Ongoing Games (In-Character)Play-by-post games are going on in this forum as we speak (well, read). All threads on this board are actual games, so please, only post on a thread if you are a player of that game.
"The Mindless have no place here..." the ghost whispers softly. It isn't a command, but a suggestion.
You have never before been summoned to the Temple of Vecna. This huge building -- the only real temple to the God of Secrets -- is one of a kind in many ways. Its iron gates seem to hold back a roiling sea of slate gray fog that churns and wails as faces and appendages periodically form and dissolve along its perimeter. The gates part before you as the ghost in a blank silver mask floats forward to escort you. The ground is frozen black gravel that crunches beneath your heavy boots.
You leave your controlled undead behind you and pass beyond the threshold, led by the ghost. After a minute of walking, the fog parts suddenly.
Crucified, and split open from head to toe, you see the bloated form of Orcus, the Demon Prince of the Undead. His decaying form is being messily devoured by ghouls, who crawl about the great demon's body like maggots.
This grisly sight is at the base of a dark stone pyramid. Vecna's Temple is one of few buildings built by undead -- it represents ancient style long forgotten, tempered by the cold logic of the grave. The ghost leads you inside.
Silence of the grave, quietus, awaits you inside the Temple. Your footsteps fall vulgarly upon the stone floor tiles, as masked ghosts float between tasks. The deeper you go, the more oppressive the silence, and the greater the air pressure gets.
At long last, you are brought before a large pair of double doors, cast in iron. They depict scenes of mystifying specificity, showing you your Fall and subsequent rise; they show your entire story up to this point. The ghost whispers softly "Stare not. The Herald awaits you inside..."
Opening the heavy iron doors, you enter a room. Like the previous hallways, nothing illuminates it. Your Undead Darkvision pierces the darkness, revealing a short figure standing upon an unadorned five foot wide Dias in the center of the otherwise lavishly appointed room.
The Herald of Vecna is cloaked in a dark gray wool cloak. The simple garment hangs loosely on the skeletal form of a Lich that may have been a gnome or halfling in life. It is motionless, already facing the door you entered from.
"Set, Paladin of Vecna. Our god has called upon you to annex the mortal kingdom of Mourne. You will desecrate their great Sol Leon -- temple to Pelor -- and pave the way for our forces. Use discretion. A full invasion has resulted in the armies of Dominaria of the north coming to their aid. If you can sever ties between the two nations, all the better.
"The Maimed God has tasked you with this mission. You will go about it as you please. Failure is not an option. Use this Bell of Summoning to deliver your updates every three days. Should new objectives arise, they shall be delivered to you through the Bell.
"In His Infinite Wisdom, the God of Secrets has seen fit to bestow His Favor upon you. Take these soldiers -- some pulled from the Ruby Teeth of the Dread Lich Himself.
"Come forth!" She commands. A door on the side of the room swings open, and a troupe of powerful undead enter the room.
"Learn your minions' strengths and weaknesses. Use them well."
With that, the Herald of Vecna Teleports away, leaving a shield and a silver bell behind on the Dias.
Thanks Gigi Digi for the avatar.
Before you stands a individual who appears to be a human male. He is average height for a human, but does appear a tad on the thin side. He is draped in black from head to toe, whether it be black leather boots & gloves, a black longcoat or black shrouds he wears about is body. Much of his clothing is long, ragged, and is frayed at the ends. The effect is obvious however, as when he moves it becomes very difficult to estimate where is arms and hands are located. A hood is pulled over his face, revealing only the lower part of a face that seems normal enough. On his side is a long sword, on his wrist a mithril buckler, around his neck a holy symbol of Vecna that would be very easy to conceal. When he speaks, he speaks briefly and concisely with a voice that is raspy and cold.
"Minions and Slaves of Vecna, come forth. Gather here now, I command it. I am Set, faithful servant of Vecna. Our master has assigned me a task to destroy Mourne and it's temple of pelor, and to complete that task you have been ordered to aid me. You are bound to our lord, and therefore while my task is uncomplete you are bound to me. From this moment on you shall obey and serve me."
As he speaks, he picks up the items that were dropped to him.
The ghost attending Set floats forward and whispers to him as he examines the objects. "A Silver Bell of Summoning that I am bound to. Ring it, and I shall come...
"The Black Buckler is the house of the Lich Lean's soul. It will aid in your relations with him..." A tiny silver bell hangs from a collar about the female ghost's neck -- though it has yet to make a sound. Her face is completely covered by a blank silver mask. Her clothing is as drab an unremarkable as any servant.
Thanks Gigi Digi for the avatar.
A silhouette of a figure walks forward, cloaked in a darkness not even the eyes of the dead can see through. As he steps to towards the dias, the darkness peels off him, pooling at his legs and rolling behind him into the rough shape of a shadow, where there is no light to cast one. Reveals is a unnaturally tall elf, of pale ashen skin and snow white hair. His flesh is shifting, while one area appears pale but otherwise normal, other spots seem decayed or rotten. Taken to an extreme, his right hand is skeletal. A pale icy blue flame seems to leak out slightly from behind his unnerving eyes, above a cruel grin. He wears the robes of a priest of Vecna, with the arms torn off. Shadowy tendrils leak out from the corners of his robes, shaking in a wind that is not there. A single gauntlet, made of mithral plates covering scaly black leather covers his left hand and lower arm. When it moves it seems to leave a brief pale afterimage of itself.
"'Minions and Slaves' you say? I am quite afraid I am neither. I am Lean, and I am a weapon of my Lord, Vecna. My purpose is to see his enemies to their deaths, and turn what remained into more weapons of war for our master. He has judged you fit to wield me I am told, so I shall follow you in your campaign. Pick up the Buckler, and guide me to your targets. Just make sure you take very good care of it. Should something happen to it . . . well . . . A sword can become quite dangerous with a damaged sheath."
With a silent smirk, a shimmer over his shoulder turns into an Imp, his body covered in runes and diagrams, who takes in the room before watching Set carefully.
Those long dead were silent here, perhaps their voices were quelled by the presence of the Dread Lich's temple or perhaps they were scared. Vander simply took the time to enjoy the silence. Pulling the battered form of his long coat tighter around him he strode behind the chaotic form of the Lich, one hand idly kept behind himself never straying far from the haft of his weapon. A cruel weapon at that, a large pitted and chipped block of sharpened metal firmly attached to a simple long pole; it looked as if it would smash a man apart before it cut through him. In contrast to his weapon his own form is, though poorly kept, surprisingly pleasant to behold. A well formed mane of yellow blonde hair clings to itself in the gloom framing a face built of well defined bones and sloping lines that give him an heir of regality. His skin is almost worryingly pale save for the odd patch of almost blackened scar tissue, some visible dotted around his form with a large swatch on his chest. A sturdy pair of gloves adorn his hands, with matching boots and a traveler's pair of pants, all of good quality though stiffening with age. His expression appears distracted, often staring into a place that is most certainly empty, though he reacts to any small movements or sudden noises.
"Quit posturing Lean," His voice is even and smooth, though with slight faltering as if he is not used to it "However you look at it we're all slaves in some way. We're all here because the Big Lich demmanded we do this and none of us have a choice in the matter" He gestures loosely at the others assembled. "At least have the guts to admit your in a cage rather than ignore the bars"
He then strides over to Set and pulls himself into a formal military salute, blatantly ignoring any reply. "Adrian Vander at your service"
A tall man, wrapped in bandages, leaving only his sunken eyes visible, black and dull, as though any undeath in them had been destroyed long ago. Despite this, when he spoke, with a voice that could only be described as dark, his eyes flashed with life, as though he was eager to act like a living creature once more.
Let us leave the pleasantries here and go at once. As long as you can be served with death, you can know that your enemies will breath their last. There is a note of pleasure and excitement in his voice which is somewhat surprising, considering he was once one of the heroes opposing the Dread Lich whom he now served.
Apologies, I seem to have misplaced my PbP. If one of you PMs me a link I would be obliged.
Much thanks to Wayril for the awesome avatar!
You can tell if I'm being sarcastic, because up and to the left it will say "Soliloquy" if it doesn't, someone else is being sarcastic.
"The pro of using fire is that your enemies are burning to death - the con is that now you have to face flaming enemies."
I do not posture, little thing. I simply clairify facts. Slaves serve against their will in hopes of survival. Minons server their masters in hope of gaining their favors. I am neither, I am a weapon. I serve for I am an instrument of my Lord, created to be used correctly to fulfill a purpose."
The shadow at his feet falling back and enlarging to give a shape of a cloaked figure with a large pole. Lean's voice changing tone slightly, as if echoing in reverse, a quieter voice projecting briefly before the real thing is heard.
"I am not a prisoner, trapped in a cage. Nor am I the Warden caging him. I am the bars on that cage. I have no place to escape to, or any desire to be anywhere else, for I am exactly where I am meant to be."
With the others, walks a half-elven woman. She wears adventuring gear of earthen colors, the "centerpiece" of which is a long brown robe. The bottom has all sorts of unsightly stains along it, some of which look like simple dirt, while others look like algae or water stains. The soles of her boots have "matching" stains. Beneath the robes one can see loose-fitted pants and a shirt, both of which appear to be incredibly faded, their original colors barely identifiable.
She herself is tall for one of her race, at five feet and nine inches. Her features are a bit "off", as if something is not quite right with her, and this aside, she has a disapproving glare plastered on her face that would cause small children and adolescents to quake. Her hair is long and dark and worn back in a loose tail.
She has a very "earthy" smell, accompanied by that of cold air and alcohol.
Unlike the others, this woman says nothing. She just stops when they do, and glances around the chamber for a moment before settling on Set.
__________________ "I don't want problems solved for me. I want the fishing rod, not the fish." -Yanni
Last edited by SCARY WIZARD : 07-01-2012 at 04:47 PM.
A grey figure, long and wisp-like, floating about a foot off the floor, is almost suddenly noticeable among the gathering group, having made his way through the building with the other two outsiders, though his ghastly image barely takes any form. At a glance he materialises as only a tall grey wisp of smoke with what take enough shape to resemble two long gangly arms and a prominent single eye with a piercing gaze, his mere presence capable of sucking the joy out of a room.
Years of not caring about himself have taken their toll on his visible form, his body no longer able to retain his true shape to others that would not linger long enough to seek it.
While this wisp remains blurry at a casual glance, should you manage to force your gaze to linger, you can start to make out a more detailed shape, and eventually his true form will show through. A fair haired, smooth skinned half-elf, with a large stab wound in his chest hovers before you, his stance poor and wilted, his face seemingly locked in a single expression, showing the eternal sorrow that he harbours in his undead soul. A small ornate violin and bow are affixed to his back, the shrill notes of its music, although not currently being played, seem to linger on the breath and in the speech of the ghost, adding to the chilling effect of his existence on those around him
“I , Elros, come to do the bidding of my lord, ” his hauntingly smooth voice lingers as it echos through the air “I'll do as you wish, though all is but fruitless wanderings without the greater heart’s purpose...” He hovers, shifting gently in the air as he takes in the others, his expression unchanging and his eyes coldly and sadly penetrating those that would care to stare.
"I care little for what you consider yourself. We serve the will of Vecna. Whatever you consider yourself is irrelivant because that is what it boils down to in the end. Now, let us leave this sacred place. As we do, you can explain of what use you will be to me in serving the dark lord's purpose"
With these words, Set turns quickly and begins to leave the temple, expecting the others to follow.
"Yes, My Commander~" Lean says with a single arm crossed bow as Set walks past. Reaching into his belt, he draws out a small handful platinum coins. Handing them to the Imp, he whispers something infernal to him. With a nod, the Imp is off, vanishing with a flap of his wings.
Lean gathers himself up, his shadow assuming an expected shape behind him, and follows Set casually.
What was whispered (In Infernal) "I like this one. Alright, go and purchase my standard light gear and have it rushed over to B3. Have him saddled up and meet us at the gate. Take the extra coin as a bet, I think this young fellow might just make it over a month, deal?"
The ghost leads you out of the Temple. Outside, the sky is completely obscured by the pervasive fog. You make your way through it, and reach the gates without further incident.
As you pass the gates, you feel a tingling sensation. The doors slam shut behind you, and the Temple fades from existence, taking the strange fog with it. The ghost nods her head to Set, whispering, "Do you require anything else...?"
The city sprawls out around you. Large and small building of no unified architecture stretch as far as you can see. This is the City of the Dead, the Necropolis. You are in the District of the Lost, one of the largest districts, near the center of the city.
Now that the fog has cleared, a gang of ghoulish children can be seen meandering through the road. They pass your way, moaning and pawing at you with dirty mitts. "Feed us... So hungry..."
You know Mourne lies to the west, and have access to maps if you want to plot your course now or get somewhere quiet to do that. The Temple vanished, depositing you several miles from where you entered it (you are now in the middle of the city).
The children are not harming you yet, but mobs of Lost Children have been known to attack if not appeased or driven off.
Thanks Gigi Digi for the avatar.
A full half of the gang of child-ghouls lays down under the command of Set. Like a school of piranha, the remaining undead leap upon their fellows, tearing them apart with their filthy little claws and fangs. You understand that their actions are meaningless; undead flesh will not satiate their hunger, even for a little while.
It is a messy and prolonged process, and the road is now clear of all apparent obstacles.
Thanks Gigi Digi for the avatar.
Adrian's expression is tight, obviously uncomfortable with what had just happened, killing in battle was just fine. Killing to get ahead was acceptable too, even these days killing because you were starving. Killing children because they were in your way... and making them kill each other. Whatever kind of man Set was, the bar's of his prison were open to some really twisted sights.
Adrian swiftly places himself in front of Set weapon in hand, his expression cold.
"I may have to work for you, but Vecna as my witness I will not stomach that." He pauses for a moment, thrown off by the insertion of the lich's name something he had not consciously done. "What was there to gain in that?"
"And what would you have done? Let them attack us and then we all would be slowed down as we would have butchered a similar number. My solution was fast, kept from delaying us, and lowered the number of those who were suffering." Set's hand moves into his garments, reaching for something.
"You are mistaken. I controlled SOME of them. Not enough to make all of them go away. And this way they will no longer suffer eternal hunger pains. I have done them a favor. Tell me, does this pity you have in your heart extend to humans children? If so, I will summon the ghost to have you returned to where ever you were being kept. The ruby, was it not?" He says with a arrogant smirk.
“They seemed all too happy to eat each other," Elros says matter-of-factly. "They weren't friends, and they evidently wont be missed.” Elros stares longingly to the sky, recalling things that he missed “They've been freed from their physical and emotional hunger, and their souls are now able to travel to the other side, to find reprive, to breathe.”
“Not that it really has anything to do with me," He says somewhat rushed, snapping out of his staring daze, "as they wouldn't have gotten any flesh off of my non existent bones.”
Last edited by darkbuu_1 : 07-03-2012 at 07:17 PM.
Elros pulls the beautifully crafted violin and bow from their carrier along the length of his back and begins to play a few bars of haunting music, a slow and depressing melody echoes eerily around the city. He speaks, his chin settled daintily on the rest attached to the instrument, his eyes fixed on the strings and his expertly moving fingers.
“Music has more strength then people allow it credit, it can influence a man's heart and mind, with both the living and dead alike unwittingly dancing as mere puppets to the tune of my song. It can gently push and pull their emotions, filling them with false courage or fearsome dread, or if played in a certain way it can even overwhelm a person, completely overshadowing an individual’s true desires and replacing them with mine, for a time.”
Or yes, I can possess and have some small buffs and debuffs
Last edited by darkbuu_1 : 07-03-2012 at 07:40 PM.
As the child-ghouls continue to crack bones and lick the marrow from their former comrades, the group of powerful undead begin to talk among themselves, heedless of the grisly acts occurring around them. The street is mostly devoid of passers-by -- perhaps Set's show of power has caused the usual pedestrians to rethink their routes.
Soundlessly, a ghost approaches the group. This one seems to have a better grasp of its physical manifestation than the wispy Elros, and appears almost opaque and tangible. It stands six feet tall, and has the features of a citizen of Mourne, with blonde hair and blue eyes, a strong jaw, and simple, unadorned clothing. He speaks in a rich baritone that commands your attention.
"I am loathe to interrupt your pleasant gathering, but could not help but notice your ... display. Most impressive. I am called Ryan, and if I am to understand that you are Set, the Paladin of Tyranny most recently appointed with the annexation of Mourne, then I have a proposal for you, and I do believe that you should find it lucrative." A thick prayer book hangs loosely from his chain belt, but you see no visible holy symbol on the ghost. On his other hip, a fine longsword and exotic-looking pouch hang.
Thanks Gigi Digi for the avatar.
The ghost smiles humorlessly, and continues. "During the last few skirmishes with the Pelorites of Mourne, a corps of ghostly warriors has been seen working with the enemy. We wish to know more about these apparent traitors to the Cause.
"Harvest their ectoplasm -- the ghostly remains they leave behind in the Ethereal -- and catch it in this bag. You may take this Ghost Touch blade to aid you in the task. Our seers will be able to divine just what is motivating undead to stray from the True Path and you will be doing Our Lord Vecna a service." Ryan removes the sword and bag from his belt, offering them to you.
Thanks Gigi Digi for the avatar.
Set carefully takes the sword and bag from the ghost, and draws the blade from it's sheath to examine it. After holding it close to his face for a moment, he swings it about a few times to check the balance and then re-sheathes in a smooth motion. As he begins putting them onto his person, he once again speaks. "Very well Ryan. The ghost and I shall make it a point to return the ectoplasm to you. But I offer you a easy solution as well. Pelorites would never work with undead, even if they had some powerful magic item that allowed them to control them. Thus, the Ghosts work with the Pelorites of their own free will. Pelor dictates that all undead must be destroyed, yet the Pelorites do not destroy them. So they must feel that the ghosts actions are acts of redemption. Therefore you can conclude that these warriors likely were tied to service of Pelor in some way in life, and died in dishonor or something akin to it. They likely are trying to rectify the wrongs of their life. Consider that until I return."
With that, Set turns and continues onward to the Library.
Obviously we can look at each other's characters, so we have an idea of what each other can do. I propose that unless you would like to tell Set something specific of your abilities, we just assume he asks everyone a little something on the way so he knows what he can expect from you.
The group continues onward to the Library, discussing their strengths and not their weaknesses. Where they tread, the streets empty of the lesser undead that make their homes here, unwilling to draw the ire of Vecna's Chosen -- it seems even in the domain of the God of Secrets, word travels fast.
The Library itself is an impressive sight. The signature black iron gates that sprout everywhere in the city separate the grounds from the rest of the city. Knowledge is guarded in this domain, and a huge stone golem stands before the gate. It appears to be made of fused tombstones, with various names and dates carved all along its vaguely humanoid surface. Dwarfed by the enormous golem, a humanoid form stands, completely obscured in a black hooded cloak.
As you approach the gate and its guardians, the hooded one looks at you appraisingly and asks, "State your business."
Thanks Gigi Digi for the avatar.