Oasis is Hell - Exalted 2ed - IC

[Gargulec]

The Visits

The demon turned out to be even lighter than her lithe frame suggested her to be. She almost did not weight down in the Twilight's arms, as if she was little more than a small figment of shadows given a beautiful form.

'You're too...' she muttered, slipping her fingers around the glass of the silver liquid 'chivalrous.'

Her musk snapped out of control moments ago, and now, no long longer delicate nor subtle, the strong fragrance was almost dazing, filling minds and nostrils with visions of carnal pleasures that nothing Creation-born could ever hope to equal.

Alveua's body was almost too hot to hold still, enflammed by the chalcanth, a drink that was said to taste like a pure being to the demons. It did not seem to be a a far-fetched clam - Mar could easily feel the crazed fluttering of the Keeper of the Forge of Night's heart, as if it wanted to tear itself free from the chest - and he could see the argent glow intensifying in her eyes too.

She raised the glass to her lips, eagerly swallowing the liquor. And tough her hand seemed steady, a trickle of silver ran down from from her mouth, staining the anthracite-black dress. The demon did not notice, or did not care, despite the fabric being precious beyond imagination.

The stairway was long and steep, the black stone steps treacherous in the dim light, so Bartrand had to pay extra attention to the descent, taking it slowly, much to Alveua's liking. Her head she had rested on his shoulder, fingers still wrapped around the empty glass, a happy, though a bit unnatural smile adorning her horned face.

'Don't leave me out' she sang, in a hushed voice, gently stroking Mar's hair 'the day us bright and I'll be perished...'

The lobby was a huge, high-vaulted hall, lit only by a single lantern that inexplicably managed to only draw more shadows instead of casting light. In the middle of the pitch-black floor adorned with a mosaic of maroon tiles that formed a vaguely serpent-like shape, a mortal girl was kneeling, her forehead pressed to the cold stone.

She could not have had more than twenty years and appeared to be even younger. Scruffy, wrapped in a tunic of crudely-sewn together rags, her skin was darkened and wind-battered. Hearing footsteps, she raised her head, revealing something strange - amber eyes that seemed to glow with an inner light. Eyes of a person who would never, ever break.

'Lord Lawgiver' she spoke up, trying to appear surprised at the sight of a demon cradled in the Twilight's arms 'would you need a servant?'

[Odd_Canuck]

Calmly walking up to the Infernal, rice bowl still in hand head bowed Punch stands still once again for a moment. The world stands still. He raises his head, his eyes not the usual gentle brown but instead glowing a brilliant cobalt blue. Flatly and without emotion he declares "Bad Dog.".

A torrent of gold and blue steamers explodes forth from his skin, spinning faster and faster around him even as they spiral miles upward blinding the people who try to stare. For the few that try, they briefly see Punch clad in a golden wig and robe of blue and gold that is quickly whipped away into the general maelstrom, which now forming into shapes too numerous to count or even see.

Drawing back his right hand, Punch proceeds to repeatedly backhand the infernal across the face, even as brilliant Blue/Gold items fall from the sky, striking the infernal in time to the open handed blows.

Thwack, a book of Realm Law upside the face.

Crack, the Rules of Order of the Deliberative to the chin.

Smack, A rolled up set of plans for The Thing Infernal across the nose.

Thud, a arm-length bone to the back of the head

Bang-Bang, as Punch's golden hammer comes down upon his head.

Spoiler

Show

I'm effectively Holding Action until the Infernal picks a target.

Secondary action is from the Arms of Multiple Manipulation (not currently visible)

Combat block: 4/9
Primary Action: Benevolent Giant Swing (Combo)
Activating Fists of Iron (3m) non-charm use
5-action flurry, pimp slapping.
Damage is 20A + Extra Successes Speed 3.
1: (15d10)[10][2][6][2][5][1][3][3][5][8][7][6][5][8][2](73)
2: (14d10)[7][9][6][6][3][5][8][4][7][4][6][4][4][7](80)
3: (13d10)[2][7][10][1][7][1][6][5][6][4][3][8][1](61)
4: (12d10)[8][8][10][4][2][3][5][6][6][6][5][2](65)
5: (11d10)[1][8][3][10][5][7][1][9][9][2][10](65)

Secondary Action: Defend Other on Min

Soak:
Bashing:19 (22 vs CoD) Vs Piercing is 11/14
Lethal:14 (17 vs CoD) Vs Piercing is 8/11
Aggravated:13 Vs Piercing is 7

Hardness:
Bashing: 5
Lethal: 5

Essence:
Personal: 19 /19
Peripheral: 14 /27 (13 Attuned)

Willpower: 9 / 10

Health:
-0 [ ][ ][ ]
-1 [ ][ ][ ][ ]
-2 [ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ]
-4 [ ]
X [ ]

[Volthawk]

Although the Infernal escaped his barrage this time, in his rage Fury doesn't care. He has plenty more where that came from - and he displays this with another barrage of claws. When he was in this rage his tactics were very simple, as he was displaying here.

Spoiler

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Action: Flurrying a trio of Shredder attacks on the Infernal (the last one benefiting from the situational bonus you said in AIM). Speed 4.

Burning the 5 willpower to block the Infernal's effect. Only 1 WP left

Attack 1: (20d10)[8][6][7][5][3][10][1][6][10][6][8][1][4][10][1][1][7][1][5][10](110) + 1 success = 14 successes
Damage: successes+14L/5
Extra effects: Inflicts poison (5L/action, 2, –/–, -2), and also causes knockback (with the distance increased by a yard)

Attack 2: (19d10)[4][5][7][3][10][2][7][6][3][8][6][3][10][5][7][1][4][4][2](97) + 1 success = 9 successes
Damage: successes+14L/5
Extra effects: Inflicts poison (5L/action, 2, –/–, -2), and also causes knockback (with the distance increased by a yard)

Attack 3: (20d10)[5][5][9][2][5][1][10][8][2][8][8][1][1][8][8][1][2][5][7][7](103) + 1 success = 11 successes
Damage: successes+14L/5
Extra effects: Inflicts poison (5L/action, 2, –/–, -2), and also causes knockback (with the distance increased by a yard)

Combat block:
Used attacks: Silver Shredders
Speed: 4 | Acc: 21 | Damage: +14L/5 | Parry DV: 10 | Rate: 3 | Inflicts poison (5L/action, 2, –/–, -2); knockback (+1 yard to distance)

Soak: 43B/42L/20A
Hardness: 10B/10L

Motes:
Personal: 19/22 (0 committed)
Peripheral: 30/30 (16 committed)

Willpower: ●●●●● ●●

Health levels:
-0 [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]
-1 [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]
-2 [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]
-4 [ ]
X [ ]
Dying [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]

Charms active:
Gift charms:
Claws of the Silver Moon (Basic natural attack gains Speed +0, Accuracy +8, Damage +7L/5, Defence +0, Rate +0; can parry lethal attacks without a stunt; 3m committed)
Armour-Forming Technique (+15B/15L/5A soak, counts as armour; 5m committed)

Warform mutations:
Armoured Body (+4B/4L soak, +4 die to Survival rolls)
Talons (punches deal +2L damage)
Night Vision
Toxin (Silver Shredders inflict poison, (5L/action, 2, –/–, -2)
Third Eye (+1 to all Awareness rolls)
Enhanced Senses [sight] (+2 to Awareness rolls related to sight)
Tail (+2 to Athletics rolls)

Relentless Lunar Fury:
1 automatic success to all combat actions
Ignore -1 wound penalties
Physical Attribute Excellency cap is (Attribute+Essence), so 9

Impressions of Strength (activated with RLF):
Mighty Ram Practice: Targets of attacks have to check against knockback, knockback distance is increased by one yard.

Wasp Sting Blur:
All attacks have their Speed reduced by one.

[Dragnar]

Seeing the abyssal's apparent confusion of what had just happened, Jania's caution slipped a bit. She stepped forward slowly, alternately staring at first the abyssal, then the unfortunate mortal. "What... What did you just do to him?" She spoke, half to him, half to herself as her curiosity got the better of her. Whatever had just happened, it hadn't looked intentional...

[AmberVael]

Of Kites and Flutes

"Very well then. We will leave that for another time- perhaps it is best we move on to our purpose, anyway." Vana says decisively. "Yet, I have no desire to be led about furtively and amidst scorn as I was before. I will move forward as the champion and vassal of Malfeas I have been declared." This said, the Lady of the Smoldering Mantra gestures grandly, spreading her arms towards the empty street. "Make way, for I would proceed! Attend, that all will know who passes! Heed my words, for I am Vana, vassal of the suns!"

With pride and dignity, Vana begins forward as Zsofika shows the way, and it is at this point that her work becomes apparent: fiery phantoms ignite behind and before her, raising tall standards of smoke and embers, a shining green and gold mandala the emblem they display. Ephemeral streams of black and gold shadow rise up around the standard bearers, their vague light flickering in time with the rising music they emanate, the bright brass of trumpets and the deep thrumming of drums calling attention and chasing away the fear of the wind's dread passing. Thin streamers leap up about Vana and then spring forward, graceful nymphs of silver steam taking hold of them, flourishing them as they dance, keeping time with the music and pace with the standard bearers; while armored figures of black coal rise up to lead the way, each bearing a sword of flames which it brandishes magnificently, drawing attention as much as they ward away those who would get too close.

While she has no palanquin, platform, or steed, it is nonetheless impossible to miss Vana even in the midst of this. Her procession leaves a notable gap around her, a circle which makes way for two vast symbols that swirl around the lady's feet, a golden sun which rotates clockwise, and a green sun that moves opposite, while her mandala hangs behind her head like a halo. Yet, Vana does not simply walk or present herself as the origin of this strange magic.

Dancing more magnificently than the nymphs, voice raising clearly above even the trumpets, the Lady of the Smoldering Mantra claims the central stage. Caste mark burning bright on her forehead, smile shining on her face, she declares her presence to all as she makes her way to Amalion to make her request on behalf of Oasis.

Spoiler

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Phantom Conjuring Performance- total awesomeness at the cost of a single charm.

Spending 4 peripheral motes on First Performance Excellency.

Charisma + Performance: (16d10)[8][6][3][1][4][7][10][5][3][3][7][7][5][8][5][10](92)
(Added in Dance specialty, since she's dancing)

[DaWrecka]

Things Lost and Broken

The Artificer of Ten Thousand Blasphemies started slightly when the jadeborn spoke. He had forgotten where he was for a moment. He looked at her, and for a moment, Oblivion itself could perhaps be seen in his eyes... But this passed quickly. He returned his gaze to the corpse before him. "I... nothing... I think..." He took a moment to reclaim his composure. "I was attempting to intimidate him into revealing what he knew, if anything, of the Solar's disappearance..." He straightened. "I am... unsure precisely what happened, but... I believe that he stared into the face of Oblivion itself in my visage. And the Void stared back. It felt... It felt as if the whispers of the Neverborn found him... abhorrent. It felt almost as if their whispers took physical form through my anima to correct what it viewed as blasphemy." He turned back to the jadeborn, and even on his stretched and warped face, despite his best efforts to hide it... Worry could be seen in his expression. "But more than this... I do not know."

[Zoronos]

The Visits

Bartrand chuckled to himself as he carried the demon down the stairs. He cooed slightly into her ear as she spilled the chalcanth, "You've stained your dress, silly one. Now I will need to summon Berengiere and have her weave you a new dress." He was pleased, in a way. He needed an excuse to summon Berengiere anyway for his other little project. This would fit in nicely. Hmmm... mortal voices, easy enough to procure. Offer them a bit of extra food from the garden, and he'd have people lining up to temporarily surrender their voices.

The demon's warm fingers through his hair distracted him. He had lost himself for a moment in designing relics, but Alveua's warm touch brought him back to the present. His expression softened and he smiled at her song. She was a demon, and that meant he had to keep his guard up, but the change in her scent and heart rate likely meant she didn't have much of a scheme that she was playing at. He smiled, and pulled her closer to himself as he carried her, letting her heat soak into him. It was like a warm bowl of soup in ones hands on a cold day. He allowed himself to savor the sensation as he carried her carefully down the stairs.

He swept into the front hallway, his boots clicking on the stone floor. He smiled at the supplicant. Excellent, someone bold enough to enter his foreboding home and request a job. Not a handout, but work. He respected that tenacity. Let us see if her heart was hard enough.

The shadows that filled the room seemed to recoil ever so slightly from around Bartrand as he spoke. It left him the one bright point in an increasingly darkened hall, like the houselights in a theater, directing the audience's attention to the actors. "A servant? No. I require no servants. However, I may require assistants, if you are strong enough. This place is not to be entered lightly, but is safe enough if you have the courage to look it in the eye. Stand up, and tell me, what skills do you have?"

[Gargulec]

Silver and Gold Span the Infernal Heaven

A pillar of emerald flame sprouted from the Infernal's arms, shooting into the dreary malfean sky, the power of his exaltations meddling with the radiance of Ligier.

Furiously, he crushed the petals that remained after Oriasta in his palm, the shadowy tendril dancing around him with a live of its own, smashing the ferocious blows of the Lunar to the side, where they did him no harm.

He remained still, only his sword-arm blurring, and truth be told, you could hardly see pass the dark barrier he formed around himself, his own outline loosing sharpness as if he was himself dissolving into blackness.

And then the shadows perished under the Solar's onslaught, the light of the Sun exploding around Punch in a bright halo that dissolved darkness and for a moment basked the Oasis in the light of lost Daystar. From miles, people were turning from their works, and gazing towards the display on the heaven, knowing that the champions were doing their battle.

Four blows his whip diverted, and they whirled past Infernal's head, not wiping the smirk off his face - but the filth, the shadows could not withstand, and for a heartbeat, it seemed that Punch was going to burn the Creature of Darkness. But the Slayer was an exalt too - and even though his darkness failed him, his prowess not. His fist met the Lawgiver's palm, brass clashed on orichalcium. One more shockwave tore through the are, sending all but the Chosen here to the ground, the ground cracking and melting unable to withstand the might of Essence around.

Spoiler

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All attacks parried.

Tick #6 Sword of Hell Right, Fury
Tick #7
Tick #8
Tick #9
Tick #10 Punch, Fury
Tick #11
Tick #12 Swords of Hell Right
Tick #13 Punch

Things Lost and Broken

Nothing in the forge would help you find Arianna: that much was obvious. If there was anything of note there, now it belonged to someone else.

You spent some more time sifting through the wreckage, but in vain. The boy's corspe seemed to gaze at Jania's accusingly, but apart from that, nothing, truly nothing. It was a bit annoying, considering that time spent digging through junk could have been spent so much better.

Loud, heavy footsteps outside caught your attention - especially when the already loosened doors were unhinged by a massive, clawed hand.

'Ah, Essence-humans' you heard a heavy, flanging voice - coming from a huge, saurian head peeking through the threshold. 'Searching for thieving-essence-human.'

The being to which the head belonged looked really impressive: standing around nine-feet tall, a giant of a Dragon-King he was, his dark-red skin dotted with scars and tattos. One eye-socket he filled with an orichaclium eyeball, scribed with an Old Realm character for "Victor" - though it was the still-alive eye that shone real gold and wisdom of the ages. His torso he had covered in a black-and-gold plate, inscribed with a tale of thousand victories. Over the broad shoulders, he slung a massive, orichalcium daiklave, jagged and worn down as if it was as old as the Wyld itself, and on the other shoulder, the flame duck, so tiny by comparison rested, her feet swinging in the air. She appeared content with the fearsome ally she had found you.

'I help you find her' he stated, not even bothering if you would require his aid. It was obvious for him, apparently. 'So I can hit her for being a thieving-essence-human.'

The Visits

The Keeper of the Forge of the Night did not answer to kind offer of Bartrand's, instead deciding to fall asleep in his arms, still smiling. Her quiet snoring echoed strangely through the manse she raised of her own essence, somehow managing to sound ominous in spite of being quite endearing.

The mortal raised herself from the middle of the mosaic, her eyes shining as a pair of lanterns: there was something unsettling about them, as if they were able to cut through the shadows and see things for what they were: even in the heart of darkness. She gazed upon Mar, and while there was respect in her sight, no begging was to be found there - only unrelenting determination.

'I am' she said firmly, affirming her individuality - a rare trait among humans who tended to call themselves "we" 'an adept of Arts of Alchemy, Astrology and Demon Summoning. I have awakened my Essence and was taught the basics of the Five-Dragon Style. I know how to work steel and stone, and how to scribe blades with Ninety-nine Sutras of Ruin, so they stay keen. My family, I have lost to the things I could not control' she said that without flinching or changing her determined tone, as if it meant little to her 'and my workshop and tools to ordinary thugs. Thus, I search tutoring and a place to find the access to the true arts.'

[Dragnar]

Jania looked at the dragon king curiously. Thieving? Well, apparently there was yet another petty crime and annoyance to add to the twilight's list. No matter, she had promised to save the fool woman, and so she would. Help would certainly not be turned down.

"Essence-human? Heh, I'd be a bit more careful what you call people if I were you. There are plenty who would find it quite insulting... But anyway, what did she steal from you? She didn't seem the sort to rob others, as... harsh, as she might have been."

[Volthawk]

Fury continues his onslaught, barely registering the Infernal's state and Punch's attacks, only focusing on the attack and his claws, swiftening them past their current relentless speed. However, as he pushes the attack, he feels the rage fading, and the with the toll of that rage combined with the Infernal's magic, he didn't feel like it would be smart to prolong it.

No matter. I can deal with this without the rage.

Spoiler

Show

Action: Flurrying a trio of Shredder attacks on the Infernal). Unfortunately, the Relentless Lunar Fury stops on the third attack (lasts for 8 actions, so my last two 3-attack flurries and two of this one), so for the third one I don't get my extra free success. However, I'll use Wasp Sting Blur with the flurry, spending 4 motes to decrease the Speed of my attacks by 2, making them all Speed 3 (even the non-RLF enhanced one that would be speed 5). So overall the flurry is Speed 3.

Attack 1: [see roll in OOC] + 1 success = 10 successes
Damage: successes+14L/5
Extra effects: Inflicts poison (5L/action, 2, –/–, -2), and also causes knockback (with the distance increased by a yard)

Attack 2: (17d10)[1][6][6][7][9][9][7][6][3][9][6][5][6][5][4][2][3](94) + 1 success = 6 successes
Damage: successes+14L/5
Extra effects: Inflicts poison (5L/action, 2, –/–, -2), and also causes knockback (with the distance increased by a yard)

Attack 3: (16d10)[8][7][6][5][10][5][6][1][7][8][6][1][6][5][3][6](90) = 6 successes
Damage: successes+14L/5
Extra effects: Inflicts poison (5L/action, 2, –/–, -2)

Combat block:
Used attacks: Silver Shredders
Speed: 5 | Acc: 21 | Damage: +14L/5 | Parry DV: 8 | Rate: 3 | Inflicts poison (5L/action, 2, –/–, -2)

Soak: 43B/42L/20A
Hardness: 10B/10L

Motes:
Personal: 15/22 (0 committed)
Peripheral: 30/30 (16 committed)

Willpower: ●●●●● ●●

Health levels:
-0 [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]
-1 [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]
-2 [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]
-4 [ ]
X [ ]
Dying [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]

Charms active:
Gift charms:
Claws of the Silver Moon (Basic natural attack gains Speed +0, Accuracy +8, Damage +7L/5, Defence +0, Rate +0; can parry lethal attacks without a stunt; 3m committed)
Armour-Forming Technique (+15B/15L/5A soak, counts as armour; 5m committed)

Warform mutations:
Armoured Body (+4B/4L soak, +4 die to Survival rolls)
Talons (punches deal +2L damage)
Night Vision
Toxin (Silver Shredders inflict poison, (5L/action, 2, –/–, -2)
Third Eye (+1 to all Awareness rolls)
Enhanced Senses [sight] (+2 to Awareness rolls related to sight)
Tail (+2 to Athletics rolls)

[DaWrecka]

Things Lost and Broken

The Artificer of Ten Thousand Blasphemies nodded slightly after the jadeborn had spoken. The Dragon King was a surprise, but he did not find the creature intimidating - merely interesting. However, its words were a concern. Still, he chose to keep his silence on that matter for the time being. "I must agree with the jadeborn," he rasped. "I know the Solar only by reputation, for the most part, but outright theft is not a feat I have heard laid at her feet often. Of what crime, specifically, are you accusing her?"

[Gargulec]

Silver and Gold Span the Infernal Heaven

The third bonfire showered the wedding area with light - this time argent, Lunar in nature. Wisps of essence danced around in the blinding radiance, mingling and burning.

The Full Moon struck: three blows once more, his terrible claws eager to rend the Infernal asunder, but the Slayer merely coiled his whip, bringing up one more barrier of shadows to shield him - and the strikes battered off the sorcererous shield, managing only to crack it, and then, with the final attack, break.

'You should learn your masters' he snarled, stepping back, the darkness around him dancing in a wild revelry 'dog.'

He clasped his hands together, and breath green flame into them, the fire from his arms spreading through his veins, as if his own blood was flame.

And then all tendrils of his whip exploded with fire, emerald blaze that seemed to drink off light and leave only darkness behind. The grin on his face widened, and you could see his teeth growing even longer, more vicious, more jagged.

'FOOLS!' his shout thundered, shaking the very ground, and he thrust his sword-arm into the basalt beneath: a moaning face opened up to swallow the attack. 'BOW!" five faces sprouted from the ground around Fury, each of them spitting a column of the demonic fire that writhed and writhed 'BEFORE!' the pillars coiled and they were the ends of the whip, smashing themselves into the body of the Lunar, cutting through his reinforced body with terrifying ease. 'THE MIGHTY!'

A colossal anima banner, a hundred-armed metody unfurled behind him as the prongs of the shadow-whip exploded with inner fire, burning the mark of defeat into the body of the Full Moon, to forever signify him as a slave, property, thing.

Spoiler

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All attacks by Fury are parried.

Combo!
(29d10)[7][2][8][3][8][5][5][5][2][3][5][2][1][7][3][4][10][6][7][8][8][10][6][8][10][2][6][4][2](157)

Attack deals aggravated damage, deals additional 2 lethal health levels of damage on hit and saps a single point of willpower, also brands the character struck as a metaphysical property of the attacker - this is a Crippling effect.

Combat order:
Tick #10 Punch, Fury
Tick #11
Tick #12 Swords of Hell Right
Tick #13 Punch, Fury

Things Lost and Broken

'I call you essence-humans because I could squish your fleshy bodies without paying any attention to it, essence humans' the anklok stated, giving you what could pass for a grin among the dragon kings, and what looked like a threat of being eaten whole among humans. 'And you' he added, pointing a long claw at Artificer 'you dare to say that I am accusing?'

Suddenly, the daiklave blurred, moving from his shoulder through the door-framce into the floor, slicing everything on its path, embedding itself in the brass, right at the Abyssal's feet.

'What I say, is like the blade!' he roared, tearing the blade free and raising it high 'straight, strong and honest! So don't you dare to tell that I accuse, essence-carcass, for I never accuse!'

He lowered his head, so that his gold eyes were on the level of Daybreak's head.

'I say truths and truths only, for lies are a disgrace to the Sun! The thieving-essence-human stole my sword, and though I have it again, I am still to punch her for that, and I'll suffer her not dying before I can enact the retribution on her!'

[Zoronos]

The Visits

Mar spared a moment to look down at the snoring demoness in his arms, and couldn't help but smile a little. He quickly returned his gaze to the mortal before him. He weighed things in his mind for a moment before making his decision. He turned slightly, and being careful not to speak loudly near Alveua, he spoke in an imperious tone. "Marantheus," addressing the Haranhal who a few minutes previously had been knocked down these very stairs, and was even now sitting against the wall looking around at the spectacle, "Go, and tell the others that I have an assistant. She is to remain unharmed and untouched by all of the demons bound to this place, and they are to obey her unflinchingly except in those circumstances where it conflicts with my words. Prepare for her a space to work and all the things she needs to ply her craft."

Bartrand turned back to the young woman, "You make high claims for one so young, but unlike some others, I do not judge you for your age or appearance. You will be judged only on your ability, and that ability will be tested in this place. Do you understand? There are Haranhal, Metody, and Neomah bound in this place, along with a few other esoteric demons. They will obey your words, and will not harm you, as I have given them orders now, but you must be comfortable working in their midst if you are to work here."

Bartrand paused for breath, his imperious demeanor receding slightly. "Up these stairs on the left is an unused bedroom. The demons are commanded not to go in or near it, so you will be left quite undisturbed." He took a moment to note the ragged state of the young woman before continuing. "We shall also have to get you some new clothes. There are some of my robes and other spare clothing in the closet of that room. It will not fit you, but it is more than you have now, so it should do for a time. There is food in the kitchen, down the hall, if you are hungry. If you need something more elaborate, the haranhal can cook it for you."

Bartrand paused again, looking down at the slender creature still cradled in his arms, sleeping blissfully. "We shall begin in the morning. If you have knowledge of advanced cures for a hangover, please put something together. If not, no matter, I have some things I keep around. Until then, you have the evening to yourself. I need to go put someone who had a bit too much to drink to bed." He ran his fingertips lightly over the demon's arm as he held her, as if to reinforce his point. "I suppose I should ask your name as well. If you have questions, we shall address them in the morning, as I must be going."

Bartrand turned and walked softly back to his own room. He carefully laid the demoness into his bed and pulled the sheets up over her. He took a moment to draw a glass of water and placed some herbs on the nightstand near her. When crushed and put into water, the herbs would reduce headache and nasuea. However, he only knew such things worked for humans. He sighed, unsure if they would work likewise for demons. He had given them to the haranhal previously, and they had responded positively, but he wasn't sure if they'd have similar effects here. Bartrand leaned over the demon, to ensure she was sleeping comfortably, and gave her a slight kiss on the forehead. Content that Alvuea was snoring happily, Bartrand changed into his night clothes, took the spare blanket, and curled up in the overstuffed armchair he kept in his room to read. What an odd day. Productive, but quite odd.

[Odd_Canuck]

With a slight sigh and a studied glance at the rice bowl, Punch unleashes a rapid series of blows from his right hand towards the midriff of the Infernal, blue and gold sparkles trailing behind the still open handed blows. The stoic and slightly bored expression on Punch's face does little to hide the mild annoyance and disregard that he apparently feels for the battle.

Spoiler

Show

Secondary action is from the Arms of Multiple Manipulation (not currently visible)

Combat block: 4/9
5-action flurry, further punching.
Damage is 10A + Extra Successes Speed 3.
1: (15d10)[8][4][5][4][1][5][5][6][9][10][8][2][6][9][4](86)
2: (14d10)[5][2][8][4][5][7][8][2][1][10][8][10][9][3](82)
3: (13d10)[8][9][2][1][5][3][5][7][8][10][3][4][10](75)
4: (12d10)[4][3][7][10][3][9][1][8][4][9][7][10](75)
5: (11d10)[7][9][1][6][3][2][3][6][8][9][1](55)

Secondary Action: Defend Other on Min

Soak:
Bashing:19 (22 vs CoD) Vs Piercing is 11/14
Lethal:14 (17 vs CoD) Vs Piercing is 8/11
Aggravated:13 Vs Piercing is 7

Hardness:
Bashing: 5
Lethal: 5

Essence:
Personal: 19 /19
Peripheral: 14 /27 (13 Attuned)

Willpower: 9 / 10

Health:
-0 [ ][ ][ ]
-1 [ ][ ][ ][ ]
-2 [ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ]
-4 [ ]
X [ ]

[Volthawk]

Seeing the colossal display and the whip, for the first time in the fight Fury felt fear. As it struck, despite his efforts to defend against it, somewhere in his mind, reinforced by the attack, Fury recognised that this was someone to be wary of, to be afraid of, a real dangerous foe. Past that, he found it hard to think. The need to defend against his foes attacks on his mind, combined with his own fury, had taken it's toll.

Spoiler

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Well, since I used Wasp Sting Blur, no PD for me. Looks like I'm going to have to take it. Relevant stats here are Parry DV 8, Aggravated soak 20A, and Willpower 0. Holding off on doing my own attack until after I know all the damage and after-effects of the attack.

Combat block:
Used attacks: Silver Shredders
Speed: 5 | Acc: 21 | Damage: +14L/5 | Parry DV: 10 | Rate: 3 | Inflicts poison (5L/action, 2, –/–, -2)

Soak:
Bashing: 40
Lethal: 39
Aggravated: 19

Hardness:
Bashing: 10
Lethal: 10
Aggravated: 0
Motes:
Personal: 15/22 (0 committed)
Peripheral: 30/30 (16 committed)

Willpower: ●●●●● ●●

Health levels:
-0 [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]
-1 [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]
-2 [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]
-4 [ ]
X [ ]
Dying [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]

Charms active:
Gift charms:
Claws of the Silver Moon (Basic natural attack gains Speed +0, Accuracy +8, Damage +7L/5, Defence +0, Rate +0; can parry lethal attacks without a stunt; 3m committed)
Armour-Forming Technique (+12B/12L/4A soak, counts as armour; 4m committed)

Warform mutations:
Armoured Body (+4B/4L soak, +4 die to Survival rolls)
Talons (punches deal +2L damage)
Night Vision
Toxin (Silver Shredders inflict poison, (5L/action, 2, –/–, -2)
Third Eye (+1 to all Awareness rolls)
Enhanced Senses [sight] (+2 to Awareness rolls related to sight)
Tail (+2 to Athletics rolls)

[Volthawk]

Although he may have taken those mental injuries, his assorted armour has meant that the actual physical injuries are not so severe. Not severe enough to stop him fight, that is. Although he may have taken so much mental scarring, to fight he didn't need much mental strength. He just needed the physical strength, that he still had. And so he used that strength, with another barrage of claws.

And although the brand burned by the Infernal keeps on burning as he attacks, Fury ignores it. Really, with his mind as it is, he doesn't particularly even pay attention to it, although it does still injure him, affecting his attacks.

Spoiler

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Action: Flurrying a trio of Shredder attacks on the Infernal. Hopefully after that huge display and defending all our attacks, he'll be low on motes. The levels of damage I took (1 aggravated, 2 lethal) aren't enough to bring me past -0 health levels, so no wound penalties.

Right, those extra levels of damage from the brand bring me to -1, though, which would affect the second and third attacks. Rerolling in OOC.

Attack 1: (18d10)[7][9][2][3][7][7][7][2][4][2][9][3][3][4][3][7][10][1](90) = 9 successes
Damage: successes+14L/5
Extra effects: Inflicts poison (5L/action, 2, –/–, -2)

Attack 2: (17d10)[6][6][8][1][8][6][9][4][2][4][6][10][5][10][3][6][7](101) = 6 successes
Damage: successes+14L/5
Extra effects: Inflicts poison (5L/action, 2, –/–, -2), and also causes knockback (with the distance increased by a yard)

Attack 3: (16d10)[4][3][7][5][4][5][1][9][5][7][4][5][1][1][1][3](65) = 3 successes
Damage: successes+14L/5
Extra effects: Inflicts poison (5L/action, 2, –/–, -2)

Combat block:
Used attacks: Silver Shredders
Speed: 5 | Acc: 21 | Damage: +14L/5 | Parry DV: 10 | Rate: 3 | Inflicts poison (5L/action, 2, –/–, -2)

Soak:
Bashing: 40
Lethal: 39
Aggravated: 19

Hardness:
Bashing: 10
Lethal: 10
Aggravated: 0

Motes:
Personal: 15/22 (0 committed)
Peripheral: 30/30 (16 committed)

Willpower: ●●●●● ●●

Health levels:
-0[*] [L] [L] [L] [L]
-1 [L] [L] [L] [L] [L] [L] [ ] [ ]
-2 [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]
-4 [ ]
X [ ]
Dying [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]

Charms active:
Gift charms:
Claws of the Silver Moon (Basic natural attack gains Speed +0, Accuracy +8, Damage +7L/5, Defence +0, Rate +0; can parry lethal attacks without a stunt; 3m committed)
Armour-Forming Technique (+12B/12L/4A soak, counts as armour; 4m committed)

Warform mutations:
Armoured Body (+4B/4L soak, +4 die to Survival rolls)
Talons (punches deal +2L damage)
Night Vision
Toxin (Silver Shredders inflict poison, (5L/action, 2, –/–, -2)
Third Eye (+1 to all Awareness rolls)
Enhanced Senses [sight] (+2 to Awareness rolls related to sight)
Tail (+2 to Athletics rolls)

[Dragnar]

Well, this lizard was certainly full of himself. Ah well, he seemed enthusiastic enough at least. Still... he wanted revenge for her stealing his weapon... and yet he had already gotten it back? Without getting his 'revenge' in the process? That didn't quite add up... but it was none of her business. And they had wasted enough time here already.

"Regardless of your physical prowess, the term is still inaccurate. But I digress... If you don't mind, I would like to be off to Port Wrath now, get this search started before she is too far gone."

[Flare]

Rose makes no emotion on her face as she holds the thick handful of hair from the Demon. Indeed, she wraps the hair around her book, leaving the Grimore wrapped in Zsofika's tough hair to protect it. Then, she smiles. She withdraws another knife, presenting it to the demon. It's hard to say where she pulled the knife from- perhaps a sleeve?-, she seemed to almost consider it a parlor trick to pull a knife from somewhere unexpected.

"...Here." she muttered, lowering her face to cover her eyes with her hair. She, at the very least, seemed ashamed of her actions, though she didn't pretend to not hold the hair. "...You can keep it." She finished. Perhaps caught up in the moment before and feeling bad about it, or perhaps lying, it was hard to tell with the Abyssal. "...I don't have...much else."

[Gargulec]

Silver and Gold Span the Infernal Heaven

The shield of shadows was splintered, the shards of darkness falling to the brass, dissolving into black tar. The Infernal cursed, but his profanities were cut short as the blows of the Lawgiver cut into his anima, dispersing the emerald light. But he was not defenceless, not yet.

Basalt met orichalcium again, layers of body the Slayer shed, his skin peeled off, flaking away and being torn and burnt mid-air by the pressure of essence unleashed by the three Exalts.

Suddenly, the grimace on his face was no longer triumphant - even though his mark was burnt into Fury's flesh, he could not longer see himself as victor. The metody behind him coiled its arms, and collapsed into itself, the pillar of green flashing once more before falling from the heavens. He still stood, he still fought, but for not much longer.

'No!' he guttered, as if trying to defy his own imminent defeat. The tips of his whip lashed once more against the Lunar, but without the sheer power that seemed to animate them before.

'NO!' he cried again, his body once more turning to brass to keep of the blows from the Full-Moon he thought to be defeated. The last embers of his anima were starting to gutter, and soon only the crossed blades on his forehead would still shine. 'I will not be defeated by such... trash!'

Spoiler

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All attacks parried.

Singe whip attack against Fury.
(14d10)[5][1][3][7][4][10][9][4][8][1][10][7][9][5](83)


Combat order:
Tick #10 Punch, Fury
Tick #11
Tick #12 Swords of Hell Right
Tick #13 Punch, Fury
Tick #14
Tick #15
Tick #16
Tick #17 Swords of Hell Right
Tick #18 Fury

Grimnir

Oriasta

Spoiler

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2XP for Oriasta for finishing the previous scene

If one would close his eyes while on the Island of Our Benefactors, laying down on the soft, verdant grass and took a deep breath, drawing in the many scents of a forest, maybe, just maybe he could forget - for a precious moment - that he was in Hell still.

Even the essence here was familiar, touched by the original Gaia's elements. And even if its flows were dictated by the whims of Yozi, the power that filled them was natural to the lost home.

Great was the toil necessary to raise this place, yes. But equal to the dedication of its inhabitants: elementals and gods. When they arrived here, there was nothing but a featureless plain of basalt. Within a month, the island was dug, and blood and tears of the Water Dragon separated it from the rest of the Oasis, and the first lake was created. Within the second, trees and grass was planted on the body of Wood Dragon, and despite the lack of the sun to nurture them, the plants sprouted into the heavens, canopies of green-leafed oaks and ashes seen in under the malfean sky for the first time. And on the third month, the Fire Dragon breathed his spark into what dwelt on the island, and sanctums and shrines dotted land, forcing the essence between them to take the aspects of The Three Dragons.

Thus was the Island of Our Benefactors raised from nothingness, and thus was the survival of humankind ensured.

A single bee crossed from a flower to another, buzzing in the silence of the sanctum; for the tears of Oriasta were not a sound here, but a fact. Flowers took dark hues, grass bent without anything weighting down on it, petals of dark purple circled in the air even though nothing blossomed with the exact hue of the Violet Bier. Even the light filtered through the glass of the celling seemed to take on a sorrowful aspect.

'You should not cry' stern words broke the silence.

Now, that was a real voice, a sound of a being formed outside the Sanctum and not belonging there - yet there still. He was standing near the entrance, huge and hoary, a tattered, hooded cloak on his shoulders. Long, silver beard hanged loosely from his face, gleaming. The goddess was nearly sure that she had never seen someone like him before.

The Visits

'I carry no name, for I the ones I was given, I gave back, having no use for them' the mortal claimed, bowing. 'Call me whatever you deem fit.'

Without a further word, she followed Mar's direction, vanishing on the stairway.

***

The sleep came over quickly, despite the less-than-comfortable place. Within moments of resting on the armchair, Bartand's mind collapsed in the realms of dream - though not the meaningful one.

'Tell me that I did not do something excessively stupid' a pained, weary voice brought him back to conciousness. Feeling a bit stiff, he opened his eyes to see Alveua, pale on the face and grimacing standing a few steps from him, propped against one of the shelves. She was looking like a shadow of herself. 'Please, tell me that I did not' she repeated, sighing deeply and draining the last few sips from the mug of the cure the Twilight prepared for her, her movement slow and stifled. 'My head' she added more quietly, in a profoundly tormented tone.

Her dress was crumpled and stained, and truth be told, she presented a rather sorry sight: bags under her eyes, decoloured skin that seemed to have a greenish tint to it now, hair ruined by sweat.

'If I look as horrible as I feel...' she begun, as if realizing...

[Odd_Canuck]

*Slap* *Slap* *Slap* *Slap* *Slap*"You Dispute*. Witnessed." is calmly and almost emotionlessly stated by Punch each syllable in time to an open handed slap against the Infernal, the rice-bowl still held steady in his left hand.


*-This is a specific word with a specific meaning in Hell, meaning a disagreement over property and/or territory between two Untouchables, citizens or peers witnessed by a priest of Cecelyne and/or a Slayer caste Infernal.

Spoiler

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Secondary action is from the Arms of Multiple Manipulation (not currently visible)

Combat block: 4/9
5-action flurry, further punching.
Damage is 10A + Extra Successes Speed 3 (just remembered this is piercing damage).
1: (15d10)[3][9][8][10][10][5][6][4][7][2][7][1][8][7][7](94)
2: (14d10)[3][6][9][5][6][8][5][3][8][9][9][7][3][3](84)
3: (13d10)[6][9][1][5][6][8][2][6][8][5][1][7][8](72)
4: (12d10)[8][8][1][5][2][4][8][10][10][10][3][6](75)
5: (11d10)[7][9][5][4][4][6][3][8][9][3][3](61)

Secondary Action: Defend Other on Min

Soak:
Bashing:19 (22 vs CoD) Vs Piercing is 11/14
Lethal:14 (17 vs CoD) Vs Piercing is 8/11
Aggravated:13 Vs Piercing is 7

Hardness:
Bashing: 5
Lethal: 5

Essence:
Personal: 19 /19
Peripheral: 14 /27 (13 Attuned)

Willpower: 9 / 10

Health:
-0 [ ][ ][ ]
-1 [ ][ ][ ][ ]
-2 [ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ]
-4 [ ]
X [ ]

Edit: removed second attack, redoing on the ST's advice.

---

* post roll count doesn't match database

[Zoronos]

The Visits

Bartrand rubbed his eyes, and smiled as he sat up. She looked terrible, and it was amusing to no end. He rose, stretching, and went to his closet and pulled out a pair of robes. The first he wrapped around himself, to cover his night clothes.
He drew another glass of water from the tap, and slowly walked over to Alveua. He spoke very quietly as he walked, so as to not exacerbate the headache she must be feeling. "You had too much to drink, and then you almost immediately fell asleep. That's all. Nothing excessively stupid, don't worry." Stepping behind her, Bartrand carefully wrapped the fluffy cobalt-blue spare robe around her, handed her the glass of water and with a light touch indicated for her to raise her arms. "You look terrible" he whispered, as he lifted her dress off of her, out from under the robe so as to completely preserve her modesty. "But it's nothing that I can't fix. Now, drink some more water, and get a bit more sleep while I make you some breakfast and take care of this." With a soft touch, he moved the demoness back into bed and pulled the blankets back over her and the robe.

Satisfied that the demon was in bed again and drinking water, Bartrand headed for the kitchen. He wondered idly what to call his new assistant. He thought over the matter as he rapidly cooked. The food providing functions of the manse were sometimes incredible in the variety that they could produce. Normally, he restricted himself to just one or two types of food at a time, rotating so he never got bored. That said, he could definitely put a good meal together when he took a little bit of everything. He whisked around the kitchen, in his dark blue robe and tall white chef's hat, his bracers fully charged to provide appropriate tools. One of the haranhal sat glumly in the corner, so he made up a spare rasher of bacon for it. He didn't want to know how the manse generated raw bacon for him to cook, but he didn't ask, because as far as he could tell, it was authentic bacon and it was delicious. In a few minutes, he had made waffles, bacon, poached eggs, toast, and a dish full of a variety of berries; all things that should help Alveua's hangover. He had plenty of time left over to clean the Demoness' dress.

Her food laid out on a tray, he returned to his room, carrying a couple plates full of breakfast as well as a fresh carafe of water. Normally, he'd bring orange juice as well, but it was not good for someone with a hangover. It would just upset their stomach, so two glasses of water it was. He carefully placed a plate on the nightstand next to his bed, put a hand on her shoulder to awaken her, and spoke softly, "Eat. It will make you feel better."

Spoiler

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One hour of work, enhanced with Craftsman Needs No Spatula... I mean Tools.

Edit: Rolled in OOC because the forum ate my rolls.
Craft Wood: (14d10)[2][10][7][3][2][6][10][9][10][1][3][9][1][8](81)
Craft Water: (14d10)[4][9][7][4][9][1][2][8][2][4][3][8][9][1](71)

First, Craft:Wood to repair a dress - [rollv]14d10[/rollv] = 10 successes + 4 automatic = 14 successes - difficult 5 = 9 net successes (more than enough to weave a new Perfect quality resources 5 dress, let alone repair the existing one)
Second, Craft: Water to prepare a breakfast (I may have undersold the breakfast produced in the stunt, he's doing the equivalent of 3 hours worth of cooking and preparation on it.) - [rollv]14d10[/rollv] = 6 successes + 4 automatic = 10 successes - difficulty 3 = 7 net successes. A higher than Perfect quality breakfast.

[Gargulec]

Things Lost and Broken

There was sand on your lips and sand in the folds of your clothing, sand getting into your eyes and sizzling in the fires of the fire duck.

There was sand everywhere.

Ceceylyne was flowing into Oasis, wind-carried dunes slipping past the border, collapsing onto the plain of brass granted to the Creation-born. Yet, as it was known, she would never really take the Dross for herself, as with any other layer that she seemed to consume with each passing moment. The Silent Wind raced on the border of Malfeas day and night, taking the desert with her, pushing it back, sometimes hundreds of miles, uncovering lost treasures and forgotten horrors. Thus, no demon would want to dwell on the border, knowing that it is only a manner of time before the peace of Adjoran falls over it.

Port Wrath did not seem to care for that, perched on the edge of sand, sprouting from both the desert and the brass in a manner of a Green-Sun Wasting induced tumour.

For all its dreaded reputation, it looked pitiful: from a distance appearing to be some sort of a weird refugee camp, with a few hundreds of tents set around erratically and without any order. No one bothered to build anything more stable than such shacks, because why would he? Any moment, the day on which it becomes necessary to move back, to give more space to the endlessly flowing-in desert could come, after all. And thus, Port Wrath was forever temporary. Only the sand-ship harbour had some semblance of permanency, but even it could be dismantled within hours.

Up close... up close it was even worse. The thick stench of liquor saturated the air around, while the delicate note of decay reminded everyone entering that perhaps, there would be no coming back.

As soon as someone got in sight of the various sentries around, he would never be truly free from predatory eyes for as long as he stayed. People with demons inside held their knives on the ready every moment. From the bigger tents, serving as illicit casinos or taverns shouts and songs were pouring onto the thin passages between shacks, and the screams of people being beaten or killed never truly left the air here. But no bodies were to be found... though it was most sensible idea not to inquire into the nature of leather or bone good sold around too closely.

The group crossed the border of the tents, already feeling the heavy gazes on their backs. There was a huge tavern-shack close, loud music was playing inside, and from the shouts, it was easy to gather that there was some sort of fight going on there: though whether it was spontaneous or not was another thing entirely.

'Hey, you' a scruffy, tall man with a pair of lackeys to his sides crossed your paths, eyeing you warily. All three of them was armed with brazen swords, but that was all that was uniform in them. 'I have not seen you before...' he narrowed his eyes 'so, what is your business here?'

He did not appear aggressive, wisely so. Given the huge Dragon-king on your side, anything to rash from his side would probably not end up well for him, and he was well aware of that.

[MrPrim]

Oriasta gasped and rose to her feet, wiping tears from her eyes. In here, in her heart’s sanctum, every teardrop that touched the ground became a flower. ”W-what…?” Oriasta coughed, and leaned a bit on her staff to steady herself.

”Who are you and what are you doing here?” she asked, in her best ‘I am a powerful being who demands respect, voice.’

[Odd_Canuck]

The very air seems to stand still for a moment, pregnant with expectation. Punch looks squarely at the Infernal, as if paying actual attention to him for the first time. "Goodwill Towards Man Smash" is spoken from his lips, the words echoed uncountable millions of times up and down the tornado of his anima and is heard miles away, deafening to those at the wedding.

With the words he throws the small bowl of rice straight up into the air, even as his anima banner violently explodes, raining down every tool imaginable even knives, spears and hammers of gold and blue.

Grabbing the head of a falling hammer, he makes a fist around the head and smashes it into the Infernal with a low growl of "You."

A spatula falls, is grabbed and driven into the Interloper with a growl of "Are."

A Chisel is backhanded to the face with the statement of "Not."

"Worthy." which is followed by a bedpan to the crotch.

"Now..." is uppercut into the face along with a sawblade.


"Die." is added as a matched set of soul-ripping clamps of gold suddenly and unexpectedly explode out of Punch's back, arc around several feet and strike The Swords of Hell Right from behind.

Punch holds out his left hand, the rice bowl lands within it. He brings it to his lips and tips a mouthful in before resuming his stance.

Spoiler

Show

Secondary action is from the Arms of Multiple Manipulation
Using the combo: Goodwill Towards Man Smash

Maxed 1st MA on the attacks with the soul-ripping clamps as well as Sledgehammer Fist Punch


Combat block: 4/6
5-action flurry, further punching.
Damage is 10A + Extra Successes Speed 3 (piercing damage).
1: (15d10)[5][5][9][4][8][10][1][7][7][6][4][9][2][2][5](84)
2: (14d10)[4][8][4][2][6][7][9][4][10][1][2][3][7][10](77)
3: (13d10)[6][9][6][7][4][8][7][6][7][9][1][10][1](81)
4: (12d10)[9][10][8][10][1][2][5][6][8][4][6][3](72)
5: (11d10)[9][9][5][4][6][7][3][9][5][9][8](74)

Secondary Action: Flurry of Defend Other on Min, and 2 attacks.
Damage is 20A + Extra Successes Speed 3 (piercing damage).
6: (27d10)[5][6][6][4][6][5][4][3][8][2][5][7][2][7][2][5][5][7][5][10][1][10][6][5][8][10][6](150)
7: (26d10)[7][9][2][6][3][10][8][7][10][6][9][6][9][1][10][3][7][1][3][2][1][8][9][5][3][5](150)

Soak:
Bashing:19 (22 vs CoD) Vs Piercing is 11/14
Lethal:14 (17 vs CoD) Vs Piercing is 8/11
Aggravated:13 Vs Piercing is 7

Hardness:
Bashing: 5
Lethal: 5

Essence:
Personal: 0 /19
Peripheral: 11 /27 (13 Attuned)

Willpower: 8 / 10

Health:
-0 [ ][ ][ ]
-1 [ ][ ][ ][ ]
-2 [ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ]
-4 [ ]
X [ ]

[Gargulec]

Silver and Gold Span the Infernal Heaven

There was defence, a dance of shadows distraction and knocking blows back. There was a wide grin of man who thought himself to be more than he actually was.

There was a sudden dread in his eye, a desperate parry with hands being burned by the molten gold. And then, there was blood. Warm, thick gore spilling through a gaping maw torn in an Infernal's chest, burnt pure by the light he abhorred.

The force of the blow threw him to his knees, and he stared at the wound in disbelief, not able to comprehend how that could have happened.

Amidst the torrent of silver and gold light that spanned the infernal heaven, he knelt, defeated, speechless.

New light sprouted from the cracked ground, setting the essence flows themselves ablaze with the argent glow. Punch felt a familiar hand on his shoulder, and then Min whispered into his ear.

'Thank you' she said, pushing the Solar to the side for a moment. She made a step forward, looking down upon the fallen Infernal, and then moving her eyes around.

You did not realize it in the middle of the furious combat, but the powers abused here harmed those around you more than yourself. The shards of Slayer's shadow-shield struck down many guests, their blood eagerly drank by the brass of Malfeas.

Nothing remained of the shrine or of the tables, not even splinters. But you could still feel the essence you shed, twisting and changing the dragon-lines beneath your feet. More power was unleashed here than it was safe or sound: something would change, there was no other way.

'I surrender' the Slayer managed to utter, sprouting blood from his mouth, his caste-mark guttering out.

Grimnir

'What' he let the word to hang up in the air for a moment, unmoved by Oriasta's attempts at being stern 'I am?'

He moved a step closer, allowing the hood to fall down from his head. His face, gnarled as an oak's bark missed an eye.

'Someone who knows you' he continued, his voice darkening 'even though you know of me not.'

He looked around, carefully, marvelling at the garden around. He run his fingers - thick, calloused, used to a blade, not a caress - through a bush, slowly.

'Of old was an age' he begun to intone, the words resounding within the greenhouse, even though they should not. 'when was emptiness...'

His expression changed, shifting from mild concern to a deep trance within a second, and then snapping back just as fast.

'I apologize' he murmured, bowing his head stiffly 'I tend to lose myself in memories, Blossoming One... it will come to you, too' his ancient lips twisted in a thin smile 'with a few more eternities. Regardless! You may call me Grimnir, and I am here... I am here' the words seemed to imply that this fact was his reason of invading your sanctum. Odd.

[MrPrim]

Grimnir

Oriasta stared at the old man, puzzled. She had left her senses dulled for the wedding ceremony, had turned her sight down to the bare mortal minimum in order to avoid being blinded by Venus’s radiance. But with only a minor exertion of will, once again she was seeing so much more than a mere mortal. Essence flows, mostly her own, danced in her vision.

With the true sight of a goddess, Oriasta stared at the old man. ”Is there something I can help you with?” she asked, moving to keep a large heavy table covered in flower cuttings between herself and the interloper.

Spoiler

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Spending 6m to activate Amethyst Awareness. I've now got All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight and I intend to keep this Charm active all the time.

[Dragnar]

Jania shrugged to the man, glancing around the rather pathetic settlement. It looked even worse than the rest of the oasis, and that was saying something. Oh well, at least they wouldn't be here long... well, hopefully. Most of the trouble in the place would likely steer clear of them, so that wouldn't be a problem. Getting the information on the other hand might prove difficult.

"Our business? Hopefully just a few quick questions. We're looking for a Solar that came through here recently. The essence-lizard here wants to have words with her. You happen to have heard anything?"

[Sallera]

Of Kites and Flutes

Tewi gives Zsofika a short nod of understanding; it did make sense that she'd be reluctant to discuss sensitive matters in front of one who sought power over her. "Some other time, then." And then he is swept along in Vana's wake as their journey begins in earnest.

Now this almost beats just flying there. He has little skill in dancing, but he finds himself stepping lightly in perfect cadence, most of his attention devoted to watching the Solar in front of him. Grandiose, ostentatious, arrogant - all things he expected from Solars, and the performance was all of them. But... he still couldn't look away, for what so frequently seemed like posturing on others felt completely genuine from Vana. She knew this place, and it acknowledged her accordingly. That was the problem with Solars. They always made it so difficult to distrust them.

[Gargulec]

Of Kites and Flutes

Grasping the knife between her long, many-jointed fingers, Zsofika smiled - and it was not a predator's smile, nor a mirthful one: this one was an eulogy.

'The end' she called out into the void, and jerked what little remained of her hair backwards, the knife slashing surely, cutting off the last braids, slashing the sound of brass woven into them once and for all. She threw them to the side, and never looked at them again.

The blood receded, revealing the brass once more, the metal glistening eagerly, washed in gore.

Yet all eyes were caught somewhere else: Vana danced. And it was something more than a mere dance, it was the expression of the same joy that made Brass Dancer forget of his loss as the entire Demon-City swung with him, around him, within him.

Soon, the dance met with an answer from the city itself: the echoes of the footsteps rang through the streets far and wide, the Green Sun adding more and more shades and shadows to the display brought up by the Night's magic. Emerald spirits flickered into life between the nymphs of silver, music of horns and drum entwined with the trumpet sounds. All clouds Ligier's glare cleared, and the now the sky was empty and furious, reflecting the Solar glory beneath. Entire layer could feel that there something profound happening, and the carnival intensified without a suggestion, the dance and song of demons spurred to even crazier excess, more magnificent, the prayers to the Brass Victor, Malfeas Triumphant cried high!

Vana danced, and her dance brought her down what remained of Zsofika's fiefdom. She moved gracefully out the ruin, into another street, with the tall towers of iron and jet raising to her sides, the golden lights of her anima flickering on the brazen mosaics, reflecting the glories that were. And she danced further still, up the alley, with many demons around spontaneously genuflecting themselves before her radiance, with her companions following closely behind. One more alley, one more street, and she found herself moving into an army - for a column of Blood Apes steeled for war she danced into, marching towards the Kite Flute's lands from their unknown fortress.

You did not hear them before, but now, gazing from your higher ground, you could see that there were hundreds of them, gleaming with green-iron armors, all hideous heads set at you, and at Vana's dance. They carried standards of a dark hammer, now fluttering in one of the many winds of the Demon-City. What was the purpose of their march, you could not say - but a war was a common affair under the Green Sky.

And then, as if they could not stand and witness such a glory and power as the one of the Night Wolf's dance, they all bowed, the rustle of them pressing their heads to basalt pavement echoing through the street. No demon so lowly could find himself worthy of marvelling at such wonder as the dance was: so they bent.

Only one remained standing, a tall, dark man, their commander hidden amidst their rank before. A huge sword he slung across his back, and the shadow of an iron tower covered his face, so all you could see was a pair of eyes like embers.

'Lords Lawgiver' he called you, in disbelief and wonder.

Spoiler

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3 die stunt for Vana. Regain 6m or 1wp.

The Visits

She drank thirstily, giving you the look of a person saved from a long, painful death by a sudden and unexpected benefaction of what she previously viewed only marginally better from an ant.

'My hero' she smiled, taking a small bite, raising on her elbows from the bed. She was looking a bit better now, recovering very quickly. 'You surprise me, really... I guess that you Creation-born adhere to different standards... not a really new thought, hmm?'

She glanced at her repaired dress, and smiled again.

'It is the day now, right?' she asked, looking through the window. 'Then we should have the demon I've told you about in our hands soon... my little force is on the march already... Now... give me a private moment to get myself into working order, would you kindly?'

[AmberVael]

Of Kites and Flute

As impressive as she had made the display, Vana had not truly expected this significant of a response to her performance. A part of her, the part that was the scorned child of house Cynis, had expected a lesser audience, and certainly not one that would so willingly join in her parade.

That they did was exhilarating. It was, on some level, a validation of the path that she had chosen that she had always yearned for. It spurs her to greater heights, and she gives herself completely to her work.

So, by the time the army approaches, Vana is fully caught up in the spectacle she started, and when she is called out to, she has no desire to stop... but then, another part of her says that she should never ignore her audience, or supplications.

But there is an easy, if somewhat unexpected compromise. As the commander calls out to her, she whirls towards him, moving in a circle that carries her to the edge of her parade, at which point she'll reach out and attempt to pull the demon into her dance with her, regardless of how clumsy and incapable of dancing he may be. "Speak your mind!" She says to him, grinning as she calls the procession to a halt, but not its celebration. Her standard bearers and dancers widen out into a circle, spinning with her twin sun symbols.

Spoiler

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Seeing as her willpower is totally full, Vana will claim the motes, which puts her back up to full in that regard too.