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Writer: Flike
Date Fri Feb 14 03:50:44 2014
To All Arkane Imm Cayenna Atlantos Scorn Dekaios
Subject 350 Eggs
The Shrine of Cliath emitted a naturally eerie yet comforting red glow
upon the curious faces who gathered. The meaning for this meeting being
called for the Knights of the White Tiger had not been disclosed, but its
importance was made very clear. Familiar faces littered areas of the shrine
whereupon fresh blood into the order tended to flock around like wet sand
clinging to an anchor. Flike quietly waited at the obvious front of the
shrine with a smile, silently taking head counts over and over again until
he was satisfied. Flike raised his voice and broke the murmuring that
polluted the acoustic setting.
`Thank you for coming, everyone. As you know, this meeting holds a lot of
weight for our future, and potentially the future of our allies, as well as
the future of the people of Algoron. We are about to discuss a topic that
will decide if we will embark on a quest in which has been deemed
impossible. We are about to potentially break ground into Algoron history.
We are about to-` A throat was cleared loudly, and a booming, angry voice
followed. Denrian spoke, in a rare instance, and passion was evident in
every rushed word that ensued.
`Excuse me everyone, but there is something that has been keeping me up at
night. We need to talk about an issue. An issue that resides within our
own formation. `
The unscheduled monologue created a pause in everybody within the shrine,
Flike included. Eyes turned to one another and the murmur started once
more. Denrian looked around the shrine, almost feeding on the confusion
that broke out amongst the gathered.
`It has come to my attention that we are now allowing Dark Elves into our
ranks. This is going to taint our image, and cause nothing but trouble. {`
Denrian`s eyes seemed to look everywhere amongst those gathered except for
the young Dark Elf in the crowd, Niata Therkest. Niata shied her face away
from the inevitable glances that started in her direction from those
surrounding her. She took a few clumsy, upset steps away from the front of
the crowed through the small mass of bodies, nudging other Tigers away in
embarrassment, fleeing the room in shame. Denrian`s eyes watched her figure
flee the entire time, showing no emotion from the display on his own facial
features. He wanted until she had found the back of the shrine to continue.
`This is unacceptable and we really need to take into consideration how this
will affect our-`
A debonair, white haired wild-elf raised his hand with a coy smirk playing
on his lips, fully realizing intrusion as he spoke. `This is fine and all,
but please tell me, do we really have to listen to -this- guy? I mean, we
did come to hear what Flike has to say, did we not? `
Denrian`s eyes narrowed. Denrian fixated his gaze on Rhodian and gave him
all but a fuming snarl in his silent glare. Rhodian stared back at Denrian
with a confident smirk, obviously enjoying the challenge. Denrian grunted
and threw his hand to his breast, clenching the `KWT` badge that rested
proudly on his armor. In one fluid motion he ripped the badge from the
linen it was pinned to, and cast it to the ground in front of everyone. He
spit on the ground, following up his excretion with a growl `Damn you all.
I will find somewhere that actually has order to it. This is a goddamned
joke. Pray that I never see any one of you ever again. `
Everyone quietly watched Denrian storm out of the shrine, Flike just as
shocked as anyone else. Silence filled the room for the first time since
bodies started filling the sanctuary to hold a meeting which held
implications that were not still completely clear amidst All of the
dramatics. Nobody said a word.
`Well, that certainly was a bit much, wouldn't you say? ` Rhodian broke the
silence with a cavalier grin playing on his lips. Flike lowered his head a
little, trying to take in everything that just happened.
Writer: Jonathen
Date Fri Feb 14 07:32:40 2014
To Abaddon All rp
Subject Ole Man Darksong
Ole Man Darksong, what a terrible ring to it. Good thing Valdin's the
eldest and old as dirt. Still, there were a few things Jonah was unable to
resist about this new reality, not the lest of which was sitting out on the
balcony and playing darts with the 'guys'.
There was no man cave, so the balcony had to be sequestored, annexed into
the whims of a man with ten children whose upbringing was anything but
strict. Perks of being a skald though, any baby crying at night got a full
dose of song sleep. Little buggars.
Ainin tossed a dart and struct the center with a practiced aim that was by
now second nature. It wasn't really about the darts so much as it was about
spending time with friends. Always kept outside were two chairs that were
never sat in. One was for Halidais, and the other for Sereb. Friend that
were gone but never forgotten.
Frederick broke the man silence first," How is it again All ten survived to
maturity?"
Before he could answered Valdin chimmed in," You kidding? There were
fourteen," he said in a tone not entirely sarcastic.
Jonah smiled as Ainin put in his two silver," These are Darksongs, they will
-never- mature"
All Jonah could do was take a cigar from his humidor and light it. How he
raised ten children was more trail and error. Most of the boys and some of
the girls were smoking by the time they were fifteen. Nope, not going to
win any parenting awards.
Despite what one might think about growing up in Abaddon in a Fatale heavy
enviorment, the children were left to choose their level of devotion. There
was love too, the binds of family were as any would expect, strong and
loyal.
Jonah stood up as he saw one of his sons outside the front gate of the
house, making eyes at a Vai'Kel girl. From over the considerable distance
his voice rang out clear and loud.
"No! No! Bad Darksong! Those are off limits. Go find a pretty Aingar
woman!" For emphasis he chucked one of the darts in his son's direction.
"Don't even go there, I will throw you off your own balcony," warned Ainin.
Jonah smiled as innocently as he could manage to his old friend and without
promising anything, simply whistled as he walked towards the stairs," Better
go check on the little lady..."
"Jonah... JONAH! Get back here!" Shouted Ainin, following behind him
while Valdin and Frederick got a good laugh of it.
Writer: Amyth'lynn
Date Fri Feb 14 08:48:15 2014
Writer: Cassian
Date Fri Feb 14 11:52:08 2014
Writer: Ixi'kweez
Date Fri Feb 14 13:54:28 2014
To All Althainia Arkane Shalonesti Shalonesti_kingdom Knighthood Justice Nordmaar imm rp Scorn Nazca Maraisal Austinian Zandreya
Subject Raising The Tower "Happy Little Trees" (Part 1)
"Explain to Ooof again, Oly," the ogre in the grey-pinstriped suit said
confusedly. "What we doin here exactly?"
Olybrius, Vice President of Distribution and Logistics, smiled patiently in
return. He understood that Ooof did not know the first thing about
horticulture. However, the ogre had expressed a wish to contribute to the
effort of finishing the tower and its grounds, and the elf could not deny,
Ooof's help would most definitely come in handy this day.
"We are blessed with an early spring. Today, my friend, we are going to
take those saplings over there, and replant them in the holes that we will
be digging." Oly gestured behind him, towards a pallet atop which perhaps
two dozen cutleaf maples, cypresses, and weeping cherries sat, each perhaps
eight to ten feet in height.
Ooof looked at the pallet skeptically. To the ogre in the grey-pinstriped
suit, All trees were simply trees. Some were simply bigger than others. He
returned his gaze to the wild elf.
"But Oly, trees just grow, right?"
Olybrius chuckled softly and explained further. "Well, if a seed were
planted, it would take quite some time before it would grow to the size of
those saplings over there. Also, the smaller the sapling, ther greater
chance of it being damaged. We don't have to worry about that so much after
a certain size. Plus, the tower will be finished this summer. It would be
nice if the landscape looked somewhat finished as well."
The ogre grunted in understanding. Smaller things break easier. Ooof was
in complete agreeance. "So. You get them trees from der forest?"
"No, these trees wouldn't do well in the forest. You see, these trees need
a lot of sun. In the forest, the taller trees would block most of that sun
out. Most of these saplings come from Ixi's property in Althainia. They
will thrive and be happy here."
A perplexed look appeared on Ooof's face at that last comment. "Happy...
Trees?"
"Why, sure!" Olybrius replied, "A tree is a living thing. Living things
are happy, when their needs are met. Granted, a tree cannot actually -tell-
us what it needs. But, they do have ways of communicating that while
subtle, are quite noticable with a little experience. I'd be happy to show
you."
Ooof pondered Oly's words for a moment. "Okies. Let's make some happy
little trees."
Writer: Diuxa
Date Sat Feb 15 18:16:44 2014
To Valthorgyn Crothus | Ightuirr'a Thrazgash Orc | Malachive Chaos RP All
Subject Reclaiming the Past: The Blood of Orcs
Her thumb passed over the runes etched into the side of the spear. A
spiraling design, voodoo in nature and bound by her own blood. The owl
feather dangled down beside the raven - wisdom and death, dark and light.
There were two sides to everything and three choices to make at any given
time.
Her pale eyes angled to study the design, locked in a realm of shifting
spirits and a history so mired in the mists of the past that it had All but
been destroyed.
Her long fingers tightened around the haft, an old fury rising to the
surface.
'Speak to me. Tell me of the great ones, the old ones.' A young, eager
voice. So innocent still, but she had been as well. Some of the children
had been allowed a short but sheltered time in the presence of elders and
parents and siblings as they grew in slavery.
Better they had not been, perhaps.
'The blood of the shaman, our Seers who lead beside the great chieftains,
runs in our blood.' The past whispered. 'It was told to me that it is in
the white hair, the markings, sometimes the eyes. They spoke with the
spirits of our honored, our warriors, our ancestors. They lead our people
with wisdom and portent, which tempered their fury when there was a need.'
Sweat had formed on her brow as she indulged the memories and a drop rolled
down her temple. Her hair, plaited and beaded, hung heavy around her face
in the humidity and she gazed down along the rocks before her. A
twenty-foot fall down a shoot of water into a turquoise pool below waited.
She didn't step forth though. She could feel the weight of the crozius
against her shoulder, its power writhing, causing the scars on her back to
respond in kind. The pain was cleansing.
'The blood of the warrior, often our chieftains and champions, were
supposedly defined by eyes that burned red with the lust for blood.
Powerful and frightening. They were war-minded, always seeking challenge.
Not always wise; they feared nothing but shame and shackles. It is
whispered that Cogu the Great descended from these battle-bred and contained
their very spirit.'
It went without saying that these two instances - shame and shackles - were
set upon the orcs nonetheless and they were forced to find different avenues
to rise above slavery. His eyes had widened though at the mention of Cogu
but she continued on.
'The blood of the sage, minded toward shadows and intellect, at times
defined by nothing more than their silence. Keen and no less possessed of
fury and power, simply more reserved in their doling out of it. One did not
challenge these orcs unless they grew eyes in the back of their skull. It
was said that Taye the Hunter could put arrows in your heart before you ever
knew he was there.'
'Can you grow eyes in the back of your skull?' Innocence, youth, humor. A
laughing smile. 'Verily! And extra arms as well, little brother.'
She closed her eyes and called to the latent power within, feeding it her
willingness, her soul and saw again the image that spoke so strongly to her.
The gathered shaman, the orc woman with impossibly long white hair, an owl
sitting her shoulder. They never spoke, but they never needed to. The
words were in their eyes; haunted, demanding and full of fury.
We must not fade. Remember us and carry us forth. Our return must shake
the world.
And so it would. The grim curving of her mouth promised terrible things and
her pale eyes - that had seen spirits - opened. She could sense her
brother. Her kin. Her mate. Her people.
Two. Only two in a world now full of orckind had any inkling of the
greatness that could again belong to the orcs. She shook her head slowly, a
short exhale escaping and the hollow beads and bones in her braids clacked.
She was patient. One learned patience as a slave and endured the pain,
embraced the agony, or one succumbed to weakness and died.
She stood upon the rock and turned away from the cooling promise of the
water, carrying with her the whispers - the demands - of the dead.
Writer: Kolfrosta
Date Tue Feb 18 04:08:25 2014
To All nordmaar ( imm rp )
Subject Preparing for an Attack
There was a sense of urgency in the streets of Nordmaar, and yet all
maintained the calm and purposeful sturdiness that its people were known
for. The threat of attack loomed over their heads like a dark cloud, so
that even common raptors high in the sky bore a second glance from more than
one. The city had already seen in its recent days the damage that could be
brought on by a single dragon. With former repairs only just finished, many
spirits seemed low, worry prevailed, and yet its citizens moved with a firm
resolve. There were few who were not ready to lay their lives down for
their home. For now, they prepared.
Kolfrosta Arnason moved amongst them, a small group of citizens at her
disposal. She had not expected to be assigned to heading the task when she
had suggested to the Minister that the palace cellars would make a good
location to protect children and the infirm. It had taken most of the day
to clear the vast cellars of its casks, most of its shelves and bottles.
The cellar walls were below ground and reinforced with stone. To be on the
cautious side, Kolfrosta had had men bring down wooden beams to brace
against various load-bearing points in the ceiling with the hope of giving
it extra reinforcement. The cellar was cool and dry, and covered with
enough earth that Kolfrosta didn't believe that a fire from outside could
damage it. She had it swept of its ages of dust and mopped, and brought
fresh thrushing to lay down upon the stone, mixed with medicinal herbs that
would aid with breathing.
He men and women worked together with a dedicated efficiency. Cots were
brought down into the cellars and lined along the walls. Stores of blankets
were stacked upon them, and crates of dry rations were stacked in one
corner. In another corner were more crates, these painted with the symbol
of a red cross. Inside were linen bandages, bottles of medicinal whiskey,
needkes and thread, and a wide variety of healing herbs.
Finally, she hung a crude symbol of Austinian upon the wall, and said a
blessing and a small prayer for the lives of her people.
Preparations were coming along. Kolfrosta gathered others to spread the
word that children and the infirm were to immediately come to this location
in the event of an attack. She asked each household to send one member to
report to her that this was understood. As they arrived one at a time, she
began a list of the names of any citizen who was a child or infirm, so that
all could be accounted for in the event that chaos befell them. She wished
no one left behind. She would be a dutiful shepherd.
As the day wore on, her thoughts turned to Gideon. She wondered where he
was, how he was doing. She hoped he was safe. Any other day, she would
have taken some time to mourn his absence. But this was not the day. There
was still more to be done.
Writer: Teroh
Date Tue Feb 18 04:43:16 2014
Writer: Gideon
Date Tue Feb 18 05:44:32 2014
To All Nordmaar
Subject A Cold Night
The cold gray granite of the mountain seemed to hunger for any warmth
left in Gideon. Everywhere he touched it he could feel the warmth seeping
from his body straight through his cold leather boots. What heat he was
able to hold in was quickly stolen by the frozen kiss of a hard northern
wind. He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the steady wall of snow
that the wind carried off the mountains.
The air stung his lungs with every breath. Making it hard to breath. The
scent of pine filled the air. He was a northerner, a Highlander, his people
were known for their sturdiness and resitance to the cold temperatures of
the frozen north, but here, so close to the water, none of that mattered.
He had followed the southern coast till it turned into the western coast and
now made his way inland hoping to find some shelter for the night. Normally
he would be back in the Rose by this time. Laughing and gambling with
friends or, ideally, sharing the bed with his wife Kolfrosta.
The thought of her brought him some comfort but it wasn't enough to take his
mind off the chilling cold that was quickly seeping into his bones. If he
didn't find shelter soon, not only would he be a failure, but he might never
see Kolfrosta again. The thought spured him to carry on till he saw a break
in the rocks ahead that seemed to be a cave of some sort. It wasn't much
but it would keep back the wind and that was enough for now.
He sat on the cold stone floor, shivering as he attempted to gather the
materials from his pack that he had gathered earlier so he could start a
fire. His finger's weren't cooperating with how numb they were but
eventually a flame caught life in the tinder and he soaked in it's meager
warmth.
His mind went to dark places as he sat in the cave with nothing to do but
travel the roads his mind chose to lead him on as he waited for sleep.
Right now Kolfrosta would be safe at home in Nordmaar. Probably helping
prepare for the coming attack with the others. He wanted nothing more than
to be with her but he had his orders... And it was only another few days...
As he sat their with his back against the cold stone wall, slowly gathering
what heat he could, he did what skalds do. He sang...
O frozen mountain. Give meh shelter from the storm. Keep back yer chillin
touch en let meh find some warmth. Ah kno tha yue are hungrae. Seekin mah
warmth, mah blood, mah soul. Wantin nothin more than tae see meh swallowed
whole. Buh Ah've got ah secret weapon tha Ah'll hold fer All mah life. The
thought o her gives meh strength. The thought o mah lovelae wife...
Writer: Megan
Date Tue Feb 18 14:54:33 2014
To All Nordmaar Devlin Cassian Jaidyn ( imm RP )
Subject Dragon's Ire - Preparing
The events of the evening before had lit a fire in the hearts of every
man, woman, and child within the highlands. The city of Nordmaar was on
high alert. The threats of the wyrm left but a few days before the promised
assault. Those who had only just begun feeling safe after the rampage of
the silver now again braved the streets in caution, none trusting the word
of the chromatic on the timing of his assault. Yet there was work to be
done and despite the sense of dread, the people set to it heartily.
Dawn came slowly, dispelling the cover of night's darkness with rays
painfully bright to the eyes of the men and women who toiled below and
warily watched the skies above, as if more time had passed than the single
night spent preparing. Unlike the calm that greeted most days, the city was
a chaos of noise and life. Soldiers rushed about their duties, gathering
weapons and armor, stocking bunkers and applying wet coverings to roof tops
most vulnerable to fire. Healers worked to make pastes that would be used
to treat burns from acid and flame.
Despite the hour, the people worked together as they always did. None
complained, though weariness could already be seen in the weathered faces
below. Threats were not a new part of life for those who made home on the
coldest continent of Algoron. The Nordmaarians were a strong, proud people
dedicated to one another and their homes. Kinship.
The city was blanketed now. A layer of damp material had been settled over
the Valhalla and the Black Rose. Similar hides covered the stables and the
thatched tops of houses within the village.
From her place in the crow's nest of the Drochnathair, the last ship to be
tended, Megan studied the ship below as sailors hurried to cover the final
patches of bared wood on the deck with thick hides soaked through with ocean
water. It wasn't much, but the moisture rich material would provide some
protection to the ship itself. They would be continuously doused to keep
them sodden. It was still going to be one hell of a mess to clean when the
time came.
Her eyes turned to scan the other ships lining the harbor before lifting to
the sky as she pondered the words of the black written upon the Minister's
missive in her pocket. The threat was foremost in her mind ".. Your people
will now be hunted to extinction by the ancients.. "
"Not bloodae likely. " Megan snorted, the sound of her voice heard by none
but the wind.
The sky was clear of All but clouds that promised snow. All eyes watched
the horizon, waiting.
Writer: Gimbur
Date Tue Feb 18 18:26:53 2014
Writer: Amerissa
Date Tue Feb 18 19:58:45 2014
Writer: Phadynos
Date Tue Feb 18 21:59:47 2014
Writer: Irdoya
Date Wed Feb 19 05:56:57 2014
Writer: Gideon
Date Wed Feb 19 17:05:46 2014
To Nordmaar All Kolfrosta
Subject A Longing Heart
Gideon stood at a distance and out of site. The Gate's of Nordmaar, his
home, stood within view. Tall and foreboding yet offering a sense of
comfort that brought a longing to Gideon's heart. He knew that somewhere on
the other side of those walls his wife was working. Practicing her sewing
or else helping the people prepare for the on coming attack. So close and
yet so far away.
He was due to return home the day the Dragon was supposed to attack. Until
then he was to have no contact with anyone in the city. His wife included.
He could speak with the General, Advisor, and the Minister but the one voice
he longed to hear was kept silent by orders.
A single thought plagued his mind, like a pox he could not rid himself of.
Scratching at him constantly. He could find things to take his mind of it
for a time but it always returned. Like the vengeful ghost of someone he
had wronged in their life.
What if he returned to Nordmaar only to find the dragon attacking and
Kolfrosta was dead? When did he last get to tell her how much he loved her?
It had been over a week since he had been allowed comfort from her because
of Hell Week. The first week of his officer training had been brutal but
now it almost seemed cruel...
He had no idea this mission would come and prolong his Hell week and that on
the first day out of the city that blasted Black beast would suddenly choose
NOW to attack... If he lost Kolfrosta only one thing was certain.
He would kill the Black or die trying.
Writer: Sinsari
Date Sat Feb 22 02:03:15 2014
To All Verminasia Immortal Marcaus Ashtiel Vincent
Subject Identity
"Please, don't go..."
A tiny version of Sinsari stood before her. She was she had been when she
was merely five or six years of age, full of innocence and the vitality of
life that children so often had. Her younger self clutched a stuffed, plush
teddy bear, something that Sinsari had never owned in her life until
recently.
Sinsari understood so much more of herself now. She had been broken,
shattered by years of abuse from her uncle while growing up. She'd become a
woman of pure ego. Her ego had driven her from Abaddon, gotten her captured
and enslaved in Verminasia, and, ultimately, was shattered by a will much
stronger than her own.
Vincent was a man of sheer dominance. He willed the world to shape itself
around him the way he wanted it to be. Even if things did not go according
to plan, he managed to adapt without the appearance of lowering himself to
do so.
By contrast, Sinsari had failed at adapting. She had not changed, she could
not bend, so she had broken.
Only by the magic of Lovedaia, Advisor to the king and a mentalist by trade,
has Sinsari's mind been restored. But now that it had been restored, she
was in a strange place. She alone stood an empty entity amidst a swirling
cacaphony of her former self. She saw the child in her, one of the largest
pieces remaining. She'd closed it off, never really grown up, and so it
remained there, growing, never satisfied, it had been eager to jump into the
forefront of her mind when she'd broken.
There was the emotionally distant, "haughty" self of her ego, pure steel:
cold and detached, rude and unbending. It had been shattered, but remained
there, sulking in a corner.
Then there was her faith, a version of her covered in blood that stood some
distance away from the rest. Sinsari shivered as she looked upon the visage
of her faith. There was a crazed, maniacal smile on the woman. It felt as
if there was something intensely wrong with her, and yet, that 'her' was a
part of Sinsari.
She was composed of so many disparate pieces, so many parts that didn't seem
to fit together. The end result was a woman that Countess Ashtiel Kayen had
described as "broken", only a breath away from "pathetic". Even distanced
from that moment as she was, Sinsari felt a pang of intense loathing for
herself because of it. Ashtiel Kayen was a woman to admire, to look up to,
but she wouldn't even spare a glance or thought for Sinsari, so low had the
Ariel fallen.
She remembered felling Phonivia, fighting for the Hordes of the Dungeon.
But now what was she? What remained of that woman who had been a murderess?
She was an empty shell, bereft of identity or purpose, a drifting soul.
Was she the child? The witch? The crazy woman?
Of the three of them, the child was the only one who seemed to reach out to
her. However, she was a woman, not a child, she could no more embrace her
neglected past than she could accept any of the other broken shards of the
woman she had once been.
She was lost.
Writer: Ixi'kweez
Date Sat Feb 22 16:45:12 2014
To All Althainia Arkane Shalonesti Shalonesti_kingdom Knighthood Justice Nordmaar imm rp Scorn Nazca Maraisal Austinian Zandreya
Subject Raising The Tower "Happy Little Trees" (Part Two: Interlude)
Thimtax breathed in the cool, morning air deeply, as he crested the top
of the brand new stairwell, onto what was soon to become the 65th floor of
the Ixi-Mart Tower. At this point, the 65th floor was little more than the
roof of the 64th floor, with the exception of the first course of huge,
quartz blocks already laid into place, creating a wall two feet high around
the perimeter.
Work on the 65th floor began early this cool, overcast morning. However,
Thimtax was consulting with contractors and going over interior
specifications for the first part of it. The mundane work done, Thimtax
happily returned to the top of the tower. With a little luck, he and his
crew could have the floor finished in just one more day.
The hard-hat wearing gnome let his satchel drop to the ground beneath him.
He casually pulled out a small paper bag from the satchel, and from that, he
produced a sandwich worthy of a king. He peeled away the paper wrapping,
and took a bite as he watched the crane, as it pulled the next block up the
nearly 700 foot height of the tower. However, once the huge, interlocking
quartz block finally broke the plane of the 65th floor, a frown grew upon
Thimtax's face. He swiftly made his way to the crew leader, who was
standing just in front of the block.
"Whoa whoa whoa!" Thimtax shouted agitatedly. "We've got the wrong block,
Crillow!"
"Whatdya mean, we've got the wrong block!?" Crillow fired back.
Thimtax placed his sandwich down on the first course of blocks and pointed.
"Look! Right there. On the top-right corner!"
Crillow strained to read the lot number written with red chalk. Smirking,
he turned back to Thimtax.
"What? It looks right to me."
Thimtax rubbed his temples and began again. "The lot number clearly says
66/213b. It's supposed to be 65/213b."
Krillow shrugged. "Looks like a 5 to me."
"It looks like a fi---" the hard-hat wearing gnome sputtered in frustration.
"Well, it's not a five. Alright, let's put this block back down again.
It'll be a good hour before we have the right one--"
-S N A P- !!!
The tether on the crane snapped clean, and the block dropped from view. It
was gone. Returning to the earth, from whence it came.
"The block!!!" Thimtax wailed. He instinctively lunged forward to the
wall where the block once hovered, hands outreached, as if he could save the
situation. In doing so, the hard-hat wearing gnome knocked his sandwich off
the wall, joining the unfortunate block in flight.
"MY LUNCH!!!"
Writer: Rikam
Date Mon Feb 24 11:14:42 2014
Writer: Rikam
Date Mon Feb 24 11:17:24 2014
Writer: Shaw'a
Date Mon Feb 24 15:07:06 2014
Writer: Valanthiriel
Date Mon Feb 24 19:44:26 2014
Writer: Valanthiriel
Date Mon Feb 24 19:44:32 2014
Writer: Valanthiriel
Date Mon Feb 24 19:44:38 2014
Writer: Nierwyld
Date Tue Feb 25 07:53:02 2014
To Justice All Imm Storyline RP
Subject The Story of Captain Nierwyld J. Foxrun : I
Nierwyld concentrated hard, his eyes tightly closed as he imagined the
little bolt forming from his fingers and shooting out into the air towards
the test dummy . He concentrated harder and could feel the magic forming,
could feel it taking shape. With a delighted yelp he opened his eyes and
waggled his fingers towards the dummy like he was told... And blasted a
small hole under his instructors feet.
The laughter of the entire class range out through the trees as Nierwyld's
face darkened. His fists balled up tighter as the jeers and taunts
continued, the instructor going as far as to turn his back on the whole
class. Tears falling down his cheeks, Nierwyld flit out of the classroom
and out into the jungle.
As fast as he could go, he tried to out run the jeering, but it seemed even
the parrots and monkies had picked it up. With an angry yell he pulled the
little pouch from his belt and whirled around, flinging it into the jungle.
The dust exploded into a giant ball of fire, each spark that hit exploding
as well. His eyes got big as he watched the splosions dwindled down. He
had never had that one happen before. It wasn't long however that his
thoughts turned from his random dust explosion, and turned back onto his
magical ineptitude. Sitting on a branch high up in the tree he lost himself
in his thoughts of grandeur as a magician.
So into his own thoughts was he that he didn't notice the party of orcs
below him, looking for the cause of the explosion. Nor did he see the
ruffle of feathers from the lone ariel that slowly broke from his
camoflauge.
Writer: Gimbur
Date Tue Feb 25 19:44:21 2014
To All Wargar
Subject Gimbur's First Rage
Gimbur lay on his back, in a shallow fountain of whiskey, his head
resting on the fountain wall, and the large, bulbous mound of his belly
rising up out of the sweet liquid. A marble statue of a nude dwarvish lass
stood in the middle of the fountain. The statue held a broken keg high
above her head, the whiskey pouring out of the keg and splashing down on the
fat dwarf's belly, running back down into the fountain.
Gimbur drank greedily from the fountain and sighed in contentment. The six
dwarven servant girls giggled drunkenly and Gimbur grinned up at them. The
fattest, hairiest dwarf lass that Gimbur had ever seen grinned through her
flowing beard, and sauntered over to him. In one hand she held a mug of
Thaxanosian Ale, and the other held a three pound turkey leg, butter-roasted
to perfection. She waved the drumstick in front of his face, and the savory
aroma prompted him to drool into his beard. Gimbur reached for the
drumstick, and his hand passed through it, as if it were no more substantial
than a mirage. He frowned, growled, and tried again. The image of the
drumstick dissipated. The sound of trickling whiskey and giggling servant
girls faded and was replaced with shouts and fighting. Gimbur was airborn,
briefly, as he fell from the pew he was sleeping on, and landed on the hard
stone below.
He hit the floor hard on his left side, his fat midsection cushioning the
blow to his middle, and causing his head to snap to the left, hitting the
stone high on his left cheek. His tongue was mashed between his teeth as
his jaw clamped shut. He bellowed in shock and pain as he tried to make
sense of his surroundings.
A flash of black was All that Gimbur saw as a hooded figure sprinted out of
the pantheon into the tunnels of Wargar. The being was chased by three
angry dwarves, led by a bleeding Fardoc.
"Tha hell? " he muttered, slurring his words around his wounded tongue. He
tried again, yelling loudly, wincing at the pain. "WOT THA HELL BAE GOIN
ON?!? "
"Somethin got inta our hall an' tried ta kill Fardoc! " came a reply.
A wrinkle appeared in Gimbur's forehead. An interloper... In our hall?
He thought, beginning to get angry. His face turning red, he jumped up,
ignoring the wave of dizziness that hit him when he stood, then ran north
towards the tavern, hoping he could head of the tresspasser.
His instinct was correct. He came barreling through the doorway as the
creature ran from the circular hallway, at the other end of the bar. The
cloaked figure was too busy watching behind him as he fled from the trio
that chased him. It stumbled across a a barstool, and angrily grabbed at it
and began to fling it out of the way. One leg of the barstool knocked a
nearly-full pitcher of Thaxanosian ale on the floor.
"Yer gonna pay fer that! " Gimbur shouted at the creature, who whirled
around and glared at the dwarf. Standing there, face to face, Gimbur was as
close to the creature as any other dwarf of Wargar had been. Although their
faces were inches apart, he could make nothing of the features, other than
the hood of the cloak. Its eyes were devoid of any color at All and seemed
to grow and shrink with each breath. The nose seemed to be in motion as it
bled into the rest of its face. And the stench. It was like being locked
inside a sealed cave full of the rotting corpses of a hundred disemboweled
goblins.
The creature began to hiss.
-=-(TO BE CONTINUED)-=-
Writer: Gimbur
Date Tue Feb 25 19:53:47 2014
To All Wargar
Subject Gimbur's First Rage (part two)
The creature began to hiss.
Gimbur thought of a kettle he had seen at a gnomish laboratory. It had been
copper, and roughly the size of a house, resting atop a huge bonfire. The
kettle had copper pipes tracing its perimeter, and many valves and gauges.
Gimbur had seen one of these pipes break, and steam issued from it with such
velocity that the dwarf was forced to his knees, hands covering his ears due
to the hissing sound. The angry hiss of the cloaked figure was not quite
that loud, but it was a near thing.
Gimbur grabbed the thing by its left armpit and issued an open-palmed
uppercut to its throat. The creature uttered a half-choked phrase in a
language Gimbur didn't understand and the dwarf was blasted with hot acid.
A proper fight ensued, and within half a minute, an the barroom looked like
the aftermath of an explosion. Fardoc was hit by flying debris and growled
at the hooded figure. Gimbur glanced over at the Thane, and the creature
took advantage of his distraction, sweeping Gimbur's legs out from under him
with a monosyllabic word in some grotesque, reedy tongue.
Gimbur saw stars as the back of his head bounced off the solid granite bar,
and he fell to the floor, on his back. His face transformed from an angry
frown to the snarl of a bear whose cub has been threatened. His arm shot
out and closed around a bony leg. Time seemed to slow down.
The situation didn't allow for introspection, but if it had, he would have
said it was like a curtain being lowered over his vision. The bar, the
terrified barmaid, the lamps, the floor, the walls, All ceased to exist.
The curtain of rage obscured the unimportant details from his mind.
Everything that mattered now stood out in exquisite detail. Gimbur saw- but
did not hear- the creature that had attacked his Thane. He saw the hate and
the growing fear in the eyes of the interloper. He saw Fardoc, his lips
pulled back in a sneer, and his dagger drawn over his head. He saw dozens
of potential weapons around him. Chairs, pewter beer steins, splintered
table legs, and inexplicably, the bronze arm of a broken statue that Gimbur
did not recognise. All this he took in within the fraction of a second
after he landed on the stone floor.
Gimbur bellowed something even he didn't understand and yanked downward on
the bony leg, bouncing the creature off the floor. He jumped up and tried
to land on the interloper's chest, but the creature rolled out of the way,
still gasping for breath. Gimbur landed on his knees and the thing smacked
him across the back with the same short staff he attacked Fardoc with. The
dwarf growled and twisted around, grabbing the staff with both hands. He
used it to pull the creature toward him as he lowered his head and bashed
the interloper in the face with his forehead. The creature fell backward in
a daze. Before it could blink, Gimbur grabbed a nearby stein and brought it
down with All his force on the interloper's head, caving its skull and
spilling blood and brains out onto the floor. Gimbur jumped to his feet and
bellowed unintelligibly before charging out of the tavern in search of
another target.
THE END
Writer: Gurfing
Date Tue Feb 25 23:01:07 2014
To All Pirates ( Imm Rp )
Subject A New Captain Emerges: Part I
Green knuckles, nearly white from strain, grasped the railing of the
ship being thrashed by the storm. The hobgoblin could hear the constant
complaints of his mates as they passed, All of them cursing their Captain
for forcing them into the storm now raging All around them. The hobgoblin
had advised the Captain against sailing out, as All the signs that a storm
was breweing had been there, but his words went unheeded.
'We're All going to end up in a watery grave! What was he thinking bringing
us out here? ' one sailor said to another.
'Well, maybe Kwainin will watch over us, and bring us safely home, but I'm
starting to have my doubts. ' the other replied.
The hobgoblin knew the two sailors had made a mistake when he heard the
distinctive 'clunk' of wood on wood. He didn't have to look to know the
Captain had overheard and was making his way towards the two upset
deckhands.
'So, ye two scallywags think ye know how to navigate better than me, do ya?
' called the Captain, only his outline visible in the dim lighting.
'Uh... N-n-no sir! Y-you must have m-miss heard w-what I w-was saying! '
stammered the first man.
The Captain laughed, replying'Well, I don't think I did! So, let's see if
the two of ya can navigate yer way back to land... Without the use of my
ship! '
The Captain grabbed the nearest of the men by the throat, preparing to
launch him into the rolling sea, when something happened that the hobgoblin
never expected.
'Ye can be lettin' the man go. I'll not see 'im punished for sayin' what we
all be thinkin'. '
The Captain froze in his tracks, his gaze slowly falling onto the one who
had just spoken, rage building behind his eyes. It took the hobgoblin a
moment to realize that it was he who had spoken up, and was already turning
to face the gargantuan man before him.
'I've never had a problem with ye before, goblin. Ye be my best hand, and
I'd hate to lose ye, but ye speak out of turn like that again, and ye'll
join these two on the bottom of the ocean! ' bellowed the Captain.
The hobgoblin felt himself moving, but didn't really remember telling his
body to do so. He strode into the path of the Captain, who had resumed his
stride toward the railing, the sailor still in his grasp. He planted
himself firmly in front of the Captain and slowly drew his cutlass from it's
sheath.
'I tell ye what, Captain. Ye can be lettin' him go, and ye can also be
lettin' go of yer ship. Ye don't deserve to call yourself Captain, and I'll
be lucky if even I can bring these lads home. '
'Boy, ye best rethink what yer doin'! This is my ship, and no one is going
to tell me what I will or will not do! '
The hobgoblin leaped onto the railing, turning to face All those now
assembled on the deck. A bolt of lightning flashed behind him, casting an
eerie lighting to his features. With one hand he grasped the mainstay and
with the other he rasied his cutlass to the Gods, All the while staring down
the Captain.
With a snarl, the hobgoblin raised his gaze to the seamen on deck and
yelled, 'I, Gurfing Malevol, Scourge of the Seven Seas, call for a mutiny
against this so-called Captain! '
Writer: Ixi'kweez
Date Wed Feb 26 09:20:20 2014
To All Althainia Arkane Shalonesti Shalonesti_kingdom Knighthood Justice Nordmaar imm rp Scorn Nazca Maraisal Austinian Zandreya
Subject Raising The Tower "Happy Little Trees" (Part Three: Conclusion)
"Alrighty. The hole is the perfect depth. Nice job." Olybrius said,
as he gently placed the sapling magnolia's root ball into the newly dug
hole. "Now. I'll hold her straight, while you fill the hole back in.
Then, we'll pound a couple stakes into the ground around the hole, and
secure the tree with wire. In a couple months or so, we can come back and
remove the supports."
Ooof grunted quietly as he began to backfill the hole, taking great care not
to disturb the young magnolia in the process. He frowned a bit as he looked
the sapling up and down.
"Der tree looks droopy. Ooof do somethin wrong?"
The wild-elf turned to Ooof, as he began to hammer in the first support
stake. "No, not at all, my friend. You see, digging a sapling out of the
ground and replanting it somewhere else, is a stressful event for the plant.
When this happens, you'll see that the leaves will droop, just like you
said. But, we're doing just fine. Let's finish up stringing her up to the
supports, and then we'll water the hole heartily. This will help the
sapling recover quickly."
Ooof grunted once again, grabbing a large metal bucket full of rainwater.
When Olybrius gave him a nod, Ooof slowly spilled the bucket's contents
evenly over the newly disturbed soil. The two boards members stepped back
several yards, and surveyed their work.
"Okay. That's that. Now, if you come back in a day or so, you'll see that
our magnolia here will have perked up quite a bit. This is an ideal spot
for it. She likes a lot of sun, but not total sun. We've planted her
pretty close to the tower, on the southern side. That way, the tower won't
block the sun much of the year. Now, in about six to eight weeks, our
magnolia here, and others like it, will produce beautiful large white and
purple flowers. Once those fall, perhaps two weeks later, our tree will
begin to fill out and grow."
A pleasant, and for the most part, toothless smile grew on the ogre in the
grey-pinstriped suit's face. He felt like he did some good today, and he
was finding the idea of making happy little trees very palatable. Perhaps,
he had found himself a new hobby.
"You know, Oly." The ogre mused out loud, "This nice. Ooof like this.
Ixi-Mart happy. Tree happy. Ooof happy. This gud day."
--BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! --
An immense wall of mud and dirt washed over the board members, knocking them
both off their feet. The two struggled to extricate themselves from the
muddy mess. The ogre in the grey-pinstriped, and now mud-covered suit,
quickly sprang to his feet and wiped the mud from his face, facing the
tower.
"AWWW!!!!! AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!"
The sapling was gone. The supports were gone. Even the hole was gone. In
its place, a much larger hole. Just below ground level, the gleaming
surface of an enormous, interlocking quartz block shone brightly. He wailed
in anguish, looking up to the sky.
-S-P-L-A-T-
If Ooof wasn't upset before, the sandwich falling from the sky, hitting him
full in the face, was more than enough to put him over the edge.
"AAAAAARRRGGHHHHH!!! Mez can't take der stress of plantin!!! Poor little
tree.... Ooof take personal day!! Mebbe get grief counselin!" With that,
the mud-covered ogre in the grey-pinstriped suit stormed out of the
courtyard and into Mart-Town, where he would most assuredly scare some of
the residents.
The wild-elf, only now finding his way to his feet, watched Ooof hastily
leave, and looked at the hole, sighing.
"Well. I might as well get started on the next one..."
Writer: Corszana
Date Wed Feb 26 14:29:42 2014
To All immortal scorn
Subject Alas, All good things must end
It had been a well-lived life.
She d never been as well-known as some Firstborne. But she had never been
like them to begin with. Kaikias had been his own, with talents and
knowledge she simply did not have.
Corszana, Kerrisacza, she had played the role of support from the very
beginning. Supporting Roisheen and Branzol and All of Kaikias' children.
She supported Gwendalen, even providing the woman a final resting place in
her own home. She had supported other Firstborne, younger ones, giving them
a home and what advice she could. She had done All that she could to make
Algoron a better place than the world she found herself born into.
Her son had become an Emperor. And though they'd not had their last
conversation on positive terms, she'd always been proud of how much he'd
given to the Empire. He was married to a wonderful woman, and she trusted
they would continue the family and extend the Snowdragon name.
Her husband was Executor of the Wrath. For All that he had been through, he
had always overcome. Even now, as the darkness of the void crept close
around her, her love for him filled her with unsurpassing warmth.
"Branzol... " She whispered to the world that closed in around her. He
would do well, he always had.
Kailyri, Nyaira, Syora, Rhaelor. Wakeful or not, she had given Algoron
individuals capable of far more impact than she ever could have had. She
was proud of and loved All of them dearly, including the newest, the one
whom she was too tired now to name. He would find his place in this world,
without her, but she trusted he would do well.
Her life was not without errors or failures. Nadrik was still trapped on
the Black Moon, she could barely forgive herself for not doing more.
However, in the end, she trusted the other races to do what they would.
There were great ones maong them, individuals who would rise to the
occasion.
All good things had to end. Her end had come.
Writer: Kailyri
Date Wed Feb 26 14:47:58 2014
To All Branzol Kahlyn Catalyn Rhaelor Nyaira Syora ( Immortal Taliena Nadrik Kantilles )
Subject The Passing of Kerrisacza, Orchid of Nadrik
The Great Silver looked weary as Kailyri climbed into the roost, molten
silver eyes holding a dimmer light than normal. Immediately, the young
woman, born of Branzol and Kerrisacza, sensed something was not right. Her
mother had never looked so weary, or as if each motion was a struggle. Even
so, her beauty and her kind heart was reflected in ever subtle shift.
The two spoke for some time and soon Kailyri began to cry. At times the
tears came slowly, or in full force, blinding her to the Silver creature in
front of her, imparting gentle and comforting touches. She listened to the
last wishes as she took into her arms All that was being left to impart
amongst the family members, and gave her vows to carry out these final acts
and desires. All the while, she choked on hot tears and felt as if the
world was pressing in on her chest and shoulders.
When the last was said, and stored carefully away, the daughter followed her
mother down into the depths of the lair. While one moved with the care and
pains of age, the other followed with the grace and elegance of youth, but
both held themselves with the regality of their blood, their station, their
birthrights. All too soon, they reached the depths of the lair, the warm
air of the magical greenhouse enveloping them. With care, Kerrisacza's
human form, taken with much effort, settled beneath the tallest tree within
the garden, resting against it.
Kerrisacza's labor pains were strong and powerful, the practice of bringing
forth life to many children serving her well. Though it took much of what
little reserves she had, the Lady gave one final, great cry and Kailyri
recieved her younger brother into a warm, gentle swaddling cloth. Her hands
performed the motions of removing the cord and bringing forth the first
cries with care. She was shocked to note that despite her tumultuous
emotions her hands were steady.
"Let me see him, " her mother begged.
Kailyri helped her mother to hold her newborn younger brother, her tears
returning as her mother spoke her final words.
"I love you all. "
With that, the gentle, beautiful woman closed her eyes and exhaled her final
breath. The small boy, yet to be given a name, which would fall to his
father, began to wail loudly as if sensing the passing of such a resplendant
spirit.
Picking up her younger brother, Kailyri tidied her mother's form and backed
away, watching with tear-filled eyes as the body of the one whom had given
so much faded slowly away into the Ether.
Writer: Vitriosablet
Date Wed Feb 26 20:08:43 2014
To All Nordmaar Gideon Dragon Imm
Subject The Highland Village
Vitriosablet flew through the darkness of the night's sky roaring with
anger. The Humans of Icewall had offended him by sending their Royal
Princes to Greystoke to learn the ways of the dragonslayer.
"These lands are mine. Could the Humans be so foolish to believe I would
accept this act against me? Others have humiliated themselves through
association with the dragonslayers, but not me. I will not be humiliated.
Greystoke will not be permitted to have influence upon my island."
Vitriosablet watched the Humans from afar as they prepared the walls of
their Capital to defend against his retribution.
"The time will come when the walls of Nordmaar will be brought to the
ground."
Vitriosablet flew northwest of the Nordmaarian Capital as the sun started to
rise. He was hungry for food and it was too convenient that he was coming
up on a small highland, farming village.
As the sun broke through the skies shining light upon the village,
Vitriosablet swooped down upon the waking highlanders. He tore through the
first home with claws and left the neighbouring home in ruin with a single
thrash of his tail, before landing on the main road.
Shrieks of terror could be heard throughout the village. Some tried to run,
while others stood motionless. All felt the waves of dragon fear. With
roaring rage, Vitriosablet tore down each house, slaying each Human in sight
and feasting on the highlander corpses.
In just moments, the village seemed lifeless. Vitriosablet loomed over the
highland village roaring loudly towards the mountains and then saw a single
Human girl. She was lying on the main road, holding tightly a stuffed bear,
whimpering.
"A sole survivor. I will be most generous today. I will gift you today
with life. You will pass my message to Nordmaar that the MacCallums will be
wiped from the history books for their act against Dragonkind."
It was then that Vitriosablet's keen sight caught slight movement half way
up one the surrounding mountains. A Human figure stood with view of the
spectacle.
"A Pity. It seems my message will reach Nordmaar without you. You are no
longer of use."
Vitriosablet hovered his massive claw over the small girl. Then, with an
evil grin, stamped the girl into the ground.
Writer: Tahereh
Date Thu Feb 27 17:03:10 2014
To Nordmaar All Dragon Imm Vitriosablet
Subject The Highland Village (storyline)
Patrolling had become natural for those of Nordmaar, especially while on
high alert. She had promised to not ever go alone, so she called forth one
of her elements and took to the path of her normal patrol. Through Dalriada
Village and then up along the path to the farming village to the north. As
the path opened up, Tahereh stood there as stiff as a statue in horror of
what she had stumbled upon.
It appeared as if some tornado had ripped through, but worse, the claw marks
left about and impressions of what was an obvious tail of something brought
the reality of what it was she saw. The village was in total ruin, death
filled the air. Half eaten bodies crushed ones and those that had been
simply killed by the massive tail sending them flying into different
objects.
Moving with care through the carnage hoping to find some form of life, the
young priestess did her best to keep up the faade that she was not afraid.
Was the beast nearby, was it gone? She had no idea but there was work to be
done and she could not do it alone. Bending down she picked up a crushed
teddy bear that lay within the huge footprint of a beast, what else laid
near it was no longer identifiable. Pulling the small toy close she could
assess one thing. It was not Yinn.
Quickly Tahereh set her elemental into guarding the rubble and she took off
on a full sprint back home, out of breath she pushed the gates opened and
searched for the Minister, the General, the Queen or someone she could
report to what she had found. This was news she did not wish to break to
her leadership, but there in that rubble, were families of Nordmaar.
Writer: Kahlyn
Date Thu Feb 27 23:24:12 2014
Writer: Devlin
Date Fri Feb 28 05:06:43 2014
To Nordmaar All Dragon Vitriosablet ( RP IMM )
Subject The Highland Village (storyline)
Devlin clutched a letter in his hand, the sound of crushed paper echoing
throughout the study inside Greystoke. The words on the paper struck home,
"The Threat of the Black came true."
Silence....
After what seemed like an eternity, Devlin came back to his senses. No
longer playing the brutal attack over and over again in his mind. At first
his resolve was weak, as though he was broken by the news he received, but
as silence echoed on he was able to gather his will once more. His eyes
darted across the texts on the table, stories and testaments of the
victories of the past, combined with tactics and strategies for hunting the
Firstborne. A heavy guilt wore on his features, as his thoughts drifted
towards those who have lost their lives to the dragons. Those nine lost in
the attack by the Silver Orchid of Nadrik, Kerrisacza... The village lost
to what is assumed to be the black, Vitriosablet.
The decision to enter the manor weighed heavily on Devlin, as he was sure
was the same with Cassian. At first he had joined the manor with his
brother, because he realized after the first attack that Nordmaar was unable
to defend themselves properly against another such attack. Time marched on,
and more reasons sprung up on precisely why this sort of training was
necessary.. The actions of the black further proving the need for such a
defense. He understood the reasoning behind the black's motives... Fear.
Writer: Thaydius
Date Fri Feb 28 07:52:39 2014
To Nordmaar Dragon All ( Imm Religion Siccara )
Subject The Highland Village ( Aftermath )
It had started.
Thaydius looked on at the ruins and came down to the cold ground with his
frigid feet, sighing a long gust of frosty air. He had tried to warn the
people of Nordmaar of what would come if they provoked the firstborn by
associating with the Manor. The stories of what the Silver had done lacked
the detail that Silvers were averse to violence and the outburst was
comparitively a sneeze. Metallics, by their very nature, would not bring
harm and ruin upon people. Now, they would see firstborn that could and
would bring destruction.
That anything stood at All in the wreckage told him something that it
probably didn't tell the humans that would survey it before and after his
arrival. This was fun to a Chromatic. If it had been business, the earth
would've been reduced to nothing. The water would be ruined. The food
would be poisoned. He couldn't convince mortals that dragons were
extensions of the moons themselves. Their pride and their sensibilities
transformed dragons into opponents that could be overcome. The Slayers had
fed those lies to Algoron at large. And now, the innocent would pay for
that illusion.
He had seen firsthand the ineffective philosophy and execution of the
Slayers. It was an organization built on lies. The Chromatics were
servants of the Black Moon. If they turned their ire on the people of
Nordmaar, then the Black Moon itself would point at these people. Their
suffering would entertain his Great Uncle. The spectacle of their death and
destruction could go on for generations. Two slayers couldn't stop that.
The whole sum of the Slayers couldn't stop that. Even he was unable to
stand against the firstborn. And if he did, on the sheer justification that
it was the right thing to do, he might draw the Black Moon's attention. If
that happened, the only thing that would bring him through such an ordeal
would be the personal protection of his family.
Maybe he had been meditating on his Aunt too much in recent times, but he
looked on at the carnage and slumped down onto his knees. This excess of
death and suffering became very real and personal. His enormous shield and
lance met the dirt before he brought his glowing hands to his face. And he
wept.
Writer: Syrlarrialth
Date Fri Feb 28 07:58:09 2014
Writer: Syrlarrialth
Date Fri Feb 28 08:31:11 2014
Writer: Megan
Date Fri Feb 28 19:22:55 2014
Writer: Kyan
Date Fri Feb 28 20:29:31 2014
Writer: Kyan
Date Fri Feb 28 20:33:03 2014
Writer: Vylanthria
Date Sat Mar 1 09:21:19 2014
Writer: Jonathen
Date Sat Mar 1 15:19:31 2014
Writer: Gurfing
Date Mon Mar 3 17:48:23 2014
To All Pirates ( Imm RP )
Subject A New Captain Emerges: Part II
Gurfing leaped from the railing, bringing his cutlass down in an overhead
slash towards the Captain's neck. The Captain was prepared, however, and
easily parried the blow while delivering a devastating punch to the side of
Gurfing's head, causing him to roll several feet away. Gurfing wiped blood
from his lip as he rose from the deck, and again charged the Captain.
Dodging to the right, he spit into the eyes of the Captain and slashed at
his kneecaps. The Captain, being accustomed to dirty fighting, drew his
whip and lashed about wildly, forcing Gurfing to retreat.
'Ye'll have to do better than that, Goblin! ' cried the Captain, still
flailing his whip.
A shock ran through Gurfing as the tip of the whip sliced through the flesh
on his cheek, leaving a bright crimson line in it's wake. Knowing he had to
disable the Captain in order to win this fight, Gurfing again sought to
hamstring him. He again maneuvered to the side of the Captain, but before
he could even prepare to strike, a deafening roar filled his ears. A large
club struck him in the head, sending him sprawling back onto the deck,
dazed.
'I tried to yell ye, lad. Now ye have to die. ' said the Captain, wiping
the spittle from his eyes and slowly approaching the disabled hobgoblin.
Gurfing knew his time had come to an end, and was gathering his thoughts as
he sent his prayers to Raije, asking forgiveness for his failures. The
Captain slowly stalked to Gurfing, a smirk on his face, and raised his club
over his head. Just then, Gurfing's fingers alit upon something hard and
metal. It took him but a second to realize what it was and more out of
instinct than anything, he raised the pistol and fired.
Had he taken the time to aim, the fight would have ended then, but the shot
struck the Captain's kneecap, causing his legs to buckle under his immense
weight. Gurfing slowly got to his feet, swaying slightly. After taking a
few seconds to clear his head, he stepped over to the Captain. He studied
the man now screaming in agony, and motioned for several of the others to
come over.
'Stand him up, lads. ' he said as several gathered around him.
They did as commanded, and struggled to lift the Captain to his feet.
Gurfing stepped up to him, a triumphant look on his face, and gave him one
last looking-over.
'Ye should have listened to me, lad. Then ye wouldn't be dead. '
Gurfing quickly pulled out his flint and deftly ignited several grenades
hanging from the Captain's belt. Gurfing quickly took several paces
backwards, and the sailors holding the Captain screamed, releasing him and
running away. Just as the Captain began to fall back to the deck, Gurfing
ran at him, leaping into the air and kicking him in the chest with both
feet. The Captain flew backwards, hit the railing, and tumbled into the
sea. Several long seconds later, four loud concussions rent the air and a
spray of salt-water flew into the air.
Gurfing stood there for several seconds, then strutted up to the wheel. He
stood there, running his hands over the worn wood, then looked up at the
men.
We be goin' home, lads. Home to our families, or home to our Gods, but
either way, we're gettin' out of these accursed waters! '
Several cheers went up as the sailors ran to their posts. Gurfing looked to
his right, and his eyes alit on something that made him smile. He stepped
away from the wheel and over to a small table a few feet away. He stopped
in front of it, and slowly picked up the Captain's hat. He examined it for
several long moments, smiling the whole while, and finally set it upon his
head.
And thus, Algoron's most dangerous Captain was born.
Writer: Hyacint
Date Mon Mar 3 23:12:01 2014
Writer: Dialook
Date Fri Mar 7 23:39:31 2014
Writer: Grotar
Date Sat Mar 8 10:39:06 2014
Writer: Vitriosablet
Date Sat Mar 8 11:13:23 2014
Writer: Syrlarrialth
Date Sat Mar 8 19:31:27 2014
Writer: Syrlarrialth
Date Sat Mar 8 19:38:59 2014
Writer: Gimbur
Date Sat Mar 8 20:59:14 2014
To All Dwarves of Wargar ( Fardoc Migruth Kyri Imm Rp )
Subject Drunken Dwarven Brawling (PART ONE)
"Ah'll fight ye. "
Gimbur looked up, picking the face out from the small crowd. He'd been
looking for duels for weeks, and found a few. He grinned at Farjak, who had
just volunteered to be next.
"Aye! Tha rest o' ye gits ken bugger off then! "
Most of them wandered off from the bar, scooting their tables deeper into
the room. A handful of greybeards leaned up against the bar to watch.
Gimbur filled his hand-crafted, two pint, pewter ale stein up with whiskey
and swallowed it in one gulp. It was his second.
"Yer makin et easier on mae, lad. Ef ye kinnae stand, ye kinnae fight. "
Gimbur set the stein on the bar and grabbed a pint mug full of winter ale,
chasing the whiskey with it. He grinned through a foamy wet beard and
belched in Farjak's face. The belch was moist, and Farjak reacted angrily
with an uppercut, knocking Gimbur back against the bar. Gimbur had never
been so happy. He reached forward with his left hand, and yanked downward
on Farjak's beard, bringing the mug up and into the armsman's left ear.
"YAAAAAAAAAAAARRRR!!! " Gimbur yelled unintelligibly, shoving Farjak back
away from him momentarily. "LETS GET ET STARTED!! "
Farjak stumbled just a bit but caught himself and lunged forward with his
whip, preparing to wrap it around Gimbur's neck, but the other dwarf slid
deftly sideways and grabbed the whip with both hands, swinging Farjack into
the bar. Gimbur shoved Farjak's face into the bar, knocking a large bowl of
peanut shells onto the clean stone floor. He backed up and grabbed a
pitcher of beer from a nearby table, and drank half of it, spilling the
rest.
Farjak turned around, getting angry. This was not the was this fight was
supposed to go. He reached for his axe and bellowed loudly to disorient the
battlerager-in-training. Gimbur stumbled toward him and kicked the mound of
crushed peanut shells into Farjak's eyes, blinding him.
The drunken dwarf grinned madly and belched again. Farjak whirled around,
homing in on the sound and rushed toward Gimbur, gripping his weapon
tightly. Gimbur sidestepped and swung a chair at the armsman's legs,
knocking him to the floor. The drunken dwarf jumped on Farjak, forcing the
wind out of him. Gimbur tried to gain his feet, but failed, stumbling to
the ground in his drunkenness. He immediately jerked upward, not wanting to
let Farjak get the best of him, but he cracked his skull on the underside of
a solid wood table.
Darkness warshed over the dwarf. Darker than a black steer's tookus on a
moonless prarie night. There was no bottom.
>--+--<TO BE CONTINUED>--+--<
Writer: Gimbur
Date Sat Mar 8 21:41:03 2014
To All Dwarves of Wargar ( Fardoc Migruth Kyri Imm Rp )
Subject Drunken Dwarven Brawling (PART TWO)
The meaty fist crunched against the young dwarf's face with the heavy
sound of a nine hundred pound bull carcass hitting the ground. A twenty
five year old Gimbur, a mere child of a dwarf landed flat on his back in the
grass below the mountains of Thaxanos.
"Ye ever look at her like that again, Gimpy, and ah'll break yer damn fool
neck! "
The older dwarf stood over a young Gimbur, his stonewood cudgel slung over
his shoulder.
"D'ya unnerstand, ye stupid git? "
Gimbur looked up at the battlerager. He had a thick, shaggy mane of wild
red hair. His beard reached to his waist and boasted twin braids held
together at the ends with ornate clips of agate and turquoise. Each of the
clips displayed a symbol of house KegBreaker. Gimbur reached up in a daze
and latched onto the braids, pulling back with All his weight and rolling to
his left. He ended up on top of the hill dwarf, his dagger to the lad's
throat. This was not one of his smarter decisions. The battlerager ignored
the blade against his flesh and headbutted the young mountain dwarf,
knocking him deep into an unconcious stupor and rolling him down the hill
where he came to rest against a tree.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gimbur's eyes snapped open and he shook his head violently to dispel the
hundred year old memory. Farjak had busied himself kicking the drunken
dwarf in the ribs, but Gimbur was too drunk to feel it. He simply grabbed
for Farjak's legs, but grabbed a table leg by mistake. The table came down
between him and Farjak, and Gimbur lept over it, knocking the armsman into
the lap of a weasely looking one-eyed mul. Farjak's reflexes were
untethered by alcohol, though, and he jumped back up with an axe in each
hand, screaming as he ran toward Gimbur, who blinded him again with barroom
debris and stepped aside, allowing the other dwarf to run into another
table. Gimbur turned and found another pitcher of ale, drinking less than
half of it as his beard soaked up the rest. He tossed the pitcher at
Farjak's head and missed by ten feet or so.
Gimbur stumbled after Farjak and lowered his shoulder as the armsman was
turning around. Gimbur's shoulder made contact with Farjak's chest at the
same time as Gimbur's unprotected head bashed against the armsman's arcanium
helmet. Gimbur grinned as he reflected momentarily on the training his
mentor had put him through on top of the mountain, bashing his head on the
old, bone-smoothed rock. Farjak took advantage of Gimbur's slowed reflexes
and rolled out of the way, stowing his axes and pulling a staff from behind
him, and brought it down with All his force on Gimbur's head. The warrior
fell to the ground, unconcious again.
>--+--<TO BE CONTINUED>--+--<
Writer: Gimbur
Date Sat Mar 8 21:59:42 2014
To All Dwarves of Wargar ( Fardoc Migruth Kyri Imm Rp )
Subject Drunken Dwarven Brawling (PART THREE)
Gimbur snapped back to conciousness as his forehead impacted the tree.
The battlerager was stalking down the hill toward him, unconcerned as Gimbur
struggled to his feet. "Ye jus' bae jealous, lad, cause she were winkin at
MAE. " The battlerager stopped, pulled out his decanter and drank deeply of
it. Gimbur readied his axe, but the rager ignored the threat and went into
his killing rage. The beardless Gimbur gaped as he witnessed the killing
rage for the first time in his young life. He turned to run, but the
battlerager caught him first. The red-headed dwarf grabbed Gimbur's legs
and swung him around, tossing him through the air. The beardless dwarf
landed on his back but the rager was over him with his cudgel in his hands
before Gimbur could even begin to stand up. "AH GIVE UP! SHE'S YERS! "
The rager laughed and dropped his weapon, sitting down next to the young
dwarf. "Yer smarter'n ye look, lad. Here, drink up. " He offered Gimbur
his decanter, which was filled with ale. Gimbur drank deeply and lay back
in the grass in relief, closing his eyes.
The mountain dwarf opened his eyes and saw a bleeding Farjak looking down at
him. "Ye submit, lad? " Gimbur belched and bellowed. His words were
unintelligible, but his intent was obvious. He staggered to his feet and
wavered momentarily, unable to gain his balance. He grasped his axe and
immediately stood straight and solidly. He glared at Farjak over the table
and reached for another pitcher of beer, swallowing more than half of the
contents before tossing the rest in the face of the armsman. Farjak
bellowed loudly and lept over the table, axe in hand, and Gimbur headbutted
the lad in the chest, knocking him across the room and semiconcious, into
someone's lap. Farjak looked up into the bright blue eyes of a beautiful
gorgeous lass and announced his defeat a split second before Gimbur passed
out on the floor.
>--+--<THE END>--+--<
Writer: Savari
Date Sun Mar 9 15:31:12 2014
To Abaddon All Immortal Roleplay Orlen
Subject (Beginnings) Approval
"No. Do it again."
Sweat poured down Savari's brow, across the fiery brand of red hair there
which offset her cold gray eyes. It was as if her face danced between two
worlds--the untamed energy of passionate flame and the calculating cold.
Strands of her hair fell across her face, a simple breath sent them
scattering away once more.
Savari brought her arm down once more in the crisp clean cut of a slicing
motion with her blade. To an unknowing observer it looked flawless, but
her father clucked his tongue and took a step up behind her. He placed
one hand on her opposite shoulder and the other on her elbow, using his
strong hands to guide the motions of her arm. The resemblance between
their facial features was unmistakable, she was clearly his daughter, and
the closeness they shared seemed natural and comfortable.
They had a good relationship.
Even still, the quiet, chilling voice of her father could still unnerve
Savari and when she heard, "Again," She sprang into action. This time she
felt a bit of resistance push back against her arm, followed by, "You are
wasting so much energy in this one slash. You'll tire long before your
opponent does." He let go and a sense of disappointment flooded through
the young teenager.
She looked up at the man she knew as her father--literally looked up, for
he stood nearly a foot taller than her, a fact not lost in the playful
games of a father's teasing of his daughter. Even now, his mouth twitched
in that lop-sided grin of his. Its effect was immediate. She felt herself
flood with the emotions of relief, and a similar, lop-sided smile formed on
her own lips. She was too driven by emotion.
Her father taught her that emotion was useful, but to be driven by it would
lead only to madness. One had to master their emotions, be they man or
woman. It might have been more difficult for her than if she were his son,
a boy, but she knew in her heart that he loved her no less for it. She
struggled to be every bit the warrior that he was, and if she struggled
harder, it only made him more proud.
"Again." Orlen tilted his chin back, stepping around her and watching as
Savari lifted her arm and delivered another clean slice, mindful of her
previous instruction.
A simple nod was All that he gave in indication that she'd succeeded, but
it was enough for the teenager to feel the flooding warmth of approval, for
her lop-sided smile to grow just a bit wider. She bounced on her feet a
little. Her father must have noticed, for he gave her one of those amused
looks of his, but said only, "Jump a little bit higher and you might be
tall enough to ride a horse."
Writer: Savari
Date Sun Mar 9 15:34:43 2014
To Abaddon All Immortal Roleplay Zayani
Subject (Beginnings) Propriety
"Oh, Sava, dear. No no no."
Savari closed her eyes and took in a breath to stave off the disappointment
that rose in her chest at the sound of her mother's words. Zayani's voice
was caring and gentle, but that did little to temper the shame that seemed
to tickle at Savari's neck in the slight burning sensation she felt from
embarrassment.
The smile on her features faded back into a light frown as she gazed at
the young woman in the mirror. Behind her, her petite mother fussed a
little with her hair and took a seat beside her. Savari was the smallest
one in the family, something she'd clearly inherited from her mother. Yet,
in spite of the teasing she sometimes received from her father over it,
she was proud of that simple shared connection.
Many who knew them said that Savari looked like her father. She had his
eyes and facial features. Even though her fiery red hair set her apart
from the rest of the family, there was enough of Orlen in her face that
her relationship with him was unmistakable.
However, she also looked like her mother. The girl staring back at her
from the mirror had the same pale, milky complexion and slender, petite
build. There was a certain light in her eyes too, a light which ran at the
forefront beyond the cunning. Vibrant, vivid, it reminded her of her own
mother's eyes, those bright blue eyes of hers.
"When you smile, use All of you mouth. Like this." Zayani gave Savari a
perfect example of such a smile to mimic. It was the sort of smile that
even those with the most practice at reading others would have a difficult
time separating from a genuine smile. The smile was pleasant, courteous
and welcoming--all of that without even the slightest hint of deference.
One looked at Zayani and knew that she held her chin high. Even if she
was not a queen, she certainly bore herself like one: her smile was the
culmination of that diplomatic, regal air.
By contrast, the smile that spread across Savari's rosy lips was lop-sided,
almost goofy looking. As much as she loved her father, she hated her smile.
She didn't hate it because it was causing her mother disappointment. In
fact, her own mother had grown up reinforcing her smile, telling her how
adorable it was, how much she looked like her father. Now, however, it
seemed, she was being told to at least pretend to break the habit. A
certain smile was expected of her, a smile far different than the one she
wore now.
Zayani could see the disappointment flit across Savari's youthful features,
her smile once more fading into a subtle frown. Her mother reached out with
one hand and placed it on Savari's shoulder. Just that one loving touch
was enough to relax Savari slightly. She glanced down for a moment, away
from the mirror, and then to her mother.
"I'm trying, mother. I am." She said, a note of pleading in her voice.
Zayani simply gave another one of her brilliant smiles, her look gentle and
motherly, "I know you are. You've not failed to secure that for which
you've reached either. This will be no different."
Heartened by her mother's words, Savari turned to the mirror and tried
again. A slight twist to her lips gave her smile a slightly lop-sided
look still, but it was less lop-sided than before. The difference would
only have been noticed by one looking for it, but Savari had been. Her
elation caused her smile to turn full lop-sided once more. She let out
laugh in response, one matched by her mother.
Savari leaned in, resting her cheek against Zayani's shoulder, eyes
twinkling as she looked at the two women in the mirror.
Writer: Savari
Date Sun Mar 9 15:37:55 2014
To Abaddon All Immortal Roleplay Aranin
Subject (Beginnings) Acceptance
"...if you know the thermoarcane properties of magical energy, then you
can use the words to form a sph-"
"So, a fireball." Savari interrupted her brother, Aranin, looking up from
the book she was reading.
The sister and brother were in Abaddon's death garden and she'd perched
herself stomach down on her blanket while reading a book. Her brother, on
the other hand, was gesticulating before her and casting minor spells in a
show that might have been impressive if she hadn't seen it a hundred times
before.
The easiest way to distract Aranin about anything was to get him talking
about magic. Of course, even in time spent with his sister, it seemed
nearly impossible to get him away from talking about it naturally. She'd
hoped that they could spend some time together in the garden of death,
reading. However, one of the plants decided to ruin everything by coughing
up a fireball.
"Yes, yes, but-"
"No buts!" Savari tried to give her brother one of those 'looks' that her
father was known for, but she couldn't quite muster it by the smirk forming
on his features, "tome-head!"
Aranin's smile faded, "Hey now, that's not fai-..."
However, before Aranin could finish, Savari had propped herself up and
pushed her way forward, wrapping her arms around her brother in a fierce,
tight hug. She had that sense about her, one that could disarm anyone, and
so the potential argument between them had suddenly disappeared on the
wind, a wind that Aranin would explain in excruciating detail if given
the chance.
"I love you, brother." Savari said as she drew back, smiling.
"I love you too, Ari." Aranin eyed her for a moment as if she were some
goblin, ready to spring from some sneaky attack.
"What do you do for /fun/?" She asked, still gazing up at her brother with
that eerily quiet gaze of hers, something she'd picked up from their own
father, Orlen.
"I- hey, I have plenty of fun." Aranin said, his features spreading into a
grin as he held out his hand. The energy of the room began to shift,
drawing in towards Aranin. Moments later, a spark flickered to life just
above his palm. In the next second the spark leapt into a flickering flame,
and then a sphere of fire: a fireball.
Savari's eyes widened, the red from the flame flickering in her gray eyes.
The shadows cast off as a result of the new focus of light played tricks
on her hair, her fiery red hair that was set so apart from the rest of
her family. The shifting reds began to dance back and forth, following the
flicker of firelight and creating the illusion of fire from her own head.
"If your mouth stays open like that, it's going to start catching flies,"
Aranin teased.
Scowling, Savari shut her mouth. At the same time, Aranin launched the
fireball into the air, letting it explode in a dazzling display high above
the garden. The radiant warmth that remained rained down on the two of them
for awhile after.
However, Aranin didn't get to enjoy it one bit. He'd been tackled to the
ground by a fierce and sudden dive from Savari, who giggled as she pinned
her older--and larger--brother to the ground.
"ARI!!!" He shouted, though if he was truly angry, it didn't show in the
grin plastered on his features.
Writer: Grotar
Date Mon Mar 10 03:12:49 2014
To All Darkonin IMM RP Religion
Subject A new change.
As Grotar was pacing the halls of Darkonin, he thought about the past,
and he thought about the future
Change need come, change come now.
Grotar thought about the conversation he had with the General. Though he
contemplated the serious tone of Grulgon, he brushed it off.
Ah hope he not serious, but Grotar might lose good Goblin.
When he approached the master bedroom of the palace, he grew upright and and
opened the door. When he went in he asked the goblin for some time alone.
When he sat on his bad he spoke to himself.
First time Ogre lead mountain. Necrucifer made us good. Gave us strength
for battle. It is good.
He thought about this as he remembered the history of Ogres.
It be long enough Ogre not have home. Ogre and Goblin. Both shall rise in
mountain. Dark Master guide Grotar to success and continue what was past,
an' what will be.
He rolled into bed and he said his final words before going to sleep.
Ah need a wife.
Writer: Savari
Date Mon Mar 10 13:22:56 2014
To Abaddon All Immortal Roleplay Yaravi
Subject (Beginnings) Exploration
Writer: Malakai
Date Mon Mar 10 14:37:40 2014
To All [ Abaddon Fatale Imm ]
Subject New Beginnings...Or something like that...
"Obtaining the memories of the dead is not something that should be taken
lightly."
The words were spoken to him several months ago, and yet he could recall
them with the utmost clarity. Truth be told, he could recall the entire
conversation he and the self proclaimed 'King of the Dead' had on that
fateful night. It was the perfect setting; the sun had just begun to dip
down behind the mountain tops, casting long shadows over a land blanketed in
dusty white snow which sparkled underneath the newborn starlight. The
small, desolated crypt had just only recently been discovered, and for a few
of the bright blue diamonds men and women waged wars over, its location was
bought. A simple, quick jab with a poisoned tipped dagger ensured that the
information stood between buyer and seller. It was All very neat and tidy.
Opening his eyes slowly, Malakai rolled off the dusty bed, setting his feet
upon the old, creaking floorboards of the blasted inn that he had called
home for a few days now and sighed. And sighed again. And for good
measure, a third time. Glancing over to the hourglass on a small table that
was propped up with a rotting wooden crate, he saw that in total, the three
sighs had taken up no more then three seconds, so for good measure, he threw
in a yawn. The damn grains had gotten stuck.
"Fine, fine. I'm up, I'm moving, you blasted devil."
Several sharp thuds sounded from underneath him, causing the thick layer of
dust on the floor to stir. Malakai responded with several nicely timed
thuds of his foot in response, was rewarded with a splinter in his big toe,
and, howlinwg in pain, retreated back to his bed. After removing the
infernal piece of wood, he laid back down, burying his head underneath his
pillow, and proceeded to curse the God who created him.
"You old, wretched, disgusting, unforgiving, ungrateful hag of a God! Find
someone else to do your damn bidding. I just want to be left alone!" The
screams were muffled, but as it is said, the Gods hear everything - and
Malakai was rewarded with a burning blanket and slow smoldering pillow.
Yelping like a bastard dog, he leaped from his bed and began to gather his
gear.
"Fine, you win you old piece of shhhh...!"
The room began to shake at that moment and the sound of shattering glass
filled the air as everything that could be broken was. As Malakai tried his
best to dodge, weave, grab his gear and get the hell out of there, a
thudding sound from below could be heard once more as the old witch banged
on her cieling with her broomstick, no doubt, in protest once again. He had
to revisit that old tomb and revisit the memories of the dead. And so he
let himself out of the inn, and into the cold nights air with a resigned
sigh.
Writer: Casiella
Date Mon Mar 10 18:03:57 2014
To All of Abaddon
Subject The Candle of Oblivion
The Basillica was quiet in the eerie manner of large spaces with little
to fill it and capture the sound. Only the periodic drip of fresh blood
from the massive tapestries that lined the wall interrupted the silence as
the powerful bone guardian kept watch. The altar, in preparation for the
Ceremony to come, lay empty, and clean. The faces upon the sides of the
altar, twisted in silent screams of agony, looked sightlessly onward.
Steps, crisp, rhythmic and resounding, filled the chamber as Lady Casiella
Darksong entered. Her heeled boots struck the floor with certainty as her
fluid gate carried her forward - unhurried and purposeful. In her arms, she
held several dark items, each one tainted with blood and sweat, the
unmistakable and sickly sweet stench of death. Like the talc powder
fighters used for their hands mixed with syrup and something else
indescribable, the scent permeated the air.
The altar became a work station as the red-headed woman sat to work. Her
fiery green eyes focused with sharp intent upon the items before her, her
slender and strong fingers moving with the grace and assurance of a lifetime
of delicate tasks.
First, the hair. With care, her lips moving in dark prayers to invoke
terror and bind the souls into the strands, she braided the strands of all
colors - red, black, brown, white, blonde and gray All minbled into the
tightly woven wick. Second, the mold. She placed the wick carefully and
sealed the box with the carved inside. The silver clasps were tightened
securely and the edges sealed before the ancient box was placed upside down
and the pouring spout opened. Third, the wax mixture. Her lips still
moving tirelessly in the unholy prayers, sweat beading upon her brow, Cas
opened a brass urn, the sickening stench of congealing blood rising swiftly
into the air. Pouring the blood into a marble bowl, she let the dark life
force settle a moment. Next, the thick wax of the Tropican waxbee was
added, and finally, the sap of the Dojian Cherry Tree.
When All began to mix together naturally, she used the old, stained forearm
bone of a Shalonesti elf to stir, her free hand lifting the bowl over a
candle to heat the mixture. The concoction started to bubble, the red and
black swirling together and taking on a sinister aura. At last, at just the
right moment, her prayers reaching an almost feverish height, she poured the
wax blend into the mold, sealing it and the bottom of the wick, with a small
disc of obsidian.
As the mold began to set, the crusader turned to one last task upon the
altar. She carefully picked up a severed hand, the skin blackened with
decay, and examined it. Satisfied, she began the careful process of
removing the skin, muscle and ligaments. The delicate work took nearly an
hour, and to drill the tiny holes for wires to rejoin the bones took even
longer. Finally, the skeletal hand was prepared, a small spike within the
"palm" ready to act as a support for the candle itself.
Casiella waited until she was certain the candle was prepared, then tilted
the mold right-side up. She removed the candle and tidied up the edges with
reverent care despire the sweat of strain dripping down her neck and back.
With equal care, the candle was placed within the skeletal grasp, secured on
the spike, and the fingers were adjusted to claw at the base. At last, the
woman stepped back and observed the work.
She nodded with pride, and gave one final, brief prayer to Fatale. Then,
she turned and departed to prepare herself for the Ceremony to come.
Writer: Melgrift
Date Mon Mar 10 18:50:09 2014
Writer: Malakai
Date Mon Mar 10 21:27:39 2014
Writer: Cherrae
Date Mon Mar 10 23:00:58 2014
Writer: Cherrae
Date Mon Mar 10 23:10:27 2014
Writer: Cherrae
Date Mon Mar 10 23:16:24 2014
Writer: Cherrae
Date Mon Mar 10 23:29:35 2014
Writer: Cherrae
Date Mon Mar 10 23:32:01 2014
Writer: Savari
Date Mon Mar 10 23:43:10 2014
Writer: Elisbet
Date Tue Mar 11 13:46:47 2014
To All Darkonin Xhyr'ryhx RP Drakkara
Subject Season of Change
She could hardly believe what was going on around her, mind chugged and
raced to catchup with the events that had progressed in the mountain.
Certainly there was an amount of apprehension as a change of seasons gripped
Darkonin and revealed a new set of color and character. There was
celebration also, an influx of life within the caverns. Elisbet Moonglumm,
leaned against the railing of the Resurrection looking into the dark waters
that splashed against the ship. There was a fine sleet that fell from the
sky. The pelting slivers against her skin were reminiscent of another
chill. She shivered with the memory.
The presence of Drakkara did not stray far from her thoughts. To be held
within the embrace of the Dark Mother, beautiful and holy and overwhelming,
was something she would not be forgetting. She knew that she was collected
into the fold, her prayers answered, her worship witnessed and heard. She
could still feel the oppressive inky tendrils wrapping about her body and
working down her throat, in her nose, blinding her to everything save the
Dark Ladys company the myriad voices caressing her mind and soul. The
resonance was deafening yet that moment- was thrilling beyond compare. To
just be held by the goddesss deadly beauty was one of the greatest instants
of her life and her life was marked by those high points.
She would not have to remember that she was fatherless and clanless, that
her mother had been a disgrace to their kin. She belonged to the Mountain
and to Xhyr'ryhx, together they would raise up the Moonglumm name. She
could not be prouder of her husband the position he had been bestowed by the
Dark Mother had blessed not only their union, but also blessed the Mountain,
leaving indelible impressions upon those who were present. None from that
day would soon forget the power that shook the Hearth.
She felt of swelling in her chest that did not come from mere pride. She
loved Xhyr'ryhx. The way he looked at her with that intensity of
concentrated passion that was for her only. She would give him many strong
children.
Writer: Savari
Date Wed Mar 12 00:38:34 2014
Writer: Savari
Date Wed Mar 12 14:22:30 2014
Writer: Seredath
Date Thu Mar 13 21:19:13 2014
Writer: Savari
Date Fri Mar 14 10:40:03 2014
Writer: Savari
Date Fri Mar 14 17:50:47 2014
To All Orlen Roleplay Immortal
Subject Nightbringer...
"Your steed will become one with you. Not at first, but in time. You
are partner, this you must understand. "
Savari nodded up at Orlen, her father. If one simply looked at their eyes,
they might mistake Orlen as cold and detached, uncaring for his daughter.
However, their body language spoke volumes. Orlen stood right next to his
fire-haired daughter, one hand ruffling through her hair, which had been
shorn off in the recent Blessing of the Void ceremony. She leaned into him,
ever so slightly, a show of her own affection and trust in him. It was a
quiet moment, but a tender one. After spending so long saying that she
would "be just like him", she had taken the vows of the Crusader.
However, the true difficulty did not lie in acquiring the steed, but,
rather, forming a bond with it. A Crusader and her steed stood step-in-step
with one another. They were meant to be as inseparable of life partners as
a husband and wife. Savari had grown up with much smaller horses to train
on, and, as a result, the much larger charger had been intimidating to her.
Her first thought had been to name the mare "Porky" until her father said
anything.
Nightbringer. A far more fitting name for a steed of war.
Savari liked the name, but now she also had to bond with the creature it
belonged to. It was not an entirely simple task. Though she had no
experience with boys courting her yet, she imagined it was slightly similar.
A lot of it centered around the two of them feeling each other out. Getting
used to one another. Patience and time were required before they could form
that deeper bond that would be the thing of legends.
"Do you like that, Nightbringer, we're going to be friends! " Savari said
in her sweetest voice. The mare simply stared at her, as if saying 'are you
kidding me? ' However, when Savari leaned forward to press her forehead to
Nightbringer's snout, the horse responded in kind with a light, gentle
nuzzling.
"A good start. " Her father said quietly, drawing back as he watched Savari
interact with the horse. "Now, get on her back. " Orlen said, helping
Savari, who was so small by comparison to both him and the horse, onto the
mare and into the saddle, "Lets see how you two ride together. "
"Faaaaaaaaaather. " One could hear the eyeroll in Savari's voice as she
shifted into her seat. As loving and dutiful of a daughter she was, she was
still fast becoming a teenager, eager to prove to the world that she could
stand on her own. Being told what to do, being helped into her own saddle
did not help either of these things.
Orlen shrugged it off with a chuckle. However, Savari continued, "I know
how to ride. I have been All of my life. "
At Savari's words, Orlen's expression became deadly serious again, "You have
ridden Brownie. Brownie is a wooden sword. Nightbringer is cold steel. Do
you remember the first time I gave you a real blade? "
The suggestion of the memory caused Savari's cheeks to heat up as flush
raced through her cheeks. She remembered well what it had been like when
she'd first held a sword--she nearly cut off her own hand. Biting her
tongue, Savari cut-off a response and merely said, "Yes, father. " With
that she gave Nightbringer's reigns a light tug and the charger set out at a
light trot.
The next hour was spent in simple drills, things that she had been over
again and again with Brownie--now with Nightbringer instead. By the end,
she nearly fell off her own horse, but Orlen's faint smile of approval was
enough to earn a radiant one of her own.
"Nightbringer... " Savari whispered, and the mare made a sound before
stepping forward and nudging her.
Writer: Savari
Date Sat Mar 15 17:25:27 2014
Writer: Savari
Date Sat Mar 15 17:25:33 2014
Writer: Savari
Date Sat Mar 15 17:25:40 2014
Writer: Savari
Date Sat Mar 15 17:25:56 2014
Writer: Grotar
Date Sun Mar 16 00:05:53 2014
To All Ogre Darkonin IMM RP Storyline
Subject The Completion of the History of Ogres
As Grotar took a dip of the quill into the inkwell he took a moment to
think to himself about this feat he had completed.
It finished. Book finished
He did not sign his name, he did not credit himself to this work of art. He
simply continued what was bestowed upon him long ago. He dotted the last
period as what he describes the most accurate history thus far.
He did not let any of the others know it was finished, just that it was in
the processed of being worked on and will be finished when it was finished.
He sent off the goblins that was keeping the fire burning to send a message
to All of the Ogres of Algoron.
Give to Ogres and let know that it finished.
The goblin grinned and vanished. The smirk that surrounded the cheeks of
Grotar showed satisfaction and that he knew this would continue the dream to
Ogrelings and show a testament to their heritage.
When the though started to drift off, he thought about what he just wrote
and he thought about All the citizens of Darkonin. He took his crown off
andea bk into his chair, staring at the rocky ceiling. He thought about
topics covered in the book he finished.
Strong. Big. He thought about the strength of the mountain and where that
strength comes from. He thought about the fights, the mutinies and he
thought about the people who went into the mountain.
Strength found within.
He started to think about the history beyond himself but the history of
Darkonin. He saw that he played a role in the history of the mountain and
that this was something to take a moment and take in.
As he started to doze off he said to himself.
Darkonin will stay strong.
Writer: Kahlyn
Date Sun Mar 16 02:31:44 2014
Writer: Grotar
Date Sun Mar 16 02:50:37 2014
To All IMM Darkonin RP Religion
Subject The Room
As soon as Grotar sent previous word to the receivers, he discovered an
interesting room in Darkonin. This room did not fit normal designs and it
was in a random part of the kingdom.
Grotar saw it lined with bubbling cauldrons and a weirdly shaped mark etched
on the floor in magical engravings. He called Zqii in and questioned him
about this mysterious place. When Zqii could not give an answer, Grotar
sent another goblin out to recruit Warlocks, Witches and Shamans. This is
the thought that Grotar had.
Grotar returned to the room and sat in the middle of it, meditating. He
called for the wisdom of Necrucifer when finding room.
Tell Grotar what do with place.
Grotar closed his eyes and stayed...
Writer: Kahlyn
Date Sun Mar 16 03:01:14 2014
Writer: Savari
Date Sun Mar 16 12:29:00 2014
Writer: Aeristiel
Date Mon Mar 17 06:05:29 2014
Writer: Savari
Date Mon Mar 17 07:19:36 2014
Writer: Stugl
Date Tue Mar 18 15:56:38 2014
Writer: Ixi'kweez
Date Tue Mar 18 22:37:34 2014
To All Shalonesti Shalonesti_kingdom Althainia Knighthood Justice Arkane Nordmaar imm rp Scorn Nazca Austinian Zandreya
Subject Raising The Tower "A Chance Encounter" (Part One)
Crillow looked down at the large, square hole in the ground with disdain
as he exited the tower for the evening. With a sigh, he lowered himself to
his knees, reaching into the hole and pulling an end of rope closer to
examine it. Sure enough, signs of wear and fatigue were evident. Had
Crillow seen this earlier, he would have quickly replaced it.
"I could've killed someone today." The tall, muscular human said to
himself. "It wasn't even the right block. I read the part number wrong."
He stared into the hole for what seemed like an eternity, before turning on
his heel and making his way through the courtyard back to his home in
Mart-Town. As he did so, he removed his spectacles, cleaning the lenses
meticulously. However, Crillow knew full well that his lenses were
perfectly clean. No, the foreman's problem was much more profound.
Crillow, was going blind.
This fact was not lost on the foreman, whose vision had been steadily
degrading for several years now. With enough straining, followed often by
sharp headaches, Crillow had been able to cope with his vision problems.
But knew there would come a point in time, where that would begin to become
impossible. His mistake atop the tower that afternoon, served to illustrate
the fact that that point in time was rapidly approaching.
He considered his next move as he walked through Gate 'C', mistaking it for
Gate 'D', which would have taken him right past his home. Crillow spent his
whole life laboring. Metal and wood shops, construction sites, excavation
sites, factories, restoration projects, the man knew more about working with
his hands than most gnomes did. But what would become of him, when he
couldn't see well enough to do these things anymore?
'Aaeee! ' *THUD*
The foreman grunted as he tumbled forward roughly to the ground, feeling
some sort of animal struggling to get out from underneath him. He spun
around and squinted at the animal. The sun now nearly set, his ability to
see was further hampered. The red and cream colored animal appeared to be
sitting on its hind legs, clapping.
"Squeezums, is that you? Oh my! Are you alright?" A petite raven-haired
woman yelled from as she hurriedly made her way from her porch to the
street. She glared at the red panda. "Did you have something to do with
this, Squeezums?"
'Squeezums! ' the red panda exclaimed, clapping happily, oblivious to what
had just happened.
The lady returned her attention to the foreman, noticing a small gash on his
forearm, presumably from some piece of shale or some other jagged rock in
the road. "Oh. You're hurt. Nothing too bad. Could get infected though.
Why don't you come inside, and I can bandage that up for you?"
Crillow stammered a bit, taken aback by the unexpected attention. "I-- I
wouldn't want to be a bother."
"Nonsense. It's no trouble at all. It's the least I can do for our beloved
yet dumb pet tripping you. You might as well stay for dinner too. It's
ready. I'll have my daughter set another place for you. I'm Momoko."
"Crillow. I'm Crillow. And thank you."
Writer: Helga
Date Wed Mar 19 01:55:30 2014
Writer: Savari
Date Wed Mar 19 11:08:05 2014
Writer: Savari
Date Wed Mar 19 17:17:15 2014
Writer: Savari
Date Wed Mar 19 20:49:36 2014
Writer: Deccan
Date Thu Mar 20 18:51:38 2014
Writer: Thaydius
Date Thu Mar 20 22:55:23 2014
To All ( Siccara Religion Imm )
Subject Forgotten Links
Living without answers becomes at some point a matter of faith.
Essentially everything about Thaydius's life had come from some conclusion
gathered through related happenstance or coincidence. What he truly knew
about himself was incredibly minor and the list of those who knew much about
him was also a fairly short one.
The ancients knew what the gift he carried meant. They were able to teach
him to harness its power and realize his potential. Once upon a time, even
with his supernatural mind, he was so clueless of the depth of his
attachment to the moon that simple adventurers could have slain him. His
family was aware of the answers but years and years of looking for those
answers through prayer brought only more questions. It was likely that they
trusted him more than he trusted himself. They would comfort him and
confirm the gravity of his existence but remain vague on the deep, pressing
queries in the pursuit of higher understanding.
But there was someone else that knew him... The woman his Mother had tasked
with protecting him and raising him on Algoron. Like most things, he
couldn't say for sure, but every bit of evidence suggested that the woman
was an angel. She was short and generally dressed in white or gray. Her
hair was a decided shade of blond, not some flashy platinum or weave of
colors. And her eyes were blue like the finest diamonds, a trait his
grandmother started and spread through All beings in her image as a sign of
beauty.
The Angel had disappeared about a year before he ascended and he spent the
remainder of his 'human' term in an orphanage. Where did the woman go? Did
she return to the White Moon? Was she truly an Angel or just a mortal his
mother trusted with his life? What did she know about him?
Angels were elusive beings, operating constantly in the mortal world with
most mortals being none the wiser. Trying to track one down would be like
chasing the stars. Maybe, after a few years away, he would return to the
Sanctuary and seek out the shifting form.
Writer: Azael
Date Fri Mar 21 17:19:37 2014
To Abadon | Fatale Religion Atlantos Imm All |
Subject -|- Idle Thoughts -|-
In silence, the young man made his way through the cemetery of Abaddon,
his footfalls light, measured and sure. The lone raven who kept watch over
the Kingdom of the Dead squawked once in protest, before settling its beady
eye upon him for a brief moment, and then took flight. Azael watched until
the bird was nothing more then a speck on the horizon before continuing to
his destination.
Entering the room of Meditation, the Cleric began the ritual of cleansing.
Casting the sigil of Fatale over his heart, he removed his clothing before
dipping his hands in the basin of chilly water at the entrance, and
methodically cleansed from his hands the blood of the foes he had slain
earlier in the day. He pulled his long black hair back into a pony-tail,
clasping it at the neck with a small beaded rope, and proceeded to don his
ceremonial robes before coming to stand before the statue of Fatale.
"Lord of the Void, Master of Death, hear the calls of Your must humble
servant." Bowing his head, Azael closed his eyes and communicated with his
God. Unlike other Priest's of the realm who claimed that the Gods did not
take notice of their children, Azael believed Fatale's eyes were ever upon
him - that his words never went unheard, and so he shared All he could with
Fatale.
"I do not feel at home within Abaddon, my Lord. I just do not seem to 'fit
in' as the saying goes. The men and women are nice enough, always eager to
lend spells for training and the like, but I've yet to hold a conversation
of substance with anyone as of yet. Perhaps this is for lack of trying, on
my part. I do not know. I shall strive to try harder, for how can I be a
Voice of my God when I do not even know His children?"
Resolved to his course of action, Azael leaned forward, pressing his
forehead to the floor. He repeated this six times, before climbing to his
feet and retrieving his paltry equipment and weapon. Pulling the hood of
his cloak up and over his head, Azael unfurled the whip, allowing the
snakeshead to slither over the ground as he moved. Their fangs were hungry
for blood, and he had training to do.
Writer: Azael
Date Fri Mar 21 18:20:15 2014
To Abaddon | Fatale Religion Atlantos Imm All |
Subject -|- Training -|-
With a sharp intake of breath, the young Cleric tried his best to dodge
the coming blade. Not fast enough, the very tip of the sharpened metal bit
deep across his chest, tearing through the paltry robe and shirt he wore,
cutting through skin like a hot knife through butter. His face betrayed no
emotion; he would not give his adversary the satisfaction to know that he
hurt him. As he landed on his feet a few steps back, he did not wait, his
arm already a blur as the snake headed whip in his hand lashed out, the
fangs of the animated weapon seeking the flesh of the young students face.
He thought back to only a few hours before, when he had thought to come to
the fabled gnomish kingdom of Gahboom, having heard about it through the
tales of travelers that came through the Dead Kingdom. "Ye'll want ta be
watchin out fer dem little beady bas'tard gnomes! Dey be distractin ye with
loud, garrish noises big 'nuff to make an unprepared soul soil his pants or
in ta least, lose his hearin'." Azael listened, entranced by the tales of
the traveling dwarf, sure the lad was embelishing them just a tad, but he
was intrigued All the same. "Ye'll be wantin a pair 'o these." The dwarf
said, pushing two blods of what looked to be wax towards the Cleric. Azael
scooped them up and waved his thanks, before heading out.
Azael grinned in satisfaction as the teeth of the snake whip found their
mark upon the face of the student before him. The scream that followed
filled the air, for his adversary knew that the fangs of the whip were
filled with venom which must already be pumping through his veins. Azael
watched as the student ripped the whips tip angrily out of his face,
ignorant to the fact that he was removing much of flesh with it. "Die evil
scum!" The student screamed before charging at Azael, eyes filled with
malice. Yet the cleric was unmoved. Raising his right hand, Azael uttered
two soft words, "Heart Blight." His hand flared up with a dull, reddish
glow as the divine magic granted to him by his God filled his body. This he
brought to bear upon the student, who stumbled foward, clutching his chest
in agony.
"Fatale take you." Azael whispered as he walked towards the fallen student
who was writing upon the cold stone floor. "Nnn... Nnooo! I... I dont
want to die!" The student pleaded through gasps of breath. Azael stumbled
once upon hearing the plea, but quickly regained his composure. "May Fatale
keep you." He replied as he leaned down and coiled the length of the whip
around the gnomes neck. The Cleric pulled back with All of his might and
seperated the gnomes head from its shoulders.
"His will be done."
Writer: Ancaladar
Date Sat Mar 22 16:31:17 2014
To Shalonesti Shalonesti_Kingdom All ( Nazca Imm )
Subject The Edge of Dawn (Part I)
Ancaladar blinked his eyes wearily as he sat above the altar within the Fray's
hall. He had been meditating for some time now, surrounded by peaceful
silence, and he was beginning to nod off. Then he heard a voice, calling out
an invitation. He rose steadily, stretching his muscles and taking the time to
compose himself before he descended from the platform and made his way toward
to the Fiallae Nenya Pool. There he found a gathering of elves, many of which
he knew, and others he knew well. But there was one face he did not recognize.
By the man's features it was clear he was not one of the high borne. Rather,
he appeared to be more human than elf. His body appeared as travel worn as his
clothes.
Stepping around the gathering, Ancaladar chose to stand outside of the circle
upon which the gathering was formed. The man was speaking to the rest, sharing
with All of them a tale of two star-crossed lovers. Ancaladar's eyes drifted
idly among the gathering, paying little attention to the man, but settling his
eyes briefly upon the satchel he possessed. Something about the manner in
which he held the bag bothered Ancaladar, but he kept it to himself. Soon his
thoughts and the story were interrupted by a rasping, desperate cough. His
attentions now fully upon the half human, he considered for a moment before
turning away from the gathering and leaving quietly.
Making his way swiftly through the city streets, Ancaladar stopped by a
tavern, setting a few silver coins upon the barkeep's counter, and collected a
carafe of fine elvish wine in return. Snatching a recently cleaned goblet from
a table on his way out, he returned to the gathering. Slipping in as quietly
as he left, he made his way forward, into the others' view, setting the carafe
and goblet down in front of the old story teller. In the few moments that
Ancaladar had been away, it seemed that he had missed much. It had gone from a
meeting of two souls to a mortal struggle against the wills of their two
kingdoms. The man spoke of a blade, recently forged being delivered to one of
the two lovers, and the woman's sacrifice in order to imbue the blade with
some sort of mystic power. Finally, her lover, to which it was delivered
invited death unto himself in much the same manner, in hopes that his pleas
for peace would be heeded. In both instances, the blade had consumed the
essence of each, and the man had named it, "The Edge of Dawn."
At the sound of another cough, Ancaladar urged the man to drink the wine,
thinking it would, perhaps ease his cough. The storyteller took the wine and
sampled it, speaking of his love of wine. The manner in which he spoke planted
a seed of suspicion in Ancaladar's mind. As the man continued with his tale,
now telling of the sword broken in order to prevent its use in some betrayal,
Ancaladar continued to observe the story teller before his eyes tightened with
with dawning realization. As Aelysse spoke up with some inquiries as to the
reason, Ancaladar leaned down and whispered into her ear. 'He will be passing
soon.' The tone of her reply wrenched his heart. He had seen enough death in
battle to have had his view considerably skewed. To him, a peaceful death was
something very special, and he almost envied the man's release from the world
of hardship. Aelysse, it seemed, had not yet quite formed the same opinion.
Even as he thought this, the man whispered his final words, desperately
pushing the leather satchel forward, his strength visibly waning. Making his
way forward, Ancaladar dropped to one knee before the man, collecting the
satchel and reaching forward to catch him as he slumped. Holding the story
teller in his arms, he placed a palm against the man's chest amidst inquiries
toward his health. There was no heartbeat to be felt. The story teller had
passed on, the smile upon his face revealing he had done what he had set out
to do. Laying the man back upon the grass, Ancaladar stood, looking down upon
his peaceful visage.
Writer: Ancaladar
Date Sat Mar 22 16:31:50 2014
To Shalonesti Shalonesti_Kingdom All ( Nazca Imm )
Subject The Edge of Dawn (Part II)
Standing over the body of Tanim Brightsong, the voices of the other elves
seemed to come together, muddled and incoherent. His mind wandered a bit until
he remembered the satchel, and returned to himself just as Aelysse began to
suggest he rummage through it to find some evidence of the old story teller's
origin. He could tell by the way its burden was focused and shifted with
movement that there would likely be nothing to tell of the half human's
identity, but he pulled back the flap anyway. Tilting his head to the side, he
peered into the depths of the sack, his eye catching a glint of steel winking
out from the darkness. Slipping his hand into the satchel, it was not hard to
guess just what the object was by its shape and size. He withdrew his hand
slowly, revealing the hilt of a shattered blade.
The reactions of those around him were lost as a strange sensation began to
rush into his hand from the hilt. And while it was not uncomfortable, it was
wholely unexpected. It was a warmth, gentle and kind; not unlike a lover.
Transfixed by the blade, he found himself without words to describe what was
occuring. His focus shifted from the hilt to his hand, and then his arm,
seeking some sort of visual confirmation for the sensation. Just as he was
beginning to grow accustomed, a small voice whispered to him. Strangely
enough, it was almost as if someone was whispering into his ear from a league
away, "Hello?" He jerked his hand backward reflexively, loosening his grip and
nearly dropping the hilt in the process. Amidst worried expressions and
inquiries after his health, he found that he could answer only in one way. He
extended his arm, holding the hilt out to those gathered and spoke, "Each of
you, step forward and touch the hilt, if you would. I do not know if I am
capable of explaining this."
As each elf came forward and placed a hand upon the hilt, the same warming
sensation Ancaladar felt entered their hands. The reactions were mixed. Some
grinned foolishly, while others displayed evidence of genuine surprise and
discomfort. But Ancaladar was focused upon the hilt and the foolishness of
what he was about to do. Opening his mouth, he spoke down toward the blade,
"Am I speaking with the blade, or one who dwells within?" The response came
almost immediately, and were the situation not so strange and mildly
frightening he might have laughed. "I can't sense you... Who are you? You with
so many hands..." Oddly enough, the voice was even fainter than before; it
almost seemed as if it was being drained of whatever source of energy it was
using to speaking to Ancaladar. He assured the blade that the hands were not
his own, nearly gesturing toward the other elves around him, but reconsidered.
He withdrew the hilt from those touching it with him in hopes that it was
merely having some difficulty speaking to so many, but it seemed that none
other had heard the hilt's whisper, and the blade's power continued to drain.
It pleaded to him before exhausting its energy altogether, "Set me in the
light of the coming sun. I must gain strength. Set me in the light of the
coming sun. Or let me die." ...and then it grew cold.
Sighing softly, Ancaladar tilted his head backward momentarily to stare up
into the night sky. Dawn was not far away, but he held many doubts as to the
origin and nature of the blade. Dropping his gaze, he lowered the hilt back
into the confines of the satchel, throwing the flap forward and buckling it to
keep it in darkness. He looked to his fellow elves and revealed his misgivings
with a few simple words. "A decision needs to be made."
Writer: Savari
Date Sun Mar 23 01:37:04 2014
Writer: Jonathen
Date Sun Mar 23 22:32:17 2014
Writer: Savari
Date Sun Mar 23 23:13:35 2014
Writer: Endhur
Date Mon Mar 24 04:50:13 2014
To All Sohada Rogle ( IMM RP Fatale )
Subject Fatalistic rites.
Endhur snaps out of his meditative state as Sohada strides into the
temple with a bloodied burlap sack. Sniffing the air and rising to his feet
he grunt at Sohada, nods at the bag and asks,
- Smells like um fresh kill, dis be what ogur ask of juz? - Yes, priest. -
Body of un of Fatale enemy? - Yes, priest. - Un of em inferior race? -
Yes, priest.
Endhur grabs the bag and pours two sticky corpses on the floor. A big one
that looks like it's wearing Gareth Keep servant cloths and what looks to be
a young kender. After he has arranged the two corpses on the floor just
right, he gives them both a good heavy stomp on the head splattering gore in
fine patterns on the floor.
- Silent now, let ogur pray an confer wit Fatale.
Kneeling down, grabbing his Symbols of Faith he starts grunting, mumbling
and gesticulates. After a short while he nods to himself and rises to his
feet once again. - Fatale be pleased wit dem sacrifices ju bring. - Now
kneel.
Sohada silently kneels down.
- Throu ogur Fatale speaks on juz, Sohada - Yous go forth, do um prays and
make um proud. An murder enemies.
He places his hand on Sohadas head and nods.
- It be done. - Ogur will speak un Rogle in Clan matters, mez think ju can
shed weak human. In time.
Writer: Vitriosablet
Date Mon Mar 24 19:56:52 2014
To All Syrlarrialth Seredath Nordmaar Darkonin Dragon Imm RP
Subject The Skies over Icewall (The beckoning)
It was time. Three days had passes since he had made his threat. He had
heard word that both a Steel and Copper had been overlooking the Human
settlements of Nordmaar, protecting the decision to bring Greystoke to
Icewall. Vitriosablet sat atop the Mountain of Darkonin as the sun slowly
dropped beyond the horizon. He thought to himself aloud.
"The Humans pray for life. They pray to wake with tomorrow's sunrise.
Perhaps I will grant them their prayers tonight. Not because I am generous.
Not because I am merciful. I will gift them only because I have interest in
making additions to my totem. For this gift, they will be made to build
monuments in my image and shrines to worship my divinity."
Vitriosablet took to flight towards the Human settlements of Nordmaar. As
he reached the Nordmaarian borders he roared loudly, shaking the ground
beneath him and sending waves of dragonfear through the hearts of the Humans
scattered throughout the border towns.
Vitriosablet watched as frantic Humans lit towers with torches,
communicating his presence. He roared again, shaking the ground before
rising upward in the skies.
"Come and defend Greystoke. A special place on my totem has been reserved
for those that would seek to shelter and preserve our mortal enemies. I
will not resign Icewall to the Dragonslayers. Here, I am almighty. Here, I
am absolute."
Writer: Syrlarrialth
Date Mon Mar 24 21:20:40 2014
Writer: Darrin
Date Tue Mar 25 20:08:09 2014
Writer: Jerann
Date Wed Mar 26 07:24:09 2014
To All Devion Imm RP
Subject Lonely Gnome
Months it had been, perhaps a bit over a year, Jerann walked alone, on
his own, with none to call his. The gnome had spoken with the Emperor of
Althainia on numerous occasions. Though it seemed there was little work
being done in the gnomish endeavor.
None heard Jerann's prayer, weekly he would sit in the temple of Devion,
sending small prayers to Devion.
Jerann had attempted to reach out after his lengthy trangressions with the
light, pushing for the light to believe his claim yet All the while praying
to his Lord about his progress.
"You told me you wouldn't hold my hand, but you didn't say you'd leave me in oblivion for life"
Jerann sighed heavily 'Wonder if Malachive would leave a follower behind'
Writer: Jerann
Date Wed Mar 26 07:30:10 2014
To All Devion Imm RP
Subject The Temple of Devion
Jerann slept in the temple of Devion awaiting absolution for some time.
Every time he awoke he would find himself again speaking the same
incantations with the same result. He was the smartest barbarian in the
"Forsaken, I feel no longer that we have a bind to eachother, Lord, how long
will you deceive yourself, thinking I followed you less than wholeheartedly?
"
Silence remained about the Temple, only the statue of the Paladin kneeling
before Devion would be seen, and a shadow behind it looming from the light
which cracked into the entrance of the temple.
'I'll wait for you, Lord, but I will not die waiting.'
Writer: Jerann
Date Wed Mar 26 07:41:54 2014
To All Devion Imm RP
Subject A Vivid Dream
They'd Arrived, Emperor, the military, and Jerann. Jerann stood aside
the Emperor watching as the military began the escavation. Ice flew
everywhere as the military drilled within the chunks, seeking the treasure
within. 'The gnomish drilling machine was a good idea' Jerann spoke to the
Emperor.
Further down. 'It's stuck' He turned to the party. 'I believe we've found
it. '
Jerann reversed the drilling machine and went into the hole in which the
drill created. The military and Emperor watched curiously for some time
before Jerann emerged. Jerann was holding a spear, and with this spear,
Jerann's eyes filled with fire. The military watched cautiously, but the
gnome only grinned, from ear to ear. "Foolishness, you have only given me
the power to kill you now. '
Cackling loudly Jerann opened his eyes to realize, he never left the Temple
of Devion.
Writer: Savari
Date Wed Mar 26 09:05:14 2014
Writer: Savari
Date Wed Mar 26 09:52:44 2014
To All Abaddon Immortal Atlantos Storyline
Subject Creation of a Relic (Part One)
Savari held the dark red, clay jar in her arms as one might cradle a
beloved infant. Inside though, was something that, at the moment, was more
precious than life itself. The blood offering of the people of Abaddon was
contained within. If she listened closely enough, Savari was certain she
could hear the pulsing of a heartbeat. The blood had been mixed with
beeswax from Baaren Gaer and a special textile glue used by Algoron's
threadworks.
"Only the finest ingredients... " Mihas had intoned in his dark, eerie
voice. He explained that the rituals needed to imbue the offering with a
heightened power--and to preserve the natural power of blood
itself--required materials that could withstand the intense magical energy
they would be subjected to. Besides, a gift for the Count of Abaddon could
hardly be made with cheap ingredients, even if he was her father.
The seekers had done their job, Mihas had done his, and, inside the vessel
was a quality, dark red sealing wax. Savari gazed down at the ordinary clay
jar, as if her gray eyes might be able to pierce its hide and see inside.
The movement stirred the motion of some of her fiery locks, which fell
across her face and over the clay vessel in a bright contrast to the dark
red color it was composed of. Failure was not an option. Only the strong
survived within Fatale's flock, something that had been drilled in her since
she was young.
"You are strong, my love. " Her father's voice whispered behind her.
Savari was trying to heft a barrel of raw oats that stood half her height of
four and a half feet. It was smaller than most barrels because it contained
the family's weekly supply rather than the long-term storage of the
ingredient. She had insisted on bringing it in from the cart, to which her
father had only smiled.
Five minutes later, a red-faced, huffing Savari had managed to roll and
budge the barrel half the distance--but had been unable to lift it up. Her
father's tone was gentle, encouraging, there wasn't a single note of mocking
within. There were certainly times when he would tease her, but this was
not one of them.
"Father, I- I don't know if I can. " Savari huffed, letting the barrel thud
against the ground once more. Failure, dreaded failure seemed iminent. She
could feel something hot and uncomfortable welling up inside her. Tears
burned at the corner of her eyes.
"Ari. Who suggested that you do this, was it I? " Orlen asked.
It was a silly question, she knew full well that she'd asked. "N-no. I
did. "
Orlen smiled one of his smiles, "Exactly. Why? "
"Be-because I thought I could. "
Orlen shook his head, "No, because you /knew/ you could. "
Savari crouched low and lifted with All the strength she could muster. She
was an Aingar, she couldn't fail. All of her little muscles cried out but
she ignored them and put every last effort into that singular focus.
The barrel lifted.
(to be continued)
Writer: Tahereh
Date Wed Mar 26 15:12:04 2014
Writer: Ancaladar
Date Thu Mar 27 12:00:02 2014
To Shalonesti Shalonesti_Kingdom All ( Nazca Imm )
Subject The Edge of Dawn (Part III)
Ancaladar sat atop the falls staring toward the horizon as the first light of
day began to peek over the tops of the trees in the distance. The decision had
been made, for better or worse. He glanced downward at the hilt resting upon
his palm, and then to the elves around him. The hilt began to shimmer and glow
with magical runes within his grasp. "If I do anything out of the ordinary...
stop me." Closing his eyes, he concentrated his mind upon the hilt, waiting for
something... anything. Silence answered.
"Did you hear that?" Ancaladar opened his eyes and turned his head to look at
one of the elves who had accompanied him. Mykke looked as confused as
Ancaladar felt. It was as if looking upon a reflection of his own thoughts.
"I hear nothi-" "He is lost to me..." Ancaladar frowned as the voice in his
mind merged with his own. He could only just make out the words it spoke.
Suddenly another of the elves spoke up, not to him, but to something else. "I
am Sylitae Sha'enras." Confusion danced among the elves present. The hilt had
begun to speak to All of them, scattering its thoughts. And then... just as
quickly as the hilt had come to life, it exhausted its power and the light
faded from it as the sun rose higher into the sky. It was no longer dawn.
The elves spent several long moments discussing amongst themselves what was
shared, and what it could mean before they remembered the body of Tanim
Brightsong, still resting in the grass below. Ancaladar spoke up, "He spent
his life searching for dawn. Let us lay him to rest where he may see it each
day. The shade of these woods here does little to accomodate him." Each of the
elves agreed, and they descended the falls to collect the story teller's
remains. Ancaladar himself knelt to retrieve the body, lifting it into his
arms and carrying it. They left the wood and entered the domain of Mebn
Ehlweb. There they found a clearing suitable for burial and a small ceremony.
They each began to dig until the grave was deep enough and wide enough to
accomodate the body Ancaladar bore, and then one by one they covered him.
When the work was done, Ancaladar produced some of the wine he had offered to
the story teller before. Aelysse spoke a few solemn words in the half human's
honor, "Watch the dawn every day", and Ancaladar overturned it, spilling wine
upon the grave. "Now you may enjoy wine as you rest. May the Mother watch over
you." A gentle breeze swept through the clearing in answer.
The elves returned to their home shortly thereafter, discussing the hilt
before parting ways. When Ancaladar had time to settle down and collect his
thoughts, he penned a missive, inviting any elf that believed they might bring
forth some answers to the questions that the blade had borne to come forward
and examine it. Over the next few days, Ancaladar made a point to allow the
hilt to bathe in the light of each dawn, hoping for more answers. He was
careful to have at least one elf present with him each time, if only to ensure
that there was one to bear news should the hilt's purpose be more nefarious
than originally suspected. But the hilt did not speak, and could give no
answers. It merely glowed with the coming, and faded with the passing as he
and the others had come to expect. Interest in the hilt and its origin was
beginning to wane in the Vallens. Ancaladar was diligent, but with each
passing day, more questions began to present themselves. Why was the hilt no
longer speaking? Was it storing power? For what purpose? What could it
accomplish if it had collected enough? Worries battered the elf's mind, and
weariness began to overtake him. 'Soon', he thought, 'soon, I will need to
entrust it to another.'
Writer: Aelysse
Date Mon Mar 31 14:10:12 2014
Writer: Amyth'lynn
Date Mon Mar 31 19:02:49 2014
Writer: Eylam
Date Tue Apr 1 15:44:48 2014
Writer: Kulek
Date Thu Apr 3 10:46:56 2014
To Sephirot Ellminaidra Eclipse Verminasia All immortal rp
Subject An Awakening
"... Return to the Stronghold"
Those were the words I have waited for years to read.
Why have I chosen to wait idly by for another to lead though? My blood is
made from the well from which our water was drawn, and bones from the very
mortar of her walls.
It is this cursed attitude I have adopted! Lead by cultists in the Ebony
Tower, joining the fence sitters in the Crimson, even leading the entire
Conclave with those of the White!
* taking an ancient blue cloak emblazoned with an embroidered eclipse off an
armor rack *
No more. No more depression, no more mourning, no more balance.
* taking a small glittering stone from his robes *
After whispering some words of magic, Take me to the wastes between New
Thalos and Althania.
Writer: Rikkah
Date Thu Apr 3 13:36:24 2014
To All Arkane Imm
Subject Among Thieves - Backstory I
Rikkah had left the forests. She was on her own and feeling fine. Her
thoughts and words and actions no longer censured by her parents, thrilled
her. They hadnt wanted her to go, so that was the reason she had gone in
the middle of the night, left them a note. She was sixteen years old,
wanderlust was cutting its teeth within her and she couldn't stand to stay
in the woods. She'd argued with her parents, yet Bertrim and Feriette
wouldnt change their stance. The world was a dark and inglorious place,
filled with murderers, thieves, people who would just rip the innocence
right from the soul in order to better themselves, according to them.
Rikkah was anything but convinced.
Being so young, so nave, she came upon the city with bounce in her step,
merry smile on her face. The city was big, glorious to the young kender and
full of secrets, waiting to be uncovered. She wandered through the streets
and came upon a large market place, filled with All sorts of different
looking people, a cacophony of bartering, haggling, the smells rich and
tantalizing, everywhere a new thing to see and touch and taste!
She was looking around with her hands as well as her eyes, when suddenly she
was collared and hauled up off her feet, looking eye to eye with a city
guard. Rikkah put a bright smile onto her face, giggling as she dangled
from the guard's hand.
Heya! Im Rikkah! Im- She was shaken, her teeth jarring. The city guard
growled and hauled her, dragging the kender with him in tow off through the
market. Rikkah struggled against the hold, sputtering epitaphs she learned
mostly from her Dad. When a stranger stepped into the guards path.
Excuse me, sir, I think you must be mistaken. This is my cousin. Why are
you dragging her through the streets thusly? Came a calm, melodious voice.
Rikkah craned her neck to view with curious deep blue eyes. The guard
halted his walk and brought her forward.
A kender, is your cousin? This girl has been found pilfering from the
merchants. Im sure when shes been made to dump her pouches a number of
unpaid items will be brought forth as evidence, the the guard answered.
Rikkah grinned impishly. The man who countered the guard drew forth his own
pouch. Dark, velvet and seeming full of coin.
I assure you my cousin is not kender, but a very short and malnourished
half-elf, her slight nature may deceive but she is really not All there in
mind. She seems to have wandered from the care of my Mother, her Aunt, the
man replied, jangling the pouch before the guard. The guard frowned, his
eyes following the pouch.
Writer: Rikkah
Date Thu Apr 3 13:50:00 2014
To All Arkane Imm
Subject Among Thieves - Backstory II
Your Aunt you say? I suppose for an amount I may let this girl off with
a fine, providing you take her away and back to the Aunt you claim she
wandered from, the guard conceded his eyes narrowing over the man, who
remained mostly hidden under a thick cloak of gray. Rikkah was about to
protest but then caught sight of the man's eyes and was silenced, wondering
at the glare of the bright gaze. The guard released her, with another jolt,
dumping her unceremoniously to the street as he snatched the pouch out of
the man's proffered hand. The man swiftly took the young kender by the
hand, forcibly standing her and hurrying away. They traversed another
street, a turn and another before at an alley they stopped abruptly.
Leaning against the wall of a building the man drew back his hood, revealing
himself to be half-elven, his dark curly hair messy after being hooded,
equally dark eyes turned to Rikkah as he let loose a sharp bark of laughter.
Its been a while since weve had kenderfolk on our crew, miss, your talents
will be amusing to the Master, he'll be pleased. I'm Lyrith, but you can
call me Lyr. What are you called? His voice lilted from his throat in
such a pleasing way, Rikkah found herself instantly entertained. She
offered a hand and grinned.
Im Rikkah Burrbramble! Pleasure to meet you, Lyr, I just came from the- Lyr
clapped a hand over her mouth, instantly shushing her and peered out into
the street. He brought the gray hood over his head once more and took her
hand in his own.
Where you came from isnt All the important, Rikkah, it's where you are going
that concerns me.
Where am I- And the words were lost as Lyr pulled her along, through the
alleyways and side streets of the city.
Writer: Savari
Date Fri Apr 4 09:45:41 2014
Writer: Ayzrael
Date Sat Apr 5 00:12:54 2014
To Abaddon | Fatale IMM All |
Subject Duties.
With a satisfied nod of his head, Fatale's Black Reaper gazed upon his
work. It was nowhere near the norm, yet whatever he set to do, he did well,
and so a neat pile of recently disturbed dirt stood to his left, and a neat
pile of five bodies to the right. His punishment for taking liberties with
his Commanders - though, thinking back to the night of his arrival - he was
forced to smile. It had been in good fun.
Throwing the shovel to the ground, he gathered his belongings and set off
for the Inn. The howl of the bloodhounds was the only sound in the Kingdom
that belonged to the Dead, but such suited him. As he traveled past the
church, he turned right and poked his head into the tavern. "Ah, Master
De'sol. A pleasure, as always. Shall I have your usual delivered to your
room?" Asked Arben with concealed glee. This one tipped well, and Arben
had a thirst for gold.
"Yes, my old friend. Add a bottle of red wine. I shall stop in during the
morning and pay the tab." Ayzrael waited for the nod, which he received, of
course, and continued on his merry little way, to his room, where he bathed
and dressed. The call for the Bloodletting rang through the silence of the
Kingdom, and Ayzrael climbed back to his feet. He would be participating in
the ceremony, of course. It brought him great pleasure to see the rites of
the Master given the attention they deserved - and after his conversation
with Orlen, knew he could look forward to far more.
Moving to the entrance of his room, he pinched the wick of his candle,
thrusting the room into darkness as he stepped out. Drawing the hood of his
cloak up and over his head, his smile was hidden. He was home - and it was
proving to be quite interesting.
Writer: Sinsari
Date Sat Apr 5 08:48:35 2014
Writer: Sinsari
Date Sat Apr 5 12:48:14 2014
Writer: Casiella
Date Sat Apr 5 13:01:35 2014
To All of Abaddon & Fatale ( Storyline Religion Roleplay )
Subject Questionable Decisions
Casiella stood within the Basillica, her boots planted in the blood pool
that had formed before the sacrifical altar. The room was silent, the last
thrashes and screams of the recent victim having died away long ago with her
last, gurgling breath. The blood was still red upon her lips, throat and
chest. Almost tenderly, Casiella pulled back the locks of bloodstained
wheat-colored hair and allowed them to drape over the end.
With care, the crusader removed her chainmail gauntlets, exposing her hands.
Fiery emerald eyes looked down at the slightly pale flesh, examining the
freckles, the creases and scars and callouses. She looked at each nail,
kept short by necessity and each slender joint that allowed her powerful
fingers to flex and extend. She even admired the bits of dirt, blood and
grime that had worked themselves beneath her armor and made a home upon her
flesh. How many lives she had ended, she had lost count, mostly thanks to
the hands she appraised.
There was a time when her hands had been garbed not in chainmail, but in
black leathers. Leathers that had been oiled with care and worn until they
no longer made the faintest hint of sound. Leathers that had hugged her
form from head to toe, concealing her fiery hair and delicate skin from the
eyes of unwary prey. Her hands, then, had wielded daggers and knives rather
than lances and swords. Her hands had known the delicacy of the shifts in
pressure and could instinctually find just the right amount before the skin
was sliced, or before an artery was severed. They had even known where to
find a coin purse or two if she had needed the shiny bits of metal for food
or armor repairs.
Things were so different now; an entirely different world.
Her body was aging, the vigor of her youth slowly fading away into the
temperence of age. Wisdom had come as her body had given life over and over
again, sheltering and then nourishing the tiny forms that were now her adult
children. Her hands had forgotten the precision of masterful murder to
instead gently comb hair and encourage first steps. Her armor had often
been forgone in favor of simple clothes that had been stained and torn as
she raised her brood. She had seen ink stains on her flesh from writing
missives and she had grown used to the weight of a lance and pike, the thick
blanket of chainmail that moved against her body rather than with it.
She loved her children. Every last one of them. She would die to protect
them, though she prefered to train them and toughen them against the
hardships of the world. Let them deal the murder rather than be victims of
it. Let it be the blood of their enemies that poured upon the unholy
grounds of Abaddon in a gloriously endless sacrifice to Fatale.
She loved Jonathen, as well. The man knew how to frustrate her, make her
blush and laugh. He knew when her moods were not to be trifled with, and he
had also managed to make her dance in public. He had written her music,
played for her and tended her when she was unwell. He had also gone on many
killing sprees with her, helping to sate her insatiable appetite for
spreading death. She admired his skills with a blade, and envied his
laidback nature, though it was the balance to her own need for productivity.
There could be no other to match her so efficiently, or perfectly, though
there had been a time when they were such opposites it had nearly ended in
tradgedy.
Now she wondered, as she looked down at her hands, if there was any way for
her to return to ways she once murdered. Could so clothe herself in the
darkness once again, or was she to remain as a mounted fighter? Which would
be the better path?
Writer: Ayzrael
Date Sat Apr 5 16:56:46 2014
To Abaddon | Fatale IMM All |
Subject The Women of the Dead
"And what beauty is there to be had in a Kingdom of Death?"
He watched, quietly, with an air of detatched intrest as the waitress spoke
to the newly arrived warrior. From deep within the shadows of the hood of
his cloak, his smile upon hearing her words could not be seen - nor could
any other distinguishing feature, save those piercing cerulean eyes. Yet,
in the Kingdom of Secrets, cloaked figures, mysterious women, dashing rogues
and All other manner of creature, some human, some not were quite
commonplace. He was just another patron. No one.
"Well, mah luverly, there be beauty in death just like there be beauty upon
your face, no?" The waitress, well versed in how to aqquire the biggest
tips in her line of work, smiled, blushed, ooh'd and ahhh'd at All the right
places. Through the mans boisterous tales of the lives he had claimed and
the damsels he had rescued, how rich he was, and how he would love to play a
song for her if she would just allow him some private time, he listened.
Amused. Yet not as amused as the Waitress, it would seem.
Ayzrael focused his eyes upon her. She excelled at what she did. Her shirt
was cut just low enough to draw eyes and keep them there in silent wonder at
what lay beneath. Her voice was low, soft, soothing, melodic and almost
hypnotising. Her laughter gentle, the way she placed this hand just so on
the brutes arm while the other stole deep into his purse to make it just
that much lighter. She was good.
"Ah like killin, o'course. I relish in battle, and death ya know, is death.
Whut ah just can't seem ta understand is All this hog-posh stuff about
Flaytale. Ah mean, ah know shes one of those fabled gods All powerful like,
but do ya see the way the people in this swamp revere her?"
Ignorance. So he was nothing more then a fool. Still, any man who was so
easily entranced and mastered by a woman got what he deserved. Ayzrael
watched as the Waitress's eyes narrowed briefly, a flash of anger crossing
her otherwise beautiful features. So, she was paying attention to the
drabble the man was spouting. Well then, it was his duty as the charming,
dashing rogue he was to rescue her from her obvious discomfort, perhaps
educate the brute a bit before slitting his throat and making an offering to
Fatale. Ayzrael began to push to his feet but stopped mid-action.
You had to have quick eyes to have seen it. Indeed, he almost missed it
himself, the quickest of gestures, a simple flick of the wrist, the waitress
leaning over to press her lips to the surprised brutes own. The sway and
swish of well trained hips as they slowly stepped away from the table and
unto the next unassuming man who called out for another mug of ale. All of
this in the span of a few seconds. He had no choice but to admire her work.
Hell, the cut was so precise, so very beautiful it looked nothing more then
an angry scratch.
Whistling softly in appreciation, Ayzrael looked about for the waitress who
met his eyes ever so briefly. In that moment much was exchanged - volumes
spoken when not a word was uttered. Laughing now, Ayzrael placed a few
coins on the table and headed out of the tavern just as the brutes head
detatched from his shoulders and hit the ground with a sickening thud.
The women of Abaddon. Not to be trifled with or taken lightly, he thought
as he faded into the shadows. God how he missed Abaddon.
Writer: Calev
Date Sat Apr 5 22:51:07 2014
Writer: Ixi'kweez
Date Sun Apr 6 11:59:41 2014
To All Shalonesti Shalonesti_kingdom Althainia Knighthood Justice Arkane Nordmaar imm rp Scorn Nazca Austinian Zandreya
Subject Raising The Tower "A Chance Encounter" (Part Two)
"Oh! Hiya Mistah Cwillow!" The little raven-haired girl waved happily,
as indeed Crillow and Momoko walked back into the cottage from outside.
"Will you be staying for dinner?"
"Yes, Momiji. Could you set a place for him at the table, please? Mr.
Crillow has a small injury that I need to clean up and dress."
"Sure thing, Mummy!" The little almond eyed girl cried, skipping happily
towards the pantry.
Momoko led Crillow to the opposite corner of the cottage and sat him down
next to what appeared to be a small oaken chest. Opening it, she pulled out
several strips of gauze and a bottle of antiseptic. Crillow casually
scanned about the cottage as Momoko worked on his wound. It wasn't large.
It wasn't exactly plush, either. But, it was built solidly, it held strong
against the elements, and it was a vast improvement from the deerskin tent
that stood there just months before.
Before winter set in that previous year, Thimtax had ordered a handful of
carpenter crews to go into Mart-Town, and rebuild any and All residential
structures that weren't fit for winter. Crillow had led one of these crews.
In the interest of time, three simple designs were used, depending on the
location and the number of occupants. This cottage was definitely a 'Beta',
meant for two or three people. He may well have built this particular home.
There would a small, unique marking on one of the baseboards, left by the
particular crew that built the house. Crillow spotted it along the bottom
of the far wall, but his vision was too poor to tell if the marking was his
or not.
Despite the fact that the cottage was small and rather austere, it was quite
cozy. Silk tapestries bearing images of the orient adorned the walls. The
stove emitted a pleasant warmth throughout the room. This place, felt like
a home. He felt welcome here. This was not a feeling Crillow was used to.
He had always been a solitary figure, moving from place to place, wherever
there was work to be done.
"There! All finished!" Momoko exclaimed, waking Crillow from his
daydreaming. "Like I said, it wasn't so bad, but infection could've set in.
Now, here you go!"
The petite woman reach into her little oaken chest and pulled out a red
lollipop, handing it to the large man. Blushing slightly, Crillow slowly
accepted the treat from Momoko's dimunuitive hand, smiling sheepishly.
"But you don't eat it now, Crillow," she smiled coyly, "You'll spoil your
appetite!"
Raising The Tower, the full novel so far:
----> https://drive. Google. Com/#folders/0B6OJjgBBV3jVSnlZdHlCcnBCSUk
Writer: Grotar
Date Sun Apr 6 13:04:03 2014
To All Darkonin Ogre ( IMM RP Atlantos )
Subject Ghosts of Strength pt. 1
Grotar has just returned from the old ghost city of Gruntz, and noticed
that there was an awkward linger there, not a linger of death, but a linger
of strength and power. This linger stuck to Grotar as he was riding his
warg back to the mountain.
How coul' strong Ogre city fall like that? It need be researched an' we
Darkonin need be purveyor's of the land. If it belong to Ogres then it will
continue.
Grotar continued heading up to Darkonin's entrance and took a glance at the
heads on the pikes of the entrance. Grotar returned to Hearth of the Hall
and took a quill out to write to Darkonin.
It be too long that Darkonin not have interaction in Gruntz. We not give
proper respect an' time to visit ol' city an' to make sure it still look
presentable. The ghosts of the land only air dwellas an' we need to see to
it that we maintain control of Gruntz city until proper Oze back to reclaim
it. There need be Ogres that get pieces of land an' upkeep it. They shall
be lords of land an' when Oze come back an' reclaim Gruntz, then him will do
what will with Gruntz.
Grotar finished his thought on a piece of parchment and rolled it up and put
it in his saddlebag. He sat on the furs of the Hearth and thought about the
restoration of Grunts. He felt his time will need to be allocated wisely
for he cannot do everything. He sent orders to officers of Darkonin, having
them design a few rooms in Darkonin. He figured that a King can only do his
best to delegate to his people and that it takes an entire Kingdom to be
strong than just one person.
He stood up from the furs and took a walk around the mountain, talking to
it, and listening. He thought of the two cities as though they are one.
One with life, and one without it. Desolate. Empty. Remnants of the old.
He sought to restore. He sought to recover.
Writer: Ixi'kweez
Date Sun Apr 6 14:22:46 2014
To All Shalonesti Shalonesti_kingdom Althainia Knighthood Justice Arkane Nordmaar imm rp Scorn Nazca Austinian Zandreya
Subject Raising The Tower "A Chance Encounter" (Part Three)
The three dined contentedly on the simple yet elegant fare Momoko had
prepared; a variety of grilled seafood and fresh greens, over a bed of wild
rice, accompanied by fresh honey wheat bread. Taking a moment, he turned to
Momiji and began to speak.
"I have to apologize, little Momiji. It appears that I had tripped over
your pet panda in the road. I should have been paying more attention to
where I was going."
"Oh. You don't have to apologize, Mistah Cwillow! That happens to
Squeezums All the time. She was probably there for quite a while, staring
at her paw, or a bug or something."
Crillow smiled meekly at the little girl. "Well, I'll try to be a little
more mindful of where I'm going All the same. It can't hurt, right?" The
large man winked at Momiji slyly.
The little raven-haired girl giggled softly, returning her focus to her
meal. Crillow turned his attention back to Momiji.
"This meal is exquisite, Momoko. I haven't had fare like this since my days
in Shokono."
Momoko perked up at the mention of her homeland. "Oh? You've been to
Shokono?"
"Oh, sure! I've been All over the world, working on All sorts of
construction and public works projects. I've built docks on Icewall. I've
built ships for Arkane. Anywhere continent you go to, I've built something
on it. Why, I was on the crew as a young lad that built the housing
community for Shokono, years ago." '
"So. You might have built my former house as well. Very interesting, the
connections that can exist between people."
"Indeed." Crillow and Momoko locked eyes for a brief moment, then turned
their attention back to their dinner. They finished their meal in a
comfortable silence.
Momiji rose first, and began to clear the table, taking empty plates and
everything else not being used, back to the counter. Crillow decided to
make use of the opportunity.
"So, Momoko. I wanted to thank you again for All of your kindness. And, I
would be honored if you would allow me to repay the favor. I have the day
off tomorrow. Would you and Momiji and Squeezums be my guests tomorrow
evening for dinner?"
Momoko's heart skipped a beat. How could she possibly say no to a request
like that? In fact, she would have been disappointed, had he -not- asked
her.
"Why yes. Yes, we would love that."
Now it was Crillow's heart that skipped a beat. "Wonderful! I live at
number 8, Avenue C. We haven't gotten around to naming All the roads yet.
I look forward to cooking for you."
Raising The Tower, the full novel so far:
---> https://drive.google.com/#folders/0B6OJjgBBV3jVSnlZdHlCcnBCSUk
Writer: Maerliya
Date Sun Apr 6 15:53:20 2014
Writer: Ancaladar
Date Mon Apr 7 09:11:07 2014
To Shalonesti Shalonesti_Kingdom All ( Nazca Imm )
Subject The Edge of Dawn (Part IV)
Ancaladar rested above the altar, as he usually did, watching the other elves
as they tended to their duties and prepared to venture out upon the field to
wreak havoc among their enemies. In the past few days he had lost his taste
for battle and had been focusing his attention more upon his home and the
elves that resided there. He was quickly making the transition back toward
business and diplomacy. Ancaladar was watching one such elf checking over his
equipment and wards when a slight disturbance traveled through the room. The
past few days had been taxing indeed, and so when he felt a wave of energy
travel through and past him, he could not say with any certainty that it had
truly happened. It wasn't until other elves began to inquire as to what had
caused the disturbance within the Vallenwoods that he began to suspect its
origin.
Quickly the elves began to make their way to the shared groves to speak with
one another. Ancaladar gathered his belongings, and with some reluctance
including the satchel that held the strange and mysterious hilt. They had been
waiting for answers for some time now, but now uncertainty filled him. Should
they really be continuing this adventure? After a brief pause to collect
himself and appear as if nothing at All was the matter, he stepped quietly
into the grove, tucking his arm into his mantle as he usually did. The elves
were gathered around the circle, as they usually were. Ixi'kweez hovering
above the ground in a meditative posture that was somehow not at all
meditative. The other elves were exchanging brief greetings, as if they had
not seen one another in months. With some inquiries toward the hilt, Ancaladar
confirmed that the hilt was safe and in his possession. Next she asked about
the strange pulsing, and whether he had felt anything from his place upon the
platform. Just as he was answering, another pulse traveled through them. The
grove practically erupted with activity.
Producing the satchel that held the hilt, Ancaladar peered down upon it with
no small hint of curiosity. Another soft pulse, unlike before seemed to
reverberate within his skull. It continued, rhythmically for a long while
before he identified it as something similar to a heart's beating. Reaching
down toward the satchel, he freed the buckle and threw back the flap that
concealed the hilt from view. A pale, rosey glow shone from the satchel,
settling upon his face. Amid excited whispers, he reached into the satchel and
retrieved the hilt, grasping the handle firmly. The glow slowly began to fade,
and a warmth filled Ancaladar, as if its power were being pushed into him. He
raised the hilt, holding it up for the other elves to inspect when he heard
the familiar voice within his mind. The light of the hilt began to crawl up
Ancaladar's arm, curling around it like a serpent. "Do your people war?"
Aelysse frowned as he offered his reply, although he was not certain what she
was responding to. "Our people are unified, though there are those who would
see us eradicated." He held up a finger to the other elves, urging them to
wait a moment. "We have some questions for you."
What happened next was entirely unexpected, and the surprised and somewhat
fearful and cautious expressions from the other elves did nothing to soothe
Ancaladar's own. Energy began to rise from the hilt, swirling upward as
tendrils made up of small particles of light. Aelysse was the first to ask
whether he was alright, and Ancaladar found after a moment that the fear that
knotted at his stomach was slowly beginning to ease as a gentle and pleasant
sensation smothered it. The hilt began to brighten and pulse once more, but it
wasn't until his own heartbeat began to drum upon his ears that he realized
that the two beat as one. He shared a few words with the other elves, noting
the sudden connection he felt with the hilt. The light began to expand from
the hilt, moving outward and away from Ancaladar until it split and began to
take the shape of a woman.
Writer: Ancaladar
Date Mon Apr 7 09:50:16 2014
To Shalonesti Shalonesti_Kingdom All ( Nazca Imm )
Subject The Edge of Dawn (Part V)
Lowering the hilt, Ancaladar gazed upon the woman born of light. Some of the
elves began to inch closer, overwhelmed by their own curiosity. Ethiriel, his
wife, gave the woman only a quick glance before turning her attention back
toward him, watching him intently. Aelysse, for her own part, was giving
herself an early set of wrinkles, her frown deepening even further than it had
been only a moment ago. The avatar of the hilt was made up of the same rosey
colored light that the hilt had emitted, but when it opened its eyes, it
revealed them to be a very bright orange, not unlike dawn. Ancaladar turned
his head away from the avatar for only a moment to look upon his wife, then
stepped toward it, dipping his head in greeting.
The avatar, previously seeming to be lost in itself turned its head, visibly
focusing upon Ancaladar as he approached. Aelysse vocally advised caution, and
while Ancaladar agreed, he did not want to ruin the opportunity to learn more
of the hilt and this creature that resided within over another complication.
The avatar spoke, and though its lips moved, the voice that Ancaladar heard
did not come from the figure, but within his own mind, like before. "Please,
bring me to the light." The elves wasted no time in making their way back to
the top of the waterfall, to allow the hilt to once more bathe within the
light of the coming dawn. During this time, he took note of the avatar's
motions. It appeared to remain leashed to the hilt, though not visibly. It
merely hovered close by, bypassing any obstacle with ease. Their stay upon the
falls was brief. Once the light had breathed upon the hilt they returned to
the grove below with little incident. The avatar was more opaque now... more
solid. It had been difficult to judge how much power the hilt had stored, or
how it was being used until now. Now they had a visual reminder.
Once they had returned, they immediately began to voice their questions.
Ancaladar, for his own part, attempted to stand mostly aside in the endeavor.
He had spearheaded much of this excursion, though he did not feel it was his
rightful place to do so. It was an opportunity to allow the other elves some
comfort in the knowledge they desperately sought. But before the other elves
began, he first inquired upon the being's name, to which it replied that it
could not remember. When he supplied the name 'Dawn', it showed some measure
of recognition, its eyes searching him with a disturbing intensity. "Yes. It
feels right." Before he realized it, he was asking another question, his own
curiosity getting the better of him despite his earlier resolution. He
inquired after the great betrayal that Tanim had mentioned in his story.
Unfortunately, the spirit did not seem to remember much at All about...
anything. Disappointed, Ancaladar quickly confirmed that All of the elves
present could hear the avatar before he encouraged them to move ahead with
their own questions. The avatar hovered over the pool now, its light
reflecting off the surface.
One of the elves asked what the spirit last remembered. It could only remember
what had happened recently, when it had been awoken by the dawn's light.
Another elf asked if it wished to be free of the blade. The avatar told them
that she and the blade were one and the same; they were connected. At this
point, Ancaladar's previous reservations began to resurface, though he
remained silent. Amidst the other questions, the image finally peered down
upon the hilt, only now noting its present state. "I am broken." Ancaladar
nodded his head, sharing with the spirit that they had been searching for its
other half for some time, and that they required clues in order to do so
successfully. It continued to rant, seeming to ignore the elves' words in its
distress. Frustration overtook Ancaladar, and his hand began to wander to the
shattered edge. Careful not to cut himself, his hand wrapped upon the broken
portion, and the image of the woman flared brightly.
Writer: Sinsari
Date Mon Apr 7 20:58:02 2014
Writer: Sinsari
Date Mon Apr 7 20:58:07 2014
Writer: Rikam
Date Tue Apr 8 12:31:02 2014
Writer: Grotar
Date Tue Apr 8 18:26:34 2014
To All Darkonin ( IMM RP )
Subject Let the builds begin.
After Grotar finished de-throating another gnome in the factory, he
headed back to the cold mountain of Darkonin. He dropped his pack and
hoards an' slouched in a semi-sturdy chair and folded his arms. He spent
most of his training with the citizens of Abaddon and became quite familiar
with them. He thought about the bonds he created with them and pulled out a
parchment and began writing to their count.
After he added last drop of ink, he stood from his chair, and began his
daily venture around the city. He looked and ended up in the Hall of
Temples. He saw that there were many Temples that highlighted certain gods.
What he did not notice was the lack of the Ogre father or his wife as a
temple. He sent a missive to the Warlord to see to it that a design for a
Temple is created.
He also thought about the history of Darkonin an' how it could be of value
for everyone to know certain documents about Darkonin. He sent another
missive to Khorvash asking for what is needed in a library and the best
place to put it.
Improvements will be made
Writer: Grotar
Date Wed Apr 9 00:48:45 2014
To All ( IMM RP Atlantos Kyri )
Subject Seek the answers...
Grotar found himself walking the mountain once again, and this time the
mountain spoke to him.
Find history's past. Search Dolun'ir. Find its secrets
Grotar stopped in his large stride, and thought about Dolun'ir. The Fallen
City of Goblins, The deserted Kingdom of old just like Gruntz. He was
halted in his thought while the mountain continued to speak.
What you seek, you will find there. Go. Inspect. Survey. Find the
goblins of the old.
Grotar spoke to himself, repeating the words of the mountain. He return to
the Hearth and disappeared in the Antechamber to Althainia.
He is going to search for some answers...
Writer: Amyth'lynn
Date Wed Apr 9 18:32:13 2014
Writer: Ixi'kweez
Date Wed Apr 9 23:09:26 2014
To All Shalonesti Shalonesti_kingdom Althainia Knighthood Justice Arkane Nordmaar imm rp Scorn Nazca Austinian Zandreya
Subject Raising The Tower "Crillow's Big Day" (Part One)
*knock knock knock knock knock*
Crillow waited several more seconds for an answer, and once again it did not
come. Not to be deterred, he gave it another go.
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
The small peephole window in the oaken door opened up, revealing a rather
obese bald man with an annoyed look on his face. The stench of alcohol
wafted through the window profusely.
"It's nighttime. I'm closed! Come back tomorrow." With that, the
peephole slammed shut once again.
*POUND POUND POUND POUND POUND*
"What part of 'I'm closed' aren't you gettin'? I'll be open at sunrise.
What the hell is yer problem?" The drunken man finished his question with
a sickening belch, causing Crillow to grimace.
"Look, Schill. I know it's late, but this is important! I need a pig,
gutted and cleaned. A nice one. Eighty or ninety pounds. I gotta slow
cook it All night so it's ready for my date tomorrow."
"An eighty pound pig... For a date? She must be HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE!!!
Bwahahahaha-AIIII!!!! "
The fat man's eyes bugged out as Crillow reached through the window,
grabbing on to Schill's nose, and pulling his head tight against the window
with a thud.
"Now you listen to me, you fat lunatic!" Crillow twisted the nose through
the window, to ensure his words carried the proper weight. "I built this
house in a day, and I can take it down in ninety seconds! Now I have a big
date tomorrow, and everything's gotta be absolutely perfect! So get your
fat arse into the pen, and get me a ninety pound pig. Gut it and clean it,
and I'll give you extra for your trouble. Are we clear?"
Crillow released his hold on Schill's nose, maintaining his gaze on the
drunken farmer, who with a glare, nodded his consent.
"Aye, I'll get you yer pig, ye bastard! I'll be a little bit. Why don't
you go kick the produce man's door down while yer waitin'?"
Writer: Styrkar
Date Wed Apr 9 23:59:40 2014
Writer: Ancaladar
Date Thu Apr 10 11:33:54 2014
To Shalonesti Shalonesti_Kingdom All ( Nazca Imm )
Subject The Edge of Dawn (Part VI)
Amidst panicked cries and shouts, Ancaladar sat in intense concentration. The
light that made up the avatar's form was slowly returning to the blade.
Amyth'lynn, friend and advisor, called for him to drop it. Aelysse, friend and
Speaker, made her way forward. Ethiriel, his wife, pleaded for him to drop it.
Determination pushed him onwards, and for every bit of light that returned to
the hilt, some began to climb from the hilt and into himself. Amongst
themselves, the other elves quickly decided to take the hilt from Ancaladar by
force. But it was much too late...
As Aelysse darted forward, taking hold of the satchel and attempted to cover
and remove the hilt from Ancaladar's grip, the light completely receded into
his arm, and his eyes flared a bright orange, much like the woman of the
blade. They spoke to him. They pleaded. But All words and actions were lost to
him. Ancaladar sat completely and utterly catatonic. His left hand had left
the blade of the hilt, but his right was clenched upon the handle like iron.
Within his mind, it was a storm of emotion, feeling, and memory. The input was
far to much for Ancaladar to do anything but allow the onslaught upon his
senses to continue. Love... Fear... Sorrow... All drifted through the link he
had with the hilt, and he felt each and every ounce of pain that had been
pulled into the sword along with those who had sacrificed themselves to create
it.
Within the groves, the elves frantically tried to break his bond with the
sword. Aelysse continued to attempt to pry the hilt from his hand. Sylitae
tried to shake some sense into him. Others mouthed off ideas, such as charming
or heating the metal to force him to drop it. As All this continued, Ethiriel
stepped forward, placing a hand upon Ancaladar's shoulder. She shuddered and
sobbed as tears began to drift down her cheeks. The sight of Ancaladar as
little more than a shell, very much like a slave to some other being they did
not even comprehend, was far too much to bear. But the tears rolling down her
cheeks were far from normal. They carried with them the same rosy glow that
the hilt had held moments before.
Images continued to pass through Ancaladar's mind like a rushing river until
it paused and steadied on one. He saw greenery stretching out for leagues and
leagues. He heard laughter, then felt the grip of cold earth All about him. A
woman stepped past his vision, right into a tree. And then it was gone... The
light receded from, first Ethiriel, then Ancaladar... and they were once more
themselves, though changed.
In the moments that followed, they shared the information that had been fed to
them through the bond. Of the green and the earth... the woman and the tree.
During it all, Ancaladar realized that the answer he sought was now within
him. He could feel the pieces of the broken blade within the distance... as if
they were a part of himself. The elves took to the ship and departed...
sailing until they reached Icewall. And there, upon the forested floor of the
Verdant Wood, they found the shards of the broken blade tucked safely away
from sight beneath the earth. Once together, the runes upon the blade began to
form words... "D A W N - C O M E S"
Writer: Amyth'lynn
Date Thu Apr 10 17:52:58 2014
Writer: Sinsari
Date Thu Apr 10 20:56:37 2014
Writer: Sinsari
Date Thu Apr 10 20:56:52 2014
Writer: Ayzrael
Date Thu Apr 10 22:09:33 2014
Writer: Deccan
Date Fri Apr 11 03:09:45 2014
Writer: Savari
Date Fri Apr 11 07:53:10 2014
Writer: Ayzrael
Date Sat Apr 12 01:50:00 2014
To Abaddon | All Atlantos Imm |
Subject The Reaper Returns
Cerulean eyes which were normally calm, carefree even, were not so this
day. Within each orb a hidden fire crackled and smoldered - he was fast
losing patience. Definetly not the best thing - for more reasons then one.
As he turned down Gluttony Lane, a pathetic citizen held her hand out. One
quick look at her and he could see that she had spent just a tad too much
time within the Tavern, nursing whatever poison Master Arben was offering
his patrons this day. 'Spare sum change, Misser? ' She asked, thrusting
her hand in front of his face. The Assassin did not lose a step - indeed he
was four feet away, continuing about his business when her hand fell to the
ground at her feet, her screams puncturing the delicate silence of the
midnight air.
He thought back to his meeting with Casiella, how he tried his best to
explain, as well as he could, 'masks' and those that he wore, and the
reasons he did so. In the end, he could not fully translate his feelings -
and this bothered him, greatly. He had spent no small amount of time
studying the habits of humans and elves, learning each language, the
smallest nuances, the littlest of quirks. It still was not enough.
Gritting his teeth, he lifted his head and found that his feet had carried
him to the Kingdoms fountain. Stepping forward, he removed his gloves and
dipped his hands into the cool basin of water, stopping to splash a bit upon
his face as he stood within the shadow of the weeping angel.
Taking several long, deep breaths Ayzrael's mind raced. He began to piece
together the puzzle before him, layering specific answers to specific
questions. It was time to put away the mask of the jester and don the one
of the Reaper. There would be many who did not like that particular mask -
but in the end, their opinion would not matter to him. He would do what he
was tasked to do by Commanders, Count and by God. And he would kill whoever
stood in his way.
Writer: Orlen
Date Sat Apr 12 03:12:41 2014
To All Abaddon Imm ( RP Atlantos )
Subject The Search: Prologue - The Burial Room
Orlen Aingar stretched himself against the bone throne. While not overly
comfortable, his body grew accustomed to every misfit bone and crack against
his back rest.
He could hear, nay, he could FEEL the commotion within Abaddon, the noise of
hushed whispers at the Basillica, murmuring about the proper rituals to
bestow a blessing upon such an item.
The chanting of the Coven, as dark spells were uttered to discern the
location of the weapon pieces, and in the deepest libraries, talk about
reforging such a master piece.
The shouts of orders from Casiella, Ayzrael and Syrieni as they grouped up
their war parties and made sure they are equipped for All weather combat.
And finally, he could hear Jonathen, Darrin and Ainin sitting in the tavern,
sharing an idea on how to find the said pieces between sips of ale.
Abaddon was shimmering with force, both from its citizens and the very
essence of the land, and it was time to make use of that force.
To deadly effect.
Writer: Ayzrael
Date Sat Apr 12 03:27:47 2014
To Abaddon | Casiella Atlantos All |
Subject | Officer Training : Part I |
Entering the barracks, The Black Reaper of Fatale removed the hood of his
cloak. He paused to look upon the provisions afforded to this small unit of
soldiers he had gathered. Beds. Equipment. Foodstuffs. Canteens. Extra
clothing. Blankets. Fire starting kits. Tents. All in all, it was far
too much. He made quick work of gathering everything. Piling it within the
center of the room, he placed All of it just so, so that when they entered,
they could see everything, and identify each comfort they would most
assuredly not be afforded. With a satisfied nod, Ayzrael moved off to the
far wall, folded his arms upon his chest and leaned casually upon it.
A cold draft swirled into the barrack, bringing it with it the scent of
blood pies and the boisterous, idle chatter of men and women eager to begin
their work under the mysterious assassin who had been assigned to them. As
they trickled into the barrack, they did not notice him standing there -
what they did notice was the huge pile of equipment in the center. "Well,
whoever this guy is, he sure knows how to keep us comfortable in the field!"
Commented a large, burly man with a round chest and reddish whiskers upon
his chin.
Ayzrael rose up off the wall from his spot, and walked to the center of the
room, just before the pile of gear. He watched with an approving eye as
each of the eight men and women came to stand at attention, offering their
salute. He did not say anything as he began to strip off his own gear.
Cloak. Swords. Daggers. Survival pack. Everything but his leather
clothing went to the top of the pile. Each of them watched curiously. He
could see the questions they burned to ask. With a final glance at
everything, Ayzrael moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with a rather short
woman at the end of the line. Reaching his hand out, Ayzrael took a torch
from upon the wall and tossed it directly on top of the pile, watching as
the flames began to spread, slowly at first, but with increasing speed.
When everything had burned down and began to smolder, only then did he
speak. 'It is not my task to ensure you are comfortable. It is my task to
ensure that you can survive, no matter the circumstances, the location, or
the lack of equipment you might have. This we will learn and experience
together, as one. We begin in four hours. Get some rest. '
Drawing the hood of his cloak up and over his head, Ayzrael let himself out
of the barracks, pausing only long enough to hear the first few remarks.
Most were what he expected - about his varying level of craziness and such -
but one stood out amongst the others, uttered, he knew, by the girl he had
stood with. 'It takes balls for an officer to teach by doing. I respect
that, even if he's just an officer in training. '
Writer: Savari
Date Sat Apr 12 05:10:30 2014
To All Abaddon Orlen Aranin Immortal Atlantos Religion Roleplay Fatale
Subject The Search: Candle Flames
The flame on her candle flickered as it played out its final dance, read to
diminish and fade--to join the void along with All things that died and
withered away from the world.
For a moment, Savari sat back and watched the light play shadows on the wall
in a sort of silent and dramatic theatre. There was a story there for any
who cared to watch. The problem was that almost no one did. So many accused
Fatale's followers of focusing on death, but that was so far from the truth
in Savari's eyes. No, if anyone appreciated life, it was a Fatalite. At any
moment, the Master of the Void could come calling, and, as glorious as it
would be to accept death in a worthy manner--it was more often than not the
life lived before death that was remembered.
Savari let out a small breath through her nostrils, causing them to flare.
Her calloused fingers ran lengthwise up her face and then up through the
fiery locks of her vibrant, many-shaded red hair. She was only eighteen,
already Pontifex of the Obsidian Order. Her father, the Count, expected
great things of her.
Her siblings were no slouches either. It was because of Aranin that she was
in this situation to begin with.Yaravi had already found a man worth keeping,
one whom their father approved of. Of the four of them, Deccan had the least
to show for his efforts. However, Savari knew him. Her ambitions for
Countess when her father's time had come were well-known. It wasn't an
inherited position. In fact, it might not go to an Aingar at all. But, if
there were a shadow cast by another on her ambitions, it was Deccan.
None of that mattered at the present moment. What mattered were the stacks
of tomes. Tomes upon tomes upon tomes littered the small, poorly lit room
that she had holed herself in. Holed was an excellent way to describe it.
She'd literally spent two and a half days straight with books on All sides,
trapping her like prison walls. Food was brought down by lesser acolytes.
She'd requested a bath, but All that had been brought down was a sponge
and a towel.
If she wanted, she could have All of it moved to the Aingar estate. The new
manor was under construction, but they still had the house they'd grown up
in, a truly magnificent holding that she was certain she would miss when they
moved out of it completely. For this task it would do. The manor was mostly
quiet these days, with All of her siblings and her grown up and pursuing
their own interests. Her mother and father were often too busy to spend
their evenings at home. It was spacious with All of the comforts she craved.
Which was exactly why she couldn't use it.
When had a story ever been told about the wealthy noble brat who spent a
week relaxing in luxury while researching what might have been a piece
to one of the most historically important events in her generation? No,
sacrifice was needed here.
There was something to be said about dedication, hard work and effort.
There was something intangible about the results of desperation. She
wasn't desperate yet, but she would be. Until then, Savari would work for
it, just as she always had. The same dedication and effort she put into
everything else would be applied to every last tome.
The answer was hers to find, if only she could find it.
Writer: Savari
Date Sat Apr 12 13:43:51 2014
To All Abaddon Orlen Aranin Immortal Religion Roleplay Atlantos
Subject The Search: Tomes of Priceless Value
"Do you understand my terms? " Savari folded her arms and looked up at
the two lesser acolytes whom had the duty of picking up the first shift of
watch over the bastion of enlightenment in Abaddon's library.
Both acolytes nodded. There was something in the short woman's gaze which
brooked no argument. In spite of her size, youth and seemingly kind
features, there was steel to her gaze that gave it an unmatched intensity
when used. "It's very important. Only those with rank in Abaddon can
enter, for now. We have some of the rarest and ancient of Abaddon's texts
here. Some even date back towards the beginnings of recorded history. I
will not see such texts lost on my watch. "
"Anything else, Lady Pontifex? " One of the Acolytes asked.
"Mmm, yes. If we get an intruder who will not turn away on your request,
involve the Forsaken guards that will be here. Don't engage in a scuffle by
yourselves. " Savari glanced up at each acolyte to make sure they
understood. One of them frowned and put a dagger away, "I didn't say you
couldn't help though. Especially in the interrogation portion, if
necessary. " She gave one of her lopsided grins.
The acolyte who had frowned grinned too, "As you say, milady. "
Nodding once, Savari turned away and headed up the stairs and back out onto
the streets of Abaddon. She still had more research to do but there was no
point in denying herself a bath and a good meal if they were available to
her. Taking care of her base needs would allow her to better focus on the
task when she returned. She needed fresh eyes, a headache already pulsed at
the front of her skull.
Writer: Savari
Date Sat Apr 12 18:46:09 2014
Writer: Ilimilipili
Date Sat Apr 12 23:48:04 2014
Writer: Ayzrael
Date Sun Apr 13 16:57:37 2014
To Abaddon | Casiella Atlantos All |
Subject | Officer Training : Part II |
The only light to be had were from the stars scattered high overhead.
Even the moonlight refused to shed its pale light upon the land this night,
and the Reaper could not be happier about it. Turning to the rag-tag group
of Forsaken trailing him, he stopped upon a small island within the swamp
land, nodding at them. 'This seems to be the only place that will sustain a
prolonged camp for any amount of time. The fog is light here, the ground as
firm as it could be. ' He spoke, tapping the tip of a soft soled boot upon
the dirt below. 'Can anyone tell me why that is exactly what we are -not-
going to do? '
Waiting patiently, Ayzrael's cerulean gaze shifted to the dark haired woman
at the back of the party. Her name was Arlayna, and she was by far the most
capable of the bunch. As if on cue, she answered in a soft, almost melodic
voice. 'Because our enemy will realize this is the only place to camp, and
if they know we are here, this will be the first place they look. Not to
mention, it will be an utterly perfect place for us to lay a trap for them.
'
With a satisfied nod, Ayzrael turned about to scan the land around him.
'Once again, Arlayna is correct. We have received reports that an elven
scouting party has been seen on the outskirts of the swamp. Earlier today,
they gathered the courage to set foot within. Arlayna, you will set a trap
for our visitors. Gremkor, you will scout the surrounding area for a
suitable place to set up camp. Remember, you will not find much that is
suitable, so find the lesser of the evils, and set up there. '
The Reaper drew the hood of his cloak up and over his head, casting his face
in shadow. Turning about, he gazed upon the three members that were left of
the initial twelve. Some he had dismissed the first night. Others had not
the strength to endure, and these the swampland had claimed. The remaining
three were the best of the bunch, each possessing the will, the heart, and
the skill to make it within the Forsaken - if their skill held in the coming
days. The scouting party numbered eight - they were outnumbered two to one,
but this Swampland was their home. They had the advantage. He only hoped
the remaining three would realize this. Without further word, Ayzrael
stepped into the shadows and faded from view, leaving the three to begin
their task.
Though they might have the home advantage, the numbers needed to be even for
him to find out the information he required. It was time to hunt.
Writer: Syrieni
Date Mon Apr 14 07:30:18 2014
To Ayzrael Casiella Abaddon | Atlantos All |
Subject Echoes of the Past
The dream always started out nice before it turned into one horrific
nightmare. A little girl, no more than the age of four, sat between her
parents in the library of their mansion as they told her stories. Ones of
the magnificent Chromatic Dragons. Stories of old. Stories that were lost
in time. And the little one was always excited for these tales.
Just as her parents were getting into it, her father had stopped and glanced
up, now seeming alert. Surely he hadn't heard.. Sure enough there was
another scream. He quickly stood up and turned to his wife, who was now
clutching their only child, 'Take her and hide. ' The young woman looked up
at her husband with pleading eyes, 'But.. ' The man leaned down and pressed
a kiss to his little one's forehead, before turning to do the same with his
beloved, 'Go. Quickly now. They must never find her. Ever. ' He turned
as the woman got up and moved with speed over to one of the bookcases.
Pulling on one of the books, a secret panel had opened and it was there that
she stepped inside and placed her child down, kissing her on the forehead.
Uttering a quiet spell, she gave one last look at her daughter before
heading out. The words rang clear. Those last words, 'I love you.. '
played in the little girl's mind. Her mother had cast her to be
undetectable. It was there that chaos had errupted.
Blood. The smell of death. It wasn't just murder, it was slaughter. A
four year old little girl, hidden from view as she watched with frightened
eyes as those she held dear to her were slain, lost forever. Her parents
had fought the attackers with All they had. And they had lost. She heard
the man's voice, 'Find the girl. Tear this place apart and find that little
brat. ' The girl hugged her knees to her chest as she watched those dark
figures pass by. The man who spoke had a scar on his left cheek. Her body
quivered in fear as he stood right before her, though she remained unseen to
him. She had to keep her breathing even, her heartbeat slow. It wasn't
long before the others had returned, claiming to see no sign or trace of the
girl. 'The brat couldn't have gotten far. We will find her... '
Waking up in the middle of the night and sitting up in bed quickly, Syrieni
glanced around the room. Her heart was pounding loudly in her chest. The
nightmares were plaguing her mind again. The same ones, over and over.
Replaying again and again. The day before, the Reaper had prompted her to
tell him what troubled her. So she told him bits and pieces of what she
could remember. As she thought back, she could feel the tears welling in
her eyes. Now wasn't the time to shed tears. She had already shed too
many. It was time to slay the girl she once was. To be reborn and become
much more than what she is. Her strength needed to shine. Getting out of
bed, she glanced out the window, the light of the moon touching her skin.
She moved from the window and quickly got dressed. Reaching down, she
grabbed her sword and headed out into the night.
Staying to the shadows, Syrieni made her way to where she could train
quietly. It was here that she would begin. And it wasn't going to be easy.
She had a long road ahead of her. Stepping from the shadows and into the
garden, she practiced a few swings with her weapon before setting into
motion. Her movements are graceful with every strike and pose, thanks to
her training as a dancer. The night breeze gently blows past, caressing her
hair, as if whispering to her. From the darkness of the shadows, another
figure watches over her, as if guarding.
'It is time.. '
Yes, it was time. Time to go back to where it All began...
Writer: Damion
Date Mon Apr 14 13:15:03 2014
Writer: Ayzrael
Date Mon Apr 14 13:51:03 2014
To Syrieni Casiella Abaddon | Atlantos All |
Subject Echoes of the Past
The Reaper watched through cerulean eyes that remained shadowed by the
hood of his cloak. His return to Abaddon had been All business - after a
fashion, and he was doing as well as could be expected. As he watched the
beautiful woman go through each of her sword dances, he thought back to
their first drill together and his lips curled upwards at the sides. She
was hosting her first drill, and he had did everything in his power to give
her grief. Not simply because he wished to bother her, though thinking
back, he supposed he would not be truthful if he didn't admit that /was/ a
big part of it, yet he could see in her even then a light of greatness. And
so he made her work. Forced her to adapt. Forced her to improvise, and in
the end, this made her better, in his opinion. Better then she already was.
From there, the rest was history, as the saying went. She was one of the
very few who saw past the surface - and down to the heart beneath the flesh.
Their friendship had begun innocent enough, and he had come to look forward
to meeting her each day, simply to find out what hers had been like, and
nothing more. He continued to watch as she held her sword high above her
head and twirled it within the moonlight as her feet weaved intricate
patterns upon the ground below. She was graceful, of that there was no
doubt. He allowed himself a few moments further to watch, before departing
the Garden upon silent footsteps.
As he approached his home, he thought back to the time the pair had spent
some time in the Fall. The Tavern was a home away from home for him, and as
soon as Syrieni entered, he knew something was troubling her. It was not
long before he found out what - and in that moment he had vowed to help her
bring peace to her dreams. He questioned her, repeatedly about that fateful
night, down to the smallest detail. Information gathered, it was now time
for the second step. Entering his home and moving to a back panel in what
could be considered the living room, the Reaper touched a panel and watched
as the wall swung in, revealing weaponry. He selected his daggers, a sword,
several throwing knives, acidic wire, several small, portable traps,
caltraps, and finally a small vial of greenish liquid.
With a nod of finality, Ayzrael returned the wall to its former state and
exited his home. Returning to the Garden, he had expected her to be long
gone - what greeted his eyes caused a fire within to flare to life. She was
still there, her sword sailing through the air. He had never seen her so...
So full of anger, of rage, of bittersweet determination. Yes... She would
have her vengeance, of that he had no doubt. And he would be with her every
step of the way, for as long as she desired it.
'It is time...'
Writer: Syrieni
Date Mon Apr 14 20:08:04 2014
To Ayzrael Casiella Abaddon | Atlantos All |
Subject Echoes of the Past (Part III)
The pair set out into the night, keeping to the shadows as they traveled
to the first location. The young woman had her eyes trained on the mansion
as they neared, a place she hadn't set foot in since that fateful night, and
now was the time to enter it. Drawing in a deep breath as Syrieni neared
the front entrance, she seemed to hesitate. Sensing her hesitation, the
Reaper placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. She let
out the breath she'd been holding and slowly turned the knob of the door,
pushing it open. The sound of it creaking, made her wince slightly.
Taking a step inside, her eyes glanced about as memories started flooding
her mind as if going farther back in time. Something flickered in her gaze
and she pushed those memories aside as she moved down the hall. She turned
to Ayzrael, her voice soft as she spoke, 'I need you to search upstairs
while I look in the library. ' Now, the Reaper wasn't keen on letting her
go alone, but he would abide by her wishes, though he loathed the thought of
leaving her side. She gave his hand a squeeze before leaving him, heading
more down the hall and disappearing around the corner.
She stopped near the double doors of the library. Her hands were slightly
shaking as she placed them on the handles. Gathering up her courage, she
flung open the doors. Dust was blown about and she waved her hand in front
of her face, coughing slightly. Gazing into the room, it hadn't changed at
all. Taking a step farther into the library, she placed the candle she had
lit onto a small table, filling the room with a little light. She stopped
dead in her tracks as her eyes fell to the dark stain on the carpet.
Closing her eyes, she put a hand over her heart, 'Mama.. Papa.. ' Her
voice seemed to break for just an instant, before she gathered her resolve
and opened her eyes again.
With her footsteps being light, she moved over to one of the bookcasings and
started searching. Pulling books off the shelves one by one, flipping
through them, shaking them. She kept looking, searching for any sign or
clue. Standing on her tiptoes, she reached up to the top shelf, pulling out
one book. It was that book that a single parchment fell out. Holding the
book to her chest, she bent down and picked up the parchment. She wasn't
paying much attention to her surroundings as a dark figure appeared from the
shadows only a few feet behind her. It was here, that the voice spoke.
'Found you at last. You won't get away this time. '
Before Syrieni had time to even react or do anything, a cloth was thrown
over her mouth and nose. As she tried desperately not to breathe in and
struggle with the figure behind her, she was slowly losing consciousness.
As she went limp, the figure grunted, favoring his left leg. Hefting the
girl over his shoulder, he quickly made his escape. Though it was quite
clear that anyone with good hearing could hear the footsteps. The parchment
from Syrieni's hand slowly fluttered to the floor, left behind.
'We got her boys. '
Writer: Brawnwyn
Date Mon Apr 14 20:17:07 2014
Writer: Ayzrael
Date Mon Apr 14 20:36:45 2014
To Syrieni Casiella Abaddon | Atlantos All |
Subject Echoes of the Past | Part IV |
As he reached the top of the stairs, his cerulean eyes augmented by the
magic gifted to him through Drakkara were keen, yet they spied nothing. He
knew splitting up was a bad idea, it went against every grain of his being,
yet he had promised both Syrieni and Casiella he would allow her to lead
this quest - for it was her right. It was her parents that were stripped
away from her, murdered before her very eyes as she was forced to watch.
And so, with reservation, he began to search the upper floor for anything
the murderers might have left behind.
The mansion itself was grand - even despite the years of unuse. Dust and
grime had gathered, to be sure, but with a quick cleaning it could be
restored. Yet as soon as the thought presented itself he cast it away - it
could be cleaned physically, but the memories, the pain... They would
linger. Better to be done with the place and move on. As Ayzrael turned
into an unused bedroom, the sound of scuffling feet brought him alarm.
Gritting his teeth, he fought against every fiber of his being that willed
him to rush downstairs and simply melded into the shadows.
The pair had been watched, despite being careful. Somehow, somewhere,
someone was informed of their arrival, and a party of men had been
dispatched to complete the task they had started so many years ago. As
Ayzrael became one with the dark that was apart of his very being, he
listened intently. There were no screams of pain or shout of surprise. The
enemy had lain in wait. Syrieni did not call out to him, so they had taken
her by surprise, quite possibly with some form of sleeping powder. By the
sound of the footsteps below, there were more then one, and judging by the
sound of the footsteps upon the stairs, at least two were on their way to
him.
Yet, he was not named Reaper of Fatale for show.
Sliding out of the bedroom on the tips of his toes, his left gloved hand
delved into the pouch at his side. Once the assailants had climbed the
stairs, they would begin to search the rooms, heading down the long hallway
until they reached the furthest room. He scattered his caltraps upon the
floor, leaving them within the light. With a satisfied nod, deft fingertips
laid the second trap. With mere seconds Ayzrael re-entered the room at the
end of the hall and simply waited.
The men were good. Lowering himself to the floor, he peeked his head out of
the doorway, at floor level. The first of the pair did not speak - he
simply raised his hand which brought his friend to a stop while the other
hand pointed at the caltraps upon the ground. Azyrael had time to see the
mans smug smile as he lifted his leg to step over the caltraps before the
almost invisible wire placed at knee level was snapped by his foot and his
face was engulfed by a noxious liquid which clang to the flesh.
The Reaper wasted no time. Withdrawing his dagger from its sheath he flew
down the hall with great speed, not pausing to let the dagger fly at the
throat of the second man who was trying his hardest to aid the first. As he
began to gurgle and spew blood, Ayzrael reached the stairwall and vaulted
over the bannister, dashing down the stairs to rescue to Syrieni.
Yet she was long gone.
Writer: Syrieni
Date Tue Apr 15 13:36:28 2014
To Ayzrael Casiella Abaddon | Atlantos All |
Subject Echoes of the Past (Part V)
Slowly starting to come to, Syrieni opened her eyes. She had no idea
where she was. The first thing to set in was panic. The second, fear
followed. Calming herself, learned from training, her gaze glanced around.
She was in a dark room of some sort. Sitting up slowly, she let out a soft
groan, bringing a hand to her temple. And that's when she noticed the
shackles around her wrists. Pulling at the chain to no avail, her eyes
moved to the door, narrowing as she heard voices just outside of it.
The door unlocked and opened, allowing a man to enter. His eyes went to
where she was, a slow grin coming to his lips, 'Ah good. You're awake. '
The young woman's eyes narrowed even more, seething with hatred. The man
chuckled and neared even closer to her, drawing his fingers down her cheek,
which caused her head to jerk back and away from his touch. The man caught
her chin in his hand and spoke, 'You've grown quite into an exquisite
beauty, my dear. ' A growl came from her throat. She wanted to kill this
man and everyone that worked for him. Letting go of her chin, the man took
a step back.
'Your parents were good at hiding you from me. ' Those hazel eyes looked at
her own and she immediately felt pressure inside of her head. She gave a
small yelp of pain and gritted her teeth, 'What is it you want from me? '
She glared at the man, her eyes burning with fire. The man tilted his head
to the side as he mulled over his answer. Finally he spoke, 'What I've
wanted for years. You, your powers. Your soul. ' The young woman snarled,
which was very unladylike for her, 'My soul belongs to my Lord and one
other. I will not bend to your will. ' She sneered at the man, 'I will be
found. And you will die. That is my promise. '
The man gave her a certain look, an evil grin showing, 'Keep telling
yourself that, darling. ' Turning away, he strode to the door, opened it
and stepped out, closing it behind him. Syrieni growled again and gave the
chain a yank in frustration, 'I swear when I get out of here.. ' She closed
her eyes, letting out a sigh. Opening her mind, she searched out the
Reaper, trying to get in contact with him. To tell him to contact her
mother in any way possible. Bringing her knees to her chest, she rested her
head against them. All she could do now was bide her time, hoping she would
be found and that she vowed she'd finally end this.
Writer: Savari
Date Tue Apr 15 17:28:45 2014
Writer: Orlen
Date Tue Apr 15 18:17:17 2014
To All Abaddon Immortal Atlantos | Fatale
Subject Whispers of the Void - Epilogue
The Count of Abaddon. The acting leader of House Aingar. The Knight of
Void. The Keeper of Blood Lands.
A father.
Orlen Aingar was just a father now, a father who has lost his child. No
parent should ever see his child perish. No parent deserves to weep over
the grave of his daughter.
Orlen kneeled before the Altar, where Savari perished, and did the only
thing he could. Pray.
'Blessed be the Keeper of the Void. Blessed be His followers, and the Land
who brings forth His Will. '
'Blessed be The Guardian of the Abyss, the Keeper of Souls. '
'May He find her, and take her, and keep her. '
'And guide her through the Abyss to her rightful place of rest. '
'To find her peace, and her serenity, in His embrace, for All eternity. '
Writer: Kinnar
Date Wed Apr 16 00:33:49 2014
Writer: Kinnar
Date Wed Apr 16 00:39:04 2014
Writer: Vylanthria
Date Wed Apr 16 05:50:26 2014
Writer: Sohada
Date Wed Apr 16 10:46:16 2014
Writer: Casiella
Date Wed Apr 16 12:43:15 2014
Writer: Casiella
Date Wed Apr 16 12:57:45 2014
Writer: Kahlyn
Date Thu Apr 17 01:41:20 2014
Writer: Kahlyn
Date Thu Apr 17 02:07:24 2014
Writer: Vylanthria
Date Thu Apr 17 12:40:05 2014
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