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

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    Default Heroes of the Fall

    Darkness fades, the stars dim in the sky, and once again the sun cuts its endless path over the Great Disk
    Light and shadow intertwine beneath the newborn sky, and the promise of change lies heavy in the air
    So begins the chronicle of a new age, an age of tragedy and madness, an age of wonder and hope
    Neither Spirit nor Man nor Beast shall leave the crucible of time unchanged
    For now begins the Age of Gods



    But come away from the base and cruel world, and gaze upon the White City of Baz'Auran, the jewel of creation, bastion of peace and knowledge in the chaos of reality. Far above the Great Disk, Spirits and Gods gather to watch the sun pass under the Well of Eternity, the sole unguarded window upon creation within the White City. Nearby, spirits of Craft lovingly sculpt a winged ship from white-gold, preparing a suitable vessel to ferry the chosen of Baz'Auran to their new domain. Around the great circular gap in the city, the excitement is palpable, though it will be some time yet before the divine ship is finished. But come, for not every God remains enraptured by the sight of yet another sunrise, and the White City holds many delights for the discerning mind.

    Not far from the Well of Eternity, scented breezes overwhelm any sense of urgency, as Gods and Spirits walk among the tenfold paths of contemplation. Trees of every discernible kind mingle in impossible configurations, spirit-grown cherry trees sending a rainbow of blossoms spiraling onto the white marble walkways, shrouding alcoves and gazebos in riotous shadows of color. Exploding among the roots, wildflowers wrestle each other for the eyes attention, while the cultivated flowers of the Spiris hold back the endless tide of life.

    Far from the silence of the gardens, the Plaza of Song bursts with life of a different sort. Here, a hundred different melodies escape from peerless instruments, expressions of pure joy from the spirits of Music. By all rights, the noise should be a horrendous, awful jumble, but one need only stop a moment to notice the intricate harmony between disparate artists, until the entire living mass of sound is united in a single great chorus of praise to creation and its Creator.

    But come away from such frivolous things, and thrill to music of a different sort. Within the Steel Cathedral, spirits of War practice their craft without respite, honing their skills to a razor's edge, waiting for the chance to prove their puissance to their lord. Not once has the holy army been called to meet an outside threat, yet still they train, for that is what they were born to do.

    And now, turn your eyes to the heart of the White City, to the gleaming towers of the Most High where Baz'Auran makes his home. In a thicket of soaring crystal and diamond, no edifice could hope to match the sheer artistic perfection of the Divine Palace. The golden doors are always open, revealing the great court of Baz'Auran that stretches into eternity. There he sits upon his dais, like steel made flesh, his shining grey eyes ever-watchful as he contemplates upon the heavens that appear, superimposed upon the crystal ceiling. This is the birthplace of all, the true home of the Gods, and the place where rumors state that Baz'Auran will make a grand proclamation scant days hence.

    No, I cannot betray what he shall say! Away with you, and revel in the perfection of the White City while you can. Follow the paths of the nascent Gods and their companions, as they make the final preparations to venture into a new world.

    I was old when the pharaohs first mounted
    The jewel-decked throne by the Nile;
    I was old in those epochs uncounted
    When I, and I only, was vile;

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    Quote Originally Posted by apocalypsePast2 View Post
    ...one could possibly refer to you guys' elaborate dance of allies-to-enemies-to-suicide-of-the-universe as some sort of weird art form.

    If one were on drugs.
    Quote Originally Posted by VonDoom View Post
    Behold, the mighty slayer of strangely coloured mutant equines! The thwarter of forum woes! The! Dark! DM!

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

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    Amid the green perfection that is Baz'Auran gardens, amid roses that glowed with luster and great stately oaks, two broken hearted gods awkwardly spent what seemed to them to be their last moments. The silence was palatable. It seemed to stretch into infinity, into the cracks between the stars.

    She bent down a plucked a rose, lifting it to her nose and breathed in before sighing artfully. It had a profound effect on Carolinus, that simple movement, made a thousand times before, that melancholy sigh so unknown to him. It brought back a thousand memories of flowers smelt and contented sighs, a thousand happy memories.

    She spoke at last 'We have always known this day was coming.'

    As always she spoke the words in his hearts, words that had become heavy with duty and grief. 'And now it is here'

    'What will I do without you?' The voice in her voice was total, it suffused her being.

    He was defeated, he had no answer 'I don't know. What will I do without you?'

    'Your duty.'

    'Ha. Yes, at least he gave me that much.' That was the hardest part in so many painful ways. Not his own fate, but hers. He at least had his duty, the promise he made for her love. A promise to a father who would not be denied. What of Cireo? What of his sister-wife? What of the woman he loved more than anything? He would sacrifice his life to erase the gloom from her face, yet still it would not be enough. Nothing could prevent her sorrow. 'Beloved.' he paused, staring off into the distance 'words cannot express-'

    'And are not required. Always we think the same.' His heart's twin would not be denied, just like her father.

    'Except in Jongo' he said with a sudden timid smile.

    To his delight Cireo suddenly burst into great gales of laughter, the sound spilled out into the gardens, carrying the essential spirit of Cireo. It lifted his heart, suddenly he could see clearly. She laughed until she was out of breath, by which time she was in his arms. She kissed his cheek and whispered 'Except in Jongo' in his ear.

    Every moment was to be savored, that had been the gift Baz'Auran gave Carolinus even as he cursed. That simple beautiful truth. 'It's too quiet here. Let's go have some fun.'
    Last edited by Ladorak; 2012-01-30 at 07:07 PM.
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    The Human Spirit also by KP. The Raynnverse lives!

    Vagrant and Seal by Smuchmuch

    Vagrant by Darth Raynn

    Sentient #6 Avatar by kpenguin. Clearly the best picture of a M&M character named after a Nevermore song there has ever been.

  3. - Top - End - #3
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    Gengy's Avatar

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    Jongo, the Everchanging

    While he could be anywhere in the White City, and in fact, has been nearly everywhere, Jongo has chosen to sit in silence, within the court room of Baz'Auran.

    This is the only place that she will sit still. Normally, Jongo - wild and unpredictable - will be always moving, always changing. But for now, he sits, staring at the great ceiling.

    For reasons that not even Jongo, Eldest of Baz'Auran's children, may not know, the Whimsical Wonder has chosen to look, and often times act, like the youngest. Attention entirely focused on the ceiling above, Jongo is in the form of a young human. With blond hair cropped short, and a long white shirt that goes down to the knees, it's tough to tell if the human child is meant to be male or female.

    It matters not.

    Jongo simply stares at the Crystal Ceiling in amazement, as the universe swirls and swells and contracts to Baz'Auran's will. It breathes. It lives. And Jongo, one eye green, one eye grey, but both eyes mystified; just stares.

    A thought occurs. Stray. Wandering. The way most thoughts occur for Jongo.

    But never before in this room.

    The thought is a question. Curious to a fault, Jongo doesn't always understand the answers, but the questions are what are important. They beg to be asked.

    But never before in this room.

    The question is on his lips. An impulse. A whim. The words are uttered before Jongo even realizes it. It's how questions are asked.

    But never before in this room.

    "Father, how did you get the stars to stay in place? Don't they ever want to move?" Jongo, as the little human child, realizes who he has just addressed. Asking a question is a distraction here. Jongo usually never speaks, unless spoken to. But... it's too much. Things are especially pretty today. Something must be said. Somethings must be asked.

    Jongo feels it. Even if never before has she felt it in this room.
    Last edited by Gengy; 2012-01-30 at 06:04 PM.
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    "Fear the Gerbils, lads! For they will destroy you!" ~ DOOM

    BladeofObliviom said:
    I've only seen a character at anything resembling this level of absurdity thrive exactly once, and he/she/what-the-jongo had the advantage of being written by Gengy, who I look up to as a writer.

    "What-the-Jongo?"
    Before you insult someone, walk a mile in their shoes.
    That way, you'll be a mile away, and have their shoes!
    ~avatar by myself

  4. - Top - End - #4
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    The Succubus's Avatar

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    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    Secluded in one of White City's towering spires, he watches the final stages of construction on the vessel that would take him down to the Great Disk. Khalen had very mixed feelings about the whole enterprise and none of them were welcome. Following the death of Elanna and the exile of the Elder Spirits, the White City had lost its luster, its sparkle. He had continued his duties and while he would often send lesser spirits to the library to fetch books on his behalf, he himself had been loathe to set foot in the place. It brought back memories of happier times and with them the sharp and painful reminder of what he had lost.

    Khalen shakes his head, clearing away the ghosts of the past and marshaling his thoughts on what lay ahead. The chaotic areas of the Great Disk had been finished by Father but beyond the Rim lay the Abyss and the potential threats that dwelt within.

    He has a sense of foreboding about the enterprise but he would obey. He always obeyed now.
    Quote Originally Posted by Dallas-Dakota View Post
    Succubus gets grongratulatory cookies from me. You have stepped into the realm of puns that only the likes of Death, Your Friend the Reaper have seen.

    Posting schedule likely to be erratic for the next few weeks - sorting out some personal stuff.

  5. - Top - End - #5
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    Flumph

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    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    Amongst the lesser spirits did Soreal prepare herself for the journey. She reassured the little ones that yes, she would come back for a visit some day. That yes, she would take care of herself on the disc. That yes, she would sit on the prow of the mighty ship, staring into the infinite on the crest of the bow.

    She hears the melody of music that leaps and swims to be heard.
    She hears the rhythm of steel and the pulse of the forge.

    It's perfect.
    Too perfect.

    Near her father, unfortunately, was where the feeling was worst. Near him, his way was the truth. A single harmonious choir reaching to the ends of space and time. All songs merged together into this single tune. It was strong enough to shake the spirit, even from here.

    The little voices, however, are drowned out. There's a simplicity in the little sounds of the world, what she strains to hear, of baby chicks being born and the water lapping on shore of a beach. Like missing the trees for the forest - she cannot tell the individual elements apart when they are all woven together.

    The wildflower she picks up, carefully cradling the roots in her hands. It sings its own, small song of the eye, unveiling like a embarrassed maiden. She smiles. At least in the gardens, she can pick out a single voice from the hundreds of millions.

    At least, for once, she can be herself, rather than a part of the whole.

    The two lovers - no, something more. She watches from afar. If they deigned to find truth in each other, ever the more evidence for their unique version of the truth. So far as she knew, none of the others had bonded in this way before. But the Weaver-

    Well, let's stop thinking and give them some privacy.
    Orphidian Urge: Corrupt youth throughout creation with insidious role-playing games.

  6. - Top - End - #6
    Troll in the Playground
     
    DarthArminius's Avatar

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    Aerin The Thunderer

    Aerin, managed to look to his left and his right. Hm... There were many of his siblings around him. At least figuratively, they were still in White City after all. He had wondered what Baz'Auran had to say. It would be time for Aerin to finally here what Father had to say in a moment, but for now, he was enjoying tea with one of few Spirits in White City that actually enjoyed his company, and not just tolerated him. "Ah, Mica, do you think that life would ever be the same without good wine, tea, and veal?" The spirit shook it's head, "Nein, mein freund." Lifting their glasses to eachother, as if the tea in the glass was wine, they clinked their glasses and took a sip. "No soap water this time, good." Mica lifted his eyebrow, "What was that, Aerin?" Aerin smirked, "Rose and I have some understandable problems with eachother, but it looks like we've finally made up, I think. I wouldn't be too sure about that but it looks like we at least have left eachother alone for a while."

    "So Mica, I was thinking about something for a long time. How am I to stop worrying what all these people in White City think? For some reason I've always been at least half of what people expect me to be. Yes, I am a kiss azz, but how can I not be. The very first thing I've ever said as a godling was "Yes, you're EXCELLENCY!" This problem of sucking up and at least attempting to make it up the ladder through flattery is something I've been struggling with for decades since my creation. Is there a way I could stop?"

    Mica giggled. "Probably, otherwise some of us would stop being a little annoyed at you most of the time. Ah, but at least think of the possibilities of your'self now, Aerin. At least you're attempting to make a difference in you'reself. This is the moment most us have been waiting for. For you to finally stop being so sycophantic. I of course am a strange Spirit in that I know what it is to have been such a thing some years ago. Yet, I am such a thing no more. I am proud of you already."

    Aerin smiled. "Well, I think today's the day I'll ask Father how I will change."

  7. - Top - End - #7
    Orc in the Playground
     
    DoomHat's Avatar

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    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    Clipboard in hand, Rumel scrutinized the inner hull of the ship as it continued taking shape around him. His expression was one of haggard surrender. What had he done to warrant such punishment? Here he was acting as foreman, herding the little worker things around, seeing to it that everything kept to schedule, insuring against wasted materials, and all on a project that he wasn’t allowed to design.
    He wasn’t even allowed any input! It was clear to him that the whole rig suffered for it. Father intended to send forth his own children, through unspeakable danger and past any number of violent chaos manifestations, in this delicately engraved soft metal bathtub! It was enough to send him into apoplexy, and indeed when he first saw the schematics, it had!
    As he kicked and yelled at a team of spirits who were idling about, carving murals on the galley walls, instead of running system checks on the starboard propulsion wings it occurred to him. Father knew that if Rumel was left to his own devices, he’d build a ship of his own to fly down to the surface. One with red steal bulkheads, redundant emergency landing systems, tri-oscillating thunder cannons, and a support frame that could be taken apart and resembled into a defensible fort once on the ground. But No!
    An outsized piece of metal work jewelry, soft as solder but with all the conductivity of a lighting rod, that's the ship for them.
    Where the blast is Haramhold?!”, demanded Rumel, craving either someone to agree with or yell at in equal measure.
    Last edited by DoomHat; 2012-01-30 at 08:04 PM.

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    Dwarf in the Playground
     
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    Haramhold was just pulling the last of the glowing blue Crystals out of the vat when Rumel's messenger arrived. Sighing He carefully placed it in a velvet lined box with the other hundred crystals needed to power Father's Galley. Hoisting the box onto his shoulder He slowly made his way up from the cool damp basement; reminiscing on the past few weeks. This ship of father's are truly of an ingenious design, it had been a joy and a privilege to assist in its construction and learn its design. Haramhold knew that if it were up to Rumel the ship the children would descend into the disc on would make the one they were making look like a clumsy barge. But Haramhold supposed that there was a time and a place to create such things, it is more important for the galley to be completed with care and more importantly on time.

    Haramhold loved growing the crystals more than any other part of the construction. The required patience, and devotion to come out right, and in their radiance, Haramhold could only smile at their beauty.

    Spotting Rumel from across the shipyard, Haramhold booms "How goes the construction brother?"
    Last edited by shorewood; 2012-01-30 at 09:50 PM.
    Sometimes it is useful to know how large your zero is. ~Author Unknown

  9. - Top - End - #9
    Bugbear in the Playground
     
    THEChanger's Avatar

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    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    And near the edge of it all, just beyond the Well of Eternity, The Weaver watched. Reaching down, he flicked the very edge of the sun, and drew forth from it a thread of purest gold. It was a short thread, as the sun's heat threatened to burn the very hair from under The Weaver's hood. But it was enough. Smiling as the last piece fell into his hand, The Weaver made his way back into the paths of contemplation. He had been preparing something, since the journey had been announced. Taking threads of purest color from the world around him. Never so much as to disturb the balance, or devoid a piece of his father's wonderful creation of its natural vibrance, of course, but enough for his own purposes. Deep inside the paths, The Weaver was making a sail.
    It was perfect. Beautious, a sail inscribed with the accomplishments of all his brothers and sisters. The creations of Rumel and Haramhold, the magic of Faden, Jongo's infinite forms, Roselia's illusions, the blades of Nieve, Kalandor, and Frellon, and many more. And now the last piece was in place. A golden border, as bright and shinning as the sun. A suitable sail for the ship of the gods.
    Rumel would call it a fire hazard, of course, but even he should be able to appreciate the beauty.
    Carefully rolling the sail up, The Weaver began his walk towards the docks where the ship was waiting. The time was approaching, but never could The Weaver hurry. His mind moved too fast, he had no speed to spare for his feet. Along his walk, he spied his sister, Soreal. A lovely lady, by all accounts. Though her dislike of Baz'Auran continually puzzled The Weaver. "Soreal! A fine day it is. Good omens for our coming journey." The Weaver smiled, and offered a small wave. Lately, he and Soreal had enjoyed walks in the deep paths, contemplating nature's beauty. Many tapestries had The Weaver woven of the sights they had seen together. Yet The Weaver had yet to weave a portrait of his sister alone. He should offer some time, when they arrived on the surface.
    ATTENTION ANYONE WHO I'M PLAYING WITH:
    No news is good news.

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  10. - Top - End - #10
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    Flumph

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    "Greetings to you, brother." She says rather stiffly, looking at the sail. She quickly puts down the flower back into her pocket, the song quickly muted out. She relaxes. "I've been looking forward to this for a long time, Weaver. The White City is a grand place, but..." She sighs. "You blind yourself to the smaller things worth caring about." She leaves the gardens and starts walking with you.

    "I-I've been thinking about my contribution to the ship, since the little spirits asked me what I would do. I am troubled, for I am not one of great ideas summed together. I can shape wood to seemly forms, grow flowers of great colour - but nothing that would be worthy of a great ship." She is disconsolate. The flowers around her shy from her gaze.

    "I feel so helpless. What can I do? I am useless for this great task that our Father has set out for us."
    Orphidian Urge: Corrupt youth throughout creation with insidious role-playing games.

  11. - Top - End - #11
    Orc in the Playground
     
    DoomHat's Avatar

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    "Yes, it is a lovely shade of red, I'm not discounting that, but maybe, just maybe, YOUR TEAM SHOULD HELP FINISH CONSTRUCTING THE DECK BEFORE YOU START PAINTING IT!", said Rumel with growing hysteria.
    The little spirit and its colleagues set down their brushes and raced away to find their hammers and join back in among the swarm of activity. Rumel stood and watched, seething at them.
    The sound Haramhold's voice, "How goes the construction brother?", calmed him.
    "Oh exactly to spec," said Rumel with venom, "terribly. Wait, are those the crystals?"
    With renewed enthusiasm he bounded over to have a look.
    "They're beautiful. Looks like your incubator functioned at utmost efficiency, not that I'm too surprised, being your handiwork and all," said Rumel mouth agape in awe.
    "Hurry along then, lets get them to the engine chamber and double check the distribution couplings before plugging these lovelies in!".

  12. - Top - End - #12
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    shorewood's Avatar

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    Haramhold followed Rumel up the gangplank onto the deck, which was abuzz with activity. dozens of lesser spirits rushed back and forth with hammers, saws, glue and tar. Breathing in deeply of the smell Haramhold started humming a merry little tune under his breath; he was so horribly out of tune that the nearest spirit cringed and quietly found someplace else to work. The engine chamber was a small heavily enforced room located in the dead center of the ship. With just enough room for two attendants to mind the engine, the two gods felt right at home. The two of them went to work with hardly a word between them, each knowing exactly what to do, after all they were the ones to make the engine itself.

    As they worked Haramhold looked at his brother "Rumel, How soon do you think the deck will be finished? I know The Weaver is eager to hoist that sail of his."
    Last edited by shorewood; 2012-01-30 at 09:50 PM.
    Sometimes it is useful to know how large your zero is. ~Author Unknown

  13. - Top - End - #13
    Bugbear in the Playground
     
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    The Weaver's face fell as he saw his sister's sadness. "You pose an interesting question, dear Soreal. Though, if you did not wish to make a contribution to the ship, no one would blame you. I imagine Lossethir and Jongo will certainly be having little to do with the ship's construction." The Weaver knelt by the side of the path momentarily, and smelled the flowers. "Though, your skill with shaping wood does give me an idea. The ship has a power source, a hull, a deck, a sail, everything a ship needs...save one. No one has made a figurehead yet. Perhaps, then, you could give the ship a figurehead? A living, carved masterpiece?" He looked up at his sister and smiled. "I'm sure whatever you decide, it will be wonderful." Standing, The Weaver took his sister's hand and pulled her into a hug. "And I do listen to all the songs, big, small, fast, and slow. And each alone is beautiful. But when they are brought together..." Withdrawing from the hug, he unfurled his sail. "They come together to form one harmonious whole. Each has something to contribute. A weaver can forget neither the largest, nor the smallest thread."
    ATTENTION ANYONE WHO I'M PLAYING WITH:
    No news is good news.

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  14. - Top - End - #14
    Orc in the Playground
     
    DoomHat's Avatar

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    The Engine Room
    Rumel and Haramhold

    Rumel stopped dead in his tracks and turned slowly to his twin. “Always the little details…” he said with disappointment.
    On schedule! It will be ready on schedule. Let us please focus on building this blasted art project father’s given us up into something functional. There’ll be plenty of time to pin on a bunch of nonsense at the launch ceremony. No better time for it. Frivolity” he said, punctuating his grumbling with a heave and the tightening of a bolt.
    Last edited by DoomHat; 2012-01-30 at 11:26 PM.

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    Troll in the Playground
     
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    A song ascends to the highest towers of the White City, as the entire Plaza of Song unites to play one song. Here, standing in the middle of the square, is the singer, a beacon of light in the midst of the crowd, singing praise to Baz'Auran Most High. Her voice is perfect; it dances among the high notes, descends gracefully into the low notes, and it is filled with such joy that any mortal heart could barely comprehend it. The singer is robed in green and blue, and decorated with a necklace of perfectly-wrought pearls, and her wings shake in the breeze as she sings alone among all the instruments.

    Behind the sylph sits a harpist, beside a harp so finely crafted that it is the greatest instrument among the thousand that are now being played in the orchestra, her delicate, creamy fingers moving with bewildering speed along the strings, as she plays the melody that the orchestra follows. It can hardly be heard, among the trumpets and the drums and the violins, but it directs the music. When it rises up to the heavens, the music follows suit, and when it descends into the depths, they follow also; and the harp follows the singer, supporting her, making her song more than it ever could have been alone.

    The song finishes on a glorious note, one that rocks from one side of the White City to the other, and then there is a rare moment of silence in the Plaza of Song. The singer bows with a smile, and the harpist applauds her, and so, too, do the rest of the spirits of the Plaza of Song. The harpist then, sadly, runs one hand along the golden engraving on her harp - she will not be able to take it with her to the land below the White City, even though she loved it very much. It is simply too big to be carried where she will not have Spirits of Strength to bear it for her. She rises, intending to slip away to her father's hall, now that her last song in the Plaza has finished - but there, before her, rises a spirit cloaked in splendor, his robes shining-white, his cowl shadowing his face. He towers above her, twice as tall and twice as wide.

    Fayruz bows to the Conductor, and wishes him well - a thousand years performing for the King of Hosts, and then a thousand more. The Conductor, as is his wont, does not speak, but reaches into his robe and produces a harp that is a tiny toy in his hands, offering it to the Maiden of Dusk. It is made of the richest, reddest wood of the garden, with strings made of pure moon-loved silver, and whorling engravings made of brash red gold. It hangs from a leather strap, branded with the mark of the Maiden of Dusk.

    She eagerly accepts it, running one hand down its silver strings and exulting in the pure, lovely sound. It is, perhaps, not quite so grand as her old harp, but it is all the more beautiful to her for being a gift. She bids the conductor bend down, which he does, bending almost double to hear what she has to say to him, and the orchestra leans in closer to hear. But instead, she simply presents her cheek, and he plants a burning kiss upon it - not touching her cheek, for fear of burning it, but merely leaving his mark upon it.

    Then she turns to the orchestra and bows low, thanking them for allowing her to make music for Baz'Auran's glory with them. They cheer, and beat upon their drums, and strum their mandolins, and blow their horns, and so the Maiden of Dusk makes her way out of the Plaza of Song for the last time, with their celebration and farewell following her and ringing in her ears.
    -build that wall and build it strong-
    Kasanip - best artist; Rarity - best smile; Thanqol - good Question
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    Quote Originally Posted by PhoeKun View Post
    Raz, you scoundrel! You planned this!
    Quote Originally Posted by BladeofObliviom View Post
    Great, and now I'm imagining what Raz's profile on a dating site would look like. "Must be okay with veils."
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    I don't think there is such a time to have veils that it is not the fault of Raz_Fox.
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    It's a freaking Romulan dump truck. The Romulans are no more likely to build an unarmed warp-capable ship than they are to become a hippy commune.

  16. - Top - End - #16
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    shorewood's Avatar

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    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    "At least its his time and not ours spent on such a task" Said Haramhold as he tightened the last screw on the primary crystal chamber. "There we go all finished, lets see how she runs" and with that Haramhold pushed forward a steel lever causing the engine to hum to life, the crystalline matrix glowing brighter as it drew power. "Excellent. Looks like those improvements to the induction coils you insisted on did the trick. I can't feel any stuttering" Said Haramhold as he placed a hand on the engine. "We did a fine job. Well that's enough for now." Haramhold pulled back the lever, and the engine quietly died down.

    Haramhold picked up the now empty box, leading them back above deck. "What do you think Father will name her? I hope he doesn't let Jongo name her. He'd pick something ridiculous like the flying pussyfoot or something. This beauty of ours deserves an elegant name.
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  17. - Top - End - #17
    Ettin in the Playground
     
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    Steel clashed against steel: once, twice, three times. A blade slipped in its wielder's hand, just an inch, and quick as a serpent the other found its way past its guard and struck. The point of the blade halted a mere inch away from unprotected skin.

    "Again," said the victor in a voice like two stones grinding against one another.

    "This isn't fair, you know," his enemy laughed, stooping to retrieve her fallen sword. Her voice was musical, merry despite defeat. "You have six hands! I am quite overmatched; if you struck all at once I could not possibly defend against them all."

    "There are creatures on the Disk which possess a thousand hands, and a thousand legs, and a thousand eyes," said the spirit imperturbably. It stood nearly ten feet high, with a muscular frame and a thick golden hide, and it did indeed have six arms, five of which held lean blades. (The last held a shield.) It was called Umori, and it stood high among the Spirits of War. "They will not relent because you say the match is unfair, child of Baz'Auran. Nor will—"

    "I know, I know," she interrupted. "It was a joke. I asked for this, didn't I? I'm not about to complain."

    "Then we shall begin again. And keep hold of your sword this time. You may survive making a single mistake, but not if you give up."

    She nodded, and the unmelodical rasp-and-ring of clashing swords filled the practice field once again. To an onlooker the duel would have been difficult to follow: they watched one another warily for seconds on end, occasionally feinting or shifting back and forth, then one would move in for the attack and for a moment all would be confusion, blades darting about like deadly hummingbirds as the two struck and counterstruck. Then one or the other would fall back, and all would be still for a moment as they regained their balance and prepared their next attack. But it was soon clear that the god-child was outmatched: she was exceedingly swift and not without skill, but Umori was tireless and strong, and his skill was greater. This time it was the edge of the blade which found his pupil's skin, coming to rest against a bare arm.

    There were some uncharitable souls who felt that Nieve only came so often to the sparring grounds because the shine of exertion and the skintight practice garb favored her looks. And there was a grain of truth to this; but it said something about her character that hard work brought out her beauty instead of her petulance. The restless energy that filled her spirit was allowed to run free at such times, and she positively shone for it. And today there was more behind her visit than the sheer joy of physicality. She was here for a purpose. Soon they would be journeying to the Great Disk far below, and though she knew she would not grow to equal Shirvan or Frellon or Contragh in skill in the short time they had left, she was determined that she would be neither helpless or a burden.

    On the third round the spirit bested her again, but the fourth time a clever feint found its way past Umori's guard, and she flicked the point of her blade across his lower leg before dancing backward to evade his riposte. She laughed with pleasure, and the spirit nodded gravely. "Fairly struck. That was not a killing blow, but you did not sacrifice your life for it either. Were I truly your foe, you would now hold the advantage."

    "But not the victory, I fear," she said, wiping your forehead. "I'm too spent to press my advantage. I'm afraid I must beg leave to depart the field. I should like to rest a little while, and then perhaps face - a different opponent." Silence."Surely, dear Umori, not every menace on the Disk has a thousand arms?"

    Umori was still a moment longer, then nodded his permission. Only then did she lower her sword and turn her back. Once, she would have assumed that a fight was over just because somebody had struck a blow. The Spirits of War had corrected that mistake harshly.

    She walked to the edge of the field and leaned against a wall there, the white stone blessedly cool against her cheek.
    Last edited by The_Snark; 2012-01-31 at 04:54 PM.
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  18. - Top - End - #18
    Bugbear in the Playground
     
    Nefarion Xid's Avatar

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    Dining Hall

    Unmoving, steely eyes locked on his first opponent. The other two faded in his periphery; they would be dealt with in time, but Lossethir had his priorities. Decimate this one first, then strike swiftly clockwise. It would be easy once he'd gained the momentum. All he had to do was wait for the opening and the rest would follow.

    His shoulders tensed and his gaze narrowed. Silently, he commanded his adversary to flinch, to just waver from his unceasing guard and invite destruction. No such luck. At an impasse, forced to act, Lossethir let out a derisive snort from his nostrils and... relaxed. If his opponent declined to act, he would necessitate action and forgo his won initiative.

    "Check," he sighed.

    The Spirit of Knowledge opposite him stirred. Almost too slight to notice, the creature shifted beneath its hooded robes and turned its gaze to the cards delicately clasped in its needle-like claws. As if it had forgotten which cards it held.

    "I wager thirty two," it replied mechanically. Immediately, the spirit to its left politely slid its cards face-down towards the center of the table.

    "Thi...thirty two? You can't just!" Lossethir began in a blurt of exasperation.

    "It is an allowable wager within the rules of the game."

    "I'm aware. I did create the game, after all." Lossethir continued slowly, rubbing his temples as he did, "You can't bet like that because you'll scare everyone off. No one is going to see your bet and stay in for the next round."

    "I made a wager proportional to the inferred value of my hand relative to the probable hands of my opponents, given the community cards," it chimed.

    "But... you made Nezzeril fold. You bet too much."

    Nezzeril's hood shot towards Lossethir, unsurprised, but eager to teach. "My cards afforded me few winning possibilities in combination with the two unseen community cards. The value of Kothiel's wager is clearly indicative that his cards are superior to mine."

    "You have to play it slow! You'll win more that way!"

    "I wagered as much as I did to increase my winnings, Lossethir. You must now match or exceed my wager, or forfeit the hand."

    "Fold," huffed Lossethir coldly. The spirit opposite him gingerly collected his winnings (thirty six slate chips) from the center of the table and methodically piled them in front of him.

    "This game you have devised, Lossethir, it seems to only be an exercise in applied math. I was given to believe you were not fond of the study of mathematics. My inclination appears to be corroborated by your difficulty in grasping the basic precepts of probability."

    Sliding deep into his chair, Lossethir glowered at the spirit from over his own formidable stack of chips. "If it's just math... then why am I winning?"
    Last edited by Nefarion Xid; 2012-01-31 at 12:36 AM.

  19. - Top - End - #19
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
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    Soreal flinches as the Weaver hugs her, but she quickly relaxes. "That... is a nice sentiment. Thank you." The sail is beautiful, as always. It was a interesting idea. Already she had a few ideas on how to go about it. It was a subject of some study, one of the few applications of her power that could be done in the White City.

    Living wood responded to her touch, inspired to grow in one direction to the shape of her desires. It was a labour of months, as the tree must be persuaded to conform to unnatural shapes. Dead wood... now that would be a challenge. Inert materials were stubborn, deprived of the soil on which to change themselves.

    "If you would care to do so, would you remember me? She wistfully says. "There is the largest oak falling silently in the forest, the song of the twice-migrated fish as it waits to die where it was born, and the first rays of sunlight on the morning dew. All of this, I remember. There is no one to do so for me."

    A beat. She dons her mask that goes under her veil.

    "I am sorry to have bothered you with my troubles. It is not like me to be thus."
    Last edited by Orosboru; 2012-01-31 at 04:49 PM.
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  20. - Top - End - #20
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    Contragh-Cathedral Of Steel

    Gripping his axe Contragh begins muttering to himself, walking over to his designated spot. For the past couple of weeks Contragh has been looking down at the world more often, he could almost feel the power that he would claim, and the blood of the chaos spawned beasts that he would spill. But that would all be in good time. For now, he must train, and prepare for the moment of his descent, his embrace into the mortal realm. Finally arriving he finds that Frellon had beat him to the punch of meeting at there sparring zone. With a smile he extends his hand out and shakes Frellon's hand, "If you keep showing up to our duels ontime like this you're gona make me look bad. Might aswell make you the general seeing as how much more prepared you are." he jokes as he releases his hand and puts his battle axe back in it.

    The battle axe he was wielding was a specially crafted axe, designed to have a hollow inside so that it may be swung faster. It was a one sided axe, with the other side having a spike sticking out of it in addition to the spike at the very bottom of the battle axe and at the top of the axe inbetween the left spike and the right blade. The hollow inside meant it could be sundered more easily but it was good for the style he was using today, he would let his rage fully control him, and as of such needed an axe of pure offensive to complement the aggresive strategy.

    Stabbing the spiked bottom of the axe into the ground he let it stand up before reciting the verse.

    Through Blood and Steel your skill yet grows
    And in this duel your power shall be shown
    We may be friends, we may be foes
    But when we fight, you're on your own

    It was traditional to say it before a duel or spar was so that all participants would understand that this was merely for practice and improvement, not for real combat, and so that friends do not take being beaten up as a really getting beaten up. Taking his axe out of the ground he crosses his weapon with Frellon and and says "May the best man win" before taking the weapon back and starting combat.

    As Frellon circles around Contragh watches him for a moment before engaging. Sliding his right foot towards Frellon Contragh rotates his Axe, gliding the bottom of it along the floor, and brings the bottom spike to chest height before stabbing it at Frellons chest. He quickly brings the spike back and switches sides, going into the air so that he lands on his left foot at the front and slashes downward with his axe.
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  21. - Top - End - #21
    Troll in the Playground
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    Kalandor stood in the forest, every nerve in his body at attention, the place was quite, to quite...

    He was practicing with the hunting spirit Analan, today was an ambush scenario, and he had just sprung the trap. An arrow flew from behind him, and immbeded itself in a staff he had just brought up, which became a bow in itself, an invention of Rumel's, to return fire. The shot was a miss, landing beside the spirits head, but it shocked him from cover, just long enough for the second one to land so that it would have been imbedded in his stomach. The bluntened tip bouncing off the scale.

    "I win, again. I believe its my turn to play the hunter."

    "It is, I'll see you."
    --------
    Later in the day, the two walk from the forest, all having slight marks from eachother, and a large beast, a Keldran, a slow lumbering hunter, with great strength. Each of them carried an ear and walked proudly, arms over eachother, laughing about their most recent hunt. Walking past the training halls he says "Do you need a hand, passoinate one?"
    Last edited by Erik Vale; 2012-01-31 at 04:45 PM.
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  22. - Top - End - #22
    Bugbear in the Playground
     
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    The Weaver grew more concerned for Soreal. If he would care to remember her? No one to do it for her? The Weaver knew Soreal to be contemplative, but this melancholy was uncharacteristic. "Sister, you speak as if we will never see each other when we journey to the world below. I would never forget you. And I am always ready to listen to my siblings. You know that. There is nothing to be sorry for. What is truly troubling you Soreal?"
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  23. - Top - End - #23
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
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    "Faden? Faden!" The voice wass low and feminine, though made a bit higher than normal with excitement; Avyra clutched her skirts up and ran down one of the paths in their Father's garden. With the weather as fine as it was--and it was always fine--Faden usually enjoyed reading outside.

    In her free hand was a sheaf of paper, upon which carefully, painstakingly-intricate pictures of creatures that she had seen through the portal to the surface were drawn. She was no artist, not so skilled as many of her siblings, but Tezzerin had coached her patiently through the different pieces of the creature she had watched today, and over the hours she had constructed a more-than-passable diagram.

    "There you are! Look! Aren't they amazing?" Coming upon her elder brother seated on a bench, she thrusted the sheets at him, beaming. "They're called 'ants', Tezzerin said. See, look here...they start out all being born from this one ant, that Tezzerin said was their queen, and then they become...pupae, I think, and then they grow up, and then they're predestined to become a specific type depending on their size! So the littler ones are 'worker ants', who find food and build up the home, and then there are 'soldier ants' that provide protection...and then, when they die, they go back to feed the rest of the colony! Isn't it marvelous? Tezzerin said there are thousands of things like this, down on the Disk! I simply cannot wait to get to experience them up close!"

  24. - Top - End - #24
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    Quote Originally Posted by Tychris1 View Post
    Contragh-Cathedral Of Steel

    Gripping his axe Contragh begins muttering to himself, walking over to his designated spot. For the past couple of weeks Contragh has been looking down at the world more often, he could almost feel the power that he would claim, and the blood of the chaos spawned beasts that he would spill. But that would all be in good time. For now, he must train, and prepare for the moment of his descent, his embrace into the mortal realm. Finally arriving he finds that Frellon had beat him to the punch of meeting at there sparring zone. With a smile he extends his hand out and shakes Frellon's hand, "If you keep showing up to our duels ontime like this you're gona make me look bad. Might aswell make you the general seeing as how much more prepared you are." he jokes as he releases his hand and puts his battle axe back in it.

    The battle axe he was wielding was a specially crafted axe, designed to have a hollow inside so that it may be swung faster. It was a one sided axe, with the other side having a spike sticking out of it in addition to the spike at the very bottom of the battle axe and at the top of the axe inbetween the left spike and the right blade. The hollow inside meant it could be sundered more easily but it was good for the style he was using today, he would let his rage fully control him, and as of such needed an axe of pure offensive to complement the aggresive strategy.

    Stabbing the spiked bottom of the axe into the ground he let it stand up before reciting the verse.

    Through Blood and Steel your skill yet grows
    And in this duel your power shall be shown
    We may be friends, we may be foes
    But when we fight, you're on your own

    It was traditional to say it before a duel or spar was so that all participants would understand that this was merely for practice and improvement, not for real combat, and so that friends do not take being beaten up as a really getting beaten up. Taking his axe out of the ground he crosses his weapon with Frellon and and says "May the best man win" before taking the weapon back and starting combat.

    As Frellon circles around Contragh watches him for a moment before engaging. Sliding his right foot towards Frellon Contragh rotates his Axe, gliding the bottom of it along the floor, and brings the bottom spike to chest height before stabbing it at Frellons chest. He quickly brings the spike back and switches sides, going into the air so that he lands on his left foot at the front and slashes downward with his axe.

    Frellon had watched as Contragh entered the arena, ordinarily he would be widely grinning, but he had been maintaining a serene, meditative state of mind in preparation for this duel, and his face only showed hints of anticipation.
    He thrust the tip of his sword into the ground as Contragh did, reciting the words with him in unison.

    Through Blood and Steel your skill yet grows
    And in this duel your power shall be shown
    We may be friends, we may be foes
    But when we fight, you're on your own


    As he crossed his sword with the axe, his eyes met Contragh’s, and echoed back to him: “May the best man win.”

    Slowly, he began circling, waiting for his opponent to make the first move. Sidestepping the first thrust, he leapt backwards as the axe sliced through the air where he had been standing a moment before. Taking advantage of the slight overbalance, he darted forwards again and began a quick series of jabs with the point of his blade. Head. Chest. Arm. Head. Low shot. Torso. Head. Contragh was forced to block hurriedly first with the hilt of his axe, then with the head. However on this last blow, he turned it sideways and letting it slide past him, overbalancing Frellon in turn, and slamming the hilt of the axe into Frellon’s shoulder. Now it was Frellon’s turn to be on the defensive, as Contragh began a series of strong blows that could have cleaved stone. Frellon was forced to spend precious moments recovering from the strength of each blow. On the fifth blow, as Contragh swept his axe in a brutal horizontal cut, Frellon turned twords it, and dove, coming up on the other side of the axe, and sweeping around his blade to bite into the back of Contragh’s leg.

    It was a shallow cut, not deep enough to qualify as an end to the duel, but the effects were immediate. Being injured seemed to enrage Contragh, who whirled around, again slamming his axe into the ground where Frellon had been moments before. “Coward!” he taunted, as he parried a slash and yanked his axe from the earth in a smooth motion. His eyes blazed intensely, and Frellon finally did grin up at him, stepping back, and circling to let Contragh make the next move. “Brute.” Frellon replied with a grin.

    Contragh shifted his hands on his axe, gripping closer to the base in order to extend his reach, and let his fury go. The blood dripping from his leg forgotten, he drove Frellon back with a rain of blows. Some were deflected, and some missed completely, but many had to be blocked directly, and Frellon clearly could not stop the heavy axe blows forever.

    Absorbed as he was in his rage, Contragh had failed to notice that the fight was moving them closer and closer to one of the many massive stone pillars along the edges of the Arena.

    They were almost close enough- and Frellon’s guard slipped, opening a long, shallow cut along one arm. He ignored it, however, and kicked at Contragh to buy him a moment’s time. Rather than see to his wound, Frellon immediately tried an overhead slash that was blocked easily by Contragh, and then tried again in a sideways cut, which was again, easily blocked, and left his other side wide open. Contragh, intending to make use of the opening, swung, but as he did, Frellon stepped up, quite close to him, inside his guard, and punched his face with his free hand. Reeling and furious, Contragh grabbed at Frellon, only to realize that he was circling around behind him. Spinning, he swung his axe as he turned, his rage, and the wide arc lending the strike a terrible speed and strength! The blow made contact, and sank deep- into the stone pillar, sending small shards of the rock flying everywhere.

    Stunned, Contragh shifted his weight, ready to try and yank the blade out of the stone. But then Frellon’s sword appeared, flashing with the sun’s reflection in a wide arc to land, not on Contragh’s rather unprotected form, but his hallowed axe, which finally broke after all of this abuse.

    “And that, I believe,” said Frellon, as he raised his notched and beaten sword to level at Contragh’s chest. “Is a victory.”
    Last edited by AntiMatter101; 2012-02-02 at 05:24 PM.
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  25. - Top - End - #25
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    Faden blinked, startled, as Avyra zeroed in on him. Once she'd shown him her newest fascination, he grinned and put his book down.

    Faden got up and looked at the diagram carefully, raising an eyebrow. "I sincerely hope this isn't drawn at actual size. I should hate to think of how large a colony of them would be."
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  26. - Top - End - #26
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    Dasque sat upon a low wall within the Steel Cathedral, glistening silver armor catching a ray of light that descended down fro mone of the high windows. She had a book in hand, but she held it limply, her eyes intently staring at Frellon and Contragh, pale, calm eyes. Now that the time of their departure was drawing near, she found it more and more difficult to read, her mind distracted by what was to come. That, and there were other things she wished to learn.

    In fact, of late she had even been distant around her own siblings. Her amiable nature remained, but whereas before she had always given her siblings her utmost attention when they spoke, they now knew that other things were on their mind. It was understandable, but uncharacteristic of her.

    She sat in silence watching them, no expression save indifference on her face, even when the fight ended.

  27. - Top - End - #27
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    Quote Originally Posted by Orosboru View Post
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    Soreal flinches as the Weaver hugs her, but she quickly relaxes. "That... is a nice sentiment. Thank you." The sail is beautiful, as always. It was a interesting idea. Already she had a few ideas on how to go about it. It was a subject of some study, one of the few applications of her power that could be done in the White City.

    Living wood responded to her touch, inspired to grow in one direction to the shape of her desires. It was a labour of months, as the tree must be persuaded to conform to unnatural shapes. Dead wood... now that would be a challenge. Inert materials were stubborn, deprived of the soil on which to change themselves.

    "If you would care to do so, would you remember me? She wistfully says. "There is the largest oak falling silently in the forest, the song of the twice-migrated fish as it waits to die where it was born, and the first rays of sunlight on the morning dew. All of this, I remember. There is no one to do so for me."

    A beat. She dons her mask that goes under her veil.

    "I am sorry to have bothered you with my troubles. It is not like me to be thus."
    The Maiden of Dusk wanders through the garden, trusting in fate to be her guide. Her harp rests upon her hip, the fine leather resting snugly against one shoulder, running across the breast of her fine gown. Her smile seems just as sweet, to those who run across her as she steps aimlessly through the flowers and says farewell to them all, as the fragrance of the brightest roses and orchids that Baz'Auran has made.

    And here, now, she is brought to two of her siblings, not seeing them until she is almost directly upon them, at which point she blinks in surprise and then her bright smile grows even wider. "Good afternoon, sister, brother! Or morning, I suppose, I haven't kept mindful of the time, but the lilies are all raising their heads towards the sky, so I suppose it must be afternoon- but it's still good to see you, whatever the hour!" She tilts her head, letting her black tresses run down her arm, and drinks in the sight of her brother's sail. "Oh, Weaver," she says, after a moment in amazed contemplation, "This is for the ship, isn't it? It's wonderful! See, Soreal, how the colors shimmer in the light? How marvelously detailed it is? Oh, Weaver, it's magnificent! Are you going to show Father? You must - he'll love it!"

    Now she turns her attention to Soreal. "Are you ready, sister? I don't know whatever to bring- but I'm sure you already have your bowstrings readied and your veils pressed, and you know what you're going to do when we descend!" And, now, someone who might be paying close attention to Fayruz, someone who knew her moods and her unsaid words, might notice a slight slip of her smile, a flash of uncertainty and doubt - one only there for a moment, though, before she pushes it aside, focusing on her big sister and any problems she might have, any uncertainties that Soreal may be feeling before their descent.

    But the solid truth of the matter is that Fayruz, the Maiden of Dusk and the cupbearer of Baz'Auran who sits at his left at the meal and tastes his wine before he drinks it, does not know what she is to do beneath the White City, much less what she must take with her. Her chest with golden bands lies empty, flawless garments scattered about it; an ill-fated bow and a quiver of arrows lies against it, and she has placed in the chest a dozen times, and removed it a dozen more; and time after time she comes to it, declaring that she will ready herself for the journey, only to leave her chambers without choosing any thing to bring with her. For how can she know what to prepare for when she does not know why Baz'Auran sends her with her elder brothers and sisters?

    Maybe he will tell her at the next banquet, she tells herself. Yes, he shall! He will turn to her, glorious and powerful and loving, and tell her why he is sending her with her older siblings. He will explain to her that she is to be the muse who inspires the poor, weak mortals to sing praises to Baz'Auran Most High, or that she is to be his voice on the earth below and maintain harmony over her siblings, or that she is his gift to humanity, a loving Princess of the White City to guide them. Oh, yes! She would not need to fight the monsters of the darkest chaos, she would not need to embarrass herself with her feeble archery or her faltering swordplay, she would not need to kill any thing, no matter how opposed to her father it was.

    And, most important of all, she would have a purpose. She would not just be like a painting made by the greatest Craftseraphs, beautiful and fragile, or like one of the Weaver's tapestries, shimmering and bright and without strength, able to be pushed aside or folded up, a mere decoration in Baz'Auran's court. She tells herself, every now and then, that she is not, that she is one of Baz'Auran's fated children, that he has a plan in mind for her that is just as important as the plan he makes for Jongo and Faden and Contragh.

    But she is lying to herself. And she is the only one who is fooled by the lie.
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  28. - Top - End - #28
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    DoomHat's Avatar

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    Oct 2006
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    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    The Ship Under Construction
    Rumel and Haramhold

    "Excellent. Looks like those improvements to the induction coils you insisted on did the trick. I can't feel any stuttering" Said Haramhold as he placed a hand on the engine. "We did a fine job. Well that's enough for now."
    Haramhold pulled back the lever, and the engine quietly died down.

    Hmph,” Rumel said, with equal parts satisfaction and disdain, “well I'll grant that it’s a damn sight more stable, but we’d do well to insure they don‘t cause any heating problems tomorrow, or power inefficiency for that matter. Can’t afford any unexpected hiccups...”.
    He sighed and wiped the sweat off his brow with his forearm. He wrestled his personal Chronometer from his left front tool belt and checked it. The current position of it’s complicated rotating dials told him it was now 7Tocks and 3Ticks past MiddleDay-SunUp. Evening was upon them.
    I suppose your right about packing it in… we‘ve forgotten to eat lunch again. Fortunately though, looks like it's dinner time.” He remarked with some chipperness.

    Haramhold picked up the now empty box, leading them back above deck. "What do you think Father will name her? I hope he doesn't let Jongo name her. He'd pick something ridiculous like the flying pussyfoot or something. This beauty of ours deserves an elegant name,".

    "Oh I'm sure Father has something in mind," replied Rumel as they stepped out into the nearing twilight air, "He's no doubt saving it for his big, 'Well it's been swell kids, have fun dodging monsters in the wilderness for the rest of your days!' speech,".
    Last edited by DoomHat; 2012-02-01 at 02:28 AM.

  29. - Top - End - #29
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    shorewood's Avatar

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    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    The Ship Under Construction
    Rumel and Haramhold

    "Lets leave the dodging of monster business to Contragh, Frellon, Carolinus, Dasque, and Nieve. We wouldn't want to spoil their fun after all. Someone will have to stay behind and build our new home. I hardly think that this ship of ours is an appropriate permanent residence. Although I think that Kalandor wouldn't mind that at all. " said Haramhold as they reached the galley's deck. Haramhold was about to suggest that they check the coolant system the spirits had been working on before they turned in for the night but his rumbling stomach dissuaded him. After all they had plenty of time to do that later.

    By the time the two of them had made their way to the dinning hall the two of them were lively debating the merits of some obscure details for the ships design. Those familiar with the siblings would recognize the old pattern of the argument. Rumel insisted on replacing a vital component with an untested improvement while Haramhold stubbornly held the ground that they should stick to what they knew how to make and merely improve on the existing design.

    Dodging past a pair of Culinary spirits the two brothers entered the dinning hall, savoring the smell of the culinary delights overflowing the tables.
    Sometimes it is useful to know how large your zero is. ~Author Unknown

  30. - Top - End - #30
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    The Succubus's Avatar

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    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    Khalen grew restless in the tower. He had no great skill in arms or craft and felt there was little he could to help in the construction of the great vessel. Yet he still wished to do his duty by Father and contribute somehow. He resolved to go and speak with Father, that he might learn his will.

    As Khalen entered the court room, he saw he was not alone. A small figure sat in the centre, gazing up at the Crystal Ceiling, seemingly entranced by the view.

    Jongo.

    Khalen ground his teeth. While he was never the centre of attention in any group Khalen did try to get along with his siblings. Yet something about Jongo constantly provoked him. It was restless, indecisive and could never settle on one form when speaking with others. Yet here it was, staying in one form and staying in one place. Khalen was curious.

    "Father, how did you get the stars to stay in place? Don't they ever want to move?" it said.

    Khalen walked toward the small figure. "They stay in place because it is their duty. They watch over us and guide us. If they all went hither and thither according to their whims, we would become lost and they would have failed in their task."
    Quote Originally Posted by Dallas-Dakota View Post
    Succubus gets grongratulatory cookies from me. You have stepped into the realm of puns that only the likes of Death, Your Friend the Reaper have seen.

    Posting schedule likely to be erratic for the next few weeks - sorting out some personal stuff.

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