|
Wes/Kanai -Keeping Busy “So.” Wesley said, as he watched Lyla and Lindram vanish into the distance. “Planning a second round with the giant snake-monster?” She twirled an arrow tipped with a hammered iron crescent between her fingers. “There won’t be a round three,” Kanai answered resolutely. He put both hands behind his head. “Well my afternoon just opened up.” “Well then.” She stuck the arrow in her quiver and whistled for her filly. “Let’s go be big drat heroes.” ---- Safe in my Shadow -No Fly Zone Shadow was no stranger to flight, but there was a huge difference between soaring on a thermal lifted by your own feathers and being unceremoniously carried by the sheer force of sorcerous wind. The latter was a good deal less fun. She held onto her skirt with one hand and her hair-scarf with the other and wished it would just be over as soon as possible. It did not help that they had to stop, rest, and start again so many times. It might be faster than walking, but she couldn’t say she preferred it. quote:"Oh..." Lindram's eyes widened at the spectacle. "That...well, I think we can safely guess where they've gone." She shook her head resignedly. "This is going to be trouble, isn't it? I'll put us down nearby, out of their sight, but after that...you know the situation better than I do," Lindram conceded to Shadow. "What are they walking into here?" “I haven’t the faintest idea.” said Shadow, staring at the vortex in the middle distance. “It wasn’t there yesterday. Jasper must have… done something.” She eyed the troop of warriors, including the two Cathaks, before shaking her head. “Go around them for now, I think. I too want to know if they were included in the fox’s schemes and we won’t find that out by just asking.” “Assuming it’s even safe to ask,” Lindram shook her head sadly. “Speaking of which…” She glanced to the bushy tail still dangling from Shadow’s beltloop. “...you should probably keep that out of sight, just in case - and your own, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you.” Shadow looked flustered. “Yes.” she said. Both tails twitched. Taking a slow breath, she ran two fingers down the length of her trophy. It… faded from view. Lindram could just barely make out a faint outline of something that might be there, or might be a trick of the light. An extra button on the back of her skirt did for the other. “I can alter your appearance, if you wish.” she offered. “Temporary, of course.” Shadow uses Spider’s Trap Door to magically conceal the fox-tail. (4m) “No,” Lindram declined. “I need to see their reactions when I turn up alive. If they were planning for this…” She screwed up her eyes, reconsidering. “...but then, if they believe me dead, I might be able to learn more.” Lindram sighed. “Very well. I’ll take us around and we can speak to your friend here. Just be warned that things may come to blows regardless. They can be stubborn when they’re on the hunt.”
|
#
?
Mar 10, 2015 22:42
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 27, 2024 17:33 |
|
|
Najid Weiss - Under the Sun "Why?" The walking staff stabs into the earth. "Your caravans fund Guild vermin." The ragged cloak flops over it. "Your shrines worship a spineless bastard." A golden serpent's coils bind them together. "And your homes belong to the hands that built them." A man in rags stands in the shadow of a giant. "As for your brother, I think you know the path that put him in my way. You can stop to hear his final words, and pay your respects," A Giant stands before the sun. "Or follow him to hell." Raise smugfield. 33/38 Peripheral. Share your sorrows Bullm'n. Then we exchange the anger. A_Raving_Loon fucked around with this message at 02:39 on Mar 11, 2015 |
|
#
?
Mar 11, 2015 01:42
|
|
|
Twice-Polished Jasper, Safe in Her Shadow, and the Elements Quintet Jasper took a long gulp of water and got to his feet. He waved to the workmen and dug a cleanish cloth out of Downy moment’s bundle, offering it to Edar. “You need to get out of here, up the hill. If you can’t walk, we have wheelbarrows and materials for a stretcher. You’ve done well, now, please, rest.” He passed along his directions to the workmen, told them to clear out. He tried to think about what he’d be able to accomplish in the span of time before the soldiers arrived, when he heard another whirlwind moving contrary to his own. His face brightened with relief then, getting a better look at the Sorcerer, settled into an expression of determined acceptance. Shadow didn’t waste more time than it took to smooth her skirt, not even bothering to get her hair in order. “Jasper!” she called, jogging over to him, half out of breath already. “There’s trouble...” she looked around at the workers, who were already busy moving. “...you’ve already got word then. Good.” She waved the wood-blood over. “Ah, introductions. Twice-Polished Jasper, this is Nellens Lindram of Greyfalls.” “Edar gave me the news,” Jasper said, and then sized up Lindram slowly before nodding. “And I can hear the footfalls, they’re coming here in some minutes. Many soldiers with them, as well.” “Be on guard,” Lindram warned him. “Maechen and Yudo are assholes, but they’re tough assholes.” She tilted her head at the roaring waterspout. At this range, she could feel the wellspring in Creation’s natural energies. “That your manse?” “It is a manse. Long buried, soon reactivated. How strange it is,” Jasper said, in a way that didn’t suggest it was very much strange whatsoever, “That this land that was left to lie fallow for centuries, yet the moment someone spends the time and effort to clean it, people come out of the woodwork to stake their claims. Tough assholes? Very well. I’d prefer they just leave, but perhaps we should ready for a fight. I knew we’d have to deal with Grayfalls, I guess it will be now.” Lindram quirked her eyebrow. “She just said I’m from- oh. You meant actual deals, not…” She shook her head. “If you want them to leave peacefully, you’ll have to be ready to take a lot of horseshit, and give plenty in return. I hope I’m wrong, but I don’t think they’ll back down from a fight, not even against two Anathema. We already know that someone is trying to push us into a war.” Shadow quickly told Jasper the abbreviated version of what had happened at her own manse several hours before. “With things as they are, it would be good to know if these two had anything to do with the attacks on the road. To that end Nellens here will need a workman’s uniform, I’m going to hide her in plain sight.” “Yes, I can press them for that information,” he said, then looked startled, as if suddenly remembering something. “I’ve been trying to keep a--” he looked at the waterspot, “--low personal profile. Do you have some way of-- disguising my face? My skin?” “Easily.” Shadow said. “It’ll only take a moment.” It wasn’t often that she was reminded how short she was, but Jasper had to kneel down before she could touch his face. Her palms shimmered with moonlight. “Now… what face would you like to present to these… tough assholes?” “Someone who looks like them,” he replied simply. Shadow looked at Nellens appraisingly then began her work. She took the long years of sun out of his cheeks, and went lighter still until you could see the pink in them. The grey from his beard became a youthful black. When she was done he was thinner in the jaw, with the very faint slant to his eyes and the smooth cheekbones of a noble son. He was still built like a workman, she could do nothing about his overall shape (at least not in the time she had) but he could have passed for a Patrician on any street in the Realm. Lindram gave a small sigh of relief that this apparently wasn’t going to involve drinking human blood. “Something scholarly, please. I’d try to just pass for an Outcaste, but under the circumstances they might find that suspicious.” She rubbed her aching temples. “Or they might not care.” “You don’t seem to know much about them.” Shadow said, raising an eyebrow as she approached her second canvas. Scholarly… she smiled and recalled her eldest daughter. Sylvia was at the school now, overseeing the work still being done and gathering people to attend and to teach. Her last letter had been in good spirits, (for Sylvia, she’d always been a bit severe, even as a child,) and she was hoping to visit… The Lunar paused in her work. Her daughter’s face looked back at her, though the expression was all wrong. “Nearly done…” she said. It was gone as easily as it’d come. A few seconds later Nellens looked like any other riverlander you might see at a market. “This disguise would normally last a few days, but you can dispel it yourself anytime.” she said. “You may want to change, though.” Jasper felt his face, marvelling at the change. It was… a little different from when he had become a bird, but similar. “Right, I’ll build what defenses I can,” he said, and flew into action. “Dust, we this may come to blows, I do not want to risk your safety or the safety of my workers, but could you help me dig some traps? If you can keep the surface unblemished, I have some ideas.” he said, waiting out the agonizing moments for the elemental to make its decision. Dust nodded, finally, perhaps as a concession to speed. Jasper covered some of the distance towards where the soldiers were supposed to approach. He could still feel the energies of craftsmanship roaring around him, and as he moved shimmering chisels dug into the earth, lifting the top layer of clay and dirt and a little hard clay. A great shimmering hand dug underneath, digging into the underlayers with a crack of… lightning? Jasper looked every which way for an Air aspected fighter that had escaped his attention, but saw nothing. He smelled ozone. He reminded himself to check on the manse as soon as he could, but had no time to tarry. The great hand pulled out a clot of stone and rock and mud and hurled it backwards, before the surface lowered back into place. Dust dutifully smoothed the edges, hiding the work. This process repeated several times, a rough staggered line between the invaders and his worksite. Jasper could hear them coming. He finished one final pit before they came into view, then stood in a safe spot amidst them. He could feel the traps through his feet, Shadow had seen them built. Both could likely leap over them without problem. He still smelled ozone. Even more air essence was infusing the area than normal. And… looking at his handiwork, he’d dug a lot more pits than he’d expected, in the time allotted. Had he mis-timed their approach? It worried him, but he put it aside. As an afterthought, he placed his sledge and sword on the bare earth. He pressed them gently down, until they vanished beneath a layer of dust. Now it was time to greet their guests. Activating Infinite Dawn Mastery for 6m personal and Judge’s Ear Technique for 3m peripheral. Puts me down -6m Personal and -14m Peripheral including the commitment to Craftsman Needs no Tools and CRM actions. He’s probably also going to use Courtier’s Eye Technique on whichever one seems to be in charge. 9 successes
|
|
#
?
Mar 11, 2015 05:44
|
|
|
Safe in Her Shadow, Twice-Polished Jasper, and the Elemental Quintet, Part 2 It took a few minutes longer than Jasper and the others had anticipated for Cathak Maechen and Cathak Yudo to arrive. From the looks of them, Maechen had spent the time making himself more-presentable. His shoulder-length, fiery-red hair had been brushed and done up in a topknot; his scarlet half-plate had been scrubbed of grime and swamp-muck. He walked forward with a cocksure smile and an easy swagger, his crossbarred spear resting at ease over his shoulder. Yudo, by contrast, was all business. Both of his white jade uchigatanas were sheathed at his left hip, but half an eyeblink would see them drawn and buried in someone’s carcass. The ivory scales of his lamellar shone so bright in the morning sun, it almost hurt to look at him. Both his hair and his beard were cropped to regulation shortness, and he bore a look of dangerously-exhausted patience. The leader of their spearmen, straining to keep pace without looking undignified, rushed forward and masked his stumble by planting the shaft of his standard in the loose dirt. The mons of House Cathak unfurled proudly from the tip, holding on defiantly in the face of the roaring breeze. Jasper looked down the distance between them. He squinted a little, taking stock, then stepped forward, unarmed. That's a fair few sux with Courtier's Eye Technique. Jasper gets that Yudo has Resources 4, Connections 3, and Command 3. He has multiple Artifacts, most-prominently a pair of white jade Reaper Daiklaves and a suit of artifact lamellar. One of the blades has a socketed hearthstone. He can sense that other than Maechen, Yudo considers himself to have three Allies of note at work in the region. “I confess, I am unprepared for guests,” he said at once. “Gracious Princes of Earth, I hope you will forgive my breach of hospitality. I have nothing to offer save water, dry bread, conversation, and trade, but these are freely given.” “And in the name of the Scarlet Empress, ever may she reign,” Maechen holds one fist to his chest in a theatrical salute to an empty throne, “we bring you peace, order, and salvation.” Jasper sighed, a little, “Would that you had come sooner, then. Something truly terrible happened here, and it has been the work of some months to fix, nay, to begin fixing it, and at last we have progress. I lamented when I arrived that no one had take the time, the effort, and the resources and made good from this place. Still, that is done with, but peace, that is something we always need more of. Salvation… Good Princes, I do not know if you walked these lands before, but by dint of effort these people have made such progress. They heal the land, and in doing so heal themselves, purifying their souls. Peace we have, order they are building, and salvation they are diligently working for, themselves.” Jasper was… well, he didn’t think of himself as being theatrical, but he did have that flare. He was being honest, though. Also earnest. He honestly hoped there could be peace, but it wasn’t hard to hear a note of worry. “Good works are always commendable,” Yudo spoke up, softly. “But faith and guidance are also needed, for brilliance without soul is the mark of the Anathema. On my honor as a Prince of the Earth, I would swear to guard you against such fiends...but first, we must find the ones hidden among us.” He waved to the endless fields of saltgrass that marked the beginnings of the swamp. “We come in pursuit of riders, known to be in thrall to a horror of a Lunar. They must have passed this way; you could not have missed them. Not even for that,” he nodded to the cyclone. “They passed by,” Jasper said, “They come by now and then. They range far and wide, guarding and scouting. They deal honestly, as heroes do, not as brigands masquerading as honest folk. They spoke of a terrible attack, seen from afar, on the road from Greyfalls to here. You were not involved, I hope?” as he finished, he listened very carefully for any note, any quaver, that might hint of lies. “They’re capable charlatans, then,” Yudo shook his head. “But an attack? That can only have been-” “-Lindram’s group,” Maechen finished. “Bastards! To attack a Dynast, and a scholar at that! Did they speak of any survivors?” Seated in the shade, looking at rest under a straw hat, Nellens Lindram (who now bore an uncanny resemblance to Sylvia Merrin) raised her head and gave Jasper a warning look, then a tiny shake of her head. Jasper sighed ”No, not as such, just devastation. What could have caused such a thing? She of the Woods keeps to herself, and honors the laws of hospitality. You may not believe it, but it is the truth. Who would wish ill on, as you say, a Scholar travelling the road?” “A Lunar would,” Maechen exhaled angrily. “If we’d only been there…!” “It’s not your fault, Maechen,” Yudo assured him. “Lindram knew how to take care of herself. She was always so headstrong like that.” He pressed a fingertip to his eye and wiped away a tear. “But it won’t be for nothing. When we run that witch to ground, we’ll raise a manse atop her lair. In Lindram’s memory.” “Princes of Earth, listen to my voice. She of the Woods, the Lunar, as you name her, would not do so. I speak not to contradict, but to inform,” Jasper continued, and knelt in the dust. He placed a hand on the dust, then lifted it slightly that only Lindram could see the mark that had appeared under it. LIAR He put his hand back, and when he returned to his feet the mark was gone. “You should return home to mourn her passing. Your men look ragged and tired. Men of your own house! I see how loyally they follow you, they must be precious to you. If you push them, if you deny this meagre offering of hospitality, I fear what should come to pass. We’ve only dry bread to share, yes, but in time I would gladly make a gift of fresh grain, perhaps even of fruits. Whatever this land may provide in trade, in mutual benefit, this I offer honestly. It is, however, all I can offer.” Presence with some essence, 8 successes. 6m Personal left. “It sounds a good start,” Maechen replied enthusiastically. “Shall we feast to her memory?” “Go on ahead,” Yudo told him guardedly. “You and your…compatriots...excavated this by yourselves? I will inspect the premises - these are perilous forces here, and the slightest misstep could spell disaster down the line.” He glanced to the pile of shattered rubble from the hole, and paused as he caught sight of a sliver of blue gleaming from within. “I am sure we will have…much to discuss.” Jasper shook his head sadly. “No, not quite alone. We were blessed with some help, for even the elementals think this might aid the land, working to fix it in accordance to the will of the Dragons. But tell me, why this sudden interest in these lands? If you come for one you believe Anathema, why march with only your personal troops? Can Grayfalls not spare more in this quest? I know our work here has not gone unnoticed, but I would know more of those whose eyes have turned to our windy steppes.” “We count at least four,” Yudo answered. With the workmen and the soldiers nervously set to breaking their long fasts, the earthblood’s tone carried a slight edge that hadn’t been there while the others were listening. “A Forsaken, a Blasphemer, and two Ogres. These lands have, in the past, shown a willfulness in spurning our offers of civilization and protection; that we are here at all should warrant more gratitude, I think. Wherefore do you hail, foreman?” “I ask only for your wellbeing, and, selfishly, for my own.” Jasper replied, “And I was trained many far leagues travel to the Southwest, near Kirighast, before the fall of Thorns,” which was all technically true, but Jasper was starting to leave his element. “I sought lands wilder, outside the Satrapies, where I might make my fortune before returning to civilization.” “I thought I heard something of Thorns in your accent,” Yudo said with a note of certainty. “A beautiful city once, and an unspeakable tragedy what became of it. Its rulers and monks were strong believers in the values of debate and philosophy…” He glared sternly. “...and look at what became of them for it. These are wild and savage lands, foreman, in need of a firm hand. We bring just rulership and wise guidance, and in exchange you owe us obedience. Do not gainsay me again, least of all in public. Are we clear?” Jasper nodded quietly, suppressed a sigh of relief, and made to join those bringing food. He paused first, though, seeming to inspect the earth. “Careful, there may be some sinkholes created by the work. He thumped, hard, on one of the traps he had created earlier and it sagged visibly. “Thought so. Marta will show you the safer paths.” He bowed low in submission as they went on their way. Poor man. One way or another Safe in Her Shadow would eat him and his intrigues alive. If he was lucky, it wouldn’t be literal. “I am glad we can be of service, Noble Prince,” Jasper said to Maechen standing a respectful distance away,after the other had been seated. “He of the Earth has a great heart, to come to this barren place in service. He must have many allies, I would dream one day of paying my respects to them, once this land has more to offer. As it is… oh! We do have one thing, perhaps,” and strode to a small pile of supplies. He came back with a small wine jar. “It isn’t exactly wine, and may be harsh to your tongue, but it is good.” and, while Jasper was mostly convinced it was just plain old alcohol, might yet have some strange properties from being fermented in his crafting fugue. “Hah!” Maechen roared. “Barleywine! Like the South, and their ‘vegetable lambs’, yes?” “Something like! I learned a great deal from traders and craftsmen coming up that way. Truly, the South has more to offer than metalwork alone!” Jasper said, sharing the drink and trying to bring the man into his confidence. “Maybe what we brew up will become a specialty I can present to even your allies in Greyfalls and surroundings, if it is to your taste.” Jasper wasn’t sure if he could hint any harder. Spill the beans, brag about your connections, hopefully Yudo told you who else is involved… That’s more like it! 16 successes, and buying Presence to 5. Down to 1 mote personal after counting 6m regen from stalling for time.. “Perhaps you’ll serve it to them yourselves, and soon,” Maechen nodded. Alas, Maechen is too dense to realize what he’s being asked. Jasper may have to be even LESS subtle. “You approve? Wonderful! Who would I be speaking to? I am not confident in speaking with noble personages, I would wish to get their names correctly, once I summon up the courage and find a better source of bottles with which to make such an offering.” Jasper pressed, hoping things with Shadow were going better. “Well, if you’re making it a gift, you’d want a bottle for each of us, a special vintage for General Kitono, a very special vintage for Satrap Rombulac-” there was more than a little bit of knowingness to Maechen’s mention of the Satrap, and not in a nice way, “-and I’d wager a bottle of the same, in Lindram’s honored memory. The rest? Well, Wild-Grove - given name of Bretegani, if you’re writing these down - he’ll drink anything you put in a glass, so don’t strain yourself on his account.” Jasper had been content to try to memorize the contents, but sighed in relief at the invitation. He procured a quill and scribbled the names on the paper lid of the wine jar. Maechen took a swig and stroked his beard. “Hmm...and perhaps a pair for Jacko and Autumn. Don’t worry about nameplates or addresses - they’ll understand.” “That is most helpful, Oh Prince!” Jasper said, honestly. You know what, I might even have another jug, somewhere...” and set himself to being as friendly as possible. He read what he’d wrote several times, just in case something should happen, then stashed the paper away. Now it was all up to Safe in Her Shadow.
|
|
#
?
Mar 14, 2015 03:13
|
|
|
Safe in Her Shadow, Twice-Polished Jasper, and the Elemental Quintet, Part 3 -(aka 'What did the Fox say?') ‘Marta’ gave a friendly nod and a murmured greeting to Yudo, affecting a rather no-nonsense demeanor as she offered to show him about the premises. Jasper and Shadow had given her enough of an idea of the layout so as not to appear completely lost. Enough of the water had been pumped from below to render the tunnels passable, if not pleasant. Down and down she lead him, through cramped caverns and twisting fissures. Yudo showed a particular interest when they reached the room in which they’d fought the first behemoth. Rich veins of precious ores marbled the walls and ceilings, and a plug of volcanic glass still showed where She had crashed through the solid rock. Of the lobster, naught remained but a few shriveled husks of chitin. The stench must have been unbearable at some point; now, only the sweltering heat remained. “...so terribly sorry for the roundabout,” the disguised Lindram apologized to him, “but the main descent simply isn’t safe! Carry you off into the sky, it would, quick as a blink!” Shadow followed them down at a distance, careful to stay silent and out of sight. What she had planned was a gamble, but one that would pay off in spades if successful. Hopefully she’d been hanging out with Ferin enough to imitate that attitude of his. She’d need it here. While Yudo was distracted by the wealth of the cavern she stepped up behind Lindram and set one hand on ‘Marta’s’ shoulder. ”When he turns back, fall.” she whispered. “Amazing what one can find, when one digs deep enough.” She called genially to the Dragonblood. His blades cleared his sheaths almost before Lindram had hit the ground. Yudo reared back in a guarding stance, his right blade forward, the left raised with the hilt behind his head. “You!” he exclaimed, in the tone of a man who’d just shaken a scorpion from his boot. “Oh please, Yudo.” She rolled her eyes and changed. The tiger’s round ears grew pointed, and her green eyes turned yellow. Three white tipped fox-tails curled behind her as she swayed towards him. It was, as Wes would put it, always about blood. And Shadow had gotten more than a taste of the Kitsune’s earlier. “Don’t be so crass.” Awarding a 3-die stunt on this one for both creativity and flourish; the dice can be applied to one roll of mistaya’s choice this scene. “You.” Yudo repeated, a soft exhalation this time. He lowered his swords, but didn’t yet sheathe them. “Always with the dramatic entrances, hmm?” “A lady likes to be noticed…” she smiled wolfishly. “When appropriate.” “As if you’d know ‘appropriate’ if it bit you in the rear end,” Yudo shot back, but he was smiling now. “So. Assessor Nellens Lindram, exit stage left.” He mopped his brow and leaned against the coolest patch of rock he could find. It was still blisteringly-hot, but such were the benefits of jade armor. “Who made the kill? You, the dogs, or the cat?” “To the poor three or four souls who're running back to Greyfalls to spread the word, the dogs did most of the work but the cat claimed her prize at the end. I of course, was never there at all.” He nodded along with her words. “Well, that sounds like a best-case scenario if ever there were one. You get a feel for whether there was a demesne or a manse in there?” Yudo gave a short little laugh. “After the ‘fun’ we’ve had, I could really stand to hear that we’re getting two for the price of one.” “Manse for sure.” she said. “These Anathema have been busy as bees in springtime. How long do you think we should let them work before we play the bear?” “‘Springtime’ sounds about right,” Yudo told her. “Any longer, and it’ll be worse than flushing ichneumon eggs. But right at the height of harvest season, when the crops are ripe and everyone’s too busy bringing them in to go soldier? No better time to fight on someone else’s turf.” He gave another nasty little smile. “And we’ll have either a stirring victory, or a second martyr...assuming neither of the little nits go off and get themselves killed ahead of time.” It took her a moment to remember the duel. “Ah yes…” she smiled cheekily. “Loyalty to kin and country aside… Who would you rather win, I wonder?” “Jade, of course,” he huffed and rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard the skirmish reports. Like hell do I want to go against that…thing...without backup from a regiment I’m sure could be put to better use than slowing it down with their sticky innards.” Yudo closed his eyes and smirked again. “Or she could take him on. Put a couple more of the Anathema with him, and they might all finish each other off - Mela’s immaculate tits, wouldn’t that be glorious?” He gave ‘Autumn’ a serious look. “Really, if you want my advice: take what she gives you, then be someplace else. Even if she promised more, an office in Heaven won’t mean squat if all it gets you is a really nice mausoleum.” Shadow sniffed, but let her face fall enough to make it clear she took the advice seriously. “I know my limits, but it’s nice to know you care.” “Hey, I value our partnership.” Yudo strode past, giving her a slight punch on the arm. “I still wouldn’t sleep with you, because I like having my insides inside, thank you very much, but you’ve been a peach. Really. And speaking of which,” he looked down at Lindram’s motionless form, “you probably should never have been here, either. I can feel it from here - whatever hearthstone we pull out of this, it’ll do to wake up the best of the ‘striders.” Yudo held up Jasper’s wine jug and sighed. “Nice folks. Shame about them, but if anyone else finds this place...ah, better quick and clean than having your heart ripped out and your face paraded around.” Shadow shrugged. “Slaves are more useful than corpses.” she said. She prodded ‘Marta’ with a toe. “Poor thing, it’s so hot down here she must have just collapsed. It looks like she’s coming around though, so if I was never here, then it’s best I go.” Lindram made some small signs of stirring right on cue. “You may have a point,” Yudo conceded. “But if you’re about to, ah, do lunch, then I think I’ll be going.” Her eyes lit up. “Well. He did offer your allies food and drink, and as one of your allies…” She licked her lips. “Oh, come on now,” Yudo shook his head and gave a backhanded wave on his way up. “I’M going to want to eat, and I’d prefer to enjoy it.” ----- Shadow waited several minutes before helping Lindram to her feet. The fox-skin melted away and she looked utterly disgusted. “I’ll need to spend an hour under a waterfall to wash off that much filth.” she said, shivering. “That makes two of us,” Lindram grimaced. “Er. Not like - I mean to say, I knew those two had some skeletons in their closet, but this...” “Conquest is just greed by right of arms.” Shadow said, shaking her head. “Congratulations by the way, I’ve apparently killed you twice today.” “I’ll have to return the favor someday,” Lindram told her, picking the grit from her clothing. It was still strange, having what looked for all Creation like Shadow’s own daughter talk to her so. “Perhaps we should start with some practice; I have just the candidates in mind.” “What do you plan to do?” “I think-” Lindram began. “I think…” she screwed up her face in frustration. “...no. Let them think they’ve won. It won’t be the first time I’ve been ‘killed in action’. For now, I need to warn - unless this mysterious ‘she’ is someone close to him already...and my retainers have ALSO been reported dead by now. I…” She slumped, defeated. “...I have no idea what to do.” “If you need a message sent unseen, I know just the person to do it.” Shadow said, thinking of wide smile under a terrible hat. “As for whoever ‘she’ is, we happen to have one of Heaven’s well… lower ranked gophers, I suppose you might call him, on staff for the foreseeable future. He may be able to dig up a name for us.” She reached out and brushed her fingers over Lindram’s cheek, wiping the disguise away. “Be yourself here. We can always use more hands. And frankly, wasn’t rebuilding what you came out here to do? I can’t relinquish ownership of the manse but sharing the fruits of labor with an ally can be arranged. Especially if it undermines those two.” She growled softly, then started to laugh. “Can you imagine… the look on his face… when he finds out… ‘You’ve been a peach, really.’” she imitated his voice and gesture. “Ha! I’d like to be there for-” Lindram’s eyes widened. “poo poo! The kitsune!” She rubbed her aching temples again. “Well, she should be licking her wounds for...a few more days, at least, but we’ll need to find her before she can warn anyone. No, I won’t need to kill her...alas,” she reassured Shadow. “There’s a spell that should keep her from talking, if we can just get ahold of her…” Lindram sighed. “I don’t suppose your friend in Heaven has any pull with the Court of Seasons?” “We’ll have to ask him.” Shadow said, serious again. “In the meantime I hope Jasper can get the Cathak brothers on their way home. They don’t seem like the hard tack and water types so it shouldn’t take long.” She looked up at the ceiling. “Kanai will be happy to see you stay a while, from what I couldn’t help overhearing.” Lindram allowed herself a faint smile. “It will be nice to be able to spend some time with family.”
|
|
#
?
Mar 14, 2015 05:28
|
|
|
As Ferin's glow slowly fades, Quill sets about making himself unassuming. Some ink spatters on his borrowed clothing and fingers, a nearsighted squint, a headband to keep his hair out of his eyes, the telltale hunch of a scribe, and abacus in hand; the Sidereal simply drops out of memory. In his place, a cheerful, if rather nervous-looking, new hire of the Guild steps off of the Second Sunrise, thanking the crew as he alights. "Thanks, lads. Dunno how I'd have made it without help; that swamp looks a proper dangerous bog." So saying, he slips into the compound, muttering vagaries about delivering reports, or needing to clock in, as he makes his way towards the tallest building there, Ferin's manifests in hand. "Pardon me, guv; I found this on the way in from the pier. Abandoned wagon of liquid assets, less the ox. Suspected that we might want to have the paperwork at the office, what with the unpredictable weather; wouldn't do to have the records destroyed accidentally." Buried in the middle of the manifest, a few decimals had been moved, a few numerals overwritten, without actually changing the sum total of the running tallies. A little more salt, a little less iron, a few changes in the breakdown of the copper. He smiles at the attending clerk. "Sorry to be a bother, but, I'm still a bit new... where's Accounting from here?" He waves, and meanders deeper into the building toward where his fellow bureaucrat points, absentmindedly, all without actually looking up at his new 'junior colleague.' "Much obliged." All right. Lion-Mouse Strategem going, 3m Personal, imposing a -3 external penalty to gauge Quill's as being anything other than a minor functionary. Can be resisted for 2 WP. Activating Underling Invisibility Practice, 4m Personal; as Quill is pretending to be "the New Guy, Corban Fellspoint," anyone who considers themselves to be better than his assumed character (higher up in the organization, socially superior, etc.) can't see him without spending 3 WP. Rolling Int+Larceny+Arcane Fate (8 dice) for the disguise roll, 1 sux. Orokos!  Fortunately, thanks to Arcane Fate, that's still enough to succeed (barely). Arcane Fate also imposes a -3 internal penalty to spot Quill at all, even if he's not being sneaky. Once the manifests get filed, Quill will activate Paralyzed Mandarin Infliction, 5m Personal, opting for the Frenetic Activity Infusion variant. Spending 5m Personal, 1m Peri (caste mark is covered by the headband) to supplement his Bureaucratic maneuvering with 3 successes (2nd Excellency), and channel Compassion for 0wp (Heart-Brightening Presentation Style), for a total of (Wits+Bureaucracy+Compassion) = 12 dice (13 if his Requisitions specialty comes into play), plus 6 sux. Opposed by the outpost's MDV, with an external penalty of half its Magnitude (round up). Leaving the roll up to Thes  Pers: 0/17 Peri: 38/39 WP: 8/8 MadcapViking fucked around with this message at 21:05 on Mar 14, 2015 |
|
#
?
Mar 14, 2015 20:56
|
|
|
So long, farewell, auf widersehen... Jasper tried to keep up his appearance as a good host while worrying for his friend, but when no sounds of violence were apparent, and no (unexpected) earthquakes shook his feet, he slowly relaxed. Maechen seemed like good people, in some ways, straightforward at least, but the fact that he had so willingly been party to a murder set Jasper on edge. He would be glad to be rid of him and Yudo both. “Superlative work, foreman.” Surprisingly-quiet for a man in armor, Yudo made his way from the now-drained spring that led to the tunnel complex below. None of the place’s sulfur-stench clung to him. “Granted, renovation is simpler than construction from first principles, but the demesne appears to have been properly-capped.” He glanced over to the whirlwind. “Mostly. What did you say your name was?” This, at least, was a question Jasper had been prepared for. “Metin Maethis,” Jasper replied. The Metin family was, as far as Jasper knew from his time in Thorns, a patrician family of so little repute that he doubted anyone would have heard of them, but would still, he hoped, show up as a family that actually existed. “My apologies for not giving a proper introduction earlier, I was shocked to have such esteemed guests.” Yudo stroked his beard as he considered this knowledge. “Yes...that would be...a terrible shame, what happened to your House. So few survivors…” Jasper nodded solemnly. “I agree completely. I was out of the city before the Fall, but better men than I perished in that terrible time. When I said I came here to seek my fortune, it is because I never had much of one to begin with, and then found I had next to nothing. I visited but once, after so-called ‘order’ had been imposed, looking for survivors, seeing that horror was too much for me. The way the great armory tower east of the Forum quarter was collapsed, desecrated, the stench… I could not stay.” Jasper shivered a little. Both because he was afraid his lies would be seen through and at reliving his very real memories. “I’m sorry, this is grim talk, and you have enough to concern yourself with, I’m sure.” “Of course, Maethis.” Yudo walked around the edge of the trellised table, circling just out of Jasper’s sight. He gave the slightest of nods to Maechen… ...only for his face to fall at the sight of the fireblood. Maechen’s crimson beard and breastplate were soiled with dark stains of barleywine, and he had a sleepy, stupid look upon his face. “Talonlord.” Yudo addressed his subordinate stonily. “I trust you’ve found their hospitality to your liking?” “Hmm? Oh! Yesh...yes,” Maechen nodded slowly in response, checking his motion against the risk of sudden vomit. “Ish been...very good. Very good.” “We shall have to remember it,” Yudo said, affecting a very forced smile. “When we return to properly administer this land.” “...return?” Maechen blinked. “Arn’ we gonn…” “Please excuse my lieutenant,” Yudo told Jasper, hauling the fireblood to his feet in what Jasper, from his time with Silence, recognized as a pain-hold. “Ours has been a difficult journey. We will be back to establish a proper garrison; in the meantime, I strongly caution you against taking the blandishments of Anathema and their thralls at face-value. If their impurity were so readily-apparent...well,” he grinned, showing his teeth in a way that didn’t look at all friendly. “...we’d hardly be needed, now would we? Come on, Talonlord! Our duties await us…” Jasper bit his tongue as he bowed. And where were you when their impurities WERE so readily-apparent? I don’t recall seeing your smug face at the fall of Thorns… “Of course. Safe journeys home, and Dragons bring you guidance, power, and wisdom.” Jasper waited until the entire regiment was out of sight, then sighed in one great exhalation. He thanked his crew and then told them to rest a while longer, but that there would be more work to do. He sat down and rested, recalling all that had passed. He went down to meet Shadow, and when he stepped underground his castemark shimmered upon his brow. “So, we have work to do. And I have some ideas.” Jasper is activating Know the Soul’s Price on both of the Terrestrials.
|
|
#
?
Mar 16, 2015 19:11
|
|
|
Twice-Polished Jasper and the case of the Mixed-Up Manse Later For all the change that Jasper’s work had wrought on the surface, the hearthroom below looked much as it had been left. To be sure, it was now mercifully-devoid of toxic miasmas, but the other signs of battle still remained. Here, the scorch marks from Shadow’s sorcery. There, the crater where Najid’s fist had punched clean through the behemoth into the stone below. Everywhere, the signs of lightning strikes - between She, the lobster, and the warstrider, it looked as if a small thunderstorm had visited the room. The grisly altar of entombed faces, still venting Wyldfire through a molten hole in a brass gigant’s torso...no, that wouldn’t do at all. It was all rather strange, since Jasper hadn’t been present until all had been whisked to the Fae auditorium. He was seeing this all for the first time, reconstructing the scene in his mind through careful observation and his own investigative instincts. It was all baffling, in some ways. How had this come to be this way? What was the history? And what to do with all the corpses? As corpses they did seem to be, although of a type he had never seen. And how to unmake the altar? He set to studying it from every angle. The Strider, first. It was the centerpiece of it all. It had a… saddle, of some sort, in the head, where one might sit. He carefully climbed up to look inside. The warstrider had been forged a thousandfold in the furnace of primordial chaos. Even the terrible onslaught of the Chosen hadn’t served to completely-demolish the thing. Yes, its chest was missing, and one of its legs had been shorn off, but the ‘helm’ remained comparatively-intact. The same could not be said of its pilot. Tall, ethereal, and elfin, with a long beard that would have once reached to its knees...now, it much resembled its brethren from inside the first lobster’s carcass. The Jadeborn had shattered. His pieces were scattered about the armature in minae and obols. His long, bearded face rested directly on his seat, balanced on a sharp-edged stump of a neck. He looked almost more asleep than dead. Jasper retrieved some tarps, lowered down from above. Gloves, too, and set about carefully putting the pieces of the dead in a makeshift funeral shroud before setting it aside. Lastly, he took the head- The eyes flickered open. Two faceted sapphires glimmered in dull recognition. “...oh.” the Jadeborn’s head spoke softly, resignedly. “It’s you.” Jasper had to resist the urge to jump clear free of the warstrider, but his flinching tossed the head up in the air. He snatched it before letting it fall, staring at it in shock. He mumbled an apology before he quite registered what he was saying. “You… live!? How?” “After everything else, coming so far - all for naught - dying seemed...too much effort,” the head mused. Jasper considered calling for Shadow, but decided to keep that option in his back pocket. “The others spoke little of the conflict, but you seem… vastly more calm than I expected. How do you even recognize me? I was… occupied in some kind of fugue.” “I would know you anywhere, Captain of the Sea called Wyld. You were the one to put us down here.” There was a recognizable weariness to the Jadeborn’s tone, the voice of someone telling the truth because they’d lost all reason to lie. Jasper didn’t drop the head. Instead he froze. “The old me. My old… incarnation. I remembered, in Great Forks,” he said, “but while he and I are connected, I am not he. Are you truly so old? I have so many questions, I am not even sure how to begin, but if you are no longer attempting to slay me and mine, may I make you more comfortable?” Jasper didn’t know what force kept him clinging to life, whether he could move his body, or whether it was tied to this place, or this moment. “And why, if you believe it so, do you think you were forced here?” Jasper asked, trying to keep calm. He remembered his vision vividly. His old self… sounded like a monster beyond compare. “You ordered it,” the head replied coldly. “‘Upon the oaths of your submission, it is given to you to attend and steward the holdings of the Chosen...’. You wanted a workshop. A private retreat. But the Wyld is a long way from Meru...and so you brought the Wyld here, and commanded us to stand guard.” “I had no idea. I know little of that self, that life. I’m told Solars are occasionally given visions of other lives, but I have only had one. It was horrible, and I would never become that person again. You were trapped here for a millenium?” it seemed too much to contemplate. “The world is very different than in that time. I remember untold luxury from that one vision, but, out here, people struggle to survive.” He paused, considering his words. He was practically tripping over himself expressing his wild emotions. “I’m sorry. If I have any strange responsibility for that time, I offer my wholehearted apologies. I am trying to fix what I see in front of me.” “One-thousand, seven hundred, nineteen years, two seasons, two months, three weeks. Your apologies and efforts at repair are noted. I hope you will understand that I have rather come to dread them.” “I… suppose that makes sense. But I’m not about to sacrifice people on some altar. I have power, but it is just an extension of the work of my hands, the sweat of my brow. But… and I’m sorry, I know this will sound ignorant, but what are you? who are you?” “I am the Artificer-Prince Modout Blue-Stone of the Artisan Caste, formerly of Lutar. I am Jadeborn, heritor to the designs of the Great Maker, of unbroken soul…” Modout’s gemstone eyes flicked momentarily to the tarpaulin sacks of jade. “...or was. Should I seek rebirth, I may be lesser for it.” “You… were trying to kill my friends at the time. You didn’t seem to consider negotiation as an option,” Jasper said, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “And there’s more that doesn’t make sense. This place is filthy with tainted essence. If the tornado wasn’t constantly refreshing the air here, I’d be unable to breath. What… happened to you in that time?” “So...so much...yet so little…” Modout’s voice sounded distant, and his eyes focused on a point not quite here nor now. “We fought the Dark Broods, as we have since time immemorial. They were no match for us...and yet, they were without number. We were not. One by one, we fell, but death was no release. Our oaths bound us to continue the fight - if not in body, then…” he looked to the columbarium of faces “...in spirit.” The severed head shook and trembled, venting seventeen centuries of horror and venom. “It burned without you, you know. Creation. In light, and in fire, and in plague and pestilence, and the hosts of the Wyld. We couldn’t see, but we could feel it. This world is sick. It is bedridden. It is terminal. And for a time, we had each other, but then the Wyld engulfed us and Fanam went up to look...and then it was only me. “Until he came.” “He? One of the Fae? Or...” he looked at the wyldfire, smoking with raw chaotic essence and giving off terrible miasma. “A demon?” “Of sorts. He was…” Modout reflected, searching for the word. “...like you, in a way. Mortal, but immortal. Human, but spirit. Chosen.” “I am not sure I can take any more shocks today,” Jasper said. He climbed to a place where he could sit more comfortably. “And he… what, ordered you to escape? Gave you the tools you required?” “He told me that you and your…friends...were sleeping nearby, in a place that was not properly Creation. That you held a sword that was a key that was an oath, and could bring the bearer outside Creation, to a Raksha freehold, at the appointed time. That the appointed time was very soon, and I would never know another such chance, and that I must be ready to fight if I planned to flee.” Modout looked longingly at the fiery rift. “...I was so close...to anyplace but here…” “Then you were played, I’m afraid. If he knew about me, and what I carried, he probably knew what I am. And that your freedom would have come the moment I found you,” Jasper said. “I am not the monster your remember. And I am sorry it came to this.” “So noted,” Modout replied hollowly. “So what do you want? What *can* I do for you? You live… but I am incapable of knowing how to move forward. But I want to know about this person, I will do what I can to make it up to you.” “I want to go home. I want to see the sun and moon and stars and not feel sickness or terror. I want to die and not have the last thing I see be this room where I’ve spent seventeen centuries, or some squamous Darkbrood’s maw, or that horrible vermin…” Modout’s voice choked up, and flecks of gravel dribbled from the twisted corners of his mouth. “You say that you’re not the monster I remember? Then why did you send him?” “I sent no one,” Jasper replied. “While I was… in a strange state, obsessed with making things, my friends came here to find my sword. That was all. But yes, if you can hold yourself together, I will take you from this place, and you can tell me what you mean.” He carefully grabbed the shroud with one hand, as reverently as one could while balancing a severed head in the other and trying to piece your way down a crumbled war machine. “We tunnelled down from above. This whole place is all strange. Am I… keeping you alive with my touch? I need to tie this shroud around myself if I’m going to climb up.” “Death comes when no piece of my body can properly hold my spirit, Captain. Rebirth, when there is jade of sufficient purity to sculpt a new one at hand. That has not been...for a very long time. As you can see from my peers and subordinates…” Modout glanced to indicate the columbarium. “...death would be no improvement.” “Please, do not call me that. I am just Twice-Polished Jasper. And if death is what you want, that is what I will deliver. When I was in my fugue, you also seemed maddened beyond reason. Is that, perhaps, linked?” He gently placed the Jadeborn’s head on the ground before tying his remains to himself. Then, carefully, ascended the rope from above. “Your comrades, their bodies, where should I take them? Perhaps you have… kin somewhere, even after all this time?” “I would not even begin to know. And my anger…” Modout sighed. “...I suspected, when your Circle arrived, that they were there, as Jaganzan-O said, to steal my freedom. And then I saw him. Your pet. That pestilential ghoul. I knew then that I would leave in blood, or not at all.” Jasper stopped his ascent. “Who are you talking about? Who?” he was afraid he already knew. “The Crawling One. The Quietus. The Silence of Stilled Breath.” “Much has changed. I will give you what you want, but you need to see what has come to pass while you were beneath.” And so, one hand over another, they climbed.
|
|
#
?
Apr 7, 2015 15:48
|
|
|
Cock and Bull "'The hands that built them'," the bull-man echoes. "Whose hands would these be? Those of the Dragons, who burned our homes to the ground, along with any too foolish or proud to flee? Their lackeys, who speared and stoned and whipped anyone too slow?" The mountain of a man lumbers forth, eyes locked with Najid's. "The Goat, who incited the butchery in Greyfalls, and demanded that all kill or be killed?" His nostrils flare. "Or shall we look to the tribes who would first kneel to His Holiness, who welcomed us with slings and axes, and raided us as they would a herd?" "Captain Augustus..." the stringy-haired lieutenant interrupts, gulping nervously. The bull-man holds up a hand to silence him. "Leto Cornello - this 'spineless bastard', as you convict him - risked a great deal to bring order to these lands. The ire of Greyfalls and their Temple for sheltering us, and for settling lands from which they were accustomed to tribute. The Lunar barbarians, who proclaimed that we owed them fealty for our very existence. A thousand gnawing spirits and grasping warlords and debased cults, all screaming for blood...so we gave them theirs." "Captain Augustus..." his second repeats with a touch more urgency. "Leave if you must, Malocchio," Augustus waves him away. "You know how to hunt elves. One way or another, I intend to finish this." Nodding gratefully, Lieutenant Malocchio signals to the scale of ironclad soldiers, whereupon they begin to fall back from the scene of impending devastation. Najid: Can I get a Perception roll here? Valid Abilities are Awareness, Investigation, or Socialize. "My brother, Titus," Augustus speaks softly as his detachment retreats from earshot, "was a troubled soul. I tried to talk sense to him - more than talk, for all the good it did. To get him to swear off the drinking, the brawling, the road work." He shakes his great, horned head. "Titus...was not a good person. I know this. But if one of your brothers were slain, would you owe them any less?"
|
|
#
?
Apr 8, 2015 21:25
|
|
|
Only She Stands There. It's a strange thing, being part of a circle like this. The link? bond? the familiarity between members enough that you can feel them pouring essence into something. Like a song you can't quite hear or a word you can't quite remember if you concentrate on it it vanishes, but if you relax and don't focus on it you can at least know when they are turning their attention and Exalted power towards something. The other two investigating the compound are already busy getting into trouble, but you don't need to be a member of the circle to know that, or even an Exalt. You just have to have met them. The albino shakes her head in amusement as she slips into the compound, creeping across the outer wall, moving like the shadow of a bird darting overhead. Then she slips back out again and just jumps over the wall, landing with boneless grace, utterly silently. The third time the woman crosses the wall without using her feet, walking on her hands instead. The guards patrol one at a time at regular intervals, and none of them are outside the walls. They really should be, because in places the plants are only just outside of bow range. Compared to the guild caravans and camps she's dealt with back down south there really isn't any security here. So..... Now what? Just stealing things might work. This would be easier if someone had told her what to do before she slipped over the side of the boat a few hours before it reached the drop off point so she could make her own way to the compound without telling anyone she was going to. Lacking any better ideas the Night Caste slips into one of the guard towers to get a better view of the camp. There's a guard within, but the man is fast asleep and snoring noisily, mouth wide open. A fingertip under the chin, the gentlest amount of pressure, and blessed silence. The albino turns to look out over the camp and something immediately catches her eye. Something has been trying to dig into a building. Interesting. Slaver compounds like this always have predators lurking, the big, slow, old ones with teeth and claws too broken down to hunt any longer, ones that survive now by eating the dead and the barely alive the slavers discard, but none of them would actively try to break into the compound, and they certainly wouldn't sneak over the wall to try. If they were inclined to try, they'd simply go after the first guard they spotted. Randomly kill people and steal things that look valuable, important, interesting or edible, probably ruining whatever Ferin and that man in a dress have planned, or wander off into the swamp. Swamp it is. the guard lets out a Blort and goes back to snoring. Tracking down whatever was trying to dig into the building. Per 4/ Surv 5 + 6 extra dice from 1st ex for 15 dice. http://orokos.com/roll/274318 2 sux. loving OROKOS.
|
|
#
?
Apr 13, 2015 23:57
|
|
|
Corporate Raiding "Second floor," the bleary-eyed stationmaster mumbles to Quill, wilting a few of the Sidereal's nose hairs with the stench of his whiskey-breath. "Mind the cats; they do for the vermin, but the furry little bastards ain't much better themselfs." Dismissively, the man toddles off in the direction of his office and flops into his chair, slamming the door as he falls. Vice-Factor Grigori awaits him. "Give me some good news, Bock." Stationmaster Bock brusquely shoves Quill's sheaf of documents into his hand in answer. Grigori scans them and frowns. "I said some good news." Bock holds his bottle at eye level and tilts it, sighing at the meager quantity inside. "All out, 'fraid." "A whole shipment of ingots." Grigori sets the papers down and speaks softly, dangerously. "Gone." He glances at the names on the delivery manifest. "The drivers. Where are Pham and Ngu?" "Dunno," Bock rubs his temples and stares at the desk, trying in vain to focus his bloodshot eyes. "Have to ask him who found it." "Who?" "Y'know. Him." Bock snaps his fingers repeatedly, struggling to recall. "Underclerk...Underclerk...New Guy." "'Underclerk New Guy'." Grigori echoes, sounding singularly-unimpressed. "Where is he now?" "Accountin'. I think. He was...he was asking after..." Grigori leaves without further comment. -------- "You." A voice calls sharply from behind 'Corban' in the records room. All at once, a squeaking mass of rats scatters at the sound, followed closely by a yowling flurry of fleabitten, half-feral cats. Bock hadn't been kidding; between the rats' gorging and the cats' malnourishment, you'd be hard-pressed to tell them apart at first glance. "Underclerk..." Grigori looks to his papers "...Corban Fellspoint. You were the one to find the abandoned shipment?" He glares at Quill. "Well, take a fang of guards and a few menials and bring it back. Get it here before Ngu and his job is yours. And if you see Pham, tell him to come back with the ox or not at all." Grigori looks over the manifest and heaves a sigh. "...copper's off a full half-talent...salt? With iron? Can't ship this much together in this weather, it'll rust through..." He stomps off, swearing under his breath. "...nobody here know their business but me?" 2-die stunt for Quill, total of 13 sux for Paralyzed Mandarin Infliction. IT BEGINS. Vice-Factor Grigori is competent enough to un-gently caress this mess, but you've bought time. -------- Stationmaster Bock has only just broken the seal on his next bottle when Vice-Factor Grigori storms back into his office and swats it from his hand. It lands on the black adobe floor with a wet *KRSHHH!* and leaves a puddle of fuming, amber liquid puncutated with shards of broken glass. In his diminished state, it's enough to make Ferin's head spin. Getting in through the rotted wainscoting had been barely an effort for the Changing-Moon; his biggest obstacle had been other, more-territorial rats, and once they'd decided he wasn't interested in their moldy porridge or ghastly-smelling pheasant bones, they'd left him to wander. A little trip outside to clamber up the outside wall, a little gnawing to widen a hole, and he was in. "...that was almost a day's wages," Bock protests halfheartedly. "Here," Grigori snaps sarcastically, "let me pay it back." He cracks a phial of something gray and foul-smelling, seizes Bock by the nose, and pours it down his throat. Almost at once, the stationmaster doubles over, violently-heaving and adding to the disgusting mess on the office floor. On and on he goes, vomiting until there's nothing left in his stomach, then heaving some more. By the time he's finished, the corners of his lips are cracked and scalded, his beard is absolutely disgusting, and his ashen fingers shake and spasm. "F-gently caress's sake, Griggs..." Still shaking, Bock grasps the edge of his desk and pulls himself upright. Grigori pours half a vase of water into a copper basin, then pushes both the vase and the tub to Bock, who promptly begins to wash his filthy face and take great, gasping gulps from the decanter. "...didn't have to..." "I need you sober," Grigori interrupts sharply. "We have trouble." "Course we do," Bock shakes his head. "A deal like that one..." "We need to close it, and quickly," Griggs tells him. "We shouldn'a taken it at all," Bock groans. "Had to clear two whole warehouses to make room for 'em all. Humans in one, beasts in the other...and that's not even getting into them. gently caress's sake, no wonder the Commodore just wanted to be shot of 'em." "For a two-thousand percent profit margin?" Grigori tchs and scowls, shoving a mange-bitten tabby away with his boot. "We can take a few losses for that." "Can't spend it if we're dead, Griggs," Bock murmurs gloomily. "You'd be surprised," Grigori says, steepling his fingers. "If we get them into the Kingdoms, we'll be set for the season. Make it to Great Forks, and we won't have to worry about turning a profit for the rest of the year. Let those savages raid all the caravans they want - they won't be any of ours." "'bout that..." Bock raises his bloodshot eyes. "It really worth giving up the whole corridor? Over one pack of 'nathema? Don't we have mercs? Shouldn't Greyfalls be takin' an interest in this?" "One would think," Grigori concedes. "'Soon,' they keep telling me. 'Soon'. Then they send their legions every which way but the right one." "Maybe they want us dead," Bock speculates darkly. "No. Not as much as they'd want them dead," Grigori shakes his head. "Never. Something isn't right. gently caress OFF!" he snaps abruptly at the door. More of the felines have gathered outside, drawn by the hideous stench of the puddle on the floor, mrrrrowing and scratching at the door. Cursing, Grigori stomps over and begins banging loudly on the hardwood, shouting to startle them off. "And our mercs?" Bock asks again as the storm of swearing subsides. "Well, as you yourself so astutely put it: 'Can't spend it if they're dead'. All the permanent retainers we've sent have suffered massive casualties. The Janissary company joined them." Grigori laughs bitterly as he reseats himself. "No, it's time these peoples shoulder their fair share of the burden of defense." "Hmm. So we're pulling our business back west, reinforcin' the line?" Bock frowns, doing sums in his addled head. "That's...an awful lot of folks gonna starve." "I've been told we'll have reason to reconsider after the season of Wood," Grigori shrugs. "Until then, we have our orders. I'll send word to the other sites. Sell off what they can, liquidate what they can't. That goes for you too, Stationmaster," Grigori tells him and stands. "Blackport closes by the end of the week. Everyone who's coming leaves by then, or not at all." He flings wide the door a stampede of cats floods in and leaves. "I'll...I'll run inventory..." Bock says to no-one in particular, and rises from his own seat. *Hisssssshhhhhh...* A hulking, spotted wildcat, almost the size of a lynx, stalks forward agitatedly. "Ah, what's got into ya?" Bock demands. *Hisssssshhhhhh...* Ignoring the puddle, the cat begins to shove its head between the wall panels, clawing at the rotted wood. "Hey! Get away, you little gently caress! Ya want I should toss you to the dogs?" The wildcat ignores him. It smells a rat. Uh-oh. Ferin had better do something unless he wants to be cat-chow. Variations on a Theme Vanishing into the swamp, Only She Stands There puts her skills to the test. Lessons learned since birth, of pathfinding and vigilance and the myriad games of predator and prey, focused a thousandfold by the touch of Sol Invictus, bent to the end of- ...well. This is...beneath her. In more ways than one. It doesn't take a veteran of the frontier to follow deep, man-width channels in the black mud. Even less so when there's a convenient trail of blood spatters to mark the paths between canals. Something, or some things, dug these in a hurry. But what? And why? Unbidden, the hairs on her neck (such as they are) stand on end. Something is wrong here. Deeper and deeper into the mire, She goes, an ivory ghost amid the cypress glades. The coppery scent of blood grows stronger with each step, until She spies the tree. Its white bark is cracked, clawed away in places, streaked black with swamp-filth. Its living roots are exposed in a great half-circle, wounded and oozing with sap. Creaking and swaying, the cypress leans out over the weed-choked waters at a harsh angle. Something has weakened its hold on the riverbank. Something that smells distressingly like wet- *bip!* A tiny pebble falls from above, glancing lightly against her brow. She looks up into the tree's crown and at last finds her quarry. Clad in a canvas smock streaked with mud and blood, the man looks to bear some dreadful deformity of his spine...but no. That's no hunchback. That's a shell; what She can see of it, through ragged rents in his garment, has a grey-brown, thorny texture like that of a pinecone. He clings to the branch in a strange posture, his spine wrapped almost double around the bough, even his bleeding tail clenched in a death-grip on the wood. His face is elongated - a tapered, pebbly muzzle - and his left fingers are tipped in great, blunt claws even longer than his hand itself; those on his right hand are trimmed short. The pangolin-man looks at She with a mixture of exhaustion and terror, glancing urgently from the ground to the branches and nodding quietly. He doesn't dare to make a sound, only staring fearfully down into the pit of tangled roots at the tree's base. Upon closer inspection, She understands what it was that chased him up there. She can see their own shells heaving softly in their sleep. Smell the stench of wet dog where they lie. Feel the twisting of their eight tails beneath the earth. Looks like someone ran afoul of the guard dogs!
|
|
#
?
Apr 16, 2015 19:41
|
|
|
Najid Weiss - Open Field Weiss is not one to interrupt a eulogy. He stands in silence as Augustus shares the sorrows of the life his brother lead. A tale he'd heard a thousand times, and no less deserving of respect for it. Enough so that he cannot overlook the insults left unsaid behind his back. His eyes fall on the coward, Malocchio. His words are cold, "This man's chosen to die here. If even one of you abandons him, none of you leave alive." He offers a shrug, "That is your mission. Drop off a sacrifice and come back with sad news," a dismissive wave, "Not to you, but Leto will have story for all his kin of how I've struck again and stole another of their sons. Then a generation will set aside their doubts and storm off to avenge him," a dry grin, "If the rest of you die, he may add your home towns to the tour. You can be legends." "But that's them." They vanish from his thoughts. He stands, head bowed, before a grieving man, "Your brother went down fighting. He offered no apology, and asked no mercy. He went without remorse, and without regret. Killed, but undefeated." His pose relaxes, his hands open, his breath slows. Death waits. "Join him if you must." 6m Personal to Sleeping Sun Form. (13/19, 33/38) Your choice, August.
|
|
#
?
Apr 18, 2015 01:30
|
|
|
Ferin Drigo - Every obstacle, an opportunity Smiles came easily to Ferin Drigo. He’d found that if somebody who wasn’t obviously a physical thread watched people intently, unsmilingly, those people would think ‘schemer’, and watch them back. If that person smiled, took a pratfall or two, and watched, people would think ‘clown’, and ignore them. He’d found that life in the Hundred Kingdoms was easier to take if you took the small things in stride, laughed at them. His little ratty lips are parted now, but he is not smiling. He moves to the highest perch he can find. He needs the cat in here entirely for this to work - having it go stiff and then disappear into the space between the walls is the sort of thing that invites too many questions from already-jumpy people. He also needs to not get his fool neck broken by the bat of a paw or the snap of a jaw. It turns out, the furthest place from both paw and jaw is also a place of relative safety - most cats will need to squirm at least a little to bite or bat at the back of their own neck. He merely hopes it will give him enough time. Manipulation + Presence to lure the cat into position. Dropping 4m on 2 sux from 2nd Manip. Excellency, 1m on 1st Manip. Excellency. 8 successes.  “Mrrrrrrwwwwwlllll…” The wildcat bats at the rotted wood, raining lice and sawdust down into the crawlspace as it pulls aside the paneling. “Little poo poo,” Bock slurs, glaring as he twirls his letter opener. “Oughta take this to you. Take it outta yer hide...wonder if you’ve enough on you for a rug…” The cat ignores him completely, prying apart the slats with its claws and wriggling in. The wood bulges outward briefly as its hindquarters and tail slip inside, but the rats and worms have eaten a substantial pocket behind the walls. It slithers bonelessly between the joists… ...and its body, bone-thin from privation, fits without trouble. Behind Ferin, a pair of rats (actual rats) snicker cruelly. <Five maggots says the new guy gets et>, the black one laughs. <Ten says we eat cat tonight>, the piebald replies. <I’m feeling lucky.> Ferin’s attention flicks to the betting pair briefly. His expression does not change, and yet the pair know that he is grinning now. <Betcha can’t do this>, he chitters, right before a falcon’s wings (admittedly scaled down some) burst from his back to bear him aloft and away, down the length of the impromptu crawlspace. Dex+Athletics to maneuver (+2 sux from wings, +1 from 2nd excellency, channeling valor for +2 dice, 1st dexcellency for +1 dice)...for another 8 successes. Orokos, you have a very strange sense of humour. Snarling and spitting, the wildcat gives chase. Both rats squeal and flatten themselves low against the crawlspace floor as it bounds overhead, a straight line of motion aligning its fangs with the escaping- CEILING. Its skull rebounds with a noise like a wooden mallet, and the rest of its mangy body follows in short order, the force of its collision hurling it flat against the floor. No time to waste. He never liked this bit, but the nonviolent approach would probably have worked better with something that didn’t consider him lunch. A strange silvery image of Ferin’s large foreteeth flicked out at the large artery in the cat’s neck. Gonna try and bite this thing and take its form. Pitched battle is good enough for the sacred hunt, right? Dex+MA +1 sux from 2nd excellency...2 sux total. Plus two more successes from the dice I forgot to roll due to misunderstanding gives 4 sux total - 3 due to external penalty. The end result...isn’t pretty. Or quiet. Or a net improvement to the smell. But it works. A short while later, the wildcat, now with a number of bloodstains marring its fur, emerges from the wall, looking determined. One would have to look very closely to notice the strange patterns in the fur below them. <...pay up,> the piebald squeaks nervously.
|
|
#
?
Apr 24, 2015 04:31
|
|
|
Only She Stands There. The Albino goes away. Not literally, of course. Metaphorically. Elsewhere, this would be called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but that doesn't quite capture the horrors of laying there, unable to move as everyone you know is one at a time dragged into the burning sunlight and consumed alive. Here, the name is perhaps a touch too climcial. It fails to convey enough horror. Regardless, the Night Caste is more or less running on autopilot now, moving entirely by reflex. Mentally she's a long way away, in a safe place. Physically she's already throwing her hatchets fast enough and hard enough that even healing as quickly as Exalts do she's going to be covered in bruises, black and blue patches where remembered terror has driven her to throw hard enough to tear muscle. There's no finesse here, there's not even anything that could be called aiming. Just throw and throw and throw and throw and throw and throw and throw and throw and throw and throw it it all goes away. Essence 17/26 with hatchets attuned, and minus six for infinite thrown. first attack is an ambush at mole hound 1, 17 dice thanks to specialties, adding joint wounding attack for 1 mote, cascade of cutting terror for 5 motes and falling icicle strike for 1 mote. Cannot be dodged, double effectiveness of attack, double damage. 8 Sux, because Orokos is the Devil. I predict it will only get worse. http://orokos.com/roll/284411 Essence 17/19 Second and third attacks at mole hound 2, -2 motes each, - 1 mote for joint wounding attack on both. 6 sux. [url]http://orokos.com/roll/284412 7 sux. http://orokos.com/roll/284413 Essence 17/13 Fourth and Fifth attacks at mole hound 3, -2 motes each, - 1 mote for joint wounding attack on both. 11 Sux. http://orokos.com/roll/284415 Seven Sux. http://orokos.com/roll/284417 Essence 17/7 Lightning Torment Hatchets Speed 5 Acc 2 damage +5l defence +1 rate 2 Target struck receives effect till end of scene, -1 internal penalty to all dice rolls, effects are cumulative up to -4 total penalty. Hatchets return to users hand, if they are prevented from returning they must be recalled through elsewhere for 1 mote.
|
|
#
?
May 5, 2015 22:03
|
|
|
Wake Up And Smell The Ozone It's too wet here. The three molehounds don't mind the dirt or the heat, but the dank humidity has them growling softly in their sleep. The Guild's tamers taught them to stand guard, give chase, and tunnel through the marshlands as readily as their native sands, at considerable expense in coin, time, and devoured captives, but they still don't like it. Here they are, separated from their Pack, an intruder chased off and treed, just as Good Dogs are supposed to do, and what do they have to show for it? Sodden fur and growling stomachs, that's what. It's only getting worse with that new, delicious scent approaching, something mouthwateringly-familiar, almost like... The first hatchet cleaves a molehound neatly in twain; his packmates startle awake at the flash of lightning and the aroma of charred meat. They thrash in the mud, their first instincts to dive, feeling with their tails for the source of the- Four more missiles follow, scorching and stinging like the beastmaster's goad, and the hounds forget their hunger and simply burrow deeper under the muck before any more can fall. They do not understand this strange new threat, and their masters won't care for one pangolin-man more or less. They must warn The Pack. A hobbled hindleg snags on one of the cypress tree's gnarled roots, and its owner yelps pleadingly for Packmate to save her. The other, already half-vanished, whimpers piteously...but survival instinct and training overtake all else in his mind, and he slips away into the loose silt to retreat. 1-die stunt for She! First dog takes 12L and is now an ex-dog. Second and third take 5L and 4L, respectively. Both are now at -2 from Lightning Torment, -2 from Joint-Wounding, and in their -2 health boxes. Only the first affect their JB though: Dog 3 gets 5 sux, while Dog 2 botches! They're both gonna attempt to flee, but Dog 2 is a little stuck. Only She Stands There, roll me some JOIN BATTLE! Menagerie Someone just died. Ferin feels it through his opalescent hearthstone, strung about the feral cat's neck. Like a strand of gauze breaking, and a faint whisper, then... ...nothing. Padding across Blackport's rooftops, the Changing-Moon goes largely unnoticed by the guard contingent. Now and again, a tired soldier offers an offhanded pet, an aimless kick, or a half-thinking-about-it motion toward their quiver...but no. Arrows beyond the monthly allotment come out of their pay. Soon enough, Ferin reaches the plank acting as a bridge between two neighboring warehouses. Slave pens. His sensitive nose can smell from here: the sour tang of muted fear; the warm rot of sickness running rampant; the overpowering, acrid stench of human bodies packed into too small a space... His lopsided whiskers twitch. That's the smell coming out of one building. The other has some similarities, but as many differences. Instead of skin, Ferin smells hide. Fur. Scale. Feather. That husk-thing Silence has, what did Shadow call it? 'Exoskeleton'? Down below, a man in the felt cap, silken mask and soiled smock of a Nexican apothecary emerges from the compound, wiping his brow with a cloth soaked in curative oils and cooling unguents. Vice-Factor Grigori breaks off from his work assigning guard rosters and waves the physician over at once. "How many?" he demands perfunctorily. "At least twoscore who won't survive the voyage," the apothecary answers. "More, unless you allocate more boats, or any other sort of transportation. The birds will fare especially-poorly in an enclosed hold-" "I'm not letting our paycheck fly away." "...understood. The Metagalapans have a practice of piercing the wings of their slaves with leaden discs, in order to restrict them to gliding." "Make it happen," Grigori tells him. "Now, the ones who won't make it - give me the breakdown." "Most are simply too young," the apothecary explains. "Between privation, sickness, and the rigors of travel...it may be more sensible to take them on ourselves as apprentices, or Janissaries." Grigori flinches slightly at the mention of the Guild's private forces. "Under the circumstances, we'll make arrangements only where we can find buyers in advance." "Of course. How long?" "Three days." "I will need access to our medicine stores," the apothecary shifts uneasily. "To render treatment in such little time-" "No losses on any given item," Grigori says flatly. "You do the math." "...understood." "Good. Now," Grigori gestures to the very back of the building. "What about them?" The apothecary blanches. "I'm not going near them. Not for any sum." "Noted. But be advised," Grigori glares. "If they don't reach Great Forks alive, neither do you." Inside Inside the warehouse are more cages than Ferin has ever seen in his life. Over a hundred separate enclosures, of as many shapes and sizes. Stacked on the floor like blocks, hanging from the ceiling on chains, iron bars set into concrete bases, barbed wire or filigreed domes or bamboo poles...it's as if the Blackport has put to use every pen, fence, or beast cage it could acquire on such short notice. It's a zoo. A zoo for humans, or humanity's near cousins by way of Luna. Perched on the rafters, Ferin can see hares and coyotes, pumas and pangolins. A few miserable-looking hawks are suspended in the high cages, while a cadre of brightly-patterned snakefolk from far Ixcoatli save their strength and watch the entrance warily. Dozens of wasps with black wings and carapaces, bedecked in once-vivid textiles now stained with grime and filth, cling to the inside of their wire prison, fluttering their wings against the stifling heat. One falters, then falls, twitching faintly. The others pause their fanning. The nearest wasp reaches downward, trying to stir the piteous bundle. Ferin's hearthstone whispers again. It strikes him that none of the captives are in direct contact with the earthen floor. A quick glance downward tells him why. The dirt is broken in places, turned and upheaved like mole tunnels, if a mole were the size of a wolf. "So it goes," a low, melodious voice speaks from the building's rear. Most of the prisoners shiver at the sound; the serpentfolk soldiers hiss in audible anger. "Such are the cruelties of this world, that we should meet such ignominious ends." "Are you the world now?" a hare-man murmurs bitterly. "Have we only the fates to blame, and not you, for burning our fields and chasing us from our homes?" "I heard that," the voice sing-songs back. "And what does it matter, to speak of blame now? If it had not been us, it would have been the elves. If not the elves, then Harborhead. If not Harborhead, Ixcoatli, and if not them you would have come to war with each other over something. One way or another, it would have ended badly. The soft life always does." "The folly of self," a softer, feminine voice sighs from below. "Flesh is a prison stronger than even these bars. Would that we could save you..." The first speaker stamps loudly on the floor of his cell, the ceiling of hers. "Quiet, you. I still owe Father your skull." He clears his throat. "Now, where was I...? Ah!" His hooves drum a staccato beat as he paces, addressing his captive audience. "My point is this: nothing in this world can save you, if you haven't the will to save yourselves. See the pampered little bootlicks over there?" The serpentfolk hiss angrily again. "They watch, and wait for someone else to make a mistake. For someone else to turn them loose." A massive, furry fist, tipped with three-inch claws like blunt knives, clenches around an iron bar. "Us? We mean to take what is rightfully ours." The hand pulls, and the bar... ...actually begins to bend. "Every honor I wear, every scar I bear, every head I've ever impaled on a stick, I have earned with blood and will. Blood and will, friends," he echoes, and the bar crimps a little further. The goat-wolf's face looms into view. His ruddy fur is tied around his muzzle in long, bristly braids; in several places, it's been burned away entirely, ritually scarred into a gruesome death-mask. His fangs are bared in a rictus-smile, and his eyes are yellow, with misshapen pupils; more pairs gleam from the darkness behind him as his packmates rouse to attention. "You should try them sometime." In the cell below the children of Ma-Ha-Suchi, a solitary figure stirs. She sits entombed in slabs of lead, stacked into a blocky cube that encases her arms and everything below her waist. Only her torso and head are visible, but what skin is exposed shines like moonstone, even in the dark of the slave-pen. Her coppery hair flows from her scalp in waves and tresses, falling almost to her hips. Silently, the woman turns her head, craning it to look up into the rafters. She is blindfolded with emerald silk, and yet... ...Ferin can't shake the feeling that she's looking right at him. Well. Looks like there are some SHENANIGANS afoot, from multiple parties. Good thing Ferin is King of Shenanigans, huh? Thesaurasaurus fucked around with this message at 00:24 on Jun 21, 2015 |
|
#
?
Jun 10, 2015 04:13
|
|
|
Drunken Lullabies Captain Augustus Saxeus tightens his grip on his hammer. "If this quarrel is between us and us alone, then let it-" "...Cap'n." Malocchio interrupts softly. "You and I both know that's not exactly the case. If His Holiness has named this man an enemy, he is enemy to all of us." He crosses his arms smartly, one hand drifting toward the hilt of his own blade. "This is more than any one of us." "The elves-" Augustus protests, nostrils flaring. "We haven't forgotten our mission," Malocchio states plainly. He mops aside his stringy hair and sets his nigh-vestigial chin. "North or south or east or west...wherever we go from here, there'll be elves a-plenty." Augustus gives a soft snort, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "As you were, then, Lieutenant." His eyes open. The bull-man salutes with his singed right arm...then turns a narrow (ish) profile to Najid and offers the same. "And as you will, Najid Weiss." Fifty pairs of steel-shod boots begin their cadence, encircling the field of battle against retreat or dishonor. Two steel-shod hooves plant themselves firmly in the dirt, and march resolutely forward. It's BATTLEJOININ' TIME! Augustus rolls four sux on JB; Loon, gimme a roll for Naj. Spelunky "No. No, no no no, nooo..." Modout's head pleads softly as Jasper climbs through the rocky shafts. "I cannot..." The Jadeborn Artisan's lucidity has begun to deteriorate, and the nearness of the surface world is clearly causing him distress. "I must not..." Seventeen centuries spent in a single, tiny pocket of dirt have left their mark on Modout. Even the sights and sounds of unfamiliar caves unease him, and when the first rays of sunlight shine through the pitted ceiling, his left eye begins to twitch. "I can't, I can't!" he gibbers in a low, unfamiliar tongue. "The Maker forbids it! We shall be undone!" Jasper scales the crumbling rock of the final ascent, and... Daylight. Roaring wind. Dust and scrub and rocky badland, scoured into painted bands of color by a long-dry river. In the near distance, hardy evergreens and burbling hotsprings, misted groves overlooking a swampy ravine at the base of the steppes. Beyond that, the world entire, minus one long-forgotten, demon-haunted ruin. "I..." Modout gasps weakly, screwing his eyes shut against the glare of midday. "I don't understand...we were forbidden, and yet..." "You are allowed," a voice like a crumbling mountain rumbles, "if invited by the Chosen. With great, plodding steps that leave holes the width of house timbers in the mud, Dust lumbers over to the cave entrance, once more casting the Jadeborn into shadow. "Hello again, Modout Blue-Stone. I am told that it has been a very long time." "You..." Modout blinks, straining to recognize the newcomer. "An earth elemental...forgive me, but have we met?" "Yes." Dust answers plainly. . . . "...what is your name?" "Dust from the Grinding Movement of Larger Stones Amidst the Deep Mountains." In his ponderous native tongue, the elemental's name takes rather a long time to render. Dust looks about again, pyrite eyebrows raising in mild confusion. "There used to be deep mountains here. I am quite sure of it. Wherever did they go?" "Dust...? Yes, I recall. You look very different from when last I saw you," Modout ventures tactfully. "What have you been doing for all of these years?" "Being the land," Dust nods thoughtfully. "It is not always easy. Yourself?" "I waited for this region to pass outside Creation proper, then stole a Sword Grace from a Solar to awaken a Warstrider and cut a path into the Wyld." "Oh." Dust frowns. "That sounds very dangerous." Modout's eyes glance down to the stump of his neck, still cradled in Jasper's palms. "I noticed." "...are they gone?" A quiet, feminine voice whispers on the breeze. Downy Moment flits into view, an emerald blur as quick as a hummingbird. She offers a low bow of contrition. "I apologize for fleeing, Twice-Polished Jasper, but I am a scholar first, and a warrior...not at all. When I saw that they were of House Cathak..." she shivers, and the air grows unseasonably-cold. "Forgive me, but there was a very unpleasant incident in Greyfalls some four years ago, after which the Immaculate Temple took a much-harsher stance on mixed-human parentage - oh!" she gasps, at last noticing the Jadeborn's head. "Oh...oh dear. Whatever happened?" So, the way that the Jadeborn Geas works is that it imposes a very strict set of constraints on their conduct. Breaking these restrictions fills up a meter, like a Limit track, depending on severity; once it hits 10, they're treated as having broken an Eclipse Oath, which means Bad Things for them. One of these rules binds them not to venture above-ground...UNLESS a Celestial Exalt specifically permits it.
|
|
#
?
Jun 26, 2015 05:10
|
|
|
'Corban' stands in momentary silence after Grigori gives him his orders, apparently overawed. "...Yes, sir. Thank you for the oppo, sir." He manages to not sound sarcastic, before hurrying off in apparent pursuit of his duty. This Vice-Factor was a rare one, if he did not consider himself better than a brand-new underclerk. It explains a great deal, though.... Somewhat gloomily, 'Corban' makes his way out of Accounting, considering his options. Clear, direct orders were a mixed bag, in his experience. Of course, since the shipment was no longer where it had been abandoned, that bought him a bit more time, especially since it was highly unlikely that this Pham or Ngu would find the Second Sunrise. A grin threatened to slip past the façade of the harried underling. Even when acting on the orders of a Vice-Factor, after all, the proper paperwork still had to be entered and processed. The time-honored tradition of malicious obedience it was, then. Several 'wrong turns' and four extraneous flights of stairs later, he returns to where he'd originally met Stationmaster Bock. "'Scuse me, guv. I need a form... um... Eighty-Four-Jade-Seven-Earth-Zero, I think... Requisition for guards? And, um...." he trails off. "Sorry, still not sure about all the designation codes in this sector. What form do we use for tracking chain of custody for menials?" He smiles, awkwardly, the hesitant admission of a neophyte plastered all over his face. "You know how it is; don't want any of the lads to get in trouble for me not doing my job right, yeah? Only it's orders from the Vice-Factor..." He fidgets as he waits, anxiety playing across his face. "Erm, and I don't s'ppose you know where I might find, um... Ngu? Cart driver? Got a message to deliver, but I don't think he'll like it." 2nd Bureaucracy Excellency (2m Pers) for 1 sux; Heart-Brightening Presentation Style allows me to channel Compassion for 1 wp; I'm assuming that Quill's "Requisitions" specialty comes in to play, here, so 15 dice ... 4 sux. Jesus, Orokos, what the hell. Pers: 1/17 Peri: 39/39 WP: 7/8
|
|
#
?
Jun 26, 2015 17:54
|
|
|
Ferin Drigo - Breakout Hit The wildcat chooses that moment to hop down onto one of the hanging cages, as soon as it’s certain no guard is looking. It hops from cage-top to cage-top, until it can fit itself between the bars of one of the cages, in view of as many of the assembled prisoners as possible. It looks up at the beastmen inhabiting the cage, who may well look upon it as something akin to lunch, but then does something very curious. It winks at them. On a human, the wink would be parodically conspiratorial. On a cat, it is even more so. Before its audience has a chance to respond, it raises one paw to its mouth, in an unmistakable gesture. Not so everyone can hear. A figure in worn, soiled robes that might once have been dyed a vibrant red stirs within the cage. Their wearer looks ragged and emaciated, the man-lizard’s scales hanging sallow and loose on his bones. He blinks wearily, a filmy membrane sliding over his eyes against the foul air. He is bewildered...until he sees the stone tied around the cat’s neck, and understands. <Honored Prince…> he whispers in a dry hiss like falling sand. <...I beseech you...help us…> With scarcely a whisper, the cat blurs and changes. What stands in his place is a blonde man who would be handsome if he were not so dirty, dressed in rags similar to what many of the beastmen wear. At first glance, one would be hard-pressed to tell him apart from the beastmen around him. He kneels next to the elder, and says, very quietly, “I shall.” The cat had not gone amiss. The man is harder to ignore. A hawkwoman above glances down, recognizes the moonsilver tattoos, and encircles her wings in silent prayer. A soft chorus of growls and squeaks and squawks and hisses and insect droning washes through the crowd, confused at first, then drawing into something resembling harmony as the priests and scholars and wisemen understand and whisper instruction to their peoples. All at once, vital power suffuses Ferin’s form, borne of desperate pleas… “Oh, this is just pathetic,” the silver-bell voice snarls from below Ferin. “Live or die, you could all at least pretend to keep some dignity.” When the prayers don’t stop, the goat-wolf folds his arms and brays in annoyance. “Have I missed something here?” “Yes,” the softer, female voice speaks from the cage beneath his. “It is someone new.” Ferin stands, feeling a power that is entirely new to him rush through his veins. It feels good. It fills him with confidence. He smiles his trademark ‘no really, trust me’ smile, the one that nobody in their right mind should trust and the one that everybody does anyway, and crouches near the bars of his cage. “There are times I think you lot miss everything. And, just for the record, it’s pretty funny and all, talking about earning all you’ve got, given how much of your vaunted strength comes from dear old dad.” He waits about half a stunned silence for effect before continuing. “Now, you could get mad and start straining and puffing, and I honestly think you’d get those bars open eventually. What’d come after, of course, wouldn’t be so nice - both for you and for all these others. So - you could do that, or you can listen to what I have to say.” The goat-wolf flares his nostrils and sniffs at the air, taking in the scent of the newcomer. “It is not what I can do, little morsel. It’s what I have done, and will do.” He sniffs again, harder this time. His black lips pull back into a fang-baring smile. “Unblooded Drigo. Come to barter with the Guild, have you?” Ferin’s eyes narrow, but the smile persists. “You must not know very much about me to ask that. But, as you say - why bargain for what you can take? I hear they’re shipping something awfully valuable to Great Forks pretty soon, and I was thinking I’d steal their shipment out from under them. And while I was at it, I thought, why not take the fort, too? Now, you seem awfully intent on expressing your displeasure with the accommodations, and honestly, there’s little that’d make me happier than to have you do it.” His eyes narrow further still, until they are almost entirely shut, with only a tiny crescent of iris and pupil and silvery white visible. “So why not deal with me, instead?” The goat-wolf stops smiling with his eyes. He opens his mouth- “Can you get us out of here?” a coyote demands. “How soon are we leaving?” asks a wide-eyed hare. “If we stay here, we’ll die…” “Please, mother is sick,” a puma pleads. “I can’t wake her up…” “Can we go home?” a parrot begs. “I want to go home, please, I have to go home!” “They’re monsters!” a scaly pangolin points a massive, accusatory claw at the goat-wolves, and at the woman in the cage below. “She eats souls, and they eat whatever’s left…” ”Quiet,” Ferin says - not loudly, but penetrating somehow through the noise nonetheless. “I can deal with them, and I can get you out, but we can’t alert the guards until it’s time.” He turned his attention to the wolfgoat below. “You were saying?” 5 sux to read wolfgoat’s reactions. “Why not?” The beastman is smiling again, bristling hostility forgotten in an instant. “I cannot help those who won’t help themselves.” “Because, oh toothy one, you can read a room, and you know that they won’t be a distraction for you unless you do promise, and I bind you to it. And without that distraction, it’s no freedom for you, no freedom for your packmates, no raksha skull trophy, nothing but the tender mercies of the Guild and eventual ignominious death at the hands of your lessers.” 8 sux on Sales Pitch. The goatwolves’ leader bares his fangs, and gives another tug on the bars of the cage, wrenching one another half-inch… ...and lets it go. Token act of defiance made, he folds his massive arms petulantly and glares. “Name your loving price already.” Ferin draws a knife from his belt and cuts his hand, soaking blade and grip alike in sticky red, before handing it down to the cage below. “All of you, lick some of that off the knife, and when I give the word, swear that you’ll not harm any of your fellow escapees, human or no, directly or no.” He waits until the guards above are facing away and won’t see the silver flash of the goatwolves’ veins. “Now.” The other goat-wolves look to their leader for guidance, growling softly. “No harm to them,” he says at length. “So swears Kraal Glory-Brand, on my name and that of our Exalted father.” Kraal takes the knife. “But neither do we take responsibility for them. Their mistakes - and yours - are yours alone.” And so the ritual bloodletting commences. They seem practically at ease with it. Ferin gets the impression they’ve done this before.
|
|
#
?
Jul 15, 2015 04:49
|
|
|
Nobody Here But Us...Uhhh... No sooner have the goat-wolves finished sealing their blood-pact with Ferin than one of them begins to growl. Her long, pointed ears swivel and flick, aiming at the door. "Incoming," she mutters, an instant before the mole-dogs below register the sound and stir from their rest. The packed earth of the floor boils and churns as they rise from their burrows, snapping and snarling toward the door. The other beastfolk fall silent at the echoing *K-CHUNK!* of an iron deadbolt the width of a grown man's arm sliding into place. Ferin slips through the cage bottom as a rat, landing in the narrow gap between the goat-wolves' floor and the captive Raksha's roof. Ponderously, the doors swing wide, their overburdened hinges squealing in protest. A blinding sliver of midday sunlight shines through the gap, sending the huddled prisoners scrambling to cover their eyes. The molehounds slaver... *BONGGGGG* A low, reverberating clang like a temple's gong sounds out, echoing through the confines. Beneath Ferin, the entombed elf hisses. The molehounds bark, whine, and fall into ordered ranks - three rows of seven apiece. Black dirt crumbles from between their plates; one of them chews idly at what's left of a thighbone before tossing it aside. Master has arrived. Blackport's Overseer-Principal is a thickset man of Northern Icewalker descent, the blonde hairs of his scalp and beard tied in dense braids and fastened with silver ornaments. Well-versed in breaking the wills of men and beasts alike, he had been retained some months ago by the Vice-Factor for a staggering sum when the slave trade had surpassed foodstuffs and medicines in the market's revenues. He carries a bronzewood goad capped with a strange, iron bell; his apprentices, in two lines behind him, hold similar tools. Between their files, the Nexican apothecary makes his entrance. Pushing a wooden cart laden with powders and poultices, troches and elixirs, he takes stock of their inventory. The molehounds begin to growl again, tails lashing and hackles bristling. Who is this one to intrude upon the Pack, without first proving his strength? Why is he not dinner? He cracks a phial of pungent, amber liquid over his smock. The hounds' snarls soften, and they fall obediently to their haunches. False alarm - this one belongs here. He smells trustworthy enough. The Overseer-Principal spits. "Charlatan's tricks," he mutters with evident disapproval. "A precaution," the apothecary replies. "I wish to proceed without any accidents." "I train them well, my dogs," the Overseer smirks. "No accidents." "That's what concerns me," the apothecary grumbles, and sets about his business. First, the snakemen. He sets a packet of herbs on a long-handled peel and cautiously reaches into their enclosure- A scaled hand seizes the end. "I am nobility," their ivory-masked leader proclaims urgently while the apothecary struggles to wrest it back. "Our deeds are celebrated in song and stele, and my household is very wealthy. We are worth far more as ransoms than slaves - see!" He lets go, and the apothecary falls back, still holding the peel's handle. The herbs on the end are gone, replaced by a green jade signet ring. The physician takes a moment to recover his composure and inspects the seal. Frowning quietly, he wraps the ring in silk and passes it to an apprentice. "Straight to Grigori," he instructs the youth plainly, and resumes his work. The puma-boy is coming down with rickets. Plain enough, as is the treatment - the apothecary tosses a few brown mushrooms into the cage, which the cat greedily devours. "Please," the boy mumbles, tugging at the sleeping adult beside him. "Mother won't wake up...you can help her, can't you? She just needs to wake up..." The doctor takes a look and blanches faintly. There's something on his cart for this, all right. Something that costs several dozen times the cougar's market price. The Vice-Factor's instructions had been crystal-clear. Wordlessly, he turns and pushes his cart along. "You...you DO have something, don't you?" the boy calls after him. "I know you do! You have to help her, she's going to die! You have to!" He grabs the bars and begins to rattle them with all the feeble strength his withered limbs can muster. "You have to! You HAVE to! You have-" The Overseer-Principal smacks the puma's wrist hard. The iron bell chimes and crackles, flashing with blue-white sparks, and the boy shrieks in pain, recoiling and clutching his hand. His fur smolders, singed away at the point of impact, showing the burned and blistered flesh beneath. The apothecary keeps walking without looking back. Nobody else seems keen to hassle him after that. Well here's some nasty business. Ferin can either wait for them to finish up and leave or try another approach, but he'll have to fail a Compassion check to not intervene somehow. Dangerous To Go Alone "Guards." *Thunk!* Bock hurls the stack of forms haphazardly desk-ward, strewing the block-stamped papers in a rough arc in front of Quill. "Take 'em to the quaestor in Barracks 5. Make sure he signs the duty roster as 'retrieval', not 'salvage', or they'll have grounds to claim a third of the shipment. Chain of custody." *THUNK-SSSSSH!* A tangled mess of verdigrised brass links and manacles lands heavily in Quill's lap. "You find the shipment, you chain up the porters to it until it's in our custody. Don't lose 'em, and watch for sinkholes, 'cuz the cargo'll suck you in with it and you'll drown, and we don't have the budget to deal with your ghost. Pham and Ngu..." Bock scratches at his soiled beard. "...dunno. On the road, looking for their crates. Or running for Great Forks, they have any sense. Or dead." He shrugs, still not quite looking Quill in the eye. "Hell if I know." On the road "No sense," Pham shakes his head, picking gingerly at the stings embedded in his skin. "No gods-damned sense at all." "Someone must have driven off with it," Ngu grumbles gloomily, slathering black mud over his own welts. "Done some magic to call that swarm, then turned the ox around..." "I can see that, Ngu," Pham snaps acidly. "That doesn't explain where the loving tracks went." "Priests can turn bandit," Ngu suggests. "Or they have a godling with them, something wild and witchy. Put a good spell on the trail, and we'd never find our own footprints." "Or everyone's who came to take it," Pham frowns. "Must have been a good-sized band lying in wait, in case the ox died, or wouldn't heed them. But...where are the tracks?!" "There are things that wouldn't need a band," Ngu ventures, fidgeting with unease (and painful itching). "Things that could conjure up those bugs, and don't leave any kind of tracks at all..." Pham shivers, taking his meaning, and makes a sign to the Dragons with his hands. Anathema... "Get down!" Pham yelps in pain as Ngu abruptly wrestles him, none too gently, into the brambles along the outskirts of the road. Holding a finger to his mouth for quiet, Ngu points. "We've got company," he whispers to the indignant Pham. "Soldiers. Our bandits?" Pham looks through the thorns and groans. "Worse. Our bosses." It's not very hard for Quill to find the spot where Pham and Ngu got jumped, being as Ferin told him where it happened and all, but he'll have to beat 5 sux on either Per+Awareness or Per+Survival to find Pham and Ngu themselves.
|
|
#
?
Jul 25, 2015 07:59
|
|
|
Ferin Drigo - Caged 1 success on a Compassion check. Looks like Ferin’s going to have to act on this. In between one cage and another, a rat’s eyes blaze faintly with the cold light of the moon. Ratty eyes coldly watch the apothecary and the Overseer-Principal leave, until their owner is sure of privacy. Once it is unobserved, the rat moves again - this time, down, through the goat-wolves’ cage and into the one directly below it, the one lined with lead blocks, where it resumes human form. Ferin leans against the bars of the cage before continuing. “And then we have you. What’s your story? I’m given to understand your folk tend not to be all too easy to capture.” “Love, and hate, and duty, and tragedy,” the blindfolded elf exhales softly. Her breath smells of clover and mallowcrown, with a hint of something harsher behind it. “I am Fair Nimhe, the Blades of Mist and Rainbow. Sworn Cataphract of my Lady, who reigns in the honor of martyred Balor.” “You’re wasting your time,” Kraal singsongs. “As well to talk to a nest of vipers.” “And how came you to be here, Nimhe?” Ferin asks. His eyes have narrowed slightly at the name of Balor, but his tone is completely unchanged. “I-” “Chased us all the way north, they did!” the angry hare-man interjects. “Right up to the Meander River! The Empire’s Wood Fleet was waiting when we tried to cross...but they were all seized,” he points to the stack of cages with the goat-wolves and Nimhe, “just as we were!” Ferin turns his polite attention to the hare-man. “Chased you together? They don’t seem to be on the best of terms.” “They were chasing her,” the hare shrugs, exhausted from his outburst in the stifling heat. “Or she was chasing them. We didn’t exactly have time to stop for conversation.” The Lunar nodded thoughtfully. “And are you all familiar with the general nature of her folk? Not just the soul-eating business, though that’s part of it, but the...strictures regarding a sworn oath?” The hawkwoman glares down from her cramped perch. “Their oaths are as iron: they cannot touch them,” she croaks. “But one must never mistake them for friends.” “But allies, they can be - just so long as one’s clear with the terms - for example, as per our friends upstairs,” Ferin says, with a meaningful glance at the goat-wolves waiting above. “But that comes down to what our not-a-friend here wants, of course. If she’s game to fight for her freedom…” He pauses and turns to the room of beastmen, fixing them with a confident stare. “Can any of you think of a worse fate for your captors than to give ‘em to her?” “...No,” the hawk-lady concedes. “Not really,” the pangolin shudders. “I can,” the long-eared female goat-wolf says softly, “but we don’t have enough honey. Or the nest of fire ants.” “Guilders are so flavorless,” Nimhe bemoans. “Dull as dry toast, and every bit as stale…” Ferin shrugs. “Probably for the best, since you’re not going to be eating that many of them. Only as I direct, in point of fact. Any other concerns?” “A poet cannot write without her quill…” This earns a raised eyebrow and a half-smile. “And does the poet happen to know where they put it?” “With many others, all alike, forged without soul, wielded without art-” Nimhe stops, thrashing in her constraints, and the lead slabs audibly shift. She hisses, and a forked tongue darts from her mouth in anger. “The Breaker of Flesh holds her now. He presumes to claim her, the wretch…!” As Ferin takes note of the forked tongue, his smile fades. “Ah. Him. I’d be glad enough to take it from him just for the fun of it. Getting you on-side will be an added bonus.” He pauses, as though expecting further objection. The little puma-boy glances up from his mother’s form to look at Ferin; his gleaming eyes seem somehow...hollow to the Lunar. “...he’s mine,” the boy says softly. He doesn’t snarl, or bare his fangs or his claws, but Ferin can tell that he means it. Ferin nods. “I think I can see to that.” He turns his face upwards, to the room at large. “Can I count on you all to do the same?” “If you can free us from these pens…” a high, thin voice drones from the wasps’ cell. “...from this slaughterhouse…” A figure steps somberly forward, and the others flit away without prompting to admit her. She wears a cloak of some strange fiber, dyed a vibrant purple in geometric bands, and a thin circlet of beaten copper around the antennae on her brow. “...then we will follow your lead without question,” their queen promises. He nods, then looks to the rest of the room. “I’ll need that promise, or something like it, from the rest of you, as well. Like the man said…” he says, gesturing to Kraal, “some of you may have been responsible for displacing others.Old grudges or feuds have to die now - I’m not breaking you out so you can turn on each other before you’re out the front door. Deal?” ”Deal,” they murmur as one. ”Deal,” Nimhe echoes at last. “...Deal,” Kraal growls, pulling a face like he’d just bitten into a lemon. Ferin held the gazes directed at him for long enough to gauge sincerity, then nodded in a satisfied way. “Then let it so be. When I come back, it’ll be time to get you out of here.”
|
|
#
?
Aug 10, 2015 20:38
|
|
|
'Corban' looks around, but does not see the misplaced wagon crew. He makes a show of searching, inspecting the tracks up to the point where they vanish, before looking helplessly up at the soldiers he's brought with him. "Don't think it was elves; one of the things what was on the manifest was iron." He looks around nervously. "Been any sort of beastman trouble in these parts? Only, at my last post…” Corban shudders, and signs ‘Anathema,’ before getting a hold of himself and making a universally-understood self-soothing gesture: Calm down. As he’s putting on his display, his hands strike not air, but rather the Essence of the air around him. Lion-Mouse Strategem is still up, so -3 external penalty to pick up on what Quill just did while he was putting on that little performance: 4 sux is the number to beat. Specifically, what he did was activate Welcoming the Uninvited Guest, 3m (1 Pers/2 Peri, headband saves the day again). Pham and Ngu each have to beat 8 sux on a Dex + Stealth roll, or Quill knows where they are for 5 actions. Pers: 0/17 Peri: 37/39 WP: 7/8
|
|
#
?
Aug 22, 2015 17:51
|
|
|
Only She Stands There. In a fraction of a second the noise of the albinos hatchets zapping through the air has turned into a deep continuous drone as the twin throwing axes find themselves being thrown faster than any mortal can follow, the artifact weapons leading edge starting to visibly glow with heat, air resistance adding a few hundred degrees of heat to the mix, the Night Castes armoured gauntlets starting to smoke from the fraction of a seconds contact between each throw. Unfortunately there isn't much aiming happening anymore. Join Battle http://orokos.com/roll/332653 Okay, I messed up a bit here and forgot we hadn't actually started the fight yet. I'll leave these here for now. Sorry! basic flurry, two attacks, one at each surviving dog. 12 dice, 8 sux http://orokos.com/roll/332650 Second attack at mole hound 2 11 dice, 5 sux http://orokos.com/roll/33265 Essence 17/26 with hatchets attuned, and minus six for infinite thrown. Current Essence Essence 17/7 Lightning Torment Hatchets Speed 5 Acc 2 damage +5l defence +1 rate 2 Target struck receives effect till end of scene, -1 internal penalty to all dice rolls, effects are cumulative up to -4 total penalty. Hatchets return to users hand, if they are prevented from returning they must be recalled through elsewhere for 1 mote.
|
|
#
?
Oct 10, 2015 23:53
|
|
|
Coming, Going The journey back is slower and more leisurely - for Shadow, at least. The gentle weather and warm updrafts make for an easy flight eastward to her forested domain. Lindram has to make do with an ordinary horse, and not a particularly-healthy one at that. No conjured storm-winds or horses and chariot of enchanted ice - Nellens Lindram is supposed to be a dead woman, and sorcerers tend to draw both notice and comment. She tends to her steed as best she can, but it's still a living creature that needs food and water and rest. Lots of rest. "I am sincerely sorry," Lindram apologizes while they make camp. "If I'd known it would take this long...I wouldn't blame you in the slightest for going ahead without me." She pulls a few crayfish from a muddy creek transecting the road, swats a few inquisitive snakes and turtles away from their meal, and builds a fire at a safe (and dry) distance from the footbridge. When the Circle had first disembarked from their riverboat, both the road and the bridge had been in a terrible state of disrepair. Even where the footing was stable, it was far from safe - bandits were drawn to the traffic, preying indiscriminately on passers-by. Jasper had seen to the road and the bridge. Najid and Silence had seen to the bandits. Empty helms, their insignia long-since lost to the elements, sit atop rusted swords and spears planted in the dirt like fenceposts. Morning brings with it company. Wes and Kanai ride two abreast, her filly's pompous canter a staccato contrast to Steady's resolute plodding. They stop long enough to rest and trade news (and for Wes to cook more crayfish). "You truly won't be talked out of this?" Lindram sighs. "This faerie beast-" "It's a damned menace," Kanai shakes her head. She twirls an arrow tipped with an iron crescent between her fingers before stowing it in her quiver. "Someone has to kill it before anyone else gets eaten." "But why does it have to be you?" Lindram throws her hands up in exasperation. "Under better circumstances, I would request aid from the Temple - and ideally, muster a small army. This is a task for your allies, not-" "I was in the Temple," Kanai interrupts again. "I have a small army, until the boss is on his feet again." She stares at the ground, her eyes tracing the bends and curves of the road as if expecting it to turn into the great snake again. "This is my responsibility. This is..." Kanai takes a deep, shuddering breath. "...this is everything of my duty. Everything that wasn't...a lie." "Kanai..." her aunt gently takes her hand, clasping her wrist. "...I spent three years believing that you were dead. Please...don't do that to me again." "Wes has a plan," Kanai replies softly, and then, softer yet: "...we'll ask Jasper for help." <You are slow,> Steady tells Lindram's mount matter-of-factly. <Why are you so slow?> <I don't want to go that way!> the quaking palfrey protests, stamping in place. <It smells like a tiger!> Poor Graces Not Long Ago "...uncultured practices! What in Creation would possess you to put that anywhere near your food?" Nellens Appian, Lindram's coachman, covers his nose with a silken kerchief and gags. "If you could even call that food!" "It fills the belly well enough," the old leatherworker grumbles. By her features, she could be either Marukani or Zaranthi - short, broad-shouldered, with ruddy skin and coarse, flyaway hair. "And I've had enough of grand ol' feasts or princely banquets for this sorry lifetime." Her fingers, gnarled like deadwood and just as stiff, clench tight around her cast-iron ladle. She holds it close, like a talisman against the mere memory of her time under Duchess Arianrhod's 'hospitality'. "But burning horse dung?!" Appian squints at the flame beneath the kettle, regarding it as he might a coiled viper. "It'll get into everything! Not enough to feed us this gruel, oh no, you have to season it with sewage!" "It burns clean," the crone snaps back, clenching her yellowed (and somewhat sparse) teeth. "I won't cut firewood here. 'tis a sacred place, and the gods won't have it, less the tigress gives her blessing." She brandishes her ladle (still dripping with beef stock and lentils) for emphasis. Appian scowls and crosses his arms, furious at the still-fresh memory of the carnage they'd endured on the road. "Superstitious old hag. I suppose you can take the barbarian out of the Wyld, but you can't take the Wyld out of the barbarian." At this, the cook's eyes narrow, and she ceases her stirring. "Well, I'll see if I can't make an exception for you, yer grace." And with that, she snatches up a handful of papers from Appian's survey notes and tosses them on the flame. Now A lovely sensation greets Shadow at the threshold to her domain. Even above and beyond the sweeping euphoria of living Essence, refreshing and renewing her after a long journey, the most delicious scent is on the wind. It's coming from the heart of the woods, and smells like roasted meat with savory gravy. Almost as if the land itself welcomes her home - every vine and flower, every tree and stone, every tiny, delicious creature that roams her woods. And now, that aroma of fresh-baked bread, and wind-fallen fruits, and stewing beef, and...charred dung? And that sour, chemical stench, like cured lumber, or a papermill. And...yes, Shadow's keen nose confirms it. That is definitely human blood. And when the wind shifts a little further westward, her ears catch the unmistakable sounds of fighting. "They couldn't have come back," Lindram asserts, even as her face goes pale. "Yudo and Maechen - they wouldn't have attacked in that condition! They'd have to return to the Greyfalls countryside, and pull fresh troops from the Legion! Even if they sent word ahead..." As sure as Lindram sounds, she digs in her spurs nonetheless, racing around the edge of the forest to the field hospital. When the 'battlefield' comes within sight, Lindram comes to a dead halt and stares. Slowly, gingerly, she lets go of both reins and presses her palms over her eyes. "I apologize for my company's disgraceful behavior," she groans to Shadow through her hands. "And especially - I am quite certain - for Appian. All I ask is that you not remove any body parts that can't be reattached." Shadow: seems Lindram's surveyors and scholars got into trouble with the rescuees from Elfland while you were out. This has the look of an argument over something very stupid that got out of hand - nobody's dead or maimed, but they may require some stitching...and some angry words. Ol' Dusty Trail Faerie mischief notwithstanding, Wes and Kanai make good time in returning to Jasper's newest worksite. The perpetual cyclone is a hell of a landmark. "W...wow," Kanai gulps, craning her neck up to see where the funnel ends, somewhere above even the clouds. "Solars...they don't think small, do they?" Eyes on the sky, Kanai isn't looking at the road. She doesn't see the patch of smooth, level dirt where Dust had worked his magics at Jasper's behest. A thin shell of dried mud, caked over a sunken hollow with something nasty at the bottom. Her steed takes one step too far, and *crack!* She doesn't scream. Her riding lessons had drilled into her the importance of never shouting in panic, never making a careless utterance that might startle a horse - or worse, that it might take as a command. She just falls, along with her mount, a very short, sudden drop onto a bed of gypsum stalagmites like punji stakes... ...and stops at the tips. Kanai stares downward, wide-eyed, seeing her horse perching nonchalantly on the deadly skewers like an acrobat on a wire. Threads of silver light wind around the filly's hooves, tracing up and around its front legs and barrel-chest, all the way to the reins. The filaments continue up Kanai's own hands and arms, around her waist to her legs and spine. A white disc flashes briefly on her brow, then vanishes. "...holy poo poo," she gasps. Hey Jasper, you have company! There is still a giant snake-colony-ogre-road beastie that needs slaying - Wes (read: mistaya) has a cool plan involving cold iron horseshoes, although Jasper's the guy with the sun-mojo so he should probably have a considerable say in this. Ferin's Sharing the Gifts of Luna continues to be handy - what Kanai's doing is basically a creative application of Graceful Crane Stance. I will update for Team Blackport tomorrow-slash-later-today. Najid - join a battle? Dreaming Somewhere warm and comfortable, far away, Silence opens his eyes. He's not anyplace he can recognize. Not in Shadow's tent, or...the hearthroom? Was that what she'd said? He isn't sure he'd heard her clearly - he'd sort of drifted in and out on the trip back to the forest. It's not a pleasant feeling, that sense of losing time. In a way, it's almost worse than the injury itself. Whatever it was. How'd he get hurt again? He'd been helping Jasper with...something. He remembers that much. A sword. Jasper had lost his sword. There was a warstrider, and elves, and something that wasn't quite an elf, and hot baths, and some time with Only She Stands There that still leaves Silence a little warm and dizzy when he remembers it, and a giant lobster that had had some very rude things to say to those with the ears to hear it. Silence's eyes flick down to his exposed midriff, and the smooth patches where the skin has just grown back. It feels hollow underneath, as if his insides had been pulled out with Blue jade javelins, skewers as long as a man is tall, crackling with lightning. Punching clean through silver armor, tearing at chest and abdomen, burning so hot that the carapace is melting, I'm melting Oh. Right. Silence closes his eyes and mercifully blacks out again. Bugg-convalescence continues, to be sped or slowed according to the needs of pacing and fun.
|
|
#
?
Oct 22, 2015 07:12
|
|
|
Ferin Drigo First things first, Ferin thought to himself. No need to grab the cart when one part of it will do. When the coast was clear, he made his way (precariously, in some cases) over to the sick cat-woman’s cage to examine her symptoms. He realized quite quickly that this was beyond his (admittedly nonexistant) medical expertise, and opted for the next best solution. “Do we have a healer in here? A shaman, a wise man, anybody?” The brittle-scaled lizardman, above the goatwolves but below the hawkwoman, rapped weakly twice on the bars of his cage. “I’m going to need you to do a diagnosis,” Ferin continued, “and I don’t think you can see her from here, so we’re gonna have to do it the hard way. I’ve got an ill woman here - asleep, and won’t wake, from the looks of it. Fever’s ridiculously high. That’s the basics. You’re gonna need to walk me through the rest of it.” “Is there swelling?” the medicine man asked. “Around her joints?” Ferin shook his head yes, then rolled his eyes as he realized the futility of the gesture. “Some, yes.” “Tch,” the reptile coughed hoarsely. “Has she been bitten? By flies? Ask her boy - they may be hidden under her fur.” Ferin nodded to the boy. “Go ahead.” After some quick, nervous probing, the puma-boy looked up. “There’s marks, yeah. On her back.” “Fresh, or dry?” “Just scabs now.” “...Honored Lunar,” the lizardman croaked quietly. “May I speak with you?” By way of answer, Ferin made his way into the lizardman’s cage. “What is it?” ”Nothing good,” the lizard whispered. ”Sleeping fever. If the bites have scabbed, then she is late in her sickness.” He hung his snout. ”I cannot help her. I am sorry.” Instead of hanging his head, Ferin flashed the elder a bright grin. “You don’t need to. Did you see the apothecary, when her son spoke? There was something on that cart that could help her - something absurdly expensive, more than likely, or else they’d have used it. All you need to do is tell me what it might be, what it looks like, and I’ll do the rest.” He cast a glance around the cell. “As long as I’m there, I could probably grab a few other things. If you’ve any idea of what might help the people around here beyond water and freedom, now would be the time to share it.” “Seven Bounties Paste. A precious remedy, if indeed it was that.” The elder flicked his tongue out, tasting the air. “Broth and herbs to dilute its ferocity. Room to tend to them in health, out of this unclean place.” He tugged at the bars of his cage despondently. They didn’t even rattle. “I wish I could do more…” Ferin stared at the bars for a moment in amazed shock. It couldn’t have been that simple, could it? He took hold of them for a moment and then gave one an experimental twist. They moved slightly in the threads he’d noticed, but he’d either need to be stronger or to get more leverage. Again he paused, gauging his reserves, but with the prayers (spoken and unspoken) of the people in this room, maybe it wouldn’t be a problem. Again he turned to the shaman. “You might want to stand back for this.” “Honored Lunar?” Ferin grinned more widely still, cracked his knuckles while he still had them, and changed. Suddenly, standing in his place was a monstrous figure - not as bulkily muscular as some of the goat-wolves, but powerfully built still. He threaded suddenly boneless arms around the bars, waited until he felt the suction cups on the inside of those arms grip the bars tight. Then, shockingly quickly, he pulled. Imagine, if you will, a pinwheel, or a yo-yo - child’s toys that teach youngsters of axles long before they first ride in an oxcart, or pulleys before they ever work the docks. The iron bar spun in place as Ferin retracted his tentacle, unthreading from both the top and bottom (for how else were the buyers to get their slaves out?). It ground briefly as the slabs comprising the roof and floor spread awkwardly apart, and then- *pop!* A ping of metal, and suddenly there was a gap in the bars. It was the work of a moment for Ferin to repeat the process with his other pair of arms. Once it was done, he set the bars on the floor of the cage, quietly as he could, then blinked for a moment. “Anybody here any good with a staff?” “Can’t mount a skull without a stick,” Kraal grins cruelly. With a fluidity his human form would never have had, born of bonelessness and the power of the Moon, Ferin swung himself, bars and all, down to the wolf-goats’ cage before passing the bars to them. “Don’t say I never got you anything.” Buoyed by his success, he moved through the barred lower cages with ease (one of the advantages of being boneless), focusing his attention on a seemingly empty cage, whose only feature of note was that even the mole-dogs seemed to be avoiding it. Something stirred under the dirt. Something pale as the moon, with a hard shell and many thin, flailing arms tipped with narrow hands...and two much-larger arms sprouting from above the shoulders. “And here I thought I was the only one up to something tricky. Hail and hello, stranger. Who might you be?” “Haaaaaah…” the figure sat upright with a prolonged sigh of discomfort, cold, black soil falling away in pebbles and clumps from her chitin. Now that Ferin could see her, she wasn’t any larger than a human, but her sprawling arms gave her profile a distinct bulk. She blinked at him with red, bleary eyes; two smaller pairs, lower on her face, followed suit. Her mouth looked mostly-human, save for her lips - or rather, the short, sharp ‘beak’ in front of her teeth. A fat, barb-tipped tail rose behind her, settling about level with her head. “...too hot,” the scorpion-girl protested softly. “Too loud...please, I’m so tired...” She was more than tired, from what Ferin could see. Her tail and one of her pincers had deep, ragged wounds going clear through her shell to the meat beneath. One of the mole-hounds, in turn, had some ugly claw marks in its hide, and streaks of glutinous venom daubed along its thick armor. In her lower arms, she cradled a hard-shelled bundle which Ferin at first took for another mole-hound - but no. It was another beastman, another pangolin. He wasn’t dressed or restrained like the other captives, but his smock had been torn open, and his soft underside savaged. His great, blunt claws were filthy with black dirt, and flecks of white foam trickled from the corners of his mouth. “Ah!” The old lizard cautiously crept to the edge of his platform, squinting down with rheumy eyes. “Faridah! Is that you? Are you okay?” He spoke too loudly, and the dogs below began to growl and stir. Hastily, he backed away. Ferin immediately turned to the dogs with an annoyed look. “Oi. Knock it off, you.” 3 sux… Plus one more for 4 The hounds paused and balked, sniffing at the air. They’d been set to guard against intruders or escapees, both of which had the distinctive aroma of FOOD. But this new creature, this slippery thing, smelled off. It moved, but not like their prey. It smelled like water, but the wrong kind of water, like the southern oases that could kill you as surely as thirst. Warily, they kept their distance. “Right. That should keep those fellows busy for a while. Can you burrow out of here? I’ve got a friend scouting the area just outside that I need to get in contact with.” Faridah (apparently) blinked again, then motioned to excavate some more of the wet dirt with her massive pincer-arms. It was already loosened - apparently, going all the way to the outside, and Ferin recalled the savaged pangolin-man sharing her cell. She groaned laboriously the entire time; the dog’s bites had gone deep. “Trying…” Faridah gasped in pain. Ferin winced. “I understand. I’ll be back with water and medicine. Just...hang on until then, alright?” She nodded weakly in answer, then settled back down into her bed of cool, damp clay. As soon as she’d nodded, Ferin was off. He counted on his camouflaged skin to keep him until he was near the top of the stack of cages, and soared off as a sparrow not long thereafter. He knew what to look for now - the recent wheel-tracks of the apothecary’s cart. vdate fucked around with this message at 04:27 on Feb 13, 2016 |
|
#
?
Oct 24, 2015 20:40
|
|
|
Safe in my Shadow – Home Sweet Home The red-tailed hawk leaves Nellens Lindram behind to observe the idiocy of the moment unseen. She lets out a piercing cry from above them, but it goes unheard in the heat of the argument. Well then. Unruly guests need to be reminded whose house this is. Moments later, a tiger-eared queen enters the clearing. She wears a pure white gown of flowing silk, adorned with shining pearlescent beads. The branches part for her, the bushes bow aside, and the grass whispers ‘welcome home mistress’. Her face is thin and perfect, without freckle or blemish. Her russet hair flows nearly to her knees and is interspersed with braids and flowers. Her feet are bare, and she walks with regal grace, her large green cat’s eyes observing her domain with interest. A bright orange fox-tail hangs from her waist. In one hand, she holds a gleaming scythe. With the other, she strokes the blade. Her voice is soft, but her gaze is hard as diamonds as she stops and addresses the crowd. “Who has spilled blood without my consent in this holy sanctuary?” Sullen and affronted, Nellens Appian straightens his torn clothing, daubs his bleeding nose, and rises to his full height...to find himself face-to-face (well, chest) with a tiger-woman still a good two feet taller than him. He’d had something to say about propriety, and hospitality, and the sacred rights and privileges of those with the Blood of the Dragons, even those who hadn’t taken their Second Breath. Damned if he can remember it now, though. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. It reminds Shadow of the fish Wesley pulls from the stream, gasping their last in dull incomprehension before dinnertime. “I...I…” he sputters, slowly moving a quaking hand to point at the withered old leatherworker (fallen to her knees in prostration the moment Shadow had made herself known. ”...she burned my papers…” he whispers feebly. The Lunar reaches down to lift the chin of the elderly woman. “Tell me what happened, and tell it true.” “Gracious queen,” the crone whispers. “We quarreled, and he so gave offense that I forgot myself. I confess, I burned his papers, and so he slapped me. Birnak - the bronzeworker, from Great Forks - stopped that, and demanded he apologize, and then…” she shakes her head. “I couldn’t say who first drew blood. Forgive me, lady; my wits aren’t what they used to be, and I become confused.” Shadow rested a hand on top of her head. “Be at peace,” she spoke the blessing, then looked up at Appian and all the others gathered. “And that goes for the rest of you as well. You are here at my sufferance. Your injuries and illnesses have been attended, your bellies filled, and your backs given a place to rest. If you wish to stay here, then this will not happen again.” She raised a hand, beckoning Lindram to approach from where she’d been watching. “Bring your grievances to me, or your commander. If aught can be done to ease them, it will. But know this- those who drove you here are out there still, and those who disturb my sanctuary will have no protection when they need it most.” “Appian.” Lindram says simply, offering a short bow to Shadow before turning back to her coachman. “We will speak. Privately.” She doesn’t say more as they depart. She really doesn’t need to. The rest of the crowd disperses as quickly as respectfulness will allow, sheepishly cleaning up what damage they’ve done and returning to minding their own drat business. In this, they are very efficient, and highly-motivated. One of them, the tailor they’d rescued from Arianrhod (Hifua, if Shadow recalls her name correctly) lingers slightly, alternately bandaging her lacerated fingers and glancing nervously at the Lunar. She looks of a mind to say something, but can’t quite bring herself to speak… Tired from the long flight, and wanting to put her dress away before it gets dirty, Shadow doesn’t quite notice her and turns to leave. The manse informs her that Silence has been stirring, so she needs to check up on him too. “Daughter of Heaven!” Stumbling over her gown’s hems, half-tripping, half-bowing with every step, Hifua finally musters her nerve. “I have no wish to trespass again, and I beg your forgiveness, but…” she drops to her knees. “My daughter - my Faomei - I cannot find her.” Ah, more disasters. But Shadow remembers the little girl who pulled her tail. “When was she last seen?” “She was crying for the fighting to stop, and then the kettle was upended. I think…” Hifua’s voice was quaking with obvious anxiety and dread. “...I think she was splashed, and ran away into the woods. She is...she is a spirited girl, and willful, and I fear for whatever trouble she may get herself into.” “If she is still on my land- and I cannot imagine she has run far enough to leave it- then I will find her,” Shadow promised. “Help the old one to re-fill the cooking pot, we will return before dinner, and she will be hungry I’m sure.” “Thank you, gracious one,” Hifua kowtows, weeping with relief. “I am forever in your debt.” Would that I had need of servants, Shadow thinks, shaking her head. But she smiles and waits for Hifua to retreat before dropping the act. “Merciful Luna,” she mutters to herself. “Being the witch of the wilds is hard work.”
|
|
#
?
Oct 25, 2015 07:24
|
|
|
Jasper and Kanai and Wes plot against the Road-Snake Twice-Polished Jasper Jasper had been careful with his cargo, and had sought out Shadow, who had made herself scarce. And his work crew were all taking a long break, with his blessing. That was why he was far, too far away, when Kanai approached with the others. He felt the rumbling underfoot and sprinted as fast as he could, in great leaps and bounds. He was too late. He thumped into the earth, hard, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank the Dragons!” he said, and felt his panic’d adrenaline crest and begin to break. He came closer, dragging his hammer by the strap as he did so, carving a great path, marking the safe ways. “I am sorry. It is by my carelessness that you were caught off guard, and but for Luna’s grace that you’re unhurt. Please, let me help you.” He said, offering a hand. His other hand, naturally, was carrying a head of Jade. Once everyone was safe and sound, there were some introductions to be made. Jasper had met Lindram, naturally, but there was the issue of introducing Modout to the assembled. Jasper spoke of mysterious enemies, playing the Circle against others either for sport or for malice, and also spoke of needing to learn more. “Wyld-touched creatures can’t abide the touch of iron,” Wesley explained. “If the snake fancies itself a road, then tipping our boots and horseshoes with iron and stomping down the center should force it to manifest in another, more tangible form.” When Jasper learned what Wes had in mind, he nodded along. “I actually think Wes has something there. Certainly for warding off similar intrusions in the future, but also, perhaps, for ridding ourselves of the infestation. Those who hunt boar sometimes use beaters, men and women who make noise to drive the boar into the hunters. Perhaps ironshod cavalry can drive our snake ogre into a trap.” “We need to flush it out,” Kanai agreed. “As long as it’s hiding in the land - or being the land - it won’t be easy to hurt, and it’ll have absolute tactical superiority to boot. But trample it enough…” she thought on it. “The smaller snakes will be a problem, though. They’ll bite our horses and make them throw the riders, and they all protect the big one...hmm.” “Even barding isn’t built for that. Maybe iron-shod boots would be a better option. Big, snakebite-proof ones. Yeah, armored riding boots, I could do that,” Jasper suggested. “Either way, you have both my tools and my weaponry at your disposal. When does this need to be done by?” Jasper asked, “I can set the construction aside for now, that’s not a problem but the longer that road ogre is around, the harder things will be for everyone else. Do we march with whatever I have on hand and can repurpose, or do we spend a week doing it right but letting the snake get that much stronger?” “We’ll need time to mobilize anyhow,” Kanai considered. “In the meantime, I think we should try starving it.” She looked to Wes. “Have any thoughts for warning off travelers until it’s dead?” “Something less final than pit traps, certainly,” Wes said, with more conviction than usual. He crossed his arms and thought a bit. “...stakes though, are a good idea. This creature devours roads. If we give them permanence, plant iron stakes in them… or dust the crossroads with metal filings from the smiths, then we could at least keep it off the main throughways until it can be dealt with.” Kanai grinned. “Hey, Jasper. How much scrap and slag do you have lying around from your work?” “I was raised to be very efficient, which might be… wait. I do have one source. Detritus from the Dark Manse. Plenty of slag came up with the tunneling. Tainted stonework, too. Whether that moves us from frying pan to fire… I don’t know.” “How bad could it be?” Kanai asked innocently. “It may mean more remediation of the land for Shadow,” Jasper said, “but it would let us move immediately. It will be a few more days to mine out enough for some simple spears and stakes,” he offered. He looked up at the whirlwind that marked the rich veins of ore. The manse, so close to restoration. ’Soon’ he promised himself. And it. “That does run the risk of converting the entire area into a Shadowland, so we’ll have to use it sparingly,” Wes said with a shiver. “Let’s not make mistakes when playing with the Void.” “Sparingly is the only way I would want to do it.” Jasper agreed. “I’ll gather up whatever I deem to be a safe amount, and whatever hobnails and iron spikes I can collect. I will consult with Dust, he has a vested interest in keeping the earth healthy, and may know more than I.” “Jasper, wasn’t that manse also Wyld-tainted?” Wes asked. “If iron and void repel it, could be that Wyld-stuff attracts it, and a lure of some kind would be a useful thing.” “That manse was a nightmare in multiple regards. I wouldn’t count on it being bait, but it might well confuse the beast . We’ll play it by ear. And if we find especially Wyld bits, we can sort those out, maybe.” So said, Jasper began to rally a few people. Some he directed to continue work on the manse. Most of the rest set to scavenging what they could locally. A chosen few girded themselves in armor and worked with Jasper to collect the toxic slag. Jasper wheeled the vast majority of it himself. Collecting some toxic waste and iron It turned out there was a plethora of overlooked materials that would likely qualify as minor wonders in and of themselves, or at least fascinating oddities for researchers, scholars, and, well, crafters who wanted to live dangerously. Which might well include Jasper, later. He, himself wheeled a cart with several ugly iron shivs, fashioned onto the ends of heavy wooden spars. One of his assistants carried a small stone that spiraled in on itself endlessly, and was remarkably hypnotic in its patterning. The assistant carried it in iron tongs, and wore heavily shaded lenses of obsidian in a leather mask. “I guarantee we have enough here to get ourselves in trouble!” Jasper said, once they had collected the materials. “Decisions, decisions,” Kanai murmured, gleefully perusing the spread. Once she’d rallied the Twice-Burned, she’d spent her time fletching arrows. Dozens of shafts, but none of them had heads yet. She looked at her options and smiled.
|
|
#
?
Oct 25, 2015 08:38
|
|
|
Silence of Stilled Breath - Sleep Is For The Weak The first thing Silence noticed, the thing that really woke him up, was the sound. It was a popping, crunching noise, like running over leaves in fall, but too loud, everything was too loud. Grumbling, he rolled over on the bed. The sound only got worse. What the hell…? He opened his eyes to see what the noise was. To his surprise (and considerable disgust), it was himself. Pieces of translucent, blue-green shell fell from every inch of his skin, like a charred husk of maize. It reminded of him of a time he’d been badly sunburned (back when he could get sunburned); at the very least, this didn’t smell the way the burn had. Still. Ew. He was in the hearthroom of Shadow’s manse. He’d never been inside before, and Shadow didn’t visit the central chamber often enough for it to carry her scent, but still he knew. This place was hers. He could feel it, even if he could never describe that feeling in words. There were basins about the room, little hollows in the living wood. Some were filled with water, some with other, unidentifiable things. Some were empty. There was a heavy bucket on the floor, a chamberpot. There’d been no need of it while Silence had slept. He scraped the molted exoskeleton up from the floor, shook out the bedsheets, and put the pieces in the chamberpot. Then, he went to wash up. His experience had left him feeling distinctly...unclean. In his sleep, Silence had spoken with someone. Someone who’d come before him, and now lived only as a memory, worn grooves on the substance of his Exaltation. This other had had much to say, whether Silence wanted to hear it or not. Principally, words of disappointment, of dissatisfaction. Words of philosophies and lores, cultured practices and doctrines of war, words both cryptic and undeniably wise. Silence was pretty sure he knew why this guy had been murdered. If he were still alive, Silence would probably have wanted to kill him again on general principle. He rinsed his face and took a look at his reflection in the water. He looked...cleaner, somehow. Smoother, less weatherbeaten. Even after he drew his Second Breath, Silence had a few scars left, some marks of battle. Now, even these were gone. The seared discoloration on his bicep had faded to nothing. The scar where Najid had taken his arm off at the shoulder was vanished. Eh. He’d get new ones soon enough. Like he’d told She the night after their first run-in with the Raksha, it wasn’t about who you were, but who you are, who you become. What you make of yourself. It was true then, and it was true… ...no. Silence frowned at the face looking back at him. You know what, it did bother him. He’d earned those marks. He didn’t need them to remember who he was - they weren’t a splint to hold his Exalted soul together, like his tattoos - but gently caress that, they were his. The Lunar clenched his fists, and his claws came out. In the hallway outside, Shadow suddenly smelled blood.
|
|
#
?
Oct 31, 2015 00:56
|
|
|
Shadow & Silence - From the Heart The witch of the wilds, in her resplendent white gown, entered the hearth-stone chamber of her manse. She was in no hurry, if her charge was in any danger the Wood would have told her so, and the Wood spoke only of good health. This, then, was a sickness of the heart. She didn’t scold him this time, though. She didn’t look at him at all, as she passed through the chamber to a banded chest in the corner. She pressed her hands together and lit an incense stick, waving it and letting the pleasant aroma of cinnamon overtake the coppery scent of Silence’s self-mutilation, then placing it in a small iron incense holder as she opened the chest. There were treasures inside, though they would hold no value to another. A carved fish- given by a young man to a young woman. A porcelain teapot- given by a mother-in-law in blessing of a union. A straw doll with a checkered dress- a child’s first toy. Shadow smiled and began unbuttoning her wedding dress, her back to Silence. Some things must be shown the proper respect. She folded the silk with velvet hands, fingers lingering on the pearl beads. Then she closed the trunk and slipped into her normal blouse, which was on the shelf beside her. “If you’d like to keep your tokens, you could have asked me,” she volunteered at last. “There was no need to tear apart what your body has fought so hard to rebuild.” Silence looked sheepishly down at the floor, his eyes glancing between the bloodstained claws of his left hand and the deep gouges over his right shoulder. The wounds were already re-sealing; he’d done his best to recreate the lines of the jagged tear, but…”Sorry,” he told Shadow. “It just...felt wrong.” “When I was very young a pox spread through my village.” Shadow said quietly. “I was one of the only survivors, and badly scarred by the disease. This was a gift to hide my face, when it was given.” She pulled the dark green scarf out of her skirt pocket, the one she always wore in her hair. “Luna’s mercy took those scars away, and yet…” She stood next to him, before the pool. The perfect features she wore melted away with a touch of her hand, and with a second touch, black blemishes erupted over her cheeks and neck. Sunken, mottled flesh that looked almost like scales. “...I still remember.” Silence blinked once, but otherwise his face remained impassive. He tilted his head, regarding Shadow’s disfigurations. He’d seen similar before, albeit from a long ways away. In Nexus, the afflicted wore grey robes and bells around their neck, by order of the Council. These were the lucky ones. The unlucky weren’t seen at all. Mess hall rumors had included some lurid and unpleasant speculation about their fates, and the way the fires of the city’s great ironworks sometimes burned a sickly grey. “Where was this?” Silence asked at last. “In the riverlands, though that village has long since been reclaimed by nature. I was a cursed, unwanted child, but this was the face my Wesley married.” She smiled for a moment, remembering. “And that was dress he married me in.” She rested a hand on Silence’s bleeding shoulder. He felt the flesh beneath her hand tingle, as if touched by frost. When he looked again the mess he’d made of his arm was a perfect match to what had been there before. “It will never fade, unless you will it to,” she said. Then she pulled him into a tight hug, claws and all. “Welcome back, Reyle.” Silence - Reyle - started briefly, mindful of his razor-edged extremities and Shadow’s crushing grip. And then he wrapped his arms around her and returned the hug with all of his considerable strength. He smiled, and faint lines of moisture ran down his cheeks from the corners of his eyes. “Thanks, mom.”
|
|
#
?
Oct 31, 2015 02:39
|
|
|
Shadow & Silence - What the Mule Saw For a moment, she just held him, the sudden flick of her ears the only outward sign of her surprise. When she pulled back, the pox scars were gone, and while her smile remained, her hands busied themselves checking the Full-Moon over every inch. His healing was as complete as it could be as far as she could tell. “You need to eat,” she told him. “My guests are making stone-soup outside, but if you’d prefer to hunt your own you should be fine to do just that. I can’t stay longer though, I promised a mother to find a lost child.” His look turned serious again in a hurry. “Food can wait. Let’s go find the kid.” Reyle was circumspect about saying so to Shadow’s face, but even her woods weren’t the safest place for ordinary folks, even at the best of times. He knew for a fact there was worse lurking outside her domain, and these weren’t the best of times at any rate. He shrugged. Then again, maybe they’d get lucky and whatever trouble the kid was in would be edible. Shadow hesitated, then nodded. “Stretch your wings, then. She hasn’t much of a head start, and two pairs of eyes will hunt faster than one. It will make up for the time lost here.” Shadow uses her Perception Ex (5m). Per+Survival to find missing kid: (10 10 9 9 8 7 7 7, 5 5 4 4 3) = 10, +3 sux for eagle-eyes = 13! Also being asked to roll Per+Occult: (7 7 7, 6 4 4 3 2 1 1) = 3 Silence helps out with his own Per+Survival, and a 4m Ex: 6 sux, including eagle eyes, ouch. After a week spent inside in the dark, Silence’s eyes stung and strained at the brilliant daylight. He appreciated the exercise nonetheless; it was good to feel again, even if some of the feelings were a little painful. Shadow, on the other hand, knew the forest like the back of her presently-metaphorical hand. Every game trail, every clearing and hollow, every brook, creek, and spring. The girl’s tracks were easy enough for her to pick up - flattened grass, muddy divots in the moss, broken twigs and bare patches on fallen logs where her clogs had scrabbled over. The first sign that something was truly amiss came when she caught sight of the hoofprints. They came from the northwest, in the general direction of the high roads. Too small for a horse, they ventured a short way into the woods before doubling back. A second set of tracks, another pair of child’s shoes, broke off from the hooves where they turned. Following the trail to the outskirts of the forest, Shadow caught sight of a familiar mule. It was Sab’s - the saddlebags full of ‘medicine’ were a dead giveaway, but the Noise That Walks was nowhere to be seen nor (even more curiously) heard. A strand of red silk fluttering in the breeze, caught in the weary animal’s stirrups, didn’t look like anything of Sab’s at all. Shadow called out for Silence and drifted down to perch on the mule’s saddlehorn. <What has the beast seen?> she asked, watching the second set of tracks like, well, a hawk. Silence alighted on a low branch and asked. <How far in?> he queried after the mule had, apparently, answered. <Together?> He bobbed his head, talons scraping against the bark. <That...that doesn’t make any sense. The other girl wasn’t riding-> His sky-blue eyes widened, and he gave Shadow a worried look. <We need to hurry. There’s someone else here. A rider. Mule doesn’t know who, but her nose says it ain’t human.> <Then it better have a good reason for trespassing.> Shadow flapped her wings twice. <Send the mule to camp, my guests will hold her until Sab returns.> Silence passed her message along. <You did good,> he assured the poor animal. <Here, lift your hoof a little…> The mule obliged, and Silence swooped down to the ground and pecked at the underside, coming back with a piece of jagged rock in his beak. <They’ll take care of you from here,> he told her as she ambled away. <Let’s go. If it’s Corrax again, I’m gonna take his skin for a tent canvas.> <If it’s Autumn, then she’ll be missing more than a tail.> <...Who?> <An intruder from the Court of Seasons She tried to impersonate me in my own home, and bring harm to those who sheltered here. She found out just how foolish a thing that was, though I doubt she’ll take the lesson to heart.> <You let her live?> Silence turned his head, almost veering into Shadow mid-flight. <That’s…> he thought about it. <...you didn’t go berserk and eat her this time, so...progress?> Shadow laughed. <I strongly considered it, but taking her pride seemed the wiser course. A wounded enemy is dangerous, but weak. Better to keep this one than invite stronger, more capable foes. This place will only be mine as long as I can hold it, and unfortunately I do not have an army.> <I can help you with that,> Silence replied grimly. Shadow let out a piercing call, but the challenge in it had no words. The Wood whispered to Shadow, secret words of the land’s goings-on. She heard it talk of trees felled, and new growth, of predator and prey, of shelter and privation. Now, the Wood spoke to her of injury. It had struggled, attempting to repel some foreign threat like a body rids itself of disease. It had not gone well. When Shadow and Silence reached the scene of the geomantic disturbance, they found carnage. Of a sort. Wood spiders, petty elementals of trackless and inhospitable lands, lay strewn about a web-covered hollow in varying states of dismemberment. Some had been cut apart by a blade, others trampled underfoot, although no hoofprints were apparent. Some were singed and smoldering, their eight eyes seemingly burned from their heads. Strangest of all, some still clung to their silken vines, hanging heavily from overburdened trees, frozen mid-pounce. They were petrified. <A Wyld-touched menace.> Shadow would have spat if hawks were able to do so. To think that something capable of this would be here, threatening her forest, and those who walked it with her blessing! <Hurry!> The thing’s trail was difficult to pick up, at first - in fact, it didn’t leave one, as such. Not in a normal sense. The Lunars struggled to find its spoor, until some clouds overhead drifted away and the sun shone through the canopy. Then, they saw the hoofprints. They didn’t bend stalks or trample leaves or make half-moon divots in the mud. They left gaps of darkness in the very light. Here and there, the intruder had trod, light as a feather but for the crescents of smoking night. Soon, the leaves and branches grew too thick for anything to be seen from above. Shadow descended as a tigress, and her feline eyes quickly found the patches of deeper dark within the twilit forest. She couldn’t smell any trace of the intruder. But she could smell the girls. She quickened her pace, tearing the earth with her claws as she sprinted and listening with both ears up and forward. Where was it? She rounded a bend and skidded down an embankment to a meadow, and there it was. And what a strange thing! It had a humanoid body plan, but could never have been mistaken for human. Its bowed legs were too thin, too long, spread in a wide posture, its taloned feet seeming not to touch the ground. It wore armor of dusky birch-bark, chased with mother-of-pearl, swept back in high, fluted embellishments at the pauldrons and joints. They could only see the back of its high helm, a tall, curving headpiece that resembled a giant, upside-down thimble of silver. It was faced away from them, and toward the girls. Faomei and...what was the red-silked girl’s name? Lauva?...sat atop a vast, fallen log, eying the creature warily. They seemed to be looking more beneath it than at it. ”Are you afraid, children?” it asked in a reedy, warbling voice. ”What is it that frightens you?” Faomei folded her arms (wincing as she pressed against her scalded hand, bandaged in red silk from Lauva’s dress). “Not afraid of you,” she pouted at the creature. “We seen way worse than you, Skinnybones!” Lauva jumped up onto her feet and shook her tiny fist, nearly toppling from the log. “Way, way worse!” ”Why...that’s wonderful,” the thing gave a low, hooting chuckle. ”Yes...I can see them in your eyes. The wolves,” it inclined its head to Lauva, ”and the Duchess’ cat,” it likewise addressed Faomei. ”Superb. Such exquisite terrors…” Shadow uses Deadly Beastman Transformation, tries to stealth up for ambush: 5m on Dex Excellency, so 11 dice. 3 sux. Silence does the same, 4m Dex Excellency (empty Personal pool, 2m into Periph): 5 sux ”Oho! We are not alone.” The faerie-knight’s head swiveled a hundred and eighty degrees, in much the same way as Silence could do. Its face had feathers, and enormous, yellow eyes, and a short, curved, razor-sharp beak like an owl. ”It is someone new, Amdusias. Someone who fears…fire?” ”Two someones, Stolas.” Another voice spoke up, low, reverberating, and monotone, its speaker unseen. ”Do learn to count.” The owl-knight began to shift and swivel in place, even though its limbs remained motionless, and- It was mounted. There was a steed beneath it, all but invisible in the dusky meadow. It shone and glimmered as it turned, gleaming colors of the night sky twinkling off its form. It was equine, with a body of near-transparent crystal and eyes of white diamond. Its hooves, as they could see when it raised them, were smoking obsidian, and drank in the very light where it touched them. Its mane was sculpted coral, and it bore one spiraled, ivory horn that shone blindingly-bright with all the colors of the rainbow. A unicorn. Shadow stepped into the light, the blade of her scythe gleaming. “You forfeited your right to flee my land when you threatened these children,” she said, baring her teeth. The fox-tail swung at her side. “I will show you fear.” Thesaurasaurus fucked around with this message at 02:42 on Nov 1, 2015 |
|
#
?
Nov 1, 2015 02:25
|
|
|
The Dogs of War, They Ain't The last of the mole-hound's eight tails slips beneath the dirt just in time; She's hatchet shaves off a few smooth, wispy, and now quite-crispy hairs, but not before the animal's body is well underground. Its retreat upheaves a racing plume of mud, exactly following the line of its original tunnel. Following it won't be a problem. The other lies motionless, tangled in the cypress roots. The Solar's final toss only struck it a glancing blow, but She can tell it won't be getting back up anytime soon. Daring to come close enough to look, She sees deep, bloody gashes in its flank. Its hind leg hangs limp and useless, but without a drop of blood. Her fur along the leg is scorched black. Lightning. Seized so hard the bone broke. "...is it safe?" Up in the tree, the pangolin-man still holds his overburdened branch in a deathgrip. "Are they all gone?" he whispers down to She, terrified. Well. That is the question. The last mole-hound is still breathing, albeit raggedly, and still trembling from the hatchets' tingling aftershocks. It's hard to tell at first glance, but some of her burns are far older than the others, long-since healed and scarred-over. Here and there, jagged discolorations crisscross the dog's leathery shell, little smacks and stings for misbehavior. She strains to look at the Solar and gives a piteous whine, stretching out her neck to bare her throat. <M-master...> she whimpers. One dog beats She's JB by enough to slip underground, gaining just enough of a cover bonus to avoid being roasted. The other, the one who botched her roll, isn't so fortunate, and is Incapacitated. Coast is clear for now, and pangolin-guy could probably use some reassurance. Medicine Man Following the apothecary's cart to his laboratory is child's play for Ferin; getting inside, only slightly more of a challenge. The greatest danger is the fumes, making his head spin and threatening to overwhelm him as he squeezes through the wood-slat vents. The place is solidly-built, even moreso than the rest of the market, and with good reason. Nowhere else in Blackport is there such a concentration of profit and peril, value and volatility. Well. Not before Ferin arrived at the slave pens, at any rate. Inside, the Nexican alchemist putters about, plying his trade. He strolls through aisles of blooming orchids, plucking an assortment of psychedelic hues from the planters and handing them over for his apprentices to dry. He guides a gangly, pimpled youth through the operation of a strange distillery that runs on wheels and weights instead of heat, vapor, and tubes - Ferin thinks he hears it called a 'centrifuge'. Other students bring over tiny spheres of pale, pink stone, laboriously-chiseled from fist-sized nuggets of ore, whereupon the apothecary inspects each in turn, offering praise or chastisement befitting the qualities of their work. Great amphorae of brass churn and boil with some green, glutinous concoction, while earmuffed workers carefully trim leaves from taro-looking plants inside a small, square garden soundproofed with curtains of enchanted wool. For all this, there doesn't seem to be much in the way of medicine here. The trolley is present, but its contents are nowhere to be seen. Gradually, this changes. Jar by jar, phial by phial, the apothecariat bottles, wraps, or preserves the fruits of its labor. Powders are mixed with gelatin to become pills. Amphoules and lancets are filled, capped with cork, bedded in straw, and packed in crates. The apothecary himself shows a heavily-bandaged apprentice the proper way to milk cobras for their venom. Every item, in turn, is placed on an increasingly-strained cart and given an elegant, brushed label that the apothecary dictates to a calligrapher. When the cart is full, he shoos everyone else from the room. The apothecary casts a furtive glance about the room to ensure he's truly alone, then whispers to a bare patch of the black clay wall. It moves. And it's not truly blank, either, now that Ferin can see. Its outline is faint, almost invisible against the wall itself, but a hulking shadow steps silently forward from an unseen niche. The thing is almost as tall as Silence in war-form, and seemingly made from the same substance as the wall that houses it. Crudely humanoid, its features are broad, flat, and blocky. The creature regards its master with sunken hollows that might be eyes, waiting in silence. Behind it, through a hole cut to fit the golem as perfectly as a tailored suit, Ferin can see a vault...and rows upon rows upon rows of colorful little vials. Ferin's lucky day - with his concealment, he only just beats out the apothecary's Awareness. Also, a wild complication appears! 'Lost' and 'Found' "No beastmen," Pham admits, stepping sheepishly out of hiding. Corban's guards point their weapons in alarm, not quite recognizing the man behind the mass of welts and lumps. "Not that we saw. Something else. We were attacked by..." he struggles to phrase it in a way that doesn't sound deeply-embarrassing. "Bees," Ngu beats him to it. "Horrible, horrible bees, like a curse from an angry god." He holds up his hands plaintively. "We didn't make any gods angry, by the way - all our prayers and sacrifices were in order when we left!" "And then they stole our cart," Pham scowls. "Right out from under us, quicker than blinking!" "Lots of them!" Ngu nods along. "More than we ever could have fought off! And then they were gone, and the cart, like that!" He snaps his fingers for emphasis, then immediately gasps in pain from his still-tender hand. "Or maybe one..." Pham puzzles out. "We looked all over for tracks, but we couldn't find any, and we know they didn't double back. But..." he shivers. "...if something swooped down and carried it off...maybe it was, you know..." Meaningfully, he makes a crescent over his brow with his thumb and forefinger, like a caste mark. "...one of them?" "We couldn't tell," Ngu concedes. "It was hard to see anything. Through the bees." Say, Quill, have you seen any Lunars about? 
|
|
#
?
Nov 1, 2015 04:28
|
|
|
Safe in my Shadow - PE: 11/23, PPE: 36/36 | WP: 9/10 | Limit 0/10 Mutations: War-form, Steady (+3 resist knockdown), Natural Armor (+3 soak), Night Vision, Skulker, Hyper-Awareness Join Battle! Meerkat Alertness converts 3 dice to sux. 2 dice from 2 die stunt and 1 from JB spec, so rolling 10 +3sux. Orokos says: 6+3 = 9! Shadow roared her challenge. Thin contrails of silver followed the blade of her scythe as she dropped to three legs and sprinted directly at the intruders, the weapon held against her spine in on hand. As she closed she leaped high into the air, bringing it down towards the Unicorn's head with both hands as if swinging a six foot pick-axe. So much for progress. Activating Relentless Lunar Fury (1m, 1wp) (Attack roll, 13 base, excellency 8 dice (RLF cap raised), 21 dice. Valor channel, 1000 Streams Defender activated due to Shadow's defining intimacy for protecting children adds 10 dice. 1 die stunt. Orokos says, 20 sux! +1 sux from RLF, = 21 total. Combat Block posted:Moonsilver Grand Grimscythe: (+2 acc +2 defense, included)
|
|
#
?
Nov 2, 2015 01:05
|
|
|
Unfair and Fowl The point of Shadow's scythe strikes...something with a ringing crack of brittle fracture. It's hard to tell - one instant, the tigress is swinging at the unicorn's neck; the next, its horn blazes so painfully bright with a dazzling, rainbow glare. Shimmering mist erupts in a cloud from the point of impact, and the creature whinnies in alarm and pain, and- *Thnk!* She follows through on her cut, and meets not even the faintest resistance. The blade whistles to the ground, burying half its length in the loamy soil before she catches it. When the spots fade from Shadow's eyes, both knight and steed are vanished. "YEAH!!!" Lauva jumps up and down on the log, clapping her hands and cheering with excitement. "You show those stupid elves who's boss! Couldn't even last five seconds!" "Told you they'd run scared!" Faomei laughs, dancing in a little figure-eight. "Elves won't mess with bug or kitty!" "Now we just gotta chase 'em down and smoosh them up!" Lauva stops her jumping and frowns. "Where'd they go?" All of a sudden, she has a bad feeling about this. This isn't right, elves are supposed to be tricksy. It reminds her of when Naj squared off against the bug, and the bug disappeared right before... Without a sound, two pairs of shining eyes loom out of the dark behind Shadow, bearing down on the No-Moon fast. Stolas, the owl, reaches up into the waning gleam of sunset; his hand returns with a scythe of his own, a polearm with wavy, irregular curves to its haft and blade, sculpted from gossamer and stained blue-black with the fears of all it has hunted. Amdusias, the unicorn, simply lowers his horn and breaks into a gallop, aiming directly for the base of Shadow's spine. And then a tangle of argent fire and armored, claw-tipped limbs descends from the canopy, interposing itself with a hiss of rage. Lauva claps her hands again - the bug remembers too! Undaunted, the unicorn lunges forward and- Silence gives a sudden flick with the flat of his talon, clobbering the beast senseless. The cracks from Shadow's blow widen and spread throughout its body. It veers wide of the mark, missing both Shadow and Silence entirely. "Ruffian! Cur!" Stolas hoots indignantly. "If you would keep us from her fears...then have them!" He brings his scythe up in a high sweep, and the blade ignites. It smokes and smolders like pitch, and smells like burning wood and mortar; in the flat of its crescent, Shadow can see the silhouette of a crumbling building. Stolas brings it down and slashes Silence viciously across one forelimb in passing. Sweeping around in a half-circle, the faerie regards his work. The cut is deep, and golden flames lick at the wound, burning against the Full-Moon's body's attempts to close it. Locking eyes with the Raksha, Silence hardens his flesh and carapace and beats his forelimbs together in a challenge. Amdusias defends himself with Crystal, Mist, and Light, turning Shadow's murderous hit into merely a very painful one - 4L. He then evaporates and relocates, attempting to gain surprise. Shadow and the girls don't beat his 8 sux. With a full 4m Excellency and a Compassion channel, Silence does. He flurries a Defend Other on Shadow with an attack against Amdusias, dealing 2B to the unicorn. Amdusias rolls laughably-badly to hit Shadow, only 2 sux, not nearly enough. Stolas ignites his scythe with Shadow's fears and takes a swing at her - not enough to hit her through the Defend Other action, but with the defense penalties and the Coordination bonus for attacking with Amdusias, it's a hit for 4L on Silence. Silence only gets a 3 on Sta+Resist, so his regen is shut down until the flames are extinguished. Shadow is up again, acting concurrently with Silence. Turn Order posted:0 | Shadow Silence posted:Essence: Personal 0/23, Peripheral 37/52 Stolas posted:Essence: 43/50 WP 8/8 Amdusias posted:Essence: 38/50 WP 7/8
|
|
#
?
Nov 2, 2015 07:33
|
|
|
Najid Weiss - Bullfight Two opposing rings of soldiers meet. Within, their leaders have shared rage and sorrow. Only one will leave alive. Yet there is peace. The winds drive on without regard, the scrub grass wavers underfoot, the sun shines equally on all. In the distance, birds sing. One could mistake this day for any other on the steppe. One could mistake these men for statues, for a moment, before the first faint sound of creaking stone. The Jade Mountiain Stylist draws power from the earth, throwing his strength against the world so that it replies in turn. To best weild this force against his enemy, he must commit himself to an axis of attack by driving all of his weight through a single focal point. The heart of this technique stands both at once as its greatest strength and weakness. A wave appears to roll over the ground as all its shadows re-align. Weiss' eyes snap open as Augustus plants his decisive step. The roar of cracking earth is met with a subtle hiss of breath. As Agustus hurls his skyward, five points of light erupt below and drive into his knee. 3m to Striking Cobra to get 8sx on joining, a 4 Tick lead. 4m for a Crushing Pestle (Sp5,DV-1) to cripple a leg. 13 on that pre:===============Fight Block=============== Essence: Personal 9/19, Peripheral 30/38 (6), Anima: 8 (Glow) Willpower: 9/10 Valour 4/5 DDV 6 (9), PDV 6(9) (8 w/staff) Action Penalty(-1) Soak: 3B 1L (6B 4L vs CoD) Health: -0[ ] -1[ | | ] -2[ | | | ] -4[ ] In[ ] Attacks Punch: Speed 5, Acc 14, Damage 3B/1, Defense +2, Rate 3, Kick: Speed 5, Acc 13, Damage 6B/1, Defense -2, Rate 2 Clinch: Speed 6, Acc 10, Damage 3B/1 (P), Defense -, Rate 1 Stick: Speed 4, Acc 10, Damage 6B/1, Defence +1, Rate 3, Tags: M *3Q for ??? Staff: Speed 5, Acc 12, Damage 8B/1, Defence +2, Rate 2, Tags 2, M, R *2Q to remove 2-tag, 1Q for ??? Serpent-Sting Staff: Speed 5, Accuracy 11, Damage +12B/2, Defense +4, Rate 4, Tags: M, O Effects: Sleeping Sun Form - Unarmed inflicts lethal. Immune to coordinated attack and poisons. +E to DVs Heroism-Encouraging Presence - No Fear for friendlies, Valour gives Sx
|
|
#
?
Nov 3, 2015 00:11
|
|
|
Safe in my Shadow - PE: 11/23, PPE: 20/36 | WP: 9/10 | Limit 0/10 Mutations: War-form, Steady (+3 resist knockdown), Natural Armor (+3 soak), Night Vision, Skulker, Hyper-Awareness Virtues: Valor 2/5, Compassion 4/5 [RLF: Round 2 of 6] Shadow had very little experience taunting her enemies, and though she was not as mute as Silence in her war-form, she tended to keep to roars and growls. But such a gross violation of her home required an answer. She raised one paw and pointed all five claws directly at Amdusias. "By the soul of this land I curse you," she pronounced. "You will find no succor here, no shadow will hide your face from me, and no trail will allow you to flee from me. No river here will slake your thirst, nor will any food satiate your hunger. I LAY CLAIM to your life, you miserable Raksha, and I will have it NOW." Silence's wounds would heal. The children were, for now, safe. Undistracted, she leaped forward to make good on her promise. The very land beneath her paws rose in answer to her curse. It whispered to her in a thousand tongues, telling her secrets she would not remember. Swing low first, then high, it whispered. We've seen the beast dance, we know the place to strike. Swing low, and then high. Darkness surrounded the No-Moon as her anima burst into clear view. She roared again, and the land shook with the echo of it. The force of her scythe's first swing was strong enough that she completed a full pirouette, turning on one heel. She changed the angle as she came back around. Low, and then high. Flurry a melee attack, 13 base dice, full excellency on both (16m), Orokos says: 11 and 14! 2 die stunt, recovering a Valor channel. Full No-Moon Anima is now active. Combat Block posted:Moonsilver Grand Grimscythe: (+2 acc +2 defense, included) mistaya fucked around with this message at 00:41 on Nov 3, 2015 |
|
#
?
Nov 3, 2015 00:28
|
|
|
Fantastic Beasts and How To Kill Them Shadow's first sweep hamstrings the unicorn, sending it stumbling. Her second nearly takes its head off, but for the rider's sudden twist of the reins. Instead, she gives its coral mane a very, very close shave. The lopped-off ribbon of 'hair' flutters to the ground, its underside stained with floral-pink blood. More blood pours down its brow and the back of its scalped neck, and it rears back in pain and shock. Silence senses his opportunity, and strikes. Stolas dismounts, barring the Lunar's path with his own scythe. So much the worse for Stolas; the mantis' talon slips past his guard and continues straight on through his chest, coming out the other side with a crack of bone and glass. On a human, this would be a mortal wound. Clicking his mandibles in satisfaction, Silence holds the hapless owl in place and lashes out with his other claw. Stolas' torso turns to liquid fire. Stretching his spindly legs, the owl-knight stands taller and taller, suddenly seeming twice his prior height. His eyes and feathers burn a dull, cherry-red; his flesh runs like molten glass, and he gives a shriek to wake the very dead from their graves. The flame on his scythe is vanished, apparently drawn into his body, but the blade is no less sharp as he brings it around and up to dismember the mantis. Withdrawing his impaling forelimb a fraction more, Silence catches the blade between the moonsilver tines, nearly wrenching it from the faerie's grasp. He calmly notes the change with another clack of his mandibles, idly brushing the faerie fire from his wounded limb like dust from an overcoat. Shadow's swipes do 2L and 4L, respectively - any more, and Amdusias will be critically-injured. Silence tries to finish him off, but Stolas drops down to Defend his unicorn...and eats 9L in the process. He uses Horrific Boggart Countenance to make the blow more survivable (and to turn into a giant fiery ragemonster) Storm-Weathering Retribution to shake off the pain and just barely avoid Silence's second hit, channels his Sword Grace on the counter, and...just misses, thanks to Golden Tiger Stance. Doesn't even roll well enough to grab a new fear to empower his blade. Silence gets 7 sux on this turn's Stamina+Resistance roll, so the fire's out and he's regenerating again. Stolas' embodiment of Shadow's fear imposes -2 External to hit him, but spending a point of Willpower will immunize her against this particular fear for the rest of the fight. Great and fearsome as he is, Stolas now regards his opposition with measured caution. He reaches for a side-mount on Amdusias flank with an oversized gauntlet, coming away with a heavy lance of blackthorn banded in gold. Each of his weapons would crush a sturdy man beneath their weight, yet he wields one to a hand as if they were no more than daggers. Stolas raises the spear skyward and utters a piercing screech. Amdusias takes off running. The forest comes alive with monsters. Crawling and slinking with boneless ease, the hobgoblins resemble a hideous cross of serpent, cat, and wolf. Their lambent eyes are green and slitted, their too-wide mouths bristle with gnashing fangs from ear to ear. Tufts of mottled fur sprout from bulging, tumorous gaps in their yellowed scales. Their hind legs are bent and crooked like a dog's, and their gnarled, grasping hands hold sticks and stones as makeshift clubs. They rise from the shadows and snarl- *bip!* A stone the size of a chicken's egg rebounds off a goblin's skull. Hissing in addled bewilderment (not that it was a particularly-canny creature to begin with), it looks for the source of its- *bip!* Faomei hits it with another rock. She's giving the thing the closest approximation of a stern glare she can muster - the same look that's sure to be waiting for her when she's returned to her mother. "Cut 'em!" Lauva shouts encouragement at Shadow, pumping her tiny fist again. "Cut 'em again!" Shrieking and spitting, the hobgoblins bear down on the girls' log. Stolas invokes Host of Horrors to dredge a mob of hobgoblins from nothingness. The resulting battlegroup's Size his half his Cha+War roll, and he gets 5 sux, so that's a Size 3 horde missing half its Magnitude. They don't roll very well on JB, though, so Shadow's turn comes concurrently with theirs. They're numerous, vicious and bloodthirsty, but come apart like soggy tissue paper. At the bounds of the clearing, Amdusias runs wild. Streamers of mist boil from his hooves and his open wounds, condensing into a scintillating fog of indescribable colors. Breathing deep, the unicorn inhales the vibrant Essence of Creation itself, siphoning away the very soul of this land's demesne. Shadow's curse turns it to ash in his throat, and he chokes. The umbra of her anima turns the nourishing light to suffocating darkness. Try as he might, the unicorn will gain no succor here. As the Stewardess rejects him, so does the forest itself. Desperate and half-blind from his own blood, he races toward the only sustenance to be had in this hostile place. That which perches atop the vast, fallen log, bright and vibrant with spirit. That delectable scent of innocence. Here and now, it is all that exists to Amdusias. He doesn't see the giant insect, crouched in Shadow's shadow, bracing to leap... Amdusias activates Hungry Boreale Passage to heal himself and refresh his defensive teleport trick...and thanks to Shadow's curse, fails miserably twice in a row. Ouch. Silence lines up an Aim action at Amdusias starting on Tick 11; unless stopped, or pressed to action sooner, he's gonna try to splat horsie with a Flying Mantis Kick on Tick 14. Shadow is up again. Turn Order posted:0 | Shadow Silence posted:Essence: Personal 0/23, Peripheral 25/52 Stolas posted:Essence: 24/50 WP 4/8 Amdusias posted:Essence: 38/50 WP 7/8 Hobgoblin Horde posted:WP 4/4
|
|
#
?
Nov 3, 2015 05:34
|
|
|
Safe in my Shadow - PE: 3/23, PPE: 12/36 | WP: 8/10 | Limit 0/10 Mutations: War-form, Steady (+3 resist knockdown), Natural Armor (+3 soak), Night Vision, Skulker, Hyper-Awareness Virtues: Valor 3/5, Compassion 4/5 [RLF: Round 3 of 6] Out of nowhere, Shadow was surrounded by toothy, grasping, NASTY little goblins. The growl that burst from her throat cowed the nearest, and a memory as clear as moonlight rippled across her mind. Endless Courage, the Tiger who held Luna's eternal blessing before her, laughing as he met his own death, surrounded by the swords and teeth of his enemies. The utter contentment he felt as he took his last breath with his jaws clamped around their leader's throat. She had seen it so many times in her dreams. He did not fight with a weapon, Courage used only his claws. But his dance, his steps, the feel of the earth under his paws and the blood on his lips, she knew as well as she knew her own body. And so, she prepared to move. The growl deepened as Shadow smiled at her enemies. "Wheat or meat, stalk or bone," she intoned. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she crouched to all fours. "It matters not. I am the harvester." Flurrying a Defend Other on the girls, then attacking the Goblin Horde. Full Excellency (8m) and a Valor channel brings it to 31 dice + 2 die stunt, regenerating my Valor Channel with that. Orokos says... 12 sux, +1 for RLF. (ignore last 3 dice, forgot flurry subtraction.) Shadow will spend the WP to resist Fear of Fire. As per GM-talk, the Goblins go after the Children on their turn, prompting Shadow to use Ferocious Guardian Beast stance (8m) 2 dice stunt so regenerating another Valor channel. As Shadow began her bloody harvest, she noticed that not all of the goblins were attacking her, in fact several of the horrible little beasts were sneaking off in the direction of the children. Half-throwing the scythe forward so she caught the very end of the haft in both hands, she YANKED them back towards her with the bladed edge, as if it were a stage-man's cane. "Did I say you could LEAVE?" she snarled, as the ground ran slick with too-dark goblin blood. Combat Block posted:Moonsilver Grand Grimscythe: (+2 acc +2 defense, included) mistaya fucked around with this message at 05:18 on Nov 6, 2015 |
|
#
?
Nov 6, 2015 04:07
|
|
|
Only She Stands There. The injured Mole Dog survives, and its survival is down to one simple thing. Distance. the slain animal is closer to the Albino, and so the injured creature instead gets to witness the Night Caste vent a great deal of long buried fear and horror and shame. Later guild trackers will find, evaluate and relay what they think occurred to their masters; "Fair baint, thrice damned dog be hit by meteor, meteor with a knife!" and "sumnin' goe through t'dogs, 'em liken a hot curry through a short granny." In the present though, the woman goes to work on the animal. It's dead, but the albino is mostly fighting phantoms only she can see anyway. It doesn't take long for the fallen creature to be both reduced to tiny fragments of leaky meat and scattered across what has rapidly become a reasonably sized clearing. The woman does eventually stop, mostly because there isn't any part of the creature left that's big enough to hit. For a few long, drawn out moments the only sound is the black clad woman's ragged panting. The surviving animal whimpers again, probably a silly thing to do, given the circumstances. The albino's gaze snaps around and she fixes the burrowing hound with a death glare. The animal breaks first, lowering its eyes with another whimper and the woman simply screams at it. No words, just a long, drawn out animal noise filled with rage and sorrow and madness loud enough that all the swamp birds within a mile of the clearing take flight in a panic. *bip!* Something strikes her on the back of her neck. It’s hard and bristled, but that’s not what gets her attention. No, what reaches She through her fugue state is the sensation of...stickiness? It’s a pinecone. Up in the cypress’ branches, the pangolin-man clings, frozen in mute shock and terror. His right hand - the one clipped of its massive digging claws - is sticky with pine resin. He hadn’t meant to do anything, but that screaming...if the Guilders had heard… It’s a small thing, certainly, but it is enough to snap the albino back to the present. Knowing that she let her guard down long enough for someone, anyone to get the drop on her, it’s embarrassing, and that is something she can focus on. Something annoying and irritating that she can focus on. Not the other things. Just…. push them down. Away. Deep enough to ignore them again. The womans breathing starts to slow ever so slightly, becoming a little less ragged as she regains her composure. Finally the Night Caste raises her hand, still clutching her hatchet and points it towards the cowering beastman. After a moment there’s a very, very small little twitch that might be a ‘come here’ gesture. Slowly, he makes his way down the tree, hand by hand lowering himself through the branches. Left, then right, then lef- *SCHPLOP!* He loses his grip and falls weightily into the mud, sending up a veritable fountain of swamp-muck. The ordinary pangolin is a natural-born climber, sure-footed despite its heavy armor. Evidently, this does not scale up well to human proportions. This time the silence is broken by a long, drawn out sigh. The Night caste shakes her head, trying not to laugh simply because she suspects she might not be able to stop till she starts screaming again. In a burst of uncharacteristic helpfulness the woman moves over and grabs the beastman, pulling him up out of the thick mud and trying not to make it obvious just how exhausted she suddenly feels. Even an Exalt can only ignore the aftereffects of a massive adrenaline surge for so long and… ...wait… “master?” They’re as different as night and day, of course, and only an amateur of her People would ever make such an error...but someone who doesn’t have to hunt their own drat food might be forgiven for thinking that the marks on the mole-hound’s hide from She’s hatchets look an awful lot like the old, faded scars. Like the stripes on the backside of an especially-stubborn mule or yeddim, used to teach a beast when it’s stepped out of line. The wounded dog remains stock-still, her throat still bared to the Solar. Distaste etched on her features the albino moves to the injured hound, stopping perhaps a touch closer to it than she really feels comfortable with, her every instinct screaming at her to attack, to end the thing, to destroy it utterly and completely. The woman suppresses a shudder. She’s been down that road once today already and isn’t keen to venture down it again. Her hatchet moves, once, twice. Not an attack though, the motions not accompanied by the familiar smell of ozone and crackle of electricity. just a couple of quick prods to the animal. “You…. the.. the hound spoke. This one heard.” <Master…> it whines again. <...please, no more...this one will be good…> It’s hard not to snap at the whining creature. Correction, it’s hard not to butcher the thing. Not yelling at it for being pathetic is just a bit tricky. rubbing the bridge of her nose the albino sighs again. She can’t help but suspect she isn’t being entirely fair to the creature, her own well founded prejudices colouring her reactions. Or maybe she just thinks she thinks that and if it was anyone else she’d be yelling at them for being annoyingly helpless. Life was much easier when everything was resolved by cracking someones skull open and then eating the contents. “Just… no. The nightm… animal, the animal does not get to speak in the manner of The People.” Something occurs to the albino and she turns to the mud covered beastman. “This one is the only one who can understand the .. creature, yes? of course she is.” The pangolin-man looks at She as if she were crazy. This does not actually involve a change of expression on his part. “Of course. Even this one has heard this story before.” The woman moves a little closer to the cowering animal and from the way she moves it is more than obvious she just wants to start kicking the thing and not stop, so it comes as a surprise to everyone present, the albino included, when she just nudges the animal with an armoured boot. “Up. Follow. Be aware this one does not like you and will not become your friend, nor will there be bonding over shared loss of tribe or pack.” Without turning around, the Night Caste reaches out and closes the Pangolin man’s mouth for him before continuing, “The mud coated one will follow as well. Slightly behind and to one side, so that none who observe will think the hybrid one is allowed to accompany this one.” The reluctant trio barely make it halfway across the clearing before the Mole-Hound collapses with whimper. Injured, right. Should probably try to do something about that, and unfortunately this time just ignoring it doesn’t seem like it’ll count as ‘something’. Well, with the training from her beloved sister it shouldn’t be outside the realms of possibility that for once the Night Caste can deliver medical assistance more involved than rebreaking the nose of a man in a dress. Roll for first aid for the dog: http://orokos.com/roll/340327 2 sux Checking the injured animal over for as long as she can force herself to remain in physical contact two things are discovered. one, it’s definitely still alive. Two, it’s also quite warm. Well, three things, if you include the fact it has a badly hurt leg. Sprained? broken? dislocated? short of pulling on it really hard to see what happens, the woman isn’t exactly sure how to check. Best to just keep it immobile for as long as possible to prevent it from getting any worse. A splint would work. There’s plenty of vines around, and not all of the wood in the area is so saturated with heat that it is popping and warping, just most of it. Who knew that if you hit a tree with a blast of lightning in the shape of a hatchet the tree reacts just like it would if it was hit with an actual burst of lightning? Actually….. There’s the beginnings of an idea there. How does the weird not-people version of the saying go again? something about how everything looks like a hammer if all you have are nails? There is a brief but violent crackle of electricity and the animal yelps again, louder than before as the Night Caste prods it in the injured leg with her hatchet. Well, the leg is completely immobile now, at least, and pulled up tight against the hounds body. Progress! Now all the albino needs to do is get the pair back to the meeting place with the Fate Shifter and The Bearer of the Hat of Ill Aspect, and the… The meeting place. That was probably something that should have been agreed upon before everyone wandered off. Okay, so. The situation hasn’t changed that much, it’s just gone from finding information on whatever is going on inside the compound to finding the others so they can get the information. Between them the Mole-Hound and the escaped slave must know something useful, even if it is just a pointer towards the actual payoff. Problem is, the others are more than likely wandering around inside the compound as someone else. The compound that now has a cramped tunnel through the dirt leading straight inside the walls. A cramped tunnel that has only mostly collapsed thanks to the filthy swamp water slowly seeping into it. The Albino can only hope there is a bath waiting at the other end.
|
|
#
?
Nov 7, 2015 00:55
|
|
|
Trespass Shadow's scythe moves in great, sweeping arcs, tearing through the thronging horrors with effortless ease. The goblins' hides are tough as boiled leather, but might as well be dry grass before the heavy, moonsilver crescent. Her cuts are sure and resolute, but not neat - more than one hobgoblin head comes away trailing bits of arm or torso, flying apart like butchered chickens. The sniveling little wretches dare a few probative, questing bites after Shadow and the children, and lose a few more heads for their trouble; as quickly as they'd come, they fall back in disarray, wailing and cursing in retreat. "Why do I even bother with you lackwits?" Stolas groans. "So be it, then. Witness, ye unworthy, and behold true glory before you die." His burning, yellow eyes brighten... ...and then he is everywhere at once. The owl-knight lunges from every flickering shadow, every puff of smoke or gleaming reflection, hacking and thrusting with wild abandon. Sure-footed and steady, Shadow sidesteps or blocks every blow, even as the very ground cracks beneath her feet. In an eyeblink, Stolas evaporates in a wash of flame, materializing anew behind Silence, and hurtles forward. The mantis doesn't even look around. His faceted eyes are locked upon the charging unicorn. Racing towards the children, Amdusias is blind to the lurking insect. Privately, Silence considers his next move. Stolas is the more immediate threat, yes, but Silence has such a perfect angle on the steed. It seems a shame to waste this opportunity...but then, that loving owl... Amdusias lowers his horn and changes course just a fraction, aiming for Shadow's belly. Stolas' scythe whistles through empty air. On the far side of the clearing, Amdusias simply explodes. Silence's leap catches him full on the flank, right at the gap in his barding where Shadow had cracked his crystalline body. The horse has just enough time to register an expression of blank surprise before disintegrating into a cloud of gossamer fragments. "No!" Stolas gives a long, piercing screech of shock and outrage. Wisps of colorful light stream from the unicorn's shattered carcass, smelling faintly of floral nectar and sugary-sweetness. The little motes flutter and whisper faintly; straining her ears, Shadow can almost make out small, terrified voices from the wisps. The faltering hobgoblins watch and salivate with hunger; the lights begin to disperse- "NO!" Stolas screams again. Wielding his scythe like a shepherd's crook, he corrals and seizes the retreating lights, drawing them back into the molten blaze of his own form. "Dear Amdusias..." he croons mournfully, passing his hand over the ruin of his friend's corpse in a gesture of respect. "...rest. Until all Shape is unbound..." In a flash, the owl vanishes, reappearing some forty paces distant, haloed by a brilliant, rainbow aurora like that of the fallen unicorn. His scythe and lance are stowed; instead, he carries a bow of intertwined elk's antlers, taller than any grown man. Stolas' taloned hand draws back, nocking a golden arrow fletched with his own feathers. He takes aim, glaring murderously down the shaft at the Full-Moon. "...and we meet again." Well someone's mad. Hobgoblins are routed, although still present; Stolas tries Blade Maelstrom Approach to hit both Lunars and fails miserably. Amdusias charges at Shadow, also failing; Silence then hits horsie with a fully-aimed Flying Mantis Kick and Ammy is now an ex-horse. Stolas POWERS UP, recharging to full motes and healing 3L, and is now about to start fighting primarily at range. Turn Order posted:0 | Shadow Silence posted:Essence: Personal 0/23, Peripheral 20/52 Stolas posted:Essence: 50/50 WP 5/8 Hobgoblin Horde posted:WP 4/4 ¡Olé! "Hrngh!" Augustus moves just a little faster than Najid had expected, commits to his blow just a little quicker. Not fast enough, not quick enough; the White Lion's straightened fingers shatter the bull-man's knee Sab gives a quiet pump of his fist, and also just a little bit of a wince. The captain's hammer stroke falls wide of the mark, leaving a crater some ten feet wide in the grass and loam, but nary a scratch on Najid. The beastman slumps, breaking his fall with the hammer's head and steadying himself with the haft. "So this is the might of the Solar Anathema," Augustus grunts, exhaling raggedly with a puff of steam from his flared nostrils. He raises his head a little higher and flashes a humorless grin at his foe. "Aren't you going to hit me already?" Najid hits, Augustus doesn't. Bull-man takes 1A and his left leg is now CRIPPLED. Naj is up. Turn Order posted:0 | Najid Thesaurasaurus fucked around with this message at 02:30 on Nov 18, 2015 |
|
#
?
Nov 17, 2015 08:56
|
|
|
Safe in my Shadow - PE: 3/23, PPE: 7/36 | WP: 8/10 | Limit 0/10 Mutations: War-form, Steady (+3 resist knockdown), Natural Armor (+3 soak), Night Vision, Skulker, Hyper-Awareness Virtues: Valor 3/5, Compassion 4/5 [RLF: Round 4 of 6] "Your reunion will be a swift one!" Shadow snarled, taking a single step back to place herself between the cowering goblins and the girls. Her instincts were screaming at her to give chase, to rend and tear and bite- but no. The bow was too deadly to leave the children unguarded. She suppressed her innate desires and focused instead on her magic. If the elf wanted to play at range, then two could play at that game. She called for the egg in her mind once again, cupping her hands and closing her eyes briefly. But this time... it was not the same litany of words of life and light in the Old Tongue that she usually chanted. "Kale, Wisca, Samden..." she whispered. Stolas had brought forth her fear of fire, but he did not understand why she had feared it to begin with. "Tory, Finch, Iskar..." The names of the children trapped in the burning building. Not just her own but those of the whole village. "Lily, Doro, Amric..." With each name, the fire cupped in her hands intensified in color and heat, until it shifted from red to brilliant blue. Shape Sorcery action, Flight of the Brilliant Raptor (5m w/cost reduction) Combat Block posted:Moonsilver Grand Grimscythe: (+2 acc +2 defense, included)
|
|
#
?
Nov 18, 2015 02:57
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 27, 2024 17:33 |
|
|
Holes "Gracious one," the pangolin-man murmurs slowly, carefully choosing his words. She's caste mark has yet to shine; he can't yet be sure of what She is. Chosen, of course, but an incorrect manner of address might give offense, and he's really had enough near-death experiences for one day. "This passage leads inside the walls of Blackport Market. I beseech you, take care that you do not follow it to its end. There are more of these hounds guarding the slave pens." <Yes,> the mole-hound barks agreement. <Guard well. Chase him off. Good dogs.> She lets her writhing tails do most of the work in propelling herself through the muck, favoring her maimed hindleg. <Bored there. No one runs. No one leaves cages. Two came in cage. One turned and ran, so this one chased him off.> She growls softly. <Other stays in cage with Sharp Lady. Some dogs chased him in there. They're sorry now. Sharp Lady hard, like you. Sharp Lady sting, like you. Sharp Lady hides in ground, smells like food, but isn't food, like you. Oh!> The mole dog gives an excited bark as she makes the connection. <Is she you? Are you Sharp Lady?> The pangolin-man shudders. "You can truly...understand that creature?" he asks nervously. <Hey!> the mole-hound barks at him he flinches and falls back against the side of the tunnel <Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!> she growls. He covers his face with his untrimmed hand, squinting between the massive digging claws. He opens his mouth to speak again- <HEY!> - and stops. The mole-hound bares her teeth. <You're an INTRUDER! You shut up!> Abruptly, her eyes widen, and she pokes her nose above ground, sniffing at the air. <Oh! We're back now. Come on, Master. Cages are this way.> Delicately, she breaches the surface with her forepaws, minding her wounded flank. The hole above opens to an alley just inside the oaken wall, sheltered and shaded by a black clay building. The dog wags her eight tails in pride. <Watch out for Wolf-People,> she warns. <They're mean and tricksy. Stay away from Empty Lady. She's crazy.> She: you're inside the wall, and well-concealed. The slave pens are just ahead - sneaking into the human warehouse should be a snap; the beastfolk warehouse, significantly-harder, but not at all out of the question for a Night Caste. Shoot the Messengers? <y/n> "Superb," Kanai grins, perusing their handiwork (Jasper's and Wes' handiwork, really, but Kanai had offered lots of ideas and moral support). She takes one of the arrows and twirls it, testing its balance. It's heavy, awkwardly-weighted. It won't fly far, but with the planned angle of attack, it shouldn't have to. "Company!" she turns and addresses the assembled Twice-Burned. "I think we're ready to go slay a monster!" Their rousing cheer of reply is entirely too-enthusiastic for an army of mortals (however well-trained and disciplined) about to face a Wyld-spawned horror on its hunting grounds. "Hmm?" Kanai cocks her ear, listening to...something distant. Hoofbeats? More than one set, it sounds like - and headed their way. She slides an arrow across her bowstring, scanning the horizon. The first rider rounds the hill, and she relaxes. Edar again. She can tell from his posture in the saddle - he's gonna need to work on that if he doesn't want bowed legs and stiff joints for the rest of his life. "Ranger," she addresses him as he draws within earshot. "Report?" "More Cathaks," Edar salutes. "Two of them, mounted." "Exalted?" Kanai asks. "One in jade, one in steel," Edar answers. "Didn't see me this time. Don't think they're soldiers, though. They were at the springs - you know, with the whirlwind - and they were asking after-" he trails off, cocking his own ear. "...poo poo. I think they're close." "poo poo," Kanai echoes. "We'd better get all this hidden," she gestures to the newly-forged arsenal. "Jasper!" she shouts to the Dawn. "We're getting out of sight and into position. You want them shot, just give the signal." With that, the Twice-Burned strike their banners and tear down camp with startling speed and efficiency, borne of frequent practice from years on the run. Within a minute, it's as if they were never there. Shortly thereafter, the Cathak emissary and her guard ride around the side of the hill. The Dragonblood is in full parade dress, a sky-blue suit of articulated plate adorned with fan-like frills on the vambraces, greaves, and open helm. Her face is a cloudy gray, with high cheekbones and eyes the color of polished steel. Her long, snow-white hair trails behind her, fluttering in the breeze like a pennant. She flicks her eyes from left to right, surveying the steppe with a look of equal parts caution and disdain. She speaks, and her voice carries and echoes as if from a mountaintop. "Who among you is Metin Maethis?" Jasper: good thing Creation doesn't have photography, huh?
|
|
#
?
Nov 18, 2015 10:02
|
|