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OOC Thread In the Demon City, there is no day like any other. This one was no different. The sky burns green. The air screams silence. The roads twist endlessly to the horizons. Today, for you, they all lead here. The pillar twisting ever higher, the gates thrown wide in welcome. From every corner of the pit, the host of Hell assembles.  Cast: Thesaurasaurus as Tarn Kavik, Upon Whose Strings Dances The World - Malfean Defiler Mile'ionaha as Gentle Snow - Kimberian Fiend OldMidgetWillow as Gert Hellawat, Silk and Silver Cloud - Malfean Scourge Valhawk as The Glorious Tyrant - Cecelian Sovereign MadcapViking as Chukh Fen-Lei, Drunk on Bitter Fortunes - Kimberian Slayer A_Raving_Loon fucked around with this message at 03:30 on Jul 24, 2012 |
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Jul 24, 2012 02:19
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Gentle Snow 'What a mercy it is,' Snow thought to himself, 'that my mother is not here to see me now, a Prince of hell.' The area around him was a riot of sound and color. To his right and his left, two legged, mutated beasts of blubber and teeth served as his entourage, most of the rest being forced to wait outside. His shimmering white breastplate was befouled with blood (a 'gift' of dubious note from a Blood Ape) and his frozen bow was strapped to his back. Even with all this, he was lost in the crowd. Who would pay attention to one such as him when there was so much power on display? A great bridge erupted from behind him, spiraling around the arena to provide more seating for the show. Ah, yes, there was Jacint speaking to another of the Unquestionable, and his words each brought with them a new construction. To Snow's right, a host of Eurymanthoi leapt and frolic'd about a hard-faced woman who's armor appeared to be crafted from all five colors of jade. Indeed, it looked like each piece bore a different mons. No wonder the apes loved her, she must bathe in the blood of the Dynasty when in Creation. High above them, ah, yes. Ligier himself. The Green Sun cared only for the things he created, and were not the Green Sun Princes chief among them? And there, across the way, close to the action: Medalrada. She looked at him, then, Snow felt his courage wane, worn away by her gaze. Did she smile? Perhaps, perhaps not, but she graciously looked away and Snow was thankful. On times like these, Snow could gawp at the beauty of Hell. When Alveua left her forge, as she did on times like this, there were few mortals who could deny her grace, even though within her mind was an alien pattern that would see all smelted into automatons. On times like these, Snow could grimace at the horrors of hell. See the five demons wielding Firmin needle-swords, slicing themselves to ribbons to then be embraced by the demon-courtesans. The Thing Infernal was an auspicious day, if Hell could be said to have such things, for progeny. A splash of black blood flew from a sword-stroke to land on his face, and he blinked as the ichor stung his eyes. It was too much to take, at first, but now Snow had seen much. His will had encompassed the strangeness, and embraced it. He wiped the blood from his eyes and rubbed it on his pauldrons. He was supposed to meet with his fellow Princes, newly disinterred from their Chrysalii. Time to find them.
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Jul 24, 2012 03:11
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Tarn Kavik, Upon Whose Strings Dances The World No dancing, no music, no riotous festivities or festive riots. Strange for a Hellthing; Adorjan must be coming in person. A hypothesis has been formulated, and now experimental data is required. Kavik strides boldly through the ring of ossified tissue constituting the entrance to the Conventicle Malfeasant into the building's amphitheater; sure enough, the Silent Wind's anthropomorphic jouten is seated opposite the entrance, the other guests noticeably giving her a wide berth. A shame to leave his lab and his work behind, but the Yozis were quite insistent on the attendance of every single warlock, and even the dullest of mortal smiths knows better than to labor during Calibration. Lillun is clearly visible by the light of the dozen glowing Exaltations orbiting her person, which means that thirty-eight Infernals will be present at the meeting. No excuses will be tolerated, nor will any be made. An anhule scuttles by, bearing a tray of drinks aloft on upraised forelimbs; one of the glasses floats off the platter into the Defiler's hand. The atmosphere is different inside the growth of living brass, more jubilant and celebrative than the somber march outside; in Malfeas, the division between formal and informal is hard to discern and is not at all drawn along lines familiar to human sensibilities. Marottes leap about the dome, making hastened repairs as the Demon Emperor's rage twists and deforms the structure; gilmyne dance wildly in their wake, leaving luminous contrails of silver flame in their paths; a pair of erymanthoi seamlessly flow from argument to savage battle to debate again. <oh look its snow> "Is it? I can't see him from here." <hes in the crowd looking around hes the one with the white armor with blood all over it and two fat thingies following him> Tarn looks over to the milling throng of lesser demons and spots Gentle Snow in their midst. He waves to the Fiend. <oh and swillin ow OW OWWWW sorry She Who Lives In Her Name says you need to double check your mockup design because there are some issues of scale that will only show up when you make it big enough to break something> "I see. What exactly would be breaking in this instance?" <creation>
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Jul 24, 2012 04:55
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Silk and Silver Cloud Demons of all shapes and colors are everywhere, walking and flying and crawling and balancing on hundreds of pseudopods towards the Thing. From a distance they look like the lifeblood of a gigantic being, pulsing forwards towards a gigantic heart--which wasn't a terribly inaccurate way to think about them, as Malfeas' world-body creaks under their feet and claws and columns of silver light. It was strange, and a bit off-putting, but now was not the time for doubts. Besides, it was Calibration--expectations of what is possible are not so strong. Either way, when in Malfeas... He concentrates for a second, then smiles. A menacing figure in jet-black armor zooms past the congregated demons and warlocks, circling around once before diving off his disc and ruling to a stop in one of the few free spaces left next to mostly other Green Sun Princes. His 'blade hovers for a fraction of a second, as if confused, then collapses into a small chevron and flutters down to his waiting palm. Silk and Silver Cloud gives snappy mock-salutes to the warlocks next to him, ten settles down into a not-quite formal but still distinctly military posture of attention, his eyes up at Adorjan. His silence and a slight nod are all that is needed to show his respect(and terror, but that seems quite universal).
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Jul 24, 2012 22:18
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Gentle Snow "Cloud, there you are," he said. He nudged the man, "I see Tarn, above." Old Realm "The bottle," he said, and one of the devil-walruses lifted an arm to reveal a veritable bandolier of bottles. It handed one over with a flipper-appendage, and Snow took it. "They say you can turn anything into liquor. It would seem demons have done more to that end than even the races of man," he commended, then uncorked the bottle and sniffed at it. "Silverwine. Can you believe it? Tastes like purity, but the aftertaste is a kick in the teeth." He offered Cloud a drink. "Come, lets join him." Old Realm "Kamilla's grace upon you, that grace which is known even in Malfeas! Let me pass!" he shouted, and a gentle wind sprang up around him. A corpse, trampled in the rush, dissolved into shining essence and swirled around Snow. The way parted, for none would bar passage of Adorjan's kindest face. "The grace of hell, the soul of a demon, that's a flavor I could not begin to describe."
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Jul 25, 2012 03:49
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Drunk on Bitter Fortunes "So there I was, right, surrounded by a dozen..." <Yes, Fortunes, I am quite aware of what happened. I was there, if you recall.> "You don't hafta get all huffy about it." Drunk on Bitter Fortunes settles down, somewhat grumpily, eyeing the crowd. Whole throngs of First Circle demons, Gumela spouting off that "Mayoigo" nonsense again, Octavian raging about some drat Terrestrial circle which would rue the day, Lillun, Adorjan's jouten soul... He sprays his drink in panic and disbelief all over a passing erymanthus, ignoring its rage-filled indignity. "Shut it, that was Szorenian brandy!" <Ever the diplomat, Chukh...> "Look, it gets 'em to underestimate me, gives me an advantage. What's to bitch about? 'Sides, we're at the Thing, and you said no one's gonna start trouble at this party. And I distinctly remember you saying something about dancing neomah." <Look at where Ligier is frowning, then.> "Well I'll be damned..." Drunk on Bitter Fortunes sidles up to his fellow Green Sun Princes, gaping. "Cloud, Snow. Good to see you." He takes the bottle of silverwine without looking, and takes a long pull. "Don't mind if I do, thanks." The Slayer has still not actually met his comrades' eyes. He's too busy watching a truly awesome sight: the jouten soul of Malfeas, breaking it down on a sprouted dance floor (which had been an apartment row) with Beringiere and a bevy of neomah. MadcapViking fucked around with this message at 04:23 on Jul 25, 2012 |
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Jul 25, 2012 04:15
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Glorious Tyrant The Tyrant walked into the riot of violence and celebration that was the Thing resplendent in gleaming Moonsilver Armor, surrounded by a throng of first-circle demons singing his praises and serving as a buffer to the chaos surrounding him. He maneuvered his miniature court through the cacophony making the proper greetings to those who might be useful in the future. The Sovereign even bows his head in deference to Ligier, one of the few shows of submission the Tyrant makes during the entire event. Finally, once he has finished circulating among the powerful, a particularly eager one of his retinue leads him to a place from which to view the proceedings worthy of King of King’s Chosen. Another of the demons hands him a crystal goblet, he drinks deeply of the silvery Chalcath of a once particularly devoted Gilmyne, savoring the flavors that dance on his palette. Once they arrive, number of the demons assemble themselves into something of a makeshift throne. The Sovereign sits, watching the milling populace below with eyes that burn with white light. A wise king was ever on the lookout for servants to recruit and enemies to crush. Valhawk fucked around with this message at 04:40 on Jul 25, 2012 |
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Jul 25, 2012 04:28
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Silk and Silver Cloud Normally, he would flinch from this sort of thing--though 'normal' was becoming increasingly unclear these days. But this was not the time or the place, and he was playing a role. "Really? a devil-walrus booze butler? I thought all this was going to be the weird part." He took a swig, made much more difficult by the black helmet his armor had morphed into. "Not going to mind the result, though."
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Jul 25, 2012 04:43
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Tarn Kavik Tarn watches in fascination for several minutes as the King of Hell tears up the dance floor like only he can. Presently, it occurs to him that he has a drink in his hand; he takes a sip, then pulls a face. Clearly, the glasses on the serving trays do not contain The Good Stuff. If only Snow were here...oh wait, Snow IS here. Wondrous possibilities unfold inside Kavik's imagination as he vaults the railing, hooking onto it with his telekinesis and swinging down to the level below. He lands with a soft thump next to the others. "Cloud, Chukh," he acknowledges, and then, "Snow, how much would you mind breaking out some more of your private stock in the name of science? The selection here is...well, let's just say there's a reason nobody above the First Circle is drinking it."
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Jul 25, 2012 05:13
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Gentle Snow “I invite you to it. I have little material wealth, but these strange liqueurs are ours for the taking, here in the demon city,” he replied. “Should you want your own, you have only to ask. Our masters seem inclined to vary between the carrot and the stick with little reason or provocation, and I will take as much advantage of the carrot before the stick rears its ugly head once more.” Perhaps Snow was being a bit of a downer, raising the various horrors that each one of them had been forced to endure, but he guided the conversation around. “I know there are a thousand Cynis fops who would pay dearly for these things, as well. I even have a few ideas regarding these resources and the Guild once we breathe the clear air of Creation once more.” That the word ‘ideas’ and ‘Guild’ were practically spat out came as little surprise to anyone. “If you would carry anything with us, I’m sure I have the means to load it onto one of my beasts.”
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Jul 25, 2012 13:55
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Tarn Kavik "Thanks for the offer, but everything I need is either extremely portable or not at all." A trio of bottles fly from the devil-walrus' bandolier and unseal themselves. The contents flow through the air, combining in precise ratios as they're transformed by the crucible of Kavik's mind. One part liquor distilled from brass melted by Ligier's radiance; two parts decadence aged in casks of solid ennui; a song borrowed from a passing angyalka who seems as interested in the result as the Defiler himself; a single drop of hope wrung from the Hellthing's ambient mood; and a dash of vitriol to help the flavors blend. Now for the fun part. An orb of translucent energy encapsulates the mixture, the interior crackling with sorcerous lightning as Kavik weaves the disparate elements into a tale of triumph and tragedy. A heady flavor of the power and hubris of the past dissolves into a sharp reminder of the realities of the present, then lightens into a bittersweet aftertaste of tomorrow's promise. Abruptly, the crystalline shell bursts, then rapidly weaves itself into a quintet of martini glasses to catch the falling droplets. A glass floats into the hands of each of the four warlocks (and one directly to the mouth of the angyalka, who can't very well stop playing her music). "Anyone have a good toast?" asks Kavik. 7m on 1st Malf Excellency; total roll including bonuses, specialties, and crafting attribute being capped by Per is 18 dice. Tool-Transcending Constructs: Barman Needs No Limes.
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Jul 25, 2012 18:00
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A Hell of a Drug As the mixture twists and shimmers Tarn knows every crystal, strand, and bubble in this unearthly brew. It coalesces before him, gently fizzing in its cage. The purest essence of its parts, impossibly refined. It's not good enough. Is this all he could imagine? Shiny? Bubbling? Orange? That which already was, ground and strained and spread about itself? No. It must have spirit - FURY. It's every drop must scream with all ten thousand years of rage and torment seething in its source. Its body must burn away all inhibition, crush all resistance to its flavour. The dread wake of its aftertaste scour every sorrow, leaving only the blazing thrill of confusion beneath the green sun's glow. Thus. Brews. Kavik. The describe the result would cost far too much time outside its grasp. At one breath of its vapours the harpist's hands quiver. Its notes grow distant, soft, dangerously slow, as its lips draw closer to the glass. Its song is nearly silent as it dares a single taste. One drop. It screams. "To War!"
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Jul 26, 2012 02:48
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Gentle Snow Gentle snow tastes the beverage, and he is invigorated. It is everything he could have imagined, it is every taste he could not have imagined, it is the glory of ages that have never been but might one day be. He drinks half of the liquid, is filled with he transcendental joy of the beverage and, as his coadjutor all but dissolves in the joy of the experience, has an inkling. He bottles the rest. He seals the bottle, and marks it. "With this, you have set wheels in motion." You... are saving it for another? I... am impressed. "When the world is linked as never before, then I shall drink freely. Until then, all is a tool or a temporary pleasure to be put aside when larger things loom."
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Jul 26, 2012 23:00
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Things of Import The festivities unfold much like the layers of the city itself, as revellers spill from one event to the next. This year though, the twisting chaos of the ancient ceremony wheels around one point - a fair young lady of noble dress and poise. All eyes and efforts fall to her, for the Shepherd of the Green Sun's Chosen has twelve lights in her wake. A Blood Ape roars in triumph from atop his shattered foes, last standing in a tournament. The judge asks Lillun's verdict on the creature. She calls for death. With his last breath he defies his host, denies his loss, and charges at the stands. One light breaks from Lillun's flock and spears the demon's heart. Eleven remain. Each day bleeds into the next, marked only by the screams of clouds. A dancer breaks the chorus line to claim one moment in the spotlight, a shadow steals its weight in vows, a harpist learns to play the sound of silence. One by one the seeds of hell's heroes take root. The Thing rages on. As the final day draws to its end, one spark remains. All falls still as she ascends, until only Liger hangs above her. Her arms raise, there is silence. On wordless breaths she speaks, "Let it begin." So it was. The ground gave way. The five of you struck home on crystal sand. For five days the black wind lashed at your heels, driving you past the threshold of a crack in the prison walls. Beyond it is like waking from a fever dream. You stand in a cavern. Well worn stone walls, clothed in layer upon layer of spider webs tell you it has long gone undisturbed. The air is damp, smells faintly of salt, and carries the steady crashing of waves on the sea. UnHoliday's over. Welcome to the Fjord
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Jul 27, 2012 00:57
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Silk and Silver Cloud "Well, time to get to it. I'm going to go look around for a bit, try to see more exactly where we are at." Cloud sniffs the air for a second, trying to figure out which direction the surface is, then dashes towards the surface, keeping careful watch for any threats. Per+Awareness 8. Probably won't come up, but Threat-Monitoring Excitement notifies me of any threats within sensory perception for 1m, reflexive.
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Jul 27, 2012 01:10
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Tarn Kavik Just one sip of his elixir is enough to keep Tarn going throughout the entire party, and the second is a princely indulgence; he rather sensibly puts the rest into a small crystal flask. This is the stuff of legends, and it must be savored. A time may yet come when he needs to feel the spark of creative madness that drove the titans to build a world. --- Well. A cave. First impressions: old, damp, secluded, and with enough food nearby to support a largish population of spiders. Perhaps a good spot to make camp while the coven is establishing itself, but the salt and the sea air are going to wreak merry havoc on his work. Unless... A glassy sphere materializes next to his head and begins to shine with an otherworldly light. Any place in Creation that leads to Cecelyne is bound to be more than a little bit interesting, and it behooves Kavik to learn what he can of this cavern before setting out. 5m personal on Essence-Dissecting Stare, Per+Awareness+Bonuses 10, Int+Occult 10. Exploring the cave and seeing if there's anything supernaturally interesting about it beyond the gateway to Cecelyne. Light effect is just suppressing Unseen Force Application and making Mind-Hand Manipulation all shiny. E: forgot to apply the bonuses for coad and Dragon's Tear Tiara. Thesaurasaurus fucked around with this message at 07:21 on Jul 27, 2012 |
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Jul 27, 2012 05:48
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Glorious Tyrant Standing in the cave, the Tyrant looks at the others that have been placed in the same region as him. He is less than impressed by most of them, but is mollified to see that Tarn is among their number. "It appears the time of conquest has begun." The Sovereign's voice is deep and commanding, even when not issuing a command. "We should see where we are so that we can move forward with out goals." The Tyrant begins to walk towards the exit of the cave, simply expecting the others to follow.
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Jul 27, 2012 06:02
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Silk and Silver Cloud Hearing that last, Cloud smiles and looks back for a second. "A few steps ahead of you there, chief!"
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Jul 27, 2012 06:14
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Gentle Snow Chaos, delight, horror, all these things and more were encompassed at the Hellthing. Then it was over, there was a tremendous wrenching of space, and Snow found himself bouncing off a wall of blubber before sliding to the ground and rolling, woozily, to his feet. “I suppose I couldn’t have asked for a softer landing, but it could have smelled less like rotted fish,” he said, rising to his feet and brushing himself off. He looked around and sniffed at the air. Sea spray. Good. He directed his large servants to remain behind a moment while he followed the others to the mouth of the cave. There was a whole world out there and, at last, he had the tools to make it his own.
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Jul 27, 2012 14:19
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Silk and Silver Cloud - You give the place a little once-over. Rushing through the cave, you find not fearing that the ground may open up and swallow you at any moment frees a lot of your attention for other pursuits. What strikes you first is a sort of... tempo. Rushing along, you find the weaving on the walls blurring together into steady bands which rise and fall in waves. It all feels very orderly, deliberate. You articulate this to yourself in time to slip into a wider chamber, and implications unfold just in advance of sighting certain snarls and clumps along its walls. Along the length of it you see many shapes and sizes of woven bundle, all well beyond what you'd expect of any of the tiny creatures you hear lurking about. Charging on, you better see how well the tunnel channels light into its depths. Warm, golden light which leaves shadows underfoot. You ride that feeling all the way to the surface. You spill onto the surface to the light of early morning. The sun creeps over the far wall of the canyon, the crashing of waves places the sea some distance to your left. You reckon yourself somewhere on the east coast of the White Sea. You are home. Wait. Hold on. Giant web-sacs? Further details on anything in cave may be asked for without roll. Tarn Kavik - Well this sure is a cave. Even before you loose the full might of your senses on it, the cave stands out of the ordinary. For the obvious, the gateway. On this side, it takes the appearance of a broad and shallow pool of water. Real water, dripping from the ceiling, beads off its surface as though it were oilskin. It glows faintly blue. On closer inspection it carries the distinctive flavour of the Great Mother Ocean, and would respond to her essence. The gate will open with a successful prayer to Kim on the night of a full moon. They must sacrifice something beloved, or whose loss harms something beloved. It will also open to any creature suffering Kimbrian torment. You turn away from the pool to consider this, and your eyes are struck by a wash of light and colour. <Oooh pretty> That aside, this place does look pretty good through crystal sight. Though the dance of tiny points of life upon the webwork is a show unto itself, the stage itself takes... well, centre stage. Behind the wispy bits of cobs, hidden glyphs and sigils weave a spell of warding. It twists the essence of the portal back upon itself, and if your hunch is right it turns the flows of the land outside as well. A diviner looking on it from above would have some trouble telling this cave from solid rock. The same faintly bitter, spiteful resonance underscores the entire structure. Perhaps from exposure, perhaps by design. You could see a need to tend these wards with some frequency to keep them potent. Cave is lined with thaumaturgic camouflage, made by someone using hellish essence.
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Jul 28, 2012 02:52
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Silk and Silver Cloud "Aaaah." It was nice to be home. Cloud lay out spread-eagled on the somewhat rocky ledge, waiting for the others. They should be able to handle whatever giant spider things are lurking around--might even be one of those weird demon-spider things. It was odd, he reflected, that giant spiders might now be more likely to be an ally than something to avoid getting eaten by. But these were odd times; and he had even odder orders. After thirty seconds of waiting, he calls out, impatient more than worried. "Don't get eaten by giant spiders!" OldMidgetWillow fucked around with this message at 03:29 on Jul 28, 2012 |
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Jul 28, 2012 03:26
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Gentle Snow "Giant Spiders, eh?" Snow said, looking at the walls. "Hmm." "Flotsam, Jetsam, lets head out. Take the lead, twenty paces." Orders given, the two devil walrus sauntered forward as Sky knocked his bow and stalked behind them.
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Jul 28, 2012 05:13
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Tarn Kavik Giant spiders, huh? Might be anhules...then again, they might not, and even if they are there's no guarantee they'll be friendly. Well! Only one way to find out! Cloud had shouted something about the webbing on his way out. Tarn takes a look at the cobs on the walls as he passes, and sure enough, there's a definite pattern to their placement. Closer inspection is warranted; Dancer has quite a lot to say on the subject of the strands of webbing, their placement, their arrangement, and everything else you could care to know about them as well as a great deal of things you couldn't. Moving on into the central chamber, it becomes apparent that this is a combination of dining room and larder. The exhaust trail of Essence from Cloud's windblade makes for easy following, but although the Scourge went straight for the surface, a number of branching passages are clearly visible around the perimeter of the room. Intriguing. Kavik spends a bit longer poking around before calling out. "Hey, Fortunes! This whole cave is lit up like Regent Fokuf at a dinner party under Essence Sight! Wanna help me check it out?" I've got a full hour of Essence-Dissecting Stare, so I'm going to take the time to inspect the cave. Per+Awareness+Bonuses 8, or 10 for anything remotely mystical, and I get bonus sux equal to the target's Essence to see anything living. Int+Occult 10 to analyze - if I fail, popping my anima power for 5m to add 3 bonus sux to analyze/detect supernatural effects.
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Jul 28, 2012 15:18
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Drunk on Bitter Fortunes Fortunes hefts his power mace over one shoulder, fixing a maniac's grin on his face. "Giant spiders? Sure, sounds like fun." He looks around, frowning. "If we're gonna be setting this place up as a base of operations, we gotta get a wet bar in here." <Do try to think beyond your next drink, won't you Chukh?> "Of course, the walking wetbars aren't too shabby." The Slayer follows the Defiler and his fellow Kimberian. He inhales, savoring the slow trickle of energy filling his soul via proximity to the ocean. He looks around the cave, briefly, then bellows "OI! I KNOW YOU'RE IN HERE! COME ON OUT SO WE DON'T HAVE TO GO LOOKING!" <Oh yes, let's do just let everything within miles that we're here. Prat.> <Look, if you've got a better idea...> <...You're joking, right? Surely you can't be implying that you're the brains of this arrangement.> <All I'm saying is, I don't see you stepping up to the plate.> <Of course you don't. What did I do to deserve this...> Ignoring his coadjutor, Drunk on Bitter Fortunes waits impatiently for the secrets of the cave to reveal themselves. Wits+Investigate = 4, 4m on 1st Malfean Excellency to up it to 8 dice.
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Jul 29, 2012 17:36
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Cave Poking about the weave, you find a lot of sacs. Poking beyond the weave, you find a lot of things in sacs. The silk itself is fine as that of essence spiders, around the parts that matter. You catch distinctive trends in the essential substances about. In the main chamber, flesh and blood. In those aside - one of mostly stone and metals, one of wood and cloth, one of plants, one of oils. A little hard to make out just what's in each, in passing. Perhaps interference from the ever-present shroud of wards. You stand in the central chamber pondering your findings. And then, with a mighty roar, the weave shudders. The vermin flee into the deepest cracks that they can find, and as the dust settles some of the larger bundles don't fall still. Indeed, a few now faintly twitch. Otherwise, the cave is calm once more. Fjord  The Glorious Tyrant struts forth into the brisk morning air. Finding stones, moss, and small shrubs incapable Or perhaps unwilling to bow down in tribute to his presence, he sets off down the length and depth of the fjord. His heavy steps bear no respect for earth beneath them. It is a small mercy that suffers to live the ground between him and his birthright. His foot strikes home on the fine gravel of the shore. He finds the ocean more respectful of his presence. To the north, in the distance, a ship. It rests near the horizon. Ashore, smoke gently rises from within another inlet. Good.
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Jul 30, 2012 02:41
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Tarn Kavik When life gives you lemons (not that Kavik has ever seen a lemon), you make lemonade. When life gives you a stolen Solar Exaltation inundated with the cosmic essence of the fallen Primordials, you stick it into your soul. When life gives you presents, you open them. Mind-Hand Manipulation to get the still-moving websacs down and cut them open. WP+Med 13 = autosux on not killing the contents.
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Jul 30, 2012 02:57
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Gentle Snow "Securing the place? A good plan." As everything fled from Bitter Fortune's roar, he reslung his bow and sent his devil-walrus a-hiding. "Interesting place, but how the hell did these tiny spiders capture anything larger than a swarm of corpse-flies?" he asked. Snow was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he had a decent knowledge of the occult and could understand some of what Tarn was explaining to him. The patterns in the weave appealed to his Kimberian side. "If it's as secure as you say, keeping it intact would be worthwhile. Maybe we can find a cultist with the skills to do so." Standing by to see what comes out of the sacks. If they're critters, I'll kill them for spider fodder. If they're sophonts, well, that's another story.
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Jul 30, 2012 03:13
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Silk and Silver Cloud At the sound of a loud roar from inside the cave, Cloud winces and dashes over to the Glorious Tyrant's side. "Something tells me they are going to be in there for a while. Anyways, the ship is a good start. I will do some initial scouting." With a whoosh, Cloud takes off on his wind blade, laying flat on it and flying so close to the water that he must weave between individual waves, slowly getting closer while staying out of sight. Perception+Awareness 8, Dexterity+Stealth 8
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Jul 30, 2012 03:47
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Glorious Tyrant A boat, his first urge is to call out to it, to cover the great distance with his commanding voice and pull the these people to their new king with will alone. However, he remembers that Creation has long been without a proper ruler, there are entrenched groups that would oppose his coming, even if it was for their own good. So, when the Silk and Silver Cloud heads off to scout the Tyrant is well pleased, perhaps there is some hope for him yet. While Cloud unknowingly does the will of the Tyrant, the Sovereign himself starts to head in the direction of the smoke in hopes of finding people who will have the great honor of being the first mortals to greet the future king of all Creation. Heading towards the smoke.
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Jul 30, 2012 04:06
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Gifts that keep on moving Fibres dutifully unravel at your bidding, allowing a sac to visit the floor. It doesn't stay long before parting ways again. Within, a lightly-clothed young northman lays. Faint spasms creep up and down his body, but each refuses to take. With careful force of will, Tarn sifts through the man's blood. Within lurks traces of a foreign essence. Tarn draws it out from all his veins, the venom collecting in his palm. Scarcely a drop in all of a strange brew resembling many medicines and poisons to his eyes. This man will live, and he will wake. And chosen of the Hierarchy will find patterns. His mind sweeps the chamber, plucking each faint spark of life from its roost and setting upon it. In his wake lay assembled a dozen folk in all, men and women each clothed light and plainly, and a sleds-worth of wolfdogs. And quite a bit of poison suspended in the air. And a Star to sail her by You slip into the sea-spray with ease, weaving between the gentle rise and fall of waves. You soon come upon the ship. A modest merchant vessel, layed low with cargo. Doesn't look fit to take on ice, they may be looking for one last good run up the coast before the season's turn. Some sailors shuffle about the deck, tending morning duties. A dozen naval banners fly from its rigging. Most showcase ties to clans, tribes and companies you'd need dig out of some manual, (You'd swear they change them every year) but you know one of them at once. High above the others proudly flies a golden disc on white - the sign of a ship licensed to do business between the League and the Guild. Where there's Smoke There is Tribute. You find yourself ensnared in the most intoxicating sound. Voices. Dozens of voices. Reaching out on the wind. To you. Fervour sweeps you forward. All thoughts of the world behind you melt away. Time itself is crushed underfoot, each moment between you and they pays dearly. At last, there you stand. From the hilltop your eyes dismiss all else that would occlude your goal. A crowd encircles two figures, standing opposed. Not watching you. There's a settlement as well. No part of which yet dares to block your view.
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Aug 1, 2012 02:14
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Silk and Silver Cloud Hmm, the Guild? While he had nothing personally against them, something tickled at the edges of his memory. Maybe Snow would want to do something about the ship. Without a second thought, Cloud performs a quick U-turn and zooms back to the cave, still trying not to be seen. What are those, humans? I suppose good thing the others explored it, otherwise all of them would have probably died... "Hey hey hey, did you know that there is a ship flying a Guild flag out on the, well, ocean? Thought you would want to know! Also those people look like they are in rough shape; I am going to get them out of this cave." With that, Cloud starts flitting back and forth with an unconscious person draped over his board on the outbound flights, getting them out of the icky part of the cave.
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Aug 1, 2012 02:28
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The Glorious Tyrant The Tyrant stands above the hill looking down below at the people, his future subjects, with greedy eyes. He considers calling to them from his commanding height, but decides to walk down the hill to immerse himself among them, all the better to enjoy their devotion once they've realized their proper place as his servants. As he walks a the essence streams through his system, his resolve to rule over these people shining gloriously within his heart. Walking down and activating Ultimate Sovereign Fundament(5m, 1wp) from Personal Essence on the way. pre:Personal Essence: 14/19 Peripheral Essence: 28/28 Will 9/10
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Aug 1, 2012 03:08
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Gentle Snow "Amazing work! Plucking the toxins from their blood." Snow said, honestly complimenting the man. "To think that Tyrant went looking for people and missed those right under his nose." as soon as he said it, he thought about it and didn't much like the implications. "Anyway, let me bottle that poison. I'll see what I can learn from a drop. Please do revive me if I am overcome." That being said, he bottled the liquid, tossing out some 'cheap' Malfean wine to store it, and then put a single drop on an arrow. He infused himself with essence and placed that drop upon his tongue. The poison coursed through him, his blood roaring in the ears as the caustic sea within his veins accepted and dowsed that poison within itself, welcoming it as a beloved friend. Orokos is doing its thing where it won't let me log in. Resisting the poison: 6d10x7 + 1WP Identifying the poison: 6d10x7 + 3 (Conviction channel). 6 personal motes spent. Assuming I don't pass out, I will convey what I've learned and then do the following: He greeted Silk with a woozy nod. "The Guild? Pah! I should have known they would be the first to greet me. Perhaps you should tend to this lot?" That being said, he waved to Flotsam and Jetsam, walked outside the cave, and dove into the sea. As his blood accepted the poison, so did the sea accept him. He sped through the water like a bullet, slowing down only once he approached the boat. +3 successes to do pretty much anything besides attacking underwater, including holding my breath. Breath holding: 3d10+3 successes Stealth swimming: 8d10+3 successes If undetected, he'll peek above the waves and listen to the sailors awhile. Mile'ionaha fucked around with this message at 13:26 on Aug 1, 2012 |
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Aug 1, 2012 05:30
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Silk and Silver Cloud Cloud smiled as he dragged an unconscious man onto his hoverboard and responded cheerfully "Already on it!" And then he saw Snow go swimming. It takes a brave man to jump into the ocean right after dosing himself with poison. Of course, he has Flotsam and Jetsam with him--worst case scenario Snow ends up getting mouth-to-mouth from a devil-walrus. Cloud shudders and shoulders another body. A brave man.
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Aug 1, 2012 06:48
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Tarn Kavik "No, wait! That's not..." Too late. This is terrible! Utterly disastrous! No telling what that alchemical admixture steeped in Kimberian Essence will do to - oooh, identifying the individual components will probably be easier if he can watch the poison in action! Tarn matches pace with Snow (a bit more easily than usual thanks to the Fiend's stumbling gait), lecturing and questioning him at the same time. "...mixture of several different compounds in fact, none of them of natural origin and in fact most of which seem not to have reacted with each other in the alchemical sense but instead were thaumaturgically combined through the power of Kimbery. It's hard to pin the exact substances used down, so if you could tell me if you experience any of the following: Dizziness, blurred vision, muscle spasms, facial or ocular tremors, loss of sensation or motor function in any or all extremities..." --- The Defiler continues as his companion exits the cave and walks to the shore. "...strange cravings, phantom voices other than your coadjutor, of course, external forces seizing control of your body, explosive herniation, the sudden and overpowering belief that you are actually a clone of the real Gentle Snow, devoid of a soul of your own, or, in some rare cases, mild depression, please tell me." Without warning, Snow dives in and takes off like a shot. Kavik yells after him. "And don't drink anything alcoholic for at least 25 hours! Mixing alcohol and alchemicals is dangerous!" he shouts, as his fellow Infernal dives into the freezing, rock-laden sea while intoxicated to go spy on a ship belonging to his mortal nemesis. Int+Med 8 to discern the nature of the concoction from Snow's symptoms - satisfying the gently caress out of that Urge. Were there any spiders on the ground in the central chamber that looked like they got dosed from feeding on the victims? Going back to check and sciencing them if yes.
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Aug 2, 2012 00:00
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Gentle Snow It is warm. It presses at you from all sides, soft and soothing, faintly weighing down your every move. Though you've taken just a small fraction of what Tarn drew from a single man, you can feel it invite you down the path these people evidently walked. But that can wait. You blood marches against the brew, and holds its flow in check. Taking the time ponder, you recall times recreational and medical. In its aftertaste swim a blend of opiates, herbs, and fungi, held together by an infectious sweetness. It makes for pleasant company as you slip beneath the waves. As the river gives way to the open sea you find yourself dazzled by the depths. You plow ahead, riding the currents as they twist about the rocks below. Your companions struggle to keep pace, but don't fall too far before you surface aside the ship. The chatter above is an ode to the mundane. From the litany of idle shuffling about, one word slips through - Auorsholm. A popular way-station between The Aeryie and Fort Bear, both for ships running routes to the north shore, and for settlers looking to try their luck out east. Tarn Kavik Well that made perfect sense. Calm the mind, slow the blood, smother the essence - typical fare for a sedative or preservative. Was certainly effective on this lot. And for a spiderhole that opens into the depths of hell, the floor is remarkably clean. You've recovered about six doses of the stuff, detailed effects to follow at a later time. No signs of incap'd vermin. The Glorious Tyrant O, that in that joyous time to come, these ones will serve you well. With such spirit are their cheers not of your name as they assemble here today. You mark clear divisions in their numbers. Garb, posture, tone of skin and voice, paint a mosaic sample of Creation's north and near-east. Some press in, close as they dare, while others rest afar on rocks, walls, and sleds. At at the centre stand two men. Tall, strong, proud, at the ready. Poised to strike. Ah, a duel.
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Aug 4, 2012 23:14
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Silk and Silver Cloud Well, they were all in a pile now. All these unconscious, boring people. And dogs. Even less interesting. I wonder who they are? And what's in their pockets? After some rummaging, Cloud decides that it might be better to wake them up, too. He dashes down to the ocean to grab some seawater, lightly splashing it on faces until people wake up. Or drown, but he would probably get bored before then.
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Aug 4, 2012 23:24
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Glorious Tyant - Duel The Tyrant stands at the edge of the crowd, they sought justice amongst themselves instead of submitting the case to their betters, unacceptable. His voice booms over the masses directed at those in the center, "So what is the reason that would cause you to come to blows?"
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Aug 4, 2012 23:27
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Silk and Silver Cloud His hand deep in an unconscious man's pockets, Cloud has a minor epiphany. "Hey Tarn, can all this spider silk be used to make...balloons? If so, we should look into that. Balloons will be necessary later down the road, many many balloons."
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Aug 5, 2012 01:09
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| # ? Apr 19, 2024 02:50 |
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Tarn Kavik Tarn unravels the silken strands with his will, gauging them, testing them, feeling the tiniest of tears and splits out with his mind. When he's done, he has an answer - not necessarily a good answer, but it's a start. Strange that there are no dead spiders on the floor - even if they hadn't been feeding off of the drugged victims, there should still be some dessicated husks from where they fell naturally. Clearly, someone has been doing some housekeeping. With a shrug, Tarn turns his attention to the other bundles of webbing, presumably the ones with less-fortunate specimens. Probably nothing of interest inside... <awww i wanna see> "Dancer, in all likelihood there are only mummified corpses left." <and everyone knows that mummies mean treasure> Tarn is about to open his mouth to protest when he decides that he might as well look. Waste not, want not. Int roll 3 sux to analyze the webbing, spending a point of will to bring it up to 4. After that, checking out the unopened web sacs to see if there's anything cool inside.
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Aug 5, 2012 16:17
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