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Gentle Snow Aursholm, eh? Snow, bobbing in the water gently despite the weight of armor upon him, considered. Stealing from the guild had gotten him in trouble once before, but now he was so much more capable that he was considering doing so again. He ducked his head underwater. 'My minions, nudge the front of the boat. Shake it, then retreat far from here.' No sooner did he pray it (an exaggeration, his prayers were poor and took several attempts to make correctly, but he was not in a hurry), than the boat shifted as nearly a ton of walrus blubber impacted it at speed. He listened for movement, the sound of voices, dove under the water, and shot out of it like a bolt from a crossbow, pulled upward by strands of ichor. He hung under what he surmised to be the Captain's quarters, listened for it to empty, then spied inside. Stealth: 5 successes
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Aug 6, 2012 05:09
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Drunk on Bitter Fortunes "Balloons? What do we need balloons for?" Fortunes is looking curiously at the other Infernals' handiwork. <Please tell me you're not completely devoid of any knowledge of tactics...> <That's when I hit a guy so hard he can't play naughts and crosses properly, yeah?> <I hate you, sometimes. You know that, of course.> <You wouldn't have it any other way, and you know it.> <Hrmph. Perceptiveness doesn't suit you, Chukh. It's disconcerting.> <Gotta keep up, man. I'm just full of surprises.> The Slayer looks around, double-checking the cave. "THAT HAD BETTER BE EVERYTHING THAT'S IN HERE!" He addresses Tarn and Cloud, following his investigation. "In the meantime, anyone got anything to drink?" Another 4m on 1st Malfean to Double-Check the Cave
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Aug 7, 2012 03:32
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Bags It's good thread. Very good thread. If you can puzzle out how to put it back the way it was it's be a quite fitting basis for sail or skin. <It's all crosswise and spindlewhisp'd> A tangled web indeed. Even with all you've seen in the cave, you're more than a bit short on volume to make a whole ship. Still, it's a start. And it's all the delay you can manage before opening the next sac of... sacs? Pouches, satchels, backpacks, mostly leather. Very good leather. All empty. Left curious, you quickly whirl by much of the cave's contents. Various coats, for various climates, ordered by size. Shoes, skis, tooled bits of wood and skin that could easily assemble into wagon or sled. Tools of a handful of trades, and a fair heft of Haslan and Imperial coinage. Well kept food, water, wine, and light ales. You consider it may be simpler to make a list of what you're not finding, then remember the sheer enormity of the world. Cutting through the last of it, you find an apt summary - You've found a small caravan, cleaned, sorted, and tucked away for safekeeping. Bodies Cloud prods about the pile of people. He finds them without possessions, and indeed without pockets. Their clothes do little more than hide their skin. How dull. Another roar of Bitter Fortune sets a few squirming again, this time with some grumbling aside. Still, they cling hard to unconsciousness until your first splash of seawater shocks one into action. Or, almost. Circling back to the first you doused, after a quick sweep of the rest, you find a very weary young man. He stares off into nothing, half-forming whispered words. He wears a look of sorrow. Of Defeat. It's a look that's going around. The dogs take to it better. Some shake off their slumber and start to curiously sniff about each other, the people, and you. Boat The meaty thump of your minions striking the ship sends its crew into alarm. As expected. You slink up the stern of the vessel, oozing along the fringes of windows. Glass windows, no less. Someone's doing well. Within, you find a place of business. Shelves of books and scrolls line the walls, surrounding a grand table sporting a map of the White Sea. You see, though, nothing out of place. Some things were surely jostled by your decoys, but there is nothing left in progress here. All is set where it belongs. This room was not recently in use. The captain is away. If so, they surely travelled with a party, but you heard nearly a full crew's worth of voices for a ship this size. Regardless, those extra hands should still know well to stay out of the captain's office... Battle The are startled. They are quiet. They are looking at you. Good. So amazed are these, that they forget to kneel. The one in lighter, silken garb turns not kneeling to face you head not bowed and composes himself as though your better to speak. The hairy one takes the chance to strike. A_Raving_Loon fucked around with this message at 17:51 on Aug 12, 2012 |
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Aug 8, 2012 02:35
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Silk and Silver Cloud Cloud looks into the blank eyes of a newly-awakened mortal, absentmindedly stroking the fur of one of the dogs. Good boy. The people though, were boring. He wasn't even quite sure these broken ones could rightly be called people. Even the dogs--Good boy, yes you are--are more active, more resilient than these meatbags. He stands up from a crouch, ready to tell Chukh that they were all his, when something--his conscience? No, never!--made him pause for a second. He instead gets right in the face of a blank-faced youth and starts speaking intensely. "You can't just stop, give up and go home. That's not how it works--not how anyone is supposed to work. Something gets you down? Pick yourself back up and keep on going. Move somewhere else, make a new life for yourself. Get that? A new life--not whatever you call sitting there and staring off into space! I know how tough it can be when life has you on the ropes, or in your case sacs. It's not who we are. No matter how dark the cave is"--he points towards the almost blinding light of the exit--"there's an entire sky out there. So get up! Look alive!" Cloud looks intensely at the young man--not much younger than himself, honestly. His eyes do not flash with the green of cruelty, or even the white of command. Instead, they are soft, almost watery with tears. For all that he hates everything about this blank-faced youth, he can't help but feel a twinge of love. I spose using Tragic Love Amusement on a dude and trying to convince him to snap out of it OldMidgetWillow fucked around with this message at 03:07 on Aug 8, 2012 |
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Aug 8, 2012 02:58
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Tarn Kavik A bewildering assortment of odds and ends, gear and goods and food and drink and coin...The others need to see this. Other than their artifacts, most of them have little in the way of material wealth. Unraveling the disassembled caravan has raised even more questions, but has also answered one. "Well, Chukh, looks like there is something to drink!" --- Heading out of the cave, Tarn observes Cloud's efforts at administering therapy. Well, at least he's trying. The Defiler approaches and puts a hand on the Scourge's shoulder. "I examined that spider silk - it's sturdy stuff, and woven properly it's almost airtight. There was an entire caravan worth of equipment, goods, and money wrapped up in there. Here, I'll see what I can do for them." Kavik focuses his augmented sight on the essence flows of the afflicted Northerners. Outwardly, most people would be unable to tell that anything is wrong if not for the thousand-yard stare and the lack of responsiveness, but to Tarn, the obstructions and alterations of their essence patterns are glaring imperfections in their auras. Tarn reaches out with his will and begins to untangle and realign the very fiber of these poor unfortunates' beings. When all is said and done, he's done a drat fine job of it, too. Int+Med+TTC bonus 9 = 10 sux hahaha holy poo poo.
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Aug 8, 2012 03:16
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Glorious Tyrant The impudence of the hairy one, moving to begin this bout without his king’s blessing. He would have to be taught a lesson for his disrespect. Before anyone realizes what has occurred, the Tyrant shifts and draws his shining white-gold Daiklave, the blade arcs through the air, the hairy one’s punch connecting square against the flat of hard orichalcium blade. Then, in a flash of gold, the blade flys up and dances across the cheater’s brow, carving the Tyrant’s mark for all to see. The Sovereign's voice booms, as he falls into a ready stance, his Daiklave looming menacingly if either party tried to continue the struggle or to flee. “I did not give you leave to begin. Now each of you may continue with the tale of what brought you to this place, so that I might hand down judgement. However, do not attempt to lie or otherwise try my patience.” The threat of drawing the displeasure of the Tyrant was left unspoken, but hung in the air as clear as day, as the King’s Blade gleamed dangerously in his hands. Join Battle: Wits(2) + Awareness(0+ + 1st Theion(2) + Conviction Channel(5) = 9d10x7: 5 Smacking the cheater around: Dex(4) + Melee(5) + Acc(4) + Specialty(2) - Showing Off(-2) + Willpower =13d10x7 : + 1 = 7 pre:Personal Essence: 12/19 Peripheral Essence: 28/28 Will 7/10
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Aug 8, 2012 07:01
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Gentle Snow Well, no great treasures were to be had here, but how easy it had been! He almost laughed aloud, were it not for a gentle prod from his coadjutor. He crawled out the window, closed it behind him, and slipped silently into the sea. A few moments later, he emerged on land and wrung himself out. That had felt very, very good. He joined the others in the cave "Guild ship, some activity on shore. Nothing terribly sneaky aboard, unless the captain doesn't know about it. Felt good to stretch my legs and swim in something that didn't attempt to take my skin off."
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Aug 8, 2012 21:21
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Drunk on Bitter Fortunes Fortunes nods, knowingly. "Well, swimming in Kimbery is an art AND a science, my friend. I'll stick with Creation-style seas, for the time being." He grabs a bottle from the caravan's supplies, pops the cork, and drinks. "Hey, I think this is Realm-made!" The Slayer looks down at the unconscious bodies around him. "So, uh... this might sound like a dumb question, but..." <A dumb question? Coming from you? DO go on...> Fortunes frowns. "What do we do with all of 'em? I mean, it's not like we can just leave 'em here. They'll either die and start to stink up the place, they'll wake up and leave and alert everyone to what we're doing, and then we have to worry about all sorts of trouble." "Or the spiders might come back, and then we'll have to deal with them, since I'm pretty sure they get kinda touchy about people taking their silk." The tall man pauses. "I guess what I'm saying is: do we take 'em with us, or do we kill them all and throw them into the ocean?"
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Aug 10, 2012 18:40
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Silk and Silver Cloud "Let me ask a different question: which one of those options doesn't involve murdering people in cold blood out of a vague sense of convenience?" Cloud pulls his new friend close protectively. "Besides, I think with the Tyrant around we don't have to worry about keeping a low profile. Besides, what would we have to hide? That we saved some people from being eaten by spiders? Afraid it'll damage your credibility on the street or something?"
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Aug 10, 2012 22:07
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Drunk on Bitter Fortunes Fortunes shifts, uncomfortably. "Well, not to put to fine a point on it, but how're we gonna keep 'em alive? It just seems like it'd be worse to give 'em false hope and then have them starve to death, or die of exposure, or any of a hundred other things. Providing food and drink isn't exactly my strong suit, here."
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Aug 10, 2012 23:40
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Gentle Snow "Truly? Have you not drunk deeply enough of the Queen Bitch to make whole schools of fish jump into your nets?" he asked, still drying himself off. "I have the knack of it, if you want." "Taking care of them would be easy enough, but can they stand? Even the soul-dead would have their uses, like being armed and lead against the Fae who have done this to them." he said, a tinge of bitterness in his words. "What a come-uppance that would be, undone by the very people you thought you had destroyed." His bitterness seemed to fade, and he smiled. "If nothing else, having some Yes Men would make the Tyrant so very happy. Speaking of which, I wonder if he's started a fight, yet?" "Whether they walk and might recover, and I hope they do, and whether the Tyrant has started a fight or not, we should load up and head North. I am drawn to the Haslanti, and I have some plans there."
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Aug 11, 2012 03:37
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Fjord The man in Cloud's grasp fixates on the Scourge as best he can. If he is aware of the discussion on if he and the others should be tossed aside like so many unwanted kittens, it does not show. The hounds, perhaps recognizing talk of food, gather around Cloud and Fortune. They are the first to hear the rising whine, in advance of an electrifying crack as Tran burns the last traces of withdrawal from the people. Shocked back to action, Cloud's new friend takes hold of him, "You're here." He returns the unnatural intensity of Cloud's gaze, "It is time." Rallying to his voice, the other are soon bowing before you. The hounds pay this little heed. Hey look, about a dot's worth of cultists. Fight A faint sense of satisfaction washes over the Tyrant. A feeling that somewhere, someone knows there place. It fades as, here and now, the clean one still pretends to hold some status. "Can't rightly say I know," the man recoils and The Tyrant snaps around to face him, "Sir." Better. This one's skytongue is a little slow, quite deliberate. His River-Accent creeps into every word. "This one spent much of last night boasting of past victories in battle. His stories interested me, so I asked if he was a soldier. That seemed to offend him, so I asked who he fought these battles for." He shrugs, "The lodge-keeper talked him into sleeping it off, but come morning I wake to a challenge." His words, perhaps understandably rekindle the ugly one's ire. His mad growling halts and the Tyrant turns again, and bids the brute form words. "Every year, few more of these Guilder's come creepin in than the last and not one of 'ems up to any good. Men worth a hundred of these ponces each died to drive 'em out of here the last time, and any right-minded Haslan' ought to do the same!" "A right-minded Haslan," A new voice - aside, high and soft, wavering between words. It suits the hunched, pathetic figure The Tyrant had at first overlooked. The small, impish man leans heavily on a staff tipped with a brass orb. He is flanked by two young toughs, each built like the Storm Bear's own. The Tyrant has time to note all this as the fellow draws a slow, pained breath before resuming, "would know to wait for the bell." His next breath provides time to note that the Angry One offers no retort. The man rasps on, "And to pay his tab."
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Aug 11, 2012 04:34
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Silk and Silver Cloud Cloud smiles and hugs him back. "Aww, that's sweet of you. What's your name, friend?" He turns towards the others. "Thank you all. And indeed it is time, time to usher in a new age for all of us. But first, let us sit down and get to know each other." Cloud sits crosslegged on his windblade, which hovers a few inches above the cave floor. One by one he takes each cultist's hands in his own and asks them about their life stories, their hopes, dreams, talents. I think I want these guys, assuming it would bump me from Cult 1 to 2--I dunno if you wanted us to spend XP on 'em, but if you do, I have it!
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Aug 11, 2012 05:39
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Glorious Tyrant The Tyrant listens to both sides before he speaks, “I am inclined to decide in the Guild-man’s favor for the insolence of your unpermitted attack. However, I find some worth in your cause. You wish to save your land from desecration, a noble goal, but futilely carried out. Do you truly think a duel would prevent the Guild from establishing their tentacles here, or the Realm? No, for even you cannot be so foolish. Halsan melts from the inside out because there is no true direction, you have many leaders who squabble amongst themselves, and thus never have true direction.” “This is to be expected,” The Tyrant turns towards the crowd, all eyes inevitably drawn upon him, his voice filled with the kind of natural authority that cannot be learned or cultivated. “Haslan, the Guild, event the Realm itself all lack true rulers and it leaves them ripe for corruption and subversion. This same phenomenon appears again and again, across time and history, Creation groans under improper rule. Even when some come along and establish order it is only a passing oasis, as the universe itself rises up against their half-hearted rule.” The sovereign seems to shine with an inner light, his voice becoming ever more tantalizing and commanding. The weaker willed in the crowd find his words becoming their own thoughts, and even the strong willed would begin to feel the draw of his words. “The world itself is corrupt and defiled, ancient treason stealing away proper rule leaving the world to decay and despair. It is only natural that the societies of men would also carry this flaw in their hearts.” “However, do not despair, though Haslan, though Creation itself is broken it can be fixed. What Haslan needs is a proper ruler. The Oligarchs and the tribes quibble and argue while the Guild encroaches and corrupts them, while the Realm waits patiently to swallow them whole. No more! The world itself cries out to be ruled. No More!” The light seems to shine brighter, and the Tyrant’s arguments grow ever more forceful and powerful. “I say to you do not despair that you see the impending death of Haslan, but rejoice for before you stands its salvation, your salvation.” There inner light of the Tyrant suddenly burns to life, and the people are blinded by a flash of shining white light, suddenly unable to see anything but the sovereign before them, blazing in all his unmatched majesty. “Etch this day into your minds, for it is the day that at long last a true ruler has come to save the shambling wreckage of Haslan. The time for debates and committees slowing selling away Haslan’s future, your future is over. Haslan needs to speak with a single voice, the voice of a king, but a king to stand above all other kings, and that is I.” Each syllable of the Tyrant’s speech has become a study in glory and majesty, even the hardest of hearts would find it difficult to not yearn to be commanded by one such as he. “What stands before you now is a momentous choice. You can bow down, worship me with all your hearts, obey me without question or hesitation, fashion yourselves into True Subjects of a True King and bring Haslan and eventually all of Creation into an age of glory greater than you have ever known. Where, when all peoples and all nations have fallen before Me, Haslan will be a name mentioned in reverent tones, the first to be blessed by the True King's arrival, the favored nation of God. Or you can go on with your meaningless lives as before, watching the slow decline of Haslan and all of Creation, and on that day when all knees are bowed before me, the name of Haslan will be a curse, the foolish land that rejected His coming, that delayed His glorious ascension to the Throne of all Creation, a nation which will be hated and outcaste for all eternity.” The Sovereign stands imperiously, his overwhelming force of personality crushing anything that would oppose him. One is left with the impression that if he ordered the snow to part it would eagerly clear a path for him. However, it is not the elements he attempts to command now, but rather the gathering of people before him. ”SO BOW TO YOUR KING, YOUR GOD. BOW AND DECLARE YOUR LOYALTY TO ME. PROVE HASLAN WORTHY OF BEING RULED BY ONE SUCH AS I, ONE WHO WILL LEAD IT TO A HEIGHT OF GLORY UNKNOWN SINCE THE EMPYREAL CHAOS STRODE ACROSS THE WORLD!” --- Charisma(5) + Presence(5) + 1st Theion(10) + Specialty: Asserting Authority(2) + Conviction Channel(5) = 27 + (Stunt) Successes. "BOW BEFORE YOUR KING!": 27d10x7 13 + stunt. Spending 10 Periph essence to pay for the 1st excellency, which triggers Kingdom of the Blind. pre:Personal Essence: 12/19 Peripheral Essence: 18/28 (10 spent) Will 6/10
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Aug 11, 2012 09:01
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Tarn Kavik "There, see? No danger that they'll give us away, and with that caravan we've more than enough supplies to get us to civilization. Now, I inspected that cave rather thoroughly and as to how we're going to stay hidden, there's a potent thaumaturgical effect masking both the portal and the cave itself. If there's anything we need to secure, this place would be ideal." As he talks, the individual components of the caravan sled levitate into the air and follow him out of the cave. Once outside, the pieces begin to assemble themselves with alarming haste; in minutes, a completed transport is ready. Tarn gestures to the dogs. "Hitch 'em up, or walk for now?" Int 5 + Craft 4 + TTC workshop bonus 1 + Specialty 1 = yeah not even gonna bother rolling to put that thing together. Thesaurasaurus fucked around with this message at 16:09 on Aug 11, 2012 |
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Aug 11, 2012 13:51
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Gentle Snow Snow walked outside with Tarn, and saw a light like the rising of the dawn. "I think the inevitable has happened," he said, squinting a little. "For what it's worth, I'm glad they are ok. Killing is a necessity, a brutal fact of life in the cold lands, not something to be embraced without reason. In this, at least, Kimbery and I are on the same page." He started jogging forward, shivering just a little at the cold air. In truth, he was warm and toasty where the water touched him, it called to his essence. "We should hurry. Perhaps it is nothing and all is taken care of, but there may be those god-touched who will resist whatever he's done."
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Aug 11, 2012 17:26
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Stories They are free of names. Free of all which once clouded their hearts. That which drove the others to reject her love. Her love, which delivered them into her hand. Her hand which placed them in the weave. To be as guiding stars, for the heralds of the world's rebirth. For you. They are here to serve. All extras. You can find at least one to throw 6 dice at a given task. Name them yourself if you'd like. Sled-Dogs The chance of food is set aside for the pursuit of moving objects. Tarn finds some of his will's force diverted to wrestling hounds away from the wagon. A challenge readily accepted. The grappling with things unseen fades as all the bits and pieces fall together into promise of adventure. Tarn's hand soon finds itself full of excited fur. SUBJECTS Those nearest your light are dazzled. Awestruck. Crushed. Appetizers. Then from the gathered mass, a stirring as your speech concludes. The softer wills melt away into mindless zeal. Those firmer gently bend under your irresistible command. Then comes those stronger still, those few who hold firm in the tempest of your majesty. They stand just long enough to recall your terrible swift sword. Long enough to take in the blazing still green truth that is your essence. By their own will, they fold. There is a gentle thump. You wheel about to see the sickly one fallen from his perch. He was seated? He kneels as slowly, and as painfully as he deigns to speak. "You are welcome here. I am Leif. I tend this place when the mistress is away. She will return soon. She will be pleased to meet you. You are welcome here." So easy, that one is, to overlook. You've got some subservients right off, and some folk who don't like their odds of getting away. Once you take the time to sort them out, you'll have your prepaid cult dots.
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Aug 15, 2012 01:50
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Silk and Silver Cloud "Thank you all, for being who you are, for being here. I believe good Tarn here will lead you to the village to stay." With that, Cloud turns away. They are so pure, so empty...truly, they are not far from enlightenment. Without another thought about them, he stands on his board and flies off, slowing down for a second to ruffle the fur of a dog as he passes before accelerating at top speed. "Did I hear someone say 'hurry'?" he yells as he zooms past Snow, circling once and giving Snow a chance to step on before hurtling towards the village. But before he reaches a point that would be visible from below, he stows the windblade and peeks over to see what is going on. Unsurprisingly, several people are bowing around a glowing figure. With a shrug, Cloud gets back on and flies to the Tyrant. "Looks like you've cleaned up nicely here. Anything for me to do still?" Freedom Lets Go-ing the cultists. OldMidgetWillow fucked around with this message at 02:47 on Aug 15, 2012 |
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Aug 15, 2012 02:36
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Tarn Kavik As he finishes hitching up the dogs, Tarn looks to the assembled cultists. "Any of you know how to drive a sled?" One of them steps forward, and Tarn hands him the reins. Some of the dogs are still sniffing at him and each other, but as one they fall into line when the driver cracks his whip. All but one. The third dog on the left-hand train continues to stare intently at a point in space almost directly above its head. The driver cracks his whip again, but the beast continues to look upward instead of forward. Bewildered, the man steps off the sled to give the animal a good beating, but Tarn raises a hand for him to stop. He begins to slowly move the invisible will-construct he'd used to herd the dogs into place; the dog's head turns to follow it, its eyes unblinking. Tarn dissipates that particular locus of force, and now the dog is looking directly at him. The Defiler stoops to examine the curious animal. Its eyes are vividly, unnaturally green, and it bears a strikingly intelligent expression. "Something special about you, isn't there, boy?" he whispers, petting its head; the dog licks his nose in answer. Tarn stands back up and tells the driver to maintain a walking pace. The man nods and shouts something in a Haslanti dialect, and the dogs begin to pull. With a gesture for the cultists to follow, Kavik sets off alongside the caravan sled. Should XP permit, plan to buy a Familiar in the near future
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Aug 15, 2012 03:35
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Glorious Tyrant The Tyrant revels in the fact that not a single person remains standing, content for a moment that at least in this small place, all is as it should be. That moment ends when he hears the insufficiently respectful tone of the sickly one, who even now does not truly understand his place. For a moment he is about to lash out, to teach the sickly one a lesson in the proper respect to show the rightful King, but he restrains himself, there would be time to give any of those here who had not surrendered themselves utterly, as all good subjects ought, more instruction on their proper states of mind. In order to help restrain his desire to begin that instruction at once, the Tyrant took stock of those he had converted. Essence flowed through him and his eyes were transfigured into burning white embers. He swept the crowd looking for any worthy of further attention before he turned to face those that had been closest to him. The Guilder had prostrated himself, his forehead pressing into the cold snow, uncaring about the discomfort necessary to show his respect. The Tyrant appraises him for a moment and then turns to the hairy Haslan. He feels a flash of anger to see the man merely kneeling his face unbowed, but that fades immediately once the Sovereign sees the Haslan’s face. To describe the arrangement of the hairy man’s features as an expression of awe would be the severest understatement. Most striking are his eyes, infinite wells of devotion to the being before him, dilated wide both to broadcast his pure and absolute love and loyalty for the figure standing before him and to absorb as much of his Master’s glory as he could. The Tyrant ponders for a moment the same expression pasted across the faces of all of Creation be they mortal, god, or exalt, and he smiles. The Haslan subconsciously flushes with joy at having pleased his god, his mind still paralyzed by the Tyrant’s splendor. The Infernal drinks this in for a moment, and then the Scourge that had accompanied him appears, not bowing, not giving a report as to the ship he had been sent to investigate. The Tyrant wonders for a moment why he is here before he speaks, his tone far too casual. In response to the Cloud’s question, the Tyrant gestures to the sickly one. “He was about to inform us of his ‘mistress’, inquire further.” The command given, the Tyrant turns back to the Haslan, and breaks the hairy man’s trace with a question, “What is your name?” Spending 5 Personal Essence to activate Glorious Vassal Illumination to get a general idea of the capabilities of the crowd, the old man and the toughs, and the two duelists. pre:Personal Essence: 11/19 Peripheral Essence: 18/28 (10 spent) Will 6/10
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Aug 15, 2012 23:57
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Gentle Snow Snow could see the madness in the Tyrant's eyes, in his gaze. This was one who had drunk so deeply of the Yozi-stuff that it was about to seep out of his pores. There was going to come a time when he would need to be reminded of his place: one among equals. They all had the gift, now. He could throw around his weight against servants and opponents, but if he thought that would fly with Snow, he would have another thing coming. Still, he had a direct approach that was not Snow's forte. He listened in to hear more about what was the deal on the ground.
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Aug 16, 2012 01:07
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Silk and Silver Cloud The Scourge doesn't appear to even hear the second half of the Tyrant's speech, as after the word 'mistress' he turns his windblade sharply towards the sickly man, nearly throwing Snow off in the process. "You have a mistress? Who is she? What's she like? If you were telling about her, she must not be here; why not?" Cloud finally takes a breath and looks attentively at Leif, his head resting on his palms as if ready to soak up all the wisdom the man has.
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Aug 16, 2012 01:39
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Tarn Kavik It takes a few more minutes for Tarn, the sled, and the cultists to arrive at the inlet where so many bow before the Tyrant. To the Defiler's essence-sight, all else is eclipsed by the incandescent waves of energy pouring forth from the Sovereign; wincing, he adjusts his vision to filter out the Tyrant's blazing anima. The would-be king of all kings appears more or less satisfied with the crowd's show of general submission, but Kavik is more circumspect. All the way here, he's kept vigilant watch for gods, elementals, and the odd ghost to ensure that nothing catches the coven by surprise. Now, he maintains the same level of diligence in surveying the villagers to see if any of them hide superhuman levels of essence. Per + Awareness + Bonuses 10 = 4 sux to spot incorporeal spirits and the like, with a bonus number of sux equal to the permanent Essence of a given target. Int + Occult 10 = 8 sux to analyze the essence scores of those assembled, as well as any lingering charm/sorcery/whatever effects in the area. Edit: Pre-buying Insignificant Embers Intuition for 8XP. Thesaurasaurus fucked around with this message at 02:52 on Aug 16, 2012 |
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Aug 16, 2012 02:47
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Portrait of a Waypoint on a Small Fjord Arriving on foot aside a travelling band, with an eye out for trouble, Tarn is perhaps nearest the state of mind and body which usually enters Aursholm. Surely the nearest to give it a proper once-over. The place is nestled in one of the older cracks in the shore. Time has left its surface greatly smoothed, gently sloped, and thoroughly colonized by bits of local life. The land, sea, and air around him are refreshingly free of wandering spirits. Compared to the demon city, creation's substance is quite inert. Haslan in particular is know as a place of little spiritual activity, as worship in the far north tends more towards the odd mystical pat on the back for a job well done than... well... this. The huddled mass surrounding The Tyrant is far from usual. <But none of those are load-bearing. Lookit all the buildythings!> Indeed, the settlement has many structures. All wood and thatch and stone. More stone than wood, in fact. They're quite established. The main lodge stands firm not far from the stream which carved this valley. Two stories high, and no doubt many stories old, the rest of Aursholm unfolds around it. Bunkhouses, stables, temple in a small henge-ring, barn of some sort. All neatly ordered around a common field and within an border fence. A fence The Tyrant evidently vaulted in his enthusiasm to lay claim to its contents. Beyond the stream, a few chalets adorn the top of a hill. Surveying the Masses As light means nothing without darkness, greatness is nothing without adequacy over which to tower. So many of those fallen at your feet, quite rightly fall below your gaze. Still, a few faint sparks shine through. The violent braggart before you may or may not be all he claims over drinks, but his toned and scarred body is undeniably that of a veteran. Notable strength, melee, and resistance. Low essence, no charms. Is servile. His name is Bjorn. Had you not intervened, he'd have made swift work of the merchant cowering at your back. For a moment, you ponder if he would take the guildsman's jewellery as a trophy, or destroy it out of principle. Perhaps both. There is no shortage of it. Notable manipulation, bureaucracy, and sail. Low essence, no charms. Servile. One kneels in contrast to them, far from the gathered mob. A band of clean, crisp youth, dressed sharply alike in grey and white. One is before the rest, one hand on his knee - the other by his sword. He is on guard.Notable Wits and Martial Arts. Low Essence. Knows Meditation On The Heart. Not Servile. You confirm the ill one's talent for slipping below your notice, perhaps because you cannot imagine him rising to your height without the aid of his escorts. Still, a creature so pathetic as this could not command their like without possessing some value. Notable Intelligence, Occult, and Medicine. Low essence, no charms. Not Servile. Toughs have notable Stamina, not yet servile but on their way. A Tortoise and a Hare His eyes close, his head bows. For a moment, Leif seems without pain. "She is with us, always. She will soon return." The moment passes. Leif shakes and shudders as he twists to look up and Cloud. "She is communing with the spirits." A painful breath and a slow gesture inland, "To ensure good fortune through the coming winter." The staff draws closer for support. "Such is her wish for all who cross her path." Another brief flash of peace. "She would be pleased to meet you. You are welcome here." Tarn - Leif and Swordsfellow ping as enlightened mortals, both essence 2. Scans show no other wizards or wizard-residue yet. The arrangement of buildings is quite geomanticly pleasing.
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Aug 23, 2012 01:12
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Tarn Kavik Buildythings indeed. Tarn takes a minute to appreciate the solid construction, the precise cuts in the stonework that form almost seamless joins without need for mortar, the gentle circulation of essence throughout the settlement. A fine job, thinks he. A few moments fiddling with the dog harnesses by hand sees the green-eyed wolf-dog freed from the train. Tarn studies his face, then nods in approval. "Come on, Rutherford. Time for us to take a walk." Cloud and the Tyrant are too close to Leif for Tarn to warn them without the sickly man overhearing. Instead, he passes by Snow and Fortunes. "Fragile one and the swordsman in white and grey," he whispers, careful to not look at anyone in particular. "They've got some power." A closer inspection of Leif's aura reveals a variety of anomalies: atrophied muscles, slackened ligaments and tendons, broken bones that were never set properly, traces of alchemical damage to the nerves...this man has seen better days. And yet, he might see them once again, if Tarn has anything to say about it. As it so happens, Tarn does have something to say about it. "Good sir!" he calls out as he approaches the cripple, then lowers his voice. "If you'll pardon me for saying so, I can't help but to notice that you seem to be in poor health. I happen to be a physician of considerable qualification, and by your leave - " he looks over to the Tyrant and gives a respectful nod of his head " - and his, of course, I would see you mended, hale, and free of pain before the end of this day." Per+Med+Bonuses = 8 sux to discern the nature of Leif's condition; Charisma+Presence+Spec 8 = 8 sux to convince him to let me treat him
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Aug 23, 2012 02:52
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Gentle Snow Power, he says? Godblooded, surely, or with some ancient inkling of the Dragon's lineage in their veins, but not enough to bring it to the fore. Nothing of real note, Snow felt certain. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Small town politics, all of this," he said to Bitter Fortunes. "That guild ship is sitting low in the water, must be carrying something heavy. Hopefully something of more importance than this. Care to see how its captain is taking to the events on shore, or are you interested in meeting this mysterious 'lady' the man keeps hinting about."
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Aug 23, 2012 23:49
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Glorious Tyrant Surveying the crowd the Tyrant was annoyed at how many resisted his will. The man on the edge who dared to place a hand on his blade, the Tyrant could see the essence flow through him. He would make a useful servant once he was persuaded to end his pointless resistance to the rightful King. The Sovereign would have to keep an eye on him, and ensure that he was educated in the proper way of things. Looking to the two closest to him, the Tyrant defines their lives in a matter of fact way. “You,” he points to Bjorn, “will have the honor of being my manservant.” He turns to the still prostrate guilder. “You, whatever your name might be, will be my aide. Any past conflict between the two of you is now to be forgotten. Your lives belong to me, and that is all that should matter to you. Walking over towards Lief, he ponders Tarn’s request for a moment, and decides to wait until he hears the smaller man’s response. To kill the time he breaks in with a question of his own, “What is the name of the one you call your mistress?”
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Aug 24, 2012 02:10
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Silk and Silver Cloud It's always hard, times like these,not sure when something else might happen or what needs to be done next. He smiles and bows slightly to Lief. "Thank you; I'm sure we will hit it off when she arrives--" The comment wasn't directed at him, but Cloud can't help but overhear. "Snow, you think the ship saw the Tyrant's little light show? If so, we'll have to do something with them. Best to do it anyways, come to think of it." He makes as if to zoom off, but thinks better of it and extends out an arm. "Got room for one, if there are any takers."
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Aug 24, 2012 02:11
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Glorious Tyrant "Hmmm... I shall accompany you, let the people aboard the ship study my glory more closely so they may dedicate themselves to it." The Tyrant steps aboard the board.
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Aug 24, 2012 02:14
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Silk and Silver Cloud "Glad to have you on!" The little board shoots off over the water towards the boat, keeping a low profile not to actually avoid notice but to simply make sure they are not shot at on the approach. The two shoot up over the side of the boat, circling to find the captain and hover in front of him, smiling broadly.
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Aug 24, 2012 02:23
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Gentle Snow He rolled his eyes. "You'll have to forgive him, he's just SO dedicated to helping people, sometimes he forgets those nearby. I sympathize, really." "But I'm an open book. Tell me all about this mistress, as she sounds fascinating. Unfortunately, perhaps I'm just thick, but do try to explain it in a way I can understand." Because everyone else is spending essence, I'll channel the Queen BitchMother to be endlessly giving and understanding and flex my social mojo. Getting to the point, Manip+Pres: 6 successes Spending 1XP to raise my Presence to 2
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Aug 24, 2012 05:37
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Drunk on Bitter Fortunes "Low in the water, eh? Maybe we should help them out, and relieve them of their burdens!" Bitter Fortunes is the picture of eager altruism. "Since we've got to protect this lot, we might as well make sure that they're well looked-after. If the Guild doesn't like it, well... We can deal with them." The Slayer grins, relishing the thought. "And anyway, that ship is on the sea, so that makes them fair game, right? Tribute to the Great Mother, and all that." <Think for a moment, would you Chukh? The 'Lady' they're talking about might not actually be Kimbery.> <We can probably change that> <I'm impressed. For once you're not making me want to kill myself.> <You're stuck with me, Dissolution. Best get used to rooming with The Best.> <Aaaand the moment's gone.> Fortunes fixes the youth who had been speaking with a stare, leveling the BoomStick at the mortal, the Infernal's face flickering into view behind him. "You! Chatterbox. Gentle Snow asked you a question, so spit it out! What's the name of this 'Lady' of yours? What other titles does she have?" He looks around at the other mortals. "Any of you other chuckleheads feel like speaking up? If what's-his-face there is too tongue-tied with awe, help him out." Imposing some additional Malf-mojo to interrogate, 8m, Cha+Presence+Specialty for a total of 16 dice to get them to spill their guts. 9 successes. Also, gonna add the Beloved tag to our new followers from the cave, treating them as a single unit. Hooray, adding auto-successes to navigation attempts! Protagonist plot-mapping, go! MadcapViking fucked around with this message at 00:26 on Aug 31, 2012 |
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Aug 24, 2012 13:56
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Aursholm - Sport Interrupted Tarn - "Oh, there is no need. I am well enough to serve. No need at all. You are our guest." Leif's refusals are no more than those customary in the face of charity. As he meanders through more denials and welcomes, often more than once, the odd fellow sounds genuinely warmed by your words. Snow - As Cloud and The Tyrant rush off towards the coast Leif's eyes slowly follow, narrow, and glaze over. The two vanish into the distance. He sits motionless. He growls, "She has many names. She will return soon." At your prompting he is open, soft and sweet again. "She is a wonder, in this age. All are welcome in her halls. All are sheltered in her warmth. Though some abuse her hospitality." His scorn briefly drifts over the two former combatants, but sweeps away when he returns to you. You are definitely speaking the same language. Fortune - While you're sure these two could yammer back and forth all day, all you have's a hammer, 'cause this question just got nailed. <That's not the expression, Chukh> Still, it's getting results. The crowd's soon tripping over itself with no shortage of nice things to say about the lady of the house. It may take another pass to sit 'em all down and get their stories straight, but just testing the waters you kinda like what your hear. Pretty sure you caught a few spins on bright, bubbly, built, and single. Snow Leif watches the crowd stir, and the Slayer start to mingle. That harsh whisper returns, "I'd not call her A Lady." And a friendly step towards you, "Would you like to come inside? If there is to be no battle here, there is no need to stand," He drags his staff into the side of the guildsman's head, "or lay about." At the edge of it all a youth in white and grey lays low, keeps quiet, stays very still. He is not alone. Of Young Men in Grey As well-travelled natives of the north, Cloud and Snow's old lives had crossed these lands before. A faint recollection in the back of the back of Scourge's mind, and the events before the Fiend's own eyes bring about a memory of Iron. The Cold Iron Brand, a homegrown Haslan mercenary company born quite a while back from frontiersman banding together for mutual protection from the dangers of the open tundra. At the time it was thought they would settle down and become their region's governors, but when the last brick fell and the last elf was slain they took off on the breeze for new horizons. Since then they've travelled, slaying beasts and saving lives, and they have grown. Known to number in the hundreds, rumoured to be greater still, the Irons fight on to protect the out-lands of the League. And refuse to fall under its rule. This group is the right size for one of their scouting parties. Ashore - Conquest of The Waves The windblade is swift and silent, sweeping over stone and sea free as the breeze. But despite the black wind's humility, the men at sea cannot deny The Tyrant's presence, nor resist the urge to open fire in salute. For surely, the barrage was a welcoming display. The broad sweep by which it falls short, a tribute to the unfathomable gulf between his glory and the works of mortal men. So swift is their leader that he is prepared already for an encore as The Tyrant's Chariot descends to meet him. The other crew, well placed to see his greatness from all angles, stand ready. Main marksdude has notable archery and war, low essence, no charms, not servile. Has a very nice longbow. Other deck crew unremarkable. A_Raving_Loon fucked around with this message at 01:51 on Aug 28, 2012 |
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Aug 28, 2012 01:45
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Gentle Snow Snow nodded after the man and made to follow. As he did, however, he took the measure of the mercenary at the edge of the group. Do-gooders. He'd have to remember that one's face, and let the others know. Any attempt at subtlety had long ago been lost, but now there was the risk of an army bearing down on them, and Snow was stuck being hospitable. Feth. "I would be happy to take you up on that." as they walked and talked, Snow keeping his mien as a happy and humble guest, he gauged the man's reactions. "The League is my home, but there is still so much left of it to see, such wonders. I take it that the Lady is your village goddess, or is she one of those mortals blessed with fabulous enlightenment?" He waited for the answer, and later on asked, "Do you often trade with the Aeryie? I'm curious as to your relationship with the Guild, is all." Mile'ionaha fucked around with this message at 03:10 on Aug 28, 2012 |
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Aug 28, 2012 03:02
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Tarn Kavik "Please," he says, "it's the least that I can do to thank you for your hospitality." Leif relents with a show of mock resignation, and Tarn begins his work. Although his essence-sight gives a somewhat incomplete picture of the man's interior, Dancer obliges by providing a synesthetic overlay to compensate. <rotten walls, warped timbers, shaky foundation...i sure wouldnt live in there> <A real fixer-upper?> <id say more like condemned but hey youre the boss> "Observe!" he bids the crowd as a hazy cloud of light lifts Leif gently from the ground. "First, in the treatment of internal conditions, it is important to anesthetize the patient!" One by one, microscopic telekinetic appendages delicately block the transmission of signals from Leif's mechanoreceptors and nociceptors. "Can you feel anything?" Tarn asks; at Leif's nervous shake of his head, Tarn continues. "You all know, I should hope, that broken bones must be set properly, or else they will heal into irregular positions, often resulting in chronic pain, which in turn results in disuse of the afflicted body parts and subsequent atrophy." A softly-strobing sphere of light appears in the air before sinking into Leif's chest. "This, however, is not beyond remedy! Unfortunately, to repair the bones in question, they must first be re-broken." Inside the man's body, the sphere splits into projections of psychic force that begin to move along the contours of his skeleton; in their passing, bone and marrow and ligament and tendon are liquefied and held in suspension inside a force-construct mimicking Leif's natural skeleton. "Ordinarily, this treatment would take weeks, months, or even years, depending on the severity of the patient's condition. This particular treatment, however, should require no more than, say, fifteen minutes." A coruscating halo of emerald flame envelops the Defiler as the tendrils of energy begin to move in reverse, reconstituting the slurry into new, healthy flesh and bone while another set of will-constructs delicately repairs the alchemical damage to Leif's organs and nerves and a third set hastily dumps the waste heat from the operation safely outside his body. "Now!" he announces. "The repairs are complete, but atrophy has set in. Again, months of grueling work are generally required to rebuild muscle mass..." Tarn smirks. "...but this should only take another five minutes at most." So saying, he begins to funnel raw essence through the projections, stitching up tears in the musculature and restoring the original tone and definition. The new marrow Tarn laid down earlier pumps out fresh blood cells to meet the needs of Leif's new (old) body, the diaphragm is strengthened for easier breathing, and a modicum of fluid is drained from the lungs themselves. New blood vessels spread like creepers throughout Leif's rejuvenated body, and by now the man looks much as he did in the prime of his youth. Finally, as one last courtesy, Tarn's will scrubs the buildup of lactic acid from Leif's muscles to ensure a pain-free recovery, then gingerly sets him back on the ground. The cocoon of light dissipates to reveal the new Leif as Tarn at last restores his senses of touch and pain. <the curb appeal is good but the neighborhoods gonna drag down the resale value> Tarn shrugs. "So, how do you feel?" Spending 8 periph on 1st Malf ex, showing off to the villagers and satisfying my Urge. Spending a WP to channel Compassion, total 20 dice = 7 sux. Thesaurasaurus fucked around with this message at 02:44 on Aug 30, 2012 |
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Aug 30, 2012 02:41
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The Glorious Tyrant The windblade sliced through the air unphased by the barrage. Once it is over the ship,the Tyrant dismounts from the board with super-human grace. His anima bursts back to life, and all those below are struck with the image that a white-green sun in all its unfettered glory is descending upon them from on high. The Sovereign lands gracefully directly before the chief marksman who had so drawn his attention, exposing him to the full force of his inhuman charisma. The marksman and all those close to the Tyrant are suddenly blind to all but him, having subconciously realized that there is nothing else in the world worth seeing. “Bravo, I found your greeting impressive. Clearly, you already have an inkling of the glory of My coming." In a voice of exquisite majesty he continues, still looking at the marksman, but loud enough that all those in the area to hear, "I have come to right this broken world, and you have drawn my attention. Pledge yourself to me, and take the place that has been set out for you at my feet and you will know glory beyond your wildest dreams. For what better cause could there possibly be than helping to save your selves, your homelands, and creation itself at the same time as you brought the rightful King to the throne that has called out for him since the ancient betrayal.” He turns to face the rest of those on the ship, “Did you hear that, the rightful King of all Creation has come to redress old wrongs and to take the reins to right the decaying course of the world. Count yourselves as lucky that you are among the first to know of My coming. Now, hesitate no longer, bow and pledge yourselves to me, your lord and master.” He turns back to the marksman, “You as well. There will be a place of honor waiting for one of talent such as yourself, but this world has no place for those who would turn against their King, talent or no. So bow, and pledge yourself to Me without reservation, body and soul!” YOU, SAILOR PEOPLE, BOW BEFORE MY GLORY. [Charisma + Presence + Specialty + 1st Theion(10) + Willpower]: 22d10x7+1 11 + stunts add successes in place of dice. pre:Personal Essence: 11/19 Peripheral Essence: 10/28 (14 spent) Will 5/10 Valhawk fucked around with this message at 03:34 on Aug 30, 2012 |
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Aug 30, 2012 03:23
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Drunk on Bitter Fortunes <Ya hear that? Bright, bubbly, built, and single. Today might not be a bad day, after all!> <You're getting conflicting stories, Chukh. Perhaps confirmation would be helpful?> <Oh, yeah. Good thinking.> <One of us has to.> The Slayer regards the eager crowd, the Boom Stick tapping impatiently on his shoulder. "SHUT UP AND SIT DOWN!" His face grows larger. He grins menacingly at the crowd. "Now, I need a volunteer to set the record STRAIGHT here! You!" He grabs a knowledgeable-looking person in the crowd, holding the man's tunic and leveling the power mace at his nose. "You've got ten seconds to spit it out, or I get a new volunteer, and your buddies here have some laundry to do." The Boom Stick hums, ominously, as the man's eyes cross. "Ten... nine...." Spending 8m more on 1st Malf, purely out of Peripheral, this time. 10 successes. PersEss: 7/19 PersEss: 18/30 Overdrive: ??/10
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Aug 31, 2012 00:38
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Silk and Silver Cloud Not for the first time, Cloud was beginning to regret having taken the Tyrant with. Not that what he was doing was fundamentally wrong, though the sheer force of it and blank stares of the people post-conversion seemed to indicate otherwise, but because it was simply dull. Or rather, there was an awful lot of talking, and making pretty colors in the sky, but not a whole lot of doing much of, well, anything. So, the Scourge circles around once and dives into the hold, curious as to what the ship is actually carrying. Sure, he could have waited a few moments and simply asked someone, but, well...
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Aug 31, 2012 03:07
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Tarn Kavik Kavik holds up a hand to stay Fortunes' Boomstick and whispers in his ear. "Chukh, if we blow people away over every little thing, it'll lessen the impact when we hand out smiting over more serious infractions." He leans back. "Just saying man, time and a place."
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Sep 7, 2012 03:01
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In passing the scene on the ship's deck, Cloud considers this may become quite common. Quite tedious. More bowing, more kneeling, more mix of shock, awe, and revere. Yawn. The next shot the marksman had prepared wound up lodged in his foot. May need some sort of attention. He vanishes into the halls of the ship. The crammed, dark, stuffy halls. Halls, ladders, doors, halls, all so tightly packed in place. To think anything could stand living any time in such a place was nearly as unpleasant as being there. Some doors are fancy, and locked, and marked with little plates and tags that almost radiate boredom. Some doors are just curtains, other just ways. One way leads to a couple folks sleeping. S'pose they'll be dragged out to kneel and praise and wonder soon. Yawn Cargo. Mice. Cargo. Mouser.  Piles of tightly packed grain. Piles of tightly packed coal. Piles of- hold on, wasn't this ship bigger? It looked bigger on the outside. Short enough on space as it is. Eugh
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Sep 9, 2012 00:31
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