what little was left of her hair with the many-jointed fingers. 'That drunkard insect of the Dragon?' she would have spat, if not for the fact that even she understood that it would in a rather poor taste. So she just chuckled dryly 'I have never crossed my paths with her, but she's out of the Shadow, she does not need a reason to harm someone apart from his fancy.'

She accepted the cup of wine, but did not drink it, instead passing the glass to the angylkae.

'Tiela?' she spoke with uncanny softness in her voice - and a little bit grating, as if the Kite Flute herself had problems with expressing such emotions. The care had been genuine, but the way she was showing it seemed somewhat stifled. 'Have a drink. One of the last vintages of Creation'

Wrapping her long fingers around the glass, angylkae raised her head for a short moment. She had a pretty face, like most demons of her kind do, and you have noticed, that while torn and stained, her dress used to be of a higher quality than most demons wear, and the elegant, glass necklace on her neck was crafted with much skill. Certainly, she was a servant to someone wealthy and influential. Also caring enough to provide his (or hers) demon with such items.

'Thank you' she whispered finally, taking a sip. Her voice was hushed and weak, but grateful beyond description.

[Zoronos]

Or Better than Kings, Gods

Bartrand shook his head sadly at the night caste, and with a wave of his hands zoomed the massive light-diagram in on the section containing the sigil.

He pointed quite emphatically at the section containing the mark, and his voice held a tone that was a combination of resignation and scientific intensity. "No. The magic that accomplishes the dream transfer is a property of the Mark of Makarios itself. That's why it is so easy to integrate into the drug; I just need to copy the mark. There is no magic specific to the drug that it needs to operate to accomplish the transfer. That is really the beauty of the system; the mark handles it all automatically. The magic is inherent to the structure of the design itself, but that design is intrinsically tied to the Dream Merchant. It might be possible to reverse engineer the effect and build something similar but it would take a lot of time and research and likely the cooperation of Makarios. The simplicity of the system makes it easy to integrate and widely deploy, but does not readily aid in adaptation."

Bartrand casually waved a hand, and the light construct collapsed into a small Gold, Cobalt, and Green ball hovering in the air. His eyes resumed a far-away look as he steepled his fingers in front of him. He was clearly paying more attention to some design in his head than to the other meeting participants.
"As to manse permits, I currently need none. One or two might be handy as bargaining chips, but I need a much more powerful demesne to accomplish the next phase of my plans, and with the Pillar Laws being what they are, that means building in the city proper. Not something I'm opposed to and the laws of Cecelyne will mostly protect the project... along with some bound demons, but that is a longer-term goal. Once things are a bit more settled down in Oasis... and I've had a chance to bind some second circle demons during the upcoming calibration, I'll begin work on that project."

[Odd_Canuck]

Or Better than Kings, Gods


Punch listens intently before addressing the Regent "Suggest offering service with permit. Create Demesnes. Design Manse. Build Manse. Get bigger favor in trade. Already doing for Amalion, Barton can help. 3 seasons per manse, 3 at a time."

"Indeed, one of the problem with the current manse construction restrictions is the efforts preventing us from raising higher power manses. To be frank, this limitation needs to be removed if we are to build infrastructure that provides value to the rebuilding effort and community. There are things we could do to attempt to bypass these official limits... taking over some territory in Hell itself and building them. Create a pocket wyld realm and building them there. But no matter how you look at it if we want real infrastructure we're going to have to find a way around the limits. We could start building in the Endless Desert if taking territory from citizens in Malfeas doesn't appeal. As it is, the 3 baxian manses can help with basics such as food production feeding 1500-1800 people with dedicated production, acting as a fixed emplacement defense platform or the like. I for one would suggest each of us securing some food production capacity as a fallback measure and then arranging the development of others as fixed weapon emplacements for the most paranoid of Exalted. the favors provided for such are worth quite a bit more than the manses as they are now."

Turning specifically to Forsaken Sword, Punch appears to ponder for a moment before replying "Both? Any option is fine. Don't give warning. Legal issues. Agree on not being official body, just interested parties. What resources help you? Gear for demons? Better weapons?"

"Harmonious Jade, if I may be so bold what other tools or effects would be of assistance in your pursuits? If we are to be a circle, I would be of aid to all of you are you are of aid to me. Bartrand and myself can provide all manner of wonders, but lack context for what you would find of use beyond happenstance such as the narcotic."

Finally turning to Bartrand, Punch clearly uncomfortable with all the talking he's been doing, simply raises an eyebrow expectantly, assuming that Bartrand will pick up on the obvious theme and offer ideas of what Punch can do to assist him and vice versa.

[Gargulec]

Rude Awakening

'You hurt me, sweet' the Day-caste smirked, spreading his arms in a gesture of absolute helplessness. 'Deeply. But thankfully...' with a gesture of a stage magician performing audience's favourite trick, he procured another, dark candle from beneath his spacious, dark cloak. '...I can return the deed in kind.'

Once more, the quiet sizzle of a wick being lit aflame resounded in the chamber, and another small fire made the long shadows dance on the walls. The abyssal waited for the wax to soften, and waved the candle above Rose's chest, leaving a trail of pitch-black spots on her white flesh.

'Perhaps my relations with girls are weird, yes' he admitted 'and perhaps I enjoy this little reunion more than the so-called moral standards would have me to, but...'

With an incredible speed, he a put hand over Rose's mouth, silencing her - even more than such an improvised measure should, by any reason. There was essence in this.

'...I apologize, dear, yet I have...'

His knife darted to Rose's chest, the sharp tip circling on the skin, drawing an elaborate pattern in blood, the soulsteel edge easily cutting through essence-reinforced skin.

'...to know where the tome you have is.'

Allowing the switchklaive to hang from a short string attached to his wrist, he grabbed one of the candles, and traced the pattern of cuts, sealing the wounds with molten wax.

Needless to say, it was hardly pleasant.

'Tell me before I really run out of my patience, dear. Tell me' he sneered, the caste-mark on his brow opening like a fresh wound, dripping gore on Rose's face.

Spoiler

Show

The Day-caste launches a torture social attack. Natural mental influence. -1 external penalty due to Appearance disparity in Rose's favour.
(16d10)[8][2][1][1][2][9][8][3][1][1][6][9][6][7][3][4](71)

[Flare]

Rude Awakening

With a hand over her mouth, the Day Caste could not see Rose's teeth expand into the mouth of a shark, though her eyes narrowed heavily- cat-like pupils that flashed black-. Her eyes looked directly into him, and the room shuddered. The pain made her more and more angry, but she bit her tongue to avoid screaming. Her Eyes were the only indicator that she even felt it, as her brows furrowed for an instant. Her hair twitched on it's own, as if static electricity was running down it. The gore that dripped from the Boy's Caste mark dripped over her eyes and her own mark, staining her hair and dripping down her ears. She wished to talk to the the little Boy, but her mouth was covered. She looked about the room.

A desk shoved into the corner, made of old wood, and unnecessary for her, but she liked it. There was a single Candle on it. The desk was probably ransacked, but she couldn't be sure from the angle. Her clothing and armor sat on it, perfectly folded, and a pile of Zsofika's hair. The book was not there. At the foot of her bed, balanced in a corner, was her sword, edge facing out. She considered. Under her pillow was a knife. The entrance was not a door. She had set up her house in what used to be a Garbage can, though no one threw things down onto her anymore because it was obvious it was her house. The only way out and in was a single rope she had tied that fell into the room. She climbed it to leave, and those entering needed to climb it. The floor was barren brass, and cold to the touch. Indeed, the only warm thing in the room was the bedsheets. Blue and black, stretched over a simple, but sturdy frame, She had bothered to spend money on them, and bought the best she could. She liked bundling up in them. If the Boy had ruined them, she'd just have to kill him worse then she was already planning.

Then again, she couldn't even talk, with her mouth covered. Her sharp fangs would have glimmered, as she considered her actions. if they could have been seen in her light, but the Little Boy wasn't that smart. Her fangs grew even longer, as she stared him straight in the eye. She could taste her own coppery blood, but she decided to try a taste of his as well. Even restricted by her chains, she popped her neck, loosening it. It was painful, but she slowly cracked and shifted her bones to allow her to move her neck more. Once her neck had moved enough, She clenched her mouth shut under his hand. her fangs piercing through his hand, attempting to pierce flesh and crack bones.mouth was as strong as a Shark's, and her fangs were nothing to sneeze at, a crushing bite focused on rending his hand to worthlessness, as his blood mixed with hers. Her eyes laughed at him as she bit down as hard as she could.

Spoiler

Show

Bite Attack on the Little Boy. 5 Dice, Spending WP for an Extra Success (5d10)[9][5][1][10][2](27)

[Volthawk]

Fury keeps on walking, feeling Oriasta get closer, and looks around at the jeering demons, slicing through any junk heading towards them with his free claw.

"Yeah, yeah. Keep on yelling, if it makes you feel better about your own sorry state."

[Gargulec]

Rude Awakening

The Day-caste inhaled sharply, his pupils growing small as Rose bit into his hand, dropping the candle he held down, the fire guttering out.

'You bitch' he snarled, jumping back. 'And to think that I have wanted to hold back...'

He sighed, calming a bit, the blood stopping to drip from the wounds on his palm.

'Sorry, dear, but you have gone a bit too far' he chuckled anxiously after a moment of silence, gracelessly tearing the sheets from beneath Rose, and shredding them into long strands of thick fabric. He picked one, curling it into a tight ball. 'You did not behave the way you should, girl. Has Lover really taught you nothing?'

Brutally (but also very carefully), he grabbed Rose's chin, forcefully opening her mouth and shoving the ball deep inside, affixing it in place with several more pieces of sheets.

'You do not disobey, bitch' he continued, with a wicked grin growing on his face. 'And if you do, you face the consequences.'

The blade of his daiklave hid itself in the heavy handle, transforming the weapon into a glorified cudgel. And then, without any delay, he was at the defenceless Abyssal, smashing his knife in her stomach, chest, precisely and with a lot of experience. The blows rained faster than his body had any right to move, but it did not make then any less painful.

He stopped after a long moment, when Rose's body was barely more than a single, large, purple bruise.

'Do you like it better, now?' he asked, finding a few more candles, and opening a few small wounds on his erstwhile companion's flesh, making the wax pool into them. 'Because I am patient.'

With an exaggerated motion, he sat down on a chair, looking at some point past the mutilated and still gagged Dusk.

Spoiler

Show

Time Scything Technique, pulled blows, fierce blows. Rose has no real way for defending against those attacks.

(18d10)[4][9][9][7][8][4][3][7][4][10][6][9][6][9][6][8][8][2](119)
(18d10)[10][3][7][4][9][4][7][3][5][2][9][5][8][7][4][7][9][9](112)
(18d10)[3][4][8][8][3][4][1][7][7][5][7][2][3][2][8][5][5][5](87)
(18d10)[7][2][10][2][10][4][10][3][2][2][1][4][10][8][4][1][5][2](87)
(18d10)[8][8][9][9][8][9][9][6][8][7][8][5][9][3][3][3][5][6](123)
(18d10)[4][5][9][3][7][10][2][3][6][4][9][4][5][6][4][4][4][4](93)

Damage is 10B + extra sux.

[Flare]

Rude Awakening

For the first Hour, Rose stared at the ceiling, attempting to sleep. She decided she was going to kill him worse, now that he had ripped up her favorite sheets. she couldn't sleep, but she did slowly fade away into Dreams. But they were Nightmares. She could feel them on the edge of her consciousness, and realized her sleep was going to be worthless. She rather just wished the little Boy would go away, though it seemed she wouldn't get her miracle. She couldn't even insult him yet.

[Gargulec]

Rude Awakening

Nightmares...

Poor choice of a word.

It took Rose a long of effort, genuine strength of will to cut away the overwhelming pain and shame and humiliation and slip into the realms of sleep.

But they offered no reprieve, and no escape.

There was no dream to speak of, just one long vision, crystal-clear, burning into memory like brand on the soul, a burning mark that is not going to fade.

Amidst the ecstatic Whispers of beings that carved only destruction, death and suffering, because those were all states they knew, Rose found herself spread on a table of white-hot iron, long spikes driven through her palms and feet holding her fast. The sky above was pitch black, with no gentle glow to shine down on her.

For no light would dare to disturb the being dancing around.

Those were the monsters within. Inner demons, portents of the unavoidable desolation, spirits of malice, spirits of hate, spirits that brought only night. In their hands, tools of black metal were dancing, cutting at the body of the Abyssal every second, cutting chunks of flesh, rubbing salt into the open wounds, tearing out bones and organs, gorging on them on the Dusk's eyes. The pain... the pain could hardly be described, it passed beyond the capacity of mundane senses to feel, it, paradoxically, did not even hurt any more. Not body, at the very least. No, it was defiling soul, pruning hope, belief, life, memories... leaving only single cry of all thoughts, cry that was all that Rose could cry at this table of her martyrdom:

NO MORE

Of course it did not find any answer, but more knives, edges, whips, more sulphur, more of the soul being consumed bit by bit by the powers of Oblivion. The Abyssal, at the back of her head knew, however, that there would be no end to this, that it was a nightmare without waking.

The sharp, strong slap that brought her out from the realms of dream back into the bloodied bed came more as a relief than a torment. The pain of the waking word was overwhelming, numbing, it tasted of blood and sweat, it tasted of own weakness, it drew tears. But it was something that kept to the body, not leaving a stain on the soul. Not yet.

'Rise and shine, whore' the Day-caste snarled, slapping Rose once more for a good measure, tearing the gag from her mouth. His voice thundered in the Abyssal's head, as if he was shouting, even if it was barely a whisper.

Without much ado, he raised his knife, put it to the women's eye, the tip of the blade half an inch from the pupil.

'The book, now, or you go blind'

[Flare]

Rose is, finally, rather sick of this entire thing. She doesn't break, she's just finally sick of being thrown around and locked in chains. She sighs at the knife. "You have to unlock my chains, Boy. It's under my mattress."

[Gargulec]

At the Market

And so, the pair made its way through the gleaming streets of the Demon-City, towards the fiefdom of Five Crimson Tears, and its heart: the Plaza of Wailing and Dismemberment.

The name... the name has been a misnomer for many centuries now. Long, long time ago, under another's demons command, it was a place of public executions, where demons who have broken one of the many laws of Malfeas were slowly impaled on a long stakes of green iron, their limbs cut and staked next to them, left to rot and wither. They say that the wailing of the sentenced made for an alluring music and the Silent Wind never blew through the streets around. Thus, demons begun to trade in the shadows of the executed, build their homes and lead their small lives, ankle-deep in blood.

Then came Isidoros, and nothing but a flat basin shaped like his might hoof remained. Basin... and a tradition. New fiefdom was established, new ruler elevated to rule supreme over the plaza and streets around, and new executions were carried out. But the new sovereign had been a merciful one, and more and more demons found themselves reduced to that status of something lesser than serf, to the status of a thing, and sold instead of being destroyed. With a few centuries, executions stopped. And the plaza became one of the premier slave markets of the Demon City. Wailing found its end not long after that, when it became customary to gag the slaves before butting them in the large pens. Only the rhythmical, heavy tolling of the bells - and distant echoes of the screams of the countless ones who perished there before remained.

And somehow, inexplicably, blood still flooded the place, reach ankle-high in the plaza.

The plaza was crowded, of course it was, mostly with representatives of influential citizens looking for more serfs to acquire. It would appear that the order of the day was Adjoran's progeny - main stock on the auctioning blocks were unlucky angylkae and katalinae, numberless jazon and marotes enjoying a likewise popularity.

'Good harpists keep the peace at bay!' a fat erymanthoi in a top hat growled, the guttering bellow washing over the crowd.

'A teodozija that sinned!' another merchant marketed his goods, a neomah pointing at a chained jade lion 'first and only of the kind!'

'Jazon blood, only one shekla for pint!' one more cried, some strange kind of a deva you have not seen waving its long tentacles towards a number of a number demons prepared for drinking 'taste the music!'

'Curiosities from the City!' someone was crying, out of your sight, but very loudly 'calm puppeteer! Chaste neomahs! Human children! Other stranger still, only for those with a taste that for things splendid!'

Spoiler

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Enter Ophelia

[Guancyto]

At the Market

Amidst the noise, the music, the gore and the chaos weaves a lithe little demon-blooded woman. She can't be more than five feet tall, and her thin frame contrasts with the immense demons that she nimbly hops over. Her hair is red streaked with purple the shade of a neomah's skin, and her dark eyes are distinctly reminiscent of the neomah as well.

In a different setting, her fragility and beauty would be the sort that one might want to shield or protect from the world, to keep safe like a flower made of glass. Here under the light of the Green Sun, however, she looks more like a flower made of adamant. Although she flows through the crowd like a gentle stream, she could tear through it like a dam bursting at any time.

She has carefully hiked up her skirts to not stain them with the blood that she walks through; her purple dress is in a bit of disarray that she hasn't managed to quite fix. She leans against a nearby wall to catch her breath, examining the angyalkae on display critically, and grows more displeased with each one of them she sets her eyes on. Seeing their eyes pleading at her and their music bearing the tone of desperation as they look her way, begging her without words to shelter them, she shakes her head and gives them an apologetic smile. "Not today, my lovelies. Please endure a little longer."

Hearing the barker selling human children, she clenches a fist. Her arm trembles in anger, and she closes her eyes.

Is she going to keep walking, to let this continue unabated?

"Oh, hell no," Ophelia says to herself. The gentle stream becomes a fierce torrent as she marches in the direction of the voice. In her haste, she doesn't quite pay as much attention to where she's going. A blood ape walking the opposite way bumps into her, nearly knocking her over. He glares down, expecting her to apologize and show deference. She reaches up, slides an arm tenderly around his neck, and before he sees fit to act on that sign, she pulls his head toward her with surprising strength and violently knees him in the face. Teeth fly and bones snap.

The splash showers her with blood as she lets him go, falling into the ankle-deep blood dazed but not dead. As she moves on she points from one of his fellows to him, indicating without speaking that they should take him. One of his gang lifts him up and carries him off, yelling curses at her that she ignores.

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Fists of Iron active yay

[MrPrim]

At the Market

The Goddess Oriasta walked through the blood-filled bazaar. With each step, the blood parted like the sea in front of Charlton Heston to allow her bare feet to touch the blasted Malfean ground unmarred by the market’s constant blood. Being a goddess comes with all sorts of little perks, it seems.

Still, as she walked the splashing and thrashing of the horde of demons had mostly covered her lower half in droplets of ichor.

”How are we ever going to find the nymph in this madhouse?”

And still the jeers and verbal assaults beat down upon the goddess. She swallowed her frustration and annoyance, pushing the voices of the demons out of her mind. They were the buzzing of gnats. The blowing of the wind. She was rubber and they were glue. Sticks and stones and… ”Did they just say human children?” she asked, horror in her voice.

”Come on, Fury,” she said, urgency and steel ringing in through gritted teeth, as she began to pull the Lunar towards the source of that last hawker.

[Odd_Canuck]

Or Better than Kings, Gods

For a moment, Punch freezes completely. Unmoving. Apparently not even breathing. After a few moments more, he nods slightly and addresses the Regent again "Have idea. Assign 3, 4 manses to me". With an almost predatory and uncharacteristic grin he adds "Prototype idea". Somehow, as if he changed completely in an instant, Punch seems distant. Focused. Even colder somehow. Even his very eyes look slightly different shifting slightly towards a brighter and harsher color from the normal brown.

Fortunately no-one here was at his wedding, or spent time in the personal workshops of Punch, or they might recognize the look. The look of a true predator on the trail of challenging game such as lions, tigers and bears. The look that means the problem will be solved... somehow, in some way... even if Malfeas himself has to be ripped asunder and rebuilt to do it.

The world could be in trouble, oh my.

[Gargulec]

Or Better than Kings, Gods

'Three permits to Harmonious Jade one to Adamu Chiky, two to Bartrand, single one to Forsaken Sword' the Solar quickly note down. 'So be it. The charter should be here shortly, I shall write the permits down as soon as I have it. Removing the limitation on the manse power, however, may prove difficult. Unquestionables are not especially keen at allowing the Oasis to posses a formidable geomantic network.'

'So, the basics are set now' the Dawn mused, silently acknowledging Punch's plea. 'We have decided on our agenda and long term goals, as well as the means of achieving them.''

'There is little I need' the dark-skinned woman whispered meanwhile to Adamu. 'Unless you happen to have any air person I can acquire in your town.'

'There are, however, a few issues we need to adress as soon as possible' the Regent waved his hand, making a few points red light flash on the map. 'Mainly Klantarch's defection, we need to remove him from power before his plans of forming a roving horde begin to endanger the Oasis.'

'Barbarian Lunar?' there was a shade of surprise in Jade's voice. 'They said that they were a thing of old, dark times, a relic...'

'And he is such a relic. Apart from him, there are also two minor issues we should resolve. Mnemon...'

'She is mine, worry not' the warlord cut in, his voice dry and full of malice 'I shall have her soon, and will serve her accordingly. She has been a nuisance for too long.'

'and the One-Eyed Ragara' the Quicksilver Falcon pointed out at one of the smaller gate-towns. 'He is trying to establish a large trading centre, and worse yet, probably is but a puppet to some Lawgiver. This attempts may possibly endanger Bartertown's dominance, so it should be addressed. Also, it would be good for us to find what peer of us has such finesse.'

'One more' Jade added 'there is a rogue Abyssal at large in the Oasis, my contacts have ran into him not long ago. From what I have gathered, he was looking for that tamed Deathknight, Rose was her name if I remember correctly.'

'Are you going to hunt him down?' Forsaken Sword asked curiously.

'If I need to. For now, I am just observing, perhaps he will lead us to something interesting, given the rumor of an entire circle of Deathknights hiding in the emptiness of our Oasis.'

Rude Awakening

'I see no need' he snarled once more, his knife jolting up from Rose's eye. Quickly, he directed the weapon against the mattress, cutting it from under the bound Abyssal, shredding the fabric until the edge of the blade screeched against Zsofika's hair the tome was wrapped in.

'Finally'

he muttered, tearing the book from under the remnants of the ruined mattress. The bells chimed softly as he did, with a subtle tone of beckoning to them.

Quickly, he hid it beneath the cloak, a weary, but satisfied smile emerging on his face.

'Have fun' he chuckled, forcing the gag back into Rose's mouth and checked the locks on the manacles. 'I hope you feel comfortable, bitch. Shame we do not have more time to play' he added, but thankfully, his voice stopped being so ringing and painful to the ears. 'Anyway, I bid you farewell. Maybe I shall pay you a visit later? You are not going to move from here soon, are you?'

Not expecting an answer, he quickly climbed out.

[Dragnar]

Jania sighed as the Dragon King attacked the gangster. Stupid lizard, he just killed any chance of them getting out of here without making a scene. Still, he had at least attracted their attention to himself, and she had given them no reason to attack her yet(beyond their inaccurate suspicions at least). "Ugh... I have better things to do than watch an 'Essence-Lizard' start a brawl in the streets. It's time I get going."

With a flash of essence, Jania's ornate cloak blew open in a non-existent wind. The starmetal laced fabric rippled once before splitting apart and changing seamlessly into a pair of feathery wings. Moments later she was in the air, propelled at massive speed by the artifact as she soared over the pathetic excuse for a settlement. She had had more than enough of this wasting time. The mortals couldn't touch her, and she had work to do.

Spoiler

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spending 10 motes to activate Wings of the Raptor, 20 left. Jania is now flying away in the direction the compass pointed at 60 feet per tick. Assuming she gets away without problems, she'll fly past before circling back stealthily. If needed, stealth roll: [roll0]

[DaWrecka]

Things Lost and Broken

The Artificer of Ten Thousand Blasphemies howled with laughter as the dragon king sent the gangster flying. But his laughter was cut short as the jadeborn suddenly took off on starmetal wings. He cursed. The jadeborn was his only lead on the Twilight, and he had little desire to fail in this. "Dragon king!" he called out. No sooner had the dragon king turned for long enough to see his daiklave, pointed at the soaring jadeborn, than he took off running in the same direction. He knew it was futile - she was simply moving far too quickly for him to keep up, especially given his armour - but there was little else he could do except to hope the dragon king had a better plan...

[Volthawk]

Fury nods, heading towards the sound of the voice, cutting through the crowd using his size and strength to clear a path through the thronging hellspawn that filled the plaza.

[Flare]

Rose just gives up and lets him take it. She can't talk anyway.

[Gargulec]

Things Lost and Broken

The soaring Artisan flew past Port Wrath unnoticed. As unusual sight as she was, hardly anyone in this wretched settlement cared to look to the sky. The same apathy turned to be a blessing for Artificer too. If there was a lesson people there learned very well is that when a man armed with soulsteel and a huge Dragon-King rush somewhere in a hurry, it usually spells troubles, or at least a sizeable chance of being obliterated in the cross-fire.

So, instead of following, they took it as a point of honour to follow in the opposite direction, fast... or at least try to make themselves as unseen as possible, or crack out the flame-pieces, aim them at something and hope for the best.

Jania's flight quickly took her out of the town's borders, into the featureless plain of brass outside, the green light reflecting from the surface being almost blinding so high in the sky.

Suddenly, the compass' pointer begun to twirl madly, as if trying to break free from the pin that held it and point in some other direction. And then, the Artisan noticed it, though only barely. A rectangle cut into the surface, small, but still large enough to hide an entrance to an underground hideout - or a hermitage of a truly rigorous eremite.

By the time she had returned to her companions, they made it to the edge of the Port. Even the anklok's breath was a bit ragged after the long run.

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Fatigue check from Artificer, please.

[Odd_Canuck]

Or Better than Kings, Gods

Whispering back to Harmonious Jade, Punch replies "Some there. For rent or sale, must ask them. Could make copy or fake in a fortnight."

"I will gladly send word to the scion of house Ragara, and entreat him to discuss matters of trade and cooperation. However while this is going on openly, I'd suggest that one of you with an effective monitoring system pay attention to what happens that you might identify the power behind the man, if indeed he is not merely very skilled himself. To be frank, if he is being that subtle about it I will not detect it or be able to combat it.

On the topic of Deathknights... I am not comfortable with this one that seems to be seeking Rose. Deathknights even more than Infernals and Solars tend to want to ignore the laws of Bartertown and fight in the streets, and are beyond the capacity of the police forces there to restrain or redirect forcefully. If you would be so kind Miss Jade as to keep an eye on him? If he's about to cause trouble, deal with him? I would be in your debt on the matter if you would. And of course should he turn out to have committed crimes in Bartertown you would also be entitled to the standard law enforcement officer portion of his fines and punishment should he or his identifiable remains be brought in. I shall have a writ of termination prepared and filed for you shortly after I get back to town. In fact, if you ever feel like making spending cash, you are always quite welcome to take on any of the bounties for criminals that have fled Bartertown. A number of them have ended up in Port Wrath by all accounts and even the mere threat of taking them back for punishment is often enough to motivate a person to cooperate should you need something of them.

Additionally, should any of you happen to encounter a deathknight crafter with some skill, or a reliable source of pyre flame would you please direct them my way? I have some defensive system concepts that would be much easier to implement with such."

"Talk of Lunar. What forces? How many? How do they survive? What weaknesses?"

"A final few notes. Please, whenever the attack happens, ensure that the troops and leaders that are making the raid are quite ignorant. They are likely to be captured, and interrogated most intently for the attack on Bartertown, and I am afraid that for legal reason I will not be able to arrange any sort of escape from that, not even death.

As for the dragons, they are powerful because they are more needed than the gods right now, because they are required for the survival of everyone. Or rather the elementals they command are. We can take that away from them by building some infrastructure to take care of basic needs for everyone. Preferably in a manner that involves boosting up a god they have spurred or run roughshod over lately.

We should establish ourselves as somewhat opposed factions in the Deliberative. My suggestions are going to include sending out and maintaining exploratory patrols of the wastes. Bartrand, if you would support this notion on the basis of gaining information, and Forsaken Sword, if you would oppose us on the basis of it being a waste of valuable resources and time when the only threat is rogue forces from Malfeas? You could even bring up the Swords of Hell Right who crashed my wedding.

Bartrand, if you will push for large amounts of conversion of demons into magical components that we can more rapidly construct the infrastructure needed to survive I'll counter with the fact that they are of more use bound and working directly. You can counter with the limitless hoards of demons factor.

Regent, if you are willing, you can argue for independence and self-reliance from Malfeas and it's inhabitants, and I shall argue that trade is not only vital in the short term but is needed for long term stability.

As you may have noticed, I have some... heavily ingrained issues with making lengthy conversation. During the deliberative meeting I'll be using a proxy for my addresses. Call it a lingering gift of my time with the Guild and House Cynis."

[Dragnar]

Jania landed in front of the two smoothly, wings folding around her as she took to the ground for a moment. "I see you two have managed to avoid turning the city into a warzone in my absence. I located our next lead, a fair distance out from here. Looks to be some sort of underground hideout, which just makes this whole mess even more suspicious..."

[Sallera]

Brass Murders, Quicksilver Motives

Tewi shrugs as Zsofika passes her glass to the angyalka, leaving the last of the bottle on the table; she might well change her mind before they were finished this conversation. "I've rarely found a whim that hadn't plenty of reason for existence. Granted, I'm still more used to dealing with humans, but so far, I haven't seen enough of a difference to change my expectations. If you've no reason to expect ill of her, I guess I'll just have to start looking."

He looks to the angyalka shortly, though he seems satisfied once she shows enough initiative to speak. Amalion had said she was a Solar's companion... how she'd ended up in that state with such a protector, he had no idea, but no doubt she'd be in a better mood once reunited with her errant Lawgiver. Well, assuming the reason for her situation wasn't the Solar abandoning her to her fate... a flicker of anger flashes through his thoughts, but he does his best to suppress it. Never assume ill without knowing the truth. Even with a Solar. They're nigh as strange as the demons sometimes, but they're definitely still human. He glances at Vana briefly to see if she has anything to add, then turns back to Zsofika.

"Very well. That aside, would you consider this an appropriate... place to discuss what you wished to ask of us?"