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Jongo didn't take his eyes off of the Crystal Ceiling. It twirled, and it spun, and Jongo knew it contained a view of everything; but a thought from Baz'Auran was all it took.
Still, Jongo heard her brother Khalen-Het respond to the question. And an answer such as that deserved another answer... or another question. Jongo wasn't sure of which.
So he did both.
"A well worded answer, Brother. So, then, the rare shooting star, the one that Spirits and Mortals alike have made wishes upon... They wish upon failure?" Jongo finally turned, and she smiled upon Khalen-Het, green and grey eye twinkling with mischief.
__________________
Spoiler
"Fear the Gerbils, lads! For they will destroy you!" ~ DOOM
BladeofObliviom said:
Quote:
I've only seen a character at anything resembling this level of absurdity thrive exactly once, and he/she/what-the-jongo had the advantage of being written by Gengy, who I look up to as a writer.
"What-the-Jongo?"
Before you insult someone, walk a mile in their shoes.
That way, you'll be a mile away, and have their shoes!
Khalen scowled. It was just like Jongo to instantly see the weak point in an argument and run off in a different direction. He paused for a moment before replying.
"Indeed they do. Wishes are the hopes of fools that lack the courage or strength to seize their hearts' desires. Wishes are fickle and insubstantial, like the wind. Courage and strength are the stone and earth; they nourish, they protect - what good does the fickle wind do?"
__________________
Proof that avataring standards in the Playground have reached an all-time low:
Oh what fun, Khalen-Het is! Jongo could see his younger brother scowling and thinking. Though not as skilled as Rose, Jongo knew words - word spoken in thoughtful conversation - slowly made the world change.
And so Jongo thought carefully before answering. Which, looking like a child, meant sticking out her tongue in concentration. Finally, he spoke. She did not look at Khalen-Het this time, only turned back towards the ceiling.
"What good is the fickle wind? It brings the refreshing breeze. It dances with the clouds. The fickle wind brings the storms that moves the rain that feeds the grass. It is the fickle wind the can blow out a fire, or raise it higher. It is the fickle wind, that, when it sets it's mind to it, can move the stone and the earth.
Soreal and Aerin rely on the fickle wind. In it, there is life. And life without hope is not a life worth protecting. One must wish for the thing they want first, before they gather their courage. For how can you seize your heart's desire, if you don't know what it is? That, brother, is fickle.
The strong get strong, because they saw weakness in themselves, and wished to be better. The courageous are brave only because they hope to make their fears go away.
And when they charge in, to chase away their fears... they have the wind at their backs, blowing them onwards.
Like a cactus! Or is that soap? Ooooh! Now I'm hungry." Jongo turned to Khalen-Het and grinned again, speech apparently forgotten already.
Or not. "And besides, who wants to be a rock? Rocks are boring."
__________________
Spoiler
"Fear the Gerbils, lads! For they will destroy you!" ~ DOOM
BladeofObliviom said:
Quote:
I've only seen a character at anything resembling this level of absurdity thrive exactly once, and he/she/what-the-jongo had the advantage of being written by Gengy, who I look up to as a writer.
"What-the-Jongo?"
Before you insult someone, walk a mile in their shoes.
That way, you'll be a mile away, and have their shoes!
Staring at his axe in disbelief he let's out a sigh followed with inaudible grumbles. Holding the now useless shaft of the axe he tosses it away and says "Bloody useless weapon, breaks before I can even get my tempo going, next time I need a weapon I'll get Rumel to invent some kind of triple heading axe that shoots out spikes and spins the blades around." grabbing a hold of the embedded axe he shifts his weight and tears it free from the pillar, chucking it away a good several yards. With a new found smile he congratulates Frellon for the victory before saying "Now, how about we go and get patched up So that we don't look like crap for fathers grand farewell speech."
Contragh begins walking to the medical tent positioned not too far from the fight but stops when he notices Dasque. Looking down at her he asks "What's that you have there?" pointing his right finger at the book in her hands.
Contragh-Dias of Creation (Pre Battle)
Sitting in Baz'Aurans presence was a serenading feeling, as if a ocean of peace and order washed over Contragh and settled all his emotions. He had sat down on the ground, his legs crossed, and his soon to be destroyed axe lying balanced across his lap. He wasn't to far away from Jongo, as he had wanted to be sure that he could keep an eye on him whilst Contragh watched the universe change to Baz'Aurans will. This peace and tranquility was interrupted however, with the propsect of a question from Jongo. Sighing, Contragh looks at Jongo and contemplates answering the question. But the opportunity I'd snatched away from Contragh as Khalen-Het begins a word duel with Jongo. Listening intently to their debate Contragh can take no more and let's out a short laugh at Jongo's ridiculous trumping of Khalen-Het.
With his laugh out Contragh looks towards Khalen-Het and says "I must agree with Jongo on this sentiment, without the wind my ships would be useless and soldiers would be forced to slow down due to the uncomftorable conditions." with a slight smile on his face he returns to looking at the cieling and gliding his hands over his axe.
__________________
Spoiler
Previous Avatars
All Spoiler Images made by SmuchSmuch and Emperor Ing and Kasanip
Faden blinked, startled, as Avyra zeroed in on him. Once she'd shown him her newest fascination, he grinned and put his book down.
Faden got up and looked at the diagram carefully, raising an eyebrow. "I sincerely hope this isn't drawn at actual size. I should hate to think of how large a colony of them would be."
"Of course not! I had to draw them that big to get all the detail!" Avyra settled down on the bench next to Faden, pointing out the jointed bodies, the multiple legs, the antennae; they were fascinating to her, and her elder brother had always been willing to indulge her when she rambled on about the strange creatures she saw on the surface. But she paused, after her description, and a serious expression crossed her face.
"Faden," she began, looking up at him, "do you ever wonder what will happen to us on the Disk...? We are not like Father, or the spirits...we grow weary, and hungry, and need food and sleep. The spirits do not, though they eat with us when we call for their company...do you ever...do you ever think what could happen if we die? Tezzerin says that's what happens to these creatures, they die and then they're returned to the earth...but then...what's after that? I...I mean...do you come back? Or are you just...just...gone?"
Her expression grew more and more distressed, and she stared down at the papers in her hands. "Some of the things down there are dangerous. 'Hunters', Tezzerin said. They kill other animals. I...I am no good with sword, nor bow, nor dagger. I...I would not be able to defend myself. ...Faden, I know...I know that it is a great honor to be able to go down to the Disk, and I am excited, but...I am scared, also. Are you? Does it not seem scary...?"
"Of course not! I had to draw them that big to get all the detail!" Avyra settled down on the bench next to Faden, pointing out the jointed bodies, the multiple legs, the antennae; they were fascinating to her, and her elder brother had always been willing to indulge her when she rambled on about the strange creatures she saw on the surface. But she paused, after her description, and a serious expression crossed her face.
"Faden," she began, looking up at him, "do you ever wonder what will happen to us on the Disk...? We are not like Father, or the spirits...we grow weary, and hungry, and need food and sleep. The spirits do not, though they eat with us when we call for their company...do you ever...do you ever think what could happen if we die? Tezzerin says that's what happens to these creatures, they die and then they're returned to the earth...but then...what's after that? I...I mean...do you come back? Or are you just...just...gone?"
Her expression grew more and more distressed, and she stared down at the papers in her hands. "Some of the things down there are dangerous. 'Hunters', Tezzerin said. They kill other animals. I...I am no good with sword, nor bow, nor dagger. I...I would not be able to defend myself. ...Faden, I know...I know that it is a great honor to be able to go down to the Disk, and I am excited, but...I am scared, also. Are you? Does it not seem scary...?"
Faden pauses for a moment after Avyra poses her questions. "There is some anxiety. And more than a little mystery." He paces back and forth across the path before focusing, and the sheet with the ant on it crawls up one of the hedge walls and hangs there. "The difference between us and the ants and the animals and the hunters is nothing more or less than our own natures. We are the Children of Baz'Auran, with our unique place in his plan, and they are mortal creatures with their own place. Does that make us intrinsically better? I don't know. Does that make us immune to death itself? Probably not. But then..." The sheet flips from the hedge into his hand before bursting into bluish flame, which doesn't seem to bother Faden in the slightest, and continues burning as he talks until it's consumed. "...father hasn't shown us everything - not through Tezzerin or Eliat or any of the other spirits."
"Perhaps there is some better world waiting beyond the grave. Perhaps, like the ants, those that die are absorbed into what made them, to be used as building blocks for newer, better things. Perhaps there is nothingness past that point. Maybe whatever is destroyed ultimately comes back. Or maybe..." Faden displays his open hands to Avyra before clapping them together and drawing them apart slowly - revealing her rolled up ant drawings in the process and a sly grin. "...it was never truly gone to begin with."
__________________ "Never pick a fight with people who buy ink by the barrel."
- Mark Twain
"Life is too short for [manuals], but occasionally much too short without them."
- Randall Munroe, xkcd.com (paraphrased)
Amazing Zealot avatar by Elder Tsofu
Last edited by Jade_Tarem : 02-02-2012 at 01:14 AM.
Dasque stared at Comoragh a moment longer than necessary before responding. "A catalogue of the monsters below, written by the spirits who dwell there on our Father's behalf." She put the book next to her, closing the cover. "Quite enlightening really, madness and cruelty given so many forms. Still, there naught to be done but rise to meet the challenges of our calling." She looked behind him at the mark the axe left. In a moment, her eyes seemed to flash with a hundred thoughts at once. "You're right about the weapon, but it is only half at fault. If you wield an inferior blade, you must change your own movements to accomodate for it." She shurgged her shoulders casually. "Either that, or make sure you do see Rumel before we head out."
Dasque smiled at the last, her normal self shining that moment. Calm, yet warm. Cutting, yet caring. However, her thoughts betrayed her and the smile went away, lost behind her own thoughts of their departure.
__________________
Will have limited to no internet the rest of the week.
Sitting in Baz'Aurans presence was a serenading feeling, as if a ocean of peace and order washed over Contragh and settled all his emotions. He had sat down on the ground, his legs crossed, and his soon to be destroyed axe lying balanced across his lap. He wasn't to far away from Jongo, as he had wanted to be sure that he could keep an eye on him whilst Contragh watched the universe change to Baz'Aurans will. This peace and tranquility was interrupted however, with the propsect of a question from Jongo. Sighing, Contragh looks at Jongo and contemplates answering the question. But the opportunity I'd snatched away from Contragh as Khalen-Het begins a word duel with Jongo. Listening intently to their debate Contragh can take no more and let's out a short laugh at Jongo's ridiculous trumping of Khalen-Het.
With his laugh out Contragh looks towards Khalen-Het and says "I must agree with Jongo on this sentiment, without the wind my ships would be useless and soldiers would be forced to slow down due to the uncomftorable conditions." with a slight smile on his face he returns to looking at the cieling and gliding his hands over his axe.
"Like having their belts chafing their armpits! Well said, Bunny!" Jongo giggled, pleased to have Contragh join the conversation.
"More importantly, Khalen-Fish, if the stars are doing their duty by staying in one place, then what of when it is day? Do they get their rest, as they twinkle out to sleep?"
__________________
Spoiler
"Fear the Gerbils, lads! For they will destroy you!" ~ DOOM
BladeofObliviom said:
Quote:
I've only seen a character at anything resembling this level of absurdity thrive exactly once, and he/she/what-the-jongo had the advantage of being written by Gengy, who I look up to as a writer.
"What-the-Jongo?"
Before you insult someone, walk a mile in their shoes.
That way, you'll be a mile away, and have their shoes!
Oh what bliss! What sheer and decadent delight! Every chord played, every note sung, brought together into such pure companionship!
"Raise your glasses friends! May this symphony of unity ever remind us of our great father's unending and binding love! Take it to memory, and we will never be apart no matter how far our journeys take us!"
There were a thousand dances to dance. A thousand sweet farewells to share. No face that looked upon Brandis could help but yield a smile. Bright blue eyes full of excitement set upon everyone he stopped to visit, wordlessly reminding them of how very perfect they were in that moment.
But such merriment and well wishing could make even stoutest of men grow weary on an empty stomach. It was ever so short a walk to the dining hall, yet it took ever so long to get there. So many people to talk to, and no desire to leave anyone forgotten . . .
When finally he burst through the doors, Brandis was finishing a chorus he had quite forgotten starting. His belly growled, pulling him onwards, but . . .
"Lossethir! This game of yours is the very best! Surely you don't mind your little brother joining in for a hand eh? Oh stop scowling Nezzeril, 'tis all good fun!"
His strategy was ingenious. He absolutely had to spend some time with his brother. But the culinary delights were sooooooo close . . . . Their every smell enticing him . . . He never even bothered looking at his cards.
"All in! Blind Nill or something like that right? One moment and I'll have us all another round and a plate to share!"
"Like having their belts chafing their armpits! Well said, Bunny!" Jongo giggled, pleased to have Contragh join the conversation.
"More importantly, Khalen-Fish, if the stars are doing their duty by staying in one place, then what of when it is day? Do they get their rest, as they twinkle out to sleep?"
Khalen ground his teeth. The creature had made a good point but he was far from defeated yet.
"The stars do not rest. They maintain their watch, yet make way for the Eye of Baz'Aurun, who is both their brother and lord. His glory may outshine theirs but they wait patiently and obediantly for their lord's departure, ready to resume their duty at his command."
Khalen turns to his brother. "It is the same on the battlefield, is not? The mighty general may lead the charge into the fray, his valour and courage surpassing the footsoldiers, yet they do not disappear just because he is there."
__________________
Proof that avataring standards in the Playground have reached an all-time low:
Spoiler
Last edited by The Succubus : 02-02-2012 at 05:15 AM.
Khalen ground his teeth. The creature had made a good point but he was far from defeated yet.
"The stars do not rest. They maintain their watch, yet make way for the Eye of Baz'Aurun, who is both their brother and lord. His glory may outshine theirs but they wait patiently and obediantly for their lord's departure, ready to resume their duty at his command."
Khalen turns to his brother. "It is the same on the battlefield, is not? The mighty general may lead the charge into the fray, his valour and courage surpassing the footsoldiers, yet they do not disappear just because he is there."
"The sun outshines the stars, and the one glory outstrips the other? Perhaps. Perhaps. And there are certainly those who enjoy the gaze of the Eye of our Father upon them. Yet there are plants that only grow in the moonlight, and bloom only at night, and they are just as beautiful, don't you think? Aramar and Fayruz would agree, most likely, and they know more about the night sky then you or I.
Although... I know what I have seen. I have seen the brightest star twinkle, and the smallest star blink. So I think they stay because they want to; perhaps a duty at first, yes, but now it is their life. And they watch us below, and giggle and twitter, and when they can't take it anymore, they fall over laughing.
For everything must change. Even the stars."
Jongo turned his gaze back from the Ceiling - the ever entrancing Ceiling - with an almost mournful sigh. Looking upon her brothers, Jongo shook his head sadly.
"Even we must change." This dour statement is unusual for Jongo. She is usually so cheerful and--
"For instance, I'm hungry. So I'm gonna go eat, and change that!"
"Yay! Bubbles!" --always moving from place to place. Like now. Jongo bounded from where he was standing calmly, ran straight between both of her brothers, and would have continued running all the way out of the hall... if he hadn't remembered where she was, and just whose gaze was ALSO in the room.
Turning, Jongo bowed to Baz'Auran, then waved a frantic wave at his siblings, a smile wide on her lips, and then skipped the rest of the way out of the Dias of Creation... one last longing glance at the Ceiling the only other evidence that Jongo knew where he was.
The White City Garden
Who knew the City better than Jongo? Perhaps no one. Jongo had been nearly everywhere. Well, everywhere that Baz'Auran allowed His children to go.
Jongo had searched and poked and bumped into places that no one else knew existed, because no one else bothered to look. It had been Jongo that had found the Alabaster Statue Garden, tucked between four buildings, with only a single alleyway into it. It had been Jongo that had discovered the way into the Tower of Two Mysteries (both of which had been solved, and were delicious puddings). It had been Jongo that had jumped into the Garden Fountain, and found the slide down into the Kitchen. It was a shortcut used by many Spirits to this day -- as long as they didn't mind getting wet.
So, since it was probably going to be a while before Jongo could use such a shortcut again, she wandered into the Garden, and was pleasently happy to see not just The Weaver, but also Soreal... and was that Fayruz? She looked like she was trying to say something to the other two, but with those two...
Jongo worked his way quickly up next to Fayruz.
"Hello pretty Flower! Hugs?" Without waiting for a response, Jongo hugged her sister's legs, waggling his ears, smiling widely and winking one eye, just for Fayruz.
"What is everyone looking at?"
__________________
Spoiler
"Fear the Gerbils, lads! For they will destroy you!" ~ DOOM
BladeofObliviom said:
Quote:
I've only seen a character at anything resembling this level of absurdity thrive exactly once, and he/she/what-the-jongo had the advantage of being written by Gengy, who I look up to as a writer.
"What-the-Jongo?"
Before you insult someone, walk a mile in their shoes.
That way, you'll be a mile away, and have their shoes!
Who knew the City better than Jongo? Perhaps no one. Jongo had been nearly everywhere. Well, everywhere that Baz'Auran allowed His children to go.
Jongo had searched and poked and bumped into places that no one else knew existed, because no one else bothered to look. It had been Jongo that had found the Alabaster Statue Garden, tucked between four buildings, with only a single alleyway into it. It had been Jongo that had discovered the way into the Tower of Two Mysteries (both of which had been solved, and were delicious puddings). It had been Jongo that had jumped into the Garden Fountain, and found the slide down into the Kitchen. It was a shortcut used by many Spirits to this day -- as long as they didn't mind getting wet.
So, since it was probably going to be a while before Jongo could use such a shortcut again, she wandered into the Garden, and was pleasently happy to see not just The Weaver, but also Soreal... and was that Fayruz? She looked like she was trying to say something to the other two, but with those two...
Jongo worked his way quickly up next to Fayruz.
"Hello pretty Flower! Hugs?" Without waiting for a response, Jongo hugged her sister's legs, waggling his ears, smiling widely and winking one eye, just for Fayruz.
"What is everyone looking at?"
Fayruz's laugh was just as lovely as the rest of her, an innocent giggle that could be compared, if one was feeling particularly poetic, to the clearest, most delicate bells of the Plaza of Song. And if there was one sibling who could always, always produce it, it was Jongo, with their antics and lovely little gestures of affection towards their kindly sister.
Fayruz placed her arm over Jongo's shoulders and squeezed them gently, lovingly, looking down at the most whimsical of all her siblings with a happy laugh and a toss of her head. "Good afternoon, little sister-brother!" That was their joke together - that, while Jongo was eldest and Fayruz the youngest, Fayruz called him her little sister-brother. She reached up and ruffled Jongo's hair with a smile. "The Weaver has made a most delightful decoration for our ship! You should look carefully at it, Jongo, for there are very many little details that are quite delightful - that is, if you're not too busy giving this pretty flower hugs."
__________________
-build that wall and build it strong-
Kasanip - best artist; Rarity - best smile; Thanqol - good Question
Spoiler
Quote:
Originally Posted by PhoeKun
Raz, you scoundrel! You planned this!
Quote:
Originally Posted by BladeofObliviom
Great, and now I'm imagining what Raz's profile on a dating site would look like. "Must be okay with veils."
Quote:
Originally Posted by Kasanip
I don't think there is such a time to have veils that it is not the fault of Raz_Fox.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Dervag
It's a freaking Romulan dump truck. The Romulans are no more likely to build an unarmed warp-capable ship than they are to become a hippy commune.
Fayruz's laugh was just as lovely as the rest of her, an innocent giggle that could be compared, if one was feeling particularly poetic, to the clearest, most delicate bells of the Plaza of Song. And if there was one sibling who could always, always produce it, it was Jongo, with their antics and lovely little gestures of affection towards their kindly sister.
Fayruz placed her arm over Jongo's shoulders and squeezed them gently, lovingly, looking down at the most whimsical of all her siblings with a happy laugh and a toss of her head. "Good afternoon, little sister-brother!" That was their joke together - that, while Jongo was eldest and Fayruz the youngest, Fayruz called him her little sister-brother. She reached up and ruffled Jongo's hair with a smile. "The Weaver has made a most delightful decoration for our ship! You should look carefully at it, Jongo, for there are very many little details that are quite delightful - that is, if you're not too busy giving this pretty flower hugs."
Jongo tickled Fayruz's knee through her clothing, before turning to look at the Weaver's sail.
It was delightful. Jongo even saw herself there, transforming into more things than he can remember.
"Well done, Rodney! Father will adore it. I know I like it. And it's for our ship? Our ship?" Jongo paused, and frowned.
"Everyone is calling it that. I didn't even realize. It doesn't have a name yet, does it? Hmmm... I have to think on that. Father may ask, if He doesn't have a name for it yet Himself. What do you guys think of the Soaring Pussyfoot? Or the Flying Gorganzola? Or, with all the grumbling I've been hearing at mealtimes, Rumel's Compromise?"
It was hard to tell if Jongo was being serious, or just trying to get a laugh out of her siblings. Likely just the laugh. Probably. Maybe.
__________________
Spoiler
"Fear the Gerbils, lads! For they will destroy you!" ~ DOOM
BladeofObliviom said:
Quote:
I've only seen a character at anything resembling this level of absurdity thrive exactly once, and he/she/what-the-jongo had the advantage of being written by Gengy, who I look up to as a writer.
"What-the-Jongo?"
Before you insult someone, walk a mile in their shoes.
That way, you'll be a mile away, and have their shoes!
Staring at his axe in disbelief he let's out a sigh followed with inaudible grumbles. Holding the now useless shaft of the axe he tosses it away and says "Bloody useless weapon, breaks before I can even get my tempo going, next time I need a weapon I'll get Rumel to invent some kind of triple heading axe that shoots out spikes and spins the blades around." grabbing a hold of the embedded axe he shifts his weight and tears it free from the pillar, chucking it away a good several yards. With a new found smile he congratulates Frellon for the victory before saying "Now, how about we go and get patched up So that we don't look like crap for fathers grand farewell speech."
Contragh begins walking to the medical tent positioned not too far from the fight but stops when he notices Dasque. Looking down at her he asks "What's that you have there?" pointing his right finger at the book in her hands.
Frellon- The Steel Cathedral
Frellon lowered his sword and laughed at Contragh's description of the spinning axe, "I'd like to see an axe that does that!" before following him towards the medical tent.
He stopped, half a step behind Contragh, as they stopped near Dasque to inquire over her book.
Frellon leaned against the wall of the medical facility as he looked at the book Dasque set asside blandly, he had never really taken to reading much, but Dasque had said it was a book about the monsters they would be facing on the disk. The disk. Frellon was trying not to think about that. His eyes unfocused, and his mind wandered. His mind obviously elsewhere, he found that he was speaking aloud anyway. "Do you guys think we'll ever run into a monster we won't know how to kill?"
__________________
Avatar by Vrythas
Last edited by AntiMatter101 : 02-02-2012 at 05:51 PM.
Jongo tickled Fayruz's knee through her clothing, before turning to look at the Weaver's sail.
It was delightful. Jongo even saw herself there, transforming into more things than he can remember.
"Well done, Rodney! Father will adore it. I know I like it. And it's for our ship? Our ship?" Jongo paused, and frowned.
"Everyone is calling it that. I didn't even realize. It doesn't have a name yet, does it? Hmmm... I have to think on that. Father may ask, if He doesn't have a name for it yet Himself. What do you guys think of the Soaring Pussyfoot? Or the Flying Gorganzola? Or, with all the grumbling I've been hearing at mealtimes, Rumel's Compromise?"
It was hard to tell if Jongo was being serious, or just trying to get a laugh out of her siblings. Likely just the laugh. Probably. Maybe.
Fayruz giggled, and rested her hand on Jongo's shoulder. "I think it should be named Baz'Auran's Starlight, or The White City's Hope, but maybe Father would like to call it the Soaring Pussyfoot if you asked him! Your names for things are always unique - isn't that right, Rodney?" And there was no sarcasm in that, no teasing - she meant the compliment.
__________________
-build that wall and build it strong-
Kasanip - best artist; Rarity - best smile; Thanqol - good Question
Spoiler
Quote:
Originally Posted by PhoeKun
Raz, you scoundrel! You planned this!
Quote:
Originally Posted by BladeofObliviom
Great, and now I'm imagining what Raz's profile on a dating site would look like. "Must be okay with veils."
Quote:
Originally Posted by Kasanip
I don't think there is such a time to have veils that it is not the fault of Raz_Fox.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Dervag
It's a freaking Romulan dump truck. The Romulans are no more likely to build an unarmed warp-capable ship than they are to become a hippy commune.
When Kalandor finally makes his way to the dining room he's exiting the Kitchen, his normal clothes having a small bloodstain on the shoulder in combination with the normal dirt and grass stains.
"Ahh, my friends, they'll be something unusual on the menu tonight. Analan and I did well on the hunt."
To avoid harming the sanity of the DM I can no longer:
* Cast flesh to stone on a annoying Druid
** Cast Rock to mud on a Druid statue
*** Scoop mud into little ceramic pots
**** Plant tree's in individual ceramic pots
***** Claim that I have helped them become one with nature
Frellon- The Steel Cathedral
Frellon lowered his sword and laughed at Contragh's description of the spinning axe, "I'd like to see an axe that does that!" before following him towards the medical tent.
He stopped, half a step behind Contragh, as they stopped near Dasque to inquire over her book.
Frellon leaned against the wall of the medical facility as he looked at the book Dasque set asside blandly, he had never really taken to reading much, but Dasque had said it was a book about the monsters they would be facing on the disk. The disk. Frellon was trying not to think about that. His eyes unfocused, and his mind wandered. His mind obviously elsewhere, he found that he was speaking aloud anyway. "Do you guys think we'll ever run into a monster we won't know how to kill?"
Dasque measured Frellon's question for a moment. "There are no monsters within this tome that suggest they are impossible to kill, but I daresay there are some I have no desire to meet. Still, tread cautiously when speaking of killing Frellon. We cannot hope to scour the Disc of every creature that displeases us, and even if we could, it is a lonely thought. Besides, there is much we can learn, even from the more loathesome inhabitants below."
__________________
Will have limited to no internet the rest of the week.
With a sudden snap, the slate chip between Lossethir's thumb and forefinger exploded in a spray of miniature shards and powder. While the Knowledge Spirits' meticulousness was exasperating, his brother's manic enthusiasm mixed with his inattentiveness was... not something he wanted to face sober. He only smiled politely and nodded his vacant approval to the notion of someone bringing him food and drink.
"Just something flammable. Please and thank you." He waved off Brandis and turned his attention to the triumphant hunters, bemused and unimpressed. His sly, smarmy grin betrayed him, but a slight tilt of his head asked that they elucidate.
Lossethir's pale skin was betrayed by a copper glow (likely inherited radiance from his father). His light brown hair appeared wind tussled even inside. He had the build of a fearsome warrior despite seldom lifting a weapon, to anyone's knowledge, never exercising. The grey eyes held back a perpetual state of mischief... or at least a snide comment. He had the look of a man who was doing a good job of holding in a dirty joke he'd just remembered.
Steel clashed against steel: once, twice, three times. A blade slipped in its wielder's hand, just an inch, and quick as a serpent the other found its way past its guard and struck. The point of the blade halted a mere inch away from unprotected skin.
"Again," said the victor in a voice like two stones grinding against one another.
"This isn't fair, you know," his enemy laughed, stooping to retrieve her fallen sword. Her voice was musical, merry despite defeat. "You have six hands! I am quite overmatched; if you struck all at once I could not possibly defend against them all."
"There are creatures on the Disk which possess a thousand hands, and a thousand legs, and a thousand eyes," said the spirit imperturbably. It stood nearly ten feet high, with a muscular frame and a thick golden hide, and it did indeed have six arms, five of which held lean blades. (The last held a shield.) It was called Umori, and it stood high among the Spirits of War. "They will not relent because you say the match is unfair, child of Baz'Auran. Nor will—"
"I know, I know," she interrupted. "It was a joke. I asked for this, didn't I? I'm not about to complain."
"Then we shall begin again. And keep hold of your sword this time. You may survive making a single mistake, but not if you give up."
She nodded, and the unmelodical rasp-and-ring of clashing swords filled the practice field once again. To an onlooker the duel would have been difficult to follow: they watched one another warily for seconds on end, occasionally feinting or shifting back and forth, then one would move in for the attack and for a moment all would be confusion, blades darting about like deadly hummingbirds as the two struck and counterstruck. Then one or the other would fall back, and all would be still for a moment as they regained their balance and prepared their next attack. But it was soon clear that the god-child was outmatched: she was exceedingly swift and not without skill, but Umori was tireless and strong, and his skill was greater. This time it was the edge of the blade which found his pupil's skin, coming to rest against a bare arm.
There were some uncharitable souls who felt that Nieve only came so often to the sparring grounds because the shine of exertion and the skintight practice garb favored her looks. And there was a grain of truth to this; but it said something about her character that hard work brought out her beauty instead of her petulance. The restless energy that filled her spirit was allowed to run free at such times, and she positively shone for it. And today there was more behind her visit than the sheer joy of physicality. She was here for a purpose. Soon they would be journeying to the Great Disk far below, and though she knew she would not grow to equal Shirvan or Frellon or Contragh in skill in the short time they had left, she was determined that she would be neither helpless or a burden.
On the third round the spirit bested her again, but the fourth time a clever feint found its way past Umori's guard, and she flicked the point of her blade across his lower leg before dancing backward to evade his riposte. She laughed with pleasure, and the spirit nodded gravely. "Fairly struck. That was not a killing blow, but you did not sacrifice your life for it either. Were I truly your foe, you would now hold the advantage."
"But not the victory, I fear," she said, wiping your forehead. "I'm too spent to press my advantage. I'm afraid I must beg leave to depart the field. I should like to rest a little while, and then perhaps face - a different opponent." Silence."Surely, dear Umori, not every menace on the Disk has a thousand arms?"
Umori was still a moment longer, then nodded his permission. Only then did she lower her sword and turn her back. Once, she would have assumed that a fight was over just because somebody had struck a blow. The Spirits of War had corrected that mistake harshly.
She walked to the edge of the field and leaned against a wall there, the white stone blessedly cool against her cheek.
Golden eyes gleamed with mischief; the tell-tale crunch of an apple bitten into, teeth breaking the skin and chewing their sweet bounty.
Shirvan carelessly discarded the apple, as he shifted slightly against the white stone to his back; the corner of his right lip curving into a smirk. "You're improving," he offered in a friendly tone, loud and clear.
Had the silver-haired child of Baz'Auran been there this whole time, watching her? He wore a sword-belt around his hip, but it was not unusual for Shirvan Silver-Hair to bring one along with him wherever he went. Before any such question could be put voice to, he turned his head and the molten lava of his eyes looked right into those of Nieve. "I have a suggestion, if you'll hear it."
Shirvan had ever been one to encourage others to pursue their interests, in whatever form they came; he, for one, had never mocked his beautiful sister's efforts with a blade. He had even once taken the time to instruct Fayruz, after all, even if by the end of it he had recommended to better rely on others for such matters.
Dining Hall
"Just something flammable. Please and thank you." He waved off Brandis and turned his attention to the triumphant hunters, bemused and unimpressed. His sly, smarmy grin betrayed him, but a slight tilt of his head asked that they elucidate.
Noticing Lossethir's expression he moves to take on of the seats near him. "If you wish to know brother you will have to ask, or you'll have to wait for the surprise. I'l give you a hint though, It makes a great roast, theres lots of it, and its the second last one on my list, just one more and I'll have encounted all of the more agressive creatures Baz'Auran placed as challanges."
When he does finally take a seat he sits on a stool that apears to be made of simple wood, instead of any of the more elaborite chair. He notices the bloodstain still on his clothing when he looks across at Lossethir, and frowns for a second. "Hmph, I thought I got that stain out...." "Anyhow, want to take a guess? Or are you just going to sit their looking for all the city like Rose or Jongo's made a joke on me?"
To avoid harming the sanity of the DM I can no longer:
* Cast flesh to stone on a annoying Druid
** Cast Rock to mud on a Druid statue
*** Scoop mud into little ceramic pots
**** Plant tree's in individual ceramic pots
***** Claim that I have helped them become one with nature
Last edited by Erik Vale : 02-03-2012 at 04:32 PM.
Faden pauses for a moment after Avyra poses her questions. "There is some anxiety. And more than a little mystery." He paces back and forth across the path before focusing, and the sheet with the ant on it crawls up one of the hedge walls and hangs there. "The difference between us and the ants and the animals and the hunters is nothing more or less than our own natures. We are the Children of Baz'Auran, with our unique place in his plan, and they are mortal creatures with their own place. Does that make us intrinsically better? I don't know. Does that make us immune to death itself? Probably not. But then..." The sheet flips from the hedge into his hand before bursting into bluish flame, which doesn't seem to bother Faden in the slightest, and continues burning as he talks until it's consumed. "...father hasn't shown us everything - not through Tezzerin or Eliat or any of the other spirits."
"Perhaps there is some better world waiting beyond the grave. Perhaps, like the ants, those that die are absorbed into what made them, to be used as building blocks for newer, better things. Perhaps there is nothingness past that point. Maybe whatever is destroyed ultimately comes back. Or maybe..." Faden displays his open hands to Avyra before clapping them together and drawing them apart slowly - revealing her rolled up ant drawings in the process and a sly grin. "...it was never truly gone to begin with."
"Faden!" Avyra slapped at her brother, playfully; she frowned fiercely for a moment at him before laughing. "You never take anything I say seriously! I was being honest, you know! I swear...sometimes you're as bad as Lossethir! He doesn't take things seriously either!"
Grabbing her drawings out of his hands, she bounced up off the bench, nudging Faden playfully. "Hm...I do hope that we get to stay together when we go down to the Disk, though. Between Loss, and Nieve, and yourself...someone like me, who is not as skilled, will be safe. Have you seen the ship yet? So many people are contributing! I heard Rumel yelling at the worker-spirits...which means things must be going well!"
She tugged lightly at his hand, grinning. "Come on, brother. You cannot hide down these wandering paths with your nose in a book forever. We should go find the others! Maybe Loss will teach me more about gambling...it seems like a good game, but I haven't quite grasped the complexities yet. Have you tried to learn? I think you would be good at it..."
If there were any signs of surprise at hearing that rich golden voice—an indrawn breath, flushed cheeks, a telltale start—they were hidden by the time Nieve turned around, concealed beneath a lazy grin. It was plain to see in her eyes, though: a not-so-secret delight in being watched and admired, made all the brighter by suddenly discovering it. Artless Nieve was not, but she could usually be counted upon to wear her heart on her sleeve even when she didn't mean to.
"I'm always happy to hear you, Shirvan," she said, leaning one shoulder against the wall and smiling up at him, "but I vow, sometimes you are more single-minded than Umori! I need a few minutes to catch my breath, as I'm sure you can tell." And indeed he could; it would have been difficult not to notice that she was breathing more deeply than normal.
She pressed on after giving him a moment to take this in. After all, she didn't want to actually send him away. "But maybe you can demonstrate first, and I'll join you to practice in a minute...?"
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Last edited by The_Snark : 02-05-2012 at 01:26 AM.
With a sudden snap, the slate chip between Lossethir's thumb and forefinger exploded in a spray of miniature shards and powder. While the Knowledge Spirits' meticulousness was exasperating, his brother's manic enthusiasm mixed with his inattentiveness was... not something he wanted to face sober. He only smiled politely and nodded his vacant approval to the notion of someone bringing him food and drink.
"Just something flammable. Please and thank you." He waved off Brandis and turned his attention to the triumphant hunters, bemused and unimpressed. His sly, smarmy grin betrayed him, but a slight tilt of his head asked that they elucidate.
Lossethir's pale skin was betrayed by a copper glow (likely inherited radiance from his father). His light brown hair appeared wind tussled even inside. He had the build of a fearsome warrior despite seldom lifting a weapon, to anyone's knowledge, never exercising. The grey eyes held back a perpetual state of mischief... or at least a snide comment. He had the look of a man who was doing a good job of holding in a dirty joke he'd just remembered.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Erik Vale
Noticing Lossethir's expression he moves to take on of the seats near him. "If you wish to know brother you will have to ask, or you'll have to wait for the surprise. I'l give you a hint though, It makes a great roast, theres lots of it, and its the second last one on my list, just one more and I'll have encounted all of the more agressive creatures Baz'Auran placed as challanges."
When he does finally take a seat he sits on a stool that apears to be made of simple wood, instead of any of the more elaborite chair. He notices the bloodstain still on his clothing when he looks across at Lossethir, and frowns for a second. "Hmph, I thought I got that stain out...." "Anyhow, want to take a guess? Or are you just going to sit their looking for all the city like Rose or Jongo's made a joke on me?"
"Uah!" Faden cries, trying unsuccessfully to resist as Avyra dragged him out of the Tenfold Paths. His book remained on the bench - he made himself a mental note to collect it after dinner. "You do yourself... a disservice." Faden said, still off balance. "You have the skills and talents, you just apply them in less-" he dodged around a passing spirit, "-fanciful ways. Watch out!"
Dining Hall
The pair of them burst through the door in time to hear Lossethir respond, "....duck? It's a duck, isn't it?" Faden slows down, and a flash of irritation crosses his features. "First Jongo, now you."
Recovering, he whisked himself over to his siblings. "Lossethir! Your students await!" Faden leaned on the table and eyed the massive pile of chips. "Come, teach us to gamble. You haven't been playing with the knowledge spirits again, have you? I told you that wouldn't end well."
__________________ "Never pick a fight with people who buy ink by the barrel."
- Mark Twain
"Life is too short for [manuals], but occasionally much too short without them."
- Randall Munroe, xkcd.com (paraphrased)
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Last edited by Jade_Tarem : 02-04-2012 at 02:11 PM.
With great enthusiasm Brandis hurried back to the kitchens, making to sure to pause and hail Kalandor with a glass seemingly produced from thin air. Once within, he salivated at the great commotion. Nearly forty spirits working as one to prepare some great roast of . . . something. Not wanting to leave his brother waiting too terribly long, Brandis engaged in a light snack whilst gathering provision for the poker table. Three boiled eggs, two poached. Ham steak wrapped in praline bacon. Pomegranate sorbet. Spiced figs with a side of aged cheese. And just a small sliver of roast beast. Or two. Perhaps seven . . .
In short enough order several trays of pure delight were exquisitely arranged. He smiled graciously as the spirits nodded their approval. And then, just as many trays of drink were procured - various glasses, mugs and bottles filled with a wondrous assortment of liquid merriment. Grinning he scrutinized his work, still trying to find the final perfect detail.
"Ah yes . . .something flammable! Lossethir you clever cad!"
A sly flourish produced a small golden vial, laboriously detailed and ancient. Carefully, oh so carefully, Brandis opened the vial far away from himself. Strange acrid vapors arose from the opening, changing colors as they met the air. His brows furrowed in careful apprehension, waiting to observe just the right hue . . . and when it was just so, he grinned. Gingerly, a single drop was produced into a cup. He swirled the contents within. Wafted the exquisite way the vapors electrified the air around it. And with great gusto, consumed it in a mighty gulp.
A small dab of sweat on the brow. The tiniest beginnings of a tear forming at the corner of his eye. Then a hiccup, followed by an incredible gout of flame. Brandis hissed cool air through his teeth, trying desperately to cool his tongue.
"Hoo! Oh . . .oh, my . . . Yes! This Dragon's Breath has aged quite nicely!"
With great pleasure he saw more of his siblings gathering in the hall. Why surely it would be rude not to share this with everyone on such a special night. Grinning ear to ear, he emptied the ancient vial - one drop at a time into the wondrous assortment of drinks. 'Twas a fine line between grace and oafishness the way he balanced all the trays precariously whilst approaching the table.
As Haramhold Entered the Dinning Hall, he spotted Faden, and Kalandor playing Lossethir's new game. Feeling a little adventurous Haramhold fills his plate with meat and potatoes and went to join them. "I hope everyone's had a nice and productive day. So how do we play this game?"
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Last edited by shorewood : 02-05-2012 at 09:45 PM.
"Well I know I did, you might be eating some of my hunt soon" *Smiling he looks at his hand* "You guys better hope Rose comes along, otherwise I'm going to wipe the table with you all again."
To avoid harming the sanity of the DM I can no longer:
* Cast flesh to stone on a annoying Druid
** Cast Rock to mud on a Druid statue
*** Scoop mud into little ceramic pots
**** Plant tree's in individual ceramic pots
***** Claim that I have helped them become one with nature
Right on cue, Roselia enters the dining hall, holding the door ajar, and actually looking rather 'cut-loose,' so to speak. As always, she's almost completely covered in black attire, but as a rare nod to the festivity of the occasion, she is wearing no headgear.
"Hello everyone! Did I hear something about a game?"
Aramar returned from his exertions on the ship that was to carry them to the surface. He was sweating lightly, tired out by placing all of those wards upon the ship. It would resist many of the lesser evils of the world, if nothing else. He found his siblings clustered around the largest table of the dining hall, playing one of lothessir's card games. Seeing his sister Aryva holding back somewhat, he ghosted over to a place by her shoulder
Greetings sister. How goes Lothessir's newest attempt to find an easy source of wealth? he says, with a bit of a chuckle in his voice.
Spoiler
Anyone have a better suggestion for a color that wouldnt interfere with anyone elses? yellowgreen doesnt quite seem appropriate for a god of the night, but all the darker colors are taken
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