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  1. - Top - End - #271
    Titan in the Playground
     
    The_Snark's Avatar

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    Apr 2006

    Default Re: Return to Ironheart IC

    Mar

    It was clear Titania expected anger, or shock, or horror—any reaction at all, really. Something to show she'd struck a blow and reaffirm Mar as her enemy. But Mar couldn't muster anything of the sort. She was too tired, and all these events seemed long ago and far away. No doubt it was all important. The angels would have been shocked to learn Titania's parentage; she didn't know—or shied away from—what they would have done about it. Istomilo would probably feel that the princess's parentage mattered, if he ever found out.

    But all of these things happened thousands of years ago. Why does it still matter, she wanted to ask? Why do we care? Can't we just forget everything and be what we like?

    Of course she said nothing of the sort. She didn't dare, and part of her recognized this for the sullen, self-indulgent child's fantasy that it was. The past wouldn't go away just because she wanted it to. But she couldn't shake the feeling that everything should be much simpler than it was.

    "No," she mumbled as one of the princess's questions caught her ear. She knew that one. "We didn't know about any of that. Dacian didn't tell us."
    Avatar by GryffonDurime. Thanks!

  2. - Top - End - #272
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    OverWilliam's Avatar

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    Dec 2007
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    ~Tamerlane

    After gathering his concentration, Tamerlane brought his Sight to bear in searching for anything that might help him know how to proceed. Once he had, though, he found himself running out of past to See through; but to only stood to reason. One so young could not have had as many memories, or ones as significant as the Sight tended to gravitate toward.

    When Nihlus--or, his voice at least--entered the Sight and turned Tamerlane's gaze from the concrete sureness of the past into the spinning infinities of the possible future, Tamerlane's brain did an impressive imitation of a deck of playing cards during a game of Fifty-two Card Pickup.

    Tamerlane instantly found himself assaulted by a tidal wave of information-- no, not information, but unfettered knowledge. It was too much to even process-- but unprotected by the intermediaries of fallible senses between his consciousness and the unmitigated onslaught of this little girl's future, Tamerlane felt his mind beginning to fall apart trying to fit it all in.

    Quickly, though, he began adapting. The pain lessened sharply when his brain found a temporary solution; representing the infinity of knowledge to be had visually as an exploding fractal of branches and interconnections, Tamerlane began to comprehend the mind-bending Bigness of what he had just begun.

    One strand of the whirling, shifting web of possible futures glowed a little brighter than the rest, and Tamerlane found his conscious attention drawn to it ever so slightly more than to all those around it. He touched it mentally and found himself immediately submerged in something not-yet-true.

    He saw a young woman, known immediately to him as the one upon which his Sight was now centering, grown into a picture of serenity. She held a lotus branch in one hand and a wooden walking staff in the other; here he saw a healer, a quiet beacon of peace and selfless sacrifice in trying to soothe the wounds of a broken world.

    Then the vision shifted-- he intuitively understood it was the result of an almost insignificant change at some point in the intermediate past --and he saw her, the same age as before, but transfigured entirely. He glimpsed steely eyes behind a face blackened with soot, all daggers and black-shafted arrows, an assassin of insatiable hunger for spilling elven blood.

    Here again, a figure crumpled and near-lifeless, clinging to life by jagged fingernails; for though her body was sound, she was haunted by memory and old ache more painful than any disease. For where the body could be pushed no further than its most ultimate limit before finding release in death, a sickness of the mind would torment beyond torment with no prayer of salvation.

    And once more, a young talent discovered by accident provided spark to a blaze fed by pain and loss. He saw her embracing the Fire, entwining her being together with it in greater ecstasy than could be offered by any lover. She was beautiful and terrible, feared by nations, hated by kingdoms, flaunting them all while privately begging to die.

    Tamerlane very nearly lost himself in the infinite, rapturous beauty of what might be, nearly gave himself willingly to the unending exploration or every current and eddy in the eternal river of this girl's future. Every second shaved away possibilities that would now never happen, and he came very close to--

    And then a stinging explosion of sensation that could have belonged only to his own senses brought him abruptly out of the trance. How long he'd been in it he did not know-- not very long at all, he decided after a few moment's panicked examination of his surroundings.

    What... In the hells... Tamerlane had somewhere along the line fallen backwards to lie on the sandy ground. It was a good thing that he had, because at that moment there was no chance that he would've been able to stand, or even sit upright. That was... unbelievable. He gingerly touched the memories of what had just transpired, and found with relief that they had been reduced enough to handle without consequence. If he focused, he could still recall detail after detail...

    No. ...Best not to do that, most likely.

    Tamerlane struggled to sit up. He saw Nihlus waiting for him. This... Gift... it is incredible. And incredibly dangerous, if I don't learn to control it, and fast. Before Nihlus even had a chance to impress that importance on him, Tamerlane was almost completely convinced.

    Seeing Melcara carried him the rest of the way without effort or reservation.

    Tamerlane was silent for a while. When he did finally speak, it was not to Nihlus, but to the girl.

    "...Thank you, little one. You could never know how much you've taught me in only such a short time. I'm sorry that I can't do any better for you than I can. I can not save everyone. And that means, little one, that at least for now... I cannot save you. Not completely. ...But I will pray that perhaps you will find the way to save yourself." His eyes got distant for a moment. "I know you likely won't remember me, but I will never forget you. Maybe, some day, I will find you again and see who you became-- not because I chose it for you, but because you chose it for yourself."

    He turned to Nihlus. "I don't know how you know what you know, but I can see very clearly now that I desperately need to understand it as well. That kindof goes against my 'training,' so to speak, admitting that you're desperate with someone who has something you want-- but I figure you probably know better than I do how much trouble I'm in if I don't learn, and fast. I think you're probably exaggerating things when you say "the world is doomed"-- then again, you don't seem like the exaggerating type--but I know for certain that my world is doomed if I do not act. And I won't sit by while that happens, I will not do it."

    He looked back to the little girl. "There is hope for this little one. I saw it. Show me what to do to give her the best shot I can at that hope given what time I have to give to it... and then I will think of her no more for the time being. She will find her own way... Or she won't."
    Deo Soli Sit Semper Gloria

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

  3. - Top - End - #273
    Pixie in the Playground
     
    Tae's Avatar

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    Jul 2012
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    BRAMBLE:

    And now for something completely different

    Go. Get out of here.” Bramble gave Catbox a shove towards the door.

    “What’re we going to do?! What’re YOU going to do Bramble?” Catbox scrabbled at the door latch, terror lighting her eyes.

    Bramble looked at Malarkey. “I don’t like this place. It needs to burn. Go back. Go to the cultists’ shack. Kill them all. They’ve served their purpose. We’ll rendezvous back there once I’m all done here.” She glanced back at the flames that were reddening as they began to catch wood and paper before turning a sharp-toothed grin back at Mal. “Just don’t eat any of ‘em, remember?

    Malarkey answered with a gape of his own maw, and grabbed Mouse around the throat. “Ready to scout again, imp?”

    “Sure,” squeaked Mouse.

    Malarkey grunted, “Bramble, do what you gotta do.” He shouldered Catbox aside and opened the door, the resulting draft fanning the flames brighter, and was lost in the daylight.

    Catbox looked back at Bramble one final time before following the grunt and the imp, slamming the door behind her.

    Bramble giggled. Idiots. Hell-fiends afraid of fire. She shuffled the flaming materials together, piling them in the middle of the floor with her hands, ignoring the burns. The fire was still spreading, and before she was done, it would spread wider and wilder than any of the other devils could anticipate, but first…

    She couldn’t believe everyone had missed it. Right there, on the counter, a small glass vial filled with a silvery fluid labeled “Hg”. Quicksilver.

    Quicksilver, over time, caused madness in humans. Quicksilver, almost instantaneously, caused a dangerous, euphoric, megalomaniac high in fiends. Bramble scooped up the bottle and leaned against the counter with a smile.

    Pulling out the table dagger again, she sliced open the back of her forearm. Pulling the cork from the bottle with her teeth, she dribbled a few precious drops of the quicksilver into the wound. A moment passed and…

    First the rushing sound of her blood in her ears. Blood that flowed continuously, blood that was fire, blood that was life and life was cheap.

    Bramble laughed and licked the blood from her arm, tasting remnants of the quicksilver mixed in.

    All pain gone. All memory of pain…if one could even remember pain…gone. The fire burning in the middle of the alchemists shop grew brighter and warmer to Bramble’s eyes, the flames dancing and flickering, matching her blood. She knelt before the fire, hands on knees, flames licking her face and she let her tongue lick the flames. She rocked back onto her heels and laughed uproariously.

    Bramble leapt up, a flame herself now, whirling through the shop, pulling jars from the shelves, as she imagined the fire she’d make here and now. Would that she could become the fire. She should have asked Beljabo to make her an Ifrit. A burst of flames, a whirlwind of destruction, a storm of fire, chaos.

    She could begin to feel the sick dirtiness that came along with the dissipation of the quicksilver high. Irritability set in. Catbox. Catbox was going to suffer well. Her hatchlings were going to learn to suffer even better. Bramble sneered. Who in the hells has hatchlings when new souls are sent down every day? Malarkey was going to become her slave. The big oozing monster needed direction. He craved it. Deep down, he wanted to submit. Bramble knew, knew she could make him hers, turning him into a creature of destruction under HER direction. Mouse? The imp? Make a man out of him? HAH! She’d break him in pieces beneath her and turn him into another slave.

    The sick dirty feeling, the comedown, it was getting worse. Her muscles were cramping, and the knowledge that more quicksilver awaited her was growing greater, surpassing her desires for fire and vengeance. Surpassing her desires for anything, really. She’d forgotten. Ugh.

    I hate this part,” Bramble murmured to the fire. “****ing Beljabo.

    Setting the gathered materials down on the counter and sliding her sack nearer to the door, Bramble grabbed the vial of quicksilver again. The pain of the burns on her hands and the crisped, hairless feeling of her face were worse than before. Old scars became new agonies. Every mistake she’d ever made. The ones she was making now. Her whole existence of suffering and agony. No escape, no escape.

    Her hand shook as she drew another jagged slice up her forearm. With abandonment, she poured the rest of the quicksilver into the wound.
    Euphoria. Megalomania. Passion. The top of the dog pile. A fiend lord in her own right. Bramble roared, dragging her claws down her face, raking them down her throat, across her chest, feeling the cuts’ ecstasy. She picked up coals from the fire and ran them down the insides of her thighs, her whole body shuddering in pleasure. The fire. THE FIRE.

    Giggling, laughing, shrieks and roars ripping from her throat, Bramble began laying out the elements of a catastrophic blaze. Finally, she let the blood still oozing from her forearms drip down into the mix.

    Mine. My creation. My creation is destruction.” Bramble giggled a little, rolling the glass jar of incendiary from side to side.

    The irritability again, that first harbinger of a world class come-down, it was approaching. Not here yet, but oh, oh-so close.

    Time to go.

    Bramble kicked more paper and wood into the fire, picked her explosive up and raced for the door. She was already regretting wasting the quicksilver on one big high.

    Should’a spread it out, made it last. Ain’t it always the way.

    Opening the door, she saw that the sky was darkening. A grin cracked across her features. Big fires always looked so much better in the dark. She shouldered her pack and backed through the doorway.

    Bramble wants a BIG blaze,” she giggled.

    Hefting the glass incendiary, she looked at it for a moment, then hurled it into the fire in the middle of the alchemist’s shop and ran up the alley. She heard the tinkle of shattering glass and the “WHOOSH” of flames as a white-green inferno billowed from the center of the shop, expanding. She could feel the heat on her back, feel the crisping of the skin on her exposed calves, and hear the singe of more hairs crackling on her head.

    Her muscles began cramping and her pains, new and old, clawed at her as she ran. Damnit! She should have saved some of the quicksilver. She looked down at her arms as she ran, seeking a tiny droplet, something she may have missed. Anything!

    **** you Beljabo!” Bramble screamed as her legs gave out and she hit the cobblestones. Desperately, in the glare of the burning shop, she licked at her arms, seeking something to alleviate the agony and despair wracking her. Something glinted near the crook of her elbow. Hah! She rubbed it into the cut on arm, and swore as it turned out to be just a bead of sweat.

    Bramble crawled to a wall and curled herself into a ball as she shuddered. She hated them all. Her squad mates, her commanders, herself. But Beljabo most of all. Her favored fiend lord. The one who’s only explanation for his rise to the top was “someone has to throw all the wild parties, right?”

    In the midst of her despair, watching the interplay of white-green and red flames down the street and feeling waves of heat rush over her as her fire found new things to consume, Bramble smiled.

    I still make one hell of a pretty fire.”

    __________________________________________________ _________

    Her ability to make one hell of a pretty fire was the reason she was curled on the cobbles of a human city shaking with quicksilver comedown instead of finding her way back to the cultists’ shack and her comrades.

    Beljabo needed a pyrotechnician for a party he was giving. His parties were vast things, packed solid with the cream of devil society, such as it was. Whoever had managed to bite and claw their way to the top in other words. He was on exceptional terms with Videle, so his parties were always filled with succubae and incubi willing to provide any and all forms of entertainment and service his guests might desire. He somehow managed to import drinks from the surface world, as well as offering intoxicants native to the hells. These events generally lasted until the last of the guests had overindulged to the point of needing to reincarnate, as Beljabo’s supplies were endless.

    Bramble, at this point, had gotten a reputation in the legions for her capabilities with explosives, both the ones she produced, and the ones she induced from her own body. So when Beljabo asked for a pyrotechnics expert, he was introduced to Bramble.

    In spite of her sense of awe at being in the fiend-lord’s lounging presence, Bramble’s natural lack of respect for authority asserted itself. Between the ferocity of her grin and her the way her impertinence begged for punishment, Beljabo was charmed. Well, at least relieved of the tiniest bit of his never-ending ennui.

    Here’s my plans for yer pyrotechnics display.” Bramble unrolled a skin with diagrams and markings before the corpulent fiend-lord.

    “Mmm, yes, yes, I see. Very nice. I especially like this part here, where you explode the back of my cavern into an adjacent room so my guests get two parties in one. There’s just one problem…”

    Problem?! This is sheer brilliance here, sir. I even managed to shower the entire place in sparks without anyone getting burnt.

    Beljabo reached a baby-fat hand over and pinched the end of Bramble’s nose hard enough to create a bruise. “Don’t interrupt your betters dear. This is just what I’m talking about. No one gets burnt. There’s not even the risk of anyone getting hurt. What fun is that?”

    Bramble rubbed her nose and thought about this. She hadn’t been a named fiend long enough to forget the pains of her Ix days, not to mention the pains she suffered every day in the Legion. “What fun is it getting hurt?

    Beljabo smiled lazily. “Bramble, Bramble my little innocent. Pain and pleasure spring from the same source.”

    I wouldn’t know much about pleasure, sir,” grumbled Bramble.

    “I bet you don’t know much about delivering pain either.”

    Bramble eyed the Beljabo’s glistening body. She’d never tortured an Ix. Even though her commander and sergeant encouraged her to use them for explosives testing, she continued using rock walls and hell, sometimes even her own self. “No.

    Beljabo sucked his teeth. “Such a pity. Would that you’d come out a little prettier and a little less…stuffed with lethality, we could get you under Videle’s wing and teach you all about it. But I can give you a quick lesson or two.” He waved over a nearby incubus.

    “Get me a couple Ix’s darling.” Letting his gaze drift from the perfectly sculpted male form to Bramble’s wide eyes devouring the same sight, he smiled. “And mind you bring yourself back when you’re done, I’ll need your help here.”

    As the incubus walked away, Beljabo touched a moist fingertip to Bramble’s skinny cheek, turning her face away from the incubus back to him. “What do you have on hand, dear? I mean, in regards to the kinds of materials you use in your specialty.”

    Bramble checked her pack. “Uhm, just some black powder and some caps and firestarters. I can produce more, but you might not wanna watch how I do it.

    Beljabo shuddered, simultaneously disgusted by the thought and stimulated by it. “Sometime dear, just not today. We can work with what we have.”

    The incubus strode back in, a shrinking, cringing Ix on each arm.

    “Ah, lovely! Just lovely! Now, Bramble, pay attention. You, incubus, restrain one of those and bring the other to me.” Complying, the incubus stood beside Beljabo’s lounge, stroking his master’s bald head and favoring Bramble with a smile.

    Bramble coughed and looked away.

    Beljabo took the incubus’s hand in his own, kissed the fingertips, released it, and sat up, the shining rolls of fat around his midsection piling atop one another.

    “Now, Bramble dear, what we have here is an Ix. It’s not anything but an Ix. Its sole purpose is to wait upon our pleasure, whatever that might be.”

    Aye, I remember what being an Ix means, sir.

    “Oh…oh, Bramble, my poor little devil. The sooner you realize the difference between what you were and what you are, the sooner you can have a little fun. Now, observe. There’s pleasure you receive. I’ll have my friendly incubus show you that later. There’s pleasure you give. He can probably show you a thing or two about that as well. Simple enough. Now, there is pain you give.” Beljabo reached into the folds of the female Ix’s slit and pinched, hard. The Ix gasped. Beljabo giggled.

    “There’s a pleasure in giving pain, for obvious reasons. Power, control, and all the rest. Revenge, if you’re still feeling some residue of bitterness from your past. Domination. And something ineffable, something only understandable through experience. You need that experience.”

    Bramble chewed on her lip. “Sir, I’m not sure…

    “What did I tell you about interrupting your betters Bramble?” Beljabo’s lazy gaze turned sharp. “Hurt her. Cause the Ix pain.”

    Bramble frowned. She looked at the cringing Ix. “Sir, I don’t think I’m really gonna like hurting something weaker than me.

    Beljabo leaned back and laughed. Still chuckling a bit, he leaned forward and gripped the Ix by the back of the neck, pushing her face closer to Bramble. “If you can’t bring yourself to hurt her, you are weaker than her, sapper. In fact, I think you still think you are her. You’re not. You are superior, in every way. You’ve taken a name. You’ve made a mark. You are sitting before one of the most powerful fiend-lords in the hells and you have made him laugh.” Beljabo’s usually smooth demeanor darkened into something horrible. “Now, HURT HER.”

    Bramble snarled, and clawed the Ix across the face, leaving four tracks of welling blood.

    “That’s better. I thought you were going to wind up boring me after all. Now, examine your results. This thing, this Ix, she is utterly yours. You have made her bleed. She fears you, because she knows your power over her is absolute. Absolute. How does it feel to have absolute power, Bramble?” Beljabo snapped his fingers at the incubus, and pointed at Bramble. “Reward her.”

    The incubus slid behind Bramble, his touch across the back of her neck a whisper, a vibration, a memory of pleasure. His mouth warm on her shoulder, kissing, sucking, sharp teeth nipping. Then suddenly, the searing sensation of his claws lacerating the nape of her neck down to the spine. Exquisite, the pain. So overwhelming it slowed time as each element of the sensation was processed. Then she felt something cold fill in the gap of her flesh.

    Then came the fire.

    Beljabo was pleased with himself. By the time Bramble stumbled from his chamber, exhausted, promising to upgrade her plans, the place was a mess. Forcing her between the highest highs and lowest lows with quicksilver, he’d managed to instigate the utter destruction of both Ix’s and the incubus.

    Bramble took quickly to the pleasures of domination and sadism. She bored holes in the Ixes, packing the holes with black powder and burning their flesh. She’s used black powder to write the symbols of her name onto the incubus’s skin and burn them into it, then used her claws to flense that skin and make a trophy of it while he pleasured her. On and on it went.

    With Beljabo’s encouragement, Bramble allowed the incubus to scratch her skin and fill it with black powder, giving her burns of her own while at the peak of her quicksilver highs. Her ability to enjoy pain was attached to her will to dominate, rather than any capacity for submission. At the lowest of her lows, she disemboweled an Ix and packed the cavity with black powder, shoving a cap in and showering the room in gore. The other Ix and the incubus suffered similar fates in a fit of pique Bramble threw when Beljabo told her lesson-time was over.

    Yes, Beljabo was pleased. He had great expectations for his upcoming party’s pyrotechnics. It was unfortunate that he failed to realize the true impact of his lessons on Bramble.

    The sapper showed him updated plans the next day which included some succubae turned into sparklers and some options for personal pyrotechnics lessons for the guests using Ixes, obviously. The shower of sparks would now cause very minor burns on some unlucky guests, but quick singes that would scintillate, not anything causing permanent harm. Things were looking better and better as far as Beljabo could see. He was pleased with his decision to take the sapper under his flabby wing.

    He shouldn’t have been so pleased with his decision to use quicksilver to do it.

    The night of the party, things were going well. The various entertainments were meshing well, and guests were toasting Beljabo’s addition of a pyrotechnics display.

    Bramble had gotten Catbox in as her assistant. Catbox’s mission as far as they were concerned was to find the room with the quicksilver and bring as much as she could carry to where Bramble was running the show. Bramble made some excuse about needing it for her work. She wasn’t about to share.

    Catbox was no small devil. The amount of quicksilver she could carry was enough for ten fiend’s entire night’s pleasure.

    With each dose, Bramble’s displays became a little larger, a little more dangerous. Her grin became a little wilder and her eyes a little more insane. She didn’t let the lows come. More and more, her explosions were causing injuries. As the injuries mounted, so did her excitement. As her excitement mounted, so did the size of her explosive and incendiary devices.

    The party ended early with a roomful of gore, a raging megalomaniac sapper, and a disgraced Beljabo.

    Beljabo was thrilled. It was the most exciting thing that had happened at one of his parties in millennia.

    Still, Bramble’s fall from grace was swift and harsh. She and Catbox were kicked to the very bottom of the Legion’s piles, and until that day when they almost caught the angel, that’s where she was fairly sure she was staying.

    So now, crumpled up and lost, shuddering in a quick-silver comedown, bathed in the light of her uncontrolled fire, she wished hard. For redemption.

  4. - Top - End - #274
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Nov 2005
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    Default Re: Return to Ironheart IC

    Speaker Ander Windrivver

    Dawn breaks too soon for Ander, but he pushes himself out of bed anyway. Seeing Nihlus' prophecy burned into his floor brings the events of the previous day flooding back to him.

    Ninety-nine days…

    He quickly eats a spartan breakfast and dons his Lord General's dress uniform. Walking over to a chest in a corner of the room, Ander opens it to reveal the pieces of his armor which had been packed away since the Battle of Narle. Most of the armor was serviceable, if not battered, but the breastplate had been shattered into several pieces during his duel with Hephestia. Ander packs the armor into a large sack and continues to his desk where Caitlyn's ring and Morganna's soul crystal lie where, after a moment's thought, he strings the two items on a fine silver chain and fastens it around his neck, tucking them under his tunic. His preparations complete, Ander slings the sack over one shoulder, Fiendkiller over the other, and heads down to the ritual chamber.

    He nods curtly at Melissan as he marches into the chamber. Good morning. Let's go.

    Before long the two of them arrive in the Heavenly City and Ander follows Melissan as she leads him down the empty streets. In the closest thing the city has to an industrial district, they arrive at a small smithy tucked away at the end of an alley in the shadow of the Palace of the Sun.

    Ander blinks the stars out of his eyes as he ducks through the doorway into the dimly lit interior of the shop. When his vision clears, Ander smiles at the familiar figure working at the anvil: a dwarf, built like a steel keg and missing half of his left hand.

    Good morning, Belroar. I hope you've been well.

    The dwarven Grandmaster beams broadly at Ander's unexpected appearance and sets aside his tools to wrap the Speaker in a crushing embrace.

    "Ander, my lad! Aye, but you're a sight fer sore eyes. What brings you back ta Heaven so soon?" he asks, a note of apprehension creeping into his voice.

    Nothing good, Belroar. I bring disturbing news from Luxien.

    Belroar pulls up chairs for himself and his guests while Ander and Melissan relay the events that have taken place since the Battle of Narle. Project Revenant is the only detail that Ander holds back. The dwarf listens intently and by the end of their story, his face is creased with worry.

    It's dark times all around, lad. Even Heaven ain't safe anymore.

    Yes, I'd heard about the invasion. Melissan and I think the devil lords are behind it. Likely the Black General and Slevir are involved. Listen Belroar, I need to address the paladins while I'm here. Do you think you could assemble the Shields in the plaza in front of the Palace tomorrow noon? It's important.

    Oh, and there's one more thing I was hoping you could help me with…


    Ander slides his sack in front of him and opens it, revealing the battered armor within.

    If I'm going back to Hell, I'll need armor I can trust. Most of the pieces are intact and just need some maintenance but the breastplate was shattered during my duel with Hephestia. Can you re-forge it for me? Oh and, uh, it's something of a rush job.

    Ander grins sheepishly, like a child who has been caught with a broken toy, and gives Belroar an expectant look.

    ((After this, Ander will go to each of the other Grandmasters and give them the same update and ask them to bring their paladins to the plaza at noon tomorrow. From there, he will have Melissan take him to try and find Korram. He plans to spend the night at the Windrivver farm before addressing the paladins the next day.))
    Quote Originally Posted by PhoeKun View Post
    Baerdog: super genius.

  5. - Top - End - #275
    Troll in the Playground
     
    Inspectre's Avatar

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    Jul 2007

    Default Re: Return to Ironheart IC

    Meanwhile . . .

    While everything here was but a mere icy reflection of what it was in the real Phaedra, Istomilo had found his laboratory almost exactly how he had left it before even the long ten years of war. This level of detail was not present elsewhere in the castle – it was almost as if this room had been preserved in memory as a memorial shrine. The realization of just how much Ti had missed him stung – but the coldness of her greeting earlier numbed the pain. He would make it up to her through Marisiel’s pain, and eventually the rift between them would be filled.

    In any event, while the most intricate of his tools had not been reproduced to his satisfaction, for the most part his laboratory was in order. Perhaps he would go back to his old home in the Hells for a brief bit to retrieve some of his more intriguing devices that he had discovered during his stay down there, but that could wait. For now, he wanted to show Marisiel her new home – staying locked up in a cell in the dungeons was far too passé for such an honored guest!

    Unfortunately, when he went to retrieve Marisiel, he found only broken bars – the bitch had escaped somehow! This was more an annoyance than cause for concern, however, because Istomilo had planned for such contingencies. Into the magic of her soul crystal, Istomilo had woven a scrying magic that allowed him to locate her wherever she may be, and project his consciousness into her body. Not as a controller, for that magic would be too strong to go unnoticed, but merely as an observer – he could see and hear what she did. It had been quite a useful contingency after he had been thrown out of Ironheart, and had wanted to check up on his little Markash.

    Stretching out his magical senses now, Istomilo found her in moments – inside Ti’s throne room again. So the queen had already recaptured her, and no doubt was extracting a bloody price for the bitch’s ingratitude at Phaedran hospitality. Desiring to witness her punishment first-hand, Istomilo reached out with his mind, and activated the projection magic. At first, he was merely confused – Marisiel seemed to be passively sitting, some sort of firecat in her lap, listening to Ti drone on about something. He was able to break the connection in irritation and go up to the throne room personally to demand to know what was going on, when some of Ti’s words caught his attention.

    Quote Originally Posted by Titania
    If anyone else were to learn of it, let alone Istomilo, the consequences will be DIRE! Do you both understand!?
    His curiosity piqued, Istomilo listened in to Ti’s confession of infidelity first with growing horror, and then with mounting rage. That WHORE! The fact that they had been nothing to each other at the time, and that he had desired to commit infidelity of his own throughout their entire relationship did not fail to register. No, but caused the hole in his chest to burn was the fact that she had lied to him about “their” daughter’s origins. He was not a father, he was a fool, showering his affections on a child that was not his own! All the pride he had felt for her, all the guilt he felt at abandoning her in favor of his obsession . . . all of it meant nothing.

    Istomilo dimly became aware that he had slumped against the wall to hold himself up, that his appropriated body, despite no longer needing to breathe, was hyperventilating. Slowly, he brought his body back under control, along with his emotions. He needed to be calm – Titania could never learn that he knew her filthy little secret. At least, not until it was too late. He doubted that even with the advantage of surprise, he could overpower Titania – the Harlot of Phaedra had always been far and away his superior. But there was a way to punish two whores with a single blow, and when he left here to return back to his true home in the Hells, he would be going with two guests, not just one. And Titania could stay here alone to rot for the rest of eternity!

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

    Deep beneath the occupied fortress-prison of Ironheart, in the bottom chamber of an obsidian ziggurat surrounded by a lake of lava, Angelo Gast cursed and pounded his fist against the immense seal that made up the floor. The dense metal didn’t even make a sound from the blow, and Angelo winced as the impact registered through his much softer fist.

    “Making any progress?”

    A by-now familiar voice asked nonchalantly, and Angelo pushed himself back up to his feet with a grimace.

    “Of course not. Because I’M NOT A DAMN MAGE!”

    He hissed as he whirled on Nihilus. His mysterious new ally seemed even more amused at the admitted frustration.

    “There, there. I promised you aid, and I assure you that it is coming. For now you merely need to do the best that you can. Where’s your friend, by the way?”

    “Out killing elves to keep them from discovering this place, I imagine.”

    Angelo and Trent had reached the prison of the Destroyer not by going down through the citadel, but through an access tunnel that the Gastly Truth had blasted down through the mountain with its cannons during the Hierarch’s defeat. Before they had left, they had cunningly concealed that entrance in the event they ever needed to get back down to the Great Seal quickly. Even the elves hadn’t found it at the time, although it seemed inevitable now that they would. Trent had occupied himself with killing any patrols that came near, either to the secret tunnel’s entrance or that somehow made it through the fiend-infested tunnels leading down from the citadel. That was only a short-term solution, however, and eventually the elves would figure out something was wrong and come to investigate in force. Angelo supposed he could shut the heavy doors that separated this underground magma chamber and temple from the tunnels to keep the elves out, but considering only Dacian or Elandra could open them again, and they were both long since gone, that would rather effectively trap him inside as well. Even that wasn’t a perfect solution, as Nihilus had demonstrated when the three of them had first arrived.

    When they had left this place, they had closed those “unbreachable” doors behind them. And when they had got down there, Nihilus had simply pulled a skeletal hand out from his cloak, cheerfully remarked “Y’know, Elandra did have two hands”, and swung the door open after pressing the bones against it. Some useful defense those doors had been – for all Angelo knew, some elf could press one of Elandra’s thigh bones, or maybe her skull, against the doors and open them back up as quickly as he could slam them shut! Then the Writer of History had left him and Trent to it, promising further aid and to return now and again to check their progress. So far, only the promise of his continued and obnoxious visits had been kept.

    “So you’ve learned nothing about this last seal, then? It seems to me that its existence was a surprise to Elandra and Dacian both, so unless we can figure it out on our own we’re pretty much screwed.”

    “What part of I’M NOT A DAMN MAGE did you fail to understand!?”

    Angelo growled, gesturing down at the faintly glowing runes that now were all that stood between the Forger of Oblivion and freedom.

    “It’s not like I can read these damn things and figure out what they’re saying, and –“

    Angelo stopped as his eyes wandered over one of the runes, and a memory bubbled up from his memories. He had seen that one rune before somehow . . . in a book. A history book. A tight-lipped smile slowly spread across Angelo’s face as he crossed his arms over his chest.

    “But I know where you can find somebody who can read these runes.”

    Now it was Nihilus’s turn to be annoyed.

    “OH!?”

    For a moment the two of them simply stared at each other, and it was Angelo who eventually caved. Savoring one more moment of this victory, Angelo took a deep breath and then announced the final seal’s origin.

    “These runes, while I can’t read them I do recognize them. They’re Phaedran.”

    “Phaedran, you say . . .”

    Nihilus repeats, trailing off as he looks off into the distance in thought. Then he abruptly turns around and starts walking up the stairs leading out of the ziggurat, calling out behind him as he fades into the shadows.

    “Keep up the good work. You stay here and keep looking for anything else that’ll help us while I go check it out. Oh, and tell Trent to expect a lot of guests soon by the tunnel entrance, and that he shouldn’t kill these ones – they’ll be the aid that I promised you.”

    “Right . . .”

    Angelo muttered, turning back to look down at the glowing runes with a sigh. The sound echoed back at him, distorted into something akin to evil laughter.

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

    Deep in an artificial underground chamber, Terra practiced on a small army of earth elementals. He did not practice the so-called Terra Style (now there was an apt name), but instead the newest form he had learned from the winner of his tournament. He had not been lying when he had told Vork’s whelp that the losers of his tournaments were free to go – the abilities of such proven trash did not interest him. The winner, however . . . now there was one who had been proven to have useful knowledge. Knowledge that he ripped from the winner’s mind using another set of abilities he had learned from yet another teacher. As with all such teachers, after he had absorbed all of their knowledge, he disposed of the winner and perfected his technique with the new style alone in his secret abode.

    Other than himself, no one knew of his sanctum’s location. And so it was that when he suddenly sensed another’s presence here, it threw him completely off-balance. Enough so that one of his living practice dummies actually managed to hit him. As an afterthought Terra crushed the annoyance and whirled to confront the intruder – a strange cloaked man with glowing orange eyes.

    “Hmm. Looks to me like you need to work on your defense a little more.”

    “I don’t know who you are, but I’m about to find out. You made a fatal mistake coming here.”

    Terra stretched down his hand, calling for the earth beneath the intruder’s feet to rise up and – suddenly several hard blows struck Terra all at once, sending him tumbling head over heels face down into the ground.

    “Told you that you needed to work on your defense.”

    The masked stranger chided, and then continued while Terra pushed himself back up onto his feet, eyeing his opponent much more warily now.

    “In any event, I did not come here to spar. I’d prefer for us to be friends, and I have some information for you as a peace offering.”

    “Information which I can just as easily rip out of your mind!”

    Terra retorted, switching tactics to another of his stolen marital arts, summoning an explosion into existence right on top of where the figure was standing. As the smoke and flames vanished, the figure was in sight no more, and for a moment Terra’s brow furrowed in confusion. That should have merely torn the figure apart into messy but still intact chunks, not vaporized – an explosive pain ripped through Terra’s chest as the intruder’s hand tore through it from behind.

    “I can do this all day. But I suspect I’m going to run out of patience long before that.”

    The intruder said as he twirled and swung a foot up into Terra’s face, tearing off a chunk of his flesh there, which shifted back into mere dirt as it left contact with Terra’s body. Staggering back, Terra threw up his hands – a surrender this time, not an attack. There were many techniques yet that Terra did not fully understand – among them this concept that humans called “magic”. Some of them were quite powerful, and although Terra intended to one day learn them all for now he was aware when his own skill was insufficient.

    “Alright, I am willing to consider your offer of friendship. Just tell me one thing – how did you do that? Some sort of teleportation ability?”

    “I slowed time down to a standstill, relative to myself at least. Quite useful as I’m sure you would agree.”

    “Indeed. That would be most useful . . .”

    Terra said, tensing up, but relaxing again as the intruder held up a finger.

    “I know what you’re thinking – and no, I’m afraid that the ability would be useless to you. I’m virtually the only one who *can* do what I do. But I’ll give you a nice consolation prize – you are still searching for the so-called Ultimate Technique of the Terra Style, are you not?”

    “Yeah?”

    “Well, while I can’t personally give you that information, I can tell you where to go to continue your search for it. I would imagine that holding his students in the balance might help convince your old master to come out of hiding, even if he won’t hand over the knowledge to you in exchange for their lives. But then, you already have a way to extract the information, don’t you?”

    “I’m still listening. But if you will permit me, can I heal this hole you made in my chest and my face? They are rather distracting.”

    “Provided it’s just that – otherwise I leave and you’ll never find them.”

    Keeping his hands up, Terra summoned some of the dirt from the floor up into his body, using the extra mass to seal back up the holes that the intruder had made in him.

    “Thank you. Now then, where are they?”

    “I’m not sure of their exact location . . . but I can tell you where they will be. Does the name “Luxien” mean anything to you?”

    ********************************************
    Running down the corridors of her old home, Rose cannot help but think back to when she used to run down the same hallways as a little girl. She would often pretend to be a princess escaping from dragons and similar childish nonsense – although perhaps that had been merely a tomboyish prelude to her current hobby. Given that a large group of heavily armed men had broken into her manor and overpowered the guards, that choice of profession didn’t seem so foolish now at least. And her childhood spent roaming the grounds in imaginary flight would likewise now reap unexpected benefits.

    “Turn right at the next intersection, and then go through the second door on the left!”

    Rose called out to Elsa, who was just a few steps behind her, but breathing heavily. Ironheart and the years without a soul had been hard on her sister-in-law, and while she had been trying to rebuild her strength since regaining her soul, neither had Elsa embarked on the sort of hellish physical regimen that Rose now endured every day.

    Hearing another group of invading louts approaching the intersection ahead from a side hall before she even sees them, Rose increases her speed and drops down into a slide to cover the remaining distance. She reaches the intersection at the same time as the leading wave of thugs charge into sight. As she slides past the one, Rose thrusts her fists up into the spot where the man’s legs join together, a sensitive spot where no man wants to be punched. Continuing her slide, Rose’s legs slam into a second man, sending him tumbling. A third runs directly into her, and while it’s not exactly pleasant to trip a man with her side, he goes down nonetheless. Partially down on top of her, but that’s not a complete negative as she slips the last of her tranquilizing darts into one hand and jabs it into the man’s leg. As the man falls limp Rose twists out from under him, only to find her path blocked by a fourth assailant.

    “Got you git!”

    The thug spat as he brought his heavy club down on across Rose’s back, driving her to the floor. A fifth man moved up to join his friend in pummeling her, while the sixth and final member of the group raced past after Elsa. Unable to help her friend for the moment, Rose concentrated on her own defense. Rolling her shoulders and arms, she threw her cloak back, flapping it up into the air above her and momentarily distracting her two attackers. It was enough to allow her to roll to one side, dodging another club blow and a kick aimed her way. Immediately Rose went on the offensive again, lashing out with both hands at the man who tried to kick her, her palms slamming the knee of the leg that he kept planted on the ground. It bent back at an unnatural angle and with a dry snap as the man collapsed screaming. The club-armed thug growled in fury and brought his club around for another swing, only for Rose to grab him by the arm as he brought the weapon down. Twisting around and rolling onto her back, Rose dragged the man down on top of her, or rather on top of her foot as she pulled the man off his feet, rolled him over her, and then threw him down the hallway behind her, crashing into the man she had slid into to start the fight.

    Meanwhile, the sixth attacker had caught up to the exhausted Elsa, reaching out and snagging hold of the back of the necklace hanging around her neck. With a victorious cry he pulled on it savagely, dragging Elsa back by the neck into his arms. Still choking her with savage glee, the man forced her down onto her knees.

    “That’s right you sow! How does it feel to know that you’re going to spend the last seconds of your life on your knees!? Try spending an entire lifetime!”

    Flailing up at her own neck, Elsa tries in vain to break the man’s grip, clawing feebly at his hands and arms. As she begins to go limp, Rose arrives, tackling the man and throwing him headfirst into the nearby wall. The impact breaks the chain holding Elsa’s necklace together, and it falls to the floor as the three people around it go flying in different directions. As she pushes herself back up yet again, Rose looks over to find Elsa simply sitting on the floor, looking around in confusion. Gathering the soul crystal necklace up, Rose presses it into Elsa’s hands, and the dullness in her eyes fades immediately.

    “You may want to find a better way to keep that on you. Something less likely to take your life.”

    Rose suggests as Elsa nods, struggling to catch her breath after the exhausting run and nearly being strangled to death. As Rose helps Elsa to her feet, she looks back to find the few thugs who are still conscious no longer want any further conflict. As the two of them stagger off down the hallway to their intended destination, the unpleasant tang of smoke reaches their noses.

    “F . . . Fire?”

    Elsa gasps, and Rose nods with a grimace.

    “They’re going to burn my home to the ground. And if we don’t hurry we’re going to burn with it!”

    Reaching the mentioned door, Rose shouldered it open and dragged Elsa in with her before kicking the door shut behind them. Leaving her sister-in-law at the door, Rose looked around the room, frowning as she struggled to remember the details of a discovery made many years ago, and before several renovations.

    “Now where was it . . .”

    Rose murmured to herself, walking over to the far wall and running her fingers along a bookshelf. This had not been here before, Rose’s memory was clear on that, and yet it was in the same place. Her probing finger found one book that was slightly loose, and as she pulled it back off the shelf, an attached wire pulled taut.

    “Aha!”

    Rose says as the triggered switch swung the bookshelf out of the way and slid a hidden doorway open. Returning to Elsa, Rose led her over to the secret doorway and pushed her through it.

    “It’ll be dark inside, so be careful not to fall. There’s a set of stairs just behind you – follow them down to the bottom, and you should be able to see again. You’ll be in a set of underground caves – there should be a stream in one part of it. Follow that, and in about a mile you should come out into the forest. Make your way back to the town and find the blacksmith – he’s an old friend of the family, and he’ll make sure you’re safe. I’ll come find you again as soon as I can.”

    “Wait, you’re not coming with me!?”

    “No, I need to go get Ariella. I’ll find another way out with her, and meet back up with you later!”

    “But . . . what . . . how did you find out about these caverns below the manor? Why is there even a secret passage down to them!?”

    “I found them one day while playing as a child. My father . . . he wasn’t just a nobleman. He wanted to fight against men like those attacking us, and to see the results of his efforts . . . personally.”

    “And so he went out . . . like you do.”

    Elsa said, suddenly understanding. Rose smiled weakly and nodded. The two of them are silent, and then Elsa steps further into the passageway.

    “Go. Get Ariella. I’ll be waiting for you with this family friend of yours. And Rose . . . be careful. The Duchy needs a Volesin.”

    Rose nods and then pushes the book back into place, causing the secret door to slid back into place and the bookshelf to swing back over it. With a cleansing sigh, Rose centers and readies herself for the mad dash that was to come. Ariella’s room was at the far end of the manor, and with any luck these thugs hadn’t gotten there yet. The fight just to get here had already been taxing, and she was out of most of her expendable tools. Reaching into her cloak, Rose pulled out the last two of her weapons that were available. While she had made the controversial decision not to kill anyone, unlike her father who had set himself up as everyone’s judge, Albert had hammered it into her head that to go into battle with only bare hands was foolish. And so she had developed some modest skill with a set of weapons that had minimal chance of shedding human blood, while still being an unpleasant experience of anyone on the receiving end. Gripping the handles of her two tonfas, Rose shouldered the door back open and burst out into the hallway, taking off for the far end of the manor at a run.

    To her growing unease, she encountered no further resistance – only rapidly expanding flames and thickening smoke. Somehow, she made it to the far side of the manor, although her unease only grew when she heard no response to her cries of “Ariella!” Moving more cautiously now, Rose gently creaked the door to Ariella’s room open halfway, and then threw it open the rest of the way when she saw what waited beyond. The room itself was trashed but deserted, save for the mortally wounded Albert lying in the middle of the carnage! Rushing over to him, Rose silently cursed the fact that she had used the last of her healing potions some time ago, and it was too far to run back through the flames to where any others were stored.

    “Don’t try to talk.”

    Rose warned her faithful butler, mentor, and friend as she did her best to bandage his wounds with strips torn off a nearby blanket.

    “Don’t . . . bother . . . listen to . . . me. Listen!”

    Albert groaned, grabbing hold of Rose’s hands with dying strength.

    “He . . . took her. Their leader . . . he’s good . . . very good. Don’t . . . underestimate him. I think . . . I think he’s . . . one of . . . your . . . father’s old . . . enemies . . . come back . . .for revenge. If you can . . . get Ariella out . . . do it. But . . . don’t try . . . to stop him. Go somewhere . . . safe . . . forget this life. You’re . . . on your . . . own . . . now. Good . . . luck.”

    And with that, Albert slumps back against the floor, and is gone. Her vision blurring, Rose gets back up to her feet goes back out into the hallway. It would take too long to try and find her way back to the secret passage with the manor in flames, but escape was no longer part of the plan. Her new idea was considerably more dangerous, but necessary if she ever wanted to see Ariella again. Shrugging out of her cloak and leaving it to the flames, Rose proceeded towards the ground floor.

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

    The man known as Liberator watches the manor burn with a mixture of satisfaction and disappointment. While he wanted to enact his original plan of toppling the regime of the stagnant nobility, there was one particular nobleman he had wanted to see crushed beneath his feet personally. The familiar dark shade had shown itself tonight, but it was disappointingly evasive and thus could not have been Volesin himself. He must have been away, perhaps out dealing with other desperate souls he called “criminal filth”, but Liberator was hopeful that after the havoc wrecked here tonight Volesin would show himself. The prize that Liberator acquired from the manor ought to virtually guarantee that.

    “Sir! Your idea to maintain a perimeter around the burning building was brilliant! Some of the men caught a woman trying to escape! She claims to be Rose Volesin!”

    “No sign of the manor’s cloaked protector?”

    “No sir!”

    “Hrm . . . if he has not been seen by now, then he is already gone. Tell the men to assemble – we are leaving. And bring this “Rose Volesin” to me.”

    As the underling runs off to fulfill his instructions, Liberator looks down at his arm, and the numbers burned into the flesh there. He owed the Volesin family a great deal of pain, and if Volesin himself was not here right now, then he would have to be patient. While he waited, he could see what sort of children his old enemy raised!
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

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  6. - Top - End - #276
    Troll in the Playground
     
    Inspectre's Avatar

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    Jul 2007

    Default Re: Return to Ironheart IC

    The Heavens

    Baerdog7

    “Aye lad, who else would be behind something like this? None of their pawns came near this place, else I’d have knocked so sense back into them!”

    Belroar grunts, and then freezes as he notices the weapon hanging from your back. He reaches out and grabs hold of the warhammer’s shaft, just behind the head, peering at it closely.

    “Ah, you found Fiendkiller I see! But what’s all this new work that’s been done on the weapon? I never had any of these runes put on it!”

    “Morganna.”

    Melissan guesses, and the dwarf looks like he’s just swallowed something bitter.

    “Ah. Unpleasant bit of business that was. I just hope the Church is better off without her – I know it’ll be without that turd-stain Crane around! Bastard blew me up and turned all of the Fiend Lords loose!”

    At your requests, Belorar nods.

    “Ye know I can’t refuse a request from you. I’ll round up as many of the lads as I can. What shall I tell them this is all about? You want us patrolling the streets in case the fiends send more of their lackeys up here? Especially seeing how the angels are practically non-existent now. I could get why Miss Tyrant doesn’t like all the folks down on the mortal plane, but why is She doing anything about this!?”

    “Perhaps She is, and that is why She has sealed the Palace of the Sun.”

    Melissan suggested, earning a derisive snort from Belorar. Not willing to continue the argument, the dwarf looks over the shattered pieces of your armor instead.

    “Hrm. This was something that Miriam forged for you Herself – not sure I’ll be able to do as good of a job as a god, but I’m glad you think of me that way.”

    Belroar smirks and picks up the sack of armor, dragging it over to beside the anvil.

    “I’ll do my best lad – you can count on having something sturdy to wear before you leave again.”

    And with that you head out to see the other Grandmasters – Norvan, Jamkas, even Odlak are here. Notably absent is Rickster, who of course fell to his death during the Battle of Narle, his soul damned forever to the Hells. You manage to convince each of them to promise the same thing – that as many paladins as they can collect will be there tomorrow morning.

    In search of Korram now, Melissan leads you in search of Miranda, a young angel who had been with Korram when Melissan left a few hours ago (from the perspective of the Heavens). You eventually find her standing in the midst of a crowd in front of the Palace of the Sun. All eyes in the crowd are turned upward towards the top of the wall. Following their gaze, you see a speck-sized man almost all the way up, struggling to climb the sheer wall the rest of the way up.

    “Miranda, what is going on here!? Who is that!?”

    “Some human, sister, who is determined to see Miriam. Despite the gates being closed to all, he’s decided to begin climbing his way up to get in.”

    “But there’s no entrance up there at the top of the wall.”

    “I know. That hasn’t seemed to discourage him one bit. Nor has the repeated falls off of the wall that he’s taken trying to climb up it. I’m here to make sure that he doesn’t injure himself . . . I wasn’t here for the first several attempts, and that only led to a momentary delay on his efforts until his soul reformed a body.”

    “I . . . see. Do you know where Korram is now?”

    “I left him at the door of his domain. He should still be there, unless he has decided to visit family?”

    Sparring one last look at the determined soul trying to get an audience with Miriam no matter the futility of entering the sealed Palace of the Sun, you and Melissan head to Korram’s residence. Although everything looks fine from the outside, there is no answer when you call out. It is possible that Korram is merely not home, but the barest whiff of sulfur in the air makes you uneasy. Opening the front door to investigate further, you find your worst suspicions revealed as the interior of the house has been trashed – there was some sort of fight here. A bad one, given that a hole has been kicked in one of the walls.

    “. . . They got him.”

    Melissan whispered, and after looking around a bit longer, it is clear that there is nothing you can do here. So you go back to your own violated domain instead, finding only Seymour waiting for you. At least your faithful hound was still here . . . cold comfort given what had happened to the rest of your family.

    (You are welcome to proceed to the next morning’s speech, unless you have any other business to take care of in the Heavens.)

    The Hells

    The Mire of Desolation

    Archpaladin Zousha

    She is just about to shout out a warning when you start whispering to her. To your relief, your words give her enough pause to close her mouth with a befuddled expression. She reaches up and tugs at a lock of her hair with a frown.

    “I . . . I don’t.”

    The woman whispers back finally, her shoulders slumping at her next admission.

    “I don’t know what is true anymore. I . . . you seem familiar – have we met before now?”

    Looking around for a safe place to talk, your eyes fall onto the crumbling doorway that you passed on your way to the confessionals. Beckoning the woman to follow, you retreat back to that doorway and slip inside. Beyond the crumbling doorway is a crumbling hallway, holes in the wall allowing the murky light of this place to filter in and light it enough to see. From the looks of it, you should indeed be able to follow this wall until you come to a set of stairs, which would leap you up onto the wall’s ramparts. For now, you merely waited just inside the door out of sight of anyone outside, and a moment later the woman joins you.

    “Who are you? Why are you here!?”

    The woman presses, glimpsing back out at the courtyard as it erupts into a subdued chaos, Hondshioh’s Hellgarde spreading out to search for the promised intruder. The woman shakes her head and looks down at her feet awkwardly.

    “More importantly, why are you trying to help me? I failed, I’m one of the damned now . . . I’m not worth saving.”

    Although it had faded as you got up to the manor, you begin to hear that familiar sound of the violin again. Perhaps it had always been there and you had merely grown used to its omnipresence, but hearing it now only underlines the fact that this woman was being hideously manipulated by this place – indeed, most likely all of the paladins were under some sort of spell. Perhaps they all believed that they were beyond saving, and with the fiends’ encouragement willingly gave in to evil. Was that the case for their leader, Hondshioh as well? There was something about him, some inner sense that you couldn’t explain, that doubted it. There was something about his smile, his tone, as if he were the only one who understood the joke, and was laughing at everyone else inside his own mind. How he knew that you were even here without seeing you (otherwise things would be going much differently right now), you can’t explain.

    Assuming you could convince the woman to come with you, perhaps it was time to try and find Volesin and Katrina again, and see what they have learned. There had to be some way to break the fiends’ hold over these paladins, at least the ones that given the opportunity, would still want to be saved. At the very least, perhaps if you could stop that damn music, no one else would come wandering in from the swamp to hand over their soul and join the Hellgarde!

    The Black General’s Citadel

    Iethloc

    You deal with the squad of devils easily, skewering them with a volley of icicles. As each of their heads are crushed in turn, their melt away into ash. They would inevitably be back, their bodies reforming somewhere else, but if you have any luck that won’t be for some time yet. Picking up the keystone at your suggestion, Xerxes moves on quickly into the fortress proper. The “fortress proper”, in this case, being the very next room which has a teleportation circle inscribed into the floor. As Xerxes holds the keystone up over the circle, it glows brightly, indicating that it is ready to be activated.

    “This should take us up into one wing of the fortress itself. Unfortunately while I believe it is the wing closest to the prison, most of the fortress is just one big maze of teleportation circles – each keyed to its own unique keystone.”

    Looking at this particular teleportation circle and sorting out the magics that make it possible, you can discern no particularly flashy traps attached to it. However, the magic of the teleportation circles work by linking two separate teleportation circles together – although you are able to discern a rough location in relation to your own due to the teleportation coordinates, you don’t get much more than that – they aren’t labeled nor can you sense what’s waiting on the other side. You also note that this circle is linked to two different locations – one for if it’s activated with the right keystone, and one for if it is not. You can only assume that unauthorized visitors are teleported to somewhere unpleasant in a chamber beneath the citadel.

    Stepping into the active teleportation circle, you, Xerxes, and Incom all reappear atop a rampart wall. Looking down on one side, there is a wind-swept plain, all bare rocks and rust-colored sand. You think you can just barely make out the shattered remains of the Gastly Truth jutting up from the horizon. On the other side of the rampart is a vast swamp, most of it obscured by a thick mist. Carried to you by the wind, you can just barely hear what sounds like a violin being played somewhere down there. You are currently standing in the shadow of a tower, and so for the moment you have not been noticed yet. Xerxes points at the heavy iron door leading into the tower, which is adorned with a carving of devils bursting up from below the earth to devour a human village.

    “At the top of that tower is another teleportation circle, and I believe someone who holds the keystone to use it. That will take us to a central node that will have multiple teleportation circles – intended for use in redistributing guards along this wall quickly, but it will serve our purposes just as well. If instead we follow the wall heading that way –“

    Xerxes points off to the right, which seems to lead further away from the main structure, towering up in the distance over even this high wall.

    “Before we get to the next tower there will be a small stairway leading down onto a balcony. There is a statue down there that, although it does not look like it, will activate a teleportation circle that will take us to an administrative center. I believe they keep a record of every Ix and their location there – Isabella’s location may be recorded in those records . . . of course, that information may also be nothing more than a misleading lie placed there by the Black General. He is as paranoid as he is cunning, after all. Unfortunately, I’m not sure where the keystone is for that one, nor even if one is needed – it tends to be used only by messengers ferrying orders about the citadel – orders that require a measure of discretion.”

    Xerxes turns around and points along the other half of the wall, heading in a snaking path up to the towering citadel itself. A short distance away instead of a tower, a larger building juts up from the ground, straddling the wall. Even from this distance, you can see a massive pair of gates blocking the way forward.

    “Inside that guardhouse is where the devils take any Ixs caught by the patrols for this section of the wall. There should be a teleportation circle or two leading directly to the citadel’s prison there – of course, I suspect some of those circles lead directly to the interior of a cell . . . not all of these teleportation circles are used by the fiends, because they lead to unpleasant locations – trap teleports, you might say.”

    “Why can’t we just fly over all this and straight up to the top of the citadel? If this Black General is so paranoid about keeping Isabella, he’d have her close to him, right? And aren’t the arrogant bastards always prefer a seat at the top?”

    “Well, you might notice that there’s a fair bit of wind up on the wall here. As I understand it, the winds grow even more fierce the higher up your go – by the time you get to the top where the Black General’s personal quarters are, I’ve heard that it’s a screaming gale – the Chorus of the Damned, they call it. In addition to that, while we’ve gone unnoticed so far, if you’ll look around and then up you should notice that it would not remain that way for very long.”

    Looking up, you can see more squads of winged devils flying on patrol a distance away from the walls, presumably looking for all these Ixs that apparently keep escaping from the incompetent fiends. Or maybe they’re just looking for freshly damned souls – either way. In any event, there are a lot of them, at least several dozen flocking about, and they wouldn’t have far to go in order to return to support the walls. Speaking of the walls, you can now see movement along the ramparts, as well as more atop the nearby buildings and towers – armored devils, most of whom seem to be carrying wicked-looking crossbows.

    “Unless you wish to quickly be fighting the entirety of the Black General’s army, in their own home, we will need to move not only quickly, but very carefully and with great secrecy.”

    Xerxes looks over at you, and presumably the invisible Incom is watching for your decision as well.

    “So, what do you think Sohssal? Do we go up this tower and try to take control of a teleportation node, which should speed our transport throughout the citadel, try to figure out how to activate the messenger circle safely and see if Isabella’s location is recorded in the Ix Archives, or directly assault that gatehouse ahead and enter the prison directly, killing everything that stands in our way?”



    The Mortal Realm

    The Monument of Narle

    Dorizzit

    The camp, while it is set up in a competent recreation of your old camps, is not guarded nearly as effectively. It takes the sentries patrolling the perimeter nearly a full minute to notice you, even with you walking openly towards their camp. Although, given that the two men who rush up to meet you are dressed in patchwork armor and carrying clubs, this is not particularly surprising. These are farmers, not soldiers . . . although your men were the same way once.

    “Halt, stranger! You’re trespassing! This pro . . . prop . . . proper . . . ground belongs to the People’s Army of Narle!”

    The guard who yells out a greeting is cuffed on the back of the head by his associate.

    “Idjit! Told you before, you don’t go saying our name willy-nilly like that! Now, who are ye stranger, and what are you doing out here? Mighty long way from civilization nowadays, out here!”

    (Just going to assume Korram is his usual blunt self, and give his actual name.)

    At your name, the two men’s eyes widen.

    “Oooh! You’re Korram!? The boss talks about you a lot! Any friend of the people of Narle is a friend of ours! Come on in! The boss would love to meet you!”

    From there you are usher into the camp, where it becomes clear to you that the reason for this camp is to salvage arms and armor from the battlefield as you had been doing minutes before. Many of the men wore patchwork armor, dented metal plates sewn together, and wielded rusted, chipped blades pulled out of the wreckage and mud. Most appear to be farmers and laborers like the two guards escorting you, although you can tell there are a few mercenaries in the gathering crowd judging by how those individuals carry themselves. You are escorted all the way to a tent in the center of the camp, and at the shouted fanfare a tall, thin man emerges, the lower half of his face covered in a bandana.

    “Boss! Boss! We found Korram Alstan! This is him, he was just walking right up to our camp like he was lost or something!”

    Their boss was somewhat more skeptical, eyeing you up and down as he circles around you, and finally speaks in short, clipped tones.

    “They said that Korram Alstan died at the battle of Narle. So are you a ghost, or merely an imposter? Or are we expected to believe that you have just managed to dig yourself out of the ruins after all this time?”

    The Seashore

    OverWilliam

    At your words, Nihilus listens impassively, and then his head nods ever so slightly.

    “Very well. I know of a place where she will be safe. But not for long. When I say that the world is doomed, I mean to say that it has been set on a path of destruction that will not take centuries, or decades, or years. Unless the world’s fate is altered, it will be destroyed in a matter of days. It is time for one final lesson!”

    Snapping his arm up and forward, Nihilus lightly touches your forehead, and something leaps across the physical connection, driven deep into your mind. Unlike your fate vision, what you see before you is even sharper, a memory of an event that hasn’t even happened . . . yet.

    You stand upon a barren cracked plane, and yet despite the utter lack of vegetation immense fires burn all around you, throwing massive clouds of choking smoke up into the sky. You do not technically need to breathe anymore, and yet you still find yourself choking and gasping, not for lack of air but before your very life is being sucked out of your body. In the distance, the mountains begin to collapse, caving in on themselves like an ant hill that is being stomped flat. The ground groans and heaves itself apart, bottomless crevices appearing in the distance and racing towards you with horrifying speed. On the howling wind that serves as a world’s death cry, comes a voice that, although it is distorted by the wind and some other, far worse factor, is still recognizable to you. It is the Baron of Gast’s voice.

    “The sacrifice of your meaningless existence is nonetheless appreciated, mortals! Now the slate shall be swept clean, and *my* world shall come into being at last! MY WILL BE DONE!!!”

    There is one last awful, cacophonous explosion, and you feel yourself being hurtled through the air. As all goes dark, you focus all of your rage and despair into a single point, grabbing hold of the destructive energies through sheer force of will and making them your own. Harnessing them, you hurtle yourself through the crumbling existence, using the energy of a world’s death not to save it, but to go back. Back to a time when it may be possible to save it!


    The memory snaps off sharply, as Nihilus pulls his hand back. For a moment the shock of witnessing the world’s absolute destruction leaves you feeling numb, and then it all hits you like a hammer blow. Vomit, scream, cry – these desires and more all hit you at once, and for once Nihilus is silent as he lets you absorb his latest lesson.

    “That is not a trick, or a vision, or some other sort of illusion. That actually happened – I was there, and saw it with my own eyes.”

    For a long moment, Nihilus looks out at the ocean, and up at the night sky and its nigh-infinite stars. He continues, his voice gaining strength and speed as he continues.

    “I have tried to spare you from all this, boy, but it seems Fate has conspired to spit in my eye yet again. I . . . have quite likely failed again. Oh, I suppose with all of my efforts, I could keep the house of cards balanced for another hundred years, maybe two. But the last pieces are starting to fall into place now, and I cannot hold back what is to come forever. So **** it! This broken world that I have failed to fix will not suffer for much longer! Rather than allow it to limp along, I shall allow for only two possible outcomes – either we save the world, or it all comes crashing down in a matter of days! Just as you with Limier, the world shall face its end immediately, a brief period of horror and pain, and then nothing more. Or, somehow, we manage to achieve the impossible, and then your little girl will actually have one of those futures that you saw. But we really do not have much time. Perhaps now you have a keener understanding of why in order to save everyone, you must be willing to sacrifice anyone? The fate of one person, no matter how cruel and unfair, is nothing compared to the fate of the entire world!”

    His rant over, Nihilus seems to collect himself for a moment, and then digs into his cloak, holding up a still-damp cloth pouch.

    “This was the artifact that was hidden at the base of the pillar. I took the liberty of collecting it while you were off saving your newest stray. Now, grab the girl and come – we will take care of her and then be on own way onto your next lesson. We have no further time for navel gazing.”

    Reaching out, Nihilus tears open a portal and steps through it immediately, leaving you to follow. (Just going to assume that you will do so.)

    You come out in the middle of a small village, although judging from the tents and half-finished huts thrown up all over, its population has swelled considerably. Thankfully, no one is out wandering the streets, at least no one sober enough to realize that the sight of two cloaked fiends walking out of a portal with a young girl was not an alcohol-inspired hallucination. With a tilt of his head, Nihilus indicates a small cottage two buildings down a nearby side street.

    “Although the family that lives there now has fairly cramped living quarters, having already taken on some extended family, it will be a nurturing home for your pet.”

    The sight of someone silhouetted against a dimly-lit upstairs window catches your attention, and it takes you a moment to realize that the rhythmic shifting and movements of the silhouette are caused by. The figure up in the window is painting, a sight shockingly familiar to you when you used to visit arguably the first person you helped.

    “Yes.”

    Nihilus breathed in your ear.

    “That is Karami – this is her foster uncle’s house. If you lay the girl in front of the door and knock before running off, they will come find her, and take her in. With a new family, she will at least have some measure of peace before the End comes. Or you could climb up to that window, if you would like to see her.”

    Nihilus claps a hand down onto your shoulder.

    And you are sure that you can control yourself. Although I can’t imagine that young Karami will react well to learning what her hero has become. Perhaps it is best to fade from her memory entirely, and not disturb her further in what little time she too has left.”

    The Woods Outside Silverstream

    Vegna

    “You as well, Mal.”

    Elise says, returning the bow. As she straightens back up, a mischievous smile crosses her face as she looks back in the direction of Master Vork and the others.

    “I was wondering if you would be able to teach me some of your studies under Master Vork, in return for some of mine. I don’t know if he would approve or not, but I’m not particularly happy either to learn that I’ve spent twenty years mastering only one part of Terra style. We can go out to practice whenever we stop for the night. And if anyone catches us, we can simply “confess” that we’re sleeping together. Is that a plan you would support?”

    As you and Elise rejoin the others, you ask Master Vork if he would be accompanying you. The earthen body double thinks for a moment and then nods.

    “Yes. I want to make sure that these people are safe. Once at Luxien, however, I will need to consider whether it would be safer to remain together or split apart. If it was just Terra that we needed to concern ourselves with, I would say that splitting apart is our best option. But the world certainly seems to hold more dangers in it than just one angry former student of mine.”

    With that settled, you help the refugees get ready for the journey, and then set out at first light.

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

    The first two days and nights of travel are, mercifully enough, uneventful. The elves, apparently, have been bloodied enough that they want no further part of you or the refugees. On the third night of travel, however, something rather unexpected happens. You are on watch that evening (and about to go out sparring with Elise if you accepted her offer), when a shimmering portal opens up before you, depositing a cloaked man whose eyes glow like orange coals in the dark.

    “Hello Mal.”

    The mysterious figure says cheerfully, as if you two were old friends.

    “How are things going? I just stopped by to let you know that after you get to Luxien, you’re probably going to be ambushed by Terra. He knows where you are going to be . . . because I told him. I figured since you had mastered the Ultimate Ability or whatever, you could just turn him into a pile of gravel and that would be the end of it rather than this years-long game of hide and seek you’d end up playing otherwise. I don’t have years to wait for your side game for peanuts to come to its inevitable conclusion – I need you in the high-stakes game right now, as it were.”

    Luxien, The Cathedral City

    Kasanip

    “Yes.”

    Ysora says simply in answer to your shocked question. She sighs and her shoulder slumps as she adds, “And now our sister Hephestia is among them. She was . . . overzealous in her efforts to hold humanity accountable for its sins, and so our Lady turned her into a human. I think she was slowly starting to curb her anger, but now I fear her soul is lost forever. Like so many other good souls.”

    Ysora pounds a fist into her other hand with the sound of a thunderclap – if she had hit the stone wall with that blow you suspect it may have broken the wall itself! It was disconcerting to see your sister so distraught and violent, as normally she had been the calmest one among Miriam’s chosen four archangels.

    For a few moments, all attention is on the contents of the strange box, which holds two items of great value to you. A sword and a book . . . gifts oddly reminiscent of your departure from your home. Setting them aside for the moment, you lead your sister over to a bench to sit down. There is no back rest on this bench, merely a carved and decorated stone slab built into the rim of the balcony that someone can sit down on while looking out over the city. With Ysora’s large wings, it is undoubtedly much more comfortable than a human chair would be. She nods at your words, brushing away the half-formed tears and taking a steadying breath.

    “Yes. Our love for our Lady and for humanity is what allows us to make the sacrifices that we must to protect this world. But this is . . . different somehow. It burns, and I fear that rather than strengthen my resolve it has weakened it.”

    Ysora sighs and holds a hand up to her forehead as if embarrassed – and indeed she has reason to be.

    “I actually argued with our Lady because of the unfairness of it all! And when She demanded that I return home to the Heavens, I chose instead to stay and help the humans rebuild! I feel now with the Hells’ attack that it was the right decision, but even so . . . our Lady’s commands are not to be questioned! But I was hurt, and angry, and I . . .”

    Ysora sighs again and shakes her head.

    “Perhaps you have heard of the Baron of Gast, the man who lead the most recent human uprising against our Lady. He was a complete monster, a fiend in human flesh, and he gathered like-minded individuals from all over the world to stand with him. But his son, or at least one of them . . . he was different. He helped me, saved me . . . and while I saw that he had done evil in his past, he seemed truly repentant of it. He said . . . he said that though he was not a good man, I had made him want to be a better one.”

    For a few long moments Ysora again becomes too choked up to speak, but eventually continues.

    “He died in my arms, his soul condemned forever to the Hells for his past actions, his soul too stained to ever be washed clean. But it didn’t have to happen! I could have healed him, saved him as he saved me! But he said no. He wanted to be punished, wanted all of the evil that the Baron had brought forth into this world to be destroyed on that day. He knew that it had to be this way, our Lady knew it had to be this way – why am I the only one who refuses to accept this!?”

    Emotional again, Ysora pushes herself up onto her feet, walking away from you and then turning back nervously.

    “That’s why I’m going along when Ander invades the Hells. I’m going to find him, and bring him back too. It’s . . . it’s an abandonment of every principle that I have believed in, to drag a soul out of the Hells. And yet that is what I am going to do. And if I can’t free his soul or those of our sisters, then I will tear the foundations of the Hells themselves apart! . . . Does that not sound insane?”

    Ysora gives a half-hearted laugh and runs her hands through her hair.

    “If it does, that it still what I feel that I must do. So is this what love does, sister? Strangle reason in favor of madness?”

    One could suppose running out to fight the Herald of Azguloth in your weakened condition was madness. But somehow, you lived to tell the tale, and while you may be different from what you were, you cannot help but feel that your love for them has made you stronger.

    “So what are you going to do now, sister? As soon as Ander returns from the Heavens, we will be headed to Amaranth. And once we have the city secured from the elves, we will likely begin our assault on the Hells. While Amaranth is being secured . . . I’m going to have myself branded with runes that our sister Morganna developed to allow angels to fight within the Hells. Given your . . . unusual nature, I am unsure that you would need such runes, although you may still find the Hells uncomfortable should you come along. Well, more uncomfortable than a mortal would, at least.”
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

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  7. - Top - End - #277
    Troll in the Playground
     
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    Jul 2007

    Default Re: Return to Ironheart IC

    Phaedra
    The_Snark/Lonna

    “Yes.”

    Titania said simply in response to Pyrene’s first question and Mar’s response as to why no one knew Dacian’s motivations. As to the other questions, Titania sighed in response.

    “It was all part of my father’s plan. Though he did not reveal it to me, and I’m not even sure he himself was consciously aware of it, Dacian was sent to find me. And once he had found me, he was to convince me to travel to Ironheart. He left the next day with only a mention that I would be welcome to visit him at Ironheart, and that my secret was safe with him. But the seed had been planted, and so one night after I retired to my chambers, I instead teleported myself to the fortress-prison.”

    Titania smiles sadly and shakes her head.

    “As I said, I was young and foolish then. Dacian was waiting for me, hoping that I would be able to help him keep the Great Seal secure. Of course, his actual intent was the exact opposite, and his hopes were that with my help, we would be able to figure out how to break the Seal. It began –“

    Titania is suddenly interrupted by the sounds of fighting coming from outside the throne room. Frowning, she pushes herself up to her feet and throws the door to the chamber open with a gesture.

    “What is going on out there!?”

    Through the doorway, the occupants can see that Wulfric is now on his feet, and engaged in a frenzied wrestling match with a centaur with a broken nose. Wulfric seems to be gaining the upper hand, at least until the centaur unleashes a blast of magic that hurls Wulfric into the far wall. Still undeterred, Wulfric bounces back immediately, throwing himself at the centaur and managing to swing himself up onto his back.

    “Dariel, stop this immediately! I command it!”

    Titania says, but her demand goes unheeded by either combatant as Wulfric delivers several punches to the back of Dariel’s head and chest, prompting the centaur to dash madly into the throne room. As he nears the throne and the two guests sitting below it, Dariel slides to a sudden halt and twists his lower half, throwing his unwelcome rider off. Wulfric tumbles through the air, predictably enough heading straight for a collision with the seated Mar. As usual, the universe seems to despise the former archangel almost as much as Titania and Istomilo.

    The Past Age

    WhiteKnight777

    At your bold words, Nihilus shrugs.

    “Perhaps you are right, Umber. Perhaps there is a future where strength of character and strength of will shall triumph over the cruel designs of Fate. I am limited to seeing only what has come before, and sifting through the endless maze of what could be. I, personally, have not yet found that future. And for now, we need to focus our attention on the present – or past I suppose, from your perspective.”

    Tearing open a portal back to where you just left, Nihilus beckons you to follow with his other hand and then steps through (I will assume that you follow). As you exit out of the portal, you see Nihilus circled the area where Marialta met her end, cursing skillfully. He indicates the swept-clean spot of rock with his hand.

    “She found what was left of the soul jar and took it with her! Now I’m going to have to go find her – why does everything with Marialta have to be some complicated!?”

    Nihilus stands still for a moment, as if communing with some outside force. After a few moments, he looks back up.

    “Well, isn’t that cute. My shadows have found her – she’s gone to your old friend Zariel. It looks like she wants him to do something about this, but I can’t make out what they’re saying – can’t get close or Shiakti will see me. And considering she already shot one of my shadows in the face, she would most likely recognize me. Judging from their body language, though, Shiakti doesn’t know what to think, and wants Zariel to find out for her. Likely, by sneaking into Kartul’s residence and seeing if he was up to one of his cute attempts at murdering his fellows. There – she’s stalking off, leaving Zariel alone with the remains of the soul flask. Think you could convince your new-old friend to hand them over?”

    (If yes, Nihilus will portal the two of you to nearby Zariel’s position out in one of the hallways where he was just speaking with Shiakti so Umber can try to lie through his teeth to the master assassin again. Considering that Umber did mention an assassin in their first meeting, I suspect he will get a big circumstance modifier to his Diplomacy check. )

    The Mortal Realm

    The City of Amaranth

    Tae

    Lying just inside a nearby alleyway, your muscles twitching uncontrollably and leaving you barely able to move, you dumbly watch your fire consume the alchemist’s shop. It was starting to get dark, but it was far from dark enough that the fading light would not shield you. Already you could hear the panicked cries of “Fire! Fire!” spreading through the nearby streets. When the crowd gathered to put the fire out, someone was bound to see you – it was inevitable. From there, it was a toss-up whether it would be a swift and merciful return to the Hells, followed by an eternity of pain, or imprisonment and more immediate pain. It seemed likely that the guards would want to know how you got up to the mortal realm, even though Malarky, Catbox, and Mouse were likely slaughtering their way through your ticket here. The quicksilver low brought a new thought to your mind – imprisoned and studied. Your body was a mélange of explosive chemicals, something that any alchemist would be thrilled to study, collecting bits off of you as need be. If they gave you any quicksilver as a reward, you might even be thrilled to let them cut you apart over and over again!

    “So this is where you’ve ended up. Crippled by addiction to the point that you’re just going to lie here until someone puts you out of your misery. Or back into your misery, I suppose.”

    A voice observes from above you. As you turn your head to look up towards the rooftops, a cowled and cloaked humanoid figure drops down into the alleyway.

    “I don’t have a lot of time to deal with you, so I’m going to make this simple and quick.”

    The man kneels down beside you and pulls a vial out from his cloak. Even in the fading light the liquid within gleams silver.

    “I’m going to give you a very simple choice. You can either continue on your current path and be a slave to your various urges and everyone else around you. Or, you can choose freedom and become something other than the pathetic mess you are right now. I’m not going to lie to you – neither one is going to be pleasant. But only one of them is going to give you even the slightest control over your own fate.”

    The creature extends both hands to you, one empty, the other cradling the vial of quicksilver in it.

    “Choose.”

    TechnOkami

    Seymour’s mouth twitches a little at the “old man” comment, but he nods and smiles.

    “Apologies. Some druids choose quirky names for themselves – or have them chosen for them in the case of the so-called “Territorial Hermit”. Certainly, despite the occasional . . . disagreement that we’ve had with him, your friend is actually quite respectful. I’ve had dealings with some druids in the past who were much more . . . forceful in advancing their ideology. You don’t get to be my age without knowing how to deal with such people – and how to spot them a mile off. Still, it’s good to see that my instincts aren’t entirely gone yet.”

    At your mention of the Countess Amelia Ashargrin, both Seymour and Bran turn serious. The elderly mage gives a sad nod of his head.

    “Aye, I’ve heard of her, though I’ve never met her personally. Amazed that she’s here – I’d heard about the wedding. Terrible thing to happen to somebody – how’s she coping? I can’t imagine being unable to walk anywhere, although in another few years I might understand that a little too well! Heh, is that what you are for – to carry her around?”

    Despite the attempted joke, Seymour’s face remains sour as he turns to Bran and looks over at the injured merchant. Mumbling to himself, he reaches into the pockets of his robe and pulls out a vial to hand to the boy.

    “If you can get him to drink it, that would be optimal, but otherwise just pour it on the worse of his injuries. He should be fine then, just a little sore.”

    While the young teenager follows his patron’s suggestions, Seymour turns back to you.

    “So how did you get mixed up in this? Bran get in over his head, or did he realize he wasn’t going to be able to carry the man by himself when he saw you walking past?”

    Seymour shakes his head and leans in close to mutter to you.

    “Boy has a big heart – too big really. He’s willing to help anyone in trouble, no questions asked, danger be damned. Luckily he has me as a sponsor so I can give him some tools to work with, but I’m concerned with this war going on he’s going to get in over his head one day. Magic can’t solve everything, and he’s still just a boy. I don’t suppose you could spirit him off into the woods somewhere away from here? Of course, he might run away from you then to go back into the city – not because he disliked the outdoors but because the city is where the people in need are!”

    As Bran begins to administer the potion, he stops momentarily to glance back over his shoulder with a smirk.

    “Are you talking about me, Old Man? Trying to get rid of me already are you?”

    Rather than getting angry, Seymour merely smirks back.

    “Well you’re not only eating me out of house and home, but you’re burning through my spell components as well! And don’t you know it’s rude to listen in on conversations you are not a part of?”

    “I wasn’t – just a guess on my part. You really need a better poker face.”

    “Bah! I can’t help it that you’re a natural at the game! But thanks for giving me something else to add to the list of reasons to get rid of you – taking all of my money whenever we play!”

    It seemed that the two’s spirits could not be so easily suppressed, even by a brutal siege and the mention of a Countess who apparently really had been Crippled . . . until now. Being unable to walk implied some sort of serious injury, either to the back or the legs themselves. The type of injury that most sorts of magic, for all their power, were also powerless to heal. So what exactly had this woman become to regain the ability to walk, as well as gain the new ability of being able to take thrown trees directly to the chest and still be alive?

    daelrog

    At your touch Amelia tensed, but she tolerated the presence of your hand. Neither she nor the militiamen seemed to be put at ease by your jokes, although there were a few laughs from the handful of other patrons present. Leaning in close to the Countess to whisper into her ear, the tang of smoke reaches your nostrils, mingled with the other more pleasant scents of a woman. You manage to catch her eye, and you can see predictably anger – but surprisingly fear as well. Slowly, Amelia let go on her hold on the bard’s jacket, allowing him to roll off the table and dive under it with a whimper. As if a spell had been broken, Amelia shook herself and straightened up.

    “Fine. We’re leaving now – return to your drinks and poor music.”

    Amelia hissed, and then turned and walked directly for the door, not looking at you but clearly expecting you to follow. As she goes, she briefly turns to look at the fire burning merrily in its fireplace at one corner of the tavern floor. With a gesture, she extinguishes that fire by sucking all of the flames out of it, leaving them to swirl around her like a corona as she walks out the tavern. By the time you reach the door she’s already halfway down the street, having broken into a run as soon as she was outside. You follow her and manage to catch a glimpse of her ducking into a dark alleyway – if there are any bums or vagrants lying in wait there, you hope for their sake that they immediately flee. You arrive at the mouth of the alleyway at the same time as the Countess finishes retching, wiping her mouth with the back of one shaking hand.

    “Thank you.”

    She rasps, leaning back against the dirty wall of the alley for support. As she rests up against the wall, she moves out of the alleyway’s shadow a little bit, allowing you to see that her dress is now fully repaired – the work of the fire from the fireplace, perhaps?

    “If you hadn’t . . . I would have . . . I wanted to . . .”

    Amelia looks down at her hands, conjuring a spark of flame from the tips of her fingers, one at a time, first one hand and then the other. Finally, she continues.

    “Korram had power like this. He could summon fire, and heal from injuries. And yet he remained a good and noble man, despite the fact that he had to have been tempted to be otherwise, as that . . . song suggested! This power . . . it is so intoxicating, and despite myself I find ways to put it to ill-use. And that, perhaps, is the most important reason I need you nearby Alons – so that I can have someone to tell me when I go too far.”

    Amelia hangs her head.

    “I wish Korram was here to help me, to explain how to use this power responsibly – but I will have to learn it on my own. That bard was right about that, at least – Korram died at the Battle of Narle, fighting to put an end to the Baron of Gast’s evil. But what he didn’t detail was that wedding he crashed was mine. And Korram didn’t come to kill the Baron, he came to rescue me – as he had in Ironheart before that! If there was any song to detail monstrous deeds, it should be about my late bastard husband!”

    Amelia clenches her hands into fists, immediately extinguishing the flames dancing on her fingers. For a moment it seems as if she is going to lash out again, but then she simply relaxes and looks up at you.

    “So – my dress has been returned to appreciable condition, and we still have an hour or so before our dinner engagement. Was there anything that you wanted to do in the city, Alons?”

    GuyFawkes

    At your questions, Galadren is silent for several long moments. Though he tries to keep his face carefully neutral, you can see the conflicting emotions there with every twitch and tic. Finally, he shakes his head as his shoulders slump ever so slightly.

    “King Teareal has decreed that all humans must die or be made to serve us as slaves. It is the only way that our people will ever be able to survive. There are many who agree with him, and say we have stayed our hand and tolerated the humans’ dominion long enough.”

    Galadren purposefully avoids mentioning where he stands, but the pause at the end of that declaration is enough to suggest that he is one of the unmentioned minority who disagree.

    “And even if peace were to be decreed tomorrow, can you make any earnest statements that your fellow humans would not seek to avenge those already slain? This is Sla’Narii – Death War, where in order for one side to live, the other must die. I am sure you can see why then I desire to win.”

    Those elves that could understand the human tongue laughed at the joke, though Galadren did not even smile. Indeed, he lowered his voice for the next statement.

    “I am a soldier, sworn to follow the commands of my King and to protect my people against any threat. Your people started this war when you kidnapped our King and his beloved during a mission of peaceful negotiation. The only thing that I am permitted to do now is to give you as swift of a death as possible with my current resources.”

    It looked like Galadren was about to say more, but he is interrupted by the gathered crowd of elves suddenly falling to their knees, with a group of them parting to leave open a large gap of open ground. A gap through which strode a man that seemed to be perpetually on-fire – though it could barely be called a man anymore, and more like a charred skeleton. With the creature spoke, it was with the crackling voice of a roaring fire.

    “GALADREN! WHY ARE YOUR SERVANTS NOT READY TO MOVE OUT!? MINE DEMAND TO TASTE THE FILTH-RIDDEN BONES OF THAT CITY – NOW!!!”

    For just the briefest moment, despite his self-control a flicker of anger and disgust flashes across Galadren’s face.

    “My men are working as fast as they can, Lord Infernas. We should be ready to move out on the morrow.”

    “IS THAT THE BEST THESE PATHETIC MEAT PUPPETS CAN DO!!? BAH, I AM LOSING PATIENCE, ELF! PRAY THAT I DO NOT DECIDE MY DESIRE TO HEAR THE SIZZLE OF BURNING FLESH IS GREATER THAN YOUR USEFULNESS!!”

    This monstrous thing was evidentially the “real” leader of the siege on Amaranth, or at least thought that it was. Although you have somewhat limited knowledge of elemental beings, you would guess that this creature was one of the Lords of the Inferno – one of the seven greatest fire elementals in existence. Also, this one was likely the most hostile of the Lords towards humanity – which explained why it was working with the elves.

    Barely sparing you a glance, Infernas turns and stomps off, throwing its skeletal arms into the air with a blast of fire.

    “AND STOP WASTING TIME PLAYING WITH THIS MORTAL AND KILL IT!”

    It appeared that short of convincing their King to renounce this war, there could be no peace between humans and elves. Senseless and stupid as always – would mortals never learn to confront their true enemies? Galadren turns back to you with a sigh.

    “I am afraid that we have nothing further to discuss. Lord Infernas is right, there are other important matters that require my attention. I will, however, do you the mercy of choosing how you wish to die, rather than meeting your end as one of our sacrifices.”
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

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  8. - Top - End - #278
    Titan in the Playground
     
    Archpaladin Zousha's Avatar

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    Nobody
    She is just about to shout out a warning when you start whispering to her. To your relief, your words give her enough pause to close her mouth with a befuddled expression. She reaches up and tugs at a lock of her hair with a frown.

    “I . . . I don’t.”

    The woman whispers back finally, her shoulders slumping at her next admission.

    “I don’t know what is true anymore. I . . . you seem familiar – have we met before now?”
    "Not here, not now. Someplace quiet, someplace secret."
    Looking around for a safe place to talk, your eyes fall onto the crumbling doorway that you passed on your way to the confessionals. Beckoning the woman to follow, you retreat back to that doorway and slip inside. Beyond the crumbling doorway is a crumbling hallway, holes in the wall allowing the murky light of this place to filter in and light it enough to see. From the looks of it, you should indeed be able to follow this wall until you come to a set of stairs, which would leap you up onto the wall’s ramparts. For now, you merely waited just inside the door out of sight of anyone outside, and a moment later the woman joins you.

    “Who are you? Why are you here!?”
    "Who am I? I wish I knew. I awoke in this place just as you did, though it seems you fared better than I. At least you remember who you are. I do not know my own name or whether I am alive or dead. All I do know is why I came here. I followed you. You were struggling and suffering, and I wanted to help you.
    The woman presses, glimpsing back out at the courtyard as it erupts into a subdued chaos, Hondshioh’s Hellgarde spreading out to search for the promised intruder. The woman shakes her head and looks down at her feet awkwardly.

    “More importantly, why are you trying to help me? I failed, I’m one of the damned now . . . I’m not worth saving.”
    "What makes you so sure of that? Are these things THEY have told you? Did your Valkyrie tell you this? I know little of where we are, but from what others I have freed have told me, it is a place one can enter by choice or by circumstance. I'm willing to believe you are the latter, dragged her not by your own will but by ill luck or a malicious hand. Who or what have you failed? Surely it cannot be so bad a failure as to turn your back on everything you believed. Are you a paladin? Aren't paladins supposed to be strong and faithful? You're stronger than this Hellgarde claims you are. And there's no such thing as someone not worth saving.
    Although it had faded as you got up to the manor, you begin to hear that familiar sound of the violin again. Perhaps it had always been there and you had merely grown used to its omnipresence, but hearing it now only underlines the fact that this woman was being hideously manipulated by this place – indeed, most likely all of the paladins were under some sort of spell. Perhaps they all believed that they were beyond saving, and with the fiends’ encouragement willingly gave in to evil. Was that the case for their leader, Hondshioh as well? There was something about him, some inner sense that you couldn’t explain, that doubted it. There was something about his smile, his tone, as if he were the only one who understood the joke, and was laughing at everyone else inside his own mind. How he knew that you were even here without seeing you (otherwise things would be going much differently right now), you can’t explain.
    "That music again...I heard it out in the mire where I found you, and it seemed to intensify your despair. You were so lost in sorrow you didn't even notice me when we first met. Perhaps the reason you think you failed isn't true. Perhaps the music is only making you feel that way, and making you more easily persuaded by this Hondshioh? Who is he? I saw him in the courtyard, but something seems wrong about him. I don't know why I felt this way, but his words rang hollow to me. The words of a liar confident the innocent will believe his lies, and that his lies will cause them greater harm than they can imagine."

    He shuddered. That insight had come unbidden, and was gone just as quickly. What seemed so familiar about Hondshioh?
    Assuming you could convince the woman to come with you, perhaps it was time to try and find Volesin and Katrina again, and see what they have learned. There had to be some way to break the fiends’ hold over these paladins, at least the ones that given the opportunity, would still want to be saved. At the very least, perhaps if you could stop that damn music, no one else would come wandering in from the swamp to hand over their soul and join the Hellgarde!
    "Come with me, I have friends outside. We can find this music and stop it. Then maybe things will seem clearer for you. You may call me Nobody, since I don't really have a name to use. What is yours?
    "Reach down into your heart and you'll find many reasons to fight. Survival. Honor. Glory. But what about those who feel it's their duty to protect the innocent? There you'll find a warrior savage enough to match any dragon, and in the end, they'll retain what the others won't. Their humanity."

  9. - Top - End - #279
    Ettin in the Playground
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    Rosenberg

    The young Druid's mouth had a slight smirk of amusement when he asked about his involvement with the boy.

    "A bit of both, I would say. Who is he, anyways? He's obviously some kind of nobility and the guards didn't even seem slightly miffed when they saw him."

    Of course then, the realization that the Countess is more than she seems begins to set in... which answers a lot of questions. But now the questions had been begged; what is the source of her power? What happened to her at a wedding in the past? Just what did he get himself tangled in?

    Well... best not to run around the questions he had, but it would probably be best if the Old Man didn't know that she could walk.

    Rosenberg pulled up a nearby chair, beginning to merge the various items and bits and bobs of what would become his new Druidic Robes. Hopefully he would be able to get it together before the dinner came around, and his true reasons for being here came to light.

    "So, tell me... what happened at this wedding?"
    I've started streaming again.


    78% of DM's started their first campaign in a tavern. If you're one of the 22% that didn't, copy and paste this into your signature.

    I started my first campaign outside of an abandoned mine, just as soon as a meteor storm from the moon hits.

  10. - Top - End - #280
    Troll in the Playground
     
    daelrog's Avatar

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    Alons listened, stone faced as she spoke, not giving any signs to his emotions in part because he did not know what they were. She truly would have killed the man. The woman was fire itself. Beautiful, powerful, fickle. Alons would have to more carefully consider his own tales from now on. Not now though.

    "It is good to know I am useful beyond appearances." He offered no charming smile this time, but chose to lean his own back against the wall to match her. "I think you're as a blind swordsmen. You have a sword to wield, but do not know where you swing. Consider what you want to do with your fires, Amelia, and then do so. Being uncertain will only cause dead singers. Saving the people, stopping evil is not cause in and of itself. I think your Korram knew exactly what he wanted." He relaxed and stretched his arms out, settling them behind his head. Alons move his left leg up, placing the sole of the foot against the wall as well.

    "Until you find that purpose perhaps you should keep your flames for life and death situations only, simply a temporary precaution. In the meantime, enjoy your other new blessings to your heart's content. It's no small feat to save your dress as you have... and I think you above most can find some happiness in a simple walk." She had been crippled once, Alons did not deny now that the nickname Crippled Countess had truth to it.

    "In fact, yes, that is what I want. I wish to walk with you. Perhaps as we walk you can provide me a proper understanding of what has happened in your kingdom, and why Amaranth stands besieged by these Elves. I fear as a recent arrival I am lacking in what should be common knowledge. In return, I can offer you compliments and praise. That is truly a lovely dress by the way."

    In truth Alons wanted to get a better feel for the city, it people, its layout, the conditions. He preferred to see with his own eyes as opposed to hearing reports to the matter. He would try to be aware of his surroundings as they walked, not just as a bodyguard, but as someone who would be present when decisions towards the city's defense were made.
    Last edited by daelrog; 2013-01-26 at 06:52 AM.

  11. - Top - End - #281
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    GuyFawkes's Avatar

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    Lucifuge

    "Important? Hah! You and the humans are all alike. You mortals make me laugh. However, since you have shown me kindness, I shall accord you the same. Not long from now, an ancient darkness shall once again envelop this land, and its claws and fangs shall not distinguish between elf and human. All will die before this wretched evil. Whoever wins this so-called war of yours will not own this land for long. If you are wise as you seem, you shall convince your people to stop this useless war and prepare yourselves instead."

    Lucifuge lowered his head and began mumbling a few words before looking back up. "And my choice is this: no. I shall not die today. And so shall I spare you and your kin. However, if you still decide to march up to the walls of that city, then you and your brethren shall meet your end there."

    As soon as he finished, multiple copies of Lucifuge began appearing out of nowhere and started attacking any elf within their reach. Before the defenders could manage to surmise the nature of the trick, the bound figure of Lucifuge was again mumbling words and suddenly disappeared. Now invisible, the dragon began to dart through the confusion he created and sped through the ashen clearing back into the direction of the woods. While running, Lucifuge created more copies of himself to add to the chaos. He then chanted the same words of power he had uttered earlier and suddenly he was covering ground twice as fast.

    Reaching the forest, Lucifuge did not slow down. He made his way through the trees using his uncanny agility and senses. He doubted the elves nor the elementals would try to pursue him and risk losing time for their advance, but he did not even bother to look back to see if they were. He had other things in mind: Aurewlynn had contacted him. He needed to find her, and then report back to the city.

    As fast as his legs and his magic could carry him, the still invisible Lucifuge sped towards the direction where he thought the elf might be waiting for him.

  12. - Top - End - #282
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Korram Alstan

    Korram glances around disdainfully as it takes such a long time to be noticed; the sheer incompetence required is astounding, even with the fact that they were inexperienced. Regardless, he doesn't take any hostile action towards the guards; they were treating him warily, but that was just common sense.

    “Halt, stranger! You’re trespassing! This pro . . . prop . . . proper . . .”

    "It's property, genius."

    “. . . ground belongs to the People’s Army of Narle!”

    Subtract two points for cliche.

    “Idjit! Told you before, you don’t go saying our name willy-nilly like that! Now, who are ye stranger, and what are you doing out here? Mighty long way from civilization nowadays, out here!”

    Korram sighs.

    "My name is Korram Alstan. I'm just...a bit lost."

    Korram is particularly expecting a reaction, but the name provokes an instant response from the two men.

    “Oooh! You’re Korram!? The boss talks about you a lot! Any friend of the people of Narle is a friend of ours! Come on in! The boss would love to meet you!”

    What. How do they know my...ugh. Memo to self: start using an alias.

    As he moves through the camp, Korram keeps a sharp eye out, quickly deducing the camp's purpose. He also makes a note of possible threats, the possibility of violence not escaping him. While Korram is confident he could take out any individual, fighting the whole camp at once would put him at a severe disadvantage. When they finally reach the leader of the camp, Korram instantly recognizes a man far more intelligent and dangerous than his subordinates.

    "I did. It was boring. I came back. I'm not a ghost and I'm definitely not an imposter, despite what everyone seems to think. Besides, since apparently my death is common knowledge down here, who in their right mind would try to impersonate a dead man? That's just stupid."

    The accusation causes Korram to remember his first meeting with "Kris," an somewhat similar experience. The memory brings with it a surge of depression which Korram forces back.

    "Although, if you really care, you might be able to find my old body underneath all the rubble. It will be the one with every bone broken and a giant, scythe-shaped hole in the chest. But that doesn't matter. I'm back, I'm real, and that should say a lot by itself."

    He folds his arms and snorts.

    "But enough about me. What's this 'People's Army of Narle?'"
    Last edited by Dorizzit; 2013-01-22 at 11:17 PM.
    Truly awesome Ark Tamaeus avatar by Bryn. Full size version here.

  13. - Top - End - #283
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    OverWilliam's Avatar

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    ~Tamerlane

    "I'm going to need for you to stop doing that at some point," Tamerlane growled after Nihlus hijacked his sight once more. Then a question occurred to him. "Are you able to do that because I have this Sight already, or could you show anyone such things, if you needed to? Is there a way for me to learn the same skill?" Possibilities were already arising in his mind.

    ~~~

    Tamerlane stared up at the window above him, an inhuman stillness suffusing his body. At length, he blinked. "...No. I have to do what is best for her. She should not see me this way." The simple truth was self-evident, but even so it caused a cold lump in his gut. Tamerlane pushed it away. "...This is a good place for the girl. You have guided me wisely."

    Tamerlane walked slowly, as though in a dream, to the stoop of the house-- no, it was more than a house, to the stoop of the Home. He lowered the girl to sit against a wall and used one hand to brush the hair out of her eyes. He contemplated for a moment, then put touched her forehead, right where Nihlus had touched his own moments before. He reached out through the physical connection, seeking to make only the slightest connection through it to the girl's spirit, perhaps to her dreams.

    "I am sorry, little one, for what has happened to you. Your village has burned, and you are the only one that escaped alive. I brought you here so that you will be safe. The people here will take care of you. When they ask how you came here, remember this and tell it to them:

    'A weed amidst the wheat;
    A pain by love disguised;
    The serpent hates its fangs;
    The fiend regrets his lies.

    Know you my name?'"


    Tamerlane broke the connection and stood up. With a bare gesture of power he dropped a veil of energy across himself and disappeared from sight. Once he had done so, he knocked three times on the door before him, turned, and walked away.

    "Thank you for being patient with me." He said to Nihlus. Behind him, the door opened and light spilled out. Tamerlane nodded to himself. "Ok. I'm finished now. Let's go."
    Deo Soli Sit Semper Gloria

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    Its offical. Overwilliam is Duke Devlin.

  14. - Top - End - #284
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Kasanip's Avatar

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    Lukina

    Lukina turned away and covered her face with her hand for a minute.
    "Hephestia..."
    The memory was clouded, but she could see the hopeful, admiring face, the eagerness and enthusiasm. "Hephestia was turned to a human, and then taken..."
    The terrible feeling of losing a sister was nauseous, to combine with a small feeling of hope. If Miriam could turn Hephestia to human, then...
    But the horror was strong now.

    Lukina sighed and looked at her reflection in her sword Exshia. The reflection was more confident than her feeling somehow. It was hard to comprehend. How was she supposed to comfort Ysora?

    "Wait, Sir Anders is going to the Heavens? Ah... I was planning on going there, to see Lady Miriam. To find out why I am like this, and what I'm supposed to do." Lukina uncomfortably shrugged. She stood up and paced, as the agonizing decision went.
    Should she go to the heavens like she had been planning, and had asked the council to help her to do and leave Ysora to go with the Paladins into the hells?
    Or should she go with them? Without her recovered strength, could she fight there?

    "I don't know anything about runes. Or if I did, I don't remember. I don't know what it means, except that you will be going into great danger. Of course you know that." Lukina stopped and returned to Ysora. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
    "I sacrificed everything for love. For love of our lady, for love of my children and one who loved me. I see my death in my dreams. I can see the hopeless battle I fought. Again and again, I can see that nightmare. Did I fail to save them? Did I succeed?

    I... want you to think about this, because it is not different. Fortune was with me... a little. I lost everything. I'm... not the same as I was before. But I succeeded. I succeeded and lost everything. Dacian and Elandra survived, and I know now that Azguloth was defeated. So, my sacrifice was worth it, I believe that. I could protect the world, and that was something precious. But it is in danger again.
    I awoke...or revived.... however it was, it is for some role soon. My sacrifice before... it wasn't meaningless. But I want to make sure that it still has meaning. Ysora, please listen.
    If you bring him back, this man, whose soul was punished forever to hells for his past actions... If you bring him out of hells, if you succeed completely, like I did to save my loved ones, he will be human. Won't he?"
    Lukina sighed. "When he dies again, won't he return to the hells? Will you rescue him again? If you find him in hells, will you have to choose between your sisters and him?"
    She stopped.



    (If it isn't convincing, then to continue )
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    "Love does strange things to us. But it is precious. It makes us stronger. I don't think I could stop you now, sister. If you are going." Lukina looked up and looked into Ysora's eyes. "Let us go then. I will go and speak to our lady, while you go and open the gates of Hell. Both of us have some purpose that is important. When you are there, rescue our sisters and Hephestia, and your love.
    But you must live to come back."


    Lukina stopped.
    "But, I don't know how to get to Heaven." She said with embarrassment.


    ooc: I'm not happy with this post. I'm relieved it was written,
    Kasanip's Sketchbook 2 Thread
    It is difficult to speak English, please excuse mistakes kindly m(_ _)m

  15. - Top - End - #285
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    WhiteKnight777's Avatar

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    Umber

    Umber gave Nihilus a half-smile. He didn't expect to convince the man - not at all at once, anyway. Umber was intimately familiar with how long it took for a man to change. And perhaps that was the one silver lining to this whole mind-bending trip: A sense of perspective. He'd forgotten so much about these brutal, bloody days. No, not forgotten, but reshaped it within his mind. But then, that was always the story, wasn't it? The past was bent and broken and beaten until it fit the shape that the present required to determine the future. Still, somebody had to keep Umber honest, and the list of potential candidates was growing thinner by the hour.

    And speaking of things growing thin... "Yes, send me through. I'll have a word with the Angel of Death. Fortunately, the conversation I had with him earlier should actually make things a little easier." Umber paused, before adding "he said, before everything went terribly awry. Send me onwards, and I'll see if we can't gather up the last little pieces of the old girl." Umber shook his head. "I always knew Marialta giving up her fortune would end in tears."
    Last edited by WhiteKnight777; 2013-01-27 at 01:07 AM.

  16. - Top - End - #286
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    The Hells

    The Mire of Desolation

    Archpaladin Zousha

    The woman listens to your answers intently, silently looking back out into the courtyard from time to time. She seems to still be conflicted, but reflexively nods at your words. At your question of her name, the paladin’s head snaps back around.

    “Len . . . Lenora. Lenora Sunhilt.”

    Lenora looks down at her feet and sighs.

    “Forgive me. You seem to be in an even worse situation than I am, given that you seem to have lost your memories too! I have been . . . selfish in my despair. I . . . I am still not sure what I can do to help you, but I will do whatever I can.”

    Lenora brushes her tangled hair out of her face and rubs at her temples.

    “I have a bad headache now. I can’t really remember how I got here – the last thing I can recall is falling off an airship, dark shapes moving towards me.”

    Lenora shivers and looks at you again.

    “But I dimly remember a voice, calling me, telling me not to give up. That . . . that was you?”

    Lenora straightens and looks back out through the crumbling doorway. Several Hellgarde were much closer now, and one of them is pointing out the doorway to his comrades, clearly suggesting that they should go check your hiding place out.

    “We need to get out of here now.”

    Lenora observes, and in agreement you make your way deeper into the ruins, going up the stairs and up onto the battlements. This time, instead of you following your new friend into further danger, she follows you to temporary safety. It seems likely that the Hellgarde will notice the stairway and move up it to investigate as well, so you will need to keep moving.

    That may be difficult as you reach the ramparts and look around to find yourself and Lenora completely exposed up here. There is a long stretch of open wall leading back towards the gate, which ends in a sheltered platform that overlooks the gate. With a running start you may be able to clear the gap that the gate creates in the wall and land on the other side’s platform, but there is no way you won’t be spotted doing so. The other way seems to lead towards the manor itself, but before getting to the manor itself a tower blocks the way. A door leads into the tower, and presumably inside the tower is another door leading into the manor. The tower’s door, however, looks to be quite intact, which given the poor condition of the rest of the manor is somewhat surprising. While it still doesn’t look sturdy enough to withstand more than a few blows (you are apparently quite strong), those blows will still take time and create a lot of noise.

    That concern thankfully turns out to not be a problem after all, as the door creaks open and you see Katrina peek out from the interior. Seeing you and Lenora, she shoulders the door to halfway open and beckons for you.

    “Hey! You found your girl, or whatever from the swamp! Maybe our luck is actually starting to change for once!”

    You hear the sounds of metal boots stomping up the stairs, and hear someone call out a warning below. Katrina hears it too, and grimaces as she moves aside for you and Lenora to squeeze through the gap between the partially open door and the stone doorframe.

    “Guess not. Of course we’re still screwed!”

    Once inside the tower, Katrina struggles to pull the door shut again, which should slow your pursuers down a bit. They might even see the closed door and assume no one could have opened it. Putting further distance between yourselves and the Hellgarde was probably a wise idea nonetheless.

    “Volesin was scouting out a route ahead into the manor itself. I stayed behind when I heard some blowhard giving a speech. Wasn’t able to get up onto the roof of this tower to check it out, so I peeked out that door instead – you had perfect timing there.”

    Katrina nods at another door on the far side of the tower’s interior.

    “Volesin went through that door. I think there’s an open section of ramparts still before you enter the manor – if we move now those guys following you might see us. Who are they, anyway?”

    Katrina is answered by a pounding on the door – the Hellgarde have reached the tower and are clearly planning on coming inside to investigate.

    “We need to hide!”

    Lenora hisses, looking around at the piles of rubble, and then at the crumbling staircase spiraling up part way up the wall before the entire wall crumbles away, leaving a gaping hole looking out onto the clouded sky. There were a few spots where you might be able to hide, if the Hellgarde weren’t especially thorough in their search.

    “We should kick their asses!”

    Katrina hisses back, a dangerous proposition considering that they were wearing armor and likely had weapons, and none of you currently had anything more than a rock picked up from the floor. You could also try fleeing into the manor and meeting up with Volesin, even though that carried the risk that these Hellgarde would see you out on the wall between the tower and the manor. If you timed it right such that you left the tower as they were coming in, however, that might better your chances of remaining just a glimpse of something that they saw, easily explained away as a trick of the light rather than the actual intruder they are looking for. You may also be able to talk them down and convince them to join you, although given that they have fully joined the Hellgarde, they may be too far gone to convince with just words.

    The Mortal Realm

    The Monument of Narle

    Dorizzit

    The army’s leader looks you up and down critically, and then inclines his head ever so slightly.

    “Fair enough. For now I will believe you are in fact the legend given flesh once more. Please, let’s discuss further matters in private.”

    The man indicates the tent behind him, and the guards step back to allow you a clear path inside. The crowd of peasant-militia that has gathered begins to disperse as you and your new host walk into the tent. The man gestures to a set of collapsible chairs sitting next to a stand, and then waves with his other hand at a small collection of bottles in one corner of the tent.

    “Feel free to grab yourself a drink if you wish. I suspect that you and I have much to discuss. You may call me Liberator, as that is the name that I go by. I am determined not to repeat your mistakes, though I have learned much from the lessons you offered.”

    Liberator seats himself in one of the chairs and gestures to the other one, watching you closely.

    “Your greatest mistake, however, if I may offer an opinion, was that you never thought big enough. Your concern was solely for the Baron of Gast – a worthy target, but hardly the only one deserving of your wrath. Every single other noble was complacent in his evil because had they willed it, he would have been stopped long before our capital was obliterated! And the Baron of Gast is not the only one capable of committing evil – many of their hands are stained with blood. Thus, it is my intention to awaken the people of Narle to the slavery they have all been subjected to, and show them that there is only one proper response – revolution!”

    Liberator is silent for a moment, and then makes a decision.

    “Since you are here, I was hoping that you would be willing to help train these men accustomed to working farm fields into soldiers. You have, after all, done this before, and most effectively. In return, perhaps I could aid you in whatever mission you are now on, now that the Baron of Gast is finally dead.”

    The Seashore

    OverWilliam

    “Yes, and perhaps. It is not an easy skill to master, but I learned it from another with sufficient study and determination. I see no reason why you would be unable to do the same. I would caution you, however, that it’s more of a . . . swap than an implantation of memories. As you saw what I experienced at the end, so too did I see what you experienced. Heh, so even once you have the ability, you will need to be aware of when the memories you are exchanging occurred, or else you may see something in that other person’s past that you did not wish to see – or do, if you are a voyeur.”

    Nihilus chuckled a moment, and then concluded his latest lesson.

    “But this ability is something we should have you focus on learning after you’ve developed the key ones.”

    As you explain your decision and begin carrying the girl quietly to the door, Nihilus whispers back after a long pause, his tone thoughtful.

    “Yes, that is the wisest decision. The path we must walk is a harsh one, and nurturing connections with others only grants a vulnerability that can hold our hand back from what must be done. In order to save everyone, you must be willing to sacrifice anyone.”

    In silence now, Nihilus watches you creep the rest of the way to the door, impart one final thought into the girl’s mind, and then render yourself invisible and knock. As the door begins to open, you retreat back into the darkness, unnoticed as a cry of confusion comes from the doorway. Rejoining with your new mentor, Nihilus nods his cowled head at your gratitude.

    “I am a fiend, but I am not a monster. I am only as heartless as the world needs me to be in order to save it. In the end, the girl’s fate is meaningless to the greater resolution of the world’s fate.”

    Nihilus looks back at the portal of light shining forth from the home, and the silhouettes moving out of the light to carefully pick up the girl and carry her into their home.

    “But her fate means everything to her.”

    Turning away, Nihilus opens up another portal.

    “Yes, it is time for your next lesson.”

    Following him through the portal, you find yourself stepping out onto the roof of a building. Looking around, you see that you are on top of a chapel, looking down on a large city. It is still night, thankfully, and so no one will see you unless you stand up and silhouette yourself against the stars. Nihilus walks over to the edge of the roof and gestures down at the city, apparently unconcerned about being noticed.

    “Welcome to the city of Amaranth! It is currently under siege by the elves, and thus there is a curfew of sorts at night. Generally, the streets should be deserted except for the occasional patrol of guards, which should be perfect for you. Buried beneath one of the cobblestones somewhere in this city is a pouch similar to the one that I retrieved for you from the ocean pillar. You have until dawn to find it, since by dawn the city will be coming awake again and you will no longer have the streets largely to yourself. I suggest you get to work, and be quick about it.”

    (Yes, now I’m just being pedantic about the whole “letting you see another PC” thing. It’s funny! )

    Luxien, The Cathedral City

    Kasanip

    As you press Ysora on the results of bringing her would-be love out of the Hells, her face and shoulders fall. As a comforting reflex, she hunches her shoulders and brings her wings around to wrap around herself.

    “No. Once a soul has passed into the afterlife, its fate is set. Although I am unsure what happens to a mortal soul’s new body when it is brought to the mortal plane for any significant length of time, when he dies again he will return to the Hells. The same will happen to anyone who dies in the Hells, including our sisters – just or not, they will all be forever damned if they die, and so we can only hope in the sadism of the fiends to keep them alive for as long as possible to make any rescue of our sisters meaningful!”

    Ysora sighs.

    “But what else can I do but abandon everyone I love to an eternity of torment? My sisters, this human that I have developed feelings for . . . I, I just can’t accept that I will never see any of them ever again. And so I will risk my own soul on a quest that can have no other possible outcome but futility. I am afraid, my dear sister, that unlike you, rather than strengthening me “Love” has destroyed me. And you raise a valid point – the worst danger in the Hells is being broken and turned into one of them. I . . . I do not know if I will be able to raise my sword against him should he have become an irredeemable fiend himself!”

    Ysora seems truly depressed at that thought, but perks up briefly when you mention traveling to the Heavens.

    “If you wish to go to the Heavens, I can create a portal for you. You could also ask Ander if he would allow you to come with him via the ritual that he will be performing tomorrow morning. But if you are ready to go now, I see little reason to wait.”

    Straightening, Ysora stands up and brushes the silent tears off of her face.

    “I should warn you, however, that I have heard that our Lady has sealed the Palace of the Sun. You will not be able to see Her if that is the case . . . although, I can only hope that your unexpected arrival will convince Her to open the Palace for you at least! You have been thought lost for a very long time . . . so perhaps everything is not as hopeless as it appears right now. I am sure that our Lady would be pleased to be reunited with you, and I suspect that She could also use some uplifting news right now.”

    Ysora seems about ready to say something else, but suddenly she freezes, her movements slowed to the point that even a blink is a process that you can watch occur over a number of seconds. The sounds of the city below you, although irregular (guards whistling, passerby greeting each other, etc) had been present until just now, so it wasn’t just Ysora that was affected. A few moments later, and as if from thin air a cloaked and cowled figure suddenly appeared on the balcony. His orange-colored irises flick over to Ysora, and then over to you. You can tell that this creature is a fiend, although it holds up its gloved hands in a gesture of peace.

    “Hello Genevieve. I was wondering if I could call in part of my debt now, since you seem to be heading up to the Heavens. I need you to do something for me.”

    You suddenly remember that a very similar figure had appeared in your latest rendition of the recurring nightmare of your death. Your surroundings had similarly slowed down to a crawl just before his arrival, and that had been the only thing that spared you from the Herald of Azguloth’s deathblow . . . momentarily, at least. That was not proof that you owed this creature anything, however, and even if you did owe your resurrection to him, whatever he wanted in exchange could not possibly be good . . . could it?

    The Past Age

    WhiteKnight777

    “If the story continues long enough, it always ends in tragedy.”

    Nihilus says, agreeing with your assessment of Marialta’s fate. The would-be master manipulator creates another portal, and you step through, finding yourself in a hallway just down from where Shiakti and Zariel had been meeting. From somewhere behind you, Nihilus’s voice whispers to you.

    “Assuming Shiakti is no longer present, I will follow along after you invisible to both you and Zariel. Should anything go “terribly awry” as you suggest, I will be sure to bend events back to – well, whatever word you would like to use to describe the opposite of awry.”

    Coming around the corner, you nearly run into Zariel as your former ally is walking at a brisk but distracted pace away from his meeting with Shiakti. Cradled in his hands are the shattered pieces of Kartul’s soul jar. Thankfully, the nimble assassin does not drop any of the shards onto the floor, which would have complicated your issue multiplicatively. Having his hands full at the moment also prevent the assassin from getting violent with you, which from the look he gives you, had certainly crossed his mind.

    “You! What are you DOING HERE!? I TOLD you to leave, lest you kill us both!”

    Zariel hisses a moment after he has regained his composure. Then, making your job easier, he holds up the pieces of Marialta’s soul to you.

    “Is this the work of your assassin!?”

    (As a note, after this plot point we’re going to be moving towards getting Umber back into the present. So if there’s anything else left that you would like to explore with his past – or things you want Umber to try to change, Nihilus be damned – now would be the time to let me know. )

    The Mortal Realm

    The City of Amaranth

    TechnOkami

    “His name is Bran, as I imagine he told you already.”

    Seymour quietly explained while the boy continued to tend the merchant’s wounds.

    “I’m not sure where he actually comes from, except that when he was a child his family was killed and he ended up in Ironheart. If you looked at his bare right arm, you would see the numbers burned there that would identify him as a former prisoner there. Normally that would mean he’d be either imprisoned or killed on-sight by the guards, but with the kingdom falling into shambles and the elves killing every human in sight the guards have more to worry about than an escaped prisoner. Personally, I think he was sent to Ironheart on some bull**** charges anyway, given that he’s only a boy – what could he have done in that time to deserve being sent to a torturous, slow death in that hellhole?”

    Seymour smirks.

    “Of course, him helping to save the city when it was attacked by undead prior to the elves helped elevate him in the eyes of the guards as well. Apparently he was able to use magic before that incident, but now except for wands and ritual work he can’t even conjure up a spark. It’s like all of the magical power has been drained out of his body – damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. Boy says that’s only a good thing, as the level of power he had before that frightened him sometimes. Given his situation, I decided to take him on as an apprentice of sorts, despite his current lack of magical ability. My patronage has also kept him safe from any of the more overzealous guards, although those all tend now to be either dead or busy beating the tar out of random elves and refugees.”

    A shadow crosses over Seymour’s face when you ask about the Countess’s wedding. The elderly mage shakes his head.

    “I wasn’t there, so all I know is heresay, you understand? But I heard that Korram Alstan, the Firebrand himself, crashed the wedding along with a bunch of others. Korram slew the groom, Cheran Gast, personally and then fled with the Countess. At some point during that fracas, the Countess got thrown into a wall and it snapped her spine. She wasn’t able to walk after that, but given the choice between that and being a perfectly healthy wife for Cheran Gast I’d imagine she would take being crippled but a widow every time. That boy was a monster with cruel appetites, the kind you don’t mention in polite company.”

    Seymour looks like he was going to spit on the floor to emphasize his disgust, but upon realizing that he was in his own home thought better of it.

    “Anyway, after that Korram came back for Cheran’s father during the Battle of Narle, and they both disappeared, presumably dragged down into the Hells together. Everything’s only fallen further apart since then, although I understand that Countess Amelia was attempting to use her position among the nobility to get them to embrace some common sense. But none of those idiots that are left with “noble” blood in their veins are willing to follow a crippled woman, so we’re probably all doomed. Elves’ll pick us off, one by one.”

    Seymour shakes his head and forces a smile back onto his face.

    “Or maybe we’ll get our act together and kick them in the ass instead, like we did a couple hundred years ago! But we aren’t going to do it on an empty stomach – speaking of which, I got an invite for me and Bran to go to some dinner that the mayor is hosting tonight. You want to tag along with us? I feel like I owe you at least a decent meal for helping Bran help our injured guest, and a decent meal can be hard to find in this city nowadays.”

    daelrog

    At your last comment, Amelia broke into a brief but sincere laugh, her cheeks flushing a bit as well.

    “Thank you, Alons. I am glad that my efforts to appear attractive were not entirely in vain.”

    Amelia smirks and then pushes off from the wall, starting to walk down the street as you suggest. Her good mood begins to fade again as she continues to speak.

    “I am aware that I cannot inspire loyalty in the same way that a man would be able to. But I must remain hopeful that appearing vibrant and determined will inspire others to do the same. This kingdom faces a great many dangers right now, with the elves only being one of the most pressing. Our just king is dead, and the monster that the nobles raised to replace him is dead as well. And most of the nobles that are left refuse to do anything but bicker amongst themselves. *Someone* has to take control or we are all lost! And regardless of what they say about me . . . I suspect that someone will have to be me.”

    Amelia sighs and shakes her head.

    “You are right that I need to concentrate on what I want, just as you are right about Korram. Ah, but he was so focused on his goal of protecting his daughter and thwarting the Baron of Gast – that’s the same man who we elected to be our new king. I don’t think he even really noticed me outside of someone he felt obligated to save – and I’m fairly certain he would have flubbed telling me how I look in my dress. And yet I still developed feelings for him, and carry them even now, though he is long dead.”

    Amelia glances over at you, and briefly shivers despite the fact that no cold wind is blowing.

    “I suppose poets such as you would say that it is better to have loved and lost than never loved at all. Certainly I will be eternally grateful for meeting Korram, because without him I would likely still be married. Wed to a monster who took great delight in telling me in the days leading up to our wedding, in intricate stomach-churning detail, all of the depravities he would inflict upon me to consummate it. Thanks to Korram, I was widowed five minutes after our marriage was officially pronounced. He was even thoughtful enough to provide me with the opportunity to end it by my own hand. I slit my bastard husband’s throat and plunged a knife into his heart! Perhaps you would like to reconsider our . . . relationship after learning this?”

    Amelia concluded with a chuckle. She looks down at her hands, briefly conjuring a wick of flame into the center of her palm before extinguishing it.

    “Without Korram, I am under no illusions of what would have happened to me – I was not strong enough to resist. And even with his help, my back was broken, and during the Battle of Narle I was captured and branded by the elves, considered by even them as too worthless to kill. I am stronger now.”

    Amelia forces a smile back onto her face and nods as a four-man patrol of militiamen walk past. That was only the second patrol you had come across since walking off with Amelia. This city was much too large for so few men to guard effectively. Furthermore, the streets were open and not barricaded at all, so that anyone could move about freely. Even most of the buildings were unfortified, although you see a few defensible ones here and there. It seems that these people were trusting in the high wall that surrounded the city to defend them. With orcs, no one place could withstand their fury, and so everywhere had to be able to stand on its own once the first line of defense was broken. Here, if the walls failed it would be a slaughter, with the surviving defenders retreating to their handful of fortified locations while leaving the civilians to be slaughtered.

    “As for why this all happened, I’m not sure why the elves have gone mad. I can only assume that the Baron of Gast had something to do with it – he seemed determined to lead as many people to their deaths as possible during the Battle of Narle. The madman summoned the very Hells themselves to rise up and consume our own capital! Pity that the elves did not get dragged there with him.”

    Amelia looks around and then nods to a side street that would take you back the way you came on a parallel course.

    “We should start heading to the mayor’s residence now, I should think. It must be getting close to time for the dinner. While we walk there, would you be willing to satisfy my own curiosity? I would like to hear more about your own lands and customs – I am sure that you face dangers of your own in your homeland. And . . . I think I would like to hear more about your own love. Was she as oblivious to you as Korram was? How did she . . . leave?”

    GuyFawkes

    At your words, Galadren frowns thoughtful and looks away.

    “I cannot. If this darkness is as you claim –“

    Galadren stops as you begin chanting under your breath – the elves seem to have quite sharp hearing.

    “Stop him!”

    Galadren shouts, but his men are too late as copies of you “strike” from the shadows, confusing them and throwing the group surrounding you into disarray as you stand and cast your next trick. You vanish from sight, dashing towards the edge of the clearing. A few moments into your escape, and you summon more clones of yourself, “appearing” from invisibility and running in different directions as arrows erupt from all sides. While the elves are firing blind, the Fey that have taken on mortal bodies seem much better able to sense you. A wall of fire erupts in your path, but you blow through largely unscathed as you enable your speed boosting magic again. You make it to the boundary of the devastation and into the woods beyond without further trouble, and the elves do not pursue. No doubt they believed that even if you got back to Amaranth, one man wouldn’t be able to make a difference in its defense. Having seen the size of the force they were bringing to bear, you have to acknowledge that they might be correct in that claim.

    For now, however, you have another concern – locating and rejoining Aurewylnn. It doesn’t take you very long to find your newest recruit, as she has remained close by to where the scroll teleported her, as you directed. Since you are approaching the small clearing where she was waiting from the opposite side of the city, the ambush that is waiting for you is blatantly obvious. Had you approached from the city, however, the elves may have gotten the drop on you. From the looks of it, while Aurewylnn was standing out in the middle of the clearing as bait, half a dozen elves and two Fey were all hiding in the bushes behind her. You aren’t sure whether Aurewylnn is here willingly or not, but it wouldn’t be very difficult for the elves to put an arrow in her head as easily as yours. The question was whether you simply leave, run in and rescue her, or spring the trap and see what the elves attempt to do to you now.
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

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  17. - Top - End - #287
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    OldWizardGuy

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    The Imp Formerly Known As Incom Morgan posting from beyond the great Beyond

    ...Isabella...

    Once magic scared him. A man of magic stood apart from the normal men, ruling over them, or holding the key positions of power. Yet they typically become overconfident in their abilities, in their standing over there "mere mortals" that populated the lands. Yet Incom knew, and practiced, that they could bleed, they could cry out in pain, they could die. For the overconfident, it was simple and easy. For those smart, wary, and intelligent, it took a lot more.

    Such as his brother.

    Never did Incom think about that the fact that his brother was such a powerful force. Even when he found out, transcended from flesh and blood into a form of metal and death, he didn't think that he could break the bonds.

    Awakening in the hells, a fitting home for his final acts against Isabella, he thought it was over, almost happy that it was over. Then his brother came, and like how thunder follows lightning, the two fought. Running a hand over a healing cut on his torso, a smile emerges as he remembers the screams of pain as his brothers ear was ripped from his head, how he fled in a panic, how he fell into the crevice that collapsed after him. Yet what had most amazed Incom (besides being a imp, at this point being organic was a step in the right direction) was the fact as his brother threw off some kind of magical attack, he instinctively responded with some kind of deflection spell, triggering the collapse of the crevice.

    Yet like a newborn, his control over the power of magic was... imprecise. Mainly it was limited to just what he could affect around his body for the time being, like the invisibility. After all, even with his dim knowledge of the hells, an imp was the lowest of the low (what did that make the mortal souls that wandered into the hells then) and thus he hid, sharing little. The loincloth for one, the sharpened obsidian rock he found, his brothers leathery ear. If only he had some kind of book, or teacher to teach him how to use it to track his brother (is that not what any magic-wielder can do) so that he can continue to induce him to pain.

    Yet that savory lust for vengeance that had him drool overshadowed the burning desire to find Isabella. He had to find her, make sure that she was safe. After all they fell together into these hells aft he found her in the battle. After he.... Found her in the battle.

    Yes, he had to save her. Once she was safe, she could help I'm, figure out how he was an imp, figure out how to find his brother, figure out how to erase him from existence, or repay with considerable interest the pain he inflicted....
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    I'm good at making you fear the unknown. Pwenet is good at making you fear the known, which had been the unknown five minutes before he pushed you off screaming into the abyss.
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    I'm feeling this real hard now.
    Curse you, Pwenet. Curse you.... You had my hopes up there...

  18. - Top - End - #288
    Dwarf in the Playground
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    Mal Harath

    He returns her smile, nodding his head slightly at the idea. He had been practically stunted in his development since Master Vork had "died" and the prospect had him immediately interested.

    "I certainly would. A little more experience will be helpful, especially with Terra at our heels, we'll need all the strength we have. I just hope we can spare Val'Tosh a heart attack if we have to lie."

    **********

    As the portal opens, Mal immediately readies his fists to fight, half expecting Terra himself to charge through. As the stranger speaks, a pit of fear begins to grow in the martial artist's stomach, that this mage would know Master Vork's most covert secret and worse, that Terra was preparing to catch them inside the city. When the flame-eyed man stopped talking, Mal found his own voice had retreated, having to muster his will to reply.

    "How do you know our secret, Mage? What kind of game our your trying to play? These are mine and my friends lives you've risked."

    His voice is hollow, despite trying to seem angry, knowing that he lacked the ultimate technique to fight Terra with. Though it might still rest in Master Vork's earth double.

    Avatar of Mal, thanks to PseudoStraw, my sarcastic and much loved partner.

  19. - Top - End - #289
    Troll in the Playground
     
    daelrog's Avatar

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    Alons listened intently, as much as he was pinpointing all of the obstacles these people had given themselves. So much was wrong with Amaranth’s defenses. The only word he could find to describe the state of the city was desperate.

    When Amelia made her comment towards their relationship, Alons only offered a neutral smile, not willing to give any indicator either way, and certainly not denying it, letting her continue the conversation and leaving that small bit hanging. The other part that particularly interested him was her claim of the very gates of Hell being raise. It was like as not she meant it literally. It could be a clue, one to follow up on later…

    “Fairlyle, a land of rolling hills, lush and green. Mountains tall and capped with snow. Valleys cool and crisp, where one merely has to pluck fruits off the trees to survive… at least in times of peace. Every twenty years or so we get war from the Orcs. It’s a tradition to them, a culture of murder. We learn to fight young, we learn to travel even younger. Transient, jovial, and by your kingdom’s standards a bit on the uncivilized side though we are learning the value of having a more structured society.

    “My red hair’s a common theme amongst us, strawberry blonde, and chestnut too, almost all of us have fire in our crown. Our clothing is much sturdier than your own, but far less pleasant to the eyes. I decided to adopt your people’s attire, but must admit I find it itchy.” He gave his own rump a quick scratch as a playful way to emphasize the point.

    “Your druids seem as outsiders here. Our druids are our spiritual leaders. Though as more castles are raised, their influence diminishes, we have no holy temple, no religion in the sky. Our worship is to the spirits, most of them animals in nature. It’s a bit different from Rosenberg’s brand. Ours is usually less destructive. We use it to understand the land, speak to it. In times of war, we can ask the trees where our enemies our located, how many of them they are. I know a small share myself, but mostly it is of a scholarly nature. That’s what I think you would call it. I have a greater understanding of nature than the ability to actually wield it.”

    He tapped his chin trying to think of more. “I suppose we are festive lot, always with some sort of carnival, or celebration. We drink, we love, we wrestle and jab each other with our elbows to settle disputes. Some would say it is simpler, I would say it just makes more sense.”

    He breathed out, not fully a sigh. He still had the kick in his step this time, though he was somber now. “Larent Snorell was her name, and she knew well my feelings for her. We were young, but we were to wed when the war was over, we do not hold marriages in such times. The Elders knew, our families knew, all knew, and were happy.”

    His eyes were looking forward, but they were seeing the past. “She was fierce in nature. The one man who had pinched her without her permission had a knife buried in his hand, we all had a good laugh at that. She was exceptional with that knife, my friends often jested I had a death wish, for one night she was certain to fight someone in her dreams, and her knife would make short work of me. She was not beautiful as you, or many of the ladies I have come across, but she was easing to look upon. She was… I think I have heard certain women referred to as handsome in your language, I believe that is a good way to describe her. A pleasant look about her.”

    He closed his eyes briefly, the corners of his mouth grimacing. “We did not fight together. Lovers distract one another, we scouted with different groups. Her party ran afoul of the Orcs. There were no survivors. Those that found them… the Orcs are not like your Elves. They are large brutish, and when they kill, they butcher. By the time we were together again she was buried beneath the earth. I killed many an Orc for the rest of the war, but I’ll never know if any were the one that murdered her. Perhaps another slew it, perhaps he died in that very same battle that she fell. Perhaps he will grow old and die a peaceful death.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I do not have anywhere to direct my vengeance, so all I can do is simply live. Live and enjoy life as best I can.”

    He turned and looked Amelia in the eyes, offering her a more genuine smile. “Many of us lose loved ones, what separates one person from the next is what we do after.” He looked around again. “And I fear this city will soon see many more loved ones perish. This city has many weaknesses and too few strengths. I think that perhaps dinner with the mayor will not taste well.” He meant both the food and the conversation.
    Last edited by daelrog; 2013-01-28 at 09:00 AM.

  20. - Top - End - #290
    Troll in the Playground
     
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    Lucifuge

    After finally overcoming the task of finding Aurewlynn, Lucifuge was now beset with another problem. Concealed behind the small figure of the elven woman were figures of elves and Fey, looking poised to pounce. From what he could see, he was almost sure Aurewlynn knew they were there. The question was if she was willingly standing there as bait.

    Curious about the situation, he moved silently to a spot where he could see all players in the play he was about to direct. First, he pulled close the veil on the stage, subtly altering what the ambushers saw, making the trees and Aurewlynn seem to be standing a few feet where they truly were. Next, from stage right, out of the trees and bushes and into full view came in the hero of the story, Noctis, coming in to save the damsel in distress, seemingly unaware of the evil plot that laid in ambush for him.

    "It is I, Noctis," called out the middle-aged human clad in a dilapidated cloak. He stopped a few feet in front of where Aurewlynn supposedly stood. "It is good to see you are unharmed. How did matters at the Fort go?"

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    If it's not clear, Lucifuge will cast an illusion around the area where Aurewlynn is standing to make her seem a few feet from where she is actually standing, sort of like the displacement spell, as a precaution if ever Aurewlynn is used as an actual bait in the situation and gets shot at. Then he casts the illusion of Noctis who then converses with Aurewlynn.

  21. - Top - End - #291
    Orc in the Playground
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    Sohssal

    Sohssal was sorely tempted to simply storm the fortress, but he knew that would take a lot longer. There were no shortage of demons in hell, as expected. He would need to rely on stealth and guile, for now. It also wouldn't matter how fast he could move about the place if he didn't know where to go, so that narrowed it down to one choice.

    ”We can worry about how we'll get to Isabella once we know exactly where she is, so we should make our way to the archives. Even if it has misinformation in it, there should still be something useful! But who knows, maybe we'll end up having to fight our way out anyway. It's only a matter of time until they notice they're short a few devils,” Sohssal said.

    Being stealthy wouldn't be hard for an incorporeal creature like Sohssal. His movements didn't make any noise and most types of light don't make him cast a shadow. As long as there wasn't anyone with magic detection similar to his own, he would be fine. His companions, on the other hand...well, Incom had his invisibility, but surely the demons were used to dealing with that. Xerxes seemed quite capable of handling himself, so with him it was more a matter of trust (or lack thereof).

  22. - Top - End - #292
    Ogre in the Playground
     
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    Lukina

    Lukina looked troubled. She didn't want to be right.
    "Wait. But angels are from the heavens afterlife. So if our sisters are returned to the heavens, they will be restored in that way. There is hope for them."

    It was hard to comfort Ysora. Lukina felt a lot less like Genevieve, the longer the conversation went. She could only draw upon so many of her broken memories. "It may seem like your love is destroying you. But it is the choice and decisions you are making that do that. It is because of love you can make such a decision, it is a strength, not the disease. But I understand, I think. I don't know how I would feel if one of my loves became an irredeemable fiend. But such a possibility is in the future, isn't it? I wanted to tell you so you wouldn't be surprised, if that was the situation. It's better to be upset now, than to be paralyzed at the time when you need your strength. But it may not be the truth." Another stupid apology.
    But Ysora's wings kept Lukina from being able to hug her. So she brushed the feathers softly and comfortingly.

    Lukina brightened with Ysora's offer.
    "Thank you very much, Ysora." She felt her spirits soar. "If our Lady sealed the Palace of the Sun, then she needs us close. I've been gone a long time... I don't know if I can convince her. But I will do my best. Good news was always welcome."

    Then time slowed down. A cold feeling passed through Lukina, and she turned to face the orange-eyed fiend. Her hand moved to Exshia, but she stopped, in that position.
    Memories of the dreams of her death came back. Surely this was the one from the dream. The one who had saved her. But what deal had she made to a fiend? There was a small panic, but Lukina forced it down. She warily looked at him.
    "Hello." She answered. "I remember you, from my nightmare. It seems you remember me." Now a stupid and honest answer. "But I do not remember the agreements of my debt." She released Exshia softly, to rest in it's sheath. But her hand stayed on it's end."I know you were there when I died. And I know that I'm here, now." Her eyes narrowed a little. But everything is so different.

    "Tell me, what happened. What did you do at that moment? What was promised? And now, what is it that you want me to do?"
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  23. - Top - End - #293
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
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    The Woman with Many Names

    Jacqueline didn't even register that Wulfric was about to collide with Mar - she simply reacted, surging to her feet and putting herself in front of his flying body. With a speed she hadn't known she possessed she drew on her magics to increase her strength, plucking her would-be lover out of the air as gently as she could manage and catching him against her body. Unfortunately, she had forgotten to solidify her footing, and the force of Wulfric's impact sent her skidding backward across the ice. Occupied with Wulfric, who was already struggling to turn back to the fight, the backs of her knees collided with Mar's hunched wings. Jacqueline managed to turn the fall so that no one was crushed, but all three of them were still sent tumbling into an undignified heap.

    "Wulfric, please, what are you doing?" Jacqueline looked from one combatant to the other, trying to understand.
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  24. - Top - End - #294
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Korram Alstan

    Korram lets out a nearly imperceptible breath when the leader of the rebels chooses to believe him for the moment. At the man's invitation, Korram follows him to his tent.

    "You may not like what you hear."

    The comment is spoken to no one, under his breath. As Korram enters the tent, he briefly glances at the bottles Liberator indicates but shakes his head. Alcohol is the last thing he needs right now. He takes the seat indicated by Liberator, folding his arms in front of his chest. When Liberator introduces himself and explains that he has learned from Korram, the man nods slightly.

    "I'm glad someone did."

    “Your greatest mistake, however, if I may offer an opinion, was that you never thought big enough. Your concern was solely for the Baron of Gast – a worthy target, but hardly the only one deserving of your wrath. Every single other noble was complacent in his evil because had they willed it, he would have been stopped long before our capital was obliterated! And the Baron of Gast is not the only one capable of committing evil – many of their hands are stained with blood. Thus, it is my intention to awaken the people of Narle to the slavery they have all been subjected to, and show them that there is only one proper response – revolution!”

    Oh. Good. This guy almost seemed like he was rational. I'm glad I managed to avoid something good happening for once. I might die of shock.

    “Since you are here, I was hoping that you would be willing to help train these men accustomed to working farm fields into soldiers. You have, after all, done this before, and most effectively. In return, perhaps I could aid you in whatever mission you are now on, now that the Baron of Gast is finally dead.”

    Korram unfolds his arms, gesturing with them as he speaks.

    "'Liberator,' I think that you have overestimated me. The reason I never looked beyond the False Baron was because I did not care. I was not a hero, rising up to fight for those who were subjugated. I was a revenge-fueled maniac who existed for the sole purpose of watching Demetrius Gast burn. I agree with you, to a degree. Most of the nobility are spineless, arrogant, and fully deserve to be stripped of their position. I think that your goal of liberation is very noble."

    Korram rests his elbows on the table and laces his fingers in front of his nose.

    "But I don't think that's why you're doing this. I think its more personal than that. A noble did something to you, maybe a group of them, or maybe you were a casualty of the system, victim of something a noble was involved in or neglected. Maybe you were a prisoner in Ironheart, or your family was wiped out during the Battle. It doesn't matter. I think that you hate nobles simply for the fact that they are noble. But I can tell you for a fact that there are good people among the nobility. Amelia Ashargrin is one; the woman opposed Gast from the beginning, and was a caring, loyal person who wanted only the best for those who she felt responsible for. Rose Volesin was another; I did not know her personally, but I can confidently say that she was a good person. Do you care about that? Or do you only want to see every noble slain, regardless of their merit?"

    Korram flattens his hands on the table and sighs, looking away.

    "I mean no insult by my statements. I just do not wish to see another repeat my mistakes."

    He looks back at Liberator, his words spoken in a flat manner.

    "I've said my piece. I'm afraid that I wouldn't be much help training your men; my knowledge of combat is...unconventional, and unsuited to being taught, and I don't have the fire for this sort of work anymore. I should really be on my way; I need to get to Luxien as soon as possible. Is there anything else you want of me?"
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  25. - Top - End - #295
    Ettin in the Playground
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    Rosenberg

    The Druid sat back, listening to the man's words and the rather interesting truth behind the boy.

    "Intriguing. Hm..."

    Rosenberg's eyes settle on the boy, full of thought as to the power he once had and what kind of power it was. Regardless, he seemed to be a much less powerful mage now, and though it could be useful, perhaps for him his lack of power is best for his future.

    "Funny you mention, the Countess herself was invited, and I as well considering I am working as her bodyguard. I do not think she would reject more company along the way to the dinner, but let me give you a warning. If she is as crippled as you say she is, then apparently there is more to this Countess than meets the eye. Regardless, I don't think I will finish these robes in time for the dinner."

    He folds up his worked upon robes for a later time.

    "Shall we be on our way?"
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  26. - Top - End - #296
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    WhiteKnight777's Avatar

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    Umber

    Umber felt quite a bit more secure this time around. Not being bound and at Zariel's probably-non-extant mercy was something a comfort. He looked at Zariel, responding to the assassin's hissed question with a nod towards the jar. "Yes. And that is precisely what I am doing here. I need the pieces of the jar so that the assassin can be properly questioned. There are things we need to know, if the agency behind that poor wretch is to be foiled in its attempts at interference. All of our plans depend on this - I would not risk your cover for anything less" Umber said. And he was perfectly sincere. A lie by omission was not the same thing as a flat untruth, after all, and just because Zariel chose to misinterpret who "we" was... well, that wasn't Umber's fault, now was it? Besides, Umber felt that he owed Zariel a lie or two, given the situation. Then again, when had Umber ever felt the need to justify anything he did to anybody?

    Umber had mostly accepted that mucking with the timeline here would be a Bad Idea. He didn't have the foresight necessary to predict what would happen, and Fate had already proved remarkably adept at manipulating his attempts at subverting it into disastrous consequences. But... well, there were some opportunities you could not squander, not if you wanted to live with yourself afterward. Or (ha ha) with yourselves.

    He scribbled the note hastily, but Fianna would know his handwriting. Getting it to her chamber shouldn't be a problem. He knew the fortress better than almost anyone, and he had the gift of prior knowledge. Part of him knew that this might play right into Fate's hand - but sometimes you had to let caution be damned, if you wanted life to be worth living.


    Fianna,

    True love never dies. You might think I’m a romantic fool when you read this letter, but we always said we’d hang the poets last.

    We’re approaching a crossroads. Or perhaps a confluence. I think the latter is a better description – a nexus of fateful choices and weighty decisions that will shape the course of history. At least, that’s the conceit we’d like to believe. But whatever changes, my feelings for you never will. I know what you plan to sacrifice on the altar of apotheosis, Fianna. And I know you too well to try and gainsay you. But when you feel the chill of perfect, crystalline logic begin to grip you, try to remember the warmth that we once shared.

    Even as I write this, I feel the paucity and scant comfort that these words provide. From the perspective of inhuman logic, those memories of emotion will have no weight. Yet I must write this letter, because if I did not, I would never be able to say that I had tried.

    I know that this must sound disjointed, or even mad. Probably you think that I’ve simply been overtaken by nerves. This is not the case. I have been given certain information recently, and only a short time in which to communicate it to you. If you ask me about this letter, I will likely have no knowledge of it. There is a peculiar sorcery afflicting me, a side-effect of the means by which I have acquired this knowledge. I cannot say too much, for fear that it would make matters worse. But in brief, there will come a time when a rebellion will rise against us. In the wake of it, the seven will fracture. You will be tempted to strike out on your own. Do not. It will lead to your imprisonment and destruction.

    You will, of course, think that my motives for wanting you to stay with me are self-centered and emotional. This is true. But those are not the only reasons. The threat to you is real, and I swear it on the oaths we have made and by everything we hold sacred. Please, Fianna, heed my warning.

    I shall see you again soon.

    Love,
    Umber


    He sealed the note, and delivered it to Fianna's chambers - it wasn't hard to find a back route through the fortress. And then... well, Fate waits for no man.
    Last edited by WhiteKnight777; 2013-02-02 at 02:59 PM.

  27. - Top - End - #297
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
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    ~Tamerlane

    Tamerlane looked back at the house with a numb ache in his chest. For so long he'd wished to live peacefully with the ones he cared about most... would that ever be possible? Maybe someday. But not now. Not for me.

    Tamerlane followed his mysterious, fiendish mentor through the portal.

    On the way through, a sudden gust of wind caught Tamerlane in the eyes and caused him to blink at the unexpected sensation. Re-orienting himself to where he now stood, Tamerlane was dumbstruck for a few moments by the simple beauty of the city sprawling out before him. His new eyes, he found, adjusted rapidly to the dark and the distance, giving him crisp vision out far further than his mortal ones would've been capable of.

    Tamerlane listened carefully to Nihlus' grand introduction of the city, but was brought up short by the brief and completely nondescript nature of his instructions.

    "Um, ok... How will I recognize the correct stone?" He asked, not expecting much in answer, but judging it worth the attempt anyway.
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  28. - Top - End - #298
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    Mar

    The commotion caught Mar by surprise. Despite her fatigue, the Queen's story had drawn her into her own memories of the past: old names, old battles, visions of ancient Phaedra. Things she'd never understood were beginning to make sense. No wonder Titania hadn't tried to make peace, knowing what she did; that secret couldn't have been kept forever. What would they have done when...?

    Then the door crashed open and she jumped; the motion reminded her that she wasn't Marisiel, only Mar, captive and all but helpless. She scrambled up into a sitting position, pulling her wings out from under her—bare feet touched the icy floor, pain—and clutched the fire-cat tightly. That horse-fellow again. Nobody was coming for her. She hoped nothing bad happened to Wulfric, but at least—

    Her reflexes weren't very good. She was caught between dropping flat or springing up to run, and before she could do either Wulfric and the princess were tumbling over her. It didn't really hurt; not like she was used to. It was just sudden. And their weight pressed her into the floor. Cold. She felt trapped—they had used long iron spikes to do that to her once, pinned her like a butterfly to the wall—

    Mar struggled like a mad thing, kicking and beating her wings as she tried to pull herself free. For once the Queen's temper was the last thing on her mind.
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  29. - Top - End - #299
    Titan in the Playground
     
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    The woman listens to your answers intently, silently looking back out into the courtyard from time to time. She seems to still be conflicted, but reflexively nods at your words. At your question of her name, the paladin’s head snaps back around.

    “Len . . . Lenora. Lenora Sunhilt.”

    Lenora looks down at her feet and sighs.

    “Forgive me. You seem to be in an even worse situation than I am, given that you seem to have lost your memories too! I have been . . . selfish in my despair. I . . . I am still not sure what I can do to help you, but I will do whatever I can.”
    Nobody smiles.

    "I am not sure what can be done to help me either, so at least we're on the same page."

    He hoped a little levity would help her out of her despair. It seemed that to join the Hellgarde was to give up all hope, and give in to despair completely. He had to keep her out of depression as best as he could.
    Lenora brushes her tangled hair out of her face and rubs at her temples.

    “I have a bad headache now. I can’t really remember how I got here – the last thing I can recall is falling off an airship, dark shapes moving towards me.”

    Lenora shivers and looks at you again.

    “But I dimly remember a voice, calling me, telling me not to give up. That . . . that was you?”
    "You may have heard others with me, but yes, I was there trying to pull you from the mire you apparently ended up in after falling. You were talking to yourself about what you thought were your failures, and they seemed to make you sink."
    Lenora straightens and looks back out through the crumbling doorway. Several Hellgarde were much closer now, and one of them is pointing out the doorway to his comrades, clearly suggesting that they should go check your hiding place out.

    “We need to get out of here now.”

    Lenora observes, and in agreement you make your way deeper into the ruins, going up the stairs and up onto the battlements. This time, instead of you following your new friend into further danger, she follows you to temporary safety. It seems likely that the Hellgarde will notice the stairway and move up it to investigate as well, so you will need to keep moving.

    That may be difficult as you reach the ramparts and look around to find yourself and Lenora completely exposed up here. There is a long stretch of open wall leading back towards the gate, which ends in a sheltered platform that overlooks the gate. With a running start you may be able to clear the gap that the gate creates in the wall and land on the other side’s platform, but there is no way you won’t be spotted doing so. The other way seems to lead towards the manor itself, but before getting to the manor itself a tower blocks the way. A door leads into the tower, and presumably inside the tower is another door leading into the manor. The tower’s door, however, looks to be quite intact, which given the poor condition of the rest of the manor is somewhat surprising. While it still doesn’t look sturdy enough to withstand more than a few blows (you are apparently quite strong), those blows will still take time and create a lot of noise.

    That concern thankfully turns out to not be a problem after all, as the door creaks open and you see Katrina peek out from the interior. Seeing you and Lenora, she shoulders the door to halfway open and beckons for you.

    “Hey! You found your girl, or whatever from the swamp! Maybe our luck is actually starting to change for once!”
    "Her name is Lenora. Lenora, this is Katrina. She helped me get my bearings down here. We can trust her. She seems to hate whoever's in charge here more than anything else."
    You hear the sounds of metal boots stomping up the stairs, and hear someone call out a warning below. Katrina hears it too, and grimaces as she moves aside for you and Lenora to squeeze through the gap between the partially open door and the stone doorframe.

    “Guess not. Of course we’re still screwed!”

    Once inside the tower, Katrina struggles to pull the door shut again, which should slow your pursuers down a bit. They might even see the closed door and assume no one could have opened it. Putting further distance between yourselves and the Hellgarde was probably a wise idea nonetheless.

    “Volesin was scouting out a route ahead into the manor itself. I stayed behind when I heard some blowhard giving a speech. Wasn’t able to get up onto the roof of this tower to check it out, so I peeked out that door instead – you had perfect timing there.”

    Katrina nods at another door on the far side of the tower’s interior.

    “Volesin went through that door. I think there’s an open section of ramparts still before you enter the manor – if we move now those guys following you might see us. Who are they, anyway?”

    Katrina is answered by a pounding on the door – the Hellgarde have reached the tower and are clearly planning on coming inside to investigate.

    “We need to hide!”

    Lenora hisses, looking around at the piles of rubble, and then at the crumbling staircase spiraling up part way up the wall before the entire wall crumbles away, leaving a gaping hole looking out onto the clouded sky. There were a few spots where you might be able to hide, if the Hellgarde weren’t especially thorough in their search.

    “We should kick their asses!”

    Katrina hisses back, a dangerous proposition considering that they were wearing armor and likely had weapons, and none of you currently had anything more than a rock picked up from the floor. You could also try fleeing into the manor and meeting up with Volesin, even though that carried the risk that these Hellgarde would see you out on the wall between the tower and the manor. If you timed it right such that you left the tower as they were coming in, however, that might better your chances of remaining just a glimpse of something that they saw, easily explained away as a trick of the light rather than the actual intruder they are looking for. You may also be able to talk them down and convince them to join you, although given that they have fully joined the Hellgarde, they may be too far gone to convince with just words.
    "We make for the manor as they enter to rendezvous with Volesin. If we're quick and careful we should be able to get by without being spotted. While I admire your spirit, Katrina, we're outnumbered and out-armed while we walk among the Hellgarde. I'm pretty sure you don't want to get locked up again. To be angry is easy. But to be angry at the right time, at the right people...for the right reasons..."
    "Reach down into your heart and you'll find many reasons to fight. Survival. Honor. Glory. But what about those who feel it's their duty to protect the innocent? There you'll find a warrior savage enough to match any dragon, and in the end, they'll retain what the others won't. Their humanity."

  30. - Top - End - #300
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Speaker Ander Windrivver

    Ander heaves a heavy sigh and slumps his shoulders at the sight of Korram's ruined home. Being one step behind was becoming all too common; he needed to seize the initiative if Nihlus was to be stopped. Breathing deeply, he inhales the scent of sulfur common in areas where portals to Hell have been opened and something else catches his nose. Was that the scent of…mud? Yes…mud and decay, the scent was faint but present. So the portal also opened to the mortal plane. Perhaps a battlefield? Interesting.

    “. . . They got him,” Melissan whispers.

    No…maybe not. Korram defeated the invading foot soldiers handily. Even if they caught him off guard, I doubt they would have been able to capture him.

    He kneels down, inspecting the floor for tracks before taking another circuit of the room to re-survey the damage.

    I think the fight here was just between Korram and one other. I don't think we'll find our answers here, though. Let's go.

    Could Nihlus have been responsible for this? But why would he risk himself coming to Heaven? And why would he take Korram to the mortal realm instead of Hell? Too many questions, too few answers.

    **********

    Background music

    Ander arrives alone at his own domain shortly after sunset (or the closest thing Heaven ever gets to it), having agreed to see Melissan at the speech the next day. The sight of the ruined homestead brings a flood of memories from the last time he found his family violently taken from him. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he steps inside.

    The half-burned structure, the smashed furniture, the peaceful existence shattered. It was the same as last time. Ander slumps heavily against the charred hearth and pulls Seymour close.

    Looks like history's repeating, eh Ander? Crane taunts from the corner of Ander's perception. That's twice now your family has been taken from you. Twice you've failed to protect them because you were gone! How many people does that make whom you've damned doing the Tyrant Queen's bidding? Hmm…Melcara, Hondshioh, Rickster, not to mention all the other countless paladins you lead to the slaughter at Narle, Hephestia, and now your dearest wifey and child. Miriam's done a better job of ruining your life than I ever did.

    That's enough out of you, Morganna commands from the other corner of Ander's perception. You are the one responsible for what happened to Caitlyn and Gerald, not Ander. You who took the coward's way out at the moment of your defeat. As for the others, they lived and died according to the choices they made. The paladins who fell at the Battle of Narle gave their lives so the rest of the kingdom could survive. They were doing their duty and if they are trapped in Hell, the blame rests on the Baron, not Ander. Everything Ander has done has been in service of his duty to Miriam and that is far more than you or I can say for ourselves. Far more people would be damned if he'd stood aside. How dare you use that against him!

    The two figments continued to bicker, but Ander doesn't care. All he wants at this moment, more than anything, is his family back. He hugs Seymour close while the two voices drone on in the background, fainter and fainter. His vision unfocuses and mists up as his mind drifts back to happier times…

    **********

    The full moon shines high and bright on the scene below as the entire village of Fallenshire gathers around the enormous bonfire erected in the center of town. It was Midsummer's eve and the entire village had turned out to celebrate. Music and laughter filled the air as people sang, danced, drank, and celebrated the solstice.

    Ander nursed a tankard of ale, only half-listening to the friends huddled around him as his gaze wanders to the young woman on the other side of the bonfire. Her long auburn hair shines in the firelight, her head was crowned with daisies, and her ruby lips were filled with mirth. Long, slender fingers tucked a stray lock behind her ear while she laughed along with her friends. She catches Ander's gaze and her face lights up with a smile before she turns back to her group.

    "Ander! Hey Ander, are you even listening?" one of his friends shouts, punching Ander in the arm and nearly spilling his ale.

    Oh…sorry about that. What's going on?

    "Caitlyn, man. What's going on?" chimes a second friend. "She's been looking over here all night while you’ve been standing here nursing your beer."

    "Are you going to ask her or what?" pipes the third companion.

    "Not getting cold feet, are you buddy?" The first one asks.

    No…no, just nervous.

    Ander drains the last of his ale as his buddies shove him in Caitlyn's direction. His step emboldened by liquid courage, the young farmhand whisks the beautiful girl away from the crowd at the edge of the firelight and leads her to the other dancers.

    Hours later, on top of a hill just outside the village, the two lovers lay in each other's arms underneath the boughs of an ancient oak tree. Below, the last embers of the bonfire glow red and the last stragglers of the celebration slope off to bed.

    Caitlyn… Ander ventures at length.

    "Yes?"

    Ander props himself up on an elbow and pulls a golden ring out of his pocket.

    Will you marry me?

    "Yes! Yes of course!" she exclaims, her voice breaking with emotion as Ander slides the ring onto her finger.

    Dawn broke the next day to find the two young lovers still locked in each others' embrace, happy and confident that no force in Heaven or earth could tear them apart.


    **********

    Dawn comes quickly in Heaven and it isn't long before the new day's sun rouses Ander from his reverie. He takes his time coming to, allowing the memories and emotions of the previous night to wash away. Finally, he pushes himself off the floor, brushes the dirt from his uniform, wipes the tears and crust from his face, and straightens his hair.

    With Seymour trotting at his heels, Ander once again leaves his ruined home. He stops at the edge of his domain and takes one last, long glance at the farmstead. For years he had looked forward to spending eternity here with his loved ones, finally at peace. If only that could be true now. Ander takes another few moments to collect himself and then, with a great wave of his arm, casts the farmstead beneath the earth. He continues reshaping his heavenly domain until nothing remains but empty field and a simple menhir rising from the ground like a sentinel. Upon the standing stone are inscribed the words,

    In memory of Caitlyn
    and Gerald…forever.
    -Ander

    With a firm jaw and a resolute mind, Ander leaves behind the only reminder of his happy afterlife and makes for the Heavenly City.

    Background music

    **********

    The Solar Plaza is a large, open square built right outside the main gate of the Palace of the Sun. Marble statues of the four archangels flank the plaza to either side of the gate, each impressively tall, marvelously carved, and holding the icon of their station. Ysora the Teacher preached from her holy book, Hephestia the Justicar brandished her scales, Marisiel the Protector raised her shield, and Genevieve the Champion wielded her mighty sword. A map of the cosmos crafted from gold and silver is built into the pavement and at the far end of the plaza is a raised fountain featuring the divine couple fronted by a dais from which a speaker might address a crowd. It is here that Ander took up his station.

    He can't help but smile with relief to see nearly the whole plaza filled with paladins. It seemed the grandmasters had even been able to assemble sizable contingents from the Wings, the Guardians, and Dawn's Hope. A number of civilian spectators milled about at the periphery of the square and a handful of angels flitted about overhead, all drawn by the unusual commotion. Expectant murmuring fills the air as the assembled masses speculate as to what the Speaker might have to say but all fall silent as the palace clock strikes twelve o'clock.

    Ander steps onto the dais and acknowledges Belroar, Jamkas, Oldak, Norven, and Melissan with a nod. Deliberately and so all can see, he removes his cloak and drapes it over the edge of the fountain. The dais' enchantments would amplify his voice and there could be no reason for anyone to think Ander had used the cloak's power to influence the crowd. Seeing that he has the crowd's complete attention, the he takes a deep breath and begins to speak.

    Thank you all very much for coming today. I am honored to be in the company of such brave men and women. Two months ago, your valiant efforts not only helped to end the corrupt Council's stranglehold on our Church but put stopped the Baron of Gast's plan to murder our Lady during the Battle of Narle. You have all, truly, earned your eternity in Paradise.

    I can see that some of you still bear the scars of that battle. This is understandable and there is no shame in it. The Battle of Narle will go down as one of the most devastating events in our history. We all saw the carnage. We all saw our comrades-in-arms dragged or condemned to an eternity in Hell. We all saw the utter destruction wrought by one insane man.

    I wish I could stand here today and say that your sacrifice and the Baron's defeat has ushered the kingdom into a new era of peace and prosperity. Unfortunately, I cannot. The elves continue to ravage the southern provinces and the surviving nobility bickers amongst itself rather than mount a defense. The Church is all the stands between the elven tide and the rest of the Kingdom. Our forces, though badly depleted from Narle, engage the elves daily and clear the way for refugees to flee north to the safety of Luxien and our paladin strongholds. Thanks to our paladins' brave efforts, Amaranth continues to hold against the elven tide and new hope has appeared in the form of the Order of the Star. With these reinforcements, the Church can finally mount a counterattack and begin pushing the elven horde from our lands.

    But this is of little concern to you who have earned your eternal rest. Part of you reward is no longer having to concern yourselves with mortal struggles. Your fight is over.

    I stand before you today not to speak of elves, but of darker forces that are at work. You know that during the Battle of Luxien, at the moment of the Council's defeat, the Reliquary was destroyed and the twenty imprisoned Fiend Lords were released. Since then, they have begun to cooperate to a worrying degree and, worse still, have found leadership under Nihlus, the Writer of History!


    Ander pauses to let the revelation sink in.

    Nihlus, the twenty-first Fiend Lord! Nihlus, who was never captured during any of our crusades! Two days ago, Nihlus led an attack on Luxien with the support of the demonic Fiend Lords. It was at about this time that the attack on Heaven also took place, which I believe to have been the work of several of the diabolic Fiend Lords. When we met, Nihlus spoke to me of a prophecy…a prophecy of the Certain King which he intends to fulfill, a prophecy which says:

    All things must end, even the reign of the gods. Watch then for these signs that will usher in a new era, the reign of the Certain King.

    Those created by the gods and of the gods shall be created to exist in Harmony. But the Harmony will be shattered, broken by One who will lead the heirs of the gods to embrace their destiny. Discord and Inequality will follow, leading to Ambition and Desire, and culminating in the rise of the Certain King.

    But before the Certain King sits upon the Throne of Athelion in judgment, the world shall cry out as it is split in twain. As their world is divided, so too shall be the gods and their heirs, both Within and Without. Their Balance Destroyed, the Scales of Fate shall settle anew, leading to only two possible outcomes.

    What was driven apart shall try to rejoin, with Violence being the only possible outcome. The Scales of Fate will tip, leading one side to Fall, and the other side to Rise. The Shattered One will be thrown down beneath the Throne, there to remain until the coming of the Certain King.

    It is from these seeds that the world’s destruction shall spring. All has been foreseen. Nothing can be averted.

    Ander pauses once again for effect.

    "Lord" Nihlus sees himself as the agent of Fate, sent forth do not just enslave the mortal world, but to destroy all of existence.

    The Church has no resources to send another crusade into Hell to stop Nihlus and his mad schemes, focused as it is on rebuilding itself and defending against the elves. I will be going into Hell myself, leading a small and elite team, to do as much damage as we can to Nihlus' plans. Even that, however, may not be enough. It is very possible that we could see an apocalyptic battle for the fate of Creation, the like of which not seen since Azguloth's defeat, not in the next several years but within the next few months.

    And now I must admit to the real reason I stand before you all today. With the Kingdom divided and the Church depleted, there is no mortal army that can stand against the forces of Hell in an apocalyptic battle. Even the Heavenly host is far too weak. There is but one option, a plan of last resort should all other plans fail. I call it Project Revenant and it is a ritual that would summon an army of human souls from Heaven to the mortal realm. An army that could stand against the Fate which would snuff out Creation. An army…of you.


    Ander holds up his hands and works to shush the crowd in the ensuing pandemonium.

    Please, please let me finish!

    Yes, what I am suggesting is one of our faith's greatest taboos. To even contemplate such a ritual is blackest sin, I know, and trust me when I say that I would never consider using Project Revenant to summon any soul who is unwilling to leave Heaven of their own accord.

    I do not stand before you today to order you as your general, nor to exhort you as your Speaker, but to ask you, humbly, as a fellow man to consider my plea. If my mission to Hell should not be enough, if this battle must be fought, it is not to defend a city or even a kingdom. It is to protect the entirety of existence from a force that would extinguish it like a candle.

    I have spent two lives fighting battles against impossible odds all in the name of my faith, my Church, and my Gods. This fight is for my family that has been twice taken from me by the forces of Hell. This fight is for all families who have lost loved ones in this eternal cosmic war. This fight is for all of humanity that we might rise up and draw a line in the sand! That we might show that no prophecy, no fate, no force can dominate us or annihilate us or dictate any existence to us but that which we choose for ourselves!

    Please reflect on the oaths you took when you became paladins. The oaths we all took when we swore to uphold the word of Miriam and Athelion, to uphold the laws of our faith, and to defend those who are too weak to defend themselves. You have all earned your eternal rest and there is no shame in choosing not to fight, but I beg you all to consider what I have shared with you today. Whether I march to the final battle with ten paladins or ten thousand paladins at my back, I will be the proudest commander to ever live. I will know that I stood against a tide of eternal darkness with the bravest, most worthy, men and women to have ever lived.

    But until that time, be vigilant and stand ready to defend this Paradise against any further Hellish incursions. We must let no more souls be lost to us.

    Thank you.


    With that, Ander retrieves his cloak and steps down from the dais. He rendezvous with Melissan on the edge of the plaza.

    Well Melissan, what will you do now? Will you return to the mortal realm or stay here? Your leadership could be very useful for preparing a defense here and helping encourage people to volunteer for Project Revenant. I expect we will also be returning your branded sisters to Heaven in greater numbers now that we know how to remove their soul crystals and I'm sure they could use your comfort. On the other hand, the Council could really use your experience with both Ysora and I going to Hell soon. Your presence could also help turn the tide in the siege of Amaranth. Either way, the choice is yours.

    ((The only other thing I can think of for Ander to do is to get his armor back from Belroar. After that, he'll head back to Luxien and check up on the status of his other potential recruits, Amaranth, and getting the rest of his brands applied. Phew!))
    Quote Originally Posted by PhoeKun View Post
    Baerdog: super genius.

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