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Writer: Wyltte
Date Wed Apr 25 18:14:49 2018
To All Necrucifer Imm RP Religion Eclipse Kyri
Subject Lost City - Lost I
Wyltte sat with his back leaning against the icy wall of the cathedral,
his left shoulder exposed to the chilled air within the holy place. Next to
him lay a metal pan filled with strips of his flesh, the red blood mixed
with black ooze, bits of barbs and steel, dirt and debris from the battle.
Zisuli spent her evening carefuly carving away the infection with precision,
fishing the rotten bits from the wound.
His breath was labored but he did breathe easier now. Irilka and Zisuli
both knew that the infection would have killed him eventually, and that he
should have seen a cleric much sooner. Wyltte chose to stay in the saddle
until the caravan was secure because he did not want his soldiers to see him
wounded. He needed to be strong for them, to see him an an invicible force
so they could keep up the morale. But he was not. He was mortal.
Wyltte sat in the comforting chill of the temple, leaning his head back,
bits of frost starting to form in his salt and pepper hair. He had given
his life to the church, everything he had to make sure he could aid the
Darkness. He had dedicated the entirety of his being to teaching His Will.
He had been a Bishop for years... Years now, sending out missives,
performing holy works in His name, leading the army of His city, and giving
everything he had without asking anything in return. He was a believer,
through and through. As he sat there, lost in thought, he began to wonder
aloud. "Is it enough?"
The words spoken so softyly amplified in the hallowed place, bounced off the
cerulean cracks in the walls of the cathedral and repeated themselves in a
loud silence. He knew it wasn't a crisis of faith but a matter of
reflection. What could he do now? Where does he go from this point? Would
he stand and call others to Darkness for eternity while his body ages faster
than his mind?
He stands up slowly from his spot on the wall, his left foot accidently
kicking the pan of infected flesh beside him. Is this why he didn't rush to
get help, or was it because he wanted to feel something after being lost for
so long? Questions to which no one has the answers to. Questions to which
perhaps he didn't want to know.
Wyltte looked over to Zisuli who was cleaning up her razor sharp
instruments, the crimson on the blade in sharp contrast to her snow white
hair and the blueish hue from the iced walls. The blood stood out, cried
out almost, in that space, almost as much as the dull pain in his shoulder
where she had been digging about with her tweezers, trying to save his life
from the corrupted earth.
He would soon rejoin the caravan after a short respite. The soldiers would
hardly notice he was missing, given their hyper-vigilance after the harpy
attack. He would don his armor, wear the robes of his station as a Bishop,
and continue along a road to the unknown. He would do this, because either
he was very lost, or because the road he rode down had never been trod
before.
Writer: Lilya
Date Thu Apr 26 17:08:29 2018
Writer: Lilya
Date Thu Apr 26 17:24:57 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Fri Apr 27 20:39:05 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Fri Apr 27 20:46:24 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Fri Apr 27 21:04:04 2018
Writer: Thrakhath
Date Sat Apr 28 10:54:01 2018
To All Taiyang Immortal Religion Storyline Cayenna Cahlizna Knighthood
Subject Shifting Sands Storyline: Interrupted Winds, Taiyang Zhao
The yinn stared at the map on the War Room. Little flags representing named
personnel of the Keep littered across the map of Algoron. The yinn was deep
in thought, considering his options and various tactical matters.
A slight shrug, a tilt of his head as he thought how much better he would
be at ease to be in the frontlines himself. But he knew that he was needed
more at a strategic level, planning and coordinating, in his current station.
One particular flag on the map called out to him. Plans were in motion for
this knight from the orient - Taiyang Zhao. Quite a odd one, in that he
practiced a far more dextrous form of the bardic lore, yet sought to serve
the Pantheon in his full capacity, the yinn thought to himself. This young
bard's service records have been exemplary, and shown consistency over the
moons. The aged paladin glanced at the code and measure on the southern
wall of the War Room. This knight's time has come. He would be called on to
serve a higher calling.
He proceeded to remove the flag representing Taiyang Zhao's position in the
city of New Thalos. The yinn beckoned for the attention of one of the
attending squires at the side of the War Room. A summons would be issued.
The shifting sands will wait for a moment for Taiyang Zhao.
Writer: Rasavadi
Date Sat Apr 28 19:32:03 2018
To Shadow Verminasia Eclipse All Imm RP Necrucifer Drakkara Scorn Kyri
Subject A Sunset Dawns (1/2)
'I have something that you need to take. Meet me east of the eastern
gates of Verminasia in five minutes time. ' The voice of the most ancient
of Highlords drifted to Rasavadi's mind. The last time any of the Eclipse
had spoken with him, he had declared Nymaya enemy. 'Aye' Rasavadi replied,
he would answer the summons. Even if unpredictable, and occasionally
seeming insane, he was still the last of the Highlord's.
'I remember a certain Dragoness handing you a copy of certain writings. '
Narsh said continuing their conversation, while Rasavadi hastily donned his
armor. 'Eh? Going to battle? ' asked Narsh. 'I go to meet Highlord
Crelius. '
After putting himself together Rasavadi traveled the pathways of magic to
Verminasia and awaited Crelius' arrival in the Temple of High Magics while
paying homage to the Queen of Heaven. After a while, he heard Crelius
arrive at Necrucifer's temple, and was then instructed to join him.
'Warden. ' Rasavadi said in greetings to Crelius slightly apprehensively
considering they were at war as far as he knew.
'D'Aerthe. You've done your name well, ' began Crelius.
'I have done little, it is my siblings who do me honor. '
'As I've told you... I've known your ancestors. And I've seen your
efforts. You understand the precepts of what once was clan Eclipse? '
Rasavadi pondered the question a bit. The only answer he had to give wasn't
much of one, but he would not lie. 'Frankly, I have largely been winging
it. None of us have resided in those hallowed halls. I have examined
history, taking the good, and am doing my best to fix the bad, and I try to
do honor by those who lie beneath our feat' he answered rapidly, the anxiety
of his shortcomings obvious on his lips.
Crelius crossed his arms while listening and replied, 'You know more then
you say. ' Pausing a moment, he continued forcefully 'You are of the blood
of the old families. Your path is rightful. ' He took a deep breath, and
continued in a more somber tone, 'I was once a leader of a dead clan. One
that I fought for until the very end. I knew its importance... As you do.
'
'She never died Sir, she always lived in our hearts. ' Rasavadi consoled,
the pain evident in both their tones.
Crelius face re-steeled and he peered coldly at Rasavadi saying, 'Tell me
your plan. '
'In these times I don't suspect raising a new clan is possible. Though I
have told few this. '
'Aye it isn't. Never the less the belief is there. '
Rasavadi hesitated a moment before actually answering the question with, 'I
would see the Storm open, and work from within to reraise Skull Keep in
full. '
'Skull Keep. Hmmm. '
'The Priest-King, you, Nymaya and Tamaska know the true plan. The rest of
the world thinks what I have led them to believe. '
'Led them to believe? ' Crelius questioned in a not so approving tone.
'That I would essentially weaken the darkness by creating another entity to
draw bodies from. ' Rasavadi answered quickly. He himself never approved
of the duplicity involved in politics, but obsfucation of details which
allow for imaginations to make up their own stories wasn't lying.
'Hmmmm. That has never been god's path. Tell me more, D'Aerthe... Of your
plans. '
'I suppose they are simple, I will serve God and do what I am able to bring
about His return. '
'And your thoughts of Storm Keep?? ' Rasavadi knew this question was bound
to appear. He had been extremely critical of the Purists, and the Sons of
Malice, over the past year and had even received a warning from Crelius
about his rhetoric.
'The current Dark Lord, Chancellor and us have a good relationship. I do
not believe them to be "true" purists either. '
Crelius chuckled and replied, 'Neither do I. But how could they ever know
what that word means? '
Rasavadi continued on, 'There will be resistance from some, but in the end,
I think they see the fallacy of much of it.
Writer: Rasavadi
Date Sat Apr 28 19:33:19 2018
To Shadow Verminasia Eclipse All Imm RP Necrucifer Drakkara Scorn Kyri
Subject A Sunset Dawns (2/2)
Rasavadi continued on, 'There will be resistance from some, but in the
end, I think they see the fallacy of much of it. They were right in their
way and took it too far, as was Gohdam when he let the cultists in. '
Crelius appeared to be lost in thought contemplating something. After a
short time, he began to speak again. 'I was given something. One time. It
was the mark of the Highlord of Eclipse. '
'Aye, The Hammer' Rasavadi interjected, glad for the uncomfortable silence
and judgment to be over.
'A weapon that symbolized the position of such stature. Vokkyn Dra'Har gave
it to me. I've kept it ever since. ' A brief pause and then Crelius
chuckled, 'He gave it to a human of All unlikely folk. That must raise some
concerns. '
Rasavadi's ire rose at the implied belief that he wasn't worthy of the
hammer. 'Though you claim to have led a dead clan, by All reports you were
one of the last good Highlord's. '
Crelius shook his head shrugging off the compliment. 'None of that matters.
My question to you... Is are you prepared to raise the flag of the Eclipse
once again? '
Rasavadi pondered a moment. The reestablishment of Eclipse had been many a
person's goal, and his own, for ages. A pipe dream at first until he had
found fellow dreamers. Most of which seemed to gravitate towards his,
apparently strong, leadership skills. His grandfather had once told him
that "leadership was a choice, not a rank" and that even if you didn't
believe in yourself, that the faith of others was a responsibility to be
fulfilled. Yet this, if he answered, if he took The Hammer there was no
going back. Who was he to claim the mantle of Highlord? Who was he to
raise the banner, to lead his brothers and sisters into battle, to their
deaths potentially? All these things raced through his head and then the
inevitable echoed through his head. You are d'Aerthe, you are Eclipse, and
he answered with tears glistening in his eyes. 'Yes Highlord. '
Crelius unsheathed The Hammer and gave it a not only a wistful smile but a
forlorn look. 'Then you'll need a proper armament' he said handing over the
legendary weapon to Rasavadi. 'Don't do your family wrong, do not do me
wrong. '
Crelius looked over at the statue of Necrucifer, in the next room Drakkara's
statue could be seen at his right hand. Seemingly satisfied by this he
bellowed, 'For the lord! '
Rasavadi raised the weapon high in salute to the Highlord, Necrucifer, and
Drakkara then vowed, 'For God, for the living, and for the dead, I promise
to carry the weapon and the banner. It shall strike fear into the hearts of
our enemies, and embolden our troops. '
Crelius exclaimed lastly, and then passed into the tombs to await the call
of service once again, 'Strike fear into their hearts. '
Thus passed Highlord Crelius Atennim, and rose Highlord Rasavadi d'Aerthe.
Writer: Wyltte
Date Sat Apr 28 20:39:59 2018
To Verminasia All Necrucifer Imm RP Religion
Subject Lost City - Lost II
Wyltte rode quietly in the saddle, the bumpy terrain jostling his
shoulder, sending small shockwaves up his arm. He tried to pay it no
attention, nor let his soldier's see his pain. It kept him awake, it kept
him alert, and it kept him from letting his mind wander too much.
Wyltte had always felt like an orphan. In many way, he was one. These
soldiers at his side he tried to consider as family, men and women willing
to lay down their life for one another. It was a good sentiment,
brotherhood, but there were flaws in its reasoning. Many here would kill to
have his position, to ascend to the rank of Legate and lead the Deathwatch
with prestige and glory. And he could not blame him. It was the nature of
evil to not be stagnant.
The Queen had informed Wyltte that since she had taken up the throne, the
family lands of the Kayens, Iagothal, had now fell to him to take care of.
Wyltte was now Count Kayen. This new struck him in the chest like a spear,
piercing the heart of his troubles. A man with such humble beginnings being
asked to rule. He felt like an imposter, a pauper playing prince. He bore
the name of Kayen proudly and used the entirety of his being trying to live
up to its dark reputation, serving Necrucifer with each breath. There was
something inside of him that pulled him back though, tugged at the strings
of his memory like a marionette.
The road had cleared up and the weather held. Bits of snow blew off the
mountain pass but did not slow down the caravan. Any day now they would be
through. Wyltte informed the masses not to sleep on the ground, and only
drink water imported from Verminasia. Until they learn the extent of the
corruption, he did not want to take any chances.
Along the route, there had been several Highlanders and Vikings who decided
to put their fighting skills to good use and work as a mercenary. Wyltte
used a few of them as guides after vetting their intentions, and the others
he used as an expendable force. He also believed this could buy a bit of
goodwill from the locals, though he knew in his heart of hearts eventually
they would turn on them. Might as well get some work out of them in the
meantime. `. F
One such Viking was walking along the outer rim of the caravan with a large
war hammer slung over his shoulder. He was a massive man with a forked
beard that hung down to the middle of his chest. Something caught Wyltte's
eye as he trudged along. In the center of his breastplate was a signal of a
large wolf, encircled by ancient looking runes. It reminded him of his
vision, or memory, or whatever it was that happened to him when the arrow
passed through his shoulder. Wyltte called the man over to him.
"Son of the North, what is the meaning of those symbols?" Wyltte asks the
main, gesturing to the sigil on his chest.
"They be runes ov protection, there to be vatching over us during battle,
Lord Kayen. Each clan be having their own signil" he responds. He places a
fist to the symbol of the wolf is, looking up to Wyltte on Horseback.
Wyltte leaned over in his saddle to look at the sigil a little closer. "So
each of your clans have our own? Are they All wolves?" He inquires,
eyeing the sigil closely.
"Nay Nay, Your Lordship. Each clan be having their own. Ve follow those ov
the Volf. Strong, Cunning, and be hunting in packs. Other clans be
following others. Owls, Hawks, Stags... Each be having their own family."
Wyltte nods, looking at the Viking carefully.
"And what of the bear? What clan is that part of?" He asks. The Viking
makes a quick sign that looks to ward off spirits, stepping back into the
crowd without so much as another word. Wyltte looked to call after him once
again, but instead took a moment to contemplate what had transpired. There
was something he was missing.
Writer: Elathan
Date Sun Apr 29 00:09:24 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Sun Apr 29 00:09:31 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Sun Apr 29 00:09:37 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Sun Apr 29 00:28:45 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Sun Apr 29 00:28:53 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Sun Apr 29 00:28:58 2018
Writer: Ayrora
Date Mon Apr 30 11:14:54 2018
To All Drakkara Necrucifer Verminasia Immortal Tashio Kyri Ampersand Storyline
Subject Lost City - The Road IIII
Ayrora walked into the second tent, which was empty of personnel and
patients, and started to pack up the instruments that were no longer in use.
Most of the camp was still sleeping due to the long night the eve before but
she was determined to be ready when the caravan started to migrate yet
again. She was just about done with what she was doing when Amos walked in.
"Blessed morn Viscountess." She looked to him as she packed the last of
the instruments, offering him a soft smile. "Blessed morn Amos."
With the others caring for the soldiers left in the other tent, Rora and
Amos continued tear down of the second tent. Nefratin walked in and saluted
Rora and grabbed a few of the closed cots and loaded them into the wagon.
Once the cots, stove, and makeshift tables were loaded, the rest of the
supplies were loaded into the supply wagon then the men went to tear down
the tent. Ayrora returned to the original tent to see what she could do.
Most of the soldiers had returned to duty and those that could not return to
duty, who wished to stay on, joined the medical caravan. The wind had
picked up and it sounded like howling wolves. Amos ran to check on the
horses and to put their thick rugs on. He fed them a warm mash before
returning to the warmth of the tent. Ayrora heard that strange howl again
but knew, this time, it was not the wind. It was late and many had picked a
cot to rest in and had fallen asleep. Even her guards had fallen asleep.
Again she heard it. She stood up from the makeshift table, quietly pulled
her thick cape around her, and walked out to see where this howl was coming
from. The howl was coming from the left close to where the horses where so
she headed in that direction. As she walked around the leanto she heard it
again, it was getting closer and the horses were growing restless. "Dark
Mistress in Your name I shall protect this camp." She prayed.
Everything went silent except the horses who where now spooked. She turned
to calm Braedan but was knocked to the ground the second she went to turn.
Whatever it was knocked the wind out of her and she was trying her best to
try to catch her breath. She finally was able to see the enraged wolf. It
was surrounded by a strange black and purple aura that she had only seen in
that one soldier.
Rora raised her arm to protect her face and grabbed her dagger with the
other. She swung the dagger at it but it jumped back away from it. Rora
quickly stood up waiting to see what his next move was as he charged at her.
She protected herself again with her left arm but this time he tore into her
forearm as she winced in pain. She took full advantage of his position and
stabbed it twice in the back causing him to release her arm and howl in
agony. He ran at her again but this time she was prepared. She sidestepped
the wolf, grabbed his head, and slashed his throat and watched as he landed
with a thud.
She glanced down at the poor wolf as she pulled her cape tightly around her
before heading back to the tent.
Writer: Elathan
Date Mon Apr 30 19:22:49 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Mon Apr 30 19:22:57 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Mon Apr 30 19:23:01 2018
Writer: Rasavadi
Date Tue May 1 17:25:05 2018
To All Eclipse Verminasia Shadow Ghislaine Drakkara Necrucifer Imm RP
Subject Lost City - Vanguard | The Ultimatum (1)
As Narsh and Rasavadi entered the refuge the condition of the place was
worse than he had imagined. The Yaenni families of the Eclipse definitively
descended from some in this place but had never bothered to return. Looking
around he had seen a few young and strong enough to wage war, but far too
few. Still, the last surviving memories of dae'Tok's layout lived here he
only hoped he had time to convince some to join.
The people reacted to Narsh with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. The
children obviously were enthralled. The stories from outside the makeshift
walls would be a welcome respite from the drudgery of hand to mount
existence, not to mention the potential for goodies from outside. He
himself, however, there was only fear and anger radiating from the populace.
As the leader, and some more guards, approached he noticed their substandard
weaponry and armor first and was glad he had squirreled away some weapons
for those that not only joined them, but those left behind to guard the
elderly, and those too young to fight. Rasavadi removed his helmet slowly
revealing his melted and torn face. He hoped they now at least knew he was
a fellow Yaenni and not just some full outsider in fancy armor. As he
tucked the helm under his sword arm, in a gesture of peace, he heard the
fearful cries of the children.
Narsh explained who Rasavadi was, what they sought to do, and who they
sought to do it with. The expected rabble was heard. A reaction to
non-Yaenni entering dae'Tok. After he was done, Narsh turned towards
Rasavadi and finished, "Speak well, Rasavadi. We're not likely to be
returning here after this." Rasavadi nodded to Narsh and remounted
Choliaria so All could see him, and began his bid.
"I have heard the mutterings of some of you as we approached and entered the
village. 'Who is this, what could they want, why is Narsh wearing the same
blue trappings as this thing in its pretty armor? '" Rasavadi the questions
resonate for a moment from the acid-scarred vocal chords.
"I am Rasavadi d'Aerthe, Brother and defacto Highlord of the Eclipse. In
ages past, after dae'Tayana's assault upon Algoron, the ancient bloodlines
were welcomed into the fold by San Gohdam and The Targeter. To serve with
distinction an honor. D'Aerthe, d'Fale, Sho'Ghul, dra'Har and others!" A
hush had settled upon most of the crowd. He could tell few knew what
families he was talking about, but some of the elders showed recognition
upon their face.
"Narsh has spoken the truth. The Eclipse rises again! Together with the
Knights of Storm Keep and the Dark City of Verminasia we march to reclaim
dae'Tok." Anger was rising in the mutterings now. Ignoring them he
motioned in a circular fashion to the surrounding areas. "You have done
well, created a life for yourself, and have continued to exist despite
Nordmaar and Ganth's attempts to end you. Yet... You are weak, you are
broken. You fear the outside world, and I'm certain that if it wasn't for
Narsh's presence you would have attempted to kill me by now." The anger was
apparent now, and intentional. These were All truths they needed to hear,
problems that could be rectified.
Writer: Rasavadi
Date Tue May 1 17:29:59 2018
To All Eclipse Verminasia Shadow Ghislaine Drakkara Necrucifer Imm RP
Subject Lost City - Vanguard | The Ultimatum (2)
"Yet, the path to the future does not end here. The path to the future
lies in reclaiming your past. More importantly, much like ourselves, in
correcting the mistakes of said past." He paused a moment to let the crowd
stir down a moment, and let the message sink in. "For aeons untold, we as a
species have tried to live in isolation, in seclusion. Many others have
tried the same to varying degrees of success. In the end, this system ends
in failure, defeat, and death." He let the last words trail out, pausing
again for effect.
Darkness was falling quickly. Rasavadi noticed the Ebony Moon was full and
casting its eldritch light upon the gathering. A single ray cast down and
landed upon a young girl reflecting off a tarnished silver chain which led,
apparently, to an amulet covered, but not fully hidden, by her cloth robes.
Tracing the ray of ebony light back to the moon the constellation of Devion
could be seen behind it. Thoughts raced through his mind. "A portent for
certain. This young girl is not of the refuge itself, her robes are worn
yet of better quality than the homespun wool of her peers. That amulet...
Could it be a d'Aerthe crest? There is time for that later. " Looking back
to the crowd, others began to notice Rasavadi's attention upon the young
girl. "No matter what happens here, this one comes with us. " he whispered
to Narsh motioning to the youngling.
Turning his attention in full back to the crowd he continued. "The Ghul, as
they are called, are warped and twisted entities of those yaenni who were
present at the cataclysm. They are hell-bent on our ancient mission of
conquest. They are not yaenni any longer, and frankly, it is not truly
known if they are fully alive or not. The fact of the matter is they have
already found the way out of dae'Tok. Something guides them. Be it a lich
lord, necromancer, or their own kind. You are not safe here, not for long."
He could see some of the younger Yinn nod in confirmation. "I can judge by
the reaction of a few of you that something of these Ghul is known. Your
scouts may be able to divert them, and even slay their scouts for a time,
but not forever."
Rasavadi's ears reacted before his brain could process the panicked screams
of Toxvah, his bat familiar. Looking around he caught sight of the little
wonder who had brought so much joy and companionship in his life during the
dark hours when he was Master of the Conclave. Forgetting about the crowd
for a second he uttered the words to a cantrip shooting a flare of light
into the darkening skies to guide her way.
Toxvah landed, chittering, panic-stricken and nearly frozen to death.
Rasavadi took the small parchment she had dropped and glanced between Toxvah
and the girl he had noticed earlier. Toxvah looked inquisitively between
the two, took flight, and landed on the girls shoulder much to her dismay.
Rasavadi attempted to open the blood-stained parchment calmly, but his mind
was in a far worse state. "Brother... Wights, battle" what wasn't smeared
to oblivion read. Sniffing the parchment he realized the blood was
Tamaska's. Rage filled his mind and murder filled his heart. Turning to
Narsh he growled out a scream, "Mount up, weapon up, we ride! " They had
taken too long and his Siblings of Blood and Steel were in danger. Reaching
into his saddlebags Rasavadi pulled out a spirit hoard tossed it into the
air and uttered the words to dispel the magical field which made it possible
to store so much in so little space. Out fell more weapons, armor, and food
that this place had problem seen since its inception.
Writer: Rasavadi
Date Tue May 1 17:31:53 2018
To All Eclipse Verminasia Shadow Ghislaine Drakkara Necrucifer Imm RP
Subject Lost City - Vanguard | The Ultimatum (3)
"Much like Narsh on the way here, you now face a choice, a hard choice.
I do not envy you for having to make it, but it must be made. " He
bellowed, All care and concern for these beings pandering and fear lost in
battle rage and his own. "Those of you that will be Yinn and fight with us,
arm themselves. Those of you that stay, arm yourselves. Because death
comes if we fail just as assuredly if I were to strike you down myself.
Though I would at least make it clean and merciful. "
He turned to the young yaenni girl upon whose shoulder Toxvah sat. "You
girl, what is that necklace? " She couldn't even speak as she trembled and
fumbled at the silvery chain. Toxvah chittered peacefully nuzzling her in
encouragement and she was finally able to get the small pendant out from
under her shirt. There it was, the midnight-blue shield bearing a tri-lunar
eclipse, the d'Aerthe crest. He peered directly into her eyes and said,
"You girl are d'Aerthe, my blood sister. Your other siblings are in danger.
Ride with me to your family, your destiny, or stay here and die with them.
The choice is yours as it was for them."
"This is your last chance! Reclaim what is yours or live in fear for the
rest of your short lives!" Rasavadi grabbed a warpstone from a pouch and
held it in his hand. Then lifted the parchment to his nose and concentrated
on the scent of his wounded sister. Uttering the prayer, "Drakkara, Holy
Mother, Queen of Heaven guide my magics" he cast the spell and tore open a
huge dimensional portal, hopefully, to wherever his Sisters were. "When you
enter this portal we will be surrounded, and we will have them right where
we want them! When you enter this portal, some of you will not come back.
We are Eclipse, we die, that's what we're here for! But the Eclipse lives
forever. And that means... YOU LIVE FOREVER! " Rasavadi bellowed as he
spurred Choliaria into the rift to join the battle.
------------
That last little part goes out to Gunny.
Writer: Elathan
Date Tue May 1 21:19:47 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Tue May 1 21:26:52 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Tue May 1 21:27:15 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Tue May 1 21:27:20 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Tue May 1 21:27:27 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Tue May 1 21:27:33 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Tue May 1 21:28:27 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Tue May 1 21:28:30 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Tue May 1 21:29:39 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Tue May 1 21:29:43 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Tue May 1 21:29:46 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Tue May 1 21:29:51 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Tue May 1 21:29:54 2018
Writer: Sierus
Date Tue May 1 21:38:17 2018
Writer: Lilya
Date Wed May 2 07:43:37 2018
Writer: Lilya
Date Thu May 3 01:16:18 2018
Writer: Jermichael
Date Thu May 3 21:23:37 2018
Writer: Ptithimir
Date Fri May 4 21:58:50 2018
Writer: Rasavadi
Date Sat May 5 00:50:47 2018
To All Eclipse Verminasia Shadow Imm RP
Subject Lost City - Vanguard | Arrival and Death
Rasavadi and Narsh charged through the poral bloodlust in their eyes.
Quickly assessing the situation at hand they appeared to be some distance
away from the battle, and though obviously hard fought the Storm and Eclipse
had held their lines well. Narrowing his eyes he could pick out the Dark
Lord, Chancellor, Keeper and Guardian tidying up the battle, yet there was
still shadows flittering through the storm.
Hoping there was someone behind him besides Narsh he bellowed, "Well? Do
you bastards want to live forever!? " Spurring Choliaria he charged forward
into the area of darkest shadows where the enemy seemed to be regrouping.
Rasavadi's desire for battle, for revenge, had been rewarded in spades.
Entering the mists he quickly found himself surrounded. Narsh's battle cry
was echoed by those that had followed through the portal. He gripped his
steeds flanks tightly with his thighs using his weight by leaning to steer
her striking on both sides of him with his poleaxe and bec de corbin. Using
the raven-headed corbin he drug one of the wights out of the air, and pinned
it through a second before loosing his grip on the weapon. Nearly being
unseated by the unexpected drag on his off hand weapon he missed his mark
with the other before impaling a third and had to discard that weapon as
well.
Then the wights were over him. Clawing at his armor and Choliara's barding
trying to pull them both down. She reared, stomped, and kicked several dead
while Rasavadi slammed them with his shield. Using its pointed bottom to
destroy the skulls of his enemies while attempting to grab a weapon.
Inevitably they were both drug to the ground and Rasavadi jumped from the
saddle to avoid being pinned. Choliara was on her own, and not winning the
fight. Her barding was only effective if she was upright and her tender
underbelly was being torn to shreds by the claws of the damned. Horrific
screams from her mingled with those of the wights as she fought a losing
battle for her life. Rasavadi had only one choice he finally unlatched a
double bladed axe from its harness and heaved with All his might
decapitating her.
Rasavadi's vision narrowed as his rage boiled boiled over, murder was his
only though, and he would send the corpses of these defilers to rot.
Reaching down he felt the shock of the Hammer of Eclipse as the unholy
magics layed upon it tried to resist, but he was too far gone to care about
the pain. He raised the weapon high and blackened lightning ran around his
arm and through his armor. As smoke began to billow out between the
articulation plates as his flesh burned its blackened steel head eclipsed
the sun like the ebon moon and he yelled {"RFOR GOD! " and charged back into
the fray on foot.
Rasavadi was a blur upon the field. Knocking wights into the air with his
shield, and then driving The Hammer down destroying their bodies. Blood and
gore rained into the air with each foe felled. Looking forward he saw his
actual quarry. One of the wights was armored and larger than the rest, and
they commenced to the dance of death. Seemingly it lasted for hours, the
test of defenses, but truely it was only seconds before Rasavadi got his
chance.
Harmlessly the wights blade glanced off Rasavadi's dragonskin armor and he
took his opening knocking the wight into the air as he had done so many
before. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the wight just hung there
thrashing. Curiously a song, of sorts, growled unbidden from his lips as he
raised the Hammer to intercept the falling body. Suddenly the snow in the
air crystalized into dagger, hovered a moment, and then slammed into the
wight like a thousand needles shredding its flesh, and then the Hammer hit
its mark turning the wight into a blackened mist of gore.
Finally hanging the Hammer from his belt hook he walked back to the vanguard
a visage of hate, sorrow, and smouldering gore.
Writer: Sierus
Date Sat May 5 16:31:30 2018
Writer: Theya
Date Sun May 6 14:57:35 2018
To All Marauders and Shadow - Raije and Necrucifer ( Ryim Admin Imm )
Subject The Death of Ryim Lemur [ Part One ]
The hallways of Fort Ironclad were relatively quiet. Some life remained
in the taverns and the guilds, but the great war machines had long since
grown cold and silent. What patrols were active were predictable to a
moment and it took only a short while to learn where they would pass and
when. None bothered to delve into the depths of the Fort itself to the
point that the quiet of Raije's temple was almost deafening.
Donning a mask not her usual, Theya slipped between the patrols, hugging the
shadows as she looked for anything and anyone of interest. She was not
hopeful. Ironclad was not the creature it had once been where the din of
their war preparations often echoed across the plains to Arkane city. It
was no longer the creature that clouded the sky with ash from their forges,
nor shook the ground from the force of their marches. But maybe the right
person could still be of use.
The figure of the Old Highlord, Sentinel Ryim Lemur caught her attention and
she settled into the darkness of the stairway to watch for a time. No one
came or went and the man with gray at his temples stood alone for countless
minutes, simply surveying the temple and the Fortress beyond.
She slid up the stairs on silent feet until she found herself behind the
taller man's back.
"To see His Fortress in such a state of disuse... One wonders if the War
God could weep over such a sight. "
As predicted, the Sentinel turned. The ages were in his eyes -- a man who
had seen and done more than most humans were intended to. As with many
elves, he had reached a point where little surprised him, little truly
seemed to catch his interest. It was rare to see such in a human, but she
recognized it and the inkling of a thought and desire entered her mind.
He greeted her, and she smiled sweetly, a thing she had not done in decades.
She felt her cheeks dimple beneath the mask and watched Ryim come to a
semblance of life as the dragon blood within her veins worked its charm.
"Though it appears at least one thing will not change until this place is
reduced to rubble. Will you be the last remnant of a bygone age, Old
Highlord? "
"Am I nay already? " he returned, a dry chuckle on his lips. "Is this nay
a time where the best of us have long since passed? "
"Perhaps you are, " she conceded, for his words were not wrong. "Will you
then go seek adventure elsewhere? Will you seek the last bits of Glory
hidden within the recesses of Algoron? " she asked him, circling about him
slowly, looking over his guards, his manner. Even old wolves knew how to
bite if treated without respect.
He barked a laugh, a dry, wry one that echoed a place within her memories,
that harkened to where she had once been before renewing her purpose.
Writer: Theya
Date Sun May 6 15:13:24 2018
To All Marauders and Shadow - Raije and Necrucifer ( Ryim Admin Imm )
Subject The Death of Ryim Lemur [ Part Two ]
"Be there any such Glory or Triumph to be found? " he retorted. He knew
the answer, at least in his mind, she could tell. She saw in his features
that he was resigned to that fact, that he had given up on his hope long ago
for the world to cycle again (in his lifetime) to an era that Raije would
truly relish.
She stepped closer and repeated her sweet smile as she wrapped her arms
around his neck.
"Do you want me to help you, then? " Her question, she knew, was double
layered. Rumors of the lecherous Old Highlord were not unfounded and all
sense of his wariness slipped away as he lifted his hands to the edges of
her temples, testing the lines of her mask, testing the ribbon that bound it
to her face. "You could always leave if there is nothing left for you here,
" she encouraged as she manipulated her wrist to work the hidden dagger out
of her sleeve. Her ears strained to make sure she would catch the first
hint of approaching footsteps.
"Nay. As the same as there be no Glory left out there, then neither is out
there home. "
His next words were scandalous, to some, but she found herself smirking as
she warned him of her intentions. She pressed the edge of her blade against
the back of his neck. And then she knew he was resigned to the fate she had
determined, for he neither tensed nor pushed her away, nor attempted to
disarm her.
"If it be my fate to die here on these steps I've watched for so long, then
I can be content in that. "
He stole a kiss from her lips, but in the next moment she pressed her blade
through his enchantments until the arcanium found flesh, then artery. She
made sure that the wound was mortal, and then as he swayed away she helped
him to rest. She pushed back his graying bangs and took one of his daggers,
placing it within his hand so that he would die with a weapon in his grasp.
She kissed his cheek and smiled for him.
Fatale was not her God, but so few embraced their death as bravely as those
of Raije and she felt the need to honor him for it, even as she admonished
his choice in servitude. The things he could have done under Necrucifer's
Will instead.
"I send you now to Raije, Old One. Go to His side and revel in the stories
of your youth. I regret we do not have the time for me to explain why this
is necessary, but know that this will help stir the fires of war and perhaps
you have done enough that He might reincarnate you into the next era of
Glory. "
She waited until his fluttering pulse vanished, and then she slipped back
into the shadows, quickly ducking past the slacking patrols until she was
nearly free of the Fortress. Then she called upon her ventriloquism
training to mimic the shouting of one of the girls she had overhead in her
departure.
"Someone is trying to murder the Sentinel! "
And then she hurried to leave to make sure that the next steps of her plan
would unfold properly.
Writer: Ghislaine
Date Sun May 6 19:47:41 2018
To All Rasavadi Tamaska Astartix Nymaya Jermichael Eclipse Necrucifer Immortal
Subject From Humble Beginnings (Ghislaine's Perspective)
The cumbersome steamer trunk Ghislaine was rearranging landed on her foot
with a loud thump and enough force to make her curse out loud.
Instead of doing so, she rolled her lupine lips inward over her teeth and
grumbled deep in her chest. She glanced at Tamaska and Rasavdi in
embarrassment, but noted with relief that both were too busy in their own
worlds to have seen her bumble. She wiggle her toes slightly, satisfied
nothing was broken, and continued to look at her brother and sister as
though it was the first time she'd seen them.
Again.
Ghislaine had grown up sheltered from the entire world, in a little refugee
camp for Yinnae on the edge of Icewall. Pack being pack - that is, all
members considered family regardless of blood ties -- no one had bothered to
mention her lack of parents. So Ghislaine hadn't bothered to ask. The
living had been sparse, but not uncomfortable for her and status quo
stretched out longer and longer as she grew from a pup into a
self-sufficient young woman.
During the years of her growth, again and again, she'd heard stories of how
entire packs of Yinnae had fled from their homelands. How their villages
had been sacked and their homes burnt to the ground. How they'd faced a
brutal military campaign of torture and mass extermination. Tens of
thousands of their kind had been displaced.
It had taken years after reaching her age of majority before Ghislaine began
to ask: after hearing these distressing accounts and given All that these
people had been through, what were their hopes for the future?
Her answer would come when one day a traveling merchants brought with him
rumors of the new uprising, the stories of the rebuilding of the old
Eclipse, a new hope for The Prophecy and Yinnae kind.
Others in the camp dismissed the rumors as idle talk and nonsense, but
Ghislaine did her homework. Deep within her sparked a desire to help, to be
of use, to free her people who were guilty of nothing more than being born
different. The passion to assist them, to join in, to throw herself into
this cause blossomed within her like night-blooming plants reaching for the
full moon.
Little would she figure that two of those spear-heading this rebellion group
would turn out to be her blood siblings.
Rasavadi had his suspicions that were confirmed from sources that Ghislaine
was never made aware of, but once the knowledge was laid bare, and he
explained to her they had All been separated to avoid growing so attached to
each other they failed to fulfill their destinies, she worried they wouldn't
suit.
What if these were heartless people? People of determination but made
callous and hard by war?
Indeed, she came to learn; they were hardened by war, but callous they were
not. They All fit together like pieces of a puzzle and she'd never felt
more comfortable in her life.
And now, she had a purpose. A clear direction. She had a true place of
belonging and Necrucifer's Prophecy to help fulfill.
Whistling as she came to her senses, Ghislaine moved to gather more
enchanting supplies and re-arrange her little corner of The Spire, only to
whack her shin on the steamer trunk that had wounded her moments before.
With a grin and an amused grumble, she set to work readying her life.
Writer: Elathan
Date Mon May 7 01:00:25 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Mon May 7 01:01:55 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Mon May 7 01:02:27 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Mon May 7 01:02:32 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Mon May 7 01:02:40 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Mon May 7 01:02:44 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Mon May 7 01:02:52 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Mon May 7 01:02:57 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Mon May 7 01:03:05 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Mon May 7 01:03:10 2018
Writer: Nierwyld
Date Mon May 7 12:53:10 2018
To All Conclave Kantilles Imm RP Religion
Subject Protector or Thief
Nierwyld stared into his cauldron, stroking one of his sideburns, deep in
thought.
"How could I be a thief, when All I did was combine the magics into one
study? "
He had tried to talk to members of Conclave, his old allies and his old
wards, but he was just given cold shoulders and backs turned. Gone were the
countless hours and countless sacrifices he'd given and made for those magi
of the Tri-Towers. His arms folded over his chest and he flit around the
cauldron in annoyance.
"How'd Kantilles let them do this let them think like this! " he grumbled
at his cauldron, the words echoing back up to him from it's empty belly.
"Maybe Kantilles doesn't care about a little ol' pixie bug like me. Maybe I
did steal something from the Magi... And what if I did! Would be the
greatest thing I have ever taken. I have taken the might of the Conclave's
strongest arsenol and made it my own! Three disciplines under my control.
If they won't see that I'm a Guardian anymore, then I'll be their thief. "
He cackled and began throwing ingredients into the cauldron, slowly filling
it up with the random nick-nacks. Soon a deep green sludge roiled around
within the cauldron. "Yes... I'll show 'em that I was right to do it,
damnit. Damn them and damn Kantilles for making them think that way...
Damn All three of the magical tri-fecta. I'll show them a might they'll
never have expected! BANGARANG! "
With that, he spit into the cauldron and filled up another gourd, delving
deep into the recipes of the cauldron.
Writer: Maccus
Date Wed May 9 02:04:39 2018
To Verminasia Bloodlust All (Fatale Imm RP)
Subject His new path
His hands shook as if they were a leaf in the wind. The trades had been
made and finalized. His new armor had been stored safely within the vault.
His blade and sidearm fitting in along side them as he tipped his head low
in respect to where they came. His time in the Dungeon was at an end for a
time. The memories left behind more positive than negative as he looked
back. The first kill he made... The first time accepting loss... Working
alongside famed and infamous killers as he grew himself. With each passing
second, the fears inside him grew and gnawed at his resolve. Like an arrow
from a bow, he let go. Released himself from his previous path of
swashbuckling and onto a new one for the first time.
With each breath he took he realized what he had done. He would be starting
again, right from the bottom. The fear continuing to gnaw at his resolve
continued to poke holes in his confidence.
'You wont make it.... You'll never last.... You're an outsider, what will
they care.... You'd be better served dead.... '
He shook his head slowly and took his first step into the sun. Looking over
his shoulder once out of habit, he began to feel the affects of constant
battle on his body. With a groan and a grumble he made his way to
Verminasia, where he decided he'd be spending some time there.
Writer: Cataleya
Date Fri May 11 00:29:22 2018
Writer: Sierus
Date Sun May 13 13:18:48 2018
Writer: Uruvion
Date Sun May 13 18:41:06 2018
Writer: Kalinath
Date Mon May 14 01:14:56 2018
Writer: Kalinath
Date Mon May 14 01:19:43 2018
Writer: Batite
Date Mon May 14 13:22:49 2018
Writer: Ezessinth
Date Mon May 14 15:13:09 2018
To Verminasia Shadow Eclipse Telthian Ashtiel Wyltte All Imm rp
Subject The Lost City - Narrowbreak | The Harpy Dens I
After the attack upon the Deathwatch from the harpies, it took a bit of
time to regroup with tending to injuries and properly seeing to the
fatalities. Particularly with the Legate's injury. Once it had been tended
to, it was clear that there was something more to the harpies, and how
similar they were to the yinnlike ghul within the remains of Dae'tok. So,
between Ashtiel, Telthian, Wyltte, and Ezessinth, it was agreed that the
White would investigate what may have caused the corruption of the
creatures. So Ezess would begin at their dens. They were hardly difficult
to track even from the air, because they stank so badly.
High up on the range overlooking the pass, the White spied a clustered
spread of cave entrances that had the telltale litter and filth of the
creatures she hunted. She winged her way over and alighted on the stone
face of the mountain, using her claws to grip the stone between dens. The
reek eminanting from inside was horrible. She sneezed, squinting her eyes
against the ammoniatic vapors, and sending a shot of frostbreath into the
nearest hole. The sound of shrieking protest and flapping wings arose and
multiplied before, like wasps, harpies exploded from the nearest dens.
The creatures were little more than a nuisance in the grand scale to the
Nightwind, but their numbers were what made them a hinderance to her task.
They would have to be driven off long enough for her to break her way into
the caves. Using her wings to shield her face from the pests as she looked
about for her options.
Snow buildup on a ledge above the caves. Potential. Was the Deathwatch
procession out of range? Largely. How much of the colony was rousted?
Hard to say.
Violently unfurling and flapping her wings to remove the creatures clinging
to her scales before roaring into the caves and slamming her tail upon the
exterior rocks. The disturbance had the desired effect of sending more
harpies from the dens, but not many. Any left inside must be young or else
incapable of defending their home. Some of the snow above shifted. Not
enough. Keeping the harpies engaged with her with her teeth and wings, she
adjusted her position on the cliff face and slammed her tail as hard as she
could against it. The ground shook under the effort, and a slight shift in
the snow.. A little more.. And down the snow came, taking the harpies and
Ezessinth along with it.
Writer: Ezessinth
Date Mon May 14 15:14:53 2018
To Verminasia Shadow Eclipse Telthian Ashtiel Wyltte All Imm rp
Subject The Lost City - Narrowbreak | The Harpy Dens II
The mountainside rumbled as the avalanche fell from above the harpy dens,
burying everything indiscriminately in its path. The twisted, filthy
creatures were shrieking as they were dragged from the air, their cries
quickly overcome by the snow into silence as they plummeted. Among the
chaos, Ezessinth kept her limbs tucked close to her body, letting the mass
of the snowdrift carry her along its otherwise deadly path. She was
practically invisible within the white as she dove into the snow below, only
to burst out several moments later unscathed, glittering in the meager light
of the pass.
Hovering, she watched the path of the freezing death as it plowed on its
destructive path until it finally settled some distance below. She was
certain that the Deathwatch was far enough away to suffer no losses, though
she could imagine with some vague sense of amusement, that her stunt may
have scared the living hell out of some of them. Flying back up to the
dens, unworried of any harpies who might have survived, she found the center
of the cluster and began digging, tearing away at rock and dirt and filth
with her claws.
Deeper in, she had little room to move except forward or back, and the
stench was nigh overwhelming. She pressed on, destroying nests as she went,
rummaging through garbage collected by the harpies. She wasn't fully sure
what it was she was searching for, but she knew that if it was there, she
would know it when she found it. The harpies weren't natural. They were
worse than the usual sort. Their limbs overly long and eyes too large.
They didn't bleed - they oozed a sticky black ichor from their mottled grey
skin. They still bore a sort of sense of what they once were, but not in
any particularly useful or pleasant way. Not that harpies were ever
pleasant to begin with. They still had their territorial aggression, and
they clearly still had the habit of finding absolute junk and hoarding it in
their filthy, disgusting homes.
Ripping into another cluster of dens, Ezess paused. Something tickled her
senses. It was difficult to express in words what the feeling was. A
little like a pressure.. A heaviness in the air. The skin on her neck
tingled. It was something powerful. She followed the sensation into a
larger cavern where she had more room to move.
Writer: Ezessinth
Date Mon May 14 15:16:29 2018
To Verminasia Shadow Eclipse Telthian Ashtiel Wyltte All Imm rp
Subject The Lost City - Narrowbreak | The Harpy Dens III
The wider cavern was much the same as the smaller tunnels and clusters
she had clawed through to get here. Whatever it was that was here had a
strong aura about it. Either the harpies had stolen something of actual
worth, or they had made their home around it. Considering the remoteness of
the region, it was likely that it was the latter.. Unless the harpies stole
it from the ruins. That was entirely possible. Either way, Ezess needed to
locate it and claim it.
The White followed her sense of the emination, clawing through den after
den, sifting through piles of junk and nesting material and filth. When her
claws hit something substantial, she abruptly dropped it with the jolt of
energy she felt from it. It didn't look like much because it was covered in
harpy mess, but the lump was hard and unusually heavy, and she knew that it
was what had tripped her senses. It practically thrummed with energy. This
had to be what she was looking for.
Carrying it in one claw, Ezess turned and crawled back through the tunnel
she had made and took once more to the air. She circled down to the snows
below and scrubbed the lump clean. A large, metallic stone with sharp,
jagged edges lay beneath layers of packed dirt and grime. She was certain
beyond any doubt that this was it.
Ezessinth took some time to bathe herself in the snow, cleaning off the
residue from the caves and returning her scales to a pristine shade before
she grabbed the stone again and soared off to meet with the king and queen.
Writer: Faythe
Date Tue May 15 07:34:39 2018
Writer: Aerron
Date Tue May 15 22:42:57 2018
To All Abaddon ( Vyasa Xentessa Immortal Fatale )
Subject Six Foot Deep Thoughts
'I imagined digging a hole would be easier. '
The half elf mused aloud as he hunched in the grave he had dug, a shallow
sort of pit that only came up to his knees, 'With the swamp, the ground
gives way without much effort, but... ' With a grunt of effort, he lugged
another splattering of marshy mud out of the agonizingly-slowly deepening
grave, where it splatted into the growing pile beside the hole.
'Caw, ' agreed the crow, a common bird that blended in amongst the ravens
that frequented the Bloodlands' graveyard. It had taken it upon itself to
perch on a nearby headstone, watching the young man work with avian
keenness. The grave worms wriggling in the mud held no interest for it,
only the steady struggle of the armored gravedigger catching its beady eye.
Aerron did not mind the crow. It did not bother him. It did not even annoy
him. The same could not be said of others. Since his return to the
Bloodlands, heeding the summons of his parents, he had witnessed the
fractious nature of the city's upper class, the two-facedness, the shrewd
dealings, the knives hidden in smiles and the poison dripping from honeyed
words. His shovel made a thick sound as it pierced the mud, and the ache in
his arms and back as he levered another clod of marshmud out of his
designated grave helped keep him from focusing entirely on his thoughts.
The politicking held no interest for him. In his classes abroad, he had no
desire to learn the complex histories of cities and kingdoms, or even
advanced theology as preached by the ancient crones and wizened orators that
had tutored him. His grasp of matters intellectual were more instinctual,
his manners trained into him at a young age, enough courtesies to hold his
own for cursory interaction. He did not care for much beyond that, while
there was work yet to be done.
The grave deepened as the night wore on, the sky darkening to inky black and
only the wan light of his lantern- the oil wick burning as it dangled from
the hilt of the greatsword plunged into an unmarked grave- provided enough
to perform his sworn task. To him, the road forward had always been clear.
The point of All life was to end, either pitifully at the end of someone
else's blade, or else to be the one holding the blade, and to continue the
harvest until his actions caught up to him. He had performed his share of
sacrifices, said his devotionals and smiled his way through endless
meetings, dignitaries and hangers-on who had heard of the line from which he
was descended, but the words and the smiles had become hollow, a mask to
hide behind.
Now there was only a dull resentment, an ache of the spirit that the
pettiness of his homeland had threatened to turn into anger. It was easy to
imagine the handle of his shovel as the leather-wrapped pommel of his sword.
The wet cutting sound of his spade spearing mud was the sound of flesh
parting. It was enough to elicit a true smile, not the wintry stretching of
his lips that had become a fixture on his features for some time.
He looked up, running his vambrace-clad forearm over his cheek and smearing
mud over his pale features. He had lost track of time, and the hole had
deepened to neck-height. He glanced back down, and saw the glint of bone, a
skull partially dislodged from the earth. Bringing his shovel up, he
shattered it with the tip of the spade, spearing straight through with a
grim laugh, 'Everyone's an enemy here, it seems. The only ones to be
trusted are blood-related... Or dead. ' He glanced up at the curtain of
roiling darkness that was an Abaddonian night, 'And there are exceptions for
those, too... But then, that's what the digging is for. ' He smiled again,
reveling in the sensation of being himself for the first time in a long
while.
'Caw,' agreed the crow.
Writer: Cataleya
Date Wed May 16 02:02:54 2018
Writer: Vyasa
Date Wed May 16 19:16:02 2018
Writer: Aerron
Date Thu May 17 03:02:25 2018
To All Abaddon ( Vyasa Xentessa Fatale Immortal )
Subject Ten Foot Deep Thoughts
Another night in the graveyard.
Aerron drily mused that he alone could claim to have burned more midnight
oil than anyone in the city. So many gloomy personalities, so many brooding
sorts who were more fond of the dark. Who took advantage of the dark, whose
furtive actions in the shadows had put them- or put their parents, or their
grandparents- into the trusted positions of nobility in his father's land.
His back ached worse than the night before. He had not gotten sufficient
rest to stave off the muscle aches, and it had not been until almost
mid-morning that he had climbed out of his meticulously-dug, marshy grave,
glanced down at his handiwork dispassionately before he slung his shovel
over one shoulder, pulled his sword free of the muck with the other hand,
and made his way to the family home to make himself comfortable in his
childhood chambers. The next night, he was back in the mire and the muck,
resuming his backbreaking duties. Word had come of a sizable giant-ogre who
had met the Lord of Death this day, and the onerous duty had fallen to the
newest member of the Forsaken, to dig the trench that would serve as the
behemoth's final resting place.
Still, the monotonous duty gave time for his thoughts to wander, and the
anger those thoughts brought staved off the worst of his aching back and
limbs. Each shovelful of dirt and muck was flung with a grim determination
over his shoulder, creating a ring of displaced earth. Each plunge of his
spade was a stab, a momentary lapse into satisfying violence that quenched
and yet stoked his ire.
His father was not to blame. This he knew, as much as he knew that his
heart beat in his chest, that he knew his mother's love, that he knew that
all things must die. He had inherited a kingdom in disarray, a pack of
predators masquerading as refined nobility. Coming home had been a splash
of cold water to his sensibilities, dulled by distance and time as he had
been tutored abroad. It was the curse of inheritance, that those born to
power would grow up to squander it. Comfortable with their superiority,
with their titles and privilege, they turned to abusing it, to lying,
cheating, and stealing from one another, with one another, to one another.
His lip curled in anger as he jabbed his spade into the earth, leaning on
the handle of the shovel as he took a moment to rub at his aching hands and
wrists. Nobody was above the allure of power, and All that it could bring.
It was easy to blind one's self to the inevitability of death by indulging
in the myriad earthly delights open to one with resources. The curse of
birth and the promise of death, with any number of years in between to
succumb to decadence and open the way to chaos, disorder, and worse,
disloyalty to the Bloodlands and to its Count.
With a groan, he took up his shovel and continued his grim task, grunts of
effort the only sound he allowed to pass his lips as his thoughts churned
inwardly. His father had told him enough, showed him enough that he trusted
nobody outside of his immediate family. Better to be thought of as distant
and spoiled, a product of his own privileged birth than to know All that he
held close to his heart. If they knew how badly he despised this indolence,
this idle infighting...
His gauntletted grip tightened around his shovel, the leather creaking with
the pressure. Not even a week home, and he felt his gorge rise to think of
what it had become in his absence. Perhaps it was only his lack of
understanding when he departed that had painted such a more promising
picture. Perhaps it had been this way for years. For generations. He
stabbed the earth again with a vengeance, hurling mud and soil skyward. It
would not endure.
No matter what it took, he would help his mother, help his father reclaim
order in the city. Even if he had to dig a hundred more holes...
And then fill them.
Writer: Maithion
Date Thu May 17 12:14:44 2018
Writer: Vsevolod
Date Thu May 17 20:40:18 2018
Writer: Maccus
Date Fri May 18 05:30:53 2018
To Verminasia All (Fatale Imm RP)
Subject Bloodshackle chronicles: Initial report.
He snuck around the fortress silently, using the cover of darkness as his
friend. He counted the torch lites above the wall, during the daytime he
remembed that two men were stationed along each section of the wall.
'Two... Six.... Eight.... Twenty' He counted aloud to himself. His body
moving low within the grass, looking towards the gate he grumbled softly.
He looked out at what he believed to be the front gate, only this time a
single torch. 'Doesn't seem like they're expecting much company... One
torch... Two guards... '
He creeped his way along the side of the fortress, making what he thought
was decent time. He noticed the air getting wetter, saltier, and finally he
looked out upon a cove. He spent sometime watching as a ship sailed into
the harbor, docked and unloaded its cargo. He counted the docks slowly as
to not miss and nodded, comming to an agreement to himself with the number
three. His eyes continued to watch as the cargo was unloaded, 'Slavers. '
He spat to himself in disgust.
He moved back towards the gate, beginning to move faster as he noticed the
moon beginning to settle and come down over head, signaling the changing of
guards. He rushed towards the entrance, attempting to skip past the guard
and into the fortress proper until he saw a stairwell headed down. 'Gotta
be where I need to look'
He rushed down the stairs, paying mention to nothing and stumbled into one of
the guards. The poor guard didnt stand a chance. He pulled out his sword
and ran the guard through, dragging him down the stairs and into the closet,
placing the guards own sword within the wound. He made his way to the
bottom floor and began looking left to right, seeing only an endless aray of
doors. He turned left and felt along side the outside of the walls, moving
his way All the say down and back, and repeating the motion once more.
'Running out of time... Gotta report back in' He made his way out lf the
Fortress as quietly as possible, slipping back into the Dark City as the sun
rose.
Writer: Xentessa
Date Fri May 18 07:03:41 2018
Writer: Maithion
Date Fri May 18 11:17:37 2018
Writer: Cataleya
Date Fri May 18 11:19:08 2018
Writer: Sierus
Date Fri May 18 16:56:37 2018
Writer: Sierus
Date Fri May 18 18:34:46 2018
Writer: Vyasa
Date Fri May 18 18:55:28 2018
Writer: Cataleya
Date Fri May 18 19:20:20 2018
Writer: Maithion
Date Sun May 20 02:26:13 2018
Writer: Maithion
Date Sun May 20 02:56:26 2018
Writer: Maithion
Date Sun May 20 03:45:15 2018
Writer: Maccus
Date Mon May 21 03:40:00 2018
To Verminasia All (Fatale Imm rp)
Subject Bloodshackle Chronicles: The raid.
Maccus along with five other men crept towards Bloodshackles western
wall. They had been waiting for hours for the guards to rotate and they
finally had their chance. 'Remain silent, follow my orders and we'll all
get home in one piece. ' The soldiers around him All nodded once and moved,
their backs now against the wall as they threw their triple anchored hooks
up the wall. Several dull thuds sounded as two of the hooks secured
themselves within the walls. 'Three men each side, double time up the wall,
we dont have much time left. ' The soldiers scrambled up the wall, reaching
the top and keeping a watch on the rest of the walls. The courtyard below
was quiet, only a single sentry on watch. Maccus signaled for the soldiers
to continue their push, watching each others backs as they rushed to the
nearest stairwell.
Maccus and the company made their way down the stairs and towards the
barracks. The sounds of marching footsteps causing them to stop and duck.
The wall guards finally making their way across the Courtyard and back to
their posts. They waited for what felt like hours, praying to their gods
silently. The wall guards now at their post the six man began to move once
again and into the barracks. Their instructions were clear, slaughter, sack
and learn as much as they could about the fortress. Working in pairs of
two, they slaughtered the sleeping soldiers in their bed. Working their way
from bunk to bunk with deadly precision. They worked their way from the
barracks to the docks, silently slaughtering everything in their path,
clearing the outer perimiter before moving onto the leaders quarters.
Maccus motioned for the men to stop. His eyes watching slowly and
carefully. In the dead silent of the night a piercing horn blew, signifying
stealth was now out of the question. The dull thud of an arrow clattered
behind them. With a curse Maccus ordered for raised shields, pulling his
own off his back. Maccus tapped the man infront of him on the shoulder,
signifying to keep moving as more arrows began to miss and fall to the
ground behind them. The group of raiders kept moving, arrows piercing
shields but failing to strike true to any of the men. They finally reached
the opposite side, the defenders of the Fortress coming off the wall,
realizing that they had no true reinforcements. Maccus pulled two of his
men off, positioning them in the rear, 'Guard the rear, we dont want any
surprises. We're almost there' The two men nodded and took their position
as Maccus rejoined the other three, now only the occasional arrow coming off
the wall towards the assembled group. Once more Maccus pulled two others to
the side pushing them towards the stairs heading back up the walls, 'Silence
those damn archers, be smart, be quick. Rejoin the others here when you're
finished' Maccus and his final remaining soldier came together, 'We've
already slaughtered the main bulk of their forces. They're scattered and
disorganized, its time to cut off the head, be ready. '
Writer: Maithion
Date Mon May 21 08:52:26 2018
Writer: Maithion
Date Tue May 22 10:13:17 2018
Writer: Hasp
Date Wed May 23 11:25:29 2018
Writer: Tornain
Date Wed May 23 22:09:28 2018
To All Siccara Imm Knighthood
Subject Reflections behind the Glass part 1
"A book on basic combat tactics," Tornain mumbled while he barely met eyes with one of the Gareth Keep librarians,"...Sir."
Tornain cringed slightly at the look the librarian shot him making it clear his tone had not gone unnoticed. Never a good sign for a Page. Slightly abashed Tornain hurriedly grabbed the offered book and made his way through the small gathering of squires and pages to his seat before the librarian could reprimand him.
He disliked the library, mostly for the smell, not understanding how anyone could enjoy the constant odor of leather, old parchment and dust. His hand went to scratch his nose just thinking about it. Carefully opening the cover, so as to not break the binding, he began to read through the pages with his eyes narrowing at each chapter.
"Of course 'Word of Recall' spells are important," he said flipping to the next page absentmindedly.
"Oh, the spell of 'Sanctuary'? No one belongs on the field if they did not know that," a hint of annoyance entering his voice.
Flipping through the last few pages he closed the book harder than he meant to and the resounding thump drew the eyes of nearby Pages.
"I should not have to do this," Tornain thought growing more agitated.
"I was a ranking member of Talon!" His face contorted into a grimace.
"I was..." His hand dropped limply to the table, "I was a Charlatan too wasn't I?"
"I was an officer in Justice. An officer for Nadrik's sake!" His hands balled into fists.
"I was able to go drinking when I wanted to!" He raised his fists to slam down on the table.
"I was..." His hands dropped limply to the table, "I was a Charlatan too wasn't I?"
'Was'...what a powerful word with the ability to calm, anger and scare him All at once.
His eyes grew blank as the memories flooded back to him- A Charlatan, Shaman and even a Warlock.
He wondered if maybe the reason he was angry about the tasks laid before him is because sooner or later his past will come out. Unless he lied during the required confession or made something up then he had no other choice.
He reached to his neck to run his fingers over the plainly, yet well made, symbol of Siccara. In the morning he took oath as a Priest of Her church. Tornain still wondered why he choose that path, out of All the professions available to him now, however he was already committed.
He stood, leaving the book behind, and made his way to the exit of the library. The light from a nearby candle glistened off of a glass panel that contained a piece of parchment. He must've read this parchment countless times before and yet today it caught his attention again as it had so many Knights, squires and pages before him.
His breath caught as he noticed his reflection briefly in the glass as he approached thinking to himself, "A confession and a lesson."
Writer: Maithion
Date Thu May 24 01:36:25 2018
Writer: Hasp
Date Thu May 24 17:55:53 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Thu May 24 21:11:05 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Thu May 24 21:11:10 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Thu May 24 21:11:16 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Thu May 24 21:11:21 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Thu May 24 21:11:24 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Thu May 24 21:11:34 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Thu May 24 21:11:38 2018
Writer: Cataleya
Date Sat May 26 15:09:32 2018
Writer: Telthian
Date Sun May 27 09:45:34 2018
To All Necrucifer Verminasia Shadow Eclipse Immortal Tashio Kyri Ampersand Storyline
Subject Lost City - The Approach - I
--*--
'ALL THAT YOU HAVE BUILT. EVERY BUILDING YOU RAISED, EVERY PERSON YOU
KNEW, EVERY MEMORY YOU HAVE OF THAT PLACE. I HAVE WASHED IT ALL AWAY WITH
FIRE AND EARTH. '
--*--
Not since the Doom of the venerable yinn Imperium had more than small bands
explored this land, and none had come close to breaching the hinterlands of
the lost city. Biting cold. Relentless wind. Choking snow. This is what
the northern reach of Icewall offered the Company in the month since they
departed for Eastdrift, the difficult conditions permitting only travel at a
sluggish, exhausting pace. Ravens ferried word from the vanguard, the
supply train, and main host, and just as they were warned, a great winter
gale hammered the host as the vanguard force entered the crumbling mouth of
Narrowbreak pass.
The great mountain was sundered down the middle in the quakes that followed
the starfall, the result appearing as though the cutting edge of an axe
separated a once mighty single peak into two distinct, crumbling spires of
stone and ice. The pass was treacherous on its own, risk of avalanche or
rockslide could easily put an end to any audacious enough to traverse beyond
it.
They were robbed of the last, precious degrees the land permitted as the
gale swept along the pass engulfing the host from vanguard, infantry, to
supply chain, extinguishing All light and trapping them in a tunnel of
white.
With the storm came the first true opposition of their presence: putrid,
winged figures dropped from the skies to torment Deathwatch, and buried
within the snows, shambling wights screeched with fury to assault the
vanguard.
--*--
Writer: Telthian
Date Sun May 27 09:47:37 2018
To All Necrucifer Verminasia Shadow Eclipse Immortal Tashio Kyri Ampersand Storyline
Subject Lost City - The Approach - II
--*--
Though their position lie between Vanguard and the Deathwatch, it was no
solace from the biting snowstorm or the coordinated effort of the frozen
wights and putrefied harpies.
In the chaos of battle as harpy and wight descended upon them, Telthian,
Ashtiel, Riordan, and the Crownguard held fast, pushing forward to shelter
their flank against a jutting crag within the pass. At the fore of their
position, Ashtiel pressed forward within the corridor of stone, twin swords
reverberating as the fury of her warsong carved a path through the wights.
Deflecting a ponderous blow of a wight with his shield, Telthian shoved the
creature hard to his left, where the young Atennim's blades dismembered a
pair of enemies, rendering them useless before claiming a deathblow.
His lungs burnt with each indrawn breath of frigid air, and as the dark
priest channeled the abyssal power of his Master into searing columns of
hellfire, a familiar, unnerving tension built within his mind. With each
wight immolated in a blaze of black and crimson, the strain upon him grew
much like a tendon stretched to its limit. A feeling All too reminiscent of
Dresthrin's treachery and the fall of divinity.
The wind howling through the split-face of Narrowbreak, rendering
conversation was useless in the gale and clamor of battle. Wights dropped
down onto the band from the bluff high overhead, the rotten yaenni and human
bodies frostbitten and tattered, seeking to entrap the Verminasians within
the pass.
For hours they fought for every inch of ground within the craggy passage of
ice and death. With each step, their blades carved a path forward, leaving
only blood-stained snow and mangled bodies in their wake.
--*--
Writer: Telthian
Date Sun May 27 09:56:49 2018
To All Necrucifer Verminasia Shadow Eclipse Immortal Tashio Kyri Ampersand Storyline
Subject Lost City - The Approach - III
--*--
"Our war was not the end of it. Ripples spread. Consequences pile up. But
when I go into that ground, do not expect me to go quietly. I am bringing
my crown, and I will return for what is mine. "
--*--
The Vanguard were first to exit through the stone curtain of Narrowbreak,
the Knights of Storm and Eclipse following the rugged contour of the pass to
assemble in an open expanse of alpine tundra still well above the treeline.
Though the storm had passed, the wind was a hard blow out of the north,
gritty with powdered snow and sure to bring more misery with it. Telthian's
globe of sea-glass and hellfire flickered and danced, barely surviving, and
folded his stiffened fingers around the flame to let them toast as together
Queen, Advisor, Legate, and Crownguard made to join the knights.
The frontier of what was once the Imperium of Dae'tok lie ahead of them from
the pass, a headlong descent from their elevated position to the valley
below. Once, before the quakes that shifted the whole of Icewall, this
hinterland was known as the Salient. An arrowhead of flatland pointing
north, to Dae'tok itself, and the ancient monastery of Dra'strit sat between
this range and Eastdrift. Far ahead, a single, lonely stone spire jutted up
from where the monastery should have been.
Clouds of breath smoked from the mouths of the Knights as the, some of their
riders slumped over icy reigns with injury. Dismounting, the Verminasians
closed ranks with the inner circle of Storm and Eclipse.
"We had started to wonder, " came a raspy growl from Narsh, as the yinn
pawed his muzzle in a familiar gesture before pointing to the worn
appearance of the newly arrived.
Ice crystals clung to their heavy furs, stained dark with a mix of ashes and
frozen blood.
A faint smile played at the edge of Telthian's mouth as he shrugged, 'Bad
weather. "
Ashtiel chuckled, nodding as she patted her swords, 'Aye. And a fresh
mountain of dead things behind us. '
The others joined in, sharing anecdote of what it was they encountered.
Beasts, wights, harpies, and worse, the growing sense of certainty that
something awaited them.
Breaking from their reunion, they remounted and began the slow descent into
more accomodating terrain. The Salient once funneled the barbarians and
northmen down these slopes to the waiting forces of a growing yinn threat in
the days pre-dating the Twins. A thought occurred to the Priest-King, and
he glanced over toward the imposing figure of the Eclipse's Highlord.
"D'Aerthe. How much do you know about the forging of that hammer, of its
smith, and the offering? "
--*--
The northern journey continued, and below on the forward horizon sprouted
tall, leaning alpine trees, the first marvelous green they had seen in over
a month and a thousand miles as the company approached Eastdrift.
Writer: Geirhart
Date Wed May 30 21:52:37 2018
To All Vampire
Subject Dark Visions and Holy Light (Vampire Chronicles)
Geirhart sat by the forge, his hammer rhythmically striking the soft
bronze metal he was working. He enjoyed working with his hands. It was
similar to his time one the farm, labor was like an old friend.
The work also kept his mind from the memories of the visions he had received
over the last five days. Everyday, some new dark thought crept into his
mind. To add to the insult, now the vampire was visiting him cloaked in
Austinian's temple. Something needed to be done.
He set his hands to work, smoothing out the brass stand. Afterwards he
would need to focus on the brazier that would hold the fire. For now, he
was content to make sure the stand was strong and balanced. He had made so
many good friends in the last week, kind souls who wished to help. Their
kindness gave him strength. Who would have thought that a man like him, an
old farmer in his late fifties would be the focus of a vampire's ire.
Geirhart was worn and the forge was hot but he wanted to get this completed
before he retired. All he ever wanted to be was helpful. Ever since his
son took over the farm, he had always been in the way. Such is how things
go with young men. It was probably a relief to both of them when Gierhart
had suggested he move to Althainia for a time. It gave them space but he
missed his family. The visions had showed them dead, or hating him, or just
gone.. An old man left alone. It was in the dark that he missed his wife
the most. Juliana had only passed away five years ago but her loss was
still like being only half a person. He wished he could lay in her
comforting arms again.
He had prayed, learned, walked the lands and still had nothing to stop the
visions. This was a shot in the dark. He would craft the brazier tomorrow
and lighting it with a holy fire, he hoped it would keep the being away.
Though people had been helpful, they could not defend him every minute of
everyday. He needed to act and even if nothing came of it, at least it was
something.
With Gareth's Keep and Cassian to help, Geirhart believed that they could
find and remove the demon. He truly believed in Garaint's words of Hope.
He was putting his faith in Austinian and the people around him. Good would
come from it. Wouldn't it?
Writer: Sierus
Date Wed May 30 22:36:28 2018
Writer: Sierus
Date Wed May 30 22:36:33 2018
Writer: Maithion
Date Thu May 31 09:56:51 2018
Writer: Rasavadi
Date Sat Jun 2 17:50:25 2018
To All Eclipse Shadow Verminasia Immortal RP Storyline
Subject Lost City | Vanguard - A Respite Before Eastdrift
The immediate battle had ended. Ther Dark Lord and Chancellor of the
Storm along with his Guardian and Keeper of the Eclipse were tending to the
wounded with the chaplains. Knights gathered the dead for honor and
entombment, while the Petitioners and such built pyres to erase the
existence of the enemy.
"Ghislaine, guide our wounded to the chaplains and aid them as you can.
Narsh, gather our dead with the rest. Keeper, Guardian they will be
entombed with full honors. The Vision and Blood Ritual will be imparted
posthumously, and those still alive are to be inducted as well. We didn't
bring many, but those that came served with bravery and honor. They will be
called to our world again after their deserved rest." He barked out the
orders before choking out, "I will attend to the remains of Choliaria." The
last came with the full weight of post-battle adrenaline crash and sorrow.
None of them hesitated perse, but they looked on with concern at their gore
encrusted, still slightly smouldering, leader. "I am fine," he growled and
continued "we have lost too many, and gained too few. Get everyone that can
still move, moving. We will honor those who have fallen for God, but we
have a long way to go yet." Those gathered before him nodded solemnly and
went about their prescribed duties.
Looking around he saw the Crown and their escort approaching. "Dark Lord,
the Crown approaches. We will be called to attend soon." Jermichael nodded
while surveying the carnage and organized chaos of post-battle. Dismissing
a young Eclipsian who ran back to aid the wounded, Jermichael muttered
something under his breath that Rasavadi could not hear, but the whisp of
breath fog through his visor could be seen.
"Come, friend, we must go do leader things. The men and women are in good
hands." Rasavadi clasped Jermichael about the shoulder. This, to
Rasavadi's knowledge, was the first large-scale battle Jermichael would have
faced since his ascension. He did not envy the true weight of leadership
now evident upon his shoulders. "We will inter those that have fallen with
honors. They served with honor, bravery and made the ultimate sacrifice for
God. The mantle is heavy. It never lightens. God will give you the
strength to carry it better." Rasavadi paused a moment to let the words
sink in a bit then continued, "They have earned their rest friend, Brother.
Let us not mourn and disturb them." Jermichael glanced over seemingly
relieved by Rasavadi's words, and they continued on towards the exit of
Narrwobreak.
"And hell, soon we may be so honored to take the long rest eh? I for one
could use a good nap!" Rasavadi chortled, his articulated dragon helm
twisting into an unholy visage which belied the comedic tones of his voice
making the situation All the more insane. Jermichael, failingly, attempted
to stifle a laugh and shook his head in mock disgust.
Eventually, the two joined the Crown at the exit of Narrowbreak Pass.
Briefly, the status report was relayed from the two organizations that
frankly should be one anyway. Telthian told the still young Rasavadi about
the Salient planes, the monastery of Dra'strit. Mulling something about in
his mind a bit, Telthian asked, "D'Aerthe. How much do you know about the
forging of that hammer, of its smith, and the offering?"
"No, my King, I do not. Crelius never told me much, and the rest seems to
have been lost to the passage of time." Rasavadi looked up at the quickly
failing light. "I am in dire need of several history lessons I know, but
now we have dead to honor, and some new recruits from the refugee camp to
Impart the Vision too."
Writer: Geirhart
Date Sat Jun 2 18:22:31 2018
To All Vampire
Subject Lost Brazier and Shadows (Vampire Chronicles)
Geirhart entered the temple and he was not surprised to see his brazier
missing and a bloody heart on the ground. In fact, he was expecting this to
happen since the Undead started visiting the Church. A prayer and a spell
later he found the item. He now knew who his assailant was. So he reached
out. Words were exchanged and a meeting arranged.
As night fell, he awaited his visitor. He may never truly recall their
entire conversation but he did remember a few things. Life is important and
he did not believe that Fatale would be his judge when he died. Yet he was
left with a feeling of powerlessness. The vampire had done something to his
memory and had invaded his mind. What powers stood against him?
In the last few months Geirhart had met vampires, manatonics, and dragons.
When he was a farmer, he thought of these things as legends. These beings
were stories he told his children but here they were, real! These poweful
beings playing out a war like avatars of the Gods themselves. It made the
old man feel very small. He could certainly understand the Slayers of
Greystoke. What can normal people do in the face of All this power?
Since he became a priest, All Geirhart wished to do was help people. He
focused on the new adventurers to prepare them for the trials ahead with
items and advice. Yet how could he prepare them for this? What impact
could helping these people really have on Algoron? He looked at his brazier
and thought that it looked so small now. How could he have thought that
something like this could help him?
A cloud passed over the sun and to Geirhart, the brazier did not make the
Church any brighter. For All the visions of pain, gore, death and solitude,
it was this vision of his own design that halted him. How could an old man
in robes ever think he could be a force for change in a struggle that was
immortal? He saw the young being trampled by this eternal war. He lost
hope, not in Austinian but in himself. In that moment, alone in the Church,
the new priest wept. What was he thinking? Best to leave this to people
like Garaint and real heroes.
What a fool he was..
Writer: Cassian
Date Mon Jun 4 14:10:07 2018
To Geirhart All Vampire
Subject Keep Running Down That Street (Vampire Chronicles)
Cassian was always a fan of both enforcing, and then breaking, the rules and
the laws of the lands as he felt best. From those of the Highlands, to the
Manor, to his own constructed sense of morality and well being for Algoron.
And so it was that he was running through the streets of Abaddon, and then
Verminasia, searching for this "Limpiana".
Both cities had undergone changes since the days in which he was able to
roam freely through their streets, taking in the sights and sounds of both
cultures and venues. Some parts hadn't changed. The Dragonslayers Fine
Dining looked much the same as it had been during meetings and years passed.
The Altar of Darkness, where he had both attended sermons and walked along
the narrow line between his own path and that of a more stern, vicious, and
evil path, looked emptier but otherwise no different. He could almost see
in his mind the people filling its chambers in meeting and discussion.
But Limpiana, they were unknown to him, and so was their product. The raw,
fresh hearts, kept warm and bloodied for their very specific clientelle.
A clientelle he was getting quite practiced at running through with his
pike.
Of course, manners were not to be forgotten. One should always pay respects
to their host, to the crown of the region. So it was as he caught sight of
Ashtiel, eyes cast her way as he instinctively moved this way and that to
avoid the grasps and blades of the guards on alert, head bowing forth in
greeting before disappearing once again into another street and another
crowd.
Confidence. Confidence was always his plan for both fitting in or getting
through.
There it was, something new, something... out of place. With a name that
instantly told him exactly who the proprietor was, for more reasons than he
wished there were. The Sweet Songbird's Tarts & Hearts Bakery. Oh, how he
did not miss that voice.
The young elf looked far too comfortable, showing off the selection of
hearts to those that cared to ask.
Knowing what he did of those specific clientelle however, that customer list
would not come easy. At least, however, they knew where the "deposits" were
coming from.
Writer: Maithion
Date Tue Jun 5 10:30:25 2018
Writer: Veronnica
Date Wed Jun 6 01:23:22 2018
Writer: Ilimilipili
Date Wed Jun 6 07:45:52 2018
To All Geirhart {pCassian Vampire
Subject Dining in the Darkness (Vampire Chronicles)
"Ma'am, in the shop today, there was ---"
"Pia, dear - I told you. I do not wish to know."
"But! A man came in looking for ---"
"I'm not going to have to find you a replacement, am I?"
"...No, ma'am."
"That's a good girl. Pass another heart, hmm?"
"Yes ma'am"
...And so, in the darkness, they dined...
Writer: Geirhart
Date Wed Jun 6 12:13:29 2018
To All Vampire
Subject Nightmares and Dreams (Vampire Chronicles)
Geirhart threw the cold brazier into the donation box. Perhaps someone
might want it for their home. His talk with Falric had All made sense but
it had not changed him to the core. It wasn't that Falric was wrong so much
that Geirhart did not know what he was to do. So he went to the temple once
more, cleaned up the pit and made his way to the Inn.
After saying his evening prayers he climbed into bed and fell into a deep,
turbulent sleep.
His nightmares assulted him. All the visions he received came back. First
all the citizens in Althainia were burned. Then they changed and were
bloodless corpses. He ran to the temple but it had caved in. Garaint and
Falric had turned their backs to him. He had failed the Empress. Even
Austinian no longer answered his prayers.
"Now then husband, you don't believe that do you?"
As he sat on the ruined steps, a portal of light opened in front of him.
"Juliana?"
"Come now, get up. Don't leave a lady waiting!"
So Geirhart stood and walked into the portal. As he exited, he saw her once
more. She was not the young girl he married or the old woman he said good
bye to. She was that perfect balance of age. The glow of youth in her eyes
accented by the slight wrinkles of wisdom. Her short auburn hair had a
trace of silver and her blue eyes shined like clear pools.
She was standing by the pond in the back acre, an old meeting place at
night. Happy memories flooded him as he stood there.
"Now why is it you never looked at me this way in life, husband?"
"I did love but you never saw. I have missed you." They closed to embrace.
She smelled the same. He could feel the weight of her in his arms.
"Is this real?" , He dared to ask.
"Enough for you to believe but not enough to last. Now then.."
She looked at him as though he had forgotten to bring her some needed item.
"What is this doubt in your soul! Have you no ears? Or brain!"
Her temper flared and he laughed. Oh how he missed every part of her.
"Did you come here to fight Dragons? Vampires? To be a old knight saving
damsels!"
"No, my damsel days ended when we married. No, I didn't come to be a hero."
"So.. Tell me.. Why?
"I came to be of use but what can I do? I forge small weapons, help a few
people.. I don't change any thing?"
She put her hand on her hip and motioned him to join her by the pond.
"Look, what do you see?"
He looked into the clear waters and first saw nothing but then a large
Minotaur came into view.
"Molech!"
"Yes, you taught him to turn from Chaos."
The visioned changed and it was an elf maiden.
"Saphyre, you helped her once and always remembered."
Visions of young adventurers off to battle, bronze weapons in their hands
showed up. Each one saved in a battle to go on, growing stronger.
"They were succesful because they had a better start. You made things
easier for them"
Lastly came a vision of a man and a woman embracing. Their eyes full of
love for each other.
"They asked you to bind their love together. No greater blessing could you
give."
The pond swam with action as All these scenes played out but then new ones
came. Those who were helped then helped others. Then it was All of Algoron
with small lights twinkling here and there.
"A few acts of kindess is All it takes. You may not win the battle, my
love, but you have impacted these people who will go on to touch the lives
of others."
"I see.. Thank you, my love."
She put her hands on either side of his face and held him there.
"It is not about power or winning ot losing. It is about connecting life
with goodness and hope."
"I know love and I believe. Yet.. The Vampire.. It said I would be judged
by Fatale in the end."
"Silly old fool! Those who believe in the Light shall return to it! You
know this too. That is where I am and how I am with you now!"
She laughed and kissed his forehead.
Writer: Geirhart
Date Wed Jun 6 12:27:19 2018
To All Vampire
Subject Nightmares and Dreams Part II
"Now wake up and get to work!"
She pulled him up so they where standing together.
"I don't wish to leave you! I miss you so much."
She looked at the old man, tenderness in her eyes. "When next we meet,
Husband, there will never be a need for you to leave."
They embraced once more for what lasted for a long time but not nearly long
enough for Geirhart.
"Wake." She whispered.
There in his room, Geirhart awoke. He knew what he needed to do and
believed in Falric's words now. He decided he needed to fix things.
Climbing out of bed and dressing himself, he strode down to the temple.
On his way, Garaint gated into view, his brow stern and his words sterner.
The higher ranked priest chastised him on the way from the Temple to the
Castle where Geirhart retrieved the brazier.
Thr lesson continued to the Church and by now Geirhart was smiling for he
knew it All came from a good place. Setting the brazier where it belonged
he turned and finished his discussion with Garaint.
Later on, his dream inspired him to relate a story. It began with a man
named Roderick.
(Apologies for length and typo. And thanks to my archenemy for starting this line of RP. Hope everyone has fun)
Writer: Sierus
Date Wed Jun 6 17:35:30 2018
Writer: Veronnica
Date Wed Jun 6 20:45:30 2018
Writer: Nurgal
Date Wed Jun 6 21:36:46 2018
Writer: Ashtiel
Date Wed Jun 6 23:31:23 2018
To All Verminasia Cassian Geirhart
Subject A Fool's Errand (Vampire Chronicles)
Though early in the morn, the city of Verminasia was already shrouded in
a gray haze brought on by the heavy clouds that lingered within the sky and
dowsed the city in a fresh flood of rain.
From her perch within the tower, Ash watched her people, small as ants from
this height, as they dashed through the streets hurriedly, some falling prey
to the puddles that gathered along the roadways. Her mismatched eyes
followed them briefly, darting from one to another without much focus but
the efforts of some to avoid the downpour drew a soft chuckle from her lips.
Her hand tightened its hold on her mug and she sipped from it, savoring the
taste of it on her tongue for a moment before she swallowed.
The warmth of her husband behind her was palpable even before his arms slid
around her and she leaned back into it as Telthian embraced her from behind.
'Something amuses you, my Queen? '
Her arms settled over his around the swell of her stomach and she turned her
face to grin at him. 'Most everything amuses me in one way or another.
However, this particular moment I was laughing at our people's ongoing
battle with nature. '
Telthian's eyes returned to the window and the streets beyond and after a
moment, his chuckle mirrored her own before he returned her grin. 'It is a
good test of their fortitude. '
Ashtiel breathed another soft laugh before she held her coffee mug up in
offering. She waited until Telthian accepted it to continue. 'While we are
on the subject of amusements, the Legate brought us the guard reports early
this morn. I was reading over them and it appears that one of the Manor was
spotted departing the tart bakery. '
'Oh? ' His grin faded ever so slightly as one dark brow raised in inquiry.
'Indeed. When questioned, the shopkeep swore she had not served him but
that he had been seeking a list of their clientele. It appears, in fear of
punishment from the shop's proprietor, the woman instead provided him with a
lengthy list of spice vendors. The guards have notified the other merchants
and any further attempts to solicit information from our people will be
promptly reported. '
'Unless he hunts potent cardamon I do not see how the information that was
given would avail him much. ' Her husband's chuckle vibrated through her
back and she responded in kind, grinning over her shoulder at him as she
nodded agreement.
'The street vendor approaches. ' Telthian's gentle nudge turned her
attention back to the window and Ashtiel chuckled as the small, antlike
figure of the vendor appeared and struggled to push his cart along King's
Way far below.
'Do it.. ' She breathed a conspiratory laugh and nudged Telthian back.
Her King obliged her, returning her mug to her before he brought his hand up
to the window and uttered the words to a spell. Within seconds, the clouds
overhead darkened considerably and a metallic bolt of lightning flashed
through the sky. The resounding crack startled the street vendor enough
that his cart very nearly drove off into the moat.
Outside the doors to the Tower throne of Verminasia, the two normally
unmoving sentinels shared a glance and a shudder, neither wishing to know
the cause of the evil laughter that could be heard emanating from within.
Writer: Maithion
Date Thu Jun 7 00:09:59 2018
Writer: Maithion
Date Fri Jun 8 13:52:14 2018
Writer: Maithion
Date Fri Jun 8 13:54:59 2018
Writer: Falric
Date Sat Jun 9 03:39:34 2018
To All ( Geirhart Austinian Immortal Roleplay )
Subject Midnight Watch (Vampire Chronicles)
The midnight watch of Gareth was a slow affair. In the office of the
High Justice, a soft, rhythmic tapping accompanied a young man's fingers
drumming atop a sturdy oak desk as a candle flickered upon it. It still did
not feel right, claiming this place as his own. Falric Marwyn looked about
in the comfortable gloom at the largely-untouched decorations of his office,
the lingering mementos of each High Justice before him. He expected the
door to open any time, now, and the real High Justice to order him to leave.
He gave a soft sigh as he turned away from the door, poring over the
parchment in front of him, cradling his head in one hand. Like it or not,
it was his duty now, as Colonel of the Crown, to serve as a beacon of
Justice not only for his fellow Knights, but for those who came to him
seeking help, seeking truth, seeking protection. No matter his title or his
trappings, the philosophies of the Shield followed him, echoing with the
plaintive wishes he had carried with him into Gareth some nearly ten years
ago, now. 'I just want to help people... ' his lips moved almost
soundlessly, repeating the words he had spoken that first day. The years
had passed like a dream, despite the many intervening nightmarish episodes
that still caused the skin of his neck to prickle. He had seen so much, for
being so young, had lived, loved, and lost. Lost friends, lost family, lost
those who were within his reach, who could not be saved.
He shook his head again, trying to shake off the gloomy thoughts like one of
the cows back on the farmstead back home, trying to drive off flies. These
dark thoughts dogged him, day in and day out. These lonely hours brought
out the worst of them, parading his failures as a Knight before him,
questioning his value as a protector of his kin, his value as a man. He
gritted his teeth, taking a deep breath and beginning the words to a
canticle, a prayer to Austinian for comfort and, more importantly, for
forgiveness.
Not everyone could be saved. This, he knew intellectually, even as his
every wish bent toward attempting to give All he could to everyone in need.
Even as he murmured the words he had learned at his mother's knee years
past, his thoughts turned to the kindly old man from Althainia, and the
words he had offered by way of comfort. Was he so crooked with his doubts
and fears that he could not live the words he had spoken, could not take
comfort in the truths- yes, the truths- he had spoken? He was not a
warrior, not a defender of the common man in shining armor and a stalwart
shield. His was a battle of wills, his power was to protect the hearts of
others, to offer comfort and courage to those who would allow him to. Why,
then, could he not let go of this despair?
With a sigh, he pulled back from his desk and made his way to the window
that overlooked the walls of Gareth. Somewhere beyond that noble
battlement, the lights of Althainia still twinkled, never truly going dark
no matter how long the shadows grew. Was his new friend questioning himself
in this self-same way, beset upon and tormented by the very-literal demons
of Fatale what reveled in such dark thoughts as he had harbored for years?
It was easier to worry for others than to look after himself. Geirhart's
fears and pains were more relateable to him than his own follies, long
forgotten by most. Even if the vampire was to remain hidden from
conventional sight, it was a foe he could bring his powers to bear against
in a meaningful way. It was a monster that could be banished, could be sent
back to whatever dark realm spawned it.
There was another sigh, another shake of his head. If only the poisonous
seeds of the demon's words could just as easily be destroyed. He could not
stand to see another good soul succumb to the weight of sorrow and fear. He
would protect this one, no matter what it would cost him.
Writer: Cearul
Date Sat Jun 9 10:06:40 2018
To All Arkane Thieves RP
Subject A Thief's Chronicles - Chapter 1
*BANG*
Cearul glanced up at the sudden sound, his heart rate rising slightly then
quickly dropping. Just another brawl, he thought idly. It looked as if
this one involved a chair being smashed over a Humans head by an Orc. It
was surprising really that it had taken this long for the drunken patrons at
the Tavern of the Black Dragon to find something worth fighting about.
He will feel that tomorrow I bet, Cearul chuckled to himself. For half a
second he considered tossing some encouragement to the human to see if the
fight would continue a bit longer, but his heart wasnt in it. He glanced
over at Haslar behind the bar wiping the inside of a glass mug with a rag of
questionable cleanliness. Haslar caught Cearuls eye and gave a smirk before
setting the mug down and launching a string of insults at the Orc.
Something about a one armed blind tinker gnome handmaid could hit harder.
The Orc looked up long enough for the Humans roundhouse to come crashing
into his temple and knock them both to the ground.
By this time several patrons had gathered round, the Arkanian guards were
jostling at the back screaming threats of a night in prison, but the goal
had been achieved. Haslar was a smart kender and knew how to squeeze a few
extra coin from some free entertainment. He would probably give the Orc and
Human a free pint after the brawl fizzled out. That was a huge part of the
reason Cearul liked Haslar so much. That and the trapdoor behind the bar
which lead to a little known room where meetings requiring privacy could be
had.
Cearul idly twiddled a gold coin between his fingers as he watched the
guards begin to lay waste with clubs to what had now become more than a half
dozen patrons shoving, falling, slinging beer, and generally engaging in
senseless good natured violence. A slight frown furrowed Cearuls brow as he
watched. None of these nincompoops would suit his needs. Too much brute
force and rocks between the ears. Cearul needed coin, and generally his
methods involved relieving others of their overly heavy purses.
Cearul had been working in the Army earning enough to get by, but he longed
for the rush of a good heist. There was something satisfying, and frankly
addicting, about a well executed plan that could lead to big payouts or dire
consequences. Cearuls wandering soul was itching for another adventure, and
the drab training day in and day out was taking its toll. Plus, it had been
far to long since he deposited one of his anonymous gifts in the orphanage
donation box in the dead of night. If the nuns ever caught him, Cearul
chuckled to himself at the thought of the manning tanned hides he had
received growing up and perfecting his skills at sneaking around unheard.
The Generals proposal of a Scouts section held great promise. Danger,
adventure, far away lands, and hopefully an extra bit of pay each month.
But who knew how long that would take. Cearuls brow furrowed again
momentarily before he caught himself. No sense letting others read his
emotions, he thought to himself and plastered an idiotic grin on his face
as he sent a few jeers towards the now dying down scuffle.
There was the temple deep in the woods on Shokono. A long boat ride,
several nights swatting bugs the size of his head, and a hasty dash through
the woods after the guards caught him snooping around a tower he had scaled
the exterior to enter through a window, had shown Cearul that a veritable
dragons hoard of gems existed inside. But it wasnt likely he would make it
past security alone again, and to truly make the score worth the risk he
needed more handsand more pockets.
Writer: Ashtiel
Date Sat Jun 9 16:27:32 2018
To All Verminasia Immortal Tashio Kyri Ampersand Storyline Necrucifer
Subject Lost City - Eastdrift Redoubt | Unsettled Spirits
To call it inhospitable would have been a vast understatement. The
bitter wind tore across the few miles of tundra that separated the ruins of
Dae'Tok from the encampment of Eastdrift, buffeting the hills and mountains
with an unnatural fury that made the cold All the more unbearable.
The journey here had not been an easy one, still the trail worn men and
women of Verminasia, Storm and Eclipse worked together to raise the sea of
tents that now surrounded and climbed the hill towards the jagged crown rock
at its summit. They battled the wind as they worked, losing canvas and
cloak alike in their struggle against the elements. The shrill call of the
wind was reminiscent of the harpies that had assaulted them in the passes of
Narrowbreak.
It was not the harpies that lingered on Ashtiel's mind as she studied the
encampment thoughtfully from her place upon the ice. Since their departure
from the Requiem, her concern with the state of the spirits encountered
along the way had grown considerably. Even now, the few disembodied souls
that lingered around the camp screamed soundlessly at those who worked to
construct and secure it. Fortunately, most lacked the ability to see them
and the spirits had not the energy to attack as the wraiths did, nor did
their intent seem violent.
She turned from her consideration of the camp and its occupants, both living
and non, to crouch at the base of a massive column of stone that protruded
from the ice and rose nearly six feet only to be shorn into a sharp,
diagonal point. Whatever designs had once decorated the column had long ago
been erased by the wind. She drew the dagger from her side and set to
carving into the weathered surface of the stone, a combination of musical
notations she had already instilled in numerous other such stones and trees
that surrounded Eastdrift. Once complete, it was her hope that the song she
carved into these would form a protective barrier around their camp that
would alleviate some of the effects felt by the priests and magi.
Movement from the corner of her eye drew her attention from her work and
Ashtiel glanced up to find another spirit standing a few feet away, pacing
back and forth. Elderly and human, the large man wrung his hands in
distress. His entire being flickered in and out of visibility in keeping
with his obvious agitation. His somber black eyes stared at her accusingly,
as if her inability to hear whatever he was trying to communicate was
chosen.
'As you've a face that not even a mother could love, I am assuming this
wasn't the base of your statue. '
Ashtiel shifted a little to shield herself from the stinging ice displaced
from the top of the stone and carried on the wind. She brought her arm up
to wipe the snow from her face before she studied him more closely. Though
the constant flickering made them hard to discern, the symbols on his armor
were recognizable if only to someone who had seen such recently before. If
the spirit heard her, he gave no indication of understanding.
'You certainly did not come from the mines. ' She turned her gaze
momentarily from the spirit towards the ruins that surrounded the old
monastery of Dra'strit. 'From there, maybe? ' She turned back to find that
he had vanished. To where, who could say.
Ashtiel sighed softly and turned back to her work, listening to the baleful
song of the wind and the scrape of her dagger upon the stone.
Writer: Valdarion
Date Sat Jun 9 21:57:38 2018
To All Shalonesti Shalonesti_kingdom Immortal RP Storyline Juelian Gabriela Bauk
Subject So it begins.
Valdarion Sha'falas sat cross-legged on the luscious green grass next to
the Lhedr-Eowyl Pond. With an open palm and downward facing hand, he
skimmed his hands along the tips, feeling each blade gently caress the volar
aspect of his palm. Eyes closed, he took a long, deep inhale, chest
expanding with the effort, drawing in the fresh, life sustaining air into
his lungs. Followed by a slow exhale through pursed lips, a controlled
sigh.
"This is home. Truly, where I know I must be, " he thought to himself.
Brow furrowed briefly for a moment, he reached for the sheathed katana he
had on his back, with expert ease, freed it from its confinement - a crisp
vibratory hum emanating with this movement. Familiarity, much familiarity
echoed with this hum as he felt him own vocal folds giving rise to a similar
hum - in tune, matching it, but of a lower pitch. This sword that he
possessed was a combination of Elven craft within its handle and Shokonese
tempered metal for the blade, unique, strong but light. Balance was the
word for it.
"Balance", was the next thought that echoed through his mind. Valdarion
shut his eyes to block out the sunlight peeking through the canopy above
him, still humming his tune, he placed the katana over his lap, right hand
gently resting on the hilt. The songblade handle shivered in a consistent
frequency, allowing for continued meditation. His purpose, he knew was the
defense of the Vallenwood and the protection of The Heart of Shalonesti. He
was of the Kyorl, a member of the Royal Guard. Recently he was assigned to
the protection of the Speaker's Daughter, Gabrielaeryn Shalonost, for which
he seemingly had been lackluster in his performance of duties. The Speaker
himself had no mention of this, neither did his charge, however, deep
within, he knew. Deep within he was disappointed.
He recalled his recent few battles, the gift of the Song from the Holy
Mother Zandreya had enabled him to bring a good number of enemies to the
brink of defeat, however, he was unable to complete the task. An
unfettered, guttural growl emanated from his throat, breaking his
concentration and snapping him out from his meditative state, jerking his
eyes open. Silently, his gaze fixed at the mirror-like surface of the pond,
an angry-looking Wild elf glared back.
"We need a little more ability to keep these foes at bay, this would
guarantee they would not be so quick to return to the field to harm more
Elves. Especially if they fall. {", Valdarion muttered under his breath,
"Perhaps, it is time to look for assistance loyal to the Holy Mother. "
Rummaging through his multiple Robes of Many Pockets, he fished out some
writing materials and began to scrawl on multiple sheets of parchment in
preparation for tacking on the walls of multiple taverns and inns. Pausing
only to reload his quill by dipping it in a marbled ink well, he wrote
furiously for a good few moments. Then suddenly tossed both empty ink well
and quill high in the air. A few flashes of cold steel catches the light,
and the characteristic hum quickly ends just as swiftly as it began. A fine
mist of ink slowly rains down on Valdarion and the drying parchment skins.
The three pieces of the quill slowly settled onto the pristine waters of the
Lhedr-Eowyl. On close examination of the parchment, it read in flowing
Common script : "Bauk. Find me. " along with a symbol of a fish with an
odd looking spiral horn sticking out from its head.
So it begins.
Writer: Elathan
Date Sat Jun 9 23:32:46 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Sat Jun 9 23:32:51 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Sat Jun 9 23:32:55 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Sat Jun 9 23:32:58 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Sat Jun 9 23:33:01 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Sat Jun 9 23:33:05 2018
Writer: Elathan
Date Sat Jun 9 23:33:07 2018
Writer: Riordan
Date Sun Jun 10 21:51:00 2018
To All Verminasia Immortal Tashio Kyri Ampersand Storyline
Subject The Lost City - Eastdrift Redoubt - Day One
The Royal Advisor of Verminasia walked at the head of the caravan as it
arrived at the hill of Eastdrift which he had personally come to refer to as
Crown Hill, a name that gave reference to the gigantic formation of rock at
the top that looked remarkably like a jagged crown from a distance.
Not wanting to waste time, Riordan conveyed his orders to the weathered men
around him, workers of faith who were loyal to the crown, to start raising
basic shelters and tents. As the men began their work, Riordan's next
orders were swiftly followed, three dozen soldiers pulling a pair of heavy
sleds moved up the hill until they come about half-way.
The caravan had already been briefed on the way, orders relayed to allow
quick and effective deployment of equipment and tools. Within the first two
hours of work, a considerable amount of snow had been displaced, shoveled
away and piled to act as a barrier against the wind. Riordan didn't smile
that often but seeing how the men and women of Verminasia, Eclipse and Storm
went about their jobs with determination showing in their eyes like a
smoldering fire, he couldn't hold back some of the pride he felt within.
From his place near the large and heavy sleds half-way up the hill he could
see the Queen move about, from place to place, stopping at a tree here, a
rock there, always shadowed by her personal guard.
The number of tents continued to grow as space was cleared for them, the
colors of Verminasia moving up the hill and expanding towards the sides
until a sea of tents lay before Riordan.
The sound of men grunting with effort and a brief curse caused Riordan to
turn around. Three large half-ogres and one ogre bearing Verminasian
Deathwatch uniforms were unloading the sled next to him, already working
under instruction of a gnome so bundled up against weather he might be
mistaken for a dwarf. 'It'll only be an hour or two, then the first will be
in place, another two, maybe three before the second will be ready for use,
Advisor. ' the gnome exclaimed when he noticed Riordan's gaze upon him.
A short nod was All Riordan would spare the gnome as he gathered his cloak
closer around him and pulled the thick wool scarf up to protect most of his
face from the bite of the wind.
Upon seeing that the work of basic shelters and raising the pre-constructed
cabins was progressing albeit not without issues of winds tearing loose
canvas and more than once nearly shredding a tent, Riordan moved about the
camp to offer assistance where needed, be it shoveling away snow, driving
tent pins into the frozen ground or carrying equipment and tools.
As more tents rose from the ground, the wind became less of an issue, the
larger tents blocking the worst of it as long as one lingered within the
heart of the encampment. The Advisor hoped that once the fortifications
were completed, most of the encampment would be spared the full force of the
harsh winds.
On the outer edge of the encampment, taking the worst of the winds were the
workers with the important but not so pleasant job of digging a ditch in the
frozen ground at least an ogre deep and twice as wide with All the dirt
piled to create a raised bank, All around the entire hill. However, they
had been granted the aid of one of the mages of Doija, a Wu Jen of some
talent and already at work, directing some sort of earth monstrosity to rip
open the ground where pick, spade and shovel would struggle.
It was late in the evening when Riordan first had time to inspect the work
on the defenses, the Wu Jen's earth creature had already created something
of a ditch one yard and a half in depth, breaking through the frozen ground
to loose dirt which would be far easier to dig out for the men without the
magical capabilities of an elemental mage. But it hadn't been done without
issue, according to an account from the crew, the elemental creature had
stopped as if looking at something that wasn't there and then swiped out
with it's massive arm, beating one unfortunate worker senseless and nearly
toothless.
Despite the issues, it seemed to Riordan that work was progressing according
to plan, and his first day at work came to an end with the report that the
workspace for the Scholarch had been prepared, a tent raised over a
flattened section at the center of the encampment to eliminate the issue of
winds the pixie might encounter.
Writer: Denth
Date Mon Jun 11 02:01:13 2018
To All Imm Bauk Valdarion Juelian Gabriela
Subject Darkness Afoot (1)
Thick droplets of sweat beads heavy on Denth's brow while he sleeps late
into the afternoon. Try as he might, Denth remains trapped in his sleep:
his eyes will not open, nor lips issue forth sounds of his silent screaming.
A vein throbs with a heavy pulse at his forehead while visions of pain
throbs blindingly white in his trapped sleeping state wrapped snug within a
sleeping pad.
Sinewy muscles from long years of fighting are criss crossed with battle
scars along both arms, which now clench fiercely tight, both hands forming a
fists. His eyeballs flit this way and that way, while nightmare grips
Denth's fevered dreams. His haunted dreams increase in intensity, the tempo
of his flitting grow to a fevered pitch as rivulets of blood dribble slowly
from nails dug hard into his palms.
Gasping hard as if he is short of breath, Denth remains locked in his
dreams. After an hour of tossing back and forth on the sleeping pad, Denth
subconsciously scrawls out two words in Elvish letters.
{oBaukhelp meplease
Writer: Naztrok
Date Mon Jun 11 14:56:48 2018
Writer: Wyltte
Date Tue Jun 12 21:27:18 2018
To All Necrucifer Imm RP Religion
Subject Lost City - Eastdrift Redoubt - Awakened I
The massive log balanced precariously on his shoulder, his large arm
securing it to his body as he moved back towards the camp. One of the
Deathwatch carts had broken, and the lumber from the nearby forests needed
to be trimmed down to make pikes for the defensive perimeter.
Despite the crisp air, sweat poured down his forehead with the effort. His
shoulder was sore but still held together. Zisuli patched him up very well
after the battle of the Harpies. He constantly had to wipe his damp hair
from his eyes as he troged back down the trail.
The temporary parts of the camp were growing quickly, the travelers glad to
be off the treacherous road. They were were weathered and hard, which that
long time in the saddle will do that to a person. Everywhere was awash with
activity. The sound of hammering echoed through the hills, the conversation
seemed decently jovial, or at least more relaxed than it had been.
Wyltte had sent out scouts to check the surrounding areas. They were to
return each day, and would start to venture out each morning further and
further, till they get as far as a three day's ride from the camp. Each
scout grouping had their own team, so they could face the challenges
together, and there was a better chance one would make it back to Wyltte
alive. He wanted to make sure there was as much distance between himself
and those who would harm the people as possible.
The Advisor had gotten a lot of things under control, and Wyltte for one was
glad he had something other than riding in the saddle and protecting the
caravan. Here was a new challenge, and one he could protect against better.
A mobile force is a vulnerable force.
Once he got to the camp, with a great effort he shucked the large log from
his shoulder, hitting the cold ground with a thud heard through the valley.
A few Shades grunted and nodded their approval, then turned back to work.
Wyltte wiped some bark off of his shoulder and moved over to a large basin
of water used to rinse off. It steamed in the cold air. All water was
being boiled for safety purpose, and used for bathing and sanitary reasons.
Nothing was to be consumed yet until the site was purified and wards placed.
Before placing his hands in the calm, steaming water, Wyltte looked down at
his countenance. His beard had gotten shaggy, his hair longer to where it
was constantly falling in his face. His normal salt and pepper locks, more
pepper than salt, had started to turn towards a storm cloud gray. It was
not years he had traveled, but merely weeks. Perhaps this is the stress of
it All getting up to him, or the sickness that was in his shoulder, or
perhaps merely age. This was something he knew he had to deal with.
Grabbing the razor sharp fang at his side, Wyltte reached up and started to
shave off the large hairs of his beard, leaving just a thin coat of stubble.
His longer locks he did not mind though, instead choosing to douse his face
into the warm water and brush them back away from his forehead. Looking
back into the rippling waters, he gave himself a nod. The man looking back
was weathered, but strong. It was the face of a man awake, a man with
purpose, and a man with answers to find. It was truly him, finally fully
awake from his long sleep.
Wyltte reached down to the shirt tied around his waist and felt the small
leather pouch he kept with him on this trick. He looses the drawstring
lightly to see the slow, pulsing crimson light shining within, bits of ivory
bone fragments reflecting their lights. Very soon, it would be time to
awaken something else. Something he has been chasing a very long time.
Writer: Tamaska
Date Wed Jun 13 00:00:56 2018
Writer: Tamaska
Date Wed Jun 13 00:04:07 2018
Writer: Wyltte
Date Wed Jun 13 19:10:41 2018
To All Necrucifer Imm Religion
Subject Lost City - Eastdrift Redoubt - Awakened II
Thwack! Thwack!
The echos of his axe biting into the poles pierced the air. Wyltte took aim
at the ends, sharpening the pikes into crude barriers meant to keep out an
advancing force. Each swing sent shudders up his arm, little vibrations
that sends shockwaves through his entire body.
Thwack! Thwack!
The monotony of the task was a blessing in disguise. With each swing, he
was able to focus on the myriad of things going through his mind, drowning
out the noise of his mind. There was a running around up there. He had
taken a moment to return back to Iagothal recently, checking on his
beehives. He had been given the title of Count of Iagothal from the Queen,
and had spent time cultivating both the vineyards and his many hives of
bees. He had always been fond of wine and mead. It was a moment of
civility in a crazy world.
Thwack! Thwack!
The pikes were coming along nicely, the sweat dripping from his forehead and
drenching his linen shirt. Wyltte removes the wet cloth and throws it to
the side, hitting the dirt with a squishy thud. He paused for a moment,
leaning on the haft of his giant axe. He surveyed the work, a quesiness in
his stomach. He knew he had eaten earlier and had stayed hydrated. His
tried to breathe in deep, let his body rest from the exertion, but try as he
might, it was not the same as the fair winds of Iagothal, the smell of
honeysuckle and pine, the slow rumble of the water on the banks, the subtle
buzzing from his hives....
"Buzzing of the hives.... He wondered quietly out loud. Why did that
bother him so? Wyltte glanced around again, hearing the low murmers of
conversation, the sawing of wood or the hammering of stakes. He heard the
uneasy laughter of the people as the diligently went their way along
building up the camp. But something scratched in the back of his mind.
Something he was missing.
Wyltte lifted his right fist in the air, a slow, black cloud of unholy
energy swirling in his palm. Those who saw it feel silent, and quickly the
entire of the camp stopped, looking over to where Wyltte stood. It was then
he realized what it was. Silence. Everywhere. Only Silence.
There was no birdsong, no call of the wolves, no bleating of sheep or cawing
of crows. There was a stillness that passed over the camp that was near
stifling. Wyltte remembered Ashtiel mentioning how she had heard an uneasy
hum at the site, but music was her magic. She was in tune to those energies
in a way few were. To Wyltte, he read the signs of the land, and in this
case, the absence of signs.
Wyltte slowly scanned the skies. Off in the distance he saw the familiar
and fearsome shape of the Great White, Ezessinth. She circled the skies,
her keen eyes scanning diligently for any side of trouble. Draped against
the azure sky it was almost as if it was a cloud was claws, ready to tear
apart any who impose her.
Clouds, he thought. Clouds... .
That was it. The clouds itself above Eastdrift Redoubt. The sky was full
of them, yet not a single one overhead. It was as if they were purposely
pushed away from the camp, skirting over an invisible dome around the area.
Silence, the lack of wildlife other then themselves. Something wasn't
adding up.
Wyltte released the unholy energy into the sky, streaming up into the
atmosphere like an ebony bolt of lightning. From the distance, he saw the
dragonesque cloud shift direction, changing course towards him at an
alarming speed. Wyltte lowered his fist, and the camp resumed it's work
again. While he waited, voices called from the defensive line. "Legate,
Legate! Come Quick!" Wyltte turned towards the call, letting his axe rest
against one of the pikes as he went to find out what the commotion was
about.
Writer: Wyltte
Date Wed Jun 13 20:38:00 2018
To All Necrucifer Imm Religion
Subject Lost City - Eastdrift Redoubt - Awakened III
As Ezessinth flew in from afar towards the campsite, Wyltte made his way
down into the trenches where the digging for the pikes were being conducted.
There a few young men, splattered with mud and sweat from their work,
gathered around an unconscious worker. They had made a makeshift littler
out of young poles and animal hides, keeping him suspended from the mud pit.
As Wyltte stepped down, several of his Deathwatch soldiers tipped their
heads towards him. He purposely instructed them not to salute in camp, so
any enemies surveilling the camp do not immedately pick him out from afar.
Wyltte nods in return, coming to stand over the worker.
"What seems to be the problem?" He asks, glancing over the man lying on
the litter. He didn't detect any wounds, his skin was not bright red from
dehydration, nor did he see any signs of infection or blood disease on his
exposed skin.
"He was digging a hole for the post, Legate, and started to lose his
balance. He said he was.... Unsettled." The Shade nodded once again,
pointing at the location where it happened. "He then fell to his knees,
grasped his head, and pitched forward. We had to pull his face out of the
mud, or he would have drowned in less than an inch of water".
Wyltte grabbed an old hankerchief he kept at his side and wiped the wet mud
that caked the man's face. His eyes narrowed as eh exposed his countenace.
One hand reaches up to stroke at his chin thoughtfully.
"Why do I not recognize this man? He's not one of my Shades" Wyltte asks.
He studies his apparel once again, noting the use of furs and leathers.
One other man spoke up. "Legate, he was one of the Northmen who volunteered
when we made landfall." Wyltte nods once. There was a quite a few of
these men who saw the opportunity to make some coin as guides or hired
muscle. Wyltte figured they could use All the help they could. Many were
helpful enough during the harpy attack.
Wyltte kneeled over the man, his right hand starting to glow with a crimson
light. He ran above the man's chest, the crimson starting to melt away the
layers of mud, large patches of the mud falling onto the ground in plopping
sounds, bits of water splashing up on their boots. The man's eyes twitch
slightly. Wyltte leans over to look at his face as his eyes open.
At first it was confusion, the disoriented gaze of a man awakening from
concussion. As his eyes adjusted, he looked blearily around at the
surrounding shades before staring up at Wyltte.
The sheer terror in his eyes was instantaneous. The man grabbed the sides
of the litter, scooting away from Wyltte and falling into the muddy ground.
"You... You.... Stay avay from me!" He yells, using the palms of his
hands to back away. "Your Face is cursed. Cursed"
Wyltte bewilderly looked down at the man, moving from his position of
hunkering down to standing at his full height. "The Master's stillness to
you, Man, I am not here to harm". The Northman continued to panic, rising
to his knees.
"I shall nay be tricked, you.. Husk! You.. The Demoness, she vears yer
face! The heart ov the Demoness beats like yers! Yrsa has found me!"
Just as Wyltte signals to his Shades to detain the Northman, he finds his
feet and starts to spastically back away from the approaching Deathwatch
soldiers. Wyltte raises his arm to try and show the man he meant no harm,
but he nearly trips over himself trying to escape. "No, I von't... I von't
go back to her!" The man turns backs away quickly, then turns quickly to
try and run... Only to be met with the sharp end of a pike they had raised
embedded deep into his chest cavity.
Wyltte walks over to the man, dribbles of blood already pooling at the
corner of his mouth, his body twitching as it starts to go slack on the
pike.
"You.. Vill never... Take me, Yrsa. You vill never take my soul". And
with that, the light of life passed from his eyes.
Writer: Tamaska
Date Wed Jun 13 21:12:10 2018
To All Eclipse Shadow Verminasia Immortal RP Storyline
Subject Lost City | Vanguard - Honoring the Dead - Part 1 of 2
The guardian had relented, allowing Nymaya a moment to tend the wounds on
her neck briefly before she spotted a scuffle a ways back from their group.
Within moments she realized it was her brother and Narsh, relief flooded her
as she let out a long breath, creating a cloud of frozen mist in front of
her. Her eyes focused on the two as she watched from a distance,
determining whether her aide was needed. They were more than capable and
dispatched the attackers soon enough.
She turned her focus back to helping to tend the wounded members and
gathering those whom had not made it through the battle. They All hesitated
at the approach of the Highlord, Narsh and the new yinnae that they had
brought from the encampment. Tamaska's eyes fell on the young female whom
Rasavadi addressed but her attention was quickly pulled away as she was
addressed specifically as Guardian. With a slight tip of her head, she
acknowledged the orders and let her focus linger a moment longer as she
noted the change in her brother's tone.
The Guardian turned, hiding the wince that followed her brother's words and
nodded to a group of knights. "You heard him, men. " A deep frown set into
her canine features as she moved to help sort through the carnage of the
battle aftermath. This was not something she was going to enjoy at All but
still she took great pride in making certain that they honored those whom
had fought till their very last breath.
Silent and solemn, she and the knights carried the bodies of their fallen
and laid them out carefully. Any wounded members were sent to Nymaya and
Ghislane to be tended to. Once they had finished gathering the dead, she
notified the Keeper that they were ready to perform the rituals for those
they had lost. All who were able to gathered around and watched in solemn
silence.
Tam watched in respectful silence as her sister moved among those they had
lost, reciting the words of the vision. The silence that followed where
normally those members would repeat the vows was deafening. She normally
stoic yinn found herself swallowing the lump that rose in her throat but try
as she might, it just rose again moments later. She silently mouthed the
words to the oath before raising her voice with the final words "Restinguere
Solem," along with the others whom had previously taken the vision.
It was then that Tamaska stepped forward, an arcanium amphora cradled in one
hand and a dagger in the other. Everyone watched in silence as she moved to
the first body and began the ritual. First she took the dagger and gathered
a small bit of blood before tilting the dagger and allowing it to drip into
the amphora and mix with the blood of those others whom had taken the blood
vow.
"By these words and by this blood I pledge my life to you, siblings of blood
and steel. " She recited the oath that each member took as they willing
added their blood to those before them. Today though, like the ritual
vision, there was no one repeating the words back to her and the others.
That silence was once again deafening but she had to ignore that as she
continued on. She moved to each body, collected the blood, stated the oath,
"With our mingling of life's essence may be we bound forever," until each
and everyone had been done.
It was then that she turned to the others and she called out, "Kill for the
living... " Those whom had taken the blood oath responded in kind, "Kill
for the dead. " As she stood up, Tamaska turned and raised her hand in a
salute towards the fallen members of Eclipse and nodded silently. She
collected the dagger and amphora and moved towards the Keeper, Nymaya. They
shared a solemn look but neither said much nor did they need to.
Writer: Tamaska
Date Wed Jun 13 21:14:53 2018
To All Eclipse Shadow Verminasia Immortal RP Storyline
Subject Lost City | Vanguard - Honoring the Dead - Part 2 of 2
The new Eclipse members that had yet to take the oaths were brought to
the front. Tam watched on in silence as Nymaya explained what imparting the
vision was, the importance of it, that importance seemed to weigh even
heavier than ever with the bodies of those whom had given everything laying
nearby. The Guardian was pleased to see that while some of them looked
scared out of their minds, they hesitated very little in stepping forward
and reciting the oath with the Keeper.
Now it was her turn once again. As she moved before the group, she
explained what the amphora was and how its contents were important. She
lifted the journal she had created to document the names of All those who
bled for Eclipse. Their names would be added along with those whom she had
just given the oath to posthumously. They would not be forgotten, their
sacrifice would be remembered.
She sat the amphora on a chest and flipped the dagger around so that the
hilt was held out for someone to take and watched the group. One by one
they moved forward and took the dagger, each making a cut and mixing their
blood with the blood of the brothers and sisters. Each of them recited the
oath as she instructed but she saved the last part until All had finished
their oath.
Her voice cut through the winds, "Kill for the living... " Immediately
followed by the voices of All the new and old Eclipse responding, "Kill for
the dead. " Tam choked out the words along with them before nodding. She
then sheathed the dagger and took in a long deep breath. She would normally
have taken a moment to herself, perhaps more but they had no time for such.
They had to get moving soon.
Writer: Wyltte
Date Thu Jun 14 05:22:14 2018
To All Necrucifer Imm RP Religion
Subject Lost City - Eastdrift Redoubt - Awakened IV
Wyltte was a man of many talents, and he now rested himself on the fruits
of his labor. A large chair made of the animal hides horns of some of the
oxen they slaughtered up in the hillside for fresh meat. He turned the
pommel of his sword around and around in his hands, spinning the point of
the blade into the rock. It was a mindless action, but it allowed him to
think. His mind was a fortress no one could besiege.
It was through one of his many bits of training he undertook upon first
moving to Verminasia that Wyltte discovered he could escape to the deepest
parts of his mind to ignore the world around him if necessary. Marshal Argg
had him undergo prisoner of war training when he first joined Deathwatch,
subjecting him to beatings, interrogations, sleep deprivation and
humiliation, so that he may not show fear and cowardice in front of the
enemy. Different times.
He retreated back into the deepest recesses of his brain, the places where
long term memory mixed with emotion. It was the place you went when you
wanted to remember those moments that defined you. This incident with the
Northman had already lodged itself there.
The staleness of the air, the stinging cold upon his back as he felt the air
push forward as Ezessinth's wings glided her in for a landing, Wyltte
examining the now lifeless corpse of a man who fled at the sight of his
face. Why run? Who was this face he carried that terrified him so? The
blade spun around in a rhythmic fashion, bits of dust from its fine point
being drilled upwards by the motion. His blade was razor sharp, but for
good reason. The sharper the blade, the better chance of survival.
"Yrsa. Why does that name sound familiar?" He wondered allowed. Wyltte
stares at the light of the sun glinting off the steel, beams being reflected
in All directions, like a cloud of fireflies scattered when passing through
them.
"It means bear, mae Lord. More specifically, bae meaning a female bear."
A feminine voice with a strong highland accent said from closeby. Wyltte
looked up from his contemplation towards the sound of the woman, inqusitive
eyes following narrowing slightly. "That name bae as old as the hills
itself".
"What do you mean? He inquired of the woman. She was a servant who also
came to work at the camp, but this time looked to be a serving lass for the
kitchen bringing him some food to his board. His last meal left untouched,
it was to be given to the war hounds to not go to waste.
The woman strode over, dipping in a half curtsey. "The bears of Icewall bae
importan' to All people, M'lord, but usually ya nae nev'r talk about tha
bear ya bae speaking of. Because it nae bae a bear at all. Bae a..."
Here she stops, her voice lowering slightly so none may hear. "It bae a
nightmare of old, mae Lord. The she-bear bae coming to haunt yer dreams,
drag yer soul away when you slept. She bae comin' in the form o' a large
bear, wit' fur the color o' the deepest midnight, and grey souless eyes..."
Here her voice faltered slightly, swallowing a lump in her throat. "Nay
unlike yer own, M'lord". The woman gave a small curtsey again and shuffled
off, making the sign of Necrucifer as she left.
Wyltte leaned back in his ox-hide antler chair, contemplating the meaning of
the conversation. What force was he tied to that caused so much discomfort?
The bear sigil that scared off the Viking clans, the talk of some she-demon
bear which had his face. It was a mystery in which he did not have enough
clues. He closed his eyes and moved to rest for a few moments, not
realizing the small pouch tied to his waist started to pull with that
crimson light even stronger. Bits of the light shot through the threadbare
portions of the leather, bathing Wyltte in what looked like a baptism of
sanguine sky before a storm.
Writer: Ezessinth
Date Thu Jun 14 14:12:49 2018
To Verminasia Shadow Eclipse Telthian Ashtiel Wyltte All Imm rp
Subject The Lost City - Eastdrift Redoubt | Awakenings V
The days had been rather quiet since the joined forces had reached Crown
Hill and began setting up the Redoubt. The men and women were busy far
below, setting up shelters and digging trenches and clearing snow. She had
noticed in previous days that the piled up dirt and snow around the
perimeter of the encampment would make an excellent windbreak if it were
properly reinforced. While the sheer cold had no effect upon her, it could
be dangerous, if not deadly to the mortals here. Subsequently, she had
offered her assistance in it, and spent hours shaping the piles into a solid
wall and freezing it fast with her breath.
Since then, there hadn't been much that she was needed for aside from
keeping watch from the skies. Truly, her immunity to the cold had its
benefits to the mission in the deep north. Circling the camp at a wide
diameter, her lean limbs tucked carefully close to her body and wings locked
in a glide, Ezess scanned the ground below for any encroaching threats.
Really, it was entirely too quiet since they broke ground. The sun was out
for the first time that she could recall since she'd joined the expedition,
and she had seen nothing particularly dangerous outside of the occasional
icebear. And even those kept a wide berth of the encampment.
A crack of black lightning rose from within the encampment and caught the
White's attention. She scanned the camp for its source, angling her wings
to turn herself in its direction. She circled in descent to answer the
Legate's call. By the time she landed where he had called her down, he had
moved on elsewhere. Many of the people who were working in the area
scattered out of her way as she alighted, unaccustomed to the presence of a
Firstborne. She found it amusing to a degree, considering she meant them no
harm, but yet they feared her.
Some of the supervising Deathwatch members in the area were a bit more
steadfast and instead gave her a respectful space and a formal greeting.
Ezess folded her wings to her sides, dipping her snout to them in response
before addressing the one nearest to her.
"She was summoned by the Legate. Where has he gone? "
"He was summoned to the trenches, that way, Great One. " The Shade gestured
off to the direction that Wyltte had gone before bowing her head in respect
to the White.
Ezessinth bobbed her head once in acknowledgement and thanks before walking
in that direction until she caught up with her Warder.
Writer: Ashtiel
Date Fri Jun 15 10:49:06 2018
To All Verminasia Immortal Tashio Kyri Ampersand Storyline Necrucifer
Subject Lost City - Eastdrift Redoubt | Dissonance
--*--
Restless, Ashtiel rolled from the makeshift cot and rose, careful not to
wake her husband as she located her armor in the dark to don it before she
quietly made her way from the tent.
A spirit awaited her. The very same elderly fellow she had seen the day
before while marking the protective notations around Eastdrift. It lingered
just outside the flap, mirroring the stance of the guards who stood sentinel
there.
She held up a hand as he noticed her arrival and opened his mouth to scream.
'We both know I cannot hear you. Do not start... '
Again, if he heard her he gave no indication of it and set in behind her as
she made her way through the throng of tents, barely preceding the guards
who also shook themselves from their lethargy to follow in her wake.
'Haven't even had my coffee yet.. ' She scowled over her shoulder at him in
annoyance and then set to ignoring him as she climbed the rise towards the
crown rock at the hill's summit. Reaching the boulders at the rock's edge,
she signalled for the guards behind her to halt and continued on, not
venturing far from them before she found a stone flat enough for her to
perch on and sat atop it.
The camp was silent, most tucked away in the warmth the tents afforded them.
The guards who patrolled did so quietly, as no sign of danger had presented
itself since their arrival. Yet, despite the apparent peace of the evening,
Ash was uneasy. The cause of her distress went unnoticed by any she had
asked of it thus far. Yet it lingered still, a barely audible vibration
that buzzed within her ears and shivered along the surface of her skin yet
had no apparent source.
She had spent much of the evening before walking about the camp simply in
attempt to garner which direction the sound traveled from but no matter
where she stood within Eastdrift or upon the tundra, the sound neither grew
louder or dwindled away. It remained that unsettling whisper of a sound,
ever present and unchanging. The hum had no apparent effect, aside from the
migraine she continued to suffer but she wondered if it was the reason she
could not communicate with the spirits here. Perhaps even the reason the
priests abilities were effected.
The spirit stood beside the rock where she sat, stone faced and silent as he
stared at her and she unpacked her mug, returning his baleful look as she
sipped her coffee. 'It is a shame you don't play charades. '
--*--
Writer: Jermichael
Date Fri Jun 15 15:25:09 2018
To All Verminasia Shadow Eclipse Ampersand Necrucifer ( Imm RP )
Subject Lost City - Vanguard - Aftermath and beyond
Jermichael turned to Rasavadi with a nod, and moved to join in step with
him, moving toward the King and Queen. He removed his helmet and lowered
it, hanging it from the thick utility belt around his waist. His long and
wild hair fell out from underneath and down about his shoulders. He reached
up absently to push a few stray strands back from his face, as they finally
met with the approaching Crown.
He gave a quick bow, "Majesties". Jermichael lifted his head as Telthian
began to speak, "Lords, well met, you have reports?" Rasavadi gave a nod
and began relaying the events of the battles. Jermichael listened for a
moment then turned back to survey the field.
He watched as others worked to tend to the dead and wounded, before parting
his lips and spitting on to the snow-covered ground. He then turned back to
the conversation as he heard the Priest-King ask Rasavadi about the hammer.
His eyes met Ashtiel's a moment, as if she had been watching him, before she
turned to listen to the King.
Jermichael sighed slightly as he thought of the men they had lost. He knew
each of his knights, and though he had seen the deaths of many, the
responsibility of their safety never got easier. He thought back to
something said to him earlier in his career, "Every man in this keep knows
that with the rise of the sun, it will be his last." The words did not
make sense when he first heard them, but as Jermichael grew older, their
meaning rang true.
Writer: Ayrora
Date Fri Jun 15 19:16:05 2018
Writer: Maithion
Date Sat Jun 16 18:05:26 2018
Writer: Veronnica
Date Sun Jun 17 22:36:17 2018
Writer: Wyltte
Date Mon Jun 18 20:57:35 2018
To All Necrucifer Imm RP Religion
Subject Lost City - Eastdrift Redoubt - Awakened V
The soft squish of snow and jingling of tack, the squeakiness of leather
saddles as they move slowly through the lands. Horses and riders move three
abreast down the road to the monastery, and outside of their small
movements, nothing else was heard. Occasionally light gusts of wind carried
mind numbing cold through the open air, hammering at the hardened riders of
Deathwatch. Wyltte pulled the polar bear blanket he had been given as a
gift around his shoulders tighter, trying to plug up any pathway for the
frigid air to assault. It was nigh hopeless, but it at least abated the
worst of the problems: frostbite.
The camp construction was well underway, so Wyltte divided any unassigned
Deathwatch members into three teams. One to scout out the area leading to
the mines, a second to continually ride a circuit around Eastdrift Redoubt
to look for any vulnerabilities, and his party was to head towards the old
monastery and make sure the exploratory parties would not have trouble
reaching their destination. There was little of note during their
exploration, as the desolation of the Northlands was the type which not only
could be seen visually, but felt in the chambers of your spirit. He had
felt he was being watched, but such feelings often come when your senses
werent inundated with the bustle of city life. Every simple movement
against the pale, frigid backdrop of the wastelands becomes a shadowy omen.
He tried not to let his thoughts run away with him.
This proved more difficult than one could imagine.
He was disturbed the incident with the Northman. The man took one look of
Wyltte and was scared. Sure, there were times where people were intimidated
by his size or circumspect of his countenance, but few were ever so put off
they would retreat at a mere gaze of his visage. He had either gotten
really ugly over the years, or there was something to it.
Though the prospect of advancing years did not elude Wyltte. His hair was
now now mostly grey with argent streaks, the once healthy tan from All the
time spent outside a faded sand color, bordering on the beginning of pallor.
His weight had been maintained if not a bit leaner, muscles going from full
to a more sinewy appearance. He looked every bit the role of the Legate he
was, just one who had felt the strain battle plays on the body. Unlike many
of those he had met in Algoron who have avoided the passage of time, Wyltte
felt the full force of its brutality.
They were perhaps only a half days ride away from the monastery, but the sun
was starting to head closer to the horizon. Wyltte scanned the distance,
finding a small grouping of trees perhaps a mile away. With a silent signal
of his hand, his band turned their horses to the location so they could set
up camp for the evening. This land was unforgiveable for those who forget
one of the first rules of survival. If you are not predator, you are prey.
In the dark, cold and unforgiving night of Icewall, there were plenty of
predators waiting for their next meal. He was a tireless servant of
Necrucifer, not a snack for some famished beast.
They rode off to the supposed grove, the snow nearly to the knees of some of
their larger beasts of burden. High steps and slow going was the way ahead,
and Wyltte tried to keep the spirits high with his men by singing a deep,
low cadence.
"Into the wild, the men are seen a running"
"Into the great unknown"
"Blazing a trail, where no one's been a living"
"One thousand miles from home"
"Into the country, where no one bids as welcome"
"We struggle to survive"
"Into the wild, where the men were seen a running"
"Till no one is left alive"
Wyltte finished his dirge, and All were silent, contemplating the words.
One day they may make it home, they had hoped, but their cause
was far too important to think about that now. They had a job to do.
Writer: Wyltte
Date Mon Jun 18 21:21:28 2018
To All Necrucifer Imm Rp Religion
Subject Lost City - Eastdrift Redoubt - Awakened VII
The glowing embers from the fire bounced off each of their faces as they
gathered around the circle, desperately craving warmth from the bitter
nights air. Their camp was found beneath a small grove of ancient pines, no
bigger than the size of three arenas or so. They found the driest spot they
could and set up tents, securing the stakes in the ground with specialized
spikes Wyltte had constructed back at camp. Permafrost was a problem here,
and the winds were too strong to barely be anchored into the ground. Wyltte
worked with local blacksmiths to develop what he called heat stakes. They
used small amounts of oil soaked black powder within a bore hole running
through the center of the stake. When struck by a specialized flint hammer,
it created a spike which lit the smoldering power aflame. The spike heated
up at the edges, slicing through the cold and ice easily. After the cooled,
the melted ice around the stake froze it in place. They were single use
only, but highly effective. A quick cut of the rope in the morning, and
they were good to leave.
There were twelve in his party. At All times he had three look outs
circling the camp, and useful for keeping one another awake. This allowed
the other nine to rest fairly easily. Of course, he was not one who was
given to slumber while others worked. His always calculating mind stared
into the intense embers of the flames, mindlessly feeding small bits of logs
when the fire got low enough. Fire was an interesting element, one with a
life All its own. Wet wood it would protest, spitting and sputtering until
it got what he wanted. Dry wood it would consume greedily. There was an
art to balancing the two so the fire never wanted for anything, and his
soldiers never wanted for heat.
After the ordeal with the harpies, the Northman, and the sneaking suspicion
something is wrong back at the camp, Wyltte actually enjoyed being out on
the trail. It seemed monotonous, but at its very core, it is what he
believed in. His actions kept others safe. The fact he and the Deathwatch
were branching out so that others may breathe easily was the reason he was
in the military. Hes seen enough suffering on his own, and did not want
others to see the images that burned into his mind like a brand.
Images such as the death of his own parents, made fresh again when the arrow
from the rain of fire struck him in the shoulder. The slack-jawed
expression of his father, the burning remnants of his mother, and his
sisters
What about his sister? He couldnt find her. He knew she was there, knew
that somewhere in the wrecked carnage of their caravan, a young girl lay..
But he doesnt remember seeing her. Was she thrown from the cart, abducted,
left to die in the ditch? He was but a toddler, no way to comprehend all
these big questions of the time. He only remembered the pain of losing
them, of calling out in childlike gibberish for those who took care of them
to wake up. He remembered the heat of the flames from the cart burning, and
then he remembered
The hand.
The one that was now just bits of broken bones that had been picked clean by
the passage of time. The one that he was holding, severed from its body
when he was found at the steps of the temple. The one in which told its own
story, but could not speak at all. Wyltte idly reached into the pouch at
his side, feeling the brittle bones with his fingertips before putting them
into his palm and pulling them into the warm glow of the fire. They seemed
so tiny in his weathered palm, but they also seemed... Alive.
Writer: Telthian
Date Tue Jun 19 11:31:20 2018
To All priests ( Imm Religion )
Subject A Treatise of Cloth
The Divine look down from heaven and they see All of Creation. From
their dwelling places do they gaze upon All the inhabitants of Algoron, from
the lowest mortal to Dragonkind. They who fashion the souls of All living
things, discern All their servants doings, and in turn, All living things
seek to know their Makers.
The Priesthood is the established center of Faith in the realm, the pillars
which uphold the Divine. We of the Cloth are as varied as the Gods
themselves. We are teachers, guides, historians, and soldiers.
But foremost, we are servants who tend to the very foundation of Algoron
itself.
This libram is intended as a general guide for any who devote themselves to
the Cloth, from Novitiate to High Priest, of the Pantheon of Light, Balance,
or Darkness.
Chapters:
I: Understanding the Cloth
II: Prayer
III: Progression
IV: Conduct
V: Temples
VI: Conversions
VII: Final Words of Guidance
Writer: Telthian
Date Tue Jun 19 11:32:57 2018
To All Priests ( Imm Religion )
Subject A Treatise of Cloth - I
I: Understanding the Cloth
The Priesthood is meant to be a the central establishment of Faith
throughout the entire realm of Algoron. It is expected that those of the
Cloth have a deep understanding of the principles of their own Deity, and in
time, the entire Pantheon of Algoron.
In the purest sense, we are servants. The Priesthood exists only to serve
the Divine. To spread their Word, to further their purpose, and to
strengthen their domain. In pursuit of this, we utilize many tools and
approaches that are shared throughout the Churches of the realm which will
be discussed within.
Whether we take up a sword or plowshare in our daily lives, the ultimate
purpose for doing so is service. Though a hierarchy exists within the
Churches, All mortals are equally infinitesimal and humbled before the
Divine.
The Cloth is your covenant with the Divine. Though you will doubtless
encounter many who seek to tutor or otherwise influence your progression,
success and failure lies solely on your own shoulders.
At the End, there is only you and God.
Writer: Telthian
Date Tue Jun 19 11:38:06 2018
To All Priests ( Imm Religion )
Subject A Treatise of the Cloth - II
II: Prayer
There is no more effective means of conveyance to the Divine of what is,
what has been, and what will be, than the power of prayer. Though it is our
calling to revere and praise the Divine, the purpose of godly prayer is to
detail our accomplishments, plans, and matters of importance within the
Church.
Praise and gratitude are expected, but they are not the substance of prayer.
To be effective, consider them no more than introduction and conclusion.
Utilize the full breadth of prayer to mark progress, to demonstrate that
with each act, you build a chain of deeds and actions in perfect accord with
the will of the Divine.
To this end, it is wise to keep a prayer book as a record of each and every
prayer offered to the Divine. The purpose of this is to track your own
efforts and maintain a clear sense of your dialogue with the Divine. If
every prayer is marked and counted, you will maintain a clear sense of what
you have pledged, what projects you have completed, what failings you have
overcome, and what to do next.
Godly prayers should be offered on a regular basis. Mine own are offered as
a weekly or biweekly summation. Be clear, be concise, and detail All you
have done and plan to do in service to the Divine.
There is no teacher greater than experience, and I offer the following
example from my prayerbook:
----------------
-Date-
Master,
I kneel before your divine image wrought by stone and fire, once again
offering my life to you. I have laid the foundations of your Prophecy with
each thunder of my heart and drawn the faithful to your purpose, putting
them to task. I pledge myself to this once again, the weight of your shadow
upon me an ever-present reminder of my sacred oath.
I have continued the tutelage of **** and ****, Yinn committed to serving
you as they make their way through perdition. Our dialogues have been
brief, but they offer prayer to you again. May you find them worthy or find
themselves cast aside.
I have furnished a young chromatic with eggs sufficient to construct a lair
so that they might grow strong in sanctuary and I have educated them in what
it means to serve the Pantheon. This monetary expense will not slow
construction of your Temple. May you find it, and this hatchling, worthy.
Beyond this, I spoke with **** again recently and he has requested more time
to 'digest' what is asked of him. I will be patient and guide him as best I
am able, if he is willing to put forth the effort.
Time will tell, but along with the Yinn, **** may be another worthy
petitioner to your service soon. I have seen him furnished with Word and
armament as they sojourn to Storm Keep.
In one week's time from today I will gather those who will listen of any
Faith and recount to them of the First Night - in which Your Power first
sublimated the Light and led to the world as we now know it.
These things I pledge to you in the truth of Your darkness, humbled before
your magnificence. This life is but one, and there is no Master but You.
Ambactus a Caligo.
Writer: Telthian
Date Tue Jun 19 11:40:00 2018
To All Priests ( Imm Religion )
Subject A Treatise of Cloth - III
III: Progression
Whether a new Novitiate to the Cloth or an established Monsignor, many
mark progress within the Cloth by status, and rank. To rely upon this as a
measure of one's worth and growth is a mistake that leads to miseries. Some
of modest status have produced important defining works within a Faith.
It is a fact that the Gods favor the exceptional. Those who anticipate the
needs and desires of the Divine and bring them into creation on their own,
without instruction, stand apart from those who are reliant upon guidance.
Create a plan within your Faith of what you can offer that moves the
understanding, domain, history, or some other unexplored territory forward.
Be ambitious. Establish this as a long term goal and set your focus upon
it. Do this, and status within the Church will come on its own.
Your time spent within the Church does not equate nor guarantee progress.
The sooner you accept this the more likely you will be successful.
Seek a mentor within the Cloth with sound judgment who is respected by their
Pantheon. They do not need to be of your own Faith, but learn from the
experience of others who have established themselves.
For a Novitiate, finding your voice and establishing yourself within the
Church should come quickly once your training is complete. This can be done
in the form of a sermon or gathering, or through written word. Be
consistent and steady in your effort and use these opportunities to interact
with those of your and other faiths.
Liturgy, gatherings, and missives are simple, defined measures of service
and represent the bulk of the labors of the Cloth. Though many do so, it is
not necessary to be akin to a town crier and offer the same dialogue or send
the same missive on a regular basis. There exist many opportunities beyond
these, and there is no singular recipe or checklist.
On occasion, as one progresses in status within the Church, we may be tested
or given specific command. Take heed to any instruction and be true to the
principles of your Divine Patron. These trials will demand much of you and
often those of your Faith, but it is your burden. Be generous to those who
assist you.
There are many unconventional ways to develop within the Cloth. Combine the
rote and traditional methods, such as sermons, with creative and new
opportunities.
As progress is made and rank is obtained, more is expected of you over time
and effort, and less guidance may be forthcoming. If your ambition is to
rise within the Cloth, you are looked to as a leader of thought and Faith.
Do not await tasks or trials, but look upon the Realm and find opportunities
to serve the Divine.
Be creative and expand the boundaries of what exists within your Faith.
Much has never been explored, and many things have become forgotten over the
steady procession of time.
Writer: Telthian
Date Tue Jun 19 11:41:30 2018
To All Priests ( imm Religion )
Subject A Treatise of Cloth - IV
IV: Conduct
Act as a model servant of your deity with each word and action. This
holds true of Light, Balance, and Dark.
All of the Gods and their Avatars are to be respected. They may be your
enemy, but their Divinity is unquestionable.
Respect All who serve the Cloth, whether at your rank, higher, or lower.
Be mindful that your behavior, both public and private, reflects upon the
Divine and your own influence within Church and Pantheon. The truth of your
words is undercut by your actions and the messenger is just as important as
the message imparted.
Do not ask the Divine to serve your needs. There are times we are in need
of guidance, but we exist to serve the Divine. They do not serve us, nor do
they have patience for mortal tribulations and frailties. Search your
understanding of your Faith to find resolution. The Gods favor those who
solve problems, not those who create them. Think for yourself and press
forward.
Do not lower yourself to pettiness. You will be called upon to mediate
conflicts within the Faith, and assuredly one party will attempt to use your
position within the Cloth for their own ends. Do not fall into this trap.
Do not mix the Church with personal or political conflicts.
Do not use your status within the Cloth for personal retribution. To do so
demeans the foundation of your Church, is an insult to your Diety, and
weakens your Word.
Do not call for excommunication or for one to be shunned by your Deity.
This is not the purpose nor the place of the Priesthood. A servant does not
dictate to their Master, and you will squander your credibility when your
call goes unanswered.
Do not conflate the needs of a Kingdom with the needs of a Church. While
many places within Algoron have a patron deity, the needs of a Kingdom are
far different than that of the Church. Favor with the Divine does not equal
right to rule.
Your status does not set you above others. Rank within the Church is hard
won, but it is but one piece of a whole. You cannot rely solely upon it.
Remember always that you are a servant.
Writer: Telthian
Date Tue Jun 19 11:43:05 2018
To All Priests ( imm Religion )
Subject A Treatise of Cloth - V
V: Temples
In this Age, upon obtaining the rank of Deacon, a priest may begin
construction of a place of worship dedicated to their Deity. With each
rank, the place of worship may be expanded upon and can serve as protected
gathering places for individuals of the same Faith.
Unlike prior ages, the current Temples must be constructed within two
leagues of an established city, and require approval of the host city's
ruler. As well, only one temple is permitted per deity and as such, it is
wise for any of the Cloth who wish to build a temple to stake their claim in
a given location as soon as possible.
The design and use of the Temple is at the priest's discretion and provides
for unique opportunities unavailable to many. Take the time to visit
temples of your Faith and design your own to reflect a unique facet of your
worship.
It is expected that a Priest will construct a temple in their own time, but
the Divine may well mandate it. Expect and plan to do so - this is a
singular gift not to be squandered.
Writer: Telthian
Date Tue Jun 19 11:44:07 2018
To All Priests ( Imm Religion )
Subject A Treatise of Cloth - VI
VI. Conversions
The mortal races are fraught with frailties of mind and body, and it is
no surprise that frailty of the soul is just as common. Doubt and
uncertainty can find cracks in the sturdiest of honors, the most resolute of
minds. As Clergy, given enough time, you will meet those who flirt with
conversion. It is a laborious process, in time and effort, for the Gods are
not as fickle as the mortal races they created.
The aspirant of a conversion must realize the Priest only reveals the path,
it is up to the aspirant to walk it. In this, a Priest may educate and
guide, but a successful conversion demands infinitely more of the aspirant
than the Priest who guides them.
The aspirant must show consistent effort through prayer, missives to the
Church, and a clear and justified reasoning for their conversion. Without
these things, the aspirant will fail. A Priest can only facilitate and
guide, it is the aspirant who must make the effort and demonstrate the
required devotion.
The Divine know the contents of a mortal's soul. Conversion is not a prize
to be won, is never guaranteed, and many mortals are plagued with a fickle
nature. Be judicious if you choose to assist those who seek conversion.
You are judged just as the aspirant is by your God. Their effort should
exceed yours, but it is your place to help the aspirant understand what is
expected, and how to find acceptance.
Writer: Telthian
Date Tue Jun 19 11:46:27 2018
To All Priests ( Imm Religion )
Subject A Treatise of Cloth - VII
VII. Final Words of Guidance
The Gods do not want fair-weather servants. To take up the mantle of
the Cloth is to make a covenant with the Divine, and it is the Priest who
drives the relationship.
Devise your own goals and bring them into the world in the tradition and
teachings of your Faith. This is what the Divine want from their servants.
Do not wait on command or word, do not rely upon inspiration or signs.
Though much emphasis is mistakenly placed by priests upon rank, and the
Cloth is not about title or status. These things are only trappings. It is
expanding the borderlines that make up the knowledge of your Church and
Faith that will sustain you.
You will require the help and sacrifice of others as you attain status and
are challenged by the myriad of forces the Divine contend with. Be
grateful, be humble, and find a way to reward those who assist your effort.
All are served by establishing their voice within the Church and seek
council of those who have come before. There are many avenues of success,
and you must find your own without travelling too far astray. Study what
others have done well, and use it to add your own perspective.
Be known and be visible, but do not feel compelled to issue the same public
call continually, or circulate the same writings and scripture on a frequent
basis, nor offer the same godly prayers.
Continued effort is important, but substance matters. Be authentic, be
creative, and use variety to build a body of work for the benefit of others
and offer something new to your Church.
Plan your efforts with a steady, measured pace so you do not exhaust your
creativity and passion.
Events should be as varied as the stars in the sky. There countless
bloodlettings and symbolic sacrifices and candle lightings. Ritual and
ceremony does not need to be predictable.
Prepare for your sermons and gatherings and be concise. Use them to tell
stories and history of importance, and with very rare exception should you
deliver the same sermon twice.
Respect those who offer their time in listening to the Word.
Persevere.
Writer: Wyltte
Date Wed Jun 20 20:12:36 2018
To All Necrucifer Imm RP Religion
Subject Lost City - Eastdrift Redoubt - Awakened VIII
The bones in his hand started to move... Or so Wyltte thought. They
were cold to the touch, but the cold became so intense it was almost like a
stinging pain piercing the outer layer of his skin. He winced, trying to
hold onto the small fragments before the cold was so intense he
instinctively pulled his hand back and watched in horror as the plummeted
down into the flame.
Wyltte tried to reach in and grab out the fragments but it was too late.
The dryness of the bones instantly ignited into a flame that shot up at
least two feet. Wyltte moved his face away from the fire as it grew immense
for the briefest of movements, blinding him. He turned his face, feeling
sparks from the flame hitting his cheek. When the bright light seemed to
subside, he looked back towards the flames and blinked several times, trying
to see what had come of the bone fragments. His mouth fell open at the
sight, shaking his head in disbelief.
The soldiers around him were still fast asleep, the flare from the flames
raging on but eminatting a cold unlike he had ever felt. He stood up and
stared at a veritable wall of cold fire. Unable to resist, he reached out
and placed his hand in the middle of the inferno. He quickly pulled it back
as his hand was met with an empty sensation akin to desperation. He did not
feel the chilling fire on his hand, but he did feel it in his soul.
There was an image burning in the center of the the curtain of flames,
practically crystal clear. The burning wagon, the forest trail south of the
city. It was the moment which defined his life... The moment where
everything was taken from him. Wyltte saw himself as a toddler,
bloodstained cheeks and sooty face wandering around the wreckage, crying in
confusion. The bear armor his father wore with its glowing red eyes glared
at him until he heard the last gasps of a dying man escaped the massive
man's lips. A pulsating red stone fell from the eye sockets of the bear.
He watched his younger self pick up the stone, then lay his head on his
father's chest and weep. From somewhere on the outskirts of the forest he
heard a blood-curdling scream. The voice seemed both vaguely unfamiliar and
recognizable at the same time. In shock and in curiosity, he wanders over
to the edge of the forest. Schwick! A crimson spray splatters his face as
he let out a silent scream. He saw a flurry of movement in the underbrush
and heard an object slam into the ground, a wet smack heard over the
crackling of the fire which consumed his family's corpses and belongings.
Wyllte wandered over to the object, spying a small dainty hand cleaved from
its owner. He didn't know why he picked it up, but in his brain he reasoned
someone lost it and wanted it back. Like in a dream, he lumberedand around
the ambush site for what felt like an eternity, unknowing what to do. His
stomach started to grumble and he headed towards a worn trail head at the
forest's edge. Wyltte took the first step down the path, but not before
feeling eyes burning into the back of his skull. He turned towards the
feeling, but there was nothing there. Just the faint crackling of something
wandering in the woods...
Wyltte turns from his fire gazing and looks around. From deeper in the
wooded grove, there was the soft crackling of something moving itself
through the snow. Wyltte cups his hands to his mouth and gave out the
auditory signal. "Caw, Caw!" He mimics the sound of the crow as he had
told others. Crows did not venture this far North, so there was no worry of
false signals. No response. Keeping a blade strapped at his side, he
tightens the bearskin cloak around his shoulders he was gifted and steps out
into the deeper woods.
Writer: Ashtiel
Date Wed Jun 20 23:47:14 2018
Writer: Tarkan
Date Fri Jun 22 10:43:25 2018
To All shokono arkane RP
Subject Letters on Wistful Wings I
{nTarkan approached the dock, a messenger sea hawk perched on a leather
{ngauntlet adorning his arm. With a flourish of his arm, he released the hawk
{nin the general direction of Shokono. As he saw the hawk fly away, he
{nreflected on the letter he wrote to the farm girl he met that one day...
My Dearest Tomoko,
My journeys take me far and wide, but with every step I take, my thoughts
continually return to Shokono. The circumstances upon which we met were
haphazard, I know, but I still remember them fondly.
Do you remember? You were picking cherries from your father's orchard when
you sighted me. You nearly screamed when you saw my face! Was that really
the first time you've ever seen a Yinn? To be honest, I wanted to know
where that wonderful singing was coming from. But when I heard you whimper
for me not to eat you, I knew that I had to act quickly.
I was so relieved that you had a change of heart when I reached for that top
branch and shook it for your basket. You nearly drowned in cherries.
If it is not too much trouble, I would love to return to Shokono again to
see you. Would your family be opposed to a non-human in their midst? I
understand if they would not be too keen on allowing an "Oukamijin" in their
home...
I look forward to hearing from you soon,
Tarkan of Arkania
{nTarkan watched wistfully from underneath his tagelmust at the hawk that
disappeared into the northern horizon. "Winds carry you swiftly, dear
friend," he muttered, before turning eastward towards the field trail that
led back to the city.
Writer: Tarkan
Date Fri Jun 22 16:19:50 2018
To All Shokono Arkane RP
Subject Letters on Wistful Wings II
{nThe sea breeze blew across Tarkan's fur, whisking the heat away from his
body that he had worked up from the long hike westward from the city.
Pulling out a miniature spyglass from his belt pouch, he looked northward
for any sign of a hawk.
Nothing.
With a long sigh, he sulked a bit on his feet before finding a nearby stump
to plop down on, closing his eyes to think about his journeys.
SHREEEEEEAAAAAAAARRR!
{nThe Yinn's ears jerked wildly underneath his hood, neck twisting abruptly to
face the source of the sound. Behind him was the sea hawk, perched on a
branch, early on arrival. {n"You're early," Tarkan said, slipping on a
leather gauntlet and extending his arm. The hawk fluttered over to him and
perched on his wrist. With his free hand, Tarkan took the scroll attached
to the hawk's leg and unfurled it, reading the letter...
Tarkan,
I hope this message finds you with no trouble. I want to thank you again
for your warm demeanor and your readiness to help with my errand. My
parents were very strict about that day's yield, and singing helps with my
anxiety sometimes.
Yes, that's the first time I've ever seen a Yinn! I've heard stories from
the merchants and travellers, but that was the first time I've ever seen one
in person! You are so big! You must have a large appetite too, no? Is it
true that Yinn will eat an entire cow in one day?
Maybe it is better to ask you more questions about you when you return. I
would be more than happy to host your homestay with us. I will let my
family know. My father is actually a pellar for our community, so he will
likely consider you to be a good omen.
Please come back soon! I look forward to learning more about you and about
Arkania!
Best Wishes,
Tomoko of Shokono
{nAs the SeaQuest rang the docking bell, Tarkan took out a single silver and
offered it to the hawk, which opened its beak and clamped on the coin before
darting off into the sky to whichever postmaster it answered to. The
gangplank lowered, and Tarkan didn't wait for the crew to offload cargo to
charge up the ramp.
Writer: Shilo
Date Fri Jun 22 16:24:52 2018
To All Althainia Abaddon ( IMM RP Taliena )
Subject The Bitter Pill (Vampire Chronicles)
Trapped in the prison of her own mind, the ariel fought desperately
against the fear and the pain and the doubt that encrouched upon her
from every side. She knew that others were near and were watching,
trying to aid her - knew, and could not respond. Her world dwindled
down to a single, solitary sensation - the agony of burning, the
terrifying destruction that threatened to consume her. There was no
one else - no one who cared, and nothing to live f--
As the blood ran down the young ariel's wrist, her wings curled in
protectively about her form. The throbbing sting of the knife helped
to clear her head - to give context to the false pain coursing along
the pathways of her brain. With clarity came the echo of Cieran's
words, only half-heard at the time:
"They only show you hollow images because they lack the power to
actually act. They live in a world of dreams."
The demon could not keep her; its power was limited. This was clear to
her now - the power of the demon to harm her was limited by her own
willingness to inflict pain upon herself. Storm blue eyes gazed down
at the ruin of her wrist - at the blood that still swelled and flowed
from her vein. A clattering of silverware nearby reminded her that she
was not alone - and when had she come to the cafe? Hastily, she caught
a napkin from the table, wrapping it about her wrist and staunching the
flow of blood. It was not a perfect means of defense - but for now at
least, it would have to do.
"Please...could I...could I have a cup of tea? Please?"
Writer: Tarkan
Date Fri Jun 22 20:17:59 2018
To All Shokono Arkane RP
Subject Letters on Wistful Wings III - Bigger Fish to Fry
{nPlodding down the gangplank, Tarkan removed his taglemust and took in
deeply the scents of Shokono. Mostly, it was the scent of fish, being that
he was at the dock, but being a Yinn, he could pick up the smell of fried
Takoyaki on street carts from even a mile away.
{nUp the stairs to the city, he climbed. He pulled back his hood in full,
letting it fall to the nape of his neck. As he did so, he was surrounded by
gasps and the scurrying of hastened footsteps. Whispers of "Oukamijin!
Oukamijin!" {nCame to his ears as he continued on his way towards the city.
A small child ran up to Tarkan, shouting, "Look, mommy! Big wolfie!" Only
to be followed by a less-than-pleased mother that abruptly picked up the
child and ran off towards the gawking crowds. {nTarkan didn't mind. He was
used to being gawked at. Yinn did not have the best of reputations back on
the mainlands, but who knows what the thoughts were of these isolated,
superstitious people.
{nTarkan followed his nose towards the city center where he stopped by a food
cart vendor. "Irrashiaim--" the vendor greeted Tarkan, cutting himself off
{nas he looked up from his stock. "--... Ma... Se..." The vendor froze,
seemingly in terror. Tarkan simply grinned and said, "Ikko no Takoyaki wo
onegaishimasu." The vendor stared at Tarkan, then started to scramble,
muttering, "H-hai...!" {nThe vendor's hands shook as he scrambled the batter,
stirring the octopus chum into the fried shortening.
{n"The cherry grove farm..." Tarkan inquired, "What's the fastest way to it?"
He asked the vendor. The vendor snapped to attention and stuttered, "T-to
the western road!" He said nervously. An awkward wait ensued where Tarkan
patiently stared at the food stock being prepared into neat fried balls of a
traditional octopus snack. {nAs it was served, Tarkan smiled a toothy grin to
the vendor, saying, "Itadakimasu!" The vendor only nervously smiled,
nodding repeatedly in quick succession. "T-that'll be a dozen silver,
p-please..." {nThe vendor said, flinchingly. Tarkan took out a gold piece
and slid it to the vendor, saying, "Buy more spices." The vendor accepted
the gold piece with a shaking hand, saying nervously, "Y-yes! Of course!"
{nAfter finishing off the fried snack, the Yinn stood up, patting his stomach
and saying, "Gochisousama." As he turned around, he noticed quite a
gathering of folk observing him just to eat. Saying nothing, he headed out
the western gate.
Writer: Tarkan
Date Sat Jun 23 05:17:47 2018
To All Shokono Arkane kingdom RP military army
Subject Letters on Wistful Wings III-2 - Interlude
Dear Tarkan,
Thank you for your choice of service to the...
{nAs Tarkan trekked the side of the road, his eyes went over the letter of
congratulations blankly. It was nice that the local magistrate wanted to
wish him well in choosing to join the Arkanian military, but the letter
smattered of protocol instead of any genuine well-wishing.
{nTarkan knew what he signed up for. He had a big job ahead of himself. The
General he would answer to wasn't even promoted, but rather contracted. If
Tarkan was going to whip Arkane into shape... He had big shoes to fill.
{nBut there was no uniform. No badge. No lapel. No chevrons. Nothing. It
almost seemed to be a hollow title as it was a lowly one. "I guess," Tarkan
said half-bemusedly, "I start my career in the reserves, first."
Writer: Tarkan
Date Sat Jun 23 13:29:47 2018
To All Shokono Arkane Kingdom RP
Subject Letters on Wistful Wings IV
As Tarkan climbed to the top of the hill, he came to a very modest hut of
logs and straw. It was very clear that Tomoko belonged to a family of poor
farmers. She mentioned, however, that her father was a pellar. Tarkan
asked himself why a pellar wouldn't exploit his talents to provide better
for his family, but the answer came as quickly as the question: to be closer
to nature. "Probably a devotee of Zandreya..." He muttered.
Tarkan knocked on the door. A man in his emerging elderly years answered
the door wearing peasant garb and a necklace of tooth and bone. "And the
Wolf comes. Hungry..." The pellar said cryptically while extending his
arms, "... But to feed it is to earn its loyalty! Come, come! I've been
expecting you!" The pellar placed an arm around what he could of the
oversized Yinn, managing to press a hand to Tarkan's lower back as he had to
crouch down to enter the hut.
Tarkan entered into the hut. It was spacious enough for him, which said
something given his own size, with an open-floor layout and a firepit in the
middle outfitted with a stone chimney. The pellar went back to his pot in
the fire and resumed stirring what smelled to be boiled millet. "I know why
you have come, dear Wolf," the pellar said, "the bones told me all. You
will find that which you seek. But beware, wolf..." The pellar stopped
stirring to look the Yinn squarely in the eyes, "... War comes. The
ultimate battlefield. And though you will be victorious in battle, you will
lose the war."
Tarkan took the words in quietly and meditated on them a bit, pondering the
hidden meaning behind them when his concentration was broken. "Father...!"
Chimed a voice that could rival a songbird. "Father, Kenji said he's
heading to he market to-" Tomoko stopped to cover her mouth and gasp.
"Tarkan!" She exclaimed, "You've arrived!"
Tarkan smiled to Tomoko and waved. The Shokonese farm girl quickly sat
orthogonal to the Yinn, and looked to her father. "Well, don't just stare
at the Yinn, father!" She said. The pellar smirked knowingly to Tarkan,
glanced to Tomoko, then turned back to serve millet from the ladle to the
bowls. "Tomorrow is blood. Tonight, however, is wine."
Writer: Tarkan
Date Sun Jun 24 11:02:04 2018
To All Shokono Arkane Kingdom RP
Subject Letters on Wistful Wings V
Tarkan woke up to the welcome sound of gentle humming. By the hearth, he
spotted the silhouette of Tomoko eclipsing the firelight as she was stirring
the morning rice. Tarkan's stirring creaked the floorboards underneath the
futon cloth, and Tomoko turned over her shoulder with a smile. "Good
Morning!" She said in a sweet chime, "Breakfast is almost ready."
A knock at the front threshold heralded the coming of another person.
Tomoko set down the ladle to answer. "Kenji! Good morning," she said as
the figure entered. The figure looked down at Tarkan and then dropped to a
stance, exclaiming, "O-oukamijin!!"
Tarkan sprung to his feet, hunching low and growling as he interpreted the
stance as a threat. Tomoko rushed in front of Tarkan and spread out her
arms. "No, Kenji! He's friendly! He's our guest!" She protested. Kenji
glared past Tomoko's shoulder down at Tarkan, and relaxed his stance, but
his fists were still clenched. "Why have you invited this Oukamijin into
your home? He'll turn and eat you at any moment! Their kind only live to
dominate others!"
Tarkan growled loudly, and barked out in a booming voice to Kenji, "You.
Know. NOTHING. Of my people, whelp." Tomoko abruptly turned around and
pouted. "You're not helping, Tarkan! Please! No fighting!" Tarkan
relaxed, and stood upright slowly. "So long as I am a guest in this
household, it doesn't matter if they serve me rice. I do not eat those dear
to me."
The pellar rushed in from outside. "What is the commotion? Kenji...
Please, do not rouse the Oukamijin! His presence here is a good omen!"
Kenji rolled his eyes, "Old man, EVERYTHING to you is a good omen. When
will you wake up and realize that the world is not as friendly?" The pellar
scowled at Kenji, "Only unfriendly people make an unfriendly world,
Kenji..." Kenji scoffed, then turned his attentions to Tomoko. "Tomoko...
The real reason I am here is to propose to you. I've been thinking about
you for a long time, and... I wish for you to be with me." Kenji said
abruptly.
Tomoko was beside herself. "I-I..." She stammered, clearly caught
off-guard by the sudden proposal. "Please, Kenji! This is so sudden! Give
me some time to think!" She said, rocking back and forth on her feet and
swooning. Tarkan extended a hand and caught Tomoko as she fell, his hand
nearly able to grasp her petite body completely. He leered at Kenji. The
pellar spoke up. "Kenji! First you come to my home and disrupt the harmony
of our guest's welcome, then you have the audacity to propose in the spirit
of adversity! Go! Leave now! Come back when you've meditated on what it
means to push prudently rather than unabashedly! Shoo!" The pellar made
shooing motions to Kenji, who scoffed at the old man and stormed out.
Turning to Tarkan, the pellar apologized, "I'm so sorry... Kenji is brash
and impulsive. I am afraid for Tomoko if she ever did say yes to that
man-child." He looked down to his daughter, and gently wrested her from the
support of Tarkan's hand. Laying her down on Tarkan's futon, he then went
to the hearth. "If it's not too much to ask, could you lend a hand in the
grove while I prepare breakfast?" He asked. Tarkan nodded. "I'll be sure
to reach the top branches. I'll be back shortly," the Yinn said before
heading off to the orchard.
Writer: Tarkan
Date Sun Jun 24 14:39:39 2018
To All Shokono Arkane Kingdom RP
Subject Letters on Wistful Wings VI - Tori to Hachi ni Tsuite
{uHours of that morning turned to a full day of stay. A day turned to a
week, and Tarkan helped Tomoko's family on their farm during his homestay.
Throughout his stay, Tarkan and Tomoko grew close. They would spend many
hours talking... Tarkan with stories of Arkania, and Tomoko about various
legends, lore, and culture of Shokono. Then, one evening, the duo ventured
into the orchard for the daily round of work. After the work was done, the
two rested under one of the trees...
"Tarkan?" Asked Tomoko, "Is it true that Yinn are considered to be..." She
trailed off on the statement. Tarkan tried finishing the sentence.
"Anathemas? Pariahs? Outcasts? Try All of the above," he said, chuckling.
"Our people are few. Most of us take up mercenary work, but we Yinn have a
bad habit of dying off due to pushing our luck and limits a bit too far."
Tomoko shook her head, "I mean, was it true what Kenji said? That most of
your kind live to dominate?" Tarkan sighed, "Once upon a time, this was
true. We are a proud race... We excel at nearly everything we do. This
intimidates a great deal many." Tomoko looked down in silence a moment,
then spoke up. "... I'm glad you're not like that. You've been kind and
reliable." Tarkan turned to Tomoko and smiled.
Tomoko scooted over to nestle up to Tarkan as the wind blew past them. "I'm
not sure how I feel about Kenji. He's... Well... Also reliable, but..."
She trailed off again, looking for words. Tarkan once again tried to finish
the sentence. "He only succeeds due to perseverence." Tomoko looked at
Tarkan, and blurted out. "I wish he never proposed to me. The only reason
I might say yes is because we grew up together. I know him, but... He's so
pig-headed! I don't want to be his wife!" Her tone was filled with
anxiety. Tarkan lifted his arm and placed it around Tomoko in comfort.
Tomoko nestled in closer to Tarkan, and whispered, "... Given the chance,
I'd rather marry someone more understanding and patient." She looked up to
Tarkan.
Tarkan nodded sagely, but then snapped to attention when he realized that
subtlety was part and parcel of Shokonese culture. He blinked a few times,
then turned to Tomoko. "Is there another reason you don't want to say yes
to him?" Tomoko didn't respond despite Tarkan's efforts to coax a more
direct discourse. She simply stayed nestled into Tarkan's torso, and
whispered, "... You're warm." She then looked up at Tarkan, and Tarkan
looked to Tomoko. They were left at staring for a while, albeit in very
close proximity to each other. Another gust blew, stronger than the last,
and it rocked Tomoko to lean in closer to Tarkan's muzzle. Neither Tarkan
nor Tomoko moved, but Tomoko did close her eyes slowly. Tarkan did the
same, and pressed his face close into Tomoko's with a gentle impact.
On a distant knoll, Kenji clenched his fist in rage as he witnessed the
kiss.
Writer: Arreana
Date Sun Jun 24 18:27:30 2018
To All Imm Religion Taliena
Subject A Desperate Prayer
A tear streaked its way down Arreana's cheek, only to hover on her jaw before
falling to the temple floor.
They had lost.
It had always been easier for Evil. They only needed to capture half of the
shards that Good needed. But there was always hope. Always. Arreana had
witnessed the tremendous things that had been done in the name of Goodness.
They had poured out their pockets of money, but Evil had more. They had battled
on Raije's battlefield, only to be betrayed.
Goodness had banded together on ships to repel Evil, but their hopes were sunk
on that day too.
But then something amazing happened, and the dawn began to shine. They fought
again, on the red moon, and they won. They played the most high stakes game of
poker ever, and won. They managed to procure a shard that Fort Ironclad won in
a tournament. The Knights of Gareth defeated a powerful and ancient foe.
Ever they walked on a tightrope, knowing in the back of their minds that Evil
only needed one more shard. One. If they managed to obtain it, All hope of
transporting Nadrik safely would be lost.
Arreana's wings spread out and arced, curled halfway around her as though they
were a protective shield. Tears were streaming down her cheeks now. She'd
dropped her gaze from Taliena's visage to stare at the floor.
She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. A painful memory flashed before her
eyes.
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Ashes smouldered around her. It was in her wings, her hair, her eyes. She could
taste it upon her lips and feel it in the folds of her ears. The whole world
seemed to be ash. Or, at least, her whole world was ash.
All around her were the remnants of Arreana's village. The trees were only
husks. All of the dwellings laid in ruin. If not ash, they were as close as
one could get without becoming ash.
Everything was gone. Arreana had watched her father die in front of her. She'd
escaped with her mother, only to get separated and stumble upon her corpse
hours later. Four days it took. Four days before she could return to the village
and see what Malachive had took.
His followers had taken everything. She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe.
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
A tremendous sadness gripped Arreana's heart. She'd built and found a new life
in the world outside. She had a new home, and had committed herself to the work
of the gods.
But then they lost Kadiya. And now... Nadrik was closer to death than life.
They could not save him. Not with the shards, at least. Surely the gods of
Goodness wouldn't let Evil take that final blow without a fight. They would need
everything their followers could give to them. It was the only hope. The only
chance.
Arreana felt her tears dry up. She lifted her gaze to meet Taliena's visage once
more. Her hands curled into fists.
They would fight. Even if they lost, they would still have something: each
other. She would stay in Taliena's temple, meditating, praying, preparing for
whatever battle took place. And she would offer a service. A service to prepare
others, not only for the fight, but for the likely need to mourn. If the fight
ended in tears, at least they would hold their heads high, knowing they gave
everything.
There was hope.
Writer: Tarkan
Date Sun Jun 24 19:03:00 2018
To All Shokono Arkane Kingdom RP
Subject Letters on Wistful Wings VII
The pellar, his wife, and Tomoko All waved to Tarkan as he boarded the
Golden Koi. On the gangplank, Tarkan turned around, tightening the fit of
his cloak and taglemust. He waved in kind. The pellar called out, "Be well
on your path, and let adversity make you stronger!" Tomoko raised an
eyebrow briefly to her father, but then again, being the pellar's daughter
lent credence to the idea that she'd have been used to her father's cryptic
mystical ramblings now and again.
Tomoko rushed up to Tarkan, embracing her arms about the immense Yinn's
waist, nestling her face into his stomach and said, "Please come back to me!
Next time you come back, I want you to take me with you to Arkania!" Tarkan
chuckled, saying, "I promise. Next time I see you, I am taking you to
Arkania with me." The pellar heard those words, and a look of hollow morose
came over him. Tarkan took note. "Something the matter, pellar?" He
asked. The pellar paused a moment, and said, "N-no... The bones have
foretold your return and that you will indeed keep your promise to take
Tomoko to Arkania. It's just..." He forced a smile, "... Don't worry
about it. And if she chooses to stay, then you have my blessing to be her
host as we have hosted you."
Tarkan was taken completely by the Pellar's kindness. He bowed to the
Pellar, "I will make sure that when we are done, I will bring her back to
Shokono." The Pellar looked a bit anxious. "A-ah... That will not be
necessary, you see-" Tarkan quirked an eyebrow, "Hm? What do you mean? You
don't wish for your daughter back?" The pellar shook his head vehemently,
"That's not it! I mean to say..." He nervously looked for words, "... If
Tomoko wishes to stay, she has our blessing. That is all." He forced
another smile. Tarkan tilted his head. He sensed something amiss, but he
couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.
Looking down at the petite woman that embraced him, Tarkan knelt down to
return the embrace warmly in kind, nuzzling into Tomoko's neck and cooing in
a low, gentle growl. Tomoko giggled, then released the embrace to return to
her family. Tarkan stood up, saying, "I will return soon." The pellar
nodded with a knowing smile, "Oh... I know. Don't worry about that."
Tarkan chuckled All the same at the pellar's eccentric demeanor, and
continued up the gangplank.
The docking bell chimed, and the gangplank was raised. As Tarkan turned to
give a final look at Shokono before heading down below deck, he noticed that
where Tomoko's family once stood, Kenji was glaring across the water with a
manic grin and equally daft eyes.
Writer: Fintin
Date Sun Jun 24 19:09:29 2018
To All Imm Religion Cliath
Subject First Sparks
"I suppose this'll do," Fintin mumbled to himself as he hefted a large,
flat rock on to a waist-high pine stump.
Directly next to the stump, the fire he'd lit earlier seemed to be doing
well, now reduced to a bed of glowing coals. Lighting the fire had been a
task unto itself, since the tiny kender undertook it with a self-promise to
not use magic in this project. He'd spent the whole morning search the
rocky Althanian shore for a piece of flint, and a fair bit of the afternoon
striking it against his steel dagger, trying to light a small bundle of
tinder.
But now, with the sun well into its descent, All the pieces seemed to be
falling into place. Gingerly, he placed the end of a long piece of steel
into the coals and began fanning the coals with a bundle of leaves, causing
the coals to glow hotter, the intense heat radiating onto his face.
He wiped a stinging drop of sweat from his eye.
Minutes later, his arm growing tired from fanning the coals, he pulled the
steel from the coals, its tip now glowing bright yellow. He placed the end
of the steel onto the flat rock, unholstered a hammer the size of his arm,
and with great effort brought the hammer down onto the glowing steel.
Reverberations vibrated through his arm and a shower of sparks erupted,
causing the kender to recoil reflexively, yet still, the sight, the smell,
the feel of the whole thing filled his mind with awe.
Looking down to inspect the results of the hammer blow, it was clear that
not much had happened to the steel.
And so he continued, blow after blow, until his arm felt dead, lifeless, and
overwhelmingly sore. Again, he inspected his work.
This time, however, the steel's transformation was clear as day. It was
slightly flatter than before.
"Ah ha!" Fintin bellowed, raising a triumphant fist into the air.
He plunged the steel into a bucket, the water within it flashing to a thick
plume of steam. He took some time to admire his work, and as stars began to
appear in the twilight sky, he spoke to the steel as if to a treasured
friend,
"Tomorrow, we continue."
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