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  1. - Top - End - #91
    Troll in the Playground
     
    daelrog's Avatar

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    Alons

    Alons smiled as he filled his stomach up and talked to this man. Not that Mags wasn't an interesting character, and Willow intriguing for her own merits, but this one was a warrior, and it gave Alons some comfort to speak to one who knew how to draw blood.

    "You would be right sir. I come from Fairlyle, a kindgom from across the ocean. The Crone told us that a great evil was taking hold here, and that it would affect our lands as well. So here I am, come to save this land from an foe I know not, and a people who seem soft and scattered. Quite a silly thing to ask of a person really. I sometimes wonder if this was not some joke to take me away." He sighed. "But it was no joke. And there does seem something wrong with this kingdom though all I seem to have done is kill a couple of these elves and save two beautiful damsels and a horrid man."

    Rosenberg could tell the man was an outsider on first glance. Alons had a shock of blood red hair, with a few beads in it. His eyes were dark, almost black. ost noticeable was a green tattooe that went from Alons's right jaw, to beneath his shirt. It was likely the intricate green lines covered much of Alons's body.

    "I will warn you now I am not much a druid. I know some tricks, but that is all. No, I do better with a bow and arrow, or with a tankard of ale and song on my lips."
    Last edited by daelrog; 2012-09-13 at 06:21 AM.

  2. - Top - End - #92
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    OverWilliam's Avatar

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    ~Tare

    'Sugar?'

    Tare's jaw almost dropped, surely a common reaction in Videle's presence, but certainly not for the common reason. She actually listened to him. Melcara's face disappeared, to be replaced by the demoness' own (if shape-shifters like her were even born with a face-- Tare suppressed a shudder as the thought that maybe this face was no more hers than any other sent sparks down his spine).

    This was not something Tare was used to dealing with. Instead of antagonizing him further, like he'd honestly expected her to do, she was actually cooperating, just a bit. Some part of his brain warned that she was no less a demoness than she had been a second ago, no less dangerous, and deserving of no less suspicion and distrust than she had been when she'd force-fed him the Blood of a living Angel. It was an effort of will to keep that in mind, but Tare managed it. Don't trust her. Don't let your guard down. Keep your block up or she's going to lay you out flat. ...Bad choice of words. Tare would've shaken his head to reorient his thoughts, but the blade still vaguely against his skin made that a bad idea.

    And then, Videle went a step further. Without even a suggested implication from Tare, she put some clothing on. It was no floor-length evening gown, but the fact stood. She covered up for him. Tare's expression went blank with surprise, and... confusion.

    And then the aura vanished.

    It was like suddenly not being in pain anymore after having gotten so used to it you didn't even remember it was there anymore. His stomach settled, his thoughts suddenly became easier to organize. His eyes almost teared up from the relief, but he did his best (as best as one could, given his position) to keep it from showing so much.

    I... I don't understand. Why would she do this?

    ...Well, why not? What has she got to lose? I'm still helpless. There'll be plenty of time for pain later once I've grown boring. She's playing with me.


    But even that thought was numbed by the fact that, in a sense, he didn't really care that much anymore. Death, he realized, had taken a toll on his Survival instincts. What was there left to surviving anymore?

    It was strange, in fact. Not being afraid of death anymore. From this perspective, he could see that fear of death (or need to survive, same difference) was a much bigger part of Life than he'd realized. Even if it had not been a focus, it was present in every goal and every drive he'd ever had. He realized that without it, not a single sarcastic remark came to mind for putting distance between himself and the succubus' questions. Now that that need to survive was gone... how had the rest of him changed? What would grow to fill in those gaps? Or maybe nothing would? Was he now smaller on the inside, with the empty space in his spirit simply deflating within him like a water skin with the lid left off?

    Tare snapped out of brooding introspection to find that he'd dazed off while staring at Videle's shapely legs.

    And he was instantly angry with himself. It felt like a surrender, like he'd yielded a point in their verbal sparring match, and the demoness was guaranteed to have noticed. Ah-- anger. It was good that that still remained to fuel him. He grabbed onto the feeling and fed it for warmth.

    “So, let’s start with a few questions. You’re clearly in love with her, but is the feeling mutual? Is she even aware of your exclusive infatuation with her? And even if the answer to both of those is yes, how do you know that she’s not merely using you for her own ends? She’s a creature of the Hells, sworn to corrupt and destroy – do you honestly think she’s even capable of returning whatever you feel for her? For that matter, how do you know it’s really your heart, and not somewhere . . . lower . . . that is attracted to her? Hmmm . . .”

    Denials and excuses started popping into Tare's head with startling rapidity, but he wisely held them back. She wanted him on the defensive, because in order to prove her wrong he'd have to volunteer information as evidence.

    That didn't stop the questions from sinking in, though. He hadn't really thought about Melcara yet, he'd only felt about her. Reacted to her. And it wasn't the reaction that Videle was hinting at, he realized, though his want for her to be happy wasn't necessarily restricted to the platonic. He'd never thought about that either. Now probably wasn't the time, what with the Succubus' apparent ability to "read" such matters from him.

    It wasn't like what she was talking about at all.

    “Well, you’re down here for some reason, and sadly falling madly “in love” with a pretty face is not enough to do it. So you must have done something naughty . . . what was it? Did you do something for her . . . something you shouldn’t have, hmm? It’s a little late now, but I should point out to you that this love thing you’re experiencing is not a good idea. Mortals and immortals don’t mix for a reason, you know – for starters, what do the two of you have even vaguely in common? Trust me, if you continue down this road, it’s going to end very badly for you. I should know.”

    Tare's thought went back to the circumstances of his death. The rest of Videle's anecdote went wasted on his ears; he really didn't care, didn't see how that really mattered to anybody or anything.

    ...Damn it all, he was looking at her legs again. This time he caught it after only a second, though. Maybe she was paying too much attention to more... sensual memories from the distant past to be paying much attention to the subtleties of his vague reactions. ...Yeah, right.

    That was the trouble, he realized; before, he had avoided looking at much of her at all-- it was easy to maintain strict eye contact or simply look somewhere else when she was being so outrageous. Now it was far more subtle, and so much harder to identify-- and therefore resist. She'd gone from fighting out in the open to hiding in shadows and waiting for mere moments of vulnerability. Damn her.

    "Ok, you're right. I am here, aren't I? I'll admit, I'd always thought about it. I didn't exactly live a stainless life, so there was always the thought of winding up here someday. But I never tried to hurt anybody, and the ones I did I tried to pay for. There may be a little blood on my hands, but there's not a drop more than I could've helped. And not a drop of it was innocent." ...And then he remembered Limier. She hadn't been innocent, that was certain, but she'd never done him any wrong. His only family. And the bottom dropped out of his gut, letting all his innards drop into a furnace of ice-cold guilt.

    "There was this... fight. Back in the Capitol. I don't even know who the sides were, but it must've been some damn high-up powers slugging away at each other. I'd be surprised if more powerful sides existed. Something happened, somebody did something I wouldn't have ever believed was possible. I've been here before and I got out alive, so I knew what the Hells feel like. Somebody-- don't even ask me how, but somebody... redrew the lines for a little while. Of where Hell stops and the Real World starts. I don't know how long it lasted-- I sure as hell hope it wasn't permanent-- but somebody brought the Hells to the Mortal World. Or brought the Capitol down into the Hells, take your pick. And that's where I died. When I died. Or rather, where and when your henchlings killed me, as I remember. I won't be quick to forget that." The words came out of his mouth much more mildly than they had seemed in his head. It was an idle sort of bother coming from him rather than real ire.

    "...That's where I died..." He mused. "...I'm sure I probably wasn't the only one." Understatement came a lot easier than sarcasm, he found.
    Last edited by OverWilliam; 2012-09-13 at 11:54 PM.
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  3. - Top - End - #93
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    Gorgondantess's Avatar

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    She'd finally learned to be circumspect, and it wasn't the time for circumspection. What savage irony.
    At least she was kicking in the correct doors, though, as before she'd left she asked her high priest what sorts of buildings to look for, what might allow her to discern a paladin from the slurry of humans there. See? Deference. She was learning.
    She did indeed kick in the door, though, without breaking it even. Inside, she unfurled her wings (much like an angel's, though a tawny color as opposed to pure white) dramatically and let her presence be known, demanding the location of their Speaker. Hopefully they would understand she wasn't in the mood for senseless dithering.
    Marceline Abadeer by Gnomish Wanderer

  4. - Top - End - #94
    Ettin in the Playground
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    Rosenberg

    He smiled slightly at his final words.

    "Well, it doesn't matter how little you can do as a Druid. If you're a Druid, you're still a Druid. Welcome to these new lands."

    He paused, drinking some water from a waterskin, draining some of its contents. He then turned to him.

    "Who is "The Crone"?"
    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.

  5. - Top - End - #95
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Speaker Ander Windrivver

    Ander nods at Tyra as she completes her introductory remarks and takes his seat.

    Thank you, Tyra. Let's get right down to business, we have a lot to discuss today.

    Ander shuffles through his notes and settles his thoughts.

    Before we hear everyone's reports, I have an announcement to make. I'm sure you will all want to voice your own opinions but please, wait until I have finished speaking.

    Since the Battle of Narle, a major concern of ours has been what to do about the paladins and angels who, alive or dead, are trapped in Hell. Another concern has been growing in my mind as well: what do do about the released Fiend Lords. I believe that with all of them free and back in Hell it is only a matter of time before they attempt to do something serious: an assault on the mortal plane in order to release Azguloth.

    The Church obviously does not have the military strength to meet the legions of hell in open combat and the nobles of this kingdom are less than useless, completely unable to set aside their differences to drive out the elves let alone an army of fiends. As I thought about what to do, only one course of action became clear.


    He pauses for effect, looking each of the Exarchs in the eye.

    I will undergo the rest of the Project Angelus transformation and return to Hell myself to defeat the Fiend Lords before they can put their plan into action. No other living person has as much combat experience fighting fiends and Fiend Lords in Hell as I do and branded with the complete set of Angelus runes, my divine powers will work potently even down there.

    There will be no mercy for the Fiend Lords this time. Their souls will be imprisoned in soul crystals to be destroyed finally and utterly. At the same time, it is my hope that I will be able to rescue at least some of our fallen comrades.

    This is not a mission I undertake lightly and it is not something I will rush into half-cocked. It will take some time to prepare my equipment, formulate a plan for travelling back and forth between the planes to resupply and deposit rescuees, and to make sure I leave the Church in a capable state to handle its affairs while I am gone. To that end, I have begun searching for my old weapon, Fiendkiller, and require either new armor or a way to repair my old suit. Any suggestions on those points will be greatly appreciated.


    Looking around at the faces of the other council members, it is obvious that they won't be able to hold their silence much longer. Each one looks about ready to burst.

    Let's open the floor for questions. After that, I would like to hear from Winril about his breakthroughs regarding Angelus and the soulstones, from Melissan about the state of the branded angels and the refugees, Randall about the current outbreak of heresy, and from Ysora about the proposed training plans to bolster our forces.

    With the can of worms well and truly opened, Ander leans back and prepares for the verbal onslaught to come.
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  6. - Top - End - #96
    Orc in the Playground
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    Sohssal

    This was exactly what Sohssal hoped Xerxes would not want. He might have gotten all the information he needed from Seraph, but he didn't feel inclined to immediately trust to the fiend who got him involved with the Baron. In recent times, he hadn't been the type to betray any of his associates, either.

    Instead, Sohssal feigned a chuckle. He hoped his lack of a real face made it hard to read him. ”It's only Seraph, and I wouldn't be so quick to call him a real angel. But even if that doesn't dissuade you, I'm sure there are other things you desire. You know how powerful I am, and I could offer you a lot more than an 'angel',” he explained. He hoped Xerxes would not be so eager to stab him in the back like the Baron was. But if it came to that, he would accept the possible consequences of his temporary dissolution. For now, he needed every competent ally he could get.

  7. - Top - End - #97
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    Lonna's Avatar

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    The Woman with Many Names

    Jacqueline took in the half-familiar figures in front of her, reacting as if in a daze as Titania welcomed her and offered her the fate of the winged girl. The Titania in front of her was different from her dream-memories, but recognizably the same person. She didn't know the children, but... that crystal. She remembered that at least. And the boy was, somehow, impossibly, her father?

    Well. No more impossibly than the rest of this odd family.

    "I remember... fragments... lovers, enemies, guardians... Advisors. Bits and pieces of dozens of lifetimes." Jacqueline spoke slowly, staring at the pseudo-angel, who was visibly trembling with either cold or fear - it was impossible to tell which.

    "I don't remember her... but I remember the shambles our family, our kingdom, became during the war. And after. If this really is Marisiel..." Jacqueline paused, her face grim. She dared not defy Titania, but the winged girl seemed so... fragile. And quite frankly, the grudge Titania was nursing was a hundred lifetimes ago for Jacqueline.

    "In Ironheart, I experienced a unique form of torture. My body was held in suspended animation while I was forced to watch all my worst fears play out in a series of endless dreams. I don't think I could duplicate that, at least not yet." Jacqueline turned and met Titania's eyes. "But if Marisiel was so desperate to stop the rise of Phaedra that she destroyed our family to do it, I think it would be fitting to force her to be present for Phaedra's return to glory."
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  8. - Top - End - #98
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    The Heavens

    Dorizzit

    No sooner has the angel fallen than she is back up again, wrapping one hand around your neck and hauling you up off your feet. Her face is a mask of anger, which fades immediately as she realizes that your attack was not an act of aggression. Sheepishly, she sets you back down and nods as she reviews what you yelled at her.

    “You’re right human. Forgive me, I’m – I’m still learning, and the past few lessons have not been pleasant.”

    The angel looks at you again, and seems to see you with new eyes. Just for a moment, her jaw drops.

    “Y-you’re the Korram, aren’t you? The human who sacrificed himself to save our Lady!? Um . . . you’re v-very brave.”

    The angel says demurely, her entire demeanor changing, and now it was your turn to do a double take. You hadn’t expected the paladins to be awestruck, although it was understandable that they had been. But an angel, acting like an awestruck village girl as a knight rides by?

    “I’m M-Miranda.”

    The angel says, and then shakes her head as if to clear it as she looks towards the pillars of smoke.

    “I need to drive the rest of these blasphemers out. I’d be honored to have you fight beside me. Would it be alright if we flew? It would be faster.”

    The angel offers you an arm, waiting for your consent before wrapping the arm around your waist and then bounding into the sky.

    (I’m just going to assume that you say yes, since it is after all Korram. )

    It’s a little disconcerting flying over the golden city, held up only by the angel’s arm firmly tucked around your waist – especially given how you got here in the first place. But it doesn’t last very long before you find more trouble, in the form of another half dozen demon armor figures making their way through a side street, dragging several screaming prisoners with them.

    Miranda drops you down onto a nearby rooftop and then moves to hover over the group, gesturing and causing the cityscape to morph at her command once again. Two buildings stretch and flow together at the angel’s command, sealing the street shut just in front of the group. Cursing, the band immediately reverses course to go back the way they came.

    That’s where you come in, climbing down the side of the building until you manage to swing yourself down onto a stairwell that Miranda conjures for you. You move down into the street, blocking the way, and the group again stops in confusion. The leader of this group steps uncertainly forward, cradling his club nervously.

    “Listen. I’m sorry but if we don’t come back with prisoners they’ll torture our families! Get out of our way – please?”

    The man waits a beat, and then lunges at you with his club.

    “Damn you!”

    “Are you alright down there Korram!?”

    Miranda calls as you dodge the man’s clumsy blows, either due to a lack of training or the encumbrance of the heavy, smoking armor.

    “I think I see another group heading back to a portal! If you’re alright here, I’m going to go and stop them!”

    (There’s six of them, but they’ll pose virtually no threat to Korram, being essentially 1st level commoners. Feel free to dispatch them all in your next post, or however Korram wants to deal with this situation.)

    The Hells

    The Dungeons of the Black General’s Fortress

    Archpaladin Zousha

    At your confession, Katrina gives a low whistle.

    “Wow, and I thought I had it bad, waking up here after I died! So you can’t remember your own name . . . do you remember anything?”

    Katrina is silent for a few minutes, clearly thinking. Finally she speaks up again.

    “Okay, here’s what I want you to do. See if you can snap off the teeth of that key – try pushing them down against the floor of your cage at an angle. That should give you a long stick of metal, essentially. Then you can slide that into the lock of your cage and try to jimmy it open. Umm . . . I’m not sure what to do after that, but we can’t just stay here and wait to be tortured again, can we?”

    It takes a fair bit of effort to break off the key’s teeth, as the metal is certainly a lot more durable than it looks. But you press down with increasing force, and slowly the metal gives way, before one by one the teeth snap off entirely – apparently you are a lot stronger than you thought! As you carefully move over to the cage door with your new, rather unwieldy lockpick, you realize that not only do you have any idea how to pick a lock, but you can’t even see it from the inside. Fortunately Katrina has a solution to that problem, as she crawls over to her own cell door with a groan.

    “Okay, I can see the lock from here. Little bit to the left . . . left some more . . . just a touch more – there!”

    You feel the tip of the key slip into the lock, able to pass through now that its teeth aren’t in the way. Unfortunately, you still don’t know how to open the lock. Again, Katrina’s help is invaluable.

    “Okay, now you need to use the tip of the key to press down the tumbles and undo the latch holding the lock shut. Just jiggle it around a bit until you feel something start to give a little, and then push that section down. Once it goes down all the way, try to turn the key and push against the door. If it feels like the key gets stuck, don’t try to force it! Just carefully try to work it loose again, and start over.”

    You still don’t really have an idea what you’re doing, but you follow Katrina’s suggestions as best you can, pushing the tip of the key around inside the lock until you feel something give. And then suddenly as if by magic, the door creaks open, nearly causing you to tumble out into the hallway!

    “Wow, you did it! Maybe you can some skill as a thief before this?”

    Katrina said, her voice carrying a note of surprise. Looking down the smoke-filled red hallway, you don’t see anyone, although you suddenly hear your two jailors coming down the next aisleway over.

    “Alright maggot, it’s your turn on the rack next! I wanna hear you squeal!”

    One of the devils growls, and you can hear them working on opening a cage in the other aisle. They’re only a little way down the aisle from you, and if they look closely on their way back, they might see through the bars and notice that someone’s cage door is now open . . .

    “Go! Go get the keys and get me out of here! But watch your back!”

    Katrina hisses, motioning her head towards the two devils.

    The Estate of Lord Nihilus

    Iethloc

    “Oh.”

    Xerxes said, marking a face as if he had just swallowed something bitter.

    “I was hoping you had an *actual* angel in your possession. In some circles I could probably pass him off as a male angel, or even just a half-breed valuable for the curiosity of it. But I’ve known him since he was a child human. It just wouldn’t be very tasteful, and I *do* have standards.”

    Xerxes sighs, looking crestfallen, although he perks up again as a thought occurs to him a moment later.

    “Fine. You can reward my loyalty with something else. Unless . . . perhaps you could acquire one on my behalf? I don’t want one that has seen heavy abuse, however! I want the pleasure of breaking the Markash to be all mine!”

    Xerxes pondered a moment more, and then shrugged.

    “I suppose your island mansion would also do. Or even a small village up in the mortal realm, provided you could make me the undisputed master of its inhabitants. I do so love watching mortals squirm!”

    The devil coughed loudly, as he suddenly remembered that he was in fact in the presence of an arguable mortal.

    “Present company excluded, of course. But no . . . I am willing to wait for my payment, so long as you are willing to pay me interest. An angel, or a lifetime of luxury up on the mortal realm. I’m willing to take either.”

    Xerxes frowns.

    “I never bothered to collect the details, but I heard something about you and the Baron betraying each other. I don’t really care which of you started it, but seeing as you are the victor I wanted to mention that I was not privy to the Baron’s plans – I was merely his, urmm, recruitment scout, as the humans would describe it. I hope that our partnership is much more rewarding with no such pitfalls.”

    Xerxes rubs his clawed hands together.

    “Now then - with contract negotiations out of the way for the moment, let us move on to something more interesting. I trust you are plotting some way to return to the mortal realm – some ritual to conduct, some ally to contact. What sort of resources do you require for this plan to succeed? Perhaps I can locate them for you.”

    The Screaming Dark Estate

    OverWilliam

    Videle looked thoughtful for a moment, reaching over to her blood-filled goblet to take a sip while you explained. When you were finished, she smiled and shook her head.

    “You didn’t answer my questions!”

    Videle accused in a singsong voice. Then she shook her head and smiled sympathetically.

    “Oh you poor dear. You have to be terrified, don’t you? Caught in the middle of two sides far beyond you, struggling to survive against creatures you’ve been told all your life only want to devour your soul, dying, and awakening . . . here.”

    Videle tilts her head and looks at you as if she’s just see you for the first time.

    “I’m sure being dragged here in that thing, and then me ranting at you about “pleasure or pain?” probably didn’t help much. I’m sorry about that – I thought you were a warlock or paladin or something, used to – well, all this!”

    Videle waved her hands around her, and then pursed her lips and rapped a finger against her chin.

    “Of course . . . you *did* kill quite a few of my servants. Surely you can forgive my servants for a little bit of overzealous caution. I can’t imagine being in there is very comfortable. Tell you what – if you promise to behave, I will let you out. Deal?”

    Without waiting for an answer, Videle sashayed back over to her desk, picking up a familiar looking stone. On her way back, however, she diverted course over to the angel.

    “Before I forget, I do want to point out something about you said. You’re right – in your entire lifetime you never shed innocent blood. And do you know why? Heh, because! No one is innocent! Not me, not you, and certainly not this little Markash right here!”

    Videle said, grabbing hold of the angel by the chin and forcing her head around so that you can see one half of her bloodied face. The angel, now face to face with Videle in turn, works up what little strength she has left, and spits a bloody wad into Videle’s face. The succubus queen merely smiles, releasing the angel to reach up and wipe away the blood from her face, and then putting the bloody finger in her mouth, sucking on it while her eyes roll up in exaggerated pleasure. Her taunt finished, Videle walked back over to you.

    “Think about it for a minute. You said two sides were waging a horrific battle nearly beyond your capability to understand. Who do you think belonged to one of those sides . . . and what do you think she was doing there in the first place? She should have been up in the Heavens minding her own business, but instead she was down on the mortal plane, to kill and maim and damn. Does that sound to you like a truly blameless, innocent being?”

    Reaching your metal prison, Videle waves the keystone over the guillotine blade first, unlocking it and allowing her to pull it back away from your neck. Not stopping with that, she then waves it over the dumbbell surrounding you, and you can hear locks clacking open. Videle pushes the dumbbell open, and then quickly waves the keystone over the handful of shackles still locked around you, a final defense in place to keep you immobile. Showing incredible trust or incredible arrogance, she then turns away from you and struts back over to the desk, dropping the keystone before turning back to face you, leaning back against the desk.

    “I want to help you adjust to your new existence. I know you don’t trust me, not yet, and I want to fix that. I sense that you are . . . special. You’re clearly not interested in me, but I would like us to be friends then, at least.”

    From her position over in the corner, the angel makes some sort of gasping sound, either unable to speak clearly or lacking the strength. Either way, you aren’t sure whether the sound was meant to be a warning, a snort of disgust, or laughter. Ignoring the heckler, Videle continues.

    “So in the spirit of garnering more trust, I am granting you two very precious gifts. The first gift is I am giving you a name. Now, I’m sure you are about to say that you don’t need one, and that you already have one. Well, let me explain! That was your mortal name – and it died with you. Like it or not, dear . . . you’re one of us now. A damned soul!”

    Reaching behind her, Videle suddenly whipped up an elegantly carved silver-framed mirror, catching your reflection within it. And, although it could have been an illusion, something tells you that the . . . thing looking back at you was real. (I will leave it up to you to describe what sort of horrible deformity/disfiguration/mutation Tare has, but it should be something on his face for dramatic reasons – glowing eyes, bleeding sockets, small horns, scaly skin, whatever. Just something that marks him obviously as no longer human, but at least part fiend.)

    As quickly as she holds it up, Videle lowers the mirror.

    “It hurts, I know, but I’m afraid it’s true. You are no longer human. You are something else, and unfortunately existence is going to be very hard for you from now on. You’re going to have to take what you want, and fight to keep it – every little thing. Even something as simple as a name. Normally until such a time as you are strong enough to choose your own name, you are instead called Ix – victim, slave . . . food. The word has a number of different meanings in our tongue, depending on the inflection. I’m willing to spare you from that, in the interest of our friendship. And so I would like to give you your new, eternal name. Hmm . . . how does Tamerlane sound to you? Yes, I like the sound of that.”

    Videle tilts her head back and forth, looking at you critically and then finally nodding as she sets the mirror back now. She cracks her knuckles, and then smiles as she walks over to a nearby closet, her hips swaying with every step.

    “And now for my second gift, something to help you relax and adjust to your new existence. I imagine you were pretty cramped in there. So I’m willing to give you a nice massage to work out all those tense muscles – and trust me, one massage from my hands and you will be thankful you went down instead of up! Or, if you’re feeling more . . . adventurous . . .”

    Videle opened up the closet and then stepped aside, allowing you to see inside. Within was a veritable prison storehouse of coils of rope, chains, straps, and other bizarre devices made out of a combination of all three that did not bear thinking about.

    “For the next hour I’ll let you practice on me. You’ll be the fiend, Tamerlane, and I’ll be your helpless Ix. You can do anything you want with me – and I have only one condition. Once I’m tied up to your satisfaction, you stay here and we talk - I ask you a question, you ask me a question, and we both answer the other’s questions truthfully. Does that sound fair?”

    Videle drapes herself against the side of the closet, looking inside and then looking back at you with a mischievous smile.

    “So what’s it going to be, Tamerlane? Your pleasure . . . or my pain?”

    [u]The Mortal Realm

    Yet Another Worthless Speck of a Town

    Gorgondantess

    You decided that you didn’t have time to be entirely circumspect in your efforts to make new allies. Bowing and scraping and begging for assistance was beneath you anyway, and if you let the humans decide the pace you’d probably end up on another wild duck (or was it goose? Stupid human sayings) chase like you had with the angel buyer. Still, smashing down the door and demanding to speak with their Speaker might give the paladins the wrong impression, as would killing in self-defense whoever attacked you first – the humans would certainly not understand that and instead think you were there to attack them!

    So you got some information from your high priest first. Generally, paladins worn armor, metal shells designed to protect them from injury (not that it did them much good when you struck with sufficient force to crack apart stone – or could just absorb the metal into yourself). They also typically had insignia and tabards and banners, all the nonsense pageantry humans so loved, of their Church somewhere on their person – shining swords or sunbursts, typically. Their Speaker could usually be found in the Council Chambers, a large building intended to hold meetings amongst the Church’s leadership, as well as serve as the Speaker’s residence. Also attached to it was the Speaker’s Aerie, a tower looming over the rest of the city where the Speaker could go to brood or preen or whatever it was Speaker’s did while looking down on the rest of their city.

    That tower made finding the correct building astoundingly easy from above, although the Speaker could admittedly be anywhere inside, from his Aerie all the way down to the basement. Unfortunately, such concerns are a bit elementary at the moment, as you note with consideration consternation that someone has already kicked in the door ahead of you!

    Below, fighting and fires have broken out, armored ants battling other armored ants while small dark figures cackle and cavort in the sky above. Presumably these attackers are the fiends you are so often confused with, here to kill all the paladins before they could do the same to them. This would simply not do, at least not until the paladins refused your offer of friendship!

    You imagined that this Speaker would either be on the front lines to repel this attack, or cowering somewhere inside surrounded by guards. Either way, the quickest way to find him in this mess would likely still be your original plan – locate some paladins and demand that they take you to their leader.

    As you plunge down towards the city, several of the winged creatures take note of you and fly up to meet you, cackling and screaming madly. They say something over and over again, as if that one word was the only thing that fit inside their tiny heads – “Markash”. You aren’t sure if that is a greeting, a taunt, or an insult, and it doesn’t really matter. While Maurice was an angel, essentially the “good” opposite of these creatures, they did not offer nearly as entertaining of a fight as she did. They were trash, and you disposed of them appropriately, cutting them apart and smashing them, reducing all of them that dared come near you into short-lived bursts of fire and ash.

    Finally you were through the layer of flying fiends and approaching the ground level. Below you a pair of humans are fighting back to back valiantly in front of a set of heavy wooden doors leading into the interior of the building. Four more humans already lie dead in the street a short distance away, evidentially part of the door’s guard that didn’t last very long. Several fiends picked over those corpses, mutilating them further with obvious glee while a wave of their filth brethren crowded in around the two remaining paladins on all sides. You came down directly on top of two of the fiends, stomping them down into the pavement with enough force to shatter the stone beneath their disintegrating bodies. You fling your arms out wide, smashing through another two fiends’ torsos, and the rest of the filth flows back away from you, hissing “Markash” as they do so. The barely intelligent beasts did not seem particularly intimidated by your display nonetheless, and so you imagine you would have to kill more of them in a few seconds. Nonetheless, those few seconds were enough time to shout your practiced greeting to the two shocked paladins.

    “Greetings! Take me to your Speaker!” (Yes, it’s supposed to be a mutation of “Take me to your leader”. It’s funny, damnit! )

    The two paladins simply stare at you for a moment, but then either because you vaguely resembled an angel or you just saved their lives, one of them points through the double doors.

    “He’s up in the Council Chambers in the middle of a meeting with the other Exarches! Third floor!”

    And, while you do believe the door was barred from the other side (apparently by those inside who felt it was alright to leave their comrades trapped outside to die), it didn’t slow you down as you kicked it open. Sadly, that did result in breaking the door, so you would have to demonstrate your new ability to kick open doors without breaking them elsewhere. The two paladins close ranks behind you, apparently intent on continuing to guard the doorway with their lives. Given their battered state and the numbers against them (and the fact that they were humans – arguably even more pathetic than the fiends you just effortlessly smashed), they would give up their lives shortly. You were in a hurry . . . but didn’t their cooperation deserve some reward? Maurice would probably want you to save them, and would say as much if she were here – but then again, she wasn’t here and would never know what you did unless you told her.

    The Village of Woodhall

    Kasanip

    Despite the pain in your sword hand, you use the gauntlet to deflect the elf’s thrust. The action sends shivers down your arm, and pain shooting from your already aching fingers. Determined not to let your story end here, you do your best to ignore the pain as you shift in the soft dirt remains of the elemental, spinning inside the elf’s guard and slashing a cut across his face. The elf backs off for a moment, touching his bleeding cheek in surprise, and then anger as he re-establishes his stance. More cautious now, the elf advances once again, and you are forced to block and deflect more of his blows with your gauntlet or parry them with your sword. Now would be a good time to have a shield, but unfortunately the earth elemental had broken the only one you had effortlessly.

    The duel continues for what seems like an eternity, neither of you able to penetrate the other’s guard. But it wouldn’t last much longer, as the last of your adrenaline is burned up, and all the aches and pains you had accumulated through a night of running, fighting, and protecting others started to more loudly demand attention. The elf also seems to be tiring, but not as quickly as you, and it seems likely that he would land a lucky for him, fatal for you blow any moment now before help could arrive.

    In desperation, you call out to Miriam . . . and your prayer is answered with a rush of power. For an instant, the world seems to be illuminated with a pale blue flame, and then you are lunging forward to skewer the elf with your battered sword. The weapon tears through the elf’s chest, who gasps in surprise and collapses forward. You also fall to your knees, and then onto your stomach as the elf falls on top of you, pinning you to the ground with his body.

    Although literally dead weight, the elf’s body is still surprisingly lightweight, enough that you would be able to crawl out from under him . . . that is, if you had any strength left. That last blow was indeed the last that you had, and lacking any further strength you simply lie there and wait for one of the other elves to walk forward and finish you. But they don’t get the chance, as crossbow bolts start to fly, brightly illuminating the area with light. Two elves rush forward and pick up your opponent’s body, lifting him off you and then carrying him with them as they rush off into the darkness.

    A few moments later, and the paladins are there, Welkin dismounting to rush over and lift you back up onto your feet. He wraps an arm around you to steady you, looking down at the shattered remains of the elemental in confusion before leading you over to his horse.

    “Easy now, looks like you’ve been in quite the battle. Did . . . did you dispatch the elemental? When you went running off into the darkness with the thing right behind you I didn’t expect to find you alive! But after we got everyone into the chapel I came with a few volunteers to finish the damn thing off before the elves used it to smash the chapel down on our heads. Guess that won’t be necessary now – come on, let’s get back to the chapel. It’s still not safe here.”

    Welkin helps you up onto the horse, and then mounts behind you, still keeping one hand on you to keep you steady. You are utterly exhausted, on more than just a physical level, and so Welkin’s aid is helpful. One curious fact does penetrate the fog of exhaustion, however – your sword hand no longer aches from where you had broken your fingers. They feel perfectly fine.

    **********

    The rest of the night passes uneventfully, or at least as far as you know – the paladins maintain a watch throughout the rest of the night but they refuse to let you join them.

    “You’ve done enough.” Welkin insists, and eventually suggests that you help stand guard over the refuges cowering in the chapel basement. “Just in case the elves have another earth elemental after all – you’re our secret weapon against those!”

    Occasionally, you find yourself nodding off down in the dark basement, along with the rest of the village’s remaining populace, tiredness inevitably trumping terror. But what little fitful bouts of sleep you do get offer little shelter, filled with past battles, sorrow, and death. Finally the sun rises, and the paladins come down to escort everyone up out of the cellar and out through the chapel doors.

    “The elves have gone – for now. I fear they left precious little behind, though.”

    Welkin growled, as the chapel doors opened to reveal that the formerly peaceful village was now nothing more than a burnt out ruin. None of the buildings were intact, and only a few were even standing at all, blackened and smoking fingers poking up at the sky.

    “I know it looks bad, but there may be something left among the ruins. Everyone should spread out and collect anything of use that you can find – move in pairs and be careful. The elves are gone but they probably haven’t gone far. We leave for the city of Luxien in two hours!”

    Welkin announces, and then dismisses the sobbing townsfolk to sift through the ruins of their town, trying to find anything useful that remained to bring along on the journey. As they being to descend, Welkin turns his bloodshot eyes onto his second-in-command, a sour-faced looking dwarf.

    “I want two three-man patrols on horses circling around the village at all times. If they encounter any elves they are to withdraw immediately and sound the alarm. They can rotate horses as necessary to give them a rest – gods know they’ll need it. Everyone else is to help with the search of the town for supplies, starting with the chapel – there’s bound to be a few barrels of water down in the basement at least. The trip to Luxien is going to be hellish, but it’s the only place we and the rest of these people will be safe.”

    Welkin slaps his lieutenant on the arm, and then turns his attention back onto you. It’s clear that he has not slept at all yet, but he still forces a smile onto his face.

    “Ah, there’s our elemental slayer. I believe, Miss Lukina, that you wished to speak with me? I imagine once we’re on the road my attention will be needed elsewhere, so I am afraid this is likely your best opportunity. What is it?”

    Vegna

    At the rumbling of your stomach, the elf quirked an eyebrow at you.

    “Oh, are you hungry? Here, it’s all I have left from my lunch. I left in a hurry, so I didn’t have time to pack any supplies!”

    From the pocket of her robes, the elf produced an apple, which she tossed over to you. Val’Tosh looks at the apple sullenly, although the piece of fruit likely would not even put a dent in his appetite.

    “Got any more surprises for us, elf?”

    Your former attacker smirks as she turns away to start back down the path.

    “I might have a few. But they wouldn’t be surprises if I told them to you right now, now would they?”

    Despite her snark, the elf is rather solemn as you cross through the burnt remains of her town. Once on the far side, she pauses a moment, suddenly kneeling down and vomiting.

    “We . . . we should bury those people that were . . . left behind as a warning. I-It wouldn’t take us long.”

    Even your normally jovial ogre friend seems disturbed by the macabre scene the elves left behind. And it was even worse now that you had time to really examine the bodies, the looks of horror frozen of their faces, the bloody muscles frozen in place by rigor mortis after the elves peeled away the skin . . . you almost felt like vomiting yourself. But every moment you delayed was another moment that the elves gained on you. And if this was what they did when they were in a hurry leaving, you shuddered to think what they would do to the survivors once the elves could take their time, safely back at home.

    Luxien, The Cathedral City

    Baerdog7

    (So, I’ve been trying to figure out when to move on to the next phase, a decision not made any easier by Cardea’s disappearance. But you know what? Well . . . (Warning, Portal 2 spoilers)


    You steel yourself mentally for the verbal onslaught that is sure to follow your proposed plan, but before anyone present can shout a word out an entirely different sort of onslaught begins. The sunroof dome that forms a central portion of the Council Chamber’s ceiling suddenly explodes inward, raining glass shards and a trio of black-armored figures down upon everyone present.

    One such shard of glass slashes across your cheek, the wound resealing almost as fast as it was torn open by the speeding glass. Tyra is not quite so lucky, a jagged chunk of reinforced glass stabbing into the base of her neck. The others present are largely unharmed, Ysora and Melissan regenerating instantly from their minor wounds while Randal is taking shelter underneath the desk before the first glass even gets there, dragging Kranmer down to safety with him. The trio of dark figures standing across the table from you, now unmistakably fiends, brandish their weapons threateningly.

    “Death to the –“

    The lead fiend shouts, but he is cut off as Ysora lifts the entire, massive table that the assembled council is sitting at, and then slams one end back down onto the fiend, turning him into a bloody paste that immediately burns away into an ashen smear. A moment later, she swings the stained end around in a wide arc, reducing the other two into flashes of smoke and ash. Melissan rockets up to the broken sun dome, sending the next wave of fiends about to jump down flying in all directions – and in multiple pieces. Judging from the sounds of furious battle that come from above, she is far from alone up there right now. Kranmer immediately turns his attention to Tyra, placing his hands around the gushing wound while whispering prayers that spark a warm glow to begin emanating from the wound. As he comes back up to his feet, Randall has a blade in each hand – seeing that the fiends have already been dispatched, he shrugs and offers one of the short swords to you. From her position on the floor, Tyra looks desperately up at you as her face begins to pale.

    “P-Protect . . .”

    She gurgles, only to be shushed by Kranmer as the archbishop continues to struggle with saving her life. From somewhere outside, you hear an unearthly shriek, followed by the unmistakable sound of ringing bells. The alarm had been sounded, and now it was unmistakable that this was a full-scale attack. You were too late – the Hells were bringing the battle to you. How, you have no bloody clue, but the seriousness of the attack is unmistakable as Melissan suddenly plunges back down through the sun dome battered and bloody. She tumbles down out of control, hitting the floor of the chamber with a sickening crack. A moment later, and a screaming column of wind and debris comes howling down through the broken sun dome after her.

    “ANDER!!!!”

    Quietus screams upon seeing you, and the column of wind plunges eagerly downward. Hefting the massive table again, Ysora pulls back and hurls it up like a discus, the heavy wooden desk flying up to smash through the column of wind with minimal effect before cracking itself in half against the rest of the ceiling. With a gesture and shouted word, Ysora follows up her ineffective attack by summoning a shimmering barrier across the entire room a few feet above your heads. This does force the Fiend Lord to stop, and his shriek of frustration reverberates down into your bones as the wind slams itself wildly into the barrier over and over again, grinding the two split pieces of table into splinters.

    “Can’t hold him . . . for long.”

    Ysora grunts, straining to keep the entire barrier intact as the Fiend Lord rages against it. Struggling up to her feet, Melissan limps over to join you, one leg twisted and unable to support her weight and both wings hanging at unnatural angles from her back. Randall goes over to the set of double doors behind your seats, which fly open just as he gets there, revealing another trio of demons standing there. Randall smoothly dodges back as the doors fly open, ducks under the claw of the lead demon, slashes open the fiend’s throat in passing, reaches into his robes with his free hand, throws the vial of holy water that hand produces into the second demon’s face before running it through with his sword, leaving the weapon embedded there as he sidesteps a swipe from the third demon, spins around to a spot behind it, and reaches up with both hands to snap the fiend’s neck. As the three demons fall away into ash, Randall looks both ways down the adjoining hallway, shrugs and bends down to retrieve his sword from the pile of ash.

    “This way’s clear. We need to get to a more defensible location immediately.”

    From his position on the floor, Kranmer looks up and shakes his head.

    “If we try and move her now, she’s not going to make it.”

    “Go!”

    Tyra rasps, as the doors at the far end of the room buckle inward and then collapse, allowing another trio of demons to come charging into the room. More enter behind them, a tide of lesser fiends that you could sweep aside, but there was no telling how much longer Ysora could keep Quietus at bay. To turn and run away, however, meant abandoning a friend to death or worse – but you had sacrificed friends before now. What would you do this time?

    Phaedra

    Lonna/The_Snark

    At your mention of “Advisors”, the boy with the familiar red crystal sticking out of his chest winces. Evidentially Istomilo caught the reference, although Titania merely watches you without catching the implication. At your mention of dozens of lifetimes, however, Titania’s eyes go wide.

    “Dozens!?”

    She repeats, shaking her head.

    “No no no, impossible! You were to be immortal, timeless, eternal my daughter! You should have had only one lifetime, an endless span of vitality lasting from past into the future!”

    The boy Isotmilo coughs.

    “Umm . . . actually you made a mistake, Ti. Our daughter is not immortal at all, her soul merely transfers into a new mortal shell rather than pass on to the afterlife upon the death of her current one.”

    Again, Titania’s eyes go wide.

    “What!? Then . . . you have died hundreds of times as well? Oh, you poor dear! I never wanted such a horrid fate for you!”

    Titania said, turning back to face the reborn Pyria and placing a hand on each of her cheeks. This time, the cold does bite through the aura of warmth surrounding her, and the sharp biting pain causes Jacqueline to wince as Titania leans forward to plant a gentle kiss on her nose.

    “I’m going to fix this, I promise. But certain matters demand our attention first.”

    Titania vows, releasing her gentle but still painful grip a moment later and allowing the warmth to painfully start flowing back into Jacqueline’s cheeks, prompting another reflexive wince. All attention then turns back to the angelic girl, too cold or too frightened to say anything as Jacqueline passes judgment. Istomilo nods at the mention of the imprisoning crystal.

    “Yes, I remember that research, an outgrowth of this, actually.”

    Istomilo gestures at the crystal protruding from his chest. He eyes Marisiel with a frown.

    “Of course, that crystal consumed the body as well if I remember correctly. Not terribly a lot of fun of watch, although I imagine it’s not very pleasant for the one experiencing it.”

    “We’ll save it for last then – the grave that Marisiel shall be condemned to until the end of time! But I agree with our daughter, Milo. Marisiel shall be made to suffer first, and be given a chance to watch her failure unfold as this family returns to its rightful place upon the throne of Man!”

    Titania gestures imperiously.

    “Take this little tramp away to the dungeons, would you Milo? I would like some alone time with my daughter.”

    The boy gives Jacqueline a pleading look, and shakes his head ever so slightly. Then, he grabs Marisiel roughly by the hand, and drags her out of the room.

    (The_Snark, if you have anything you’d like to add to this scene, or anything you’d like to say to Istomilo in private once out of the room, now would be the time to post. If I hear nothing from you by next DM I suppose I’ll start the next scene for poor Mar.)

    Meanwhile, Titania returns to the remains of her icy throne and sits down, patting her lap encouragingly, either uncaring or unaware that her daughter was a full-grown woman rather than a preteen child anymore.

    “Come daughter. Sit on your mother’s lap and tell me how you have been all these long years. Whatever you can remember. We have been apart for so long, and I . . . I am sorry for that.”

    The Resonant Memory

    WhiteKnight777

    At your comparison of the Baron and yourself, Nihilus nods in agreement.

    “True. You are a bastard Umber, and perhaps even a monster, but the Baron of Gast is – was? Will be? – far worse. Makes you sort of wonder what Fate would dredge up if I ever somehow move past him.”

    For just a moment, you sense a flash of anger as Nihilus clenches his hands into trembling fists, but then it’s gone and your new unflappable ally is back. And as you question him as to his motives, the stoic façade again cracks apart as Nihilus throws his head back and laughs.

    “Do – do you have any idea *snort* how ironic that is? The *heheheh* very definition of meaningless *hah* self-preservation, asking me if I have a plan beyond simple preservation!?”

    As with the flash of anger, the mirth fades quickly, and Nihilus sternly shakes his head.

    “No, I’m afraid a simple stalemate with Fate is the best I can manage, and all I can hope for. My actions now will preserve the world for several thousand years, but I have not found a way to escape the fire forever. Every action I take now plants a seed of destruction that will sprout at some later date, some other way that Fate can turn it back on us all. Perhaps destiny cannot be averted forever, and it is inevitable that our world will be burned to ash. I don’t know, but many of the obvious solutions I have already tried.”

    Beneath his cowl, Nihilus clearly smiles as he explains.

    “Like enlisting your aid. Tried that already. Didn’t end well! Tried enlisting the Baron’s aid as well for that matter, and that was even more of a cluster****. Also tried killing both of you – that ended about as well as you would think. Fate seems to go a little ape**** whenever I try to interfere with either of you directly, so I’ve resorted to more subtle means – which generally means I convince you to seek immortality and the Baron to seek dominance over the gods. You’ve likely seen how well that works out, but the world limps on – until it doesn’t anymore.”

    Nihilus falls silent for a moment, as if debating something internally, but then sighs and speaks up.

    “This is probably going to bite me in the ass at some point, but when I fail again it’s hardly going to matter. I am the writer of history, but that does not mean I can travel through time – at least, not how you did. It’s easy enough to let the flow of time carry me along downstream at a rapid pace – although I tend to like being able to use the peaceful years to rest and plan – and possible to go back upstream a very short distance. But by and large, I have one shot at diverting the course of history at each important fork. As you can imagine, I prefer to change only a precious few details each time through, trying to keep the course of history manageable for me to understand – not that Fate makes that easy with its damnable subtle variations! But once the world ends, so do I. And then, well, let’s call it a new incarnation of me starts back at the beginning, aware of what happened “last time”.”

    Nihilus shrugs.

    “I don’t know if I die ahead of schedule whether I will appear back in the Hells like other fiends . . . or if I will simply fade out of existence. And if I don’t come back when the next go around starts, then this world is doomed. Forever. It’s made me understandably cautious, although that’s caused problems as well. For example, I still don’t really know how exactly you and the Baron manage to free Azguloth – I’m guessing magic, but beyond that . . .”

    Nihilus shrugs.

    “Being anywhere near the Forger of Oblivion when he gets out doesn’t seem like a wise move for survival. But one problem at a time – which currently, is foiling Fate’s latest attempt to **** with me.”

    Nihilus gets back up to his feet with a sigh and offers a hand up to you.

    “Alright, let’s go with her attempting to alter the formula. When exactly would she be able to do that? Anytime, or only when the moon has completed its sixth rotation around the sun and the stars are in perfect alignment, at which point she utters the magic words backwards three times instead of four?”

    Nihilus snickers and then holds up a hand.

    “Sorry. This is actually a little bit exciting. I tend to sleepwalk through this part and the next couple hundred years, figuring nothing of import will happen now that I’ve got this challenge handled. Or so I thought I did – I wonder if something I did last time . . . or will do, or . . . ah, you know what I mean – triggered this? Anyway, I should be able to identify Marialta as I identified you, although that’s going to require me actually seeing her. Where shall we start the hunt?”
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

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  9. - Top - End - #99
    Troll in the Playground
     
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    Jul 2007

    Default Re: Return to Ironheart IC

    The Mortal Realm

    A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

    TechnOkami/daelrog
    While the others begin hauling the supplies out of the cache so that a proper accounting could be made, the two of you retire a short distance to have a private conversation over lunch. Certainly, although most of the storehouse is salted meat and other easily stored goods, there are a few additional amenities.

    “Hah! A bottle of Donovale 286! Why did your backwater tavern never have any Donovale on stock, Mags!?”

    Greg cried as he emerged from the cache, periodically taking swigs directly from the opened bottle of wine. Mags who was right behind him – and carrying a barrel under each arm, merely glared at his former elderly patron.

    “Mhmm!”

    Mags grunted, in what likely passed for some sort of dire threat as he set the two barrels down next to the small stockpile of similar barrels already brought up. Willow appeared a moment later, lugging a barrel on her back with surprising ease, the barmaid apparently used to helping her employer maintain stock. Jarod came up a moment later, balancing a somewhat smaller cask on his shoulder which he set down next to the others. He then went back and shut the cache’s secret door before turning back to regard the stockpile with a triumphant smile.

    “Well, that is the last of it, and so now it’s time for us to get moving. I’ve thought about what you said, Rosenburg, and while it’s a good suggestion I think it would take some time to call the animals here. And, unfortunately, they would be no less susceptible to exhaustion than we would be. Dangerous and attention attracting as it may be, I think we have no choice in the matter.”

    Jarod traces some runes in the dirt with the butt of his staff, muttering a chant under his breath as he does so. And then he shouts a final word as he twirls his staff around before bringing the head of it cracking down against the earth. For a moment, nothing happens, but then the earth heaves and separates, rising of its own accord to form a dozen man-sized earth elementals.

    “Pick up those barrels – gently! – and follow. You will be returned to your home immediately after we arrive at our destination.”

    Jarod says, and the earth elementals move to obey. They’re not precisely gentle with their burdens, but for a mass of shifting earth and rocks they do pretty well and nothing is smashed or broken. The dozen of them are also strong enough to carry two barrels of supplies apiece, leaving nothing behind and allowing everyone to travel unencumbered.

    “Be on your guard everyone. If the elves are going to bother us, they’re going to do it now before we can reach the – ha, “safety” of civilization!”

    No sooner has Jarod voiced this warning than another voice calls out from the forest.

    “Oh, I daresay they will do much worse than bother you!”

    From the woods, a man swaddled in bandages and a tattered cloak strides into view. The patches of his skin that are visible are pockmarked and scarred, evidence that he has been badly burned at some point. Jarod squints his eyes at the new arrival, his voice cautious but also carrying a note of hope.

    “Garret, is that you? I knew you were coming but when you didn’t show up I figured that you had been captured by the elves! How did you manage to escape!?”

    “Garret’s” only reply was to throw his partially-concealed head back and laugh maniacally.

    Theme Song

    “Sorry, your little meat puppet friend isn’t here right now! But I’ll be sure to give him a front-row seat to your deaths!”

    Gouts of flame shoot out from underneath each of the former druid’s sleeves, creating a wall of flame that rapidly travels out around the periphery of the clearing, forming an unbreakable ring. A few moments after the wall has shot up to its full height, small dog-sized flicks of flame begin to emerge from it - infantile fire elementals.

    “Go, my pets! Burn these fools until not even their bones remain!”

    An unending stream of fire elementals emerge from the flame wall, a handful at a time, to approach the group from all directions. From his position at the head of the circle, Garret begins to dance with an invisible partner, his eyes always remaining locked onto the group. His feet cut hypnotic patterns in the dirt, while his hands weave arcane patterns. He begins twirling towards the group, and as he gets close he makes a low bow, his one hand snapping out as it conjures a fiery whip out of thin air. The whip narrowly misses Jarod, cutting against the ground just in front of his feet instead. Where the whip touches ground, another wall of fire roughly three feet wide erupts, it too beginning to slowly disgorge elementals.

    “You should just lie down and let the flames wash over you! It will end so much quicker that way! Mmm, but not nearly as much fun for me!”

    The Besieged City of Amaranth

    GuyFawkes

    Aurewlynn simply stares at you as you offer her the bottle, and smirks as you realize your error. She watches you fumble with the bottle with obvious curiosity, although she doesn’t say anything as you finally get the cork out and offer the bottle to her lips. She drinks slowly, but then with increasing greed as the potion cures both her injuries and her thirst. As you watch, her fingers magically straighten themselves, the potion’s magic indeed powerful enough to fix them. She turns her hands over, back and forth, smiling as she flexes the fingers and they work successfully.

    “Thank you. Perhaps it is just my understandable distrust of humans, but I feel as if you are one of a kind with your kindness and generosity.”

    At your offer of food, Aurewylnn’s eyes go wide and she pounces on it, tearing it apart and shoving it into her mouth as fast as she can swallow it, barely chewing or tasting it. Halfway through, she realizes what she is doing and slows down with a sheepish smile.

    “I did not think I would taste anything other than my own blood again, nor feel clean. I think I would need to submerge myself in a stream of several hours to completely get the smell of those sewers out, but a change of clothes will help. You are very thoughtful, Noctis.”

    The elf listens to your story with skepticism initially, but changes to growing concern as you explain the full nature of the conflict. Aurewlynn is silent for several long moments after you are finished, unable to meet your eyes.

    “You give me too much credit, Noctis. I’m not what you think, and I doubt that one elf who is bested by a handful of human scum can help stop such a menace. I’m sorry.”

    Aurewlynn falls silent for a moment, shaking her head . . . and then looks up at you.

    “Wait. Your first question, about the human fortress . . . it’s connected to this, isn’t it? It has some sort of relation to your quest to keep this evil being out of our world, doesn’t it!?”

    A look of real horror passes across the elf’s face as she hops down from her counter-top seat.

    “We have to warn them! We have to tell my people that they are in danger there! What if they trigger something accidentally, and it lets this thing into our world!? They’d be right on top of it! Or, or – these other dark forces you talk about come to the fortress, expecting to find those who would oppose their desires, and finding my people instead!?”

    Aurewlynn grabs the clean set of clothes and runs into one of the adjoining rooms, tearing at her filthy uniform with her free hand as she goes. She is back in less than a minute, dressed in the clothes that you had provided, nearly tripping on the cuffs of the pants that are much too long for her legs. She stops briefly to roll them up, hopping the rest of the way to you as she finishes rolling up the second.

    “Come on, we have to go! I’ll help you, swear the oaths of your order, whatever! But we have to go to Ironheart right now and warn my people!”
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

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  10. - Top - End - #100
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Speaker Ander Windrivver
    Current mood:

    Battle Music

    Council meetings were often rife with conflict, but this was ridiculous.

    Ander watches with growing rage as first Tyra is nearly killed by a shard of falling glass and again when Melissan is thrown back into the Council chamber with Quietus hot on her heels. This could not be allowed!

    Time seems to slow as all of Ander's battle senses awaken at once, his righteous fury manifesting as a corona of holy energy.

    While High Inquisitor Luxford dispatches the trio of demons at the rear of the Council chambers, Ander reaches down to lay hands on Tyra. It's not much, just a quick jolt of healing energy but it would hopefully stop the worst of the bleeding long enough for her to get somewhere safe.

    GET HER OUT! Ander roars, his words spurring the Archbishop with the bolstering power of his cloak.

    The Tyran and Kranmer situation addressed, but there is banging at the doors at the front of the room. More demons were on the way. Ander whirls on Winril, currently helping Melissan get to her feet.

    I hope you were right.

    With no more time for delay, Ander forms his hand into a beak shape and plunges it deep into Melissan's chest right between the third and fourth ribs on the left side near her heart and tears out her soul crystal. Pressing Randal's other sword into Winril's hand, he pushes the two towards the far door.

    Only he and Ysora were left standing their ground when the front doors splintered and gave way to the demonic onslaught. Ander's corona of light reaches blinding levels as he focuses the full might of his Will and the full power of his divine cloak into his voice, lending it the might of the Gods themselves. As the demon filth spills into the room, he speaks but a single syllable...

    DIE!

    While several of the weaker ones do die, the stronger-willed demons are merely halted in their tracks. Even Quietus seems cowed for a moment before resuming his eternal howling. Ysora's barrier was failing, however, and it was on the wrong side of the Fiend Lord.

    Ysora, you can't keep him out! We have to keep him IN!

    Holy chains sprout from Ander's hands as he shouts, flying toward both passageways into the chamber. With all of the other Council members (hopefully) out of the room, Ander tears and lashes at the heavy masonry around the passages, collapsing them on the remaining demons and sealing the room from the ground.

    Drop the barrier now! Get it above him and keep him close to the ground!

    Ander steels himself as Ysora's barrier drops and the flaying winds envelop him. Splinters and shards of glass tear at his flesh and clothes, but he pays them no heed. Drawing Morganna's sword, Ander leaps into the center of the tornado.
    Last edited by Baerdog7; 2012-09-16 at 01:55 AM.
    Quote Originally Posted by PhoeKun View Post
    Baerdog: super genius.

  11. - Top - End - #101
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    OverWilliam's Avatar

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    ~Tare

    At this latest shift of demeanor, Tare had to do a mental double-take to keep from getting thrown for a loop. Was she sympathizing now?

    And the way she looked at him. It was suddenly different. It was a relief when she turned away-- to go torment her poor angel prisoner more. This made Tare incredibly uncomfortable. In a flash of insight, he saw himself as the beaten tormented creature hung against a wall, his blood being swallowed by a terrifying demoness. It helped curb the minor leeway Videle had made so far at getting her perfect thighs into his imagination.

    “Think about it for a minute. You said two sides were waging a horrific battle nearly beyond your capability to understand. Who do you think belonged to one of those sides . . . and what do you think she was doing there in the first place? She should have been up in the Heavens minding her own business, but instead she was down on the mortal plane, to kill and maim and damn. Does that sound to you like a truly blameless, innocent being?”

    This only confused Tare further. ...Who is she TALKING about?? "Up in the Heavens minding her own business"? That couldn't be Melcara. What is going on?

    He stared, baffled, at Videle as she walked back over to his one-man prison, her very walk a dance of seduction, and watched disbelieving as she disabled the internal pressure-sensitive booby-traps. It's a trick. He thought, as she released the lock on the iron maiden itself. Don't fall for it. You're still a prisoner. Even if the dumbbell is unlocked, the doors of this room are no doubt sealed tight. She's trying to get you to relax. The trouble was, if that was what she was trying to do, it was working. She even released the shackles on his hands and let them drop to the inside floor of the iron maiden with a freedom-affirming clatter. Tare rubbed at his wrists. They'd not been in the shackles long enough to have started bleeding, but sure well long enough to be sore.

    He looked down at himself, taking inventory. A length of shapeless black cloth was wrapped around his waist, vanguarding some measure of modesty from the waist down. From there up, though, nothing now stood between him and Videle's appraising gaze. He might've imagined it, or more likely it was put there specifically for his benefit, but a look of intrigued approval passed across the Succubus' features at his street-muscled figure. It was impossible to suppress a tiny amount of satisfaction, even given the outlandish circumstances.

    “I want to help you adjust to your new existence. I know you don’t trust me, not yet, and I want to fix that. I sense that you are . . . special. You’re clearly not interested in me, but I would like us to be friends then, at least.”

    Tare did not know how to take this, at first. The idea that the Succubus was going to give up trying to coerce him seemed far-fetched, but some form of mis-guided wishful thinking made him want to believe that she could be telling the truth. The angel's impossible-to-interpret interjection from her station in the corner threw a lot of doubt into that thought, however. Ok, seriously. She's starting to get to me. Knock it off, Tare. You've been in the room with her for 15 minutes and already you're starting to go soft. She's a DEMON. She's EVIL. Cut it OUT.

    “So in the spirit of garnering more trust, I am granting you two very precious gifts. The first gift is I am giving you a name. Now, I’m sure you are about to say that you don’t need one, and that you already have one. Well, let me explain! That was your mortal name – and it died with you. Like it or not, dear . . . you’re one of us now. A damned soul!”

    When the mirror flashed up, there was an actual, physical bolt of pain that went through his chest as his heart stopped beating for half a second. It made up for lost ground in the seconds following by trying to pound its way out of his chest.

    There was his face. But it was his own in resemblance only-- it had been replaced with something from a horrible dream. His eyes had their steely green replaced by rings of orange that glowed like coals burning with inner heat. The whites around them were dyed inky black, but these two things together were possibly the smallest changes to Tare's visage. As though a bolt of fire had glanced off the left side of his face, the outermost layer of skin almost looked like it had been burned away-- but instead of leaving exposed muscle and bleeding flesh behind beneath it, a Demon's face lurked beneath his own. Burgundy-red skin, new and fresh with his re-birth, stretched over angular bones. A healthy, oil-skin sheen caught the ambient light even as he stared, and the beginning nubs of spikey scales pushed from where his cheekbones and his jaw connected. The corner of his mouth was drawn back further than a human's should, and an extra double-row of sharp teeth peeked out from behind where his human molars should have stopped.

    Without thinking about it, one shaking hand went up to his face and came away with flakes of his own skin peeled off by barely brushing his fingers along his jawline.

    He'd had dreams before where his face crackled and fell off in flakes, revealing a new face underneath. They weren't dreams, they were nightmares.

    “It hurts, I know, but I’m afraid it’s true. You are no longer human. You are something else, and unfortunately existence is going to be very hard for you from now on. You’re going to have to take what you want, and fight to keep it – every little thing. Even something as simple as a name.”

    The room began to spin-- or maybe it was just his head and the room was standing still. This wasn't a dream. He wouldn't be waking up from this one. It was happening. For real. Tare realized he was bathed in cold sweat.

    “Normally until such a time as you are strong enough to choose your own name, you are instead called Ix – victim, slave . . . food. The word has a number of different meanings in our tongue, depending on the inflection. I’m willing to spare you from that, in the interest of our friendship. And so I would like to give you your new, eternal name. Hmm . . . how does Tamerlane sound to you? Yes, I like the sound of that.”

    The word had a bizarre effect on Tare. He was Named. He desparately called his "real" name to his mind, but found that the demoness was not exaggerating-- it felt hollow and distant, as though it lacked the power to discribe him anymore. The Hellname, Tamerlane, settled around his shoulders like the weight of a physical cloak. It was a cloak that provided no warmth, no protection. Only weight. Tare's knees started buckling underneath it.

    “And now for my second gift, something to help you relax and adjust to your new existence. I imagine you were pretty cramped in there. So I’m willing to give you a nice massage to work out all those tense muscles...”

    Her voice turned into an indecipherable succession of meaningless syllables as horror tightened its grip on his chest. His ears were ringing too loud to pay attention to anything else.

    It was too much. His mind was reeling trying to process it all. He was DEAD. He had actually, literally DIED. He was trapped in a room with a demon woman who could probably tear him in half (down the middle) and she was trying to solicit sexual favors from (or for?) him. Half of his face was literally falling off, and a fiend was living underneath it. And that fiend was HIM. He didn't even notice how badly he was hyperventilating. He did notice that his stomach was churning on the half-pint of angel blood he'd just been force-fed, and now--

    “So what’s it going to be, Tamerlane? Your pleasure . . . or my pain?”

    "I-- I don't even know you!!" He finally exploded, spinning to face Videle, fear and desperation making his voice thin and brittle. There was a dangerous kind of crazy in his newly-minted eyes, their orange screaming of mental strain not resolving itself well. "You're insane!! How could you even offer--" But the exertion proved to be a bad idea given his current state. "--offer to... oh, gods..." He was clearly going into shock.

    "Woah-- woah. Woah,woahwoah..." Tare murmured weakly as his vision began to tunnel, losing all color and going black in a collapsing circle from the outside in. He stumbled into a wall and, at this point so disoriented as to barely identify it as the wall and not the floor, he slid down it into a dizzy heap where it met the ground. His face (save for the "torn" parts) had gone a decidedly unhealthy shade of clammy green.

    "I... want to leave now." He tried, his voice cracking just barely above a whisper.

    Tare--or was it Tamerlane?--was not taking this well.
    Deo Soli Sit Semper Gloria

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    Its offical. Overwilliam is Duke Devlin.

  12. - Top - End - #102
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Korram Alstan

    I-really-hope-that-wor-oh-this-was-a-terrible-plan-oh-good-it-worked.

    Korram's thoughts blur in a rapid, multi-faceted transition as the angel first retaliates, then lets him back down onto the ground after acknowledging that he was only helping, albeit in a rather rough fashion.

    “You’re right human. Forgive me, I’m – I’m still learning, and the past few lessons have not been pleasant.”

    Korram simply remains silent, allowing the angel to get her bearings once more.

    “Y-you’re the Korram, aren’t you? The human who sacrificed himself to save our Lady!? Um . . . you’re v-very brave.”

    What.

    Korram has no idea how to react to the angel's almost reverent reaction to his presence. Instead, he simply nods in confirmation and does his best to avoid looking utterly confused as she continues.

    “I’m M-Miranda.”

    “I need to drive the rest of these blasphemers out. I’d be honored to have you fight beside me. Would it be alright if we flew? It would be faster.”

    "Yeah, of course. Let's go."

    Korram allows Miranda to carry him high into the air, keeping a tight reign over the weak but insistent fear that pushes on the edge of his consciousness, the experience recalling his last moments of life. When they spot another group of invaders, Korram quickly consults with Miranda about their course of action. After the plan is formed, Korram waits on the roof before agilely moving into the path of the conscripts. He lands in a crouching position, before coming to stand in an intimidating posture.

    “Listen. I’m sorry but if we don’t come back with prisoners they’ll torture our families! Get out of our way – please?”

    So that's why.

    “Damn you!”

    Before Korram can respond, the leader of the group attacks him. Korram effortlessly avoids the first attack, then dodges out of the way of the subsequent strikes with similar ease.

    "I'm sorry. Really. I am. But I won't let you damn these people to earn temporary safety for your families."

    Before he can continue, Miranda calls to him from above.

    “I think I see another group heading back to a portal! If you’re alright here, I’m going to go and stop them!”

    "Go! I'll be fine!"

    Korram punctuates his statement by grabbing his opponent's wrist mid-swing and disarming him. Using his grip, Korram flips his opponent off of his feet and onto the ground. Disorienting the leader with a swift kick to the head, Korram rushes the rest of the group. Korram sweeps the first opponent of his feet, then slams an elbow into his head to disable him. He catches the next attacker much like the leader, then backhands a fourth before using his grabbed opponent as leverage to pick himself off the ground and kick the assailant with both feet. The action repels him and his grabbed target back into a wall, knocking him out as well. Korram finishes by diving between the last two conscripts, then slamming their heads together before they can attack him. Finished, Korram dusts his hands off and checks to make sure that he has fully incapacitated his opponents.
    Truly awesome Ark Tamaeus avatar by Bryn. Full size version here.

  13. - Top - End - #103
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    WhiteKnight777's Avatar

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    Umber

    After Nihilus' outburst of mirth, Umber looked at him for a long, quiet moment. Instead of immediately answering Nihilus' latest question, Umber spoke in a calm, meditative tone - almost as if he were trying to puzzle something out. "Meaningless? An interesting thought... but one that I reject. Do you know why it is I've continued all these years. For that matter, do you know why you have? It is... hellish, at times, being so dreadfully alone - knowing you are the only one who walks the path you have chosen. Fighting a cause that seems doomed to utter failure. That vast, almost cosmic sense of helplessness - knowing that no matter how damn hard you find, you are ultimately a brief, guttering candle flame in an illimitable dark infinity - and that once all this comes to an end - " he gestured around himself, a wave of a hand that encompassed the world. "It will be exactly the same as if you had never existed.

    "
    So Umber spoke, and it was unclear about whom he was speaking. And then he broke out into a broad grin. "I have learned one or two things on my road - as I'm sure you have on your own, albeit more twisty-turny path. One of the things I have come to realize is that a sense of perspective is ****. It is absolutely worthless when it comes to all the things that really matter." Umber laughed aloud, at a joke perhaps only he could see. "What does it matter if nothing matters, Nihilus? Does it change the way you feel? Does it make you want to fight any less? Does it make you waver one iota in your resolve to spit in fate's eye and damn the darkness? It never has for me. Do you know why I carry on, and why I have for all these years?"

    Umber paused, his smile fading, his expression growing thoughtful again. "Part of it is fear - I always feared the dark. Oh, not the night - I mean the true darkness that I always suspected lay beyond the slick, ebon walls of death. The chill of absolute nullity, the annihilation of self and soul and the rendering of all that I am unto nothing. That petrified me, in a way that nothing else ever has - that was what drove me. And, I suspect, what drove the others - well, save perhaps for the Angel of Silence. He's always been a hard one to fathom, and no easier now that I know his... allegiances."

    "But fear alone would be meaningless indeed - a man who lives for no other reason than fear is a coward, and a coward is a thing of little worth to others and less to himself - I admit that fear is part of my makeup, but far from the whole of it. The other reason - the more worthy reason - is just as elemental. Life, Nihilus, is good."

    Umber spread his hands, a conjurer performing a trick. "Banal. Perhaps even peurile. But it remains true. For all that I have suffered, for all the defeats and humiliations I have endured - for all the lost love, the endless aeons without the only woman who ever made me feel complete, and yes, even for my own death - it is my life, and it is sweet. Life is worth living, Nihilus - this I have never ceased to believe. For all that I have suffered, I have seen wonders even I cannot describe, felt joys both strange and mundane. I have known countless great men, seen actors who could make a stone devil weep, and watched the world change. I have built, I have loved, I have laughed. I have made friends, learned secrets - eaten well and drank better. Life is good, because life changes. Life builds. Life creates. Life is a terrible, wonderful thing, and I will not surrender mine - not for god nor demon nor some vast and implacable force. And where Death or Fate try to take it from me, I will claw back from the abyss itself to reclaim what is mine and spite the very universe herself by clinging to it. And I think you must feel the same - after all, you continue to fight - when all reason would tell you to give up, when logic compels you to submit, when all the forces of the cosmos are arrayed against you - you fight. And you tear victory from your enemy's chest, bloody and beating, and then you are alive." Umber's voice thrummed with emotion, and he spoke his next words in tones of solemn promise.

    "Know this, Nihilus - I will not give up. Though Fate strike me down a thousand times, I will rise again a thousand and one. I will claw and tear and howl through the years, grabbing life by the throat and riding it right into the jaws of damnation itself - and in the end, I will see Fate broken. You said it yourself - this has never happened before. Change is possible. If Fate can change the rules, then so can we - and if it exists, it can be destroyed. In the end, Fate is a thing of stasis. Beings like you and I - we are creatures of change. All we have to do to beat Fate is to keep on fighting, and that's what we'll do. I will see a world unfettered by destiny - a world where men are free. A world where I am free. So long as you fight, you will not fight alone."

    His voice still thrumming on the air, Umber subsided. After a moment, he spoke again, and his tone was clipped and businesslike. "Now... as to the current problem. At this point in time, the spell-chamber is the most heavily guarded and warded place in the building - we've assembled almost all of the ingredients, so there's very little opportunity to tamper with the work that's already been done. If she's got enough magical talent, or some strange weapon, I suppose it's possible she could breach the wards - but I think it would take time, and there's not much of that at the moment. I would guess she's going to try to get the keys - it takes three keys - well, key-talismans, really - to enter the chamber." He grinned. "I knew all that paranoia would pay off - if she can get three of the keystones from the Lords, she'll be able to enter the chamber and muck about with the formula."

    Umber gnawed his lower lip. "I kept mine on me at all times, save for when I slept - and I didn't do that all that often, by this time. Shakati usually swallowed hers - and no, don't ask. Fianna sometimes kept hers in our chambers, as did Kartul - well, in his chambers. I mean. Gilgeam had his worked into his sword, and he never went unarmed... but Marialta kept hers on her ship, for some reason. I could never find where Zariel kept his." Umber grunted, thinking aloud. "It seems like Kartul, Marialta, Fianna, and possibly Zariel would be the ones to watch... the only problem is that I'm not exactly sure what the divergences from my own reality would be - obviously, it worked in my timeline, so there was no interference..."
    Last edited by WhiteKnight777; 2012-09-16 at 10:16 PM.

  14. - Top - End - #104
    Troll in the Playground
     
    daelrog's Avatar

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    Alons

    "A very old woman who could see into the possible futures." Alons sighed. "I doubt I'll ever see her again even if I do return home."

    -

    Alons was not agreeable to what he saw before him. He did not know the man before he was corrupted. He had already tried to save these few people already from this fate, and he'd face the fire before them if need be.

    "Willow, I think your knife is a poor weapon against fire. Keep with Mags."

    Alons launched two arrows at the summoner, or whatever he was, one aimed for his jugular, the other his stomach. He hoped it would at least distract him, or preferably kill him outright.

  15. - Top - End - #105
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    Lucifuge/Noctis

    "Impressive. You were able to arrive to that conclusion out of what I have told you. We could certainly use that ability of yours. That, or you know more about the fortress than you would let on," he said with a meaningful smile.

    "Never mind that. Calm down. We are not going there. Not now anyway." Noctis calmly closed in and held the elf in both shoulders. He looked into her eyes and continued.

    "Think for a second. Think about that story you are about to tell them. Do you honestly think that they would believe you? And I doubt it would bring more good than harm, in the unlikely event that they do believe you. Curiosity would get the better of them, and they would likely try to look for whatever is in there, further complicating things. No, we do not tell them anything about that."

    "I imagine they are safe. At least for now. And inasmuch as I do not like to use them as decoy, if indeed there would be an attempt to take Ironheart soon, it is better that your people are there to defend it."

    Noctis stopped for a few seconds to think and let go of Aurewlynn.

    "On the other hand, you going there would be advantageous for us..." he waved his hands through a series of simple gestures and whispered a few inaudible words and a parchment and a pen immediately materialized on his hand.

    "...here. Write a letter as how your leaders would write to each other, or your best guess at how it would look like. Write down that there will be an impending attack, but do not specify any further. I shall put an illusion over it to make it more believable to the reader. You will then go and deliver this to Ironheart. That should at least get them ready, should anything happen."

    As Aurewlynn finished writing, Noctis took the parchment and read it. "Good, this looks good enough," he said as he tuck the letter into his pocket. "Come."

    Noctis moved towards the stairs and climbed up to the next floor. On the second floor, there are three doors, two on the left side and one big one on the other side of the hall. The dragon moved towards the closer door on the left and opened it.

    "You can use this to rest while I do my preparations."

    He then moved towards the larger door to the right and entered, closing the door behind him. Inside, Noctis brought out a book from his bag and flipped through the pages for the particular spell he was looking for. He slumped down on the floor and started reading.

    After about an hour, he stood up. He then took out a chalk from a small pouch on his belt and started drawing arcane symbols and signs on the floor while reciting some line on the book. After about another hour, his chanting drew into a crescendo and, putting his hand on a small circular symbol at the middle of the floor, each symbol pulsated with light three times before disappearing altogether. Noctis then closed his book, stowed it away, and stood up.

    "Aurewlynn, come. Everything is ready," came a voice through the door after two knocks. When the elf entered the larger room, she could see Noctis holding the letter and again doing the murmuring and hand gestures he did earlier.

    "Take this," he said as he handed the parchment to her. "Stand in the middle of the room please."

    "I will be using a spell to transport you very near the fortress. I will also put an illusion on you to make you look a bit different. They should not be taking note of every single deserter such as yourself, but it doesn't hurt to be safe," he told her before doing the same murmuring and hand gestures.

    "While you are there, try to gather as much information as you can, but do not ask direct questions and do not tarry as to be suspicious. When they ask you details, do not give any detailed answer. Runners aren't usually privy of intimate knowledge anyway. As for other details, well I trust a woman of your intellect will be able to handle them easily. Oh, and remember this. The effects of the illusion will not last for more than a day, so you might want to avoid that happening in front of others, especially your kin."

    "When you return, do not try to get in the city. I imagine they would be more stringent after what happened to you and the stunt I pulled earlier. Stay somewhere around the vicinity of the city and use this scroll. Give me your hand."

    Noctis took Aurewlynn's left hand and singled out her middle finger. With his other hand he took out his dagger, apologized and gently pricked her finger, putting pressure to let the blood out. He sheathed the dagger and took the scroll on the table to his side. Noctis pressed the elf's bloodied finger on the circular symbol on the center of the scroll, and upon doing so all the symbols in the scroll pulsated with light twice.

    Letting go of her hand, he rolled up the scroll and handed it to the elf. "When you're somewhere near, just read the first two lines on this. That should activate the scroll. You would know it worked when the symbols start pulsating with light like it did earlier, but three times, and everything disappears. When that happens, speak and describe where you are. Be concise and exact. I will then come to find you. Now, ready yourself. I will begin the spell."

    After Aurewlynn confirmed that she was ready, Noctis put his right hand on her shoulder and began his spell. When his chanting stopped, his hand was reaching out to thin air and the elf was gone. As soon as he completed the spell, the familiar uncomfortable feeling crept up from within him, making him stagger and fall to the floor. He clutched his chest and tried to suppress the negative emotions trying to take over him, almost passing out in the process. But as the last waves of pain and intense emotions came over him, he managed to stay conscious.

    Even just sending someone close to that damned place has this much effect on me. Pathetic, he murmured to himself as he lied there on his back, gasping for air. He closed his eyes and did not move. After a few minutes, he open his eyes and stood up.

    No time for rest.

    Noctis stood up and gathered his belongings and went downstairs. He cleaned up whatever remained of the food he brought and took out Aurewlynn's old clothing articles from the other room, wrapping them up in the bag he brought the food with earlier. After restoring everything to how they were, he exited through the same window he used earlier and closed it behind him.

    The sky was still dark outside, and Noctis prowled the rooftops once again, looking for a suitable alleyway with a tall structure beside it. Once he did, he began chanting another illusion spell. When he was done, the image of Aurewlynn appeared to be hanging from a rope tied around her neck, pretty much how she looked like earlier with the militiamen's doing, except this Aurewlynn looked more beaten up and bloodied. And lifeless. He made sure the 'body' was 'tied' to a beam which was hard to access so the possibility of someone interacting with the illusion and finding out the trick would be close to none.

    That should take care of that.

    After finishing the task, Noctis left and went to his favorite place in the city, atop the tallest structure in Amaranth, and waited. He watched the night sky wordlessly, not moving an inch, like a statue, more likely a gargoyle, facing the direction of the invisible spires of a familiar fortress that has not seen much change over the millennia. His mind dwelt on the idea of the irony of wanting to protect a place where he could never go near to. He must find a way to rid himself of this curse, he thought.

    But how?

    When at last the sun peeked through the horizon and streams of people began filling the streets below, Noctis started to move and go down into the adjacent alleyway. He redid his illusory mask and started towards the main streets.

    This day he intended to find out more about the paladins.

    Noctis approached one middle-aged man who looked to be a merchant, pulling his wares on a small cart, probably to set up shop for the day.

    "Excuse me, sir. Pardon for the interruption, but could you please point me to where the paladins are stationed here in the city?"
    Last edited by GuyFawkes; 2012-09-17 at 02:37 AM.

  16. - Top - End - #106
    Ettin in the Playground
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    Rosenberg

    Counter Battle Theme Yeah, I know, I'm terrible, aren't I?

    As the crackling flame rose ever higher into the firestorm it had transformed itself into, Rosenberg had to move quickly to counter it. The easiest way to stop these fire elementals was to go directly for the one summoning them, and that was exactly what Rosenberg had in mind. First, he extended his hand, calling upon roots and vines to hold that fire-corrupt man in place. Though they would most likely burn to cinders in a moment, it was all the time he needed to move in close.

    He charged, rushing past the fire and flames, ignoring any charring he might have incurred, knowing it would regenerate later. He ran with the speed of a wolf, but not in a transformed state. It was then that two arrows whizzed past him, hopefully reaching their targets. With the crescent scythe in his hands, he swung with his metal fang, cutting off and damaging what he could of the man's side which wielded this whip of flame; if he could stop him from using it, then fighting him head-on would be easier.
    Last edited by TechnOkami; 2012-09-18 at 04:46 PM.
    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.

  17. - Top - End - #107
    Orc in the Playground
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    Sohssal

    Xerxes' reaction to the news on Seraph was interesting, to say the least. It seems there were even devils with higher standards than the Baron! Sohssal was also pleased to learn that Xerxes wasn't as involved with the Baron as he initially thought. He might even be tolerable.

    But the price was less than tolerable. He could make a single angel suffer, or create the potential for a lot of mortals to suffer. He didn't care about how angels were portrayed as being so good and pure, but he did know catching one would be hard, and giving up his old island manor would be very easy. Getting Xerxes into the mortal realm would fold nicely into his escape plan.

    ”Yes, I am looking to contact an ally...of sorts. It's Seraph's mother – I need to learn everything I can about the ritual she performed. I suspect it's going to have quite a price, but I'm willing to use means other than bargaining to get her soul. Discreet means, if possible,” Sohssal explained.
    Last edited by Iethloc; 2012-09-18 at 02:46 PM.

  18. - Top - End - #108
    Pixie in the Playground
     
    Tae's Avatar

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    NOW WITH MORE MUSIC!!!

    Look, I’m not going anywhere ‘til I get my beer and my squad.” Bramble tossed the robe back to the cultist. “So roll out the barrel, meatbag.

    The cultist murmured, “Your commander led me to believe that someone of your talents would want to get work right away.”

    My commander looks at his arse-hole and a looks at a latrine then can’t figure which one’s for crappin’ into and which one’s for crappin’ out of.

    “Your commander looks at his arse-hole?

    “’X’actly.”

    A barrel of beer came rolling through the doorway, with a frantic acolyte rushing after it, nearly colliding with Bramble as the barrel rolled to a stop at her hooves. The acolyte’s jaw gaped up at Bramble's salacious grin.

    The lead cultist cuffed him on the back of head and hissed, “tap the barrel!”

    Bramble turned the barrel on its side, straddled it, and leered into the acolyte’s face.

    Come on, fresh meat, tap my barrel.” Her breath burned in his eyes and nose, sulfurous. The acolyte, gagging, bent to put in the tap.

    You’d think he never seen a devil before,” Bramble grinned at the cultist, who silently handed her a mug.

    Another acolyte came through the doorway, this one holding a snarling, spitting, one-eyed old tom-cat by the scruff. Malarkey’s snack hit the floor with a yowl and went streaking across the room. Bramble scooped the tom up in her arms, snuggling him into her chest. The lead cultist gaped along with his two acolytes as she purred and whispered into the bedraggled beast’s ears, until the tom-cat was purring along with her.

    Cats like me.

    As the moans of the old woman on the altar reached a death-cry crescendo, Catbox appeared in the circle of cultists. She blinked stupidly for a moment before crying out “YOUR MASTER HAS ARRIVED. TREMBLE BEFORE ME!”

    The sound of the old woman’s corpse hitting the floor was the only response.

    Bramble snugged the cat closer. “Very scary Cat. Wanna beer?

    The big black devil squealed, knocking over a cultist as she made a one-woman stampede to the barrel Bramble straddled.

    Another victim, this one a small child, with barely enough self-awareness to struggle, was strapped to the altar. Self-preservation doesn’t require self-awareness, however, so the babe shrieked in pain as sigils were carved into its flesh.

    “Oh yes, Bramble, BEER. We haven’t had beer since before the Cleaver was stranglin’ you with yer own guts, remember?” Catbox grunted a heavy laugh.

    Yeah, Cat, I remember. That was right after he finished sticking both yer hooves up yer own arse while they was still attached to yeh. Now sit down here next to me, have a mug, and wait for Mouse an’ Malarkey.

    “I don’t need no mug.” Catbox threw herself down on the floor head below the tap, gaped her maw, and let the beer flow.

    Bramble grinned, giving the tom-cat a final snuffling kiss before setting him on the floor. The tom-cat sniffed at Catbox, and turned its one eye up at Bramble. She nodded encouragingly, and the cat took aim, raised tail, and fired. Bramble pulled her knees up beneath her chin, red eyes shining like a delighted child’s.

    “NOT AGAIN!” Catbox roared and grabbed the tom. The cat and Catbox wrestled furiously on the floor, both hissing and growling, while Bramble giggled and rocked on the barrel. The lead cultist and acolytes watched the two devils, bemused expressions across all three faces. The tom gave a final ripping yowl of apparent defeat, while the toddler gave a last gurgle of life.

    “MY CAT!” Malarkey squelched across the floor, dripping ichor and smelling like swamp-rot. His jaw unhinged like a snake’s as he lunged for the cat.

    Another human’s screams ripped through the room. A sacrifice already so abused it’s sex couldn’t be determined in either voice or body, it cried “Mother” over and over again.

    Bramble took a sip of beer.

    Malarkey’s giant jaws wrapped around the shocked-looking tom-cat, and slurped it down in one gulp. As it began descending into the demon’s gut, its form was faintly recognizable.

    “Black General’s Balls.” Catbox scooted away on from Malarkey as quickly as she could.

    That cat was my friend! He pissed on Catbox!” Bramble shouted at Malarkey with a gesture of contempt, sloshing beer out of her mug and into the face of the lead cultist.

    Malarkey’s face screwed up. Screwed down. He had the distinct look of a devil who’d gotten something down the wrong pipe. A muffled “boom” sounded, Malarkey’s stomach poofed out a bit, and the oozing demon’s mouth yawned wide again.

    Inside out cat splattered against the nearest wall, followed by swampy-smelling smoke.

    “You stuck a firecracker in my cat’s ass?!”

    Catbox at least had the good grace to look alarmed. “I thought…I mean I meant…Bramble was supposed to get cat-bombed!”

    Bramble cackled wildly, straddling the barrel again, steaming tears rolling down her face.

    Whimpers for mother died on the altar, and Mouse appeared.

    “What’d I miss? Oooh, blood!” The imp began lapping the blood pouring from the neck of the most recent sacrifice, bliss written across his furry features.

    The lead cultist wiped beer down his face with one palm. Subtlety.

  19. - Top - End - #109
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    Gorgondantess's Avatar

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    Default Re: Return to Ironheart IC

    She makes the mental equivalent of a sigh, and shoves the two guards inside the building. "Tell your 'speaker' that the front door is secure, and that I need an audience with him as soon as possible." Her fingers lengthen and twist around Maurice's broken blade, as her hand and wrist encroach on its base, forming a tight seal. Meanwhile, her left arm twists and morphs into an older form- larger, stronger, harder, craggy and clawed. She gestures with the blade.
    "GO. I can take care of this."
    Turning back to the entrance and praying that those two would do as she said, she leaps into the fray. While at first she just hacks a few of the fiends to pieces, she starts getting an engine going. This wasn't about style, this wasn't about poise, this wasn't about elegance- this was about efficiency.
    Two tentacles extend from her shoulder, each grabbing a fiend by the arm and coiling around it, dragging it to the ground by the entrance. As it does so, it seals itself and begins to extend over the fiend like a liquid, engulfing the hapless struggling creature entirely into a pulsing mass. That pulsing mass, using its inhabitant as an energy source, extends more tentacles of its own and the process continues. Soon enough the entire entryway is covered by this... thing. It took her about three minutes.
    She dives through her creation, confident in its ability to hold back the demons, and emerges on the other side with a vein sprouting from her back connecting to it. Without further ado, she charges up to the Council Chambers.
    Marceline Abadeer by Gnomish Wanderer

  20. - Top - End - #110
    Dwarf in the Playground
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    Mal Harath

    Unwilling to give up the living for the dead's sake, Mal tries to comprimise with the elf, not trying to offend her as the sense of urgency presses on him.

    "We can bury them with our magic, but I'd not spend more time than that. We need to move as quickly as we can, if we're to catch up to the group."

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

  21. - Top - End - #111
    Troll in the Playground
     
    Inspectre's Avatar

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    The Heavens

    Dorizzit

    You swiftly disable your attackers, the small crowd of shackled prisoners cheering you on. For some of your blows, the armor has evaporated away enough to be extremely brittle, shattering beneath your blows and revealing patches of bare human skin underneath. Whatever has been done to them, whatever threats to their families the fiends used to motivate them to do this, they are truly human beneath the armor. From his position slumped against the wall, the defeated leader groans, his tone accusatory and grief-stricken.

    “’You don’t know what you’ve done. Up here safe and warm, you have no idea – ugh! ARRRGGHH!”

    As you watch, the last of a crucial section of the man’s armor suddenly snaps apart, too thin and brittle to remain intact anymore. This triggers a spring, which in turn operates a lever, and suddenly the still-intact iron collar around the man’s throat suddenly constricts violently, crushing his throat. Upon his death, his body begins moving with a life of its own, dragged by the same invisible force that had pulled away the first six defeated men. The Hells would never relinquish what it has claimed. In rapid succession, the other five invaders’ armor deteriorates to a similar point, and all of their bodies are pulled down the street. When they get to the buildings that the angel had used to block the street, they go up the side of the buildings, still being dragged towards their ultimate destination relentlessly.

    The three former prisoners’ cheers turns to screams of panic as their chains begin to react in a similar manner, dragging them back the street after the bodies, their efforts to strain back and stop themselves futile. A man, a woman, and their young daughter – although given the relative age in the Heavens, the child could have been their mother in life. Even so, the appearance of this small family being threatened with damnation inspired you to draw parallels to your own. You knew you had to help them, but how!?

    Any keys to the shackles would have been on the men, who were already disappearing out of sight over the roof of the blockading buildings. And from the glimpses you had gotten of the shackles before the three started being dragged down the street, there were no keyholes, the shackles not intended to be opened until the fiends waiting in the Hells so willed it. The chains were smoking though, not a vigorously as the men’s armor, but still being rejected by the Heavens. Perhaps – yes, the chains might be brittle enough to shatter, just like the armor had become! But you would have to catch up to them first, and that was going to be a lot more difficult in a moment when they all started being dragged up into the air along the side of the buildings!

    The Hells

    The Estate of Lord Nihilus

    Iethloc

    Xerxes grinned and shrugged.

    “Fiend Lords just happen to “lose” and “find” each other’s pets all the time. I imagine a powerful mage like the Baronness will be quite a valuable pet, however. They will be particularly interested in the ritual to summon the Hells, given that they have not had access to it for a long time. Not since Istomilo – hrm, what a disappointment he turned out to be! Or at least, so I’ve heard from others.”

    Xerxes studied his claws thoughtfully.

    “Still. There is more than one way to eat a cat, and I doubt you will mind getting your hands, such as they are, dirty. Plus, you *are* “Nihilus”, and that name commands a certain amount of respect. I will look into the matter, although it may take a little bit of time. With so many new toys to play with, the Hells are somewhat disorganized at the moment. That being said, I’ve been hearing that a majority of the humans have been moved to the Black General’s fortress. I will start my search there.”

    Xerxes turns towards the door, but upon reaching it he stops and looks back.

    “You know, I have heard rumors that Nihilus is back – and not just those concerning “you”. You may want to keep a close eye on what “you” are doing. After all, there is only one Nihilus. And while “you” are busy now, “you” could return home at any time.”

    Xerxes then leaves, allowing you to lower your guard, as much as you did down in this literal Hellhole. That went surprisingly well, particularly given the cards that the devil was holding. Still, it was fortunate that he was so willing to negotiate. You doubted many other fiends would be as willing if they ever learned of your true nature. Xerxes’s warning about the real Nihilus’s return was troubling, however. Judging by the sad state of his manor, Nihilus rarely came home, but that did not mean he wouldn’t. And if he was actually moving about, that meant that more and more fiends might become aware of the possibility that Nihilus clearly couldn’t be speaking to them, and resting at his manor at the same time. All the more reason to get out of here as quickly as you could, and it was likely prudent to seek out other options beyond relying on Xerxes and the Baron’s wife.

    (Anything else Sohssal is going to look into while waiting for Xerxes to locate Isabella?)

    The Screaming Dark Estate

    OverWilliam

    (Just to make sure OverWilliam is not as confused as Tare, Videle was talking about the captured angel right there in the room with them. If she had stayed in the Heavens, she wouldn’t have been at the Battle of Narle, and if she hadn’t been at the Battle of Narle she wouldn’t be down in the Hells right now. Thus, she’s not innocent either. )

    After struggling for so long to fend off Videle’s overt and covert attempts at seduction, you were starting to crack. Then she showed you that Death had brought some . . . significant changes with it, and you almost shattered completely. Gravity suddenly seemed to be reversed, or sideways, or some other direction that didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense for that matter, and you barely heard the rest of Videle’s offer over the ringing buzz in your ears.

    Struggling to keep yourself standing on this suddenly shifting floor (or was it merely that your legs were weak?), you release your frustrations and fears in the form of a rant. You are only dimly aware of what you’re saying until the words have left your mouth, everything rushing out in a torment. And then another wave of nausea hits, and you fear that it will be something other than words flowing out of your mouth next.

    Fortunately, the wall is there to catch you, and then the floor. Everything still feels like it’s spinning around and around and around though. Your voice just above a whisper, you utter a plea, or perhaps an unheard prayer. The world recedes to a single dancing point for several long moments, and then you hear a soft voice.

    “Tare . . . Tare . . .”

    Grasping hold of that sound, you follow it back to the real world. For a moment, your mind plays a cruel trick on you, as you think that you are back in the real world, being woken from a terrible dream by Melcara. But then your vision clears and you can see that if the past few minutes have been a nightmare, you are simply picking up where you left off.

    Stretched out on the floor luxuriously a few feet away from you is Videle, her head propped up by one hand. At least, you can only assume it’s Videle – she has changed a fair bit, taking on an entirely human form. She stills wears her default face, but it is subtly different, the cheekbones not quite as well defined and her hair pulled back into pigtails rather than hanging down to frame her face. Her clothing has also morphed, becoming a far more chaste version of the dress she put on for you earlier. The whole effect makes her look much more like a simple teenaged girl rather than a succubus queen.

    “Tare . . . oh! There you go, you’re back now. I was worried about you.”

    Videle favors you with a sheepish smile that seems oddly fitting with her newest look.

    “I’m sorry. I pushed you too hard, too fast. It’s a very big adjustment to make, and most beings done here delight in making that transition as painful as possible.”

    Videle’s smile changes into a pouty frown, although on her new face it looks more adorable than sexy.

    “Down here you only have the power that you can hold onto. In a way, I am just as helpless as the lowliest Ix, because there are certain expectations that restrain my behavior. But I . . . I hate it! I want to change it, but I can’t – I’m not strong enough!”

    Videle emphasizes her point by thumping a fist against the floor. To your surprise, her eyes starts to get misty, and then actual tears begin to flow down her face as she continues.

    “That’s why I want – need, your help! B-but I don’t know h-how to ask! And . . . and you have this transition of your own to make, and I want to help you make it, because I’m afraid you’ll lose what makes you who you are now. So many others, when they get down here, they change because they have to in order to survive. I don’t want that for you but I don’t know how to help you! P-please, please tell me how I can help you Tamerlane!”

    Videle covers her juvenile face in her hands, sobbing into them like some sort of princess out of a fairy tale. It was a little . . . too convenient, but on the other hand if her attempts were sincere it would explain her erratic behavior. As a creature of the Hells, she had probably had the ability to relate and connect with others beaten out of her, beyond a certain definition of “connecting”. And once she clawed her way up to the top of the heap, power had an isolating effect of its own.

    The Mortal Realm

    Yet Another Worthless Speck of a Town

    Gorgondantess

    “Yes ma’am!”

    The two humans replied as they obeyed, ducking inside while you turned to deal with the mob of fiends. Funny how that worked – humans were so eager to serve something more powerful than themselves, whether that be an actual being, another human, or even a “cause”. And at the same time they could just as easily turn their back on everything they previously believed and strike out in a different direction. Maurice was right – humans are a fascinating lot, because unlike animals, or rocks, or trees, they are not what they are. They are what they *choose* to be – and that can change on a whim.

    It’s possible you were underestimating these fiends as well, but they certainly seemed little less than beasts as they recklessly threw themselves at you. You focused on cutting them down not with speed or brutality, but efficiency. You could have probably kept this up literally all day, as the few blows that the fiends landed did next to nothing to your form – nothing that could not be healed within a moment, at least. But you didn’t really have all day, and so you created your own living barrier out of a few fiends and your own biomass, and then dove through it, into the building. Through its connection to your back you can feel more of the fiends stupidly trying to cut through it, only to be caught by tentacles and absorbed themselves.

    Then something heavy and massive slammed down into the center of it, cutting it cleanly in half. The separated portion likely died off then, no longer under your subconscious control although it still probably gave a good account of itself before it ran out of energy. Another similar blow severed the rest from your back, and the thick vein retracted back into you – it was starting to become rather long and unwieldy running from you to the biomass anyway.

    This did reveal two important facts, however – one, there were much more powerful fiends here than the trash you had just dealt with. And two, the way was now open for the fiends to once more pour into the building, although in considerably less numbers after your efforts. Hopefully, you would find this Speaker soon – they had said he was on the third level, and you had just found a stairway up to the second.

    Suddenly, your attention is attracted by the sound of panicked screams, and you look down the hallway to your right just as a woman with long red hair comes dashing into sight around the corner. She slides to a halt upon catching sight of you, clumsily stumbling over her own feet in her attempt to stop from a full sprint so quickly. She goes down onto her butt, and a moment later what the woman was fleeing from originally rounds the corner as well – two more trash demons. You dispatch the two of them with barely a thought, flicking out your long muscular claw limb and slapping both of their heads off. The woman cowers and crawls back away from you, stopping a moment later as she backs into a stand holding some sort of religious icon, which had been sitting against the wall minding its own business.

    “Pleasedon’tkillmepleasedon’tkillmepleasedon’tkill me!”

    The woman blurts out, clearly quite grateful for your help as she covers her head with her arms protectively. You aren’t sure whether it would be better to try to reassure her directly, or simply leave, allowing her to draw her own conclusions. Before you can do either, the two paladins suddenly appear from another corridor and rush over to join you.

    “It’s alright, she’s a, uh . . . a friend?”

    One of the paladins offers helpfully, and the woman seems to relax a little. Still shooting nervous glances at you, the woman turns her attention to the paladins.

    “Do you know if Ander is still in the Council Chambers? I need to warn him that we have an intruder in his chambers!”

    “We don’t know – the hallway leading to the Council Chamber has collapsed! We’re not sure even if the Chamber itself is intact or not!”

    Well, wouldn’t that just be typical – the human leader goes and gets himself squished before you could talk to him! Although, it seems rather weird that only one section of the building has collapsed while the rest of it remains so intact. Perhaps the Speaker was merely trying to protect himself – or keep something in with him. Either way, the stone walls of this place are still just stone, “holy” to these humans or not. You could clear a passageway into these Council Chambers with ease.

    “Hey, you could fly up there, and go down through the sunroof! Assuming the Council Chamber is still intact, that is. Umm . . . should be pretty obvious if it’s not.”

    One of the paladins suddenly suggested, pointing at your wings, and then at a nearby window which he moved to swing open. The red-haired woman closed her eyes and grimaced, as if swallowing something unpleasant, and then blurted out.

    “Take me with you! I have to warn Ander about this as quickly as possible!”

    Silverstream

    Vegna

    You cut the dead down quickly, and between the three of you it takes little time at all to bury them. Periodically while you labor, the elf stops to summon up a group of elementals and sends them out. It is completely dark by the time you are finished, and your friends are just silhouettes moving about.

    "Now, stay close to me, and keep quiet. If they so much as hear us breathing out there, they'll put arrows in all of us."

    "Yeah, so how we gonna know when we're getting close?"

    Val'tosh rumbles, prompting a frown and a shrug from the elf.

    "I'll think of something. Like this!"

    The elf gestured, summoning a tremor of earth beneath your feet that pulses for a moment before it stops. Your ogre friend shrugs.

    "Fair enough. Let's go."

    Through your contact with the ground, you are able to keep track of the elf and follow along after her. How Val'Tosh keeps track of you, you don't know, but you can periodically hear your friend crashing through the underbush and cursing under his breath as he tries over roots. The sad part is that this was likely Val'Tosh's best efforts to be stealthy.

    It is slow going through the forest without the aid of any trails or roads to follow, and you can't help but feeling as if you are only getting further and further behind the elves. But you can't give up, you owe it to the survivors of Silverstream to not give up. An hour passes in this way, and then two, and then . . . you suddenly feel a tremor pass through your feet. A moment later and the she elf slips back over to you and Val'Tosh.

    "There's a group of them about five minutes ahead - I'm not sure how many, but there's a lot. Elementals aren't exactly good at counting. I'm not sure what happened to cause them to stop, but they've stopped and they're sending patrols out into the forest. Maybe they're looking for someone who escaped from the group? Master Vork?"

    The elf is silent for a moment, and then clears her throat.

    "So, um . . . what do we do?"

    "You don't have an answer?"

    Val'Tosh rumbled.

    "That's a surprise."

    "Hey! I shouldn't have to be the only one that comes up with plans here!"

    Luxien, The Cathedral City

    Baerdog7

    (You didn’t really think I only sent one Fiend Lord for Ander to deal with, did you? )

    Theme Song - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BKY5h...feature=relmfu

    Summoning your divine power and wrath, you spot for a moment to lay a hand on Tyra, giving her a small but not insignificant jolt of healing energy. Kranmer in response to your shouted command nods, but continues working on removing the glass shard. With a final decisive tug, he pulls the bloodstained glass out of Tyra’s neck, and lays his hand over the wound as it begins to spurt blood. The flow of blood rapidly slows, and Kranmer begins pulling her up onto her feet. Luxford comes over to help, but Kranmer waves him off and motions for him to continue guarding the door.

    Winril and Melisan both look at you in confusion, and then shock as you plunge your hands into Melissan’s chest. The angel screams and falls to her knees, and then down onto her side, your extraction of the soul crystal effective but deadly.

    “Thank you.”

    Melissan murmurs, an instant before her eyes close and her body fades away into light, a sure sign that she has been saved. Muttering something under his breath, Winril runs over to help Kranmer support Tyra’s weight as the three of them stumble out of the room with Luxford leading the way. Quietus howls in ever greater fury as he sees most of his potential victims getting away. That howl changes significantly in pitch a moment later when you slaughter his reinforcements by collapsing the hallways leading into the room, and Ysora drops the barrier only to reform it behind him.

    “No no no no no! I know how this goes!”

    Quietus screams as you leap into the midst of the tornado, ignoring the slashing debris that cuts into you. You catch a flicker of greyish green dancing about within the storm, the only evidence of Quietus’s existence within the maelstrom. It is rapidly cycling away from you, ironically backing itself further into a corner in its attempts to keep away from you.

    “Yvonne! Anguish!? SOMEBODY!? HELP! I NEED AN ADULT!!!”

    As if in reply, a brilliant beam of light suddenly blasted a hole in the floor. A moment later, and a long serpentine, brilliant crimson creature skittered into the room on far too many legs. Or perhaps hands, as they are all shaped as grasping claws, the better to wield the entire arsenal that festoons the entire length of the creature’s body. The demonic centipede lifts one end up into the air, curling around to reveal a face there, that splits into a vile grin.

    “Ah! You must be Ander! I’ve heard so much about you! I’m Yvonne, the Crimson Arsenal, and I have been waiting to find a human worthy to kill for a long time!”

    Yvonne hefts the massive weapon several of her legarms are currently cradling - what seems to be a discarded cannon from the Gastly Truth – and levels it at Ysora.

    “The archangel, however, can stay out of this!”

    A brilliant beam of light lances out from the barrel of the massive cannon, causing Yvonne to stagger back and momentarily blinding you. Ysora, still concentrating on maintaining the barrier that is keeping Quietus steadily more contained, is unable to dodge in time and takes the blast in the shoulder. She screams and goes down, the barrier instantly vanishing and allowing Quietus to twirl back up into the air – where he stays, in the far upper back corner of the room away from you, suddenly not so eager to try and claim his revenge.

    “Mmm, a most impressive weapon, if rather cumbersome and distasteful. I much prefer my array of blades – a duel is so much more satisfying. But Daz’kick, while unable to be here himself, wanted to make sure that we were well-equipped to deal with the likes of you!”

    Yvonne turned her attention up to the ceiling where Quietus was still cowering.

    “Speaking of which, don’t you have something to contribute as well, you cowardly little rodent?”

    “Oh yeah! NanananananaHAHAHAHAH!”

    Quietus shrieks, his nature ensuring that you can’t see exactly what he is doing, but suddenly instead of mere debris within the tornado droplets of water start to appear. More importantly, droplets of water start to come flying out of the tornado, forming a foul mist that fills the room. You don’t feel much of anything when the droplets strike you, except your divine power starts to fade. Ysora, on the other hand, moans as her skin begins to blister and smoke. Clearly unholy water, and its presence was going to make this coming fight a lot more difficult.

    A lot more difficult, as suddenly another angel plummets down through the sunroof. Only this one lands on its feet, crouching in a feral manner before twisting its head up to look at you. Pus oozes from its mouth and nostrils, and its eyes are frozen wide in shivering terror.

    “Ah. So this is Ander? Pah, he is only a mere human! The two of you can have him – I want the archangel! Let us see how long she can endure as my host before she begs for the sweet release of death!”

    The possessed angel gurgles, and you suspect this is Anguish, another Fiend Lord. Making the total present here now at least three, although that mental count shifts up to four as the room suddenly darkens. The sun itself is being shadowed by an eclipse, and as the brilliant golden orb begins to disappear you hear a voice come hissing from all around the city.

    “Gaze upon the loss of your precious sun and despair, mortals! Now is the hour of night, of chaos, of death! The Fiend Lords have returned to this city not as its prisoners, but its conquerors! Surrender yourselves to the power of the Hells now, or we will tear apart the Heavens themselves to claim you!”

    Behind you, Ysora pushes herself up to her feet with a groan. Her shoulder is a charred mess, the arm still attached but hanging lifeless at her side. The unholy mist was doubtless making it difficult for her to regenerate, although you could see the flesh there struggling to knit itself back together. She looks at the three assembled Fiend Lords gathered before you and shakes her head.

    “Perhaps it is time for a tactical retreat? We seem to be outnumbered and unprepared for a united group of Fiend Lords. I have not seen them fight side-by-side since the defeat of their Master. One would question who is pulling their strings together.”

    Ysora says, moving up to stand beside you despite her injury. The Fiend Lords bristle in response to her insinuation.

    “No one is making us work together! Nihilus has simply made us understand the benefits of temporary cooperation!”

    Quietus howls in response, and Yvonne grimaces.

    “Quiet, you idiot! Stop talking and start killing!”

    Yvonne growls, swinging her weapon up to fire uselessly into the tornado of movement that is Quietus. The blast destroys part of the ceiling, leaving it dangerously unstable given the already significant damage to the room. Yvonne’s appropriate cannon also gives a pitiful whine, prompting her face to split into a grin as she slings the weapon onto her back and begins drawing a thicket of weapons, each one slightly different.

    “Ah, I was wondering when it was going to stop working! Now, we can move on to the more pleasurable means of battle!”

    With a joint roar, the three Fiend Lords present rush towards you and Ysora. You could stay and try to fight, while Glurdalak and any other Fiend Lords present now ran rampant through your city, or you could attempt to retreat and regroup in the face of this unexpected development. Nihilus was responsible for this? He had never been anything more than a legend in your experience, and nothing you had ever seen save for a few deluded fiends had convinced you he was anything more. But you hadn’t known Azguloth Himself was imprisoned beneath Ironheart until you had stumbled over Him, either, so perhaps the legend was coming to life now. That did not bode well either.


    The Past Age

    WhiteKnight777

    “Right, and we can’t assume that what worked previously will work this time. Marialta is from your time, and so while she may not know the exact specifics of all the defenses, she will know of their existence. She is likely plotting up ways of circumventing them now. We should probably just assume that she has access to her own key by this point. She’ll likely go after her sister’s key next, so we should probably start there. Besides, I have special access to her, given that I was the one who arranged for her meeting with the Hierarch. I was here in sort of a discrete advisory position – so discrete, in fact, that she never told you apparently. Makes you wonder what else she never told you about, doesn’t it?”

    Nihilus chuckles to himself as he turns away from you and approaches not the door, but the back wall of your cell. He traces his fingers over the stone, and then rakes his fingers down the wall. Rather than triggering some sort of secret door, however, he seems to tear some sort of shimmering portal in reality! As casually as a hunter cleaning game, Nihilus inserts his hand into the wound, tugging it further open and moving to stand aside and allow you access.

    “I figured we would take the faster and less inconspicuous route, and simply portal directly to Fianna’s bedroom rather than walk through the halls. Oh, of course it’s warded, but I can take care of that easily enough – here, take my hand.”

    Nihilus holds out a gloved hand, and as you place your fingers into his you feel a small jolt of magic race over you.

    “We are now invisible to all senses both mundane and magical. Well, I am, and you are as well for as long as we maintain contact. Now then, shall we go play voyeur? Although I believe it’s not for another hour or two before you and Fianna emerge from your little play area for . . . round two?”

    Together with Nihilus, you step through the portal, and emerge into Fianna’s room as promised. It was as messy and disorganized as you remember it – articles of clothing and other, more exotic items scattered about haphazardly all over the floor, bed, and dresser. You had always wondered about how such an elegant and brilliant creature as Fianna could live in such a mess, and yet she had always just given a little knowing smile when asked about it. You suspected that things were not nearly as chaotic as they seemed, for Fianna always knew exactly where the object she wanted was in the mire, and disorganization was always a good way to hide a cleverly concealed trap.

    The room was in an even messier state than usual, and it was not hard to see why. Hip-deep in one of the closets was a slave girl, one of the previously insignificant drones who made sure your joint palace was keep clean and well-stocked. Of course you had vetted such people carefully, using a mixture of worship and magic to make sure that they remained loyal – but then no one had intended on future versions of yourselves coming back to possess them, either. Perhaps you should recommend that to Nihilus to suggest to Fianna the next go around, just to make things easier on your next self, or whatever. My, but the twisty things that time travel did to the mind!

    As you and Nihilus step into the room, the slave girl wiggles carefully back out of the closet, studiously avoiding touching the door jam. Cradled in her arms is a small jewelry box, which the slave girl examines with a smile for a moment before looking up – directly at you and Nihilus.

    “So you’ve come, Writer. I was wondering if your aid was genuine, or merely another twisted strand in the web you call History.”

    “That’s the trouble with pre-cognition, isn’t it? You can never hide from them because they already know you’re coming.”

    Nihilus says with a sigh, and then the evidentially Marialta-possessed slave girl screams and throws the jewelry box at an artfully spread cloak on the floor. The jewelry box hits square in the middle of the cloak, shattering open, and throwing the entire room into bedlam. Immediately almost every single thing in the room – clothing, furniture, objects – comes to violent life. The jewelry box, meanwhile, merely quivers, already too broken to participate, leaving a handful of gems to be scattered across the floor as the cloak writhes up like a snake. One of them resembles a piece of amber, enclosed around what looks like . . . a small key.

    “Ah, you are too predictable, my dear sister!”

    The slave girl chortles as she dives across the room, seeking to enclose her hand around the false gem. Abandoning you, Nihilus blinks out of existence, and must have come back somewhere near Marialta, as the gem suddenly flies up into the air. Marialta laughs as she catches a book that is flapping down through the air towards her head and swings it around, batting the gem back down out of the air an instant after it has left the floor.

    “Did you really think that was going to work against someone who has seen everything!?”

    Meanwhile, you have troubles of your own. Abandoned by Nihilus, who seems to still be invisible to everyone but Marialta, you have now become visible. And thus, you are a valid target by the angered room. A clothing rack descends on you from behind, its tines trying to wrap around your arms and legs to hold your immobile, while the cloak previously thrown haphazardly on it wraps around your neck like a noose. But Fianna’s defenses are not entirely non-lethal, as a dagger swishes through the air towards you, diving down towards your eye.
    Last edited by Inspectre; 2012-09-22 at 08:20 PM.
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

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  22. - Top - End - #112
    Troll in the Playground
     
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    The Hells – The Cleaver’s Domain

    Tae

    MORE MUSIC, YEAH!!!!!
    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VMOhsvhF4Jw

    You and Catbox are summoned without incident, and enjoy some of the beer while waiting for the other two to be summoned with the death of mortals. To your surprise upon being summoned, however, Malarky did not slurp up the cat. He did, however, certainly lunge for it while screaming.

    “MY CAT!”

    The foul-smelling devil snatches the old tom cat up, and for a moment the two of them stare down into each other eyes (or eye, in the tom cat’s case). Then, the cat meows emphatically, and purrs as Malarky sets it onto his shoulder. You had heard stories of humans walking around with parrots on their shoulder, and could only imagine it looked as ridiculous as the devil with the cat perched on his shoulder, whispering quietly but audibly to it.

    “Yes . . . yes my fine feline friend. Now you’re going to go and catch me some fine sewer ratsies for us to feast on, aren’t you? WHAT!?”

    Malarky suddenly roars, turning to glare at Catbox, who is simply staring at him and the cat, jaw wipe open.

    “Um . . . nothing!”

    Malarky gives the cat one last gentle pat on the head, and then sets it down onto the floor and gives it a little push.

    “Go on, find our feast!”

    And the cat runs back out of the room at high speed, either glad to get out of there alive, or bewitched into going and finding some “ratsies” for his new friend. It was at this point that Mouse got summoned, and the little oblivious bastard, bless his cold dead heart, just cheerfully started lapping the blood up off the altar and asking what he missed.

    “Oh, nothing . . . just Malakry’s new fine feline friend.”

    Catbox said, snickering. Malarky raises a claw in anger, but then thought better of it as he looked around at the assembled humans.

    “We doing this assignment or are you two just going to get drunk and earn us a permanent spot on the Cleaver’s hooks?”

    Malarky growled, and Catbox’s grin lessened – but only a little. While you start on your second mug of beer, the cultist leader comes back over to you. He looks over the motley assortment of fiends he has just summoned and smiles uneasily.

    “Masters. The materials that you will need are in a nearby alchemist’s shop. The man was killed several months ago, and his family has not moved in to claim the establishment yet. I’ve managed to procure the key, but the streets are filled with guards. You see, the city is under attack right now, and we were wondering if maybe you could help –“

    “No.”

    Malarky growls, and then looks around at the assembled group of cultists, who suddenly seem a lot less hospitable.

    “Yes?”

    He says a moment later, without enthusiasm, and the humans relax.

    “We are surrounded by elves, and are afraid that if they break into this city they will kill us all. If that happens, your own masters will no longer have our aid to rely on.”

    “No more trips to the mortal realm!?”

    Mouse chipped up from his spot on the altar, still picking over the corpse that summoned him. The imp tore out one of the dead mortals eyes and then greedily shoved it into his tiny fang-filled mouth, chewing vicious for several long seconds.

    “Can you help us?”

    The cultist leader pressed again.

    The Mortal Realm

    A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

    TechnOkami/daelrog

    As Rosenburg charged the traitorous Garret, twin arrows streaked even faster to their target. The first hit Garret in his non-weapon arm, the former druid deliberately interposing his arm with blinding speed to take the arrow rather than let it hit his stomach. This left the other, more dangerous arrow, however, to pass through his guard unimpeded and strike him directly in the throat. Held in place by the roots, Garret didn’t stagger back from the impact, nor did he go down. Instead, he actually grinned, revealing blood-flecked teeth as he gurgled a challenge.

    “What would be fortune-ending for your meat is merely an inconvenience for me!!!”

    A few moments later, Rosenburg reaches his opponent, ducking under the fallen druid’s next whip crack and then swinging his scythe up and across. Impeded by the remaining roots still charring into ash around his body, Garret is unable to dodge and takes the scythe directly across the chest. The well-honed blade rips through cloth and flesh, but even this is unable to bring him down. Roses sprout out from the hole left by the scythe’s path, and immediately flash burn into a plume of ash. Through the tear in Garret’s dark cloak, more bare burned flesh is visible . . . and despite the patchwork nature of the burns, brands can also be clearly seen, scarred into the skin. The brands are spaced periodically up and down Garret’s entire body, at least as far as Rosenburg can see, and now that he’s close he can also see the same brands adorning his hands and face beneath the bandages.

    “You’re lurking beneath this inelegant form as well, aren’t you wolf?”

    Garret whispers to Rosenburg as the druid brings his scythe back around. This time, Garret catches the scythe’s blade as it descends, the blade biting into Garret’s hand before becoming stuck. Veins of ice begin to run down the length of the blade as Garret’s hand closes around the blade, holding it immobile as beads of frozen blood roll down off his palm. Garret brings his other hand up and wraps it around Rosenburg’s throat, using his grip to shove his head back instead of choking. The back of Rosenburg’s head begins to grow hot as he becomes aware that the pillar of fire Garret’s last whip crack created is directly behind him.

    “They say this world will end in either fire or ice, wolf. Tell me – which one would suffice for you?”

    Meanwhile across the battlefield, the others struggle to survive the onslaught from the pint-sized fire elementals. Jarod dispatches his previously summoned earth elementals out to meet Garret’s servants head-on, but it is merely twelve against dozens. Some fire elementals get through, while the rest swarm around the earth elementals, gradually heating up their bodies until they glow red hot and the rocks begin to shatter and the charred dirt loses its cohesion. It is a slow process, but an inevitable one when the earth elementals are so badly outnumbered. Jarod jabs his staff into one of the leading elementals that reaches the group, and instantly the elemental bursts into a burst of sparks, dismissed back to its home plane. Four more close in around him, cutting him off from the others.

    “Rosenburg! Garret is likely possessed! There must be something holding the spirit into his body! Destroy it!”

    Jarod calls, desperately swinging his staff around him in wide arcs, dismissing two more elementals and keeping the other two as bay.

    “SILENCE!” Garret roars, renewing his efforts to shove Rosenburg back into the pillar of fire. Another half dozen elementals meanwhile, menace Alons and his charges.

    Willow shies back by Mags, who watches the approaching elementals and periodically looks at his appropriated sword uncertainly. Greg watches the elementals’ advance with considerable less calm, and grunts as he breaks the top off of the bottle of Donovale wine.

    “To Hells with it!”

    He says, tipping his head back and pours some of the contents messily down into his mouth through the shattered top of the bottle. Willow watches this, and her eyes suddenly light up with an idea. The barmaid runs over and snatches the bottle out of Greg’s hands, and then pulls back and hurls it at the elemental.

    “Please work, please work!”

    The barmaid chants, and then gives a squeal of delight as the bottle passes directly through one of the fire elementals. The sudden heat causes the already compromised bottle to burst, spraying the surrounding area with wine. Wine which doesn’t have a high-enough alcohol content to ignite from its brief contact with the fire elemental. Instead, the sudden burst of liquid within it causes the elemental to expire into a wet pile of ashes.

    “The ale probably isn’t strong enough either! We can use it to put them out!”

    Willow shouts, and Mags drops his sword in favor of one of the casks abandoned by the earth elementals. He cracks it open across his knee, and then sprinkles the contents over the nearest two fire elementals, the ale likewise not having enough alcohol to ignite.

    “Praise the gods for cheap-ass swill!”

    Greg shouts as he runs towards a cask of his own, only to be cut off by one of the remaining fire elementals. The remaining two close in on Alons from opposite directions.

    “Alons! Look out!”

    Willow shouts.

    The Besieged City of Amaranth

    GuyFawkes

    At your claims of perhaps knowing more than she let on, the elf’s eyes twitched – ever so slightly . . . surprise. At your reassurance, however, she relaxes again, although she is clearly confused as to why you are not going to the fortress.

    “I do not know. I can be fairly convinced when I need to be.”

    Aurewlynn says with a pout, although she sighs and nods a moment later.

    “Although the words of a deserter mean nothing to my people. And you are right, they likely would try to investigate if they knew what was lurking below.”

    The she elf agreed, her tone sullen. After you explain the plan to her, Aurewlynn takes the paper and pen, and quickly sketches out a note. It looks like a standard message to you, although you do note that it has an interesting feature – a forged signature.

    “That’s the signature of Tur Villid, the leader of one of our armies. As far as I know, he’s still leading the efforts against this city, and so would be the natural choice to send a message back to the fortress. I’ve seen his signature a few times, having served briefly as a message courier myself. I . . . assume your illusion will be able to improve my forgery?”

    At the doorway before going inside to rest, Aurewylnn pauses and looks back. She seems about to say something, mulls it over in her mind, and then forces a smile.

    “You have been more than kind to me, Noctis. I owe you my life, and I will not forget that. Thank you.”

    Then she goes inside to rest, and you prepare the remainder of the necessary magics. She opens the door again at the first knock, and watches you finish your preparations with interest. She barely even winces when you prick her finger to take the necessary blood for the scroll’s magic. After listening to your instructions, she nods. Again she hesitates for a moment, and then leans in and kisses you on the cheek.

    “Thank you again Noctis. I will return as soon as I can . . . be careful.”

    Then she is gone, and you are left reeling from the chaos trying to climb up out of your mind. You had to find a way to deal with this hideous temptation, because when the time came you doubted a bunch of elves, skilled as they are, would be enough to hold the fortress against the full might of the Hells. How to accomplish that, however, was something beyond your kin, and you spent most of the night’s remainder mulling over it, watching the city waiting for the sunrise. This stand-off between the humans and elves would not last much longer – sooner rather than later the elves would likely make their move. But what form would it take?

    Thinking about trying to find more allies to your main problem, you decide that the paladins would be the ones most likely to agree to help willingly, even if it meant abandoning Amaranth to burn. Azguloth could *not* be set free. Unfortunately, you weren’t aware of where the paladin base camp within the city was – you were aware that there was a small detachment of them present though. It was all the paladins could afford to send with them scattered all over the kingdom trying to save everyone, or at least as many as they could.

    Hoping the citizens of Amaranth would know, you approach a relatively friendly merchant, doing his best to take advantage of the grim times by peddling his wares directly in the streets. Before he can answer, however, you feel a heavy hand fall onto your shoulder.

    “Who wants to know?”

    A voice growls behind you, and you turn to find yourself standing in front of a mountain of muscled flesh. A mountain of flesh that wreaked of alcohol and back alleys, however, threatening to bring tears even to your eyes from the stench. Two bloodshot eyes peered out at you from a chiseled, hair-covered face. Across this . . . person’s back was slung an equally massive warhammer, adorned with what appeared to be holy symbols. Beneath the man’s cloak, you could see an array of weapons and vials hanging from his vest, but no sigils marking him as a member of the Church of Light himself. An ally, or hanger-on, perhaps? The city was filling up with would-be heroes, and this man certainly smelled like one of them.
    I didn't actually intend to kill EVERYONE. It just sort of happened.

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  23. - Top - End - #113
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    The Lost and Forgotten

    He stands and tries to sneak for the keys, but something stops him. He looks to the devils opening the cage and wondering what will happen to the person inside. It doesn't seem right to abandon that person. He wouldn't want to be tortured, so why should he let someone else be tortured. Thinking of no real way to deal with the devils without sparking violence, he looks around for something, anything he can use as a weapon. Maybe if he got the drop on them he could stop them from taking that captive without alerting more guards.

    Spoiler
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    Sorry for the delay, work's been a killer lately.

    It's time for this amnesiac to remember a little bit of what it's like to be a paladin!
    "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."

  24. - Top - End - #114
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    Guess cats like Malarkey too, Bramble thought, sipping her beer. The beer was good. Dark, thick and bitter. It reminded her of life.

    Bramble turned a genuine smile of approval onto Malarkey. Get him away from Turbine, and the big oozing brute ain’t half bad, she mused. He’s right about us getting the job started. Much fun as it was listening to the Cleaver make the others scream, it weren’t much fun when my turn came ‘round.

    To her surprise, Malarkey met Bramble’s gaze and quirked up the barest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

    Mouse’ll be a problem if we don’t keep ‘im on a short leash. Little bastard’s scared of his own shadow back home, but as soon as he comes up here he’s all fangs and claws, eatin’ people and makin’ nasty with the leftovers.

    Bramble picked at a scab on her forehead, examined the result, and flicked it into Catbox's beer, where it floated unnoticed until being lost between the big fiend's black lips. Malarkey can hold that leash, since he’s already been grabbin' at it. Maybe if I let ‘im keep thinkin’ he’s the new sarge, he’ll convince our friend tom kitty to piss on Catbox again.

    Bramble smirked thoughtfully, finished off her beer, and then turned to the cultists.

    So lemme see if I got this straight. You want us to help you with your elf problem. There’s a whole bunch of goodies nearby in an alchemist’s shop that me an’ Catbox can use t’ blow stuff up. There’s guards everywhere in town ‘cause of the elves, and you cultists’re worried about sneakin’ us through to the shop. Yer also tryin’ t’ threaten us into helpin’ with your war by implyin’ that we won’t be able to get back here if the elves win. I think that about covers it.

    So here’s the plan. Get us some burlap and rope so’s we can cover up our hooves and not sound like a herd of horses troopin’ over the cobbles. We’ll all wear yer robes, so ye better make sure they’re long ones ‘cause me, Cat, an’ Malarkey ain’t exactly petite. We’ll all go bust in the shop, subtle-like, and while me an’ Cat quick knock ourselves a few things together, Malarkey and Mouse can figure out a strategy. We’ll wipe up the elf problem real fast, and that’ll give us a chance to try out some new bombs. So long as none of your people have qualms about carryin’ fiend-made explosives into battle, ‘course. We got a mission to do, but it looks like helpin’ you with yer problem might help us with ours. What in the bloody hells is elves anyway?

  25. - Top - End - #115
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    Alons Sift

    Clever girl. Alons was spending his attention watched as Rosenberg fought that summoner... whatever it was whether a fire elemental itself, or something far more malignant. His attention focused back on the elementals at Willow's shouts.

    Two of them?

    He threw off the elven quiver, letting it fall to the ground, then yanked his grey cloak off. Weak elementals were little more than the elemental itself giving a small intelligence, and he'd put out the fire elementals like any other fire. He whipped out with his cloak at the first one, attempting to snuff it out, and then move to the second.

  26. - Top - End - #116
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    Lucifuge

    Lucifuge turned around to face the speaker and his rather sensitive olfactory senses is immediately assaulted by the strong smell of alcohol and whatever it was mixed with it. Nevertheless, he did not flinch and looked at the man, observing him from head to foot.

    He certainly looked like a fighting man. An adventurer, perhaps, out to make a name for himself in this besieged city? More likely, for he heard paladins were devoted to their church, and drinking, he gathered, would be out of the question. But he did not dare assume. Humans were a peculiar bunch.

    "No one important in particular. Just someone who wishes to seek their guidance and assistance. Might you be one of the paladins?"

  27. - Top - End - #117
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    Umber

    Umber leaned back just as the dagger came towards his eye, taking a single skipping step - damn this untrained flesh-sack! - and took a cut down his cheek... but the cloak fell away from his throat in tatters as the blade sliced cleanly through the fabric. He spared a single disgusted glance for the space Nihilius had occupied. So hard to find good help these days, without the aid of magic, brainwashing, and alchemy...

    "You know" Umber mused aloud, diving towards the supposed hand of fate, driving home a blow that might have been lethal, if she hadn't dipped aside at just the right moment. "That whole claim is really starting to bother me." He let out a grunt as a knee caught him in the gut, and he stumbled back. Driving this body was more an effort of will than anything else - and though the flesh was weak, Umber's iron control made up for it, at least in part. Besides, as it was only temporary, he could afford to risk long-term damage for short-term gain.

    "I mean really, if you actually were possessed of omniscience, and able to use it properly, you wouldn't be so gods-damned terrible at your job." Umber continued, his casual tone marred just a bit by the great, gasping breaths he took has he struggled to avoid both Mellita and the room's defenses. He staggered back into a particularly irate bedspread, only his face emerging as the thing wrapped around him like an angry sea-sponge... and then Umber grinned. "Besides that, you'd know about this..." He snarled out a series of words and snapped a couple of intricate gestures behind the cover of the blanket, and suddenly the room's defenses began moving around him. Really, it wasn't as if he'd never prepared for this, back in the day. He knew everyone's defenses. And how to negate them, should they be suborned. And, for that matter, how to suborn them.

    He leaped forward, a sword flying into his hand from somewhere in the clutter, the mess moving with more purpose now that he was directing it. A particularly fetching pair of stilleto-heeled boots kicked out from under the bed, and drove themselves at Mellita's ribcage - actual stilleto-points glittering at the heel's ends. He threw the clutter-guardians at Mellita in waves, attempting to put her in a position where her knowledge would do her no good - where she would simply be swarmed by too many attackers for her less-than-stellar body to deal with.

  28. - Top - End - #118
    Ettin in the Playground
    Join Date
    Jun 2010
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Return to Ironheart IC

    Rosenberg

    The Druid grits his teeth, faced with a cacophony of fire and ice before him, though mostly it consists of fire.

    "You speak as if the wolf and I are separate... let me tell you this-"

    Rosenberg kept his right hand firmly attached to his scythe, using his left to punch upward at his arm and hand gripped tightly around his throat, likely breaking the elbow in the process.

    "The wolf and I are one, inseparable! There is no, we, there is only I!"

    Rosenberg's right hand shifted, transforming into a fearsome claw. Swiftly and savagely, he tore downwards at his chest, ripping apart whatever bandages lay bound around his chest. If he's to free him from his elemental possession, he needs to see where to strike first.

    His strengthened blow knocked the pyre-man a few feet away. Unfortunately his scythe is still stuck through his hand... but Rosenberg has other weapons to lash back with while his main weapon is temporarily unavailable. His other free hand shifted as well, two menacing claws before the man of flame, two predatory eyes looking directly at his prey.

    "As for the world's demise... I do not care. As long as I live, I will fight, and continue to fight."

    He brandished his claws before his foe.

    "Come on!"
    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.

  29. - Top - End - #119
    Orc in the Playground
    Join Date
    Apr 2007
    Location
    The third dimension
    Gender
    Male2Female

    Default Re: Return to Ironheart IC

    Sohssal

    There weren't any urgent matters Sohssal needed to tend to, other than keeping his temper around “his” simpering minions. But this wasn't the first time he had heard about Istomilo. The Estate surely had a library or other repository of information, and Sohssal went there to look him up. If he had such an impact on the Hells, there had to be a record of him somewhere. He couldn't afford to show ignorance of things Nihilus should know about, especially if the real one is out and about.

    More importantly, if Istomilo knew a similar ritual (or the same one), digging him up would be a good enough backup plan. But that was assuming he was still available, or even intact enough to be of any use. Sohssal had an inkling about what Fiend Lords did to failures.

  30. - Top - End - #120
    Bugbear in the Playground
    Join Date
    Nov 2005
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Return to Ironheart IC

    Speaker Ander Windrivver

    ((Battle Music: Battle With the Four Fiends - The Black Mages))

    Ander visibly pales at the appearance of not one, but three additional fiend lords. This kind of incursion was unprecedented since the Age of Fiends and for the briefest of moments, he thought of running away.

    And then Ysora gets hit.

    At that moment, something within Ander breaks. The faces of all the comrades and loved ones he had lost fighting the Good Fight flash before his eyes: Caitlyn and Gerald, Dahlia, Melcara, David, Belroar and the other Grandmasters, Morganna, Hondshioh...

    He would not add Ysora to the tally.

    “Gaze upon the loss of your precious sun and despair, mortals! Now is the hour of night, of chaos, of death! The Fiend Lords have returned to this city not as its prisoners, but its conquerors! Surrender yourselves to the power of the Hells now, or we will tear apart the Heavens themselves to claim you!”

    No.

    “Perhaps it is time for a tactical retreat? We seem to be outnumbered and unprepared for a united group of Fiend Lords. I have not seen them fight side-by-side since the defeat of their Master. One would question who is pulling their strings together.”

    NO.

    However, the reality of the situation meant that Quietus' rain of holy water was sapping his divine power fast and keeping Ysora disabled. Without his powers and her aid, there would be no winning the fight. Temporarily regarding Yvonne, Anguish, and Glurdalak as "mere" distractions, Ander reaches out with his senses to pinpoint Quietus' location.

    Knowing the Slaying Wind's starting point up in the back corner of the room, Ander quickly estimates an intercept trajectory. He unleashes a large portion of his divine reserves as a blinding burst of holy light, hoping to daze the assembled Fiend Lords and buy himself some precious seconds. Without hesitation, he follows it up with a mighty heave of his sword, a holy chain playing out from the hilt like a grappling line. The heavenly-forged blade strikes true, striking Quietus in the side and pinning him to the wall near the ceiling.

    Grabbing the holy chain in his right hand, Ander commands it to shorten, rocketing himself up towards the pinned Quietus. In his left hand, sheathed in holy flame, is Melissan's soul crystal. With a mighty blow and ignoring any struggling on the fiend's part, Ander plunges the soul crystal deep into Quietus' chest, beating and clawing the pint-sized fiend to death.

    (In case it wasn't clear, Ander is using the sword and chain like Batman uses his grappling gun to propel himself up to where Quietus is pinned near the roof.)

    As Quietus' corpse dissolves into ash and the Flaying Wind dissipates, Ander carefully climbs up onto the nearby metal framework that used to hold the glass ceiling of the Council Chambers and extricates Morganna's sword from the wall. He mutters a short, exhausted prayer of thanks as he feels the holy power returning to his body. Even as his wounds close, Ander strides to the ragged edge of the framework and addresses his audience.

    THIS IS OUR CITY! THIS IS OUR WORLD! AND YOU SHALL NOT HAVE IT!

    Divine power fills the Speaker's voice, amplifying it so that he can be heard all across the city and compelling all within its borders to listen. As his voice crescendos, his aura also brightens, shining against Glurdalak's darkness like a miniature sun.

    Paladins, take up your arms. Refugees, run ye no further! Show these fiends what greatness exists within the hearts of MEN!

    Angels! Branded sisters of Angelus! RISE UP! Throw off the shackles that bind your minds and bodies and fly to me! Teach these invaders to FEAR the mar'kash once more! SHOW THEM THE GLORY OF HEAVEN!


    As the Speaker's words echo over the city and fade away, he leaps from his perch and streaks down to earth like a blazing comet to interpose himself between the remaining Fiend Lords and Ysora.

    Die here by my sword or wait for me in Hell to finish the job, it makes no difference. The time for you and all your brethren is nearly at an end.

    No more words, now it is time to fight. Ander summons a shield of holy energy in his off-hand and raises his sword in a defensive posture, ready for the onslaught to begin.
    Quote Originally Posted by PhoeKun View Post
    Baerdog: super genius.

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