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  1. - Top - End - #541
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    Gengy's Avatar

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    Aug 2005

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

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    This post is funny to me, because as soon as I really started writing it, it began to rain and thunder outside. Made writing it really fun!


    Jongo and the Storm
    An Hour before Haramhold Arrived

    Jongo finally woke.

    It had been days. The storm's strength had been renewed to terrifying, once again.

    Weakened by the press of the storm, and the wounds from the Pupeteer, Jongo's essence had needed the rest.

    She found that she was in a hut, inside of a large bird cage, made from simple wood. There was a pile of crude seeds in a bowl that remained untouched. The room was poorly lit by flickering candlelight, but examining it with his green and grey eyes that pierced through the darkness, Jongo could see that though it was of a poor quality, it was very comfortable in here.

    At a small desk, there sat a man. Hunched over as he was, Jongo didn't wish to disturb the fellow. So, quickly changing forms to a small snake - oh Father, that felt good - Jongo slipped through the bars, and shifted back to the Storm Bird.

    Looking out the window, Jongo waited for a break in the winds. There were none.

    The large... tentacled things had been enormous, rivaling the size of the Leviathan's own fins. A memory of something - a word she'd heard in passing - stirred in Jongo's brain, but the man at the desk spoke and pushed the thought away.

    "How did you get out of that cage?"

    "Your cage was fit for a bird; but not for me. I am more than just this bird. I am all things, and nothing. I am Jongo."

    "The shapeshifter."

    "Yes, I am that. But I am also confused. Where am I?"

    "Salus. My humble home."

    "Ah. Well. Good. I remember being struck by lightning, then falling. You saved me, then?"

    "Yes." Jongo noticed the man was trying to keep his face covered, trying to say as little as possible. This man was interesting. He didn't look to be the normal type of person that Haramfly would attract.

    "Well. Thank you. I owe you. Ah! I know! That scroll there. Give it here." It was a blank scroll of papyrus from the desk, and before the man could roll it up or even hand it over, Jongo flapped onto the desk. Staring at the, Jongo grinned with his bird beak, then dipped his beak into the ink.

    The Band of Chaos woke, and hummed quietly, liking where this was going.

    Soon, Jongo had scraped and scratched at the scroll, and drawn the Symbol of Chaos upon it. The dark ink was glowing on the scroll as soon as Jongo finished, no longer black, but a mixture of all colors.

    The man seemed to be eyeing the scroll with a healthy amount of skepticism. Jongo approved, and explained, "This is my mark. This is the Symbol of Chaos. Hang this scroll upon a wall, and should you need me, call and I shall come if I can."

    "Sorcery?"

    "Not... quite. I don't know about all that. My brother Faden would. I can't really explain it well. Just know that it will work. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go take care of something."

    So saying, Jongo flapped again to the window, and before the man could utter any warnings, Jongo alighted into the sky again, the harsh rain already warring with her own water abilities.

    A part of Jongo realized that he wasn't fully awake yet. If she had been, he certainly would have at least asked the man what the fellow's name was. Ah well. Later.

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    In the Sky Again
    Moments Before Haramhold Arrived

    Jongo fought the storm again.

    The storm was still winning.

    Only now, the score was Storm one, Jongo zero.

    Which, to be fair, wasn't Jongo's fault. The storm had someone - or something - on it's team that was really making things difficult. Weeping rain, roaring wind, rolling thunder; they were old opponents now. Jongo soon had them calmer. Not under control, but calm enough that Jongo was finding easier to locate the breaks in the storm, the places where her Storm Bird body could push through.

    No. It wasn't the rain, the wind, or the thunder. The lightning, now that Jongo was constantly scanning for it, was less of a threat too. It would strike quickly and light up the sky. There was no pattern. There was little warning. It arced across the sky and danced, the only thing happy to be here it seemed.

    But Jongo and the Band of Chaos both reveled in the lightning's unpredictability. For though there was little warning, that was not the same as no warning. Jongo could feel the air change, ever so subtly, before the lightning would strike. It made his feathers quiver. When that happened, Jongo would just... fall back. Move away. It was giving up precious movement that had been fought for, but it was either that or get struck again. So Jongo chose to move.

    Even still, it wasn't the lightning that Jongo was beginning to feel was the opponent here. It was those tentacles. They were the key. They were the brief respite in the storm, but they were also the problem to begin with. Jongo didn't know what to do about them.

    Thankfully, the faction of wind that Jongo had started days ago, to try to push the storm east, had gained a few more supporters. Not many, but with all the conflicting squalls to this storm, to have even a few supporters was worthwhile.

    Playing a low, nonsensical dirge, the Band of Chaos tittered a suggestion or three.

    "No, now is certainly NOT the time for roasting a pig. Besides, what would that even do? I mean, it's not like a roast pig can help here, other than to feed the hungry people below, of course." Jongo didn't know what the Band was thinking. It was just being strange. After all, where could they find an apple to put in the pig's mouth in this kind of weather? You'd have to be in the center of the storm to even have a chance...

    ...of course. The center of the storm. It had to exist. It had to.

    Scanning the air, through the dense rain and harsh winds, it was only the tingling sensation that prompted Jongo to fall back, away from the lightning. With the lightning's flash, before the thunder's call, before whatever beast the tentacles were could do anything, Jongo soon saw two interesting things.

    First, the Green Morningstar was here. It was in the distance, on the ground, but Jongo could vaguely see it and more could feel it than anything else. Haramhold was near by, in the village, and he was doing... something. Something great. The power of it was astounding. The magic felt crude, but serviceable. Jongo didn't think he could help her brother without interrupting Butterfly's concentration, so he left Haramhold to it.

    The second thing Jongo saw was the eye of the storm. It was swirling around a tentacle that wasn't moving. Unlike the other giant tendrils that seemed to wave and whirl, in some unknowable pattern, this one stayed almost perfectly still.

    The change happened as Haramhold started. The storm began to rage.

    By all that is ME. Did he have to this NOW? Jongo began to sputter, and the Band of Chaos chortled.

    All the work that Jongo had put into the rain, the wind, the thunder, and even the lightning seemed to fade, as Haramhold worked. Jongo could only keep herself alive, and nearly was struck by lightning three more times. The harsh storm - already angry - was pure fury.

    It knew something was going to happen, and it didn't know how to stop it. So it only raged harder.

    Jongo moved towards the center of the storm, slowly, an inch at a time. It was hours before she reached it.

    Haramhold's spell finished and Salus just... vanished. Like some great bubble was erected around it, protecting it from everything outside.

    Jongo didn't have time to see how the tentacles would react. Now was the time to strike, while the thing would be distracted.

    So Jongo did.

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Storm one, Jongo ???
    Seconds after Haramhold finished his Realm

    Within the eye of the storm, Jongo laughed the Storm Bird's laugh. Flying in circles around the tentacle, Jongo put her plan into action.

    The Band of Chaos played out, pattering against the storm like rain against a roof. It was soft and loud, calm and harsh, a cacophony of color.

    Jongo could tell, from the unrelenting fixture of the storm, that whatever was attached to the tentacle wanted the storm here.

    So be it.

    The Storm would be here.

    But now Jongo was here too.

    Tezzerin was always trying to teach Jongo advanced math. Not much had gotten through. Math was boring.

    Still.

    If the Storm was here...

    And Jongo was here...

    Well, math said...

    Jongo was the Storm.

    Two things that equal the same thing were also the same.

    Jongo accepted it. A storm was just water and wind. Jongo was already friends with water, and had been speaking to the wind. Now was the time.

    Now was when the rain, misty or bone breaking, was acknowledged.

    Now was when the winds, air that could be a minor breeze or a torrential gust, was noted.

    Now was when the thunder, low and long or booming and short, was heard.

    Now was when the lightning, quick arcs of flashing pain in the sky or large light that flared with life; lightning so unpredictable that it was already the most chaotic thing within a storm; lightning which thrived and danced here... found a new dancer.

    Jongo accepted it all, and became the Storm, swirling with it and laughing as it flowed into and through Jongo himself.

    It wasn't about fighting the Storm. There was no need to fight it. Not if Jongo could change whose team he was on.

    Spoiler
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    Jongo started this turn with:
    4 Major Acts, 5 Minor Acts, and 1 Ceremony

    Major Act: Up a Domain (Chaos to 3)

    Major Act: Gain an Ability (Air Mastery)

    Minor Act: Symbol of Chaos created (pending approval of shorewood allowing one in Salus)

    Jongo finishes this post with:
    2 Major Acts, 4 Minor Acts, and 1 Ceremony

    ----------------------

    Dark! Jongo is accepting that a Storm is chaotic, unpredictable, and is not wrenching it away from the Kraken... but rather pulling it into hirself.

    Instead of pushing it east, Jongo swirls WITH the storm, and slowly, carefully, becomes a part of it as it becomes a part of hir.

    Yes, this will may hurt. But with the Band of Chaos helping, and Major Acts being used, I'm leaving exactly how much it hurts up to you.

    In essence, though, I'm not trying to gain control of the storm from the Kraken. Not this post. I'm just... adding Chaos to it. In as literal of a sense as Jongo can be!
    Last edited by Gengy; 2012-05-10 at 09:36 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

  2. - Top - End - #542
    Troll in the Playground
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    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    To Return Home (Away from home.)

    Kalandor slowly left the form of a bird, glidding and then falling to the ground of the western beaches, which quickly became soft grass upon which Kalandor rolled, smelling of fish and salt water. He let himself lay upon the ground a while, drying out from the sea's spray. As he did this he could feel the land beneath him, all the little things going about their buisnes. Slowly, he warmed up, his bones defrosted and became relaxed, after days locked in their position, holding him in the air, only the shoulder moving.

    Slowly, he brought to his minds eye the map Carolinus produced, overlaying his own map, automatically correcting the few fuzzy bits and scale errors. He had not travelled through the area Markien lay within, so he couldn't make any changes, however small. Slowly he began picking out new routes, some easer, some harder. Slowly one set set in his mind, as he picked out short cuts from both his and Carolinus's. It would pass him through human lands, but he would probably see none this time of year. He would pass through the lands of the Chil'R and other Beastial Beings, however they would be on the other side of the teratories unfortuneately. He would definately encounter Orcs on the way, which would be good. He could also make a detour.... No. No detours.

    Kalandor shook his neck, still almost as rock.

    "I will have to remember my times amoungst the orcs, hopefully not too old..."

    And slowly, Kalandor used his power to warm his body. Picking himself up, he began walking towards Markien. The route over land would be easiest, rather then through the air. And water transport would be to short.

    It would be a long walk. In a variety of forms. It was a shame that he would not be seeing more of home.
    My Homebrew Sig.

    Woo, I have a Quote.
    Quote Originally Posted by Moonwolf727 View Post
    To avoid harming the sanity of the DM I can no longer:

    * Cast flesh to stone on a annoying Druid
    ** Cast Rock to mud on a Druid statue
    *** Scoop mud into little ceramic pots
    **** Plant tree's in individual ceramic pots
    ***** Claim that I have helped them become one with nature
    Quote Originally Posted by Chilingsworth View Post
    Congrats, you made me laugh hard enough to draw my family's attention.

  3. - Top - End - #543
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    The Succubus's Avatar

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    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    In the Dreamscape

    He walks, although his feet make no sound on the ground. The air feels neither hot nor cold and he does not sense the passing of time.

    He walks, and the ground beneath him becomes the harsh sand of the desert.

    He walks, and his foot catches against something buried in the sand.

    He stoops and lifts the object up. It is a crystal sphere, identical to the one at the top of the Tower but much smaller in size.

    He tries to speak. “What….is…..this?”

    His eldest sibling turns to him, a mocking grin on its face. “Don’t you know, silly Khalen-Fishy? You made it! Silly little grassblade made something but doesn’t know why…..”

    He turns his attention back to the sphere. In it he sees the nameless ship that was to have carried them from the White City to the Disk.

    “It is a light to shine in the darkness,” says Dasque.

    “It is a tool to shape things with,” says Haramhold.

    “It is a lie,” says Roselia.

    “It seeks to serve its Master,” says Aerin.

    “….as well it should,” says Shirvaan.

    “It will help to nurture and grow the things you love,” say Fayruz and Llassar together.

    “It will destroy you,” finish Nieve and Contragh.

    His siblings speak one by one and as each finishes, the desert around Khalen grows darker and more twisted.

    He recognises this place. He sees the warping chaos that has haunted his dreams for so many years and he knows it will soon become a nightmare.

    He screams out across the Dreamscape.

    “HELP ME, BROTHER!”
    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.

  4. - Top - End - #544
    Bugbear in the Playground
     
    THEChanger's Avatar

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    Sep 2010

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    The Dreams of Order

    "Enough."

    A blast of wind blew the chaos away. The swirling winds formed a barrier around Khalen, lifting him gently from the sands below. The darkness lifted, and Khalen found himself in a field of green. Ringed by trees on all sides, a small bubbling brook ran through the center. On each side of the brook was a chair. Khalen came to rest on one side, with a grand throne made of the same material as the small crystal. On the other side was a simple chair made of wood. And in that chair sat a man clad in robes, the hood obscuring his face. His smile, however, contained a small glimmer of light. "The Falling Gavel. Blessed be, noble one. Welcome to my humble abode."
    ATTENTION ANYONE WHO I'M PLAYING WITH:
    No news is good news.

    Awesome Hex avatar by kpenguin

  5. - Top - End - #545
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Tychris1's Avatar

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    The Rise of Conquest

    Contragh looked upon his bowing people and smiled a wicked smile. They set up shop in the ruined forest as they crucified the corpse of Pikep and began to prop him up over the process of a week or so. All the while his soldiers moved about, killing off Pikep's last few stragglers/late comers to the fight, and holding bloody gladiatorial fights to keep themselves occupied. While Contragh didn't completely approve of everything, he didn't stop himself from enjoying the fighting (Participating once even) and his victory. All the while the Dark Halo was a beautiful thing, the rage and anger within it pleasing Contragh as he felt the beasts futile efforts to escape thrash about.

    Yet, he felt something deep within his chest bubbling up through him as the bloodshed grew more fervent and his enthusiasm more powerful. Something dark, more dark then the shadows eminating from his Halo. It was the finishing touches of the crucifixion and the revelry that came with it that finally caused the feeling to burst out. Clutching his chest he felt something come from his mouth, something akin to vomit only a thousand times more vile and acidic. But Contragh forced it back down and continued his celebration and enjoyment of the spoils. Yet it pushed its way up again quickly and Contragh could not force it down a second time. It was some horrible energy, dark and misty, it spewed forth onto the ground and penetrated the forms of the dead and the ground itself. Many of Pikep's fallen soldiers were vaporized and drawn into the black swirling mass as it infested the ground around them. Blue thin smoke began to rise out of the black mist as it took over more of the area. Contragh's soldiers began to panic but a harsh barking from Contragh got them back in line as the god of war looked on, fascinated by the mist. Finally it settled into the environment, and the Great Soul Pool was created, the first of many to come in the future.

    The dead began to rise from the soul pool, their flesh falling off and leaving nothing but bones and the things they wore. The soldiers rising up gripping their weapons, and the corpses of warriors long past bursting from the ground. Light blue energy bursted in their eyes as they scanned the area around them, quite shocked by the sudden gift of un-life. There were a swarm of them, uncountable in the spur of the moment, perhaps more as the corpses continued to revive from the dirt itself. Thousands perhaps. Watching, with a shocked expression at what he had just done, Contragh recomposed himself as he notices his soldiers raise their weapons towards the newly undead and vice versa. As the tension was almost about to snap and cause a all out mini war Contragh slammed his axe into the ground and barked down both sides quickly, threatening to decapitate all his soldiers and un create all the dead (Bluffing on the last part, but his rage covered it up well)"LOOK AT YOURSELVES! Ready to shred one another the instant something strange happens! Do you not see that these dead soldiers are the same soldiers that fought and died by your side in this battle? As for you... Skeletons. You dishonor yourselves trying to drag your mortal allies into the dirt alongside yourselves. You sacrificed your lives so that we may win and ensure that these soldiers did not die, and you would throw it all away the instant you are granted another chance at life? What are you, ghosts of your former selves? If you be ghosts then strive to be vengeful ghosts that may aid the living..... To be mighty Revenants standing tall over the dead and living. Not backwater scum. " After being humiliated and cowed by Contragh both sides set aside their differences for mutual peace. Not yet fully convinced Contragh had his two new armies forcibly bound and work together to ensure that neither side tries to off the other. Finished with the 2 week long bonding Contragh set up the crucifix to be carried back to the village of Fex as the undead and living minions of Contragh begin to chant, laugh, and make merriment on the 6 day trip back to the Fex tribe, finally bonding together like the army he had had before. All the while they sang out a chant "Hail! Hail! Hail our lord Contragh! Our God of War! Our Dragonlord! Let foes tremble at his roar! Let none threaten him with a sword! Hail! Hail! Hail our lord Contragh!" some of the skeletal Revenants of battles past had no idea who Contragh was, and with the lack of knowledge of the real world they swallowed up the tales of Contragh's grandeur and epic quest to conquer the chaotic lands about him in lightning fast speed. The dead looked upon Contragh as unkillable, believing him to be able to defy death for not only himself but for all around him.

    Upon the end of the trip home they arrived at the Fex tribe, to be nested by a mixture of praise and scornful, scared looks. Contragh saw the hesitation within them over the presence of the undead, yet he had all the confidence he needed to smother down the situation. Repeating what he did to his soldiers in the chaotic forest (Bark down any hostilities), adding in that they are here to wage war on our enemies and protect the living. Despite the air of tension it eventually settled down with grumbles of agreement. Smiling, Contragh looked upon his people, old and new, and thought to himself that perhaps living in tents and huts was unfitting for his civilized conquering people. Commanding his people to abandon their tents they reluctantly began to leave, one by one, until a swarm of people stood behind Contragh. Plunging his hands into the ground Contragh pushed as hard as he could, forcing a bit of his divine energy into the dirt around him and the Fex tribe. After a few seconds he reversed his motion and began to heave upward, forcing his will to change the land around him with pure force to back him up. It was a painful experience, that much was apparent to his subjects, yet they did not know why. It became apparent very soon as to why it was, as Contragh ripped up from the ground the first foot of a circular wall. Leaping back in shock the tribesmen begin to question their lord but were soon hushed. Picking up his axe he slams the butt of it into the ground and falls backwards as the rush of the walls rising pushes him. Bursting from the ground was a mighty black fortress of a city, everything within it made of a mysterious black metallic material. 4 spires placed at the quarters of the walls looked over the landscape. The only way into the fort city being a looming gate that dwarfed Contragh even in his draconic state. The gate in question had a large top half of a dragons skull lying on it, facing downward. The tents and huts within the city were crushed and removed as looming black buildings took their place. All the while a barrack came forth from the ground and a single castle that would be his head quarters rose in the center. The entire city was black, covered with spikes, and over all intimidating as befitting Contragh and his vision of his civilians. Walking towards the center gate Contragh picks up a sharp rock lying to the side, rock in hand he slices a cut on the palm of his free hand and smears his blood on the eye sockets of the skull, and blesses his people with the promise that a god watches over their lives. And thus, the city of Fex was born.

    In a few weeks the tribesmen adjusted to the new city (And the Revenants aswell, thanks to Contragh's efforts and proving themselves with defending against a lesser warlord left over from Pikep's Warband who attempted to invade the city but was soon slaughtered) and began to set countless guard shifts on the high walls in order to keep intruders out. His people grew in size as they absorbed the outlying tribes into his city, soon hundreds of soldiers were being trained by the existing veterans and hundreds of workers were working on expanding the city and creating new weapons of war (Particularly those for siege and invasions, yet there were a few designs set on defense. Such as the experimental ballista and the all too effective "Drop boiling liquids from afar onto the enemy). It was a beautiful, well oiled machine kept in check with fear/brute force of soldiers (As Contragh knew that the tribesmen around him had not grown to worship him, so he had to keep them in line until they finally converted aswell), and it made him grin from ear to ear. He was dead set on making his home and land impenetrable and unstoppable.

    Contragh himself began to assemble the most powerful Revenants he had and those he trained. Standing in front of them he addressed his soldiers "Now, I know your reception here into the city has been less then amazing. But, you are the vanguard of the people. You shall be my Angels, watching over our lands from above, and descending upon our enemies with righteous fury! You shall be feared by the beasts of chaos, admired by the living people of the disk, and you shall be the favored by the Me, Contragh, Highest of Lords. You shall be the heroes of this city, and shall be my Knife, plunging into this vile worlds heart." Slamming the butt of his axe down he is met by a chorus of shouts and weapons clanging. Pointing his free hand at the soldiers he empowers them with his will, his strength, his raw power, and most of all his divine hatred. Their forms changed and bent, the shadow material that reanimated them wrapped around them and their weapons.

    Tattered dark grey cloaks cover their bodies, hoods shielding their heads from the light. Grey, withered skin stretches over their bones and pulls tightly around their skulls. All heat and warmth around them is snuffed out as Claymores, swords, and shields made of the energy that revived them appeared out of thin air and bound themselves to the tight grip of the undead. Finally large angel wings burst forth out of their backs with feathers as black as night. Smiling, Contragh assesses them and shouts "You shall be the harbingers of my great wrath...wrath...You shall be my Wraiths, my Angels of War." Then and there the Wraiths were officially created, their birth heralding the doom of countless rebellious human settlements and lesser chaos beasts. Walking through the orderly files of Wraiths Contragh inspects them one by one until he finds Miranda (Only recognizing her voice), his second in command, to be turned into a wraith as well. Pulling her to the side Contragh stares at her intently, shocked by the thought that she had died in the battle against Pikep.

    Looking her up and down he notices that she has lost all the beauty of her past self and that the wraiths do not have a proper leader yet. Grinning he beckons her to flow him to the front of the assembled Wraiths and said "Listen Miranda, you have served me well in your life, and as of such I have decided to honor yourself in death with a high ranking such as that you had last time." Drawing forth the same power that mutated the wraiths Contragh increases it and swells it up before infusing it into Miranda's form. Her body began to wrench and shiver as a fraction of his divine power entered her form. With it her body began to change as well, her grey withered skin was replaced with a spectral version of her beauty in life, her hood and cloak crumbled away to be replaced by dark plated armor like Contragh's (A grey, withered, and hole ridden cape tied around it), and finally a heavy tower shield with long sword manifested themselves much like the ones the Wraiths used. *Raising her hand he declared her "Miranda the Banshee Queen, and Lord General of Contragh's Wraiths and Grave Guard" (The name of the secondary army of pure Revenants that fought in ways and places that man could not)

    Together, he and Miranda began to plot and scheme Contragh's biggest campaign yet. Finally, after weeks of absorbing more tribes, increasing the size of his work force, and engineering more war weapons the plan was complete. It was dubbed "Operation: Baz'Auran's Descent". Rounding up a half of his army and a third of the Grave Guard Contragh assembled them outside of the city gates. It was a magnificent site, a legion of soldiers that swamped the land like water in the ocean. Banners representing the different companies flew high and proud as they awaited their god's command. The Wraith's flew high above Contragh's castle as he finished the final details with Miranda. Sending her off to join the Wraith's Contragh leaves his base of operations and pauses for a moment. Taking in all that was about to transpire. And in that moment of rest and contemplation he was bombarded. It was a hail of words, notes, lullabies, beautiful lyrics and graceful dancing, of hammers pounding and shields clanging. Signs from his siblings telling him of there lives, their triumphs, and their survivals. All this while Contragh had absorbed himself into his work and shut out everything around him. He could feel the divine sparks of his siblings drifting through out the disk. Some caught his attention more then others: Far away from Contragh was a grouping of divine sparks, soft and tender, he could almost hear some instrument far off in the distance who's final note lingers. Sonata most definitely, or perhaps Fayruz? Bah, he interchanged there names once in a while in the white city anyway. Moving his attention he picked up another, this one beig a bit of a paradox. It was repulsive, dirty, and just horrible as it burned bright and felt an urge to consume. And yet he felt his heart flutter and a strange kinship to the bloody spark, a disturbing connection that Contragh couldn't merely put away like he had done with others. The next two were... Annoying. He could hear voices and a strange bouncy offbeat and badly played tune zig zagging in his head, diverting away he gritted his teeth and hissed "Jongo...." before moving on to the final one. This one was annoying aswell, yet it held a attraction and magnetism to it. The spark burned bright and proud, roaring out at the world as if to say "COME AT ME!" yet not fearing what would come of it.

    After his mission was complete he would have to visit one of his siblings, this he swore. But which? After much pondering he settled on the Burning prideful one, he had a creeping suspicion of who it was.

    Turning into his draconic form he flew into the air and landed on top of one of his fortress' walls. There he emitted a monstrous roar, one that sent small animals scurrying, caused fighting men to pause and begin to fight again with greater vigor. One that curdled the blood of the weak and cowardly but emboldened the strong and the brutal to start fighting, and within that roar was a single message, one that only the divine could truly hear. The message said*"I am Contragh, Dragon Lord! *Know that I come for you." As he heard his war cry echo through out distance he smiles and flies upward to meet his host of Wraiths. With a few flicks of his wrist they splintered into smaller squads and began to move out in all different directions. Contragh himself went north with Miranda by his side. As the Wraiths went far enough that they were but little specks in the sky Contragh's legion mobilized and splintered off. Each company following a single Wraith squad each, with the largest company, "Contragh's Wyverns", following Contragh himself. Phagos cavalry armed with heavy armor and even heavier weapons surged forward ahead of the companies to act as an interlock between the wraiths and the soldiers.

    The plan behind Baz'Auran's Descent is for a lightning fast, brutal, and efficient conquering in all directions. Rapidly expanding his empire at a frightening rate, spear headed by small elite groups of Wraiths who would cut down the enemy or scare neutral tribes into submission, if the Wraiths met heavier resistance or left behind stragglers (As the most important thing for them to do is keep moving while fighting) then the Phagos cavalry will crush them and pacify them as the companies show up and begin to capture each tribe. Why "Baz'Auran's Descent"? Because the arse kicking will be so swift and brutal that it will be the equivelant of Baz'Auran himself, Lord of the White City, descending down onto the disk crushing everything in his path.

    Now, the reason for the plan beginning in the first place was due to a recent upstart, the last of Pikep's chaotic warlord's, and his most intelligent. Milus, the king above gods, as his followers called him, had been absorbing the other chaos warbands and defied Contragh's will (And by extent Baz'Auran's will, as Contragh saw himself as the closest figure of similar stature). He had so far Driven off Contragh's war parties and skirmishers, all the while he forged his own empire, a crude parody of Contragh's far more efficient and noble one (In the gods eye atleast), refusing to submit and join whilst thinking himself superior to the son of Baz'Auran. Contragh simply could not let some backwater, barbaric, idiotic, Jongo like, son of a Ruttin bitch try and play a god while lives swung in the balance. If blood must be spilled and bones be broken to do so, then Contragh would do so.

    Surging forward through the air alongside Miranda he looked down upon the impending villages ahead. Contragh had personally chosen to lead the assault that would penetrate Milus' pretend capital. Swooping down onto the villages Contragh bellows out a roar, a simple command emanating from his gutteral throat: Live and bow or Fight and die. He already knew the answer, these 4 tribes had already pledged allegiance to Milus' and would not submit to what they perceived to be a Tyrant instead of a benevolent ruler. "Filthy Mongrels," he thought as he swatted a charging warrior away, stomping another one whilst lighting a mud hut on fire*"Too blind to see when they have clearly lost." All the while Miranda surges and floats about, decapitating leaders and shoving soldiers into walls. The villages were now merely hunkering down, trying there hardest to not get crushed as Contragh ripped open Mud huts like a wolf rips open a bunnies head. Finding the village to be sufficiently crushed he takes off with his wings to move forward, scorching any would be stragglers or forewarners of the impending draconic doom. Contragh repeated this process for the next 21 villages he met, reverting to his human form to breach houses and cut down people left and right. It was a pure slaughter, at this point Milus' forces had mobilized and began to fight back hard against the deadly duo, which only made Contragh more angry and more violent. His axe flowing blood faster then a river, each decapitation sending him to barrel through more people and try to fight multiple people at once. After butchering one of the larger villages Contragh flew off in a rapid frenzy, leaving Miranda behind, and heading toward the savage capital that dared stand up against him.

    Crashing down upon it he chomped down on a man, crushing his lower body, and with a flick of his head he sent the corpse flying off. Looking back ahead he sees the mini army of warriors charging towards him. Snarling he scorches the ground near him in a half circle, stopping them in their tracks."MILUS! SHOW YOUR COWARDLY FACE, SO THAT I MAY CRUSH YOU WHERE YOU STAND!" he bellows as he scans the warriors infront of him. Stepping forward was a tall, lithe, and charismatic looking man with a coy smile on his face. "So here is the great dragon lord, who fashions himself greater then all of us. And yet he uses sorcery and magic to raise the dead and take the form of my once-lord Pikep? If you are truly a man then duel me, as is customary among my people, first man to surrender loses." Shrinking down to his normal size he grins and accepts the challenge. How could a mortal hope to best him in martial combat?

    Entering a clearing he picks up a wooden sword, wielding it carefully in his left hand, and waits for Milus' to take his stand on the other side. Charging forward he does a quick set of jabs and upward slashes to keep Milus on the defensive, but with each strike the warlord would slide the blade away and move away. Contragh had tried his hardest to remember how Frellon wielded his sword and his style, but he couldn't match it in skill so he compensated with sheer strength and fury. Eventually his constant assault faltered and he found his fingers bristling with pain as he was met with a swift swipe of Milus' sword. Falling back Contragh felt himself get assaulted on all sides as Milus' sword found itself at every vantage point in order to bruise Contragh. The godling was quite shocked at the skill his opponent possessed. A swift stroke to the gut from Milus' sent Contragh pulling his stomach in and leaning forward to dodge it. Only to be met by a bash with the top of the sword across his face. Stumbling back he crouched down to the floor, wiping away the blood that was now trickling from his mouth.

    Looking down upon the young godling Milus smiled "You know, we're not that different you and I. We both want what's best for our people and are willing to do whatever is ne-""Shut up." Contragh harshly cut him off "You're nothing like me, you only think you are. You don't want what's best for them, if you did you wouldn't send them to die in droves whilst you camp down at the farthest place away from me. When I wage war and spill blood I do it so that others don't have to live in a world where violence and chaos spreads like wildfire, so that others don't have to fight. You do it merely so you can stay in power and try to scrape together whats left of Pikep's decimated empire." Contragh spat, breathing heavily whilst he did so. Milus' face was plastered with fury, until he began to hear Contragh laugh. It was somber and like a deep rumble, like a wave against a rocky beach. Growing more angry the chaotic warlord pointed his sword and said,

    "Why are you laughing, Cretin?"
    "Because you don't know anything."
    "This is my kingdom! I know everything within it, what could possibly elude me."

    "Well for starters, the fact that I'm not left handed," Contragh says with a grin as he hops up and swaps his sword to his other hand, in one fell move sending Milus' wooden sword clatterig against the ground far away."And secondly I wield a axe far greater then you wield a sword." With that he pulls his axe of his back and slices Milus' in half, shattering the mans rib cage and crushing his organs. His soldiers began to pour in like a tide, just as Miranda arrives with the Phagos cavalry in tow. Yet Contragh didn't care, he merely kept hacking and slashing his way through the spontaneous battle ground. It was there he realized that the axe was the most pure weapon of war. It relied on strength, momentum, speed, skill, endurance, and incorporated them all in a deadly form. It combined all the necessary skills of war, and was the purest expression of Contragh. An axe was useless without him, and against real threats he was useless without the axe. It was an extent of his will, this axe in particular was an extent of himself. He had committed many atrocities and saved many lives with it. It was his tool of destruction his whole life, and it was a part of him now. It hungered, wanted to be powerful like Contragh, and sought out the blood of the hardest foes it could find. From godlings to dragons to several warlords. The axe was as much a part of him as his divine spark. The axe was Contragh. Contragh is the axe.

    Having reached a bloody epiphany Contragh began to felt the world around him spin, going faster and faster as the land around him got more brutal and bloody. People screaming and running and turning into corpses in the blink of an eye. Blood splattering over the godling and sweat pouring down his body as he screamed and kept on. His vision began to get blurred, his body dripping in blood and bone dust, and he felt the world bend and morph. With one final slash he felt a gush of blood splatter onto his face and cover his sight. Raising his axe to the sky he roared triumphantly, swinging the blade around all the whole as he celebrated his victory. Wiping his right eye clear he looks around and sees the battle field gone, only a giant volcano and a city with it. He could feel the prideful spark burn ever brighter in front of him, and decided it was time to visit one of *his siblings after the fall. The giant glob of blood began to trudge forward to the volcano and it's settlement, summoning Miranda by his side with a swipe of his hand.

    Act Expenditure
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    Turn 1:

    1 Major Act:Gain Ability (War God)

    2 Major Acts: Create Sentient Race
    The Revenants
    Alternative Names/Titles given to the race: The War that never ends, *Spectre's, Dem Bones, Rattlers, The Silent Butchers.

    Skeleton Figures that have defied death and walk amongst the living again. Their flesh, muscle, and organs have all fell off, with the few rare exceptions of bits and pieces sticking on (The occasional heart, hair, or intenstine). The main definitive trait (Beside them being made of bones) being the light blue energy that visibly courses through their bones like veins and forms dots where the eyes should be.

    Personality

    Most Revenants are the reanimated remains of humans (Or other dead things, humans are just the most numerous) and thus have just as many different personalities as mankind. However, the process of facing death in the eyes and being ripped away from it changes them in a universal way. For starters they grow a slight resentment towards the living, envying them for not being stuck in the juxtaposition they are in. How evident it is is based upon how strong of a will the Revenant has during life. And yet, they have an almost contradictory haughtiness secured by the fact that they are immortal and cannot feel the same pains and death as the mortal races can.

    However you would rarely learn this from Revenants themselves as there hearts have hardened and closed up. They guard secrets well and are hard pressed to tell non Revenants anything about themselves. What few allies they do come to trust however are thought in the highest regard. *Still, each Revenants is different with their own interpretation of the effects and their own personalities like other mortal races.

    Physical Description

    Revenants are the reanimated bones of predominantly humans given free will, meaning they keep the same shape as their past lives. Their forms are cleaned upon rising, making their bones a bright white, they are also tightly connected together with a strange black energy in the place of tendons. Their teeth are sharp and curved like the god that created them and are able to grow replacement teeth despite lacking flesh or a metabolism.

    The Gift of Undeath

    The gift of Undeath has granted Revenants many traits and benefits. The most iconic trait being the light blue energy that visibly flows through their body, the left over energy that was used during their reanimation. The energy also pools up at the eye sockets, forming dots in the place of eyes. As a Revenant becomes older and more powerful, it accrues more of the blue energy pulsing through it's form, and thus causes the pupils to get bigger and more vivid. Eventually the pupils turn into miniature (Non burning, it's not real fire) fireball dots and expand from their until the whole eye socket is flowing with flames, but this is only possible in the oldest and most powerful of Revenants. Now, for the benefits of Undeath. The most obvious one being Immortality, Revenants never age, never need to eat, never need to breathe or sleep (Albeit some do it out of habit or just to latch on to their past lives), never need to eat, never need to dispose of excrements, and never experience natural wear and tear (Atleast on a small scale, hurricanes, sandstorms, and tsunamis can still wear down their bones. Rubbing up against a rock, walking through flowing water, and hard breezes less so). They can no longer feel natural pain or Irritations. Lastly their movement has been altered aswell, as it looks and sounds like they never truly walk, merely glide over an inch of the dirt, unheard.

    Despite the benefits their are drawbacks to their new form. The most noticeable being a lack of smell and taste, as they can no longer enjoy food or many of the pleasures the world has to offer. Insanity as well is a constant threat to Revenants, as the infinite time they have can slowly errors at their minds and snap weaker willed ones (Unless they keep themselves pre occupied and annually take philosophical journeys to keep their psyches in check). Lastly, the idea of immortality often acts as an ego boost among the more sinister Revenants, and can cause them to become corrupted and evil more easily then they did in life.

    Relations and Society

    Revenants are spurned by most of humanity, as they see them as an affront to nature and connect them with a host of bad mojo. Revenants walking into more primitive tribes will find themselves blamed for and connected to a host of superstitions, bad luck, and horrible events. If they are not spurned away from one tribe they are normally attacked on sight by another due to their gruesome appearance and generally bad connection. The few civilizations where they are considered people are Contragh's nation and some of his siblings estates.*

    This hatred has caused many spurned Revenants to become bitter and mistrusting of the living, often times sticking together in large groups called Sieges. This tight connection between them often leads to the Revenant saying "The only person you can trust, is a dead man." Often times acting for both loner Revenants (To whom a dead man is no one) and for the Siege Revenants (To whom other Revenants are "dead"). Among these Revenant clans their are 2 main titles. A "Carn" is the war leader and controller of the Siege, hir word is law and all Revenants must prepare for war the instant the Carn says so. The "Jongo" is a confusing job, acting as a mixture between Law man and town fool. Most Jongo's are insane, or at the very least ridiculously silly, and are prone to mood swings. They act as the headsmen, rooting out insubordinates and chopping their heads off, and will laugh and prance about all the while doing it before returning to their splendid ways. This unpredictability found in them acts as a way to instill fear and mystery behind the law, so as to ensure none break it.

    Religion

    Contragh is, of course the main god among the religion, with the other War based gods (Excluding Shirvan) acting as a Pantheon entitled "The Council". The other gods (Such as Fayruz and The Weaver) are instead treated as lesser gods or as mythical beings, enough to warrant a prayer and respect but not enough for worship and following. The two gods excluded from either of these is Jongo and Roselia, who are fused together in the Revenant religion as "The Mad Trickster" and is treated with a mixed response and disdain. Some view him as a necessary part of the balance of the disk, others as a chaotic menace only allowed to live due to his status as a god. Yet none would dare get on the bad side of either forms of the Mad Trickster.*

    War

    Revenants are not an openly violent race, preferring to settle down and build cities rather then sack others. But they will retaliate brutally at intrusions, often times declaring war on those who would try to eek into their territory. *Standard protocol for warfare is to starve the opponents out, stripping them of any and all supplies, with regular battle forces marshaled up and sent in as waves to hit them while their weak and continually grind them down. When facing opponents that are fellow Revenants or not as food dependent as humans the battle plan changes drastically. Instead of a long siege it changes to a full out blitzkrieg at the middle of night, often times accompanied with a special surprise attack of some kind, and several days of Revenant spies crippling the enemies defenses.*

    Reproduction

    As Revenants are not of the living they do not have a natural way of reproducing. Instead Revenants have two ways of artificial reproduction. The first way is for a Wraith to raise a Revenant from a dead corpse. The second way is for the creation and usage of a Soul Pool (Only one exists as of yet, and a way of making. Ore Soul Pools is not yet known). Soul Pools are, as the name says, large pools of energy and life (Not inherently the souls of the living, despite the name) consumed and twisted in one place. The ground is blanketed in a swirling mass of black mist, ankle high, and swirling towards the center like water down a drain. Light, translucent blue vapors rise out of the pool and dissipates as it reaches high into the sky. Soul Pool's are always located upon places of battles fought or carnage unfurled, and their very presence is easily marked. Trees and plants around them darken and seem almost stripped of life, animals are more aggressive or even violent, and the rate of albinos or mutations being born increases tremendously (More so then a normal human or animal being born). When a corpse is dragged into the inner part of the Soul Pool in the dead of night the corpse's soul is reinstated into it's body and is revived as a Revenant with free will. Their are however some requirements for a corpse to be revived as a Revenant. The corpse must have been a warrior or soldier of some kind, must have died fighting (This is not completely necessary, but Revenants born this way are weaker then they would be normally), and must have participated in a battle or war of some kind (A mere drunken brawl will not do as this is the most essential part). As of such all Revenants are warriors, fighters, or leaders of some kind. *This is a double edge sword, as friendly soldiers may be revived to fight another day, enemy soldiers may be dragged into the pools as well. Control of the pool (And pools in the future) is key in the strength and survival of Revenant Siege Clans.

    2 Minor Acts: Create the City of Fex

    Turn 2:

    1 Major Act: Gain Ability: True Master (Axe)

    1 Major Act: Create Exarch: Miranda, The Banshee Queen (Melee Expertise: Sword and Shield)

    1 Major Act: Create Artifact (The Conqueror's Axe)
    *
    The Conquerer's Axe
    This axe has seen far more executions and blood shed then any axe should ever see. This axe is the very same axe that executed Tulen-Kar upon his rise to insanity. It had tasted divine blood, the divine spark, the very soul of a god, and it thirsted for more from that day on. This same axe has carved and butchered it's way through Pikep, his savage barbarian chiefs, lesser beasts of chaos, and spilled the blood of countless rebellious tribes in a horrible two man rampage lead by Contragh. With each kill it grows stronger, it seeks more powerful blood and souls to dominate and consume. It is a horrid tool of destruction, stealing a bit of all those it kills and fueling itself on the how powerful the defeated foe was, making it a little bit stronger each fight. It is because of this that it constantly seeks to reach the same rush that it met upon murdering Tulen-Kar, as he was a shot of pure divine power injected into the axe. A part of Contragh's spark has been held within the Axe aswell, a twisted dark corner of himself that he would rather stow away in a dark bloody weapon then face it and try to overcome it. *The slaughter and power that comes with the slaughter has garnered the axe a aura of majesty, inspiring allies around it to fight as ruthlessly as they can, whilst demoralizing whatever stands at the business side of it.

    4 Minor Acts: Level 6 Empoweremt: Create Wraiths
    Wraiths
    Wraiths are empowered Revenants, blessed with greater speed, strength, durability, and a myriad of divinely blessed abilities. They are the Vanguard of Contragh, the heralds of the doom his marching armies bring, and they are the guardian angels that watch over his provinces. They are his most blessed children, and they act on the behalf of the god himself.*

    Physical Description

    The divine power infused into the Wraiths has permanently mutates their bodies. Some of them retain the skeletal form of the Revenants, with bloody red fire and energy coursing through them. Most however grow grey, withered, skin pulled tightly over their bones. Their organs and body parts are reformed in their bodies, yet are embalmed and rotted, their eyes even have the strange ability to disappear and leave only the black empty sockets known amongst Revenants. Their forms, although seemingly fragile, are incredibly resistant to harm, and are able to survive losing limbs and even decapitation (But quickly die afterwards from the loss of a head unless attended to). They have unnatural speed, able to outmaneuver normal humans with ease. Covering their frail forms is a tattered grey and black robe, with a hood that conceals their face in darkness. Their feet are hidden away under the cloak, and are not even used as the Wraiths merely hover over the ground instead of walk. Piercing through the robes is the wraiths most striking and iconic feature: the large, black as midnight, angel wings that cast a foreboding shadow on all who face it. Lastly, skulls and trophies are tied to the Wraith via leather for all to see and sense dread upon their arrival.

    Powers

    Wraiths, as the vanguards of Contragh, have been granted mystical powers, as to inflict psychological damage upon the enemy and keep themselves safe. The first and most iconic power is their impressive aerial capabilities with their wings. They are also bound with strange black weapons formed of the same energy that creates Soul Pools, their weapons are as strong as metal and lighter then wood. They range from Claymores, duel swords, swords and shields, and even Scythes (among the more brutal Wraiths). Wraiths, alongside their weapons, are semi spectral beings meaning they may harm and interact with the world and may be hit back, albeit with a good chance of the weapon missing them (The only weapons guaranteed to hit Wraiths are ones that are magical, made of glass, or forged from iron. With the last one not even a sure guarantee, as the rare event has occurred of a iron war hammer phasing through a wraiths cheat). One of the final books granted by Contragh for Wraiths is an increase in the skill that they weld their weapons.*

    Reproduction

    As of yet, a way for Wraiths to create more Wraiths has not been made yet. Instead, Wraiths act as a way for reproduction among their fellow Revenants. For you see, the bound energy within them (and their weapons) act as miniature, focused, Soul Pools. If a Wraith kills someone who fit the requirements of a Revenant while using their bound weapon they may raise that person forth from the grave as a Revenant (No matter the time of day). Alternatively, Wraiths may hold back a bit of their power and keep it from the resurrection process (in the event that it is an enemy being revived) *and instead create a lesser Revenant, without a soul bound to it and with no free will. A "Wraithling". Essentially nothing more then bones being controlled by the will of the Wraith. They look like Revenants but without any of the magical side effects and no blue energy coursing through them. How many Wraithlings a Wraith can control varies on Power, with an average Wraith managing 10 while a very powerful Wraith may command up to 100.**

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  6. - Top - End - #546
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    The Dreams of Order

    "I....thank you," replied Khalen, bowing deeply before his brother. He had always been very guarded with his emotions, especially around others and so in what appeared to be a very formal bow, Khalen conveyed his deepest and most heartfelt gratitude at not having to witness another Elanna-centred nightmare.

    Slowly beginning to regain his composure, he settled into the chair opposite his sibling. "It is good to see you again brother. May more of us than I suspected have survived their journey to the Disk." He proceeded to tell The Weaver about his encounter with Dasque and Faden, along with the battle with the Surrusus.

    "Have you encountered any of our siblings on your journies? Mayhap some of them have entered your realm from time to time. I was also wondering what you made of this," he continued and handed over the crystal sphere to the Weaver.

    "It's is a model of the sphere on top of the Tower of Baal. I collapsed after it was finished but I do not know the purpose of it," He explained the dream's series of events and what each sibling said.
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    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.

  7. - Top - End - #547
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    Sonata and Shyreza

    Ah, but Shyreza was speaking now.

    Sonata turned to this girl again with a gentle smile. She reminded Sonata of Aria, the nervous and flustered look, it was much more appropriate than the rough words and rude actions of the Gamesha.
    "Come then, and lead me to this tent! Let us change to dry clothes, your gowns if they are suitable for my sister, will be fine too for me! I am not that ungrateful, don't worry! And don't hold back your songs, even the Kindly Ones if they sing, then surely it must have been my dear sister who taught you... And I am the one who taught her." Sonata said with a laugh. The rain stopped now as she laughed, leaving only the rainbow above and the wet streets and people.

    A wet fox wearing a big smile guarded the square, in prancing through market stalls, while the great lightning wolf continued his rest at the center. He would awake soon enough and search for food, but for the moment was content to rest proudly.

    And of Shyreza and Sonata, who was leading who? Sonata felt light on her feet here, though it was her joy at finding her family again, a joy like a song waiting to happen. And when they came to the tent and had been clothed by Shyreza and a meal had been placed, Sonata sat forward with a smile in the firelight.

    "I have seen so far some of my sister's followers, and of them you seem most earnest and concerned with the things of interest to me. I am already delighted to be here, with anticipation for my sister and to see my brother again, so do not fear to upset me. I want to hear your songs, because song is a treasure deep and close to me. If you learned from my sister, then I yearn to hear the echoes of her melodies and your own story. You sing in the presence of a princess of the white city, yet I think that perhaps you have sung with my twin sister. So, sing earnestly, daughter of Feyheran."
    Shyreza was frantically nervous once again. The family of Fayruz, barring the sister of light who would not sup with them, had been simple to entertain and impress. Their meager feasts had been sufficient for the smith, and the traveler, and the man of robes had not judged their clothing and their dances. But this wolf-maiden, who did as she pleased - everything was judged by her quick eyes. Shyreza could hardly bring herself to watch the goddess's face as a stew of goat's flesh and roots was brought in for her to eat. They could hardly be enough for her! She was also judging the dress she'd been given, Shyreza was sure, a bright gown with the colors of the sunrise beaded into its wool, orange and red and yellow.

    The wolf-goddess looked up from her meal at Shyreza, who smiled as much as she could - surely, she would not be too offended! The wolf-goddess smiled back and said, leaning forward, "I have seen so far some of my sister's followers, and of them you seem most earnest and concerned with the things of interest to me. I am already delighted to be here, with anticipation for my sister and to see my brother again, so do not fear to upset me. I want to hear your songs, because song is a treasure deep and close to me. If you learned from my sister, then I yearn to hear the echoes of her melodies and your own story. You sing in the presence of a princess of the white city, yet I think that perhaps you have sung with my twin sister. So, sing earnestly, daughter of Feyheran."

    Shyreza relaxed, her shoulders slumping as she exhaled, flushed with pride as the wolf-goddess praised her. "Thank you," she replied, with as much grace as she could muster, "Sister of our Maiden of the Dusk. I am afraid that I won't sing well enough to impress you, since you taught the greatest singer that we know, but hopefully I might entertain you, at least enough that you might hear an echo in my voice."

    She took a deep breath, and began to sing one of the songs that she had created herself, a song of the dragon and its slaying.

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    In god-days long gone, there was battle!
    The gods struck the Mother and pierced her.
    A maggot, blind-white, fell from the wound.
    It was disgusting!
    It was filth!
    It crawled away into shadow.
    It sat beneath mountains.
    Its softness grew hard-
    Its teeth became sharp-
    Its filth became rot-
    The maggot became a dragon.
    It slept for seasons.
    It slept for generations.
    When it awoke, it ate and ate:
    It took whatever it found, devouring all.

    The Tekeza were the mighty men of the plains!
    Dol Mazzah's walls defied them, but were broken.
    Copper they knew, copper from the mountains.
    They made copper spears, swords, axes, knives.
    Of all Tekeza, mightiest was Daved named Skullsplitter.
    Master was he of all the copper men!
    He made his servants dig deeply.
    Down and down he took from the earth.
    The dragon awoke, hearing his tapping and his carving.

    Old wrath awoken!
    His servants devoured!
    Caves made dark!
    Dragon's poison blighting!

    Daved took his men.
    Daved took his axe.
    Daved took his son.
    Down into the darkness, Daved took them.
    There, the dragon waited for him!
    He struck it.
    Once-
    Twice-
    Thrice-
    It tore him apart!
    Slithering, white serpent!
    Claws flashing in the dark!
    Men fell from its stench, from its teeth!
    Gamesha, only chieftain's son, was cut-
    His fair face cut to the bone!
    His hammer he took up.
    War cries he screamed.
    He struck it.
    Once-
    Twice-
    Thrice-
    Until its skull shattered!
    Again and again, screaming, he struck!

    The dragon is its blood.
    The maggot infects another.
    Black blood mixed with red.
    Gamesha became the dragon.
    So the Tekeza went to war.
    Dol Mazzah's walls they broke.
    From its walls they took Fayruz!
    Fallen from her moon-home.
    The chieftain protected her.
    Gamesha made her his fool.
    He denied the dragon's lust!

    Fayruz chose her time.
    The mother's wound she healed-
    Then the dragon she cast out.
    She laid her hands upon Gamesha.
    She drew out black maggot blood.
    And the dragon's soul, it fell!
    Down into her it fell, and she ate it.
    As one crushes a maggot between teeth-
    As one crushes a snake's head under heel-
    So Fayruz crushed the dragon.


    Shyreza finally brought her song to a close, trembling slightly with the exertion of making it perfect, or as fine as she could make it, anyway. "I made that song," she said. "About what Fayruz did among us."
    -build that wall and build it strong-
    Kasanip - best artist; Rarity - best smile; Thanqol - good Question
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    Raz, you scoundrel! You planned this!
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    Great, and now I'm imagining what Raz's profile on a dating site would look like. "Must be okay with veils."
    Quote Originally Posted by Kasanip View Post
    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.

  8. - Top - End - #548
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Ladorak's Avatar

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    The seventh day


    Carolinus once again had chosen his line and now he stood it. Blind to the sky, his vision restricted by towering rockface, he could not know when dawn had come. Yet it would come, that he knew, and with it would come the Titans. He felt the hammer hanging over him, bringing a strong and unexpected longing for Khalen-Het, the falling gavel.

    The canyon was cool, the temperature lowered no small amount by the howling wind. It helped steel Carolinus' nerve. In the darkness, cold and quiet he finally took time to reach deep within himself and find some equilibrium. His anger and fear were gone, as was the hatred that had been slowly coiling around his heart as a poison serpent around an unsuspecting sleeper. He merely existed, floating in an abyss in which nothing existed except his perception.

    He could afford this moment of quiet, Markien was as prepared as he could make it. Far behind him the greatest archers in his army lurked in shadows and likewise steeled their nerve. Sharp shooters, some grizzled veterans, some green boys, with orders to fire only upon eyes and to always fall back before Carolinus' own retreat. Dozens of the Stoneward 'swum' in the earth beneath his feet. Between them they would make passage to Wardstone a bloody business for the Titans, bleeding their strength with nearly every step.

    Wardstone was likewise ready. Catapults on the first two walls had been ranged and the balista crews largely had reloading down to under a minute. Reserve forces had been formed, officers appointed and assigned. Stretcher bearers and their armed companies stood ready, as did the medics, with a keen dread of what was to come. The rails had been tested and were proving effective, he would have liked to have given the horse teams more time to prepare and train, but now there was none. A steady stream of food and water trickled into Wardstone from all over Markien.

    One of the Stoneward flowed upward out of the stone beside his feet. The hulking figure towered over him and asked, in broken gravelly tones 'Why Titans do this?

    Carolinus had been expecting the question, he had felt and 'heard' snippets of the hive mind beneath his feet. Although capable of communicating at great speed the Stoneward still took a long time reaching a consensus, once they did however it was one agreed to all. There had been some discussion on this issue already. Despite this Carolinus waited for the Stoneward to verbalise their questions, it was important to have them practice their vocalisations for communication with other races.

    Carolinus considered the question. In some ways the Stoneward were wise beyond the ken of mere mortals, easily as intelligent as humans and, via their shared conscienceness, possessed of a far greater ability to process and analyse information. However they were also innocent as newborns in a very real sense.

    He glanced to the Stoneward's chestplate. On the unadorned metal was painted a green half crescent. The Stoneward were able to instantly identify each other, other races lacked this faculty. Once again to aid communication with others and also to enforce a sense of individuality amid his new children Carolinus had encouraged them into such displays. As they all looked and sounded the same it was necessary for them to be individually marked, so that the people of Markien may come to know them as fellow people and not unthinking unsuffering sentinels. This Stoneward was called Green Moon, it had been one of the more eager to first attempt communication with the Markien people.

    'That is a good question Green Moon.' he sighed 'I suppose it is because they believe that they have the right.'

    'What right?'

    'The right of might. They believe they have a right to ownership of anything and anyone they can take by arms.'

    The buzzing of the hivemind picked up briefly This is wrong.' There was no indication if this was a question or a statement.

    'It is wrong. All creatures capable of self determination should be afforded the opportunity for those determinations. The Titans may take what they want, but not if what they are taking is the freedom of another thinking creature.'

    Green Moon nodded but said no more, he simply stood with Carolinus and awaited the coming storm. The watchman would not say it, but he was grateful for the company.
    Last edited by Ladorak; 2012-05-14 at 06:14 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.

  9. - Top - End - #549
    Bugbear in the Playground
     
    Demidos's Avatar

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    That-which-was-not-Aramar-yet-was looked upon the clearing, and smiled a cold, predatory smile. Too easy. Now, he thought, I can vindicate my existence. It stepped forward, and stopped. A flickering red wall of crackling fire burst into existence around the perimeter of the clearing in which Aramar was imprisoned. That-which-was-not-Aramar-yet-was flinched back. The heat was excruciating. Baring his fangs, That-which-was-not-Aramar-yet-was tried to move forward, but to no avail. None but a god could pass through such an inferno, he thought. None...but a god. Snarling, he whipped around and jumped into the sky.

    Miles away, his Silvariar heard his cry, and leapt into the air with their own fierce calls. They swept away in a swirl of dark bodies, a bat swarm the size of which had never before been heard of winging through the night air, heading to the north, a swirling in answer to the cry of their god.
    Avatar by Sgt. Pepper
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    MethosH

    My Characters:
    Flutter: Level 20 Tristalt

    My Homebrew:
    WIP
    The Fortunar Base Class

    Completed Classes
    The Grandmaster : A master of animated stattuettes and tactical magic. High tier 3.

    The Hidden Word: An infiltrator with a wide range of abilities that works best in small teams. Tier 2-3

    Web-Spinner: A martial class based around using webs. Mid T3.


  10. - Top - End - #550
    Troll in the Playground
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    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    At the Cities Walls

    Kalandor: At Wardstone's Gates

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    "And so the youngest of the divines, who wondered the world for entertainment, entered the domain of the watcher, who stands still protecting us."

    One of Many Religeos Writings
    ((Kalandor will arive after Carolinus returns to Markien))

    Kalandor had taken many forms on his trip to the citadel at which Carolinus worked, Wardstone, whose walls stood high, something completely different to the surrounding 'nature', allowing it to act as a beacon to Kalandor, who had travelled roads long and winding, made only by the trod of feet, and those roads he only followed loosely, breaking out into his own stride, travelling across the continent with ease unfelt by any other.

    And when Kalandor came to the walls of Wardstone, he came not as man but as beast, a simple pidgeon, flying for the walls of Wardstone, comming to land before it's gates, and as mortals looked on it in surprise, Kalandor arose, the pidgeon becomming a travelled man, clothing stained with sweat, as workers moved back, making wards of their god, and Kalandor made his presence, before hidden felt.

    "I have come my brother Carolinus, in response to your call."

    And instantly Carolinus would feel his words and feel Erack's presence, for no other god could feel so wild.
    Last edited by Erik Vale; 2012-05-21 at 06:06 PM.
    My Homebrew Sig.

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    Quote Originally Posted by Moonwolf727 View Post
    To avoid harming the sanity of the DM I can no longer:

    * Cast flesh to stone on a annoying Druid
    ** Cast Rock to mud on a Druid statue
    *** Scoop mud into little ceramic pots
    **** Plant tree's in individual ceramic pots
    ***** Claim that I have helped them become one with nature
    Quote Originally Posted by Chilingsworth View Post
    Congrats, you made me laugh hard enough to draw my family's attention.

  11. - Top - End - #551
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Kasanip's Avatar

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    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    Sonata and Shyreza

    Sonata listened, leaning forward to watch Shyreza closely as she sung. But though her eyes were like a wolf, and her ears like a fox, the smile on her face was relaxed.

    The goat stew and roots were fine, for even a fox's stew isn't so different, and she had been a daughter of foxes once. The dress was made of rough wool, but the colors were not inappropriate.

    The song however, was.
    Sonata listened to it's echo and it's words, and though it was music, this was a song of Shyreza. The words and soul of it was not divine. And this made Sonata frown, the smallest of frowns. Surely if Fayruz had taught, then she had taught the divine song then. Surely she had come to the thoughts of Ar Maen, like Sonata had and instructed! They were twins! How could their music be so different?
    And Sonata wondered how gentle Fayruz, who had played together with her so many times, who had sang so many songs, had not taught this Shyreza properly.
    Or, perhaps it was this one who was not prepared?
    Perhaps Fayruz had concerned herself with other things. Like crushing a dragon. Or eating it. The meaning of the song was strange.

    It was human.

    It wasn't the divine words of Ar Maen, that Sonata had taught the first Aria, and which the Hymmnoi now keep. They had become the song, and so it had been pure. Or very closely so.
    This was a song of deserts and plains, and war and blood, and dragons and corruption. It was not a divine song, but a song about divine.
    In human ways and manners, it didn't rise above, but was limited. It was not deserving to be sung in Ar Maen. Or perhaps, if it was sung in Ar Maen, the meaning would change and become different.

    Could a song from a human be made to a divine song?
    Sonata, who had worn the coat of a fox, who had befriended the thunder wolf, and stole the life of a dragon princess, had never been human. So, she did not know.

    But there were ways to learn.

    Sonata stood up, and walked around Shyreza a few times. Not unlike a wolf who prepared to strike. Or a fox that was mocking. But Sonata kept these words to herself. Perhaps Fayruz, who had lived so differently than her could explain the next day.

    At last, Sonata stopped in front of Shyreza.
    "It is adequate." She said with a smile. "The skill to weave a song like this must be rare in a harsh land like this, and I can see you care deeply about my sister. I wonder if any of my own make or sing such songs about me!" She said with rueful sigh.

    She clapped her hands twice, as always should such a prayer be made.
    "I am very interested in you, Shyreza. I believe I can teach you much about music and story weaving, though perhaps my brother The Weaver, if he still lives, might tell you some more." With a fox-like smile, Sonata stepped forward to pull Shyreza into a hug. Or was prepared for such a thing. So she spoke with whisper into the ear of Shyreza earnestly, a quiet contract between them.
    "However, while I will teach you how to be song, I want you to teach me how to be human. So that I may appreciate the perfection of your songs, and so perhaps I won't judge too harshly of your limits.
    We might find them, and push them together, until song and human may come together.
    The fox-like smile disappeared, and Sonata looked reassuring.
    "I will not steal you from my sister, of course... That is why I desire you to teach me to be human. Let us be as teacher and student together, and put for a while the barriers of gods and mortals away. Then when a journey is completed, we both will find ourselves more than before. What do you say?"

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    Sorry Raz_Fox for slow post!

    I assumed that Shyreza will agree to the proposal of Sonata. I should have sent PM when this idea was thought of by me, but to become forgotten when was busy in middle examinations.
    Since it was asked some time ago for Sonata to teach Shyreza, it was thought this was an interesting way for such a lesson, and also good time for Sonata also to learn about humans, which was intentional of me to not write such in opening of Sonata.

    Now, Fayruz is closer to humans than Sonata it seems, because Sonata is more detached of this. Sonata gathered themes of 'Fox Princess', 'Dragon Princess' and 'Wolf Goddess' in her opening, Such themes are less welcome in culture of Feyheran, so this rain goddess needs a more human-like advertisement too.
    And of course it is always interesting to write a goddess who takes a human form! Perhaps a frantically nervous Shyreza will be less so when not to worry about divine aura of Sonata.

    I will use minor act to teach Ar Maen to Shyreza, I think if it is ok with Raz. It can be assumed such a minor act will spread from Shyreza to Feyheran some when Shyreza teaches them later.



    Sonata and Llassar


    Sonata opened her eyes in the night, and looked over at the sleeping Shyreza. When it was obvious Shyreza was asleep, then Sonata began to move. Graceful and silent movement, it was a fox walk, to move from bed. And soon she was looking down at Shyreza with a serious expression.

    Renard watched from the doorway, in the fox tongue he sang.

    The white city princess likes coats to wear
    fox and dragon rainbow, and wolf,
    but what coat can the human give you?
    Do not forget who you are, my lady!

    Sonata laughed a silent fox laugh.

    Do not be jealous, my faithful fox father
    that I will wear another coat for a time!
    It is right that a princess should have many gowns!
    But for now, I will go to my brother
    and such words are not for foxes. Sleep, faithful Renard.
    We will talk of coats another time!


    Renard bowed and disappeared in the shadows. Shyreza did not move, and so Sonata left the tent for now.

    A night air that smells clean after rain, and a starry sky with a red moon. Such a night, to meet her brother again! Sonata was fast and silent like a fox, and a fox smile on her face as she opened the tent of Llassar. And the smile on her face was large as she saw her brother again.

    "Brother, if you are awake, then open your eyes! Your sister has stolen into your tent tonight!" She said with a light laugh like raindrops on a fountain. "Let us tell stories by the fire until it is late! I have missed you, Llassar!" Sonata said, preparing to embrace her brother again.

    She released the hug and spun gracefully, to send waves of black hair around, and to fall perfectly on her back, on robes of wool and colors of Feyheran. She fell down gracefully upon the pillows and poured the wine to give to Llassar.
    Last edited by Kasanip; 2012-05-24 at 04:10 AM.
    Kasanip's Sketchbook 2 Thread
    It is difficult to speak English, please excuse mistakes kindly m(_ _)m

  12. - Top - End - #552
    Ogre in the Playground
     
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    Wardstone

    Even as Kalandor's voice rang out through the great fortress of Wardstone, echoing down the darkened halls of stone and iron, it was answered by another sound. Terrible, it was, and low, the thundering blare of a mighty horn seemingly conjured from the nightmares of Markien's people. As all eyes turned to the entrance to the canyon, a whistling bolt of blue steel fell from the sky, another arrow, this time affixed with the white flag of peace. It buried itself in the ground before the first gate, the metal shaft quivering from the impact, yet neither man nor god could discern the archer. That was, until the horn sounded again, and the host of the Titans rounded the corner to stare down towards Wardstone.

    Carolinus' people had prepared themselves, they thought, for anything. For months they had trained, united beneath the looming sword of doom. Tales had spread of the Titan's savagery, their wanton lusts, their unholy strength. Yet no tale had called them beautiful, and beauty is what the defenders of Wardstone beheld. At the mouth of their canyon stood one thousand titans, arrayed in bronze so polished it seemed a second sun upon the plain, a dozen banners of manifold colors flying above them in the morning breeze. Behind their precise ranks crouched a monstrous reptilian beast, upon whose back rested an impossibly large horn banded in blackest iron, yet even that gleamed in the reflected light of their arms. Among the host were eleven who stood taller than the rest, eleven arrayed in the intricacy that bespoke of Khars. But despite it all, the sight that gave rise to a cry of dismay from Wardstone was not the Titans, but the men that marched before them. Nigh on five thousand human men arrayed themselves before the titans, clad in boiled leather and bronze shields, new-forged spears in had, a fanatic gleam in their eye. Whispers began to fly from wall to wall, whispers of traitors and madmen, of enslavement and mercy, of lies told of the Titans' nature. The sussurus continued for minutes before breaking at the sound of a booming voice.

    "People of Markien! We have come to treat with Lord Carolinus ka Baz'Auran, Knight of the White City and Warrior Virtuous!"

    As the echoes reverberated through the canyon, the eleven Khar's rode forward upon plodding reptilian mounts. They were hunched things, broad shouldered and short-necked, their four feet tipped with jagged black claws, thick scales blazing shades of flame. At the head of the delegation rode the speaker, a Titan woman with skin of silver and sapphire hair, armor embossed with images of hawks, a great bow of gleaming black bone in her hands.

    "Let the lord of Markien come treat with us, that we might conduct our war with honor!"

    The Storm

    As Jongo gave hirself to the rage of Kraken's storm, Jongo was thrown ever deeper into its roiling black heart. Green lightning crackled around Jongo, licking at what little remained of hir physical form, sending arcing flashes of pain screaming through hir body. It was agony, as real and as true as anything Jongo had ever felt, yet Jongo endured. For with every strike of lightning, every gouging blast of ill-borne wind, the fury of the storm abated. As an animal caught in a simple noose, the more it struggled against Jongo's control, the more the storm came into hir grasp. It was an arduous process, and for hours it seemed to reap no reward, until Jongo saw yet another blast of emerald pain rushing towards hir...and turned it aside. Now was the critical moment, the axis upon which the struggle turned, for had Jongo lost concentration but once, allowed hirself to be distracted for even a moment, the storm might have consumed hir. But Jongo did not falter, and as Jongo began to dance through the storm Jongo saw the eldritch motions of Kraken's tendrils begin to slow, the great beast uncertain as to why his magics began to defy him. It was comical, really, for the great beast to be so vexed, and at the sight of it the Band of Chaos let out a tinkling jingle.

    That proved ill conceived. With preternatural speed, the tendrils turned towards Jongo, and their motion took on another meaning entirely. As the thousand smaller offshoots of Kraken's twelve colossal tentacles began to weave around Jongo, a voice rolled through the clouds.

    A worthy effort, son of Baz'Auran. Enjoy your victory while you can.

    It was at this point that Jongo realized several things. Firstly, with the storm dissipated, hir physical form was forced to manifest itself into a more or less solid state. Secondly, the residual pain of hir wounds as a part of the storm redoubled tenfold as soon as it had a body to concentrate around, and the God of Chaos was forced to double over as Jongo experienced the novel sensation of hir nerves all lighting on fire simultaneously. Finally, through pain-bleared senses, Jongo realized the wind seemed to be coming from every direction. Looking up, Jongo saw the fullness of the remaining storm concentrated above hir, a great roiling dome of clouds pushing down against the very air.

    Jongo was fairly certain this was going to hurt.

    With a roar, Kraken's tendrils all ceased their motion as one, and the remnants of the storm surged towards hir in a funneling spearpoint of rage and darkness. Had Jongo been at hir best, Jongo may have turned the attack aside, but as it was Jongo could only raise some novice wards before the full force of the blast hit, sending hir spiraling down towards Haramhold's great wall. Jongo hit with the force of a thunderclap, cutting a deep furrow along the top of the wall before skipping against a particularly sturdy outcropping of granite and sailing towards the land of Haramhold's domain.

    The Tower of Baal

    When Khalen-Het emerged from the Dream Time, the sun had not yet risen over the desert he called home. Forced to ponder the darkness of his own spartan chambers, Khalen-Het did not at first notice the scent of jasmine and nightshade that floated in on the wind, their narcotic aroma curling through him like a sip of finest brandy. It was moments more before he realized that no such flowers could grow in his desolate paradise, and as his alarm grew Khalen-Het was assailed by a voice in his mind.

    Peace, Khalen-Het

    It was at once alien yet familiar, the dusky, throaty tones of the woman's voice that whispered in his mind. It shook him as only memory could, yet from where sprang the memory?

    Why do you sit so alone, forever burdened by the failings of the past? Why do you torment yourself?

    The scent grew stronger, and at the corner of Khalen-Het's eye he beheld a phantasm, a spectral form that fled from conscious sight. He bounded to his feet, determined to ensnare this invading spirit, yet try as he might Khalen-Het could not lay eyes on it. At his desperate search, the voice laughed, and in that laugh was the promise of ecstasy undreamed of by mortal men.

    Do not fear, Khalen-Het. I have not come to harm you...

    This time, the voice seemed to come from behind, and with a triumphant smile Khalen-Het spun around to confront the bedeviling apparition...only for smile and color both to drain from his face. Standing before him, in the wisps of an opium fume, was Elanna. Yet this was not the girl Khalen-Het remembered, but a woman fully grown, a heart shaped face framed by a midnight tumble of wavy hair, full lips gleaming red, that hint of smile that serves as a prelude to passion. She was much changed, yet he knew, somehow he simply knew, that it was her. Speechless, Khalen-Het stepped forwards, only for the apparition to raise a ghostly finger before him. As it rose, the arm materialized beyond the black perfume, revealing ivory skin wrapped in sheerest silk.

    "Come to me, brother. Come to me where no troubles shall ever find you. Find me, with you heart."

    Ghostly fingers brushed lightly against his chest, and for an instant Khalen-Het felt his inhibitions, his responsibilities, his overwhelming sense of duty slip away. For an instant, he was free - and then she was gone, leaving only an aching that pulled to the north.

    East of the Olm

    As Fayruz lay the last weary warrior's head upon the last remaining pillow, she finally allowed herself a moment to catch her breath. The attacks by the Ghoul King's forces had grown more savage of late, and three of the warriors she had been called to heal had perished before she arrived. Wordlessly, one of the faithful knelt before her with a clay bowl filled to the brim with fresh water, the one thing they were lucky enough to have an abundance of so close to one of the wells. Allowing herself a moment for this evening's repast, Fayruz's eye was drawn west, where a storm covered the great hill of the Olm. It was a peaceful moment, filled with the warm silence of healing sleep, before the woman who had brought her water screamed. In an instant, Fayrus was on her feet, spinning to the sound.

    Standing at the center of the encampment was a rider unlike any the rocklands had ever seen. Wrapped as a mummy in black bandages, he wore iron armor of arcane design, the surface of the black plates engraved with runes Fayruz recognized as a corrupt form of the White City's language. Even his face was covered, revealing only two pinpricks of purple light Fayruz assumed to be eyes, bespeaking magic at work. This was only reinforced by his steed, a coal black charger with mane and tail of ash and smoke, its whinnying cutting through the night like the breaking of glass. Setting one hand to the long blade at his side, the rider surveyed the camp for a moment before laying eyes of Fayruz and giving a slight nod. Swinging from his horse, he strode towards the Maiden of Dusk, and bowed.

    "My lady, my mistress sends an invitation to dine with her in Uluuvatar."

    The word sent a murmur through the Fayheran, for even in the rocklands the name Uluuvatar held a terrible portent. It was the gaping maw that left men soulless, the false jewel the promised naught but slavery. It was a story to frighten unfaithful husbands, a myth to terrify the seductress, a legend of the old world. And now, its herald stood before Fayruz.

    "My lady has seen the woeful fate that has befallen your people, and wishes to aid you in safeguarding their future."

    A Dream

    The maddening restlessness of peace was enough to rob Nieve of what little sleep she required, yet on a moonless night, following a revel of sex and violence that had momentarily sated her, she slept. And she dreamed.

    Nieve stood upon an endless, flat plain of mirrored glass, the dull grey of the horizon merging with it to become a slate void. All was silence, and stillness, before a twinkle in the distance caught Nieve's eye. To her right, barely more than a hundred paces away, stood a sword, the most marvelous sword Nieve had ever beheld. It's blade was the same mirrored sheen of the plain she stood upon, but instead of grey it blazed with a passionate red flame. An aching filled her heart and her hand, and she knew simply by looking that the sword had been made for her. She turned towards the blade, only for a cry to stop her in her tracks - behind her stood Fayruz, gloriously radiant upon the field, her inner light banishing the gloom and filling her horizon with a heavenly light.

    "Nieve! We've found a way back to the White City! We can go home!"

    Nieve's heart soared at the prospect of home, at the thought of seeing her siblings again. No longer would she be confined to the petty amusements of one small isle - soon, they would be back in the ever accommodating paradise of the White City! Yet...her gaze was drawn back to the sword. Surely, if they were attacked again they would need trueforged weapons like that...

    She stepped towards the sword.

    After the first dozen steps, Nieve heard Fayruz call out again.

    "Nieve, what are you doing? There's no need for that brutish thing - Father will sort everything out!"

    Nieve paused, but not for the reason the words were meant to convey. What would Baz'Auran think of her newfound freedom? True, he had allowed much, but the slaughter she reveled in...well, she would make him understand.

    She continued towards the sword.

    Passing the halfway mark, the glow behind Nieve seemed to fade, Fayruz's brilliance flickering ever so slightly.

    "What are you doing, Nieve? Why won't you just come home!? What is wrong with you?"

    The words stung, more than Nieve thought words could. Their return home was imminent, and Fayruz was questioning the need for a sword? Had she not seen the darkness that had caused the Fall? Was she so naive as to think them safe any more, even in Baz'Auran's presence? No, Nieve would not be so foolish as to go unprepared.

    Another few steps, and the sword was in reach.

    "Nieve, stop!"

    Suddenly, Fayruz was on her arm, tugging her away from the sword.

    "I knew you'd never listen to reason! Avyra wanted us to try, but we all know what a little fool she is! I'm not letting you drag your corruption back up to the White City, Nieve! You're going back, so you can face father's judgement!"

    Nieve was shocked, not only by the words but by the disappearance of Fayruz's radiance. In a flash, Nieve saw that the purity had been a ruse, a base illusion intended to inspire trust - what stood before her now was a dim, pathetic thing, trying to cover her fear with the assumed authority of their father. And most pathetic of all, Fayrus was afraid of her. How weak and traitorous must she be to turn against her own sister, even after the fall. And who was she to judge? If she lacked the strength to impose her will on the world, she was even more of a useless waste! Yet she just kept talking.

    "We're going to fix you, Nieve - father has it all arranged. It may take a few centuries, but he thinks you'll be able to control your wanton impulses with the proper restrictions. Of course, you'll never be allowed near anything corrupting ever again, but even you could never be so stupid as to defy-"

    Fayruz stopped suddenly, her face frozen in surprise before she coughed up a dollop of black blood. The glass cracked as it landed, but Nieve gave it no mind as she stared dumbstruck at her arm, holding the sword which had run Fayruz through. Yet there was another blade, and as both withdrew Nieve saw herself standing before her, only it was not herself. Rather, it was her dark reflection, hair the color of freshly flowing blood streaming down her back, skin marked in arcane sigils of war and slaughter, black eyes gleaming with endless mirth. The two Nieve's circled each other slowly, as Fayruz lay gasping between them. Then, the dark twin spoke.

    "You needn't look so surprised. She was a mewling fool, afraid of her own power. Death was the only thing she deserved."

    Beneath the shock, beneath the sudden burst of horror, Nieve felt some part of herself agree with the dark reflection, and each lowered their swords as Fayruz breathed her last. Then, the dark reflection was before her, clasping her face between clawed hands, drowning Nieve in the black pools that were her eyes.

    "It's not like you need them anyway, you've got me."

    Another drop of blood, and the plain of glass shattered, revealing an onrushing horde of screaming berserkers. In that instant, the dark reflection disappeared, and Nieve was swept away in the tide of battle. At first, she struggled simply to regain her balance, but within moment was carving her way through the meaty opposition. A stream of crimson across her face set Nieve to laughing madly, enthralling her so totally that she gave it no mind when the reflection in the eyes of her victims was of black eyes.
    Last edited by TheDarkDM; 2012-05-22 at 02:17 PM.

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  13. - Top - End - #553
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    Jongo, the Everchanging
    Some time ago, shortly before the "birth" of Shirvan

    Tezzerin appeared concerned.

    Jongo was not distracted. Jongo did not want to change topics. Jongo was focused and relentless.

    If it were any other pupil, this would be ideal, and today would be an excellent day. But not Jongo.

    "I ask again, oh honored Tezzerin. What are Names?"

    "I know not where your question comes from. So how I am to answer?"

    "With words, if you please? My question comes from curiosity, my thoughts are a bubble with ideas, and for the first time in a while, I'm honestly - truely - baffled at something that I don't understand. Can't you help, oh First Spirit?" Jongo pleaded, wide eyed child to great Spirit. This kind of look usually worked on most people.

    Tezzerin was not most people. "I shall think on it. Have you considered what I've said about the principles of equations, the Pythagorean theorem, and absolute zero?"

    "Yeeeeeeeessss." Jongo sighed, at the mention of Math. Inwardly, however, there was the thought... Tezzerin hadn't said no.

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Back to the Present

    For ten long, glorious minutes, everything was right with the world. Jongo was the Storm. The Storm was Jongo. And whatever it was that was trying to control them both was on the other team.

    And the Storm was winning.

    But then the Band of Chaos laughed... and it all changed.

    This great booming voice came from everywhere. Jongo would remember that voice for ages; it shook her very core.

    And then the pain came. The Storm Bird form that Jongo had almost forgotten about, so joyful was it to be a part of something so big and glorious, finally called for Jongo's attention back.

    He was battered and bruised, but nothing that a little rest couldn't fix. And the Storm was waning and oh great Baz'Auran never mind it all hurt and this would be more than a little rest in fact it would probably be a nice long nap again and wouldn't that be nice what are those why are they swirling around me while I am hurting so bad oh look the wind is coming from every direction at me hello friend wind you seem to be blowing every last bit of the storm at me and I do believe that I hurt so bad already that I have forgotten to use punctuation in my own thoughts.

    No, wait. I remember now.

    This. This...

    I'm fairly certain this is going to hurt.
    Instinctively Jongo tried to protect herself, but the wards and little magic that Jongo could call weren't that strong, nor were they the normal way that Jongo would have chosen to defend himself. But the pain was already lancing through her body, and thinking was difficult. Jongo was lucky to get even a few wards up, much less weak ones.

    The booming voice roared and the anger of the storm hit. Jongo was hit so hard that he lost her Storm Bird form and even as he hit Haramhold's wall, she was already changing back into the form of the small human child, with the sandy blonde hair.

    There was a great big outcropping of granite stone that happily worked together with the laws of physics to cause Jongo even more pain, and sent Jongo sprawling, right against Haramhold's domain.

    Jongo had one thought before blacking out and landing at the edge of the newly protected Salus. Yup. I was right. That hurt.
    Last edited by Gengy; 2012-05-25 at 07:40 PM. Reason: not going inside Salus yet
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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?"
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  14. - Top - End - #554
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    Roselia - Frozen Wastes

    How long had it been?

    It felt like years had passed since the warm, wonderful days in the White City. Why did this have to happen? Why did the nature of the Disk itself need to be so cruel, as to beckon her kin to it faster than they were ever meant to arrive?

    None of them were ready for... ...this. This horror, this nightmare of daily life. Roselia briefly wondered, given that the Disk was so hostile even to those of her personal power, how such races as humanity had ever survived for as long as they have. She quickly pushed that thought aside as a tiny mote of light appeared in the snowstorm outside of her cave.

    It seemed lost, alone, and did not look well-adapted to the cold. Taking a moment of pity on it, she strode out into the snow, and took the chilled creature back into the cave where she had been taken shelter from the storm. Even as she held it near the fire, she noticed something off about it: there was a hint of familiarity sitting about the mote, a faint aura of another god, nearly forgotten beneath the freezing barrage outside. With a faint sigh, she began whispering to the light, closely to be sure she was heard.

    "Faden, I don't know if you'll hear this, but I must speak anyway. I am in a suboptimal condition, but alive. It is cold and lonely here, but it is already better now that I know you're okay. I don't know where to find you, but I am taking shelter in the far northwest, in the ice floes once used as a lair for the Malcanthorix. If such an opportunity comes, it would fill me with joy to see my kin again."

    It felt a bit strange telling the full truth, but breaking the trust of her remaining siblings seemed like a goal tantamount to suicide. Even so, Roselia needed to resist the urge to lie, telling herself that building up trust now would later make her job much easier.

    All that needed be done now, was to wait. And to hope.

    She practiced her magic to pass the time, knowing it would be best to keep her edge sharp, when an idea struck her, and another returned to her. Maybe, just maybe, mortals should have a way to escape their dreary lives for a short time, or even protect themselves by fooling others. The idea blossomed into a full project, and she knew that her work would do much in the future, for good or for ill.

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    2 Major Acts - Create School of Magic - Illusion: (Details later.)
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  15. - Top - End - #555
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    A friend in need is cold indeed

    Faden had grimly watched Dasque depart to meet Shirvan - splitting up and leaving the south was the wrong path, he knew it - but had excused himself to go to Avyra. Pyra had only just become airborne, though, when another of his sprites returned, with Rose's message.

    He waited for a long time, pondering it, before finally deciding to go. It wouldn't be a trick, or at least not that kind of trick. Not this time.

    So, he delayed fulfilling his promise to Pyra one more time, and the pair flew North. Getting to the spot was not a problem - the sprite knew the way - but unfortunately the winds became too strong and the area too hostile for a safe landing. So Faden opted for the unsafe landing.

    At the mouth of the cave, Faden hit the ground and rolled. The distance he'd fallen would have been impossible had he still been flesh and bone, but his new body was less than thirty pounds and mostly cloth. He came up on his feet, glowing eye-holes surveying the cave from beneath his hood. With the help of Ego and Id, he could see the swirls of illusion around him, but it was ordinary darkness that left the cave shrouded in shadows. The sprites swirling around him gave off a little light, but he still couldn't see Roselia.

    "Rose?" He walked carefully into the cave, treading lightly - lightly was the only way he could tread. "Are you here, Rose?"
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  16. - Top - End - #556
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    Wardstone

    Even as Kalandor's voice rang out through the great fortress of Wardstone, echoing down the darkened halls of stone and iron, it was answered by another sound. Terrible, it was, and low, the thundering blare of a mighty horn seemingly conjured from the nightmares of Markien's people. As all eyes turned to the entrance to the canyon, a whistling bolt of blue steel fell from the sky, another arrow, this time affixed with the white flag of peace. It buried itself in the ground before the first gate, the metal shaft quivering from the impact, yet neither man nor god could discern the archer. That was, until the horn sounded again, and the host of the Titans rounded the corner to stare down towards Wardstone.

    Carolinus' people had prepared themselves, they thought, for anything. For months they had trained, united beneath the looming sword of doom. Tales had spread of the Titan's savagery, their wanton lusts, their unholy strength. Yet no tale had called them beautiful, and beauty is what the defenders of Wardstone beheld. At the mouth of their canyon stood one thousand titans, arrayed in bronze so polished it seemed a second sun upon the plain, a dozen banners of manifold colors flying above them in the morning breeze. Behind their precise ranks crouched a monstrous reptilian beast, upon whose back rested an impossibly large horn banded in blackest iron, yet even that gleamed in the reflected light of their arms. Among the host were eleven who stood taller than the rest, eleven arrayed in the intricacy that bespoke of Khars. But despite it all, the sight that gave rise to a cry of dismay from Wardstone was not the Titans, but the men that marched before them. Nigh on five thousand human men arrayed themselves before the titans, clad in boiled leather and bronze shields, new-forged spears in had, a fanatic gleam in their eye. Whispers began to fly from wall to wall, whispers of traitors and madmen, of enslavement and mercy, of lies told of the Titans' nature. The sussurus continued for minutes before breaking at the sound of a booming voice.

    "People of Markien! We have come to treat with Lord Carolinus ka Baz'Auran, Knight of the White City and Warrior Virtuous!"

    As the echoes reverberated through the canyon, the eleven Khar's rode forward upon plodding reptilian mounts. They were hunched things, broad shouldered and short-necked, their four feet tipped with jagged black claws, thick scales blazing shades of flame. At the head of the delegation rode the speaker, a Titan woman with skin of silver and sapphire hair, armor embossed with images of hawks, a great bow of gleaming black bone in her hands.

    "Let the lord of Markien come treat with us, that we might conduct our war with honor!"

    ((DM's Post.))

    Between a Hammer and an Anvil.
    Kalandor jumped, turning in surprise as the massive steel bolt fell from the sky, the earth jumping with the force of the blow. The horns rang through his ears.

    And hereing the crys of the titans, he had but one thought. An unusual thought considering who he was.
    'Why me? Why am I the bringer of bad news, an omen foul?' And on that train of thought, he sent out a slight pulse, barely a whisper to Carolinus.
    "I had absolutely nothing to do with this. Don't open the gates for me though. If I have to I can get in myself without damaging your defenses."

    Kalandor stood, settling himself into a calm, his once bright spark of divinity settled down.
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    * Cast flesh to stone on a annoying Druid
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    **** Plant tree's in individual ceramic pots
    ***** Claim that I have helped them become one with nature
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    Congrats, you made me laugh hard enough to draw my family's attention.

  17. - Top - End - #557
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    Roselia - Ice Cave

    As Faden enters the cave, a nightmarish cacophony of hellish noise erupts from the dark depths; Despite this, it seems to be more of a tactic to scare off scavengers rather than a genuine ward, and it seems a bit too improbably frightening to be real.

    After a moment, a patch of false stone simply fades out of the wall, revealing Rose seated near a smoldering campfire. She appears somewhat haggard, having not properly eaten or drunk in some time, and her once-fine dress, the same one that was worn on the day that the White City came under attack, is tattered and torn in several places. She also happens to be rather dirty from all the time spent in a filthy cave.

    Despite all this, she is clearly recognizable. One particular feature stands out: Her spark, despite being active, seems malnourished and tired. She isn't maintaining any illusions at the moment, because she simply doesn't have the energy to. For perhaps the first time, Faden is able to see her true face: Not entirely dissimilar to the ones she usually uses, but significantly dirtier and somewhat plain.

    Roselia's eyes stare up at Faden's new form, betraying a confused mixture of curiosity, grief, and perhaps even a hint of terror at the physical reality of what her own beloved brother has become.

    "Faden, is that really you?"
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  18. - Top - End - #558
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    Shyreza and Sonata

    Teach a goddess to be human? The idea was astounding. Shyreza, with as much grace as she could muster, returned the embrace and smiled back at her. This fox-goddess was not as terrifying as the Lord of Glass that she had once tricked; there was a little of Fayruz in her, in how gracefully she moved, in the perfection of her face, in her voice when it became gentle.

    "Certainly, gracious lady," Shyreza replied. "But I must warn you that being human is a difficult task for spirits, or so I've heard. Animal-spirits get up onto two legs to mimic us but never truly master being human, and spirits of the earth give themselves shapes like ours, but cannot understand us. Fayruz is unlike any woman that I have ever met; her compassion and her virtue never came from any man or woman. And there is a wildness to you that is not human."

    She sat back, considering the enormity of such a task. "How can I explain what it is like to be a child? What it is to be given instruction by your mother and your grandmother? We do not have the power to create rain, or the purity to swallow a dragon, but we have hope and we have dreams. Fayruz showed us all how we could live in peace with one another, and the smith showed us how to shape rock. Now, I am willing to learn your songs as best I can, and I will show you all I know of being human."

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    I am totally cool with that! Do you want Fayruz to spend any minor acts on Sonata's people?



    Fayruz and the Rider

    Fayruz sighed, softly. There was so much to do, still! The Ghoulking was advancing, and the wanderers who roamed the south had said that the barbarians of the desert were allied with him - they needed her still. And now, a dark rider, one that had armor inscribed with what almost looked like the language of the White City, wanted her to go off somewhere.

    "Uluuvatar? I would be happy," Fayruz said, standing up to her full height. The crystal on her breast thrummed once, and a rush of power ran through her, banishing the tiredness from her eyes and the weariness from her shoulders. Leonine gold met the gaze of smoky violet, almost proudly. "My visit might be cut slightly short, as I'm very busy right now, but I can't refuse."

    A hand was placed on her shoulder, tightly. She half-turned to see one of the mountain warriors there, his face pale with fear. "Maiden. Uluuvatar is the City of Forbidden Desires. It is where nightmares issue forth to torment young men, where sirens return with their ensnared lovers to devour them. There is nothing good there!"

    Fayruz shook her head, placing her hand on his. "His mistress offers to help us. We need every ally we can get, with so much arrayed against us." She turned back to the rider, bowing slightly. "I would be honored. I do not know where Uluuvatar is, and I don't have ready transport, but despite that I will do my best to accept her offer."
    Last edited by Raz_Fox; 2012-05-23 at 11:53 PM.
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    Raz, you scoundrel! You planned this!
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    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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    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.

  19. - Top - End - #559
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    Sonata and Shyreza

    Sonata smiled a fox smile, and released Shyreza.

    "Is it so difficult to be a human? And I am too wild? Thank you for your warning then, Shyreza! But, it sounds like you are challenging me!" Sonata laughed. "I always rise to this! I have become more fox than a fox, and more dragon princess than a dragon princess! How hard can it be, to be more human than a human?" She laughed again, for at that time, always Sonata had known how to reach for perfection. Such was the nature of the music goddess.
    But to be human, is not to be perfect.

    Sonata smiled and looked favorably at Shyreza. "I know what it is to be a daughter, for I also have a father, and many wonderful brothers and sisters. But when I was young, I had teachers. Many teachers who taught me wonderful things, and always encouraged me! I think you will find me a perfect student. Maybe you are not my mother, but I am sure you can teach me like a child! And I will teach you the music of Ar Maen, how to first hear the world around you as the song it is.

    And when you can hear the song in everything around you, you will become a song, that is yourself. And that song echoes from everything you meet."


    Sonata stopped. "It will not be an instant to learn. I do not remember how long it was to be a fox princess before I had mastered it. But your song will come when it is ready. Practice, and seek your uniqueness."

    "Listen to my song."

    And Sonata began to sing, a song about rainbows and a white city, and jewels, a fountain in a divine garden.
    She sang about a far away land, of a journey on the back of a lightning wolf across a great sea.
    She sang of a laughing fox, and a dutiful servant who danced a fox dance.
    And her song was not so different than a rainbow, as it wrapped around her and Shyreza. And it pulled them close together, even as Sonata's enrapturing words captured Shyreza, and opened her ears to it's purity and beauty. This song vibrated like falling rain and the bells and flute of the white moon. It was so different than Fayruz's songs, but lofty and airy. To hold above one's head one's treasure, and proudly show it. And Shyreza could perceive these tones and melodies that she couldn't before. The words echoed in her ears, and tickled her neck. And when the verse closed, Sonata met the lips of Shyreza, and now the song even captured Sonata, as the words changed in her tone.

    It became a song about a curious princess, who went here and there to trade coats, and the coat at the end she had was of treasure and this knowledge, and now this coat would be safely put into a box called a heart.
    And in this heart it would rest silently, while another coat was worn. A hopeful and proud feeling, relaxed to become sleeping. It wrapped around Sonata, and Shyreza could perceive how the song began to change.

    And though these words weren't said as Sonata sang in divine words, it could be felt by Shyreza:

    To become a song, a song whose verse may change, so too can one who is a song become a different song. If I sing, then I will become a song.

    These words Shyreza could feel in her heart, in the song of Sonata. The first words of Ar Maen that were learned.


    And when Shyreza blinked her eyes, Sonata stood differently now.
    Her voice was beautiful, but there were no flute or bells of the white moon, or raindrops or these other sounds. It was lofty, but humbled, and Shyreza heard echoes of her own nervousness and weakness.

    There was unsureness and worries, praise of water and desert winds. It was easy to perceive these mortal things, after hearing a divine song. And Shyreza looked at Sonata, whose glow and enrapturing visage had faded, and the oppressiveness of awe was gone. So too, the rainbow crown looked like a child's hairpin, it's magnificence hidden by the song turned into human that is Sonata.

    In the opposite almost, a feeling of power echoed with Shyreza now, with the echo of the song before. It was impossible to imagine that the pretty and dainty teenager wearing the sun pattern robes of the Feyheran was a beautiful princess of the white city. Indeed, the song Sonata sang now silenced those thoughts. The words that she had sang had disappeared except in Shyreza's memory, and Sonata had reduced to humming a tune of some forgotten song. This was the song of a curious child who hoped for growth. A too eager student, but awkward now and not as graceful. A naive teenager in need of direction, who didn't know what to sing, but an artistic spirit, full of expression wanting to show the world.

    And Sonata opened her eyes to look up at Shyreza with a human smile, though with a reflection of nervousness and hope as well. There was the emotion of vulnerability, which never had been seen in Sonata's visage before.

    "Perhaps something like this?" Sonata laughed a human laugh, and did a small spin, searching for a mirror to appraise herself vainly. Somehow, this Sonata was still a free spirit. That hadn't changed so much. But while she had been elegant and graceful with her motions and enrapturing, now it was not the emotion inspired in Shyreza. She was nimble and quick, but uncertain in footsteps. Some random. To think a little of an aimless walk. A destiny of potential. Sonata returned to Shyreza


    "I'll teach you the Ar Maen and how to sing beyond any human, but you'll have to teach me the ways of the Feyheran, and of humanity. How shall we start? What do you do first? Or what is most important to be a human? Of course we can ask my sister for advice later as well." The teenager named Sonata said. Whatever powerful magic Sonata's voice had held before, it seemed to make Shyreza even forget that Sonata meant Fayruz, the pure and beautiful goddess of the Feyheran, when she said "sister". The teenager before Shyreza wore the dress wrong. The hairpin didn't match the sunlight robe. Her posture was aloof, not respectful. Indeed, the praise of Sonata, and the echoes of the song that Shyreza had heard before pulled at Shyreza's heart, just as it had pulled Sonata down. What could be taught to this teenager, who wore the dress wrong, and didn't know the customs of the Feyheran?

    And, could she really teach Shyreza how to sing divine songs, if she didn't even know the folk songs of the Feyheran? But they were conflicting thoughts. Was it Sonata who was worthy to teach Shyreza, or Shyreza was worthy to teach Sonata? It was an overwhelming task perhaps.

    "And, by the way."
    And at last then, a meeting could be had, when Sonata curtsied with her hands together.
    "My name is Sonata, please take care of me."

    It seemed this one didn't know to properly introduce herself first.

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    Sonata takes a mortal form, changing herself and around her (Reality Manipulation)

    1 Minor Act: Teach Shyreza and the Feyheran the Ar Maen (to start teaching it now, maybe it will take some posts)

    ooc:
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    Raz_Fox:
    Of course I think it would be nice for Fayruz to teach Sonata's people, but it should be later! Maybe at such a time it can be Fayruz to teach Aria and the hymmnoi, or to visit Sonata's Ecchr sometime.

    It seems also that delay of meeting of Fayruz and Sonata will continue with TheDarkDM's new plot for Fayruz. Even if it is desired to have meeting with Fayruz, I will wait if it can be fulfilled with interaction of Shyreza.
    It wasn't thought to have long training, but if it is desired also by Raz_Fox, then maybe it can be interesting, of some posts teaching teenager Sonata, and teaching of Shyreza. It is a good time to explain some about Ar Maen and Feyheran custom. Of course Sonata will question a lot, because such is a good trickster to make a question of order.
    And to think also it is some humor too. It can be finished whenever arrival of Fayruz is, or when it is such a needed time for action (if Fayruz becomes captured, of course I will become cross with Raz_Fox and TheDarkDM and attempt to become involved in such a plot!).

    Also, to say, it was known Shyreza did not learn the name of Sonata (because wasn't said). I am happy it was noticed by Raz_Fox (of course, because such a thing is noticed by Raz_Fox!) To learn name of Sonata as mortal is interesting change maybe. Or maybe Sonata is always too airy of a personality. I don't know how to say in English her speech. It is normal introduction of Japanese. よろしくお願いします!I hope it isn't awkward. But if to be awkward, it is because Sonata is awkward to be a human!

    If this is read by Tectonic Robot, of course meeting with Llassar can continue also! Style of Sonata would be [sneak into tent of brother at everynight] with such a fox-like attitude when Shyreza is asleep.
    Of course if it is desired, meeting of Llassar with mortal Sonata is also possible. It may be a humbling lesson too.

    Also, to explain to any reader style of Sonata. To not use [Polymorph Ability], it is because she is not to change to something else, the shape. Of course she can use [Nature Affinity] for Wolf and Fox forms. But this is to change perception of reality. Of Sonata's perception, to change it to human-like, and to change around her this appearance, so she is seen and treated like a human. Of course her siblings can still find her spark normally, and probably also to resist the reality manipulation around her if they would like. At least, it can be sensed that something (the song's silent echo, like ripple of water on lake) is attempting to warp their senses. It is not like Jongo, who is to become such a creature or person exactly.

    To say, it is like a coat, but it affects her too. Such is always my meaning of [wear coat]. I hope it can be understood! Please ask if there become questions!
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  20. - Top - End - #560
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    Ice Cave

    As the cacophony roils out, Faden takes a step back and throws a hand up, causing a flickering blue demisphere to materialize in front of him. When nothing else happens, he lowers his hand and it fades. He snorts. Still Rose.

    "Mostly." Faden's unmistakably dry tone rolls through the cave. "I had to leave a few things behind in the south, but I am still the Faden you remember, even if I have changed a bit." He pauses. "We've all changed. The pressures of survival on the disk are far greater than Father let on, but this place is inhospitable even by those standards."

    She's exhausted, possibly injured. I need to get her out of here.

    He walks further into the cave, carefully, gloved hand extended. "I would take you from here, if you'll allow it. Are you feeling well enough for a trip?"
    Last edited by Jade_Tarem; 2012-05-24 at 06:09 AM.
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    Runes Bifröst, The First Child in Acting Badly, Etc. (Adeptus Evangelion, Borderline/2.5e)
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  21. - Top - End - #561
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
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    Shirvan - Turn 2
    Part 1, Narrative before the arrival of Dasque
    Ates


    Acts:
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    Major Acts (3->1)
    Gain Ability: Elemental Purity (Fire)
    Create Exarch - Bahiya, The Shield of Ates (Ability: Blade Dominion)

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    New Ability:
    (Type of Object/Material) Dominion
    You possess the ability to control a certain type of object or material telekinetically and may even employ it effectively in combat. Generally, this ability is restricted to one's close surroundings (~60 ft.) and allows of control of no more than a dozen separate objects (or an approximately equal amount of a certain material, around 60 lbs., split into a maximum of a dozen separate units).


    Minor Acts (3->1)
    Create a small number of servants of moderate power - The Four Braves
    Create one servant with greater power - The Valiant General
    Ates, the Great City. A city so tall and grand one would never believe that all its magnificence is the result of human work and craft, though it is the truth of it. Blessed are its people; tall, strong, long-lived and devoted to their work and art with great passion and pride. As befits their deity and divine benefactor, Shirvan Silverhair, who raised them from base humanity.

    Residing in the golden citadel at the very center of the city, the eternal son of Baz'Auran keeps a vigilant eye on them. He watches their progress and their travails on the Path of Excellence, the philosophy the god has imparted upon them -- to always pursue mastery in their life, to never bow to another in submission. Never to show false humility and take rightful satisfaction and pride in their deeds and achievements.

    Only thirty years had passed since the city was established, but their god's power had greater effect than just to grant them a more durable, fairer form: fertile and long-lived, they had quickly multiplied and absorbed the surrounding tribes.

    It came to be that, among them, was a woman so fair and proud that when Shirvan looked at her he saw a reflection of himself. That woman's name was Bahiya. She was a great warrior.

    Shirvan climbed down from his citadel to court this woman, this Bahiya; no woman had ever rejected the passion of the Golden Flame but Bahiya did so without a second thought. For they had been taught never to submit to another, and to her mind, for a mortal to sit in a god's lap could be nothing but that very thing. At first, the god was intrigued and sent her presents, each more magnificent than the next: pearls of glass plucked from a volcano, gold and riches befit if a great princess. A sword so sharp it sang as it cut through the air.

    Still she denied him. And Shirvan grew angry. Yet Bahiya weathered his rage, unbowed. And Shirvan saw that she, more than anyone, had understood. And his anger vanished.

    So pleased was he that the god imparted a piece of his divine might unto Bahiya and named her Ates' greatest protector, its shield.

    And so began the tale of Bahiya the Fair. Bahiya, the Shield of Ates; the mighty she-warrior at whose command swords would leap into battle.

    ---

    Four young warriors, each a skilled fighter in his own right, accompanied Bahiya once when she went forth to battle against a tribe of ape-men who threatened their outer territories. Though none of them were a match for the fierce Exarch, they fought valiantly against overwhelming odds. When they returned in victory, Bahiya named them the Four Braves. In the future, they would accompany her for many more adventures.

    They were:

    Rashid, the dashing swordsman who danced around his foes with his thin, curved blade.
    Faris the Giant, who towered two heads even over the tall men of Ates and swung a hammer as thick as a tree trunk.
    Mahir, the silent archer, who wasted neither movement nor word.
    And Yaman, who fought without a weapon and knew both a hundred ways to kill and the art of strategy.

    ---

    Ates had other heroes. One among them, Anwar, was later called the Valiant General. A very bright youth, he was taken under the direct tutelage of Shirvan himself. Taught the arts of philosophy and war, of weapons and horses. Of strategies and tactics as well as the ways of men and gods.

    Where Bahiya lead the Four Braves into adventure, Anwar was trained to lead men into war. Victories followed in his wake and his spear became known and feared for its strength.

    ---

    Such are the tales of Ates, the Great City, and these are but few and only the beginning. Ah, to look into the future and see what is to come -- to see the Valiant General step onto the Golden Throne and rule in Shirvan's absence, to witness Bahiya's heart soften and see god and man finally become one. But the futures are many and treacherous. What is seen need not happen. What happens may not be seen. Ask me again, tomorrow, and perhaps I will have another tale for you.
    Last edited by VonDoom; 2012-05-24 at 10:18 AM.
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    Shirvan, God of Pride
    Roshan Sarini, Cheliaxan Summoner
    Jhael'dril, Necromantic Drow Warrior
    Olethros, Messiah of Oblivion


  22. - Top - End - #562
    Bugbear in the Playground
     
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    Ice Cave

    Seemingly calming down, at least for the moment, Rose relaxes just a bit. I suppose she, of all people, would know that appearances are not necessarily truth.

    "I have no reason to stay.", she says in a tone almost as dry, but failing to mask the slightest hint of desperation.

    As she reaches for her brother's hand, she utters a question that was no doubt inevitable.

    "How...how many of us are left?"
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    Normal Avatar by Thormag!

  23. - Top - End - #563
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    Dreams of Order

    The Weaver took the crystal from Khalen, and turned it over and over in his hand. "Yes, the Black Sand. I know of it. Kalandor had become infected by it's master. Vicious, spidery thing. It took the combined power of Faden, Dasque, Fayruz, Jongo, myself and Kalandor just to drive it from his mind. But that, I think, is a tale for another time." The Weaver placed the sphere upon his finger, and balancing it perfectly, began to spin it. It spun faster and faster, until it was a shining blur atop the long finger of The Weaver. The two eyes gazed deeply into the sphere, the blue and red being reflected in it's myriad facets. A small, soft glow came from the sphere's center, slowly expanding outward. "This, to be honest, is far more interesting." The Weaver appeared to be gazing somewhere else, far, far away, his mind not quite present. "Such a marvelous thing you have woven, Khalen-Het, First Among Judges, Great Arbiter of Law, Order-Maker. You are learning my way, though you see it not." The Weaver's voice echoed through the glade, seeming to come from all directions at once. The light from the sphere grew larger, brighter, consuming the hand which the sphere sat upon. And still it spun. "You have mighty dreams indeed, Khalen-Het. You alone among our sibilings can enter my realm, and impose Order. All changes here-except what you have made." The light from the sphere had far exceeded the borders of it's origin, blinding Khalen and leaving no part of The Weaver visible-save his two eyes. "Little brother. You know what you have made. In your heart of hearts, in the deepest recesses of your unconscious mind, the part that brushes up against my realm, you know. And you know what is needed to finish it."
    ATTENTION ANYONE WHO I'M PLAYING WITH:
    No news is good news.

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  24. - Top - End - #564
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    Quote Originally Posted by Erik Vale View Post
    Between a Hammer and an Anvil.
    Kalandor jumped, turning in surprise as the massive steel bolt fell from the sky, the earth jumping with the force of the blow. The horns rang through his ears.

    And hereing the crys of the titans, he had but one thought. An unusual thought considering who he was.
    'Why me? Why am I the bringer of bad news, an omen foul?' And on that train of thought, he sent out a slight pulse, barely a whisper to Carolinus.
    "I had absolutely nothing to do with this. Don't open the gates for me though. If I have to I can get in myself without damaging your defenses."

    Kalandor stood, settling himself into a calm, his once bright spark of divinity settled down.


    Aramar's Shadow

    As Kalandor stood there, hidden from the view of the Khars and their waiting army, he felt a cool breeze on the back of his neck. Then the wind died, and everything was silent. A shadow seemed to creep over the area, lengthening the early morning shadows in the weak light. Had Kalandor chosen to look up at the time, he would have seen a cloud of tiny creatures, bewinged and befanged, swirling above his head. There is a good chance, however, that he did not, as before him a mass of the creatures concentrated, a vortex of wings and claws. Faster and faster it swirled, until from it emerged the figure of a young man, cloaked and hooded. Crow wings rose from his back, though depending on how the light caught them, they seemed to shimmer, becoming bat wings and then returning to their former texture. His eyes burned, a pinkish glow that was somehow still disconcerting.
    “Greetings, oh son of Baz’Auran. I sensed your divine spark sheltering here, and another within the city. I came seeking such a spark. I wonder...do you recognize me?” the man asks, a steely sense of control easily audible in his voice.

    Spoiler
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    This is assuming that though Kalandor is not particularly visible, neither is he trying to hide from one who can sense divine sparks (or at least, was not trying to hide until a second ago)
    Last edited by Demidos; 2012-05-24 at 10:34 PM.
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    MethosH

    My Characters:
    Flutter: Level 20 Tristalt

    My Homebrew:
    WIP
    The Fortunar Base Class

    Completed Classes
    The Grandmaster : A master of animated stattuettes and tactical magic. High tier 3.

    The Hidden Word: An infiltrator with a wide range of abilities that works best in small teams. Tier 2-3

    Web-Spinner: A martial class based around using webs. Mid T3.


  25. - Top - End - #565
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    TheDarkDM's Avatar

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    The Dark Rider

    Staring down at Fayruz with his fiery eyes, the rider bowed his head almost imperceptibly as she accepted the invitation. Reaching out his hand, he seemed to pay no heed to the proffered warnings of the Fayheran.

    "It would be my honor to bear you to my lady, Mistress of Dusk."

    Pulling Fayruz onto his dark charger, the rider shifted back to allow her a comfortable seat before him. Wheeling his steed once around the clearing that was now ringed by Fayruz's people, the rider uttered a single arcane syllable, a word of magic that naught but those of the White City should know. With another nightmarish screech, the steed reared, and suddenly they were riding, the beast's fiery hooves beating at the very air. Turning, Fayruz saw the camp dwindle into the distance, until their fires were as stars, and then were swallowed by the night. Above them, thick clouds obscured the stars, and for a time the only sound was the wind whistling by beneath the thundering hooves of their fell mount.

    Before long, the land below them turned to water, and Fayruz knew they were going north. Yet even as the mountains at the axis of the world rose in the distance, the rider veered them west, into the vast emptiness of the deep sea. Fayruz knew of no land in that direction, no refuge, only the cold mass of the far north thousands of miles distant. Her confusion at their course was only temporary, though, as before a minute had passed a great fog bank appeared on the horizon, luminescent in the night. At the sight, their mount's speed doubled, the sight of home driving it to a sprint until they dove into the fog.

    The smell was unlike anything Fayruz had experienced on the Disk, an intoxicating mixture of nightshade and jasmine that wormed its way into her body and left a comforting warmth. For a moment, she was blinded by the lavender smog, before they burst forth into the night air once again. Sitting in their path was an island that appeared on no map, a mountainous outcrop that thrust forth from the ocean like a reaching hand. Around the perimeter of the island burned massive pyres, each emitting the sweet-smelling fog that surrounded the isle, blotting out moon and stars and leaving the land in perpetual twilight. As they flew over one of the blazes, Fayruz glimpsed bulky, hunched things tending the fires, their necks collared in silver. Passing the jagged outcrops of the island's perimeter, they emerged over the valley at the center of the isle, a lush riot of colors and water even in the faint light, waterfalls plunging from the cliffs surrounding them to pool in deep grottoes and swift flowing rivers. There, at the center of the garden, stood Uluuvatar, a gargantuan dome of gold and black marble, spires and arches emerging from it like the web of some jeweled spider.

    Swooping closer to the ground, they rushed over the treeline, rising again as Uluuvatar loomed over them. Fayruz saw a pair of intricately engraved golden doors far below, but unexpectedly they kept rising, going ever higher until they were nearly level with the peak of the dome. There, piercing the walls of the dome, were four thin platforms, and they alighted upon one of them. Swinging from his steed, the rider helped Fayruz dismount, even as the beast blew away in a cloud of ash and flames. Though it shocked the young goddess, the rider seemed to give it no mind, instead marching towards a narrow doorway leading inside the dome.

    As Fayruz followed, she found herself on an arching bridge overlooking the interior of Uluuvatar. The dome was constructed around what could be described as a steppe pyramid, only confined to seven steppes, each level wide enough for an entire village of her people. Separated by wide flights of stairs, each level nevertheless seemed host to its own debauch, hundreds of mortals writhing on satin pillows or entangled in diaphanous silk hangings. On every level stood numberless tables piled high with food, enough food to feed the entirety of the Fayheran for years, and with such variety as to rival even the feasts of the White City. The pyramid was studded with intricate murals which served as fountains for ever-flowing wine, the deep crimson liquid tracing an intricate pattern of veins down the side of the structure as it passed along elevated canals and pools. The decadence spread to the very air itself, where a unrelenting barrage of narcotic scents swirled about, released from the golden braziers that studded the dome. It was enough to transfix even the strongest will, to seduce the most chaste and valorous of mortals, yet despite all that Fayruz could not help but look away, towards their destination - the summit.

    Atop the debauchery of Uluuvatar, at the apex of its seven layers of temptation, sat the bower of the Mistress of Sin. Behind an obscuring cloud of incense, it lay like a great cat in repose, black silk shimmering in nonexistent light. As Fayruz and the rider reached the end of the bridge and alighted upon the summit, he stepped aside and took a statuesque posture on one side of the platform, mirroring three others that Fayruz had taken at first for decorations. Abandoned at the threshold of a legend, Fayruz had taken but a single step before she saw movement behind the dusky curtains of the bower. Emerging from the clinging forest of silks was a woman whose form defied description. Clad only in a black robe so sheer as to disguise nothing, hers was the form that inspired poets from afar, the motion that set the minds of faithful men to thoughts of betrayal. Her movement was hypnotic, every twist of alabaster skin giving rise to a dozen new possibilities, every shadow and curve promising pleasures undreamed of. But her face was the true trap, a dark radiance that would drive an artist mad at the merest glance, framed in hair that seemed drawn from the very heart of the midnight ocean. Her ruby lips spread in a smile, Elanna stepped forth from her bower and beheld Fayruz.

    "Sister. It has been too long."

    Before Fayruz could react, Elanna was before her, fingers running beneath her veil and pushing aside the hood of her robe to reveal the face beneath. At Elanna's touch, a surge of emotions shot through Fayruz, every lust and desire that had been kept in check by her duty and compassion surging to the surface like iron racing to a magnet. With a gasp, Fayruz's eyes found Elanna's, and she saw them to be as red as blood. Then their lips met, and in that embrace, Fayruz lost herself.

    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!

  26. - Top - End - #566
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    VonDoom's Avatar

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    Shirvan - Turn 2
    Part 2, Reunion with Dasque


    It had been a trying week for the Four Braves. The fighting foursome had traveled from one end of the far regions around Ates to the other on their routine missions to thwart any potential foes who might threatening the safety of the Golden City.

    Rashid recalled the evening that Bahiya, whom they had once more accompanied, suddenly had a far-off look on her face, as if she was seeing something on the empty horizon. And then she had declared that she felt a presence so close to Shirvan himself that it could be no other than the sorely missed sister he had spoken of only once, even to her, for to speak of her in her absence seemed to pain the god.

    Of course, they immediately had to take their horses and ride to investigate, towards the direction this supposed presence was coming closer from and, if her premonition was correct, escort this divine sibling to their god.

    Bahiya herself had headed for Ates.

    The dashing swordsman sighed as he bit into the golden apple he was carrying; while the Shirvanites certainly were more than ordinary men in every respect, he could not sense the approaching divinity as the Shield had. As such, his eyes widened when finally the magnificent figure of Goddess of Radiance stood before him.

    The first of Shirvan's people Dasque encountered were certainly an odd bunch. Four men, all very pleasant to look upon; tall and straight-limbed, with bright eyes and a spark of divine influence in their soul. A deeper look revealed that while they superficially looked like some sort of idealized form of mortal, Shirvan had reworked his people into veritable pieces of art, enhanced beyond ordinary in almost every conceivable way -- yet not so much that they were no longer human.

    The closest among them looked particularly attractive, lean and athletic with a trim beard and a thin curved blade at his side. He looked straighted at Dasque with wide eyes and discarded an apple he had just bitten into.

    Three more were there; one so huge as to tower even above the others, obviously a warrior of immense strength by the way he was carrying a giant hammer on his back.

    The third's face was hidden by a horned helmet, though he only carried a dagger on his belt he looked every bit as formidable with the bow slung over his shoulders as the other two.

    The last one looked a bit more exotic than the others. Perhaps originally from a different tribe than them, he was leaner and his fingers sported claws. The man's eyes, too, looked strange, almost inversed in color. Likely most pleasing to Dasque was his hair, however, which was long and silver, just like hers or her brother's.

    The swordsman quickly stepped towards the goddess, though he made no move to kneel or show obeisance beyond his generally polite manners. "A good morrow, fair lady," he called out with a smile, bold in a way that reminded awfully of Shirvan. "We are expecting our god's dearest sister and are to accompany her on the way from this dreary place to the Golden City. Are you she?"
    Last edited by VonDoom; 2012-05-27 at 06:43 AM.
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    Jhael'dril, Necromantic Drow Warrior
    Olethros, Messiah of Oblivion


  27. - Top - End - #567
    Troll in the Playground
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    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    Aramar's Shadow


    Upon seeing the coalescing form, of an almost shadowy creature, Erack took steps back, already forming slight changes within himself. Muscles hardened, retractable claws began to form. And then he stopped, as some Aramar not-Aramar thing stepped out. And nothing confirmed it more than it's speach. Off, and it spoke as if it wasn't a divine. But some other."

    "I recognize who you mimic. What are you. And speak quickly, for this is not a time for speaches, as you will know should you look behind you."
    My Homebrew Sig.

    Woo, I have a Quote.
    Quote Originally Posted by Moonwolf727 View Post
    To avoid harming the sanity of the DM I can no longer:

    * Cast flesh to stone on a annoying Druid
    ** Cast Rock to mud on a Druid statue
    *** Scoop mud into little ceramic pots
    **** Plant tree's in individual ceramic pots
    ***** Claim that I have helped them become one with nature
    Quote Originally Posted by Chilingsworth View Post
    Congrats, you made me laugh hard enough to draw my family's attention.

  28. - Top - End - #568
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    For the first time in a week the sky's above Salus were clear. The sun shined across the ruined city as thousands of people ventured forth from their ruined homes. And the hard long task of repairing their city began. Even as the workers dug amongst the remains of shattered houses to find the bones of the dead and very rarely a person still alive. The work was tiring but the people took to it with a sense of glee. For the sky was clear the sun was shining, what could possibly go wrong?

    The people found the realm very strange, the city itself was unchanged but they could no longer see the great wall they had labored so long to build. Instead long stretches of gently rolling hills stretched as far as the eye could see. Riders were sent out on the few remaining horses, returning in four days to report that the great wall still stood it was just much farther away then it has originally been.

    Haramhold slept for seven days and seven nights, attended to by his adopted daughter. Who spent her days repairing the damage done to Green MorningStar and her nights tending to her unconscious beloved.

    On the morning of the eighth day Haramhold groggily woke up with a pounding headache. He had not anticipated the scope of the task he had given himself. Before the god could get his bearings he was tackled by a feminine form, the red glow shining brightly from her chest mirrors her excitement. A stream of words rushes from her so quickly that Haramhold can not distinguish one from another.

    "Slow down, slow down." Hushed Haramhold placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder "Is everything alright?"

    Closing her eyes Amanda gathers her courage. Leaning forward she plants a tender kiss on the gods lips. Pulling back she whispers "I love you."". Oddly she find this act more terrifying and difficult then anything she had ever attempted before.

    Haramhold was shocked. He loved Amanda he found her sweet and funny and enjoyable. She was the only other soul he knew that possessed his love of crystal lore. He had never noticed any overt affection from her before but then again Haramhold knew that he was far from the most observant of beings. As he looked deep within his Exarch's eyes Haramhold knew that deep down he loved her as well. Leaning forward he returned the kiss and (insert clever innuendo here).

    That afternoon Haramhold and Amanda emerged from the god's abode both glowing with happiness, one of them literally. Salus had suffered much damage and much needed to be done before the two of them could spend more time alone.

    Haramhold would stay and rebuild the city, for the realm he created would not be able to keep out the Kraken's rage without his presence. Amanda would take Green MorningStar into the storm and find those humans who had not flocked to Salus over the years and bring them to the safety of the realm.

    Within an hour Amanda had gathered a dozen brave volunteers to help her rescue efforts and sailed over the walls. Passing over the walls was like entering another world as wind rocked the great airship to and fro. Rain and Hail pelted the sailors reducing their sight down to near nothing. But bravely they soared toward the nearest settlement, named Eidenburg which was located at the edge of the rainbow lake. Amanda and her crew arrived there within four hours, it would have normally taken them scant minutes to transverse such a small distance, but Amanda dared not travel any faster least she attract the Kraken's attention.

    The small fishing village had contained some five hundred souls before the storms. They were a simple folk who traded with Salus on a regular basis. There were less then twenty still alive, all huddled in a slowly flooding sub basement. It was like that at every village they encountered. Hundreds reduced to handfuls and sometimes not even that.

    Green MorningStar let Amanda know when she could not hold any more. Nearly a thousand people crowded her ever shifting hull. Awkwardly Amanda turned her back toward Salus, her normal graceful movements hobbled by the storm and her load.

    It was more luck then anything else which let Amanda distinguish a familiar form sprawled among the jagged rocks surrounding the Great Wall of Salus. It was Jongo, the ever changing beaten and worn by the storm but still breathing abet shallowly. It did not take the crew long to rappel down the side of the ship and haul up the unconscious god.

    Finally with a small effort of will Haramhold let Green MorningStar and her inhabitants past the walls and into safety. The people rushed off the ship collapsing with tears of joy. But through the merriment not all was good. Of the dozen brave men and women who volunteered to join Amanda only four survived. The proud and majestic Green MorningStar's sails where torn to rags, her main mast cracked and hull sporting no less than three smoking holes where vengeful lightning had found its mark. these scares would be long in the healing.
    Sometimes it is useful to know how large your zero is. ~Author Unknown

  29. - Top - End - #569
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    daelrog's Avatar

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    Shirvan and Dasque's Reunion

    Dasque's left eyebrow raised. Shirvan certainly had not changed much if his people were any indicators. Though they were pleasant on the eys she could not help but be amused by the vanity of her brother. Of course nothing but beauty would do for him.

    "A Golden City you say? I certainly hope Shirvan remembered to include other colors as well. Otherwise I may have choice words for him."

    She walked up to the bold man's horse. "Don't ask obvious questions. Do you believe me to be some common maiden? Am I waving my dress to and fro hoping for four strapping young men to give me child?"

    She was wearing pants, not a dress, and her wit was sharper than ever. SHe did so love to challenge Shirvan's pride, to help shape it, and his thralls were an excellent warm up.
    Last edited by daelrog; 2012-05-25 at 09:29 PM.

  30. - Top - End - #570
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    Jongo Woke

    Jongo blearily looked around, and he was in a familiar room. Things were moving.

    The wall, the floor, the bed... it took Jongo a moment to realize that it wasn't the pounding headache that she was feeling, but instead was the Green Morningstar up to her tricks.

    "Good to... see you."

    "Good to see you too, Uncle." Amanda's voice was full of smiles. "Glad you are awake. You look badly hurt."

    "I feel... badly hurt." Jongo found talking was painful. This revelation would have given many members of Jongo's family a great deal of pleasure, and the thought of them mocking him had Jongo laughing.

    Laughing hurt more.

    "What happened, Uncle?"

    "Became. The storm. Stopped myself. From destroying the island." Jongo grinned, weakly. "Then..."

    A sharp pain in Jongo's side, right where she'd smacked into the Great Wall of Salus, cut off what Jongo was about to say.

    "Then...?" Amanda prompted, once the pain subsided.

    "Then... the voice. The voice and the tentacles. They hurt my... well... hang on... yes. Yes. They hurt my everything. Gonna sleep now. Tell your father... nice wall. Needs... pillows."

    And with that, Jongo once again knew blackness. But at least he knew he was safe.
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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

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