Bandits. Bandits are outlaws who plague the countryside by raiding caravans, attacking farms and small towns. Bandits can consist of any member from the playable species.
Spoiler
Bodyguards: Bandits who usually tank for rest of his group. Rogues: Thieves who know how to get in, do their damage, and then get out fast. Arsonists: Renegade mages who specialize in starting fires.
Black Orcs. Living weapons that serve the Nightmare Realm unquestionably. Black orcs live and die by their concept of strength. Anything that does not meet this standard is eradicated.
Spoiler
Grunts: Newly created black orcs and thus the weakest of their species. Raiders: Specialists in dueling and attacking settlements. Veterans: Seasoned warriors who have been promoted to leadership positions.
Trogs. A primitive species found mostly in forests and jungles. Extremely xenophobic, their religion centers around the worship of stone carvings.
Spoiler
Fighters: Bruisers and thugs, these trogs are always the first ones into a fight. Shamans: With the power of earth and lighting, shamans support their allies while destroying their enemies. Crushers: Elite warriors skilled enough to command other trogs in battle.
Demons. Creatures from the nightmare realm who have slipped through cracks in the barriers that separate the endless worlds across infinity.
Spoiler
Imps: Honey devils tasked with the specific purpose of enslaving members of other species. Ravagers: Powerful spirits who magic is fueled by chaos. Slimes: Rage demons who resemble living tar and flames. A few slimes are usually enough to devastate most armies.
Yha'Goth. The personal army of a pumilo mage gone mad with power. Yha'Goth are a type of construct, and as such do not need to eat, sleep or feed. They are flesh and iron infused with evil.
Spoiler
Corrupters: Special yha'goth that cover their enemies in acid, before absorbing the liquified remains to increase their size and strength. Champions: Formidable fighters who excel in close-quarters combat. Widowmakers: Crafted for war, champions were design specifically to kill brave heroes.
Acknowledgements Special thanks to your co-gm, DR, for putting up with all those random notes I pm'd him, and to everyone who join in on the fun.
“It's all about Power."
"Grabbing it. Keeping it. Using It."
"Power is our currency, our DNA... Our God.”
"We control the World."
"We provide the blueprint. And we give the Instructions."
"These are dark times. Times without hope. Times without love."
"I once believed that love was a force so powerful that reason was blind to it, and hate was as a candle before a hurricane. I was wrong."
"A shadow born from our deepest nightmares comes to engulf the world and cover our sun in eternal twilight."
"We are about to witness the end of life as we know it, and there is little that I can do to stop it but I will try. For that is my fate."
♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪
Act I: Fate
Around two thousand years before today, a maymoon flotilla came to Kal'Avto from a continent far to the south. They were the refugees of a now forgotten war, and came seeking peace and a new home.
The ancient sylven of the time were quick to greet these new friends and neighbors, delighted to share their wisdom and knowledge of the ancient forests that dotted the endless shores.
And for a time all was well but as centuries passed, the maymoons began to resent their conditions. In a land where they were safe and free, they yearned for more space, more freedom and more security.
So they began mining the earth for metals, domesticating the animals to labor for their benefit, and chopped down the ancient woods that were sacred to the sylven to carve out holdfasts and farms.
This final act provoked a war between the maymoons and the sylven, a war which nearly drove the latter to extinction. For though the sylven had powerful magics, they were naive to the ways of battle while the maymoons were larger, savage, and more technologically advanced.
Today, though the maymoons have spread far and wide across the face of Kal'Avto, the site of their first landing still remains the heart and spiritual home of all maymoons. And it is here where our first story takes place.
A birthday party is being held in honour of Lady Cecily, second child and daughter of Lord Gyles and Lady Thomasine Derington. Known far and wide as one of the most talented warriors in all of New Avarith, the maymoon kingdom furthest to the west, she is also the Lord and Lady's favored child and rumoured to inherit all of her family's wealth once she is old enough.
The party is also to celebrate Lady Cecily's first military command. Vampires, bandits, and worse continue to plague the farmlands and villages of New Avarith, despite the emperor's decree to the contrary. So now it falls to the noble house of Derington to ensure that the emperor's words are law.
Tonight the knights and soldiers of House Derington feast, but tomorrow they head west to meet these roving monsters head on and put an end to their lawlessness. By sword and flame, peace will be returned to the western border. OOC
Spoiler
The royal ball is in full swing and many neighboring lords and ladies have turned out to wish House Derington well in the coming campaign, and to congratulate Lady Cecily on her birthday and appointment.
Cecilia Lockhart, Æscesne, Lowell Ostermarker, and Reynard Fellwing are also in attendance, along with other notable soldiers and generals. Rumours are that Lady Cecily will take command of a company of soldiers herself, and so has requested that those she will be fighting along side be in attendance so she can properly make their acquaintance.
Until Lady Cecily appears, all soldiers are to enjoy themselves, mingle, and generally have a nice time. Naturally, one must be on their best behavior if they wish to make an impression on the generals and lords of New Avarith.
The Realm of Nightmare is a world far beyond our own. It is a place without time and the rules of nature as we know them. It's a dark realm filled with demons and the tortured souls of the dead. It is a place not meant for the living.
In its raw form the Nightmare Realm is a sick, frightening world made up of raw magic twisting through an endless night sky filled with stars and the broken remains of previously, conquered worlds.
Much of the Nightmare Realm is split up into fiefs or demesnes belonging to the spirits or demons that live there. These beings naturally have the power to shape the landscape as they see fit, often emulating what they see in the minds of mortals.
These copies can be of landscapes, objects or people, and are usually cruel and confusing to the tortured souls that dwell there. The reason for this is that demons and other powerful spirits have found a way to psychically feed on the strong, negative emotions of their slaves.
Since this discovery, demons have begun attacking helpless worlds scattered throughout eternity, hungrily expanding their territory and influence in order to rise to the top. OOC
Spoiler
Lady Falis and Lady Atrophy are both concubines of an archdemon whose realm and influence are the second largest in all of the Nightmare Realm. Though they both know of the other, this will be their first, official meeting.
Each rules a portion of their Lord's realm and have gathered today for a special task. What that task is, they don't yet know. Regardless, the two are to wait in the grand hall, which looks like a mix between a torture pit and a volcano, until their lord arrives. Naturally, his Lord's favorite concubines are free to explore and torture souls as they see fit.
The island nation of Vikare was established long ago when a group of unducdecim mages left their people in search of a place more suited to the extensive use and study of what their kind termed 'forbidden magics'. So they traveled far to the south until they came across an uninhabited island, and quickly took it as their own.
Over time, more mages followed and the island became a haven for spellcasters and a center of arcane study. Today, Vikare is a decadent and extravagant paradise rivaling that of the unducdecim kingdom itself.
The island city is littered with floating castles and rainbow-coloured plants and animals. The streets are made of gold and rubies, and magical portals take you anywhere you want on the island in a blink of an eye.
The city of course is not without it's problems, and many nations now see Vikare as a potential threat. The citizens of Vikare must walk a fine line in order to maintain their peace with the other nations. OOC
Spoiler
Edyrm and Eris Aletheia are students attending Vikare's magical college while Narval is on a pilgrimage to the island nation, to see all of the wonders spoken of in each corner of the world with her own eyes.
Narvel will start out at an inn where she will wake up before preparing herself for her visit to the magical college. Edyrm and Eris will both be attending classes when their teacher makes a special announcement.
The aslandi are a species of large, savage, feline creatures that occupy much of south-eastern plains of Kal'Avto. Many have renounced all gods as false and instead view all of life, from magic to combat, with a hard, cynical eye. Their culture has developed into a tribal state where they are raised as hunters from birth.
All, true, aslandi are carnivorous, living off the cooked meat of the mammoth-sized creatures that graze upon their golden seas of grass and wheat. Many species think less of these noble hunters because of their limited use of magic and technology in their society -- that is, until a full-grown aslandi is running towards them on all four limbs.
In that moment, a primal fear grips their heart cold as they stand there shitting their pants with no clue of what to do. It is in that moment that they finally understand that the perfect predator needs very few things to help it kill. OOC
Spoiler
Dorian Salttail, Aeloshir Goldmane, and Yvanna Eros have been hired as warpack to stomp out a group of poachers that have settled into the area. The local tribe of aslandi who have claimed the area, are forbidden to hunt the three days and nights before the rise of each month's Hunter's Moon.
This also forbids them from taking action against the poachers, which the aslandi naturally see as another sort of hunt -- a fact these poachers have been making excellent use of.
These three and a few others must navigate the endless plains and put a stop to the poachers. First however, they will find themselves in the aslandi camp. Here, they are free to shop and speak with NPCs before heading out on their glorious hunt.
Necromancers are practitioners of the forbidden and dark arts. They commune with spirits, summon the dead, and literally suck the life force from their enemies. Especially powerful necromancers have learned to feed on life force itself, which they then can use to bring allies back from the brink of death.
To most, necromancers are abominations that raid cemeteries at night and defile corpses during the day. To others, they are salvation made flesh. For you see, necromancers can not only summon the dead, they have also learned to trap souls within the dead. These creatures are known as, the Undead.
The undead and vampire knights in particular, are mortals souls trapped within a construct of rotting flesh. They feed on blood to maintain their healthy appearance but do not age or tire, or weaken. They are forever young.
It was at this point that even the mages of Vikare finally deemed necromancy too dangerous an art to practice, but it was too late. The undead had already established themselves as a world power, and would not go quietly into the sunlight.
Heading south and then west, they domesticated the maymoons they found there before constructing gargantuan furnaces designed to perpetually belch black smoke into the sky.
These huge furnaces shielded the land from the poisonous effects of the sun, allowing the undead to shape the land as their will saw fit. Never had the world known a time of such beauty and grace. Now it was time to share this vision with the rest of the world. OOC
Spoiler
It is 320 years before the present day and the Count has been newly awakened into undeath. He is a savage and bloodthirsty beast, with no memory of his mortal life or any sense of himself besides the all consuming thirst for blood.
His only beacon in this storm of hunger is the matron. She was present during his birth, and so the Count instinctively follow her orders as she guides him towards his first meal.
Molded from the earth, stone, and clay, the heroic pumilo have carved out an expansive network of tunnels that span the length and breadth of Kal'Avto. Here, within the darkness of the world, they fight terrors not yet know to those on the surface. OOC
Spoiler
Our adventure takes place in the pumilo city of Miro'Isa. Orbin Ironhammer and Einar, The Solemn Knight, have joined an adventuring group on a mission to attack a yha'goth outpost.
Hundreds of years ago a powerful, pumilo mage tried to recreate the process that gave birth to his people. Worse than failing, he ended up creating the yha'goth instead -- a mixture of undead, steel and nightmares.
Orgin and Einar are free to explore the city before the party sets out, and check out the local shops in the area. When it's time to leave, a messenger will find both men and return them back to the city exit.
“It's all about Power."
"Grabbing it. Keeping it. Using It."
"Power is our currency, our DNA... Our God.”
"We control the World."
"We provide the blueprint. And we give the Instructions."
A solemn nod from her regal mother caused a leap in jubilation from Yvanna as she did not waste a single moment and bound her way to her private room. There, as clothes and various magical items and tomes were thrown about in an arc across the room, she packed quickly. The open road was now once again unsealed to her! The world was ready for her footsteps to beat across it once more! Tying a journal about her waist on one side, and her rapier upon the other, the Red Magi then deftly snatched a broad steeple'd cap from atop a coat rack.
"Must run, must hurry! Mother can change her mind, quickly now, quickly!" She hurriedly stated to herself beneath her breadth while studying the hat for the quality of its condition.
Lowering it down sadly took more effort than what one would like to admit, until her ears poked up through the holes located by the seam of where the brim met the pointed top. Wiggling it slightly, she observed herself carefully in the mirror, looking at herself studiously for a brief moment before finding that her red coat, skirt, and white corset were plenty fit properly before bounding out the door. Parting the room with one last official nod to herself in the mirror, the smile on her lips only grew with the departure from the comfort of her home. It was time to rejoice, after all!
In the doorway however, stood her mother. Also studying the clothing she had chosen to start off with in this venture. Unable to help but to freeze in place, Yvanna watched nervously on as her mother seemed to glide gracefully across the distance, lightly picking at her daughter's clothes with her judgmental fingertips. Disappointment clicked upon the edge of her tongue as she inspected further, looking to her daughter's eyes at long last with a minute hint of mischief.
"Tsk tsk, dear. Grandchildren are what I wish for from you, how are you supposed to give me some while dressed so conservatively? Expose your beautiful hips and legs some more, unfasten that coat's front so that it exposes some of the flesh beneath your collarbone, and I'll have suitors at my doorstep in no time at al-"
"MOTHER! Such a thing, I shan't do!" Shaking her head adamantly as she gently brushed her mother's troublesome hand aside, the Princess frowned stubbornly. "My purpose is adventure, promiscuity, not." Defiant as always, her arms folded guardedly as her mother continued to circle about her akin to a wolf circling her prey. "Practicing common tongue much just to be put on my back, absolutely not!" Seethingly, she grabbed the last assortment of many pieces of gold, copper, and silver to finance her trip before fastening a fine thin chain decorated in elaborate emeralds and diamonds about her neck and bounding for the door at long last.
With the chime of her ankles frantically trying to keep pace with her swift footsteps, it did not take long before she came to the front gate of her home city once again.
Standing at the precipice to the outside world, she took a deep breadth, closed her eyes, braced herself, and extended her hand beyond the threshold. Immediately, her eyes opened wide with the utmost surprise. There was no spine-jarring shock, no alert or the rushing footsteps of guards. The enchantment her mother had cast, the enchantment that had bound her to the city walls was gone! Vanished! Still, she was cautious, distrustful of her mother's promise and instead then stuck out her foot. With the lack of retaliation, she mustered all of her courage and then leapt past the open door!
Still, nothing. Not even a raised voice from the nearby guard, who only looked at her with a perplexed expression inquiring about the peculiarity of her behavior. Her ears folded back, and she glared at the guard with the utmost indignation while her cheeks puffed outward.
"You ought to hurry, little one. Go now. See the world, and return when you're ready. Hurry, before I do change my mind."
Blinking as her mother emerged down the footsteps with her handmaidens and the straightening of the guard, this time, her expression turned into one that was rather meek but appreciative as she then turned about and made for the open road. Walking, not running, as such was a waste of energy. All she could do in this moment was quietly sing a tune to herself in her people's tongue, while the rings of gold about her ankles created the beat and music by which she sung.
She could not wait for whatever adventures that might come.
A few days past, and a few monsters later, she found herself upon an open plain.
Picking herself up and leaping across the grassy plains, she leapt above the towering grass line only to disappear beneath it. With the crisp air running through her hair, and the expression of serenity upon her face, she paused at a piece of tanned hide that bore a sign. Lettering, which explained the hiring of people who were of the ability to stop a handful of poachers! Her serene sense turned into one that was scowling swiftly. She had been shot at by poachers once! Well, Pirates, but Poachers may have well been the same accursed thing!
Opportunistic outlaws, nothing more. They needed to be stopped so that the people they were oppressing could thrive!
It was an obvious choice, and soon before long she found herself in a village. Wandering through a bustling market, she plucked up an apple from a local stand and stared at it for a moment. A Gala apple! Biting her lip in obvious concentration, she attempted to figure out why such a flavor of a simple fruit was so striking to her in this moment. Not recalling it at that very second, she handed the farmer the pieces of copper required to pay for the fruit, and then continued wandering through the village some more.
Being one of Tav'Salan blood, she received an odd look or two since her kind was rare in these parts of the realm, but that was perfectly fine. She had received odd looks before, as well as malevolent ones, but from the looks of things, the hesitant tension and nervousness found by everyone here was anything but that. Tossing the apple nonchalantly upward and downward as she caught it in her grasp, Yvanna only approached two others who seemed just as out of place with the local tribe.
"My pardon." She uttered softly, her voice being simply beautiful even when just spoken, while she sauntered gracefully up to the both of their backs. With the peculiar tone by which all Tav'Salan spoke in the common tongue, she spoke to them both again. "Might you be here, to hunt like I?" Tapping her bare foot, the golden rings chimed a slow beat that marked her subtle impatience to know their answer.
Spoiler
Equipment:
Holly Staff - +10 Dmg / +4 HP
Fine Clothes - +6 HP
Rapier - One Handed Sword
5 Potions (+10 HP Heal)
1400 Gold Remaining
Edited by The Hawk's Eye, 15 February 2015 - 11:33 PM.
Now at last we come full circle, back to the hand whose graceful motions first began these tales. Our travels have taken us through town and tower, past glade and garden, through the mists of time and to all manner of locale, but we come to their end in the modern era. Specifically, we come to a loft apartment overlooking the Champs d'Elysees in Paris, France, wherein resides Trouble herself. Some would call her temptress, others know her as charming minx, but nobody dares deny that the lady is possessed of great beauty. As she sits at her writing desk with a fine tipped pen and ink well at hand, a city breeze enters through the nearby open window. The wind causes her raven-colored hair to stir briefly in it before resuming its cascades down to her shoulders, where it briefly touches the angled straps of the midnight blue dress that adorns her well-defined form. With a gentle sip from the thin-mouthed glass of champagne that accompanies her forays onto the pages, she turns her brilliant emerald eyes back to the swirling words she has already put into place. Before she continues on, she checks over her work to ensure that no detail is left unknown, no letter out of its place. For in her passages, as in the mystic runes with which she channels the primordial forces of the world, each stroke is vital and no variance is tolerated. Content with what she has written, the sorceress lays down her writing instrument and makes her way to the balcony. With a breath of the evening air and a wave of her hand, the only decision that remains is what spells she shall weave this night.
The city of Miro'Isa was bustling with activity. The pumilo were an industrious people and Einar sometimes found himself being envious of their incredible skill at manipulating metal. A few pumilo passed by him, reaching only up to Einar's hip. It was times like these that Einar stood out. His height had helped him stand over others before and it was only more apparent within Miro'Isa. They were less than half his size.
Einar stood for a second as he took in his surroundings. It wasn't long until he found the place he was looking for. The Blacksmith was the place to be if you were looking for anything of the martial nature. Pumilo blacksmiths were famous for their ability in creation and Einar was there for a rather expensive order. A warrior is only as sharp as the edge of his blade after all.
On the path that Einar chose there were certain things that were particularly important. Throughout history there has always been a common trait shared among the legendary warriors. Each had a well-forged, named weapon. These blades almost had a life of their own. Styles were formed from this lifelong partner, and it was finally time for Einar to settle down with one sword. Over the course of his career, Einar hoped to don an entire custom set of armor. It would be a representation of himself and his deeds.
Today though, the only one he wanted was his weapon. It would be the thing that earned his keep. Perhaps one day he would even get it enchanted. Of course, enchanted weapons were only reserved for the true legends in history so he had a long way to go.
Einar was to prepare for a battle with a Yha'Goth outpost. It was the perfect chance to begin forming his legend and gaining renown. Once his name is more well-known, the challengers would come to him. It was simply another way for him to find worthy opponents quicker. It wouldn't be surprising to Einar if he was to meet one of those opponents on his own side in the coming battle. Afterwards, he would challenge any of the worthy to a duel. That is, and forever will be, his goal in the end.
Einar ducked his head and entered into The Blacksmith. Inside there were plenty of sets of armor, but it was mostly sized to the pumilo. Still, the craftsmanship on each piece seemed rather impressive. If this blacksmith was well-known and had access to rarer material to forge a sword out of, Einar may get to meet his weapon earlier than he expected. Even better, if he had any weapons already made it would be even more convenient.
The Blacksmith was quiet for a moment. The pumilo behind the counter may not have received many Adri'Gigas customers.
"...," Einar looked around the store for another second, "...I'm looking for my weapon." Einar said. "Who is the best blacksmith in the world?"
Any blacksmith who creates Einar's weapon must have unparalleled confidence and the skill to back it up. If this smith was not it, he would find another.
OOC
Spoiler
@Naifu: Einar is trying to find the weapon of his dreams. Specifically the weapon that he'll eventually be known for. He wants to prove he is the strongest warrior in history and it's important to have a weapon worthy of the best. He's simply looking for a legendary blacksmith to forge his weapon. This is sort of a side quest for him and he'll make regular attempts at finding a smith who can craft his perfect weapon/armor. Odds are he'd like that person to forge his entire set so it's a rather important event for him. You put me in the perfect spot to find an awesome blacksmith or at least hear of one! Huehuehue.
Einar, The Solemn Knight
Spoiler
Einar
Class: Knight
Race: Adri'Gigas
Lv: 1
HP: 30
GP: 1,575
Fate Points: 3
Refresh Rating: 3
Skills List
+1 Brawler
+1 Paragon
Stunts List
Shield Bash - Einar may use his Defender skill in place of his Opportunist skill to counter attack and deal physical damage when at melee range.
Relentless Assault - When Einar uses his Brawler skill to create an advantage in physical combat, he gains a scaling +2 to his Fighter skill.
Experienced Warrior - If Einar enters into physical combat at melee range with one enemy, he gains +2 to his Duelist skill.
Current Equipment/Inventory
(Equipped) Iron Sword - Inexpensive basic sword. (+6 DMG)
(Equipped) Iron Shield - Inexpensive basic shield. (+12 HP)
(Equipped) Iron Armor - Basic iron heavy armor. (+18 HP)
Health Potion (x2) - Instantly restores 10 HP.
Stored Equipment/Inventory
N/A
Stress
0/1 Mild Mental
0/1 Mild Physical
Injuries
0/2 Mild
0/5 Moderate
0/6 Severe
Racial Abilities
Frost Mastery (Passive) - Whenever an Adri'Gigas deals ice damage to an enemy, they deal bonus, extra damage (Starting at +2 damage at Level 1)
Giant's Blood (Passive) - All Adri'Gigas start the game with a +1 Brawler skill and a +1 Paragon skill. This bonus scales with their level.
Shapeshifting (Passive) - All Adri'Gigas can take on the aspect of an animal, transforming into a mixed were-form that greatly enhances their base stats and modifies their height. Einar's aspect is that of a Bear.
The first sensation she experienced on setting foot in the home of her Lord was the same as ever. The scent of hot death stung the nostrils like a swarm of hornets. That kind desperate suffering that pushed away all other thoughts. It had once been such a sweet nectar to Atrophy in her younger years and yet at some point it had turned rancid. Just like everything else in this nightmare realm, it had all long since lost it's sharpness. It all was so very, very over done to her now. There was no edge to this. She surveyed the tortured mortals midst the hellfires and heard their moans and screams reverberate through the halls unnaturally. Sound shouldn't travel the way it did here but such rules were not for demons and their realms.
Atrophy was less concerned with those that suffered and looked more to the ones that had long since broken and just hung there limply. Their bodies lived but their minds had long given up the struggle. They'd be dragged down and replaced soon enough. She tsked at the waste of it. The torturers had no finesse these days. Once, you could of spent years breaking the will of a single individual and that agony would of been enough to sustain you for years after. Such craftsmanship went unappreciated these days though. The powers that be preferred efficiency to artistry these days. Quick and casual torture was the rule of the day and that bored the Lady Atrophy ever so much. She tried to think of exactly when it was that the process had become so streamlined as to be mass produced by even the lowliest of beings. Anyone could call themselves a master torturer these days so long as they could elicit the screams that fed the masters. Had there ever been such a time where workmanship such as hers had gone appreciated over brute numbers? Could she just have been so blind all these years ago and only now saw the truth?
The Honey Demon shrugged away the line of thought as she settled down onto a bench across from some men strapped upside down atop wheels that stretched them out every so painfully. She produced a book from seemingly nowhere and idly flicked through the pages. It was nothing more than a book o Maymoon cultures. Was it rude? Mayhaps but she considered it research. Atrophy had been summoned for a mission after all and those did tend to involve infiltrating some mortal estate or another. The variety of the Maymoon people made them the most difficult to understand not just for her but for others as well. She could take on the form of some minor tribe that none knew of and any oddities noticed in her would be attributed to her background. Her Lord knew what she was like already and had long grown accustomed to her manner.
She could of course hunt down Falis but that seemed like more trouble than it was worth. It wasn't uncommon for two favored concubines to jostle for position but that wasn't a game Atrophy had ever felt the need to indulge in. That was a game for rivals and she had none here. You see, to be a rival you had to share a similar goal and there was none in this court that shared her desires. They fought for power and position for the sake of it without any real thought of what came after. They rose and fall like cards in the wind while Atrophy remained. She got her pleasures where she would and the rest didn't matter.
Lady Atrophy turned the page as she sent a whimsical smile to the tortured men across from her.
For once, Lowell's reputation as an accomplished scholar preceded his reputation as an unpleasant stick in the mud. He was invited to attend the birthday party of Lady Cecily, whoever that was, as some of her guests would no doubt be interested in the sorts of things he had been studying. Lowell almost decided not to go, but his empty wallet and equally empty stomach persuaded him otherwise. Though the seemingly endless supply of royal hors-d'oeuvres was a quality he was not used to, being from plebeian upbringing, he began to regret his decision the instant his stomach was filled. He had been here for hours, and after a certain amount of time looking listless in the corner, someone was bound to approach him.
Someone did. They asked him who he was, and upon learning that he was an archaeologist, they inquired quite fervently into the nature of his work. Lowell tried to explain, but within a few minutes the man excused himself, looking displeased. Lowell shrugged and sipped from his glass; he didn't wan to talk to anyone anyway.
And so the night continued in a similar manner. Lowell mingled at intervals throughout the night when approached by people who thought too highly of themselves, and each time they excused themselves early, in a worse mood than before. Lowell thought himself to be perfectly polite, but it seemed they had very little interest in polite people. They wanted stories of adventure, and intrigue, and to meet people who were actually polite, and not subversive douche bags, and Lowell couldn't offer any of that.
Stepping foot onto her lord's estate, these kind of sentiments were often on her mind, Falis sighed as glanced around. The thrill and pleasure of holding such a position has long been lost on her. When she was young, this was all new and everything had a sense of purpose but now there was nothing. It was quite a pain, nothing ever changes in this world of theirs. Mortals getting tormented as the demons and various creatures that lurk in this realm jostle for power to ease their boredom. Things were so stagnant, while playing around and tormenting others had its fun, Falis longed for more.
Despite her position and her lords status, Falis didn't care much for him in the least. This was all just merely a means to an end, so whatever mission she was summoned for, she'll simply go about accomplishing it and making use of it. She was apparently called in along with Lady Atrophy, her lords other 'favorite'. While normally one would consider her to be Falis's rival and compete with her for power and her lords ultimate favor, but the fact is, as stated, none of that interests her. It's not just that that doesn't interest her, it's this entire realm. So hideously boring, especially if you consider how long their kind, the honey devils, is able to live for.
In her many many years tormenting and delving into the minds of Mortals, she has long been interested in crossing over into the Mortal Realm. With the obvious being the vast amount of beings and their abundance of new things. Unlike here in the Nightmare Realm, their world holds so much room for change and advancement, in short, their evolution. She has seen this for awhile now. One day she'll find her way there but for now, she'll bide her time doing as her Lord bids. With a smile, she continues walking around to kill sometime.
While we fade away from the bustling market where our benevolent giant resides, we spend what seems to be endless hours winding through the unfamiliar cobblestone streets. Slithering through the labyrinth of darkened streets and narrow passages until in this expansive city, we reach a place where the light rarely touches. There, beneath a fickle and flickering lamp, sitting upon her throne that marks her the queen of the underworld with a cunning and seductive smile is none other than I-Am-X. Calmly observing us with a yellowed iris beset upon harrowing black, her fanged grin only grows wider as her fingertip guides the rod that stirs a tall, thin glass of suspicious looking Red Wine. Here in the Dark, we exist temporarily in her Kingdom. A place where the unsavory sorts can find sanctuary, a black market, and often the tools of death, subtlety, and subterfuge.
Sliding her sultry fingertip upon the spine of a book, the tome seems almost alive as it shudders and props open to a blank, but weathered page. Dipping a sharpened fountain pen in ink, she takes her mark upon the leathery parchment after a sip of her Bloodied delicacy. Not a moment later for us, the innocent-minded folks living upon the streets above, she describes to us her next devilish machination.
Even if he dealt the killing blow to the bandits he once led, the countryside were still rife with highwaymen. A popular nobleman had been captured in the town he was passing through. Fearing for their lord’s life, the townsmen gathered a militia to rescue him but none had the experience to lead men. Æscesne volunteered, confident his skills were able to lead them to victory. Finding them didn’t take long, and he made use of the professional hunters among the militia to silently eliminate the sentries. The others within their hideout were either sleeping or in a drunken stupor. It was child’s play to kill them. The noble was saved.
He expected a reward for his feat and he wasn’t disappointed when the noble offered one in gratitude. Though he was a noble and was the lord of the town, he wasn’t rich. It was clear by the way the noble dressed that he didn’t live an opulent lifestyle. Regardless, Æscesne received payment. He was given a few coins for his trouble and the invitation to a ball in Lady Cecily Derington’s honor.
Perhaps, to some, the invitation to a noble house’s party was not much a reward. However, for a shrewd, calculating, and, most importantly, ambitious young man like Æscesne, it was a payment he definitely wanted. Though he wasn’t famous by any means, he bribed several travelers to spread rumors of a wandering tactician. For the bards that entertained the patrons of taverns, Æscesne gave them a tale of a warrior who defeated bandits by wit than brawn. Both this rumored tactician and fictitious warrior went by the name of Æscesne. If he could capitalize on this by the time he reached city where the ball was to be held, he wouldn’t be out of place and would be received relatively warmly. Most nobles hardly knew of warfare and strife, and being glamorized and romanticized by them would help him tremendously socially.
It took roughly a day before he reached the city that hosted the ball. Æscesne tried to gather information on the hosts of the party, but he only knew the reasons why the ball was being held, that Lord and Lady Derington were talented warriors, and that Lady Cecily was their favored child and was also an attractive woman that was set to be leading her first military command. The last reason intrigued him greatly. A plan began to form.
Æscesne spent the days leading up to the ball preparing. While a social event could hardly be considered a battlefield, he treated it as such. And like any battle, it paid to be ready. He spent a majority of the money he received for betraying his former bandit group on clothing. He made sure to get fine enough clothing for a career military officer but wouldn’t offend any noble by appearing to be an upstart. He would also spend days observing nobles, trying to get a feel on how they talked, acted, stood, and so on and so forth. Æscesne needed all the information he could get.
When the time finally came, he was ready. Dressed in a long, black coat that mimicked the fashion of low nobility and an officer, Æscesne marched up towards the entrance of the ball in a strong, confident gait. His apple-colored hair was swept back, complimenting the sharp features of his face such as his aquiline nose and eyes. He dressed the epitome of impeccability while keeping in line with the cultivated soldier image he wanted to be remembered for. It helped that his black clothing drew the eye as it clashed with the colored clothing of other partygoers. When the doorman announced his name, he continued to carry with him the self-assurance that his ambitions will be realized.
As he planned, he was approached by several curious people. Æscesne never turned anyone away, and he gave each a smile that drew them in. He remained polite, answering some of their questions patiently. For the soldiers and men, he relayed them with fantastical stories of his experiences, exaggerating a few details and removing his failures. For the young ladies and women, he played the role of a dashing man. Æscesne complimented them, subtly flirting with some that acted more overtly than others. It was clear from their starry eyes that they hoped to be invited for a dance, but he didn’t bring up the question. They were not his targets tonight. Eventually, as the hours waned, conversation with him dwindled as more guests arrived, and he took this chance to retreat. He was thrilled. Things were going swell.
He rested beside a man in glasses. Æscesne watched him earlier talking to other guests, and each one would walk off with unsatisfied expressions. Though it was only an assumption on his part, the man, whom he learned was named Lowell, seemed closed off and guarded. Perhaps he didn’t enjoy the interaction this ball provided? Æscesne couldn’t blame him. Though he was polite as ever and seemed to be well-liked by those he spoke to, that didn’t mean there were some that afforded the same to him. Even if he felt pride with his race for their resiliency and versatility, there were many individuals among them that were just fools.
“Excuse me,”he greeted Lowell, faintly smiling with warmth. “You’re Lowell Ostermarker, correct? I’m Æscesne. I hear that you’re an archaeologist. Is it really true that there are countless unmarked dungeons out there to explore?”
Dorian groaned in an exasperated fashion under the hot sun of the plains that most Aslandi called home. He didn't want to be here. He hated the dry heat of the southeast, much preferring the sea air of his home port. In fact, if it hadn't been a repayment for a favor that he owed to the man who'd originally been contacted by the Aslandi to help them with these poachers, he wouldn't be within multiple miles of the place. But, he had bailed Dorian out of a rather large jam, and his leg had been badly damaged in the process. Filling in for him was the least the Sea Cat could do. Besides which, poachers who were crafty enough to exploit his race's culture like this were bound to offer a greater challenge than the gangs back home. And what did Dorian live for, if not a challenge?
Thus far, little of interest had happened. He and another poacher hunter, this one a large and ferocious Aslandi who, like Dorian, was odd in his own way for their species. Aeloshir Goldmane was his name, and he and Dorian had been talking about whatever caught their fancy; themselves, their hobbies, their experiences, things of that nature. Things took a sudden turn, however, when another oddity amongst the village turned up. A Tav'Salan, one of the rabbit folk, came up behind them, her anklet bells softly signaling her arrival, and asked them a question about whether or not they were there to hunt like she was. Something in her voice made Dorian's ears prick upwards; he knew that voice. He whipped his head around to look at its origin, and when he beheld her face his eyes went wide. Dorian Salttail never forgot face nor voice of those he took a liking to, and even years later he was like to greet such people as if they had met only the day before.
"Yvanna? Is that you?"
Already certain of his answer, he plucked the apple- gala, he noticed, as it was his favorite- out of the air and threw his arms around her. Her bewilderment made it awkward, however, so he released her and held out the apple for her to take back... only to snatch it back when she tried.
"Oh come now, don't tell me you've forgotten me! Dorian? Dorian Salttail? The little alley cat that you gave that apple to last time you snuck out to the port? How have you been? You must tell me!"
For our next friend, we travel to a world within a world where the mists grow thick.
Pale blades of tall grass blow wistfully in the moonlight upon the sacred clearing where our next member resides. It is but a whisper of the wind, or the ripple upon the stillness of a pond that gives away the movement of our old friend, SliceandDice. Subtlety and Combat are his preferences, choosing to strike from the shadows when his aversary least expects it. Using swords, daggers, poisons and Shakespearean prose as his weapons of choice. Donning a hood that hides the golden color of his eyes, a dark scar upon his cheek tells tales of conflicts past, of triumphs and tribulations. With a scowl over a stubbled chin, he goes about his devout work feverishly, insuring that no impurities stray to which they don't belong. Taking from those who have far too much, and giving to those who have far too little, the overwatch he now is to the scoundrels of society has become a feared whisper among those corrupt. With their last sight being a flash of metal that lays their windpipe open to the nighttime sky. He goes about his work for us by dabbling the tip of a fountain pen in fine ink and a sip of Rum, fervently guiding his instrument across the paper in haphazard yet concise lines, he spins for us the visions he sees. ~By Trouble
Ah, what a wonderful day on the plains were the thoughts that went through Aeloshir's mind as he took a deep breath. Their openness, with no dense woods or bogs, made them a perfect place for a straightforward hunt. No trickery, just pure physical contest of power. And the heat! Oh, by the Skull Throne, the heat makes the blood run faster and spill out from the wounds more; it heightens the passion and makes the whole ordeal more enjoyable! To make everything even better there was quarry to be had! Well, poachers aren’t a very glamorous prey, but it’s better than nothing and the Blood God demands blood to be spilled. All the better Aeloshir would get paid for it.
He would also have companions for this task. Aeloshir has been speaking with one of them, another aslandi called Dorian, for a while. To the priest’s eyes the sea cat was a bit odd for a member of their race, but it didn’t matter to Aeloshir. After all, most aslandi would consider him a weirdo as well. The conversation they had was a relaxing and fun affair. Nothing makes people bond faster like a few jokes and talk about one’s travels over a bottle of booze.
Shortly afterwards the last member of their poacher hunting warpack. It was a pretty Tav’Salan girl with a beautiful voice spoken with the peculiar accent of her race, making her whole appearance alluring. It seemed as if Dorian knew her, but it was the first meeting for the young priest.
“Hello there pretty lady!” Aeloshir spoke cheerfully with his usual roaring voice, announcing his good mood. “I am Aeloshir Goldmane, proud servant of the Blood God, and yes, this is indeed the hunting pack assembled by the aslandi of this town to hunt down those pesky poachers! Please treat me well, hahahaha!”
The air is acrid with smoke, ash rains from the sky. The forest is dead, decaying, decomposing. Only the mangled skeletons of trees, petrified in ash. Beams of light spear through the black sky, burning, searing. The creature hurtles through the forest, branches and boughs splintering into dust, as it cuts through the dead brush.
The creatures eyes are red and maddened, its pupils contracted to a dot. It is a grotesque shape, somewhere in between a man, a wolf and a bat. Its flesh lumpy and gelataneous, as if it has not yet fixed into a shape. The beast's maw, salivates heavily, its fangs glistening in the sunlight. Its skin blackens and smokes as a ray of light bounces off it.
The creature howls in rage and hunger, and bounds on. It is maddend by a singular overwhelming hunger driving it forward and onwards. HUNgry bLOOD FooD DrINK FLesh BLOoD HunGry FooD. Thoughts tumbled through the creatures tattered mind, however an influence subtle but strong held the pieces together. The influence guided the creature deeper into the forest.
THUMP….. THUMP….. THUMP. The creature heard it that beautiful sound. A beating heart, and then as it drew nearer, the blood gushing through veins. The creatures yelped with gleee. The drums of the heart multiplied and quickened. There were oh so many hearts, all hidden in this corner of the forest.
He blasted out into the clearing, catching hold of his prey. He heard a shrill cry, one of many. He didnt care instead with, single swipe of his hands, or claws, he tore out the heart. With fervent glee he squeezed every drop of blood into his mouth. He smiled with ecstatic glee. VUN, he thought.
He cocked his head and turned to the other heartbeats, now spreading out into the forest. TWO he counted, as tore out another heart. He caught it in a single bound. The blood only drove hime deeper into a frenzy.
His next prey was faster scampering off into the brush. The beast loped in after the it, its mouth contorted in a toothy smile, half joyous half hungry. With a gigantic leap, he blasted into the sky for a short glide. His wings were not formed yet. Still he landed atop the the creature. Shlink, with a smooth motion his, claws extended, their razor edges extending slowly.
With almost a careless motion he slowly opened the its, throat. Warm wonderful blood came gushing out. The beast greedily lapped up every last drop, gulping down this red ambrosia with fervor. TREE it counted. Then with a joyous howl it laughed into the hollow sky, AH AH AH AH HA HA HA …...
Orbin walked down the street with a jaunty bounce in his step. He was finally going to be able to get out and meet people and he was quite happy about it. As he made his way to the docks he realized that he didn't have any idea as to were he might get supplies, and stood there thinking for a minute. Since he had never been to Miro'Isa before he didn't really know where to start, but assumed that it was probably the place with the most people, so he headed that way.
On his way to the docks he heard people talking about a giant of a man that had recently past through, but from the descriptions that people were giving he was having a hard time believing what he was hearing. Ignoring the rumors he was hearing he continued on to what he hoped was the market district.Turning a corner he saw a sign saying "The Blacksmith".
"Hmm... not a very creative name." He muttered to himself, then he paused and thought about the name of his parents shop "Ironhammer Metalworkers Emporium of Excellence", and decided that maybe simpler was better.
He was about to walk past the shop when he stop and turned to go in, because he realized that while he had a shield and axe that he'd taken with him instead of delivering it to his parents shop like he was supposed to, he had neglected to bring any armor.
Going into the shop, Orbin took two steps and then came to an abrupt halt. Before him stood the tallest person he had ever seen, which may not be saying a lot considering he didn't get out much, but this person had to be at least twice his height. The biggest downside to being half the size of someone is probably the situation that Orbin found himself in, having a giants ass right in his face was not something he had expected to happen, at least not this early in his adventure.
Taking a step back, he looked around to see if anybody had seen him look like an idiot and was convinced he was in the clear. Deciding to occupy himself until the giant in front of him was done with their purchase, he looked at the items they had to offer. Looking at some of the leather armor that had out for display he tsked to himself and shook his head in disapproval. He found the workmanship on most of the armor to be lacking, at least for a Pumilo, and assumed it was worse for the rest of the shop, since this was the stuff they had out to draw in customers.
Sighing in resignation grabbed he the best piece he could find and wished he had remembered to pack some armor from home. Unfortunately it was too late now, so all he could do was make the best of what he's got, so he turned to wait to make his purchase.
Impatient as she was for a reply, the Princess' expression turned from one of nonchalant poise to surprise as one of the two peculiar ones turned to look at her. Blinking bewilderedly in his direction as is own eyes rapidly changed to one of excitement at her arrival, he even called her name and snatched away the apple she had bought in midair! Knowing her name was a commonplace thing, but to the extent of this familiarity and formality, it was certainly not! Cringing slightly as the embrace might have been tighter than her slender, fragile frame might like to admit, the Red Mage looked perplexed at the Aslandi who had hugged her.
Watching the oddly familiar apple she had bought rise and fall while the tailed one tossed it up and down, her focus sharply changed as he proclaimed his offended state that she didn't remember him. Narrowing her eyes and studying him, Yvanna stared at him curiously for a moment
"To my mother's city, you have not." She murmured softly at first, trying to deduce where she had met him. Quickly she deduced that she hadn't been outside the city since the time at...THE DOCKS! The one place where she had run into trouble almost immediately upon her beginning adventure into the world. The first place where she had partook in kindness to a stranger. A stranger also had peculiarly colored hair and a tail. A stranger that looked just like the one that stood disappointedly before her now!
"Oh! Once I met you!" The Tav'Salan proclaimed excitedly, pointing at the wily Aslandi thief. "Once you helped me flee from trouble! Remember I do now! Never did I thank you proper." Bowing her head dejectedly, Yvanna looked up apologetically at him from beneath the crimson brim of her hat miserably. "Sorry for that I am." Folding her tall ears slightly, she glanced at the apple, and then at him for a moment with a rapid change into a jubilant and radiant smile. So beautiful was it, that it seemed to simply shine in such a dreary little village. "Keep apple, as my gratitude! Not much it is, but is best I can muster now. When you visit my home, proper reward will be given!"
"Here to hunt then, yes?" She inquired, beaming as a result, only to have the other Aslandi finally join the little conversation. Having to crane her neck slightly just to look up at him, she looked a little befuddled about the mention of the God he served. She had read books and stories about those who served the Good of Iron and Crimson, and of their brutality and feral tendencies in combat. Yet this one seemed the opposite! Well mannered, with a kind and warm personality.
Only naturally, she would return with a nod of her own, even if she had to stand upon the tips of her toes so that her ears came level with his eyes. "You have already heard, I'm sure. My name is Yvanna, Here to hunt as well I am, sorry that I do not appear to be much. To meet you is a pleasure, good priest."
Now at last we come full circle, back to the hand whose graceful motions first began these tales. Our travels have taken us through town and tower, past glade and garden, through the mists of time and to all manner of locale, but we come to their end in the modern era. Specifically, we come to a loft apartment overlooking the Champs d'Elysees in Paris, France, wherein resides Trouble herself. Some would call her temptress, others know her as charming minx, but nobody dares deny that the lady is possessed of great beauty. As she sits at her writing desk with a fine tipped pen and ink well at hand, a city breeze enters through the nearby open window. The wind causes her raven-colored hair to stir briefly in it before resuming its cascades down to her shoulders, where it briefly touches the angled straps of the midnight blue dress that adorns her well-defined form. With a gentle sip from the thin-mouthed glass of champagne that accompanies her forays onto the pages, she turns her brilliant emerald eyes back to the swirling words she has already put into place. Before she continues on, she checks over her work to ensure that no detail is left unknown, no letter out of its place. For in her passages, as in the mystic runes with which she channels the primordial forces of the world, each stroke is vital and no variance is tolerated. Content with what she has written, the sorceress lays down her writing instrument and makes her way to the balcony. With a breath of the evening air and a wave of her hand, the only decision that remains is what spells she shall weave this night.
"...I'm looking for my weapon." Einar said. "Who is the best blacksmith in the world?" The poor pumilo behind the counter was as confused as he was short. For the longest while he wrestled with an answer to the half-giants question and statement.
At first he thought the giant was accusing him of stealing something -- which he hasn't done since reaching maturity several decades ago. Now, buying stolen items... Well, that was another accusation entirely. And one that the older pumilo would deny entirely, unless threatened with torture of course. As for the question...
"Look son," the pumilo merchant spat finally before literally spitting into a bucket. "I'm guessing the air is mightily thin up there and that's why you've sauntered all up in here all confused and confounded like, but I will have you know good sir that every piece in this shop was hand-crafted by Master Rongbi Goldbeard III himself! If someone did steal your weapon, sir, then they would know better than to try and sell that to us," the merchant finished by stabbing the counter with his finger, which now hurt a little bit.
"As for who the greatest blacksmith is in the world... Well, that depends on who you ask. See, every country has it's favorite. If you're asking me, which I do believe you are, then I'd be obliged to tell you the truth, which is that there is none greater than Lord Kastor himself! Now that pumilo is undoubtedly a master smith! I tell you sir, he knows how to work metal! That man," the merchant leaned in a bit closer so as not to make the next client blush, "he knows how to forge a set of armor and weapons with the sort of ease that it would take you or I to make a baby! Hahahahah."
Atrophy and Falis: Home Sweet Home I
"Ladies!" Lord Varcool, their host, coed jovially once Falis and Atrophy had finally entered the estate. Raising his obese arms above his head and crown, he summoned Falis to the grand hall where she had been instructed to wait. It was obvious to him that she was a problem that needed done away with. Toys that no longer functioned and all that jazz.
"Please, PLEASE! Don't. Get. Up!" he sang as he sashayed down the stairs at the opposite end of the room. Varcool was a slug-like demon with a hundred, obese little arms that moved in unison along his body like the legs of a millipede. He had no real feet to speak of and so was carried along instead by what seemed like a thousand, malnourished souls. Of course, sitting on top of his equally obese, little head was a fabulous crown of screaming souls. "The master will be with you shortly. Please allow me to apologize in his absence," Lord Varcool finished with a dip and a bow that sent his many, tiny arms rippling along his body and seemed to break more than a few of his 'legs'.
"Ah! Atrophy, my dear!" Varcool gushed once he was in spitting range of the demon. "How. Long. Has it been?" Each pause was accentuated with a faux-kiss to each of Atrophy's pale cheeks. "Oh, it's been an age AND a century since we've gone slaughtering together. How have you been? Everyone always asks for you when we invade a new world!" Once Falis was summoned, she was promptly ignored.
Of course earning favour with the master was a game, everyone knew it, but Falis wasn't even trying anymore. Trash. She was acting like one of those annoying, little mortals they feed one, "Oh noes, I stubbed my toes! How ever will I carry on with life?!" So dramatic. Varcool wondered briefly -- because thoughts of her were just that fleeting to him -- how much longer it would be before he was allowed to break her open and feast on the guts before sucking the marrow from her bones.
Lowell and Æscesne: The Awkward First Date I
"Countless unmarked dungeons? Now that seems like a bit much, wouldn't you say gentleman?" Sir Bryland Reach interrupted. "Please forgive me, where are my manners tonight. Bryland Reach at your service. It is a pleasure to meet you both," the man said with a short bow before he offered his hand to both men.
Bryland was a knight in the service of one of the visiting dignitaries, though one wouldn't have guessed his status by how modestly he was dressed. He had cropped, blonde hair and a scar running across his nose which seemed to underscore his blue eyes. Surprisingly, though he was only in his early thirties, Bryland's face was already peppered in laugh lines, wrinkles, and hints of grey hair.
"Forgive my intrusion gentlemen, I simply couldn't help myself. You see, my father was something of an adventurer himself. I believe the proper term is 'Grave Robber'," Bryland joked. "Please, forgive my dark humour -- but do tell, are there still secret deposits of wealth worth discovering?"
Count: Two-One-Zero I
Gliding softly above the grey and white ash that covered the ground as her children hunted the vile pests boldly known as 'Vampire Hunters', Carmilla the Bloody was pleasantly surprised with the speed and ferocity with which these new hatchlings moved. Already they had exceeded her expectations and now, with tonight's scourge, her plans would no doubt proceed years ahead of schedule.
Overall, her children were still just that. And all signs seemed to confirm that there was no amount of improvements which could be made that would sharpen that curve. For the next few months, they would be slaves to their thirst. She needed an army. Today. Now! At this rate however, it would be at least another 300 yrs. before her forces were ready to strike.
Unleashing her blood magic, Carmilla drew the corpses of the hunters together as well as every fresh drop of blood wasted, into a single point. There they were compressed into near nothing. The blood released this way like a no living thing anyone had ever seen. It was like a living, red river that danced in the air before funneling itself between Carmilla's gold-tipped fangs and into her stomach.
"Mmm," she commented. "A bit of maymoon, kertenkelen and... Tav'Salan! Such a unique flavour. I must remember to place an order with the butcher when we get back. It'll be tricky to replicate the taste, but I think pregnant bunny might just be my new favorite seasoning," she smiled wickedly from beneath her blood red cloak.
Much of Carmilla was hidden under said cloak, with only her hands, face and cleavage visible. All of which were snow white and as smooth as porcelain. The cloak itself was decorated in black runes for protection and enhancement. On her fingers and around her neck, she wore gold jewelry in the shape of fanged skulls. Her hair was as black as sin and her eyes were as red as her lips. Carmilla made almost every other female maymoon turned vampire look like underdeveloped child.
"Come now children, we still have a village to decimate."
To counter the furnaces built by the undead, the neighboring maymoon kingdom had wind turbines constructed to halt the spread of the ash clouds. The maymoons seemed to think that this would keep them safe but Carmilla would teach them otherwise. Striking deep into the heart of their territory with her new children, she would send them a very clear and deadly message -- their time was over. The name of the village didn't matter and certainly wouldn't after tonight. What did matter were the forty-one families living there, roughly a hundred souls that would vanish into the night and never be seen from again.
“It's all about Power."
"Grabbing it. Keeping it. Using It."
"Power is our currency, our DNA... Our God.”
"We control the World."
"We provide the blueprint. And we give the Instructions."
The small-talk and pleasantries was broken by the arrival of an old Tiger-like Aslandi. He looked wise and mellow but there was something about his whole countenance that firmly conveyed the fact that this one had partaken in a lot of hunts during his lifetime. He wore his scars like proud jewels, true to his Aslandian pride. There was a large claw swipe that ran through half of his maw, covered a bit by an eye-patch that he wore to cover his eye. His ear was also missing and his fangs were bared. He was a strange mix of savagery and sagacity.
"I thank you all for coming to the aid of the Dhrangirs on such short notice. I, Dee'aar, promise to reward you handsomely for your troubles. Our scouts have reported that at the west-end of this beautiful savannah, a wild group of poachers have set camp. The grass grows quiet high in that area and coupled with the bamboo thickets sprinkled in that area, there exact location is not known." he paused, his voice heavy and even. Before a frustrated growl emerged from him as he added the later part.
"Had it not been for the Hunter's moon, I would gone there personally to butcher the vermin who think they can run amok in my territory. But, you would not been going there blind." he said before motioning for a lithe leopard like Aslandi walk in.
"Nua here, shall be your tracker in locating these fools. Have a good hunt and join us for a grand feast." he finished before slowly walking away from the gathering.
"Let's get on with it." Nua said curtly, a cold solemnity emanating from her as she picked her spear and got ready. The gathered party chattered amongst themselves as they followed her out of the village and onto the trail.
Spoiler
The Warpack has 7 members including the PCs. You are free to control NPCs for this turn. There is a Wolf Aslandi, a Lizard like Kertekelen, Nua and a boar like Aslandi.
You are on a typical trail on the grassland, heading westwards towards the mountains. There is a sparse forest at the horizon and a few visible thickets of Bamboos from afar.
Quick posts welcomed. Next post is where the shit goes down. Brace yourself.
Also, bear with the quality of this Update. My first time.Thanks to Naifu.
Through the vast entity that is the Internet, we now find ourselves in an unfamiliar place. A place of new faces, new personalities, and new adventurers alike. This place is the new home of our motley crew, and it is called Batoto. Here, as we meander through bustling streets and cobblestone draped markets, we find the first new person we will meet this day. Diabolical Rhapsody. What is so curious and is immediately the most noticeable thing about this shy soul is his height. Towering over eight feet high and sporting a two-handed mace that weighs more than some men, one would expect this scraggly bearded giant to be a savage barbarian. Yet those who dare try to scratch the surface a touch soon find a kind soul who so earnestly aims to please. Accompanying the vodka that he drinks and sings softly to is a pen quill made of the finest eagle's feather. His tools of imagination and creation, the studious giant fervently writes his passages for us all to see.
As she reached her final destination, Falis felt something repulsive in her presence, the feeling proved true when that thing appeared, Lord Varcool. The two of them never really got along with each other, then again, Falis always ignored his presence, clearly sending him the message that he wasn't worth her time. It was trash like him that helped in her thinking that Realm of hers was hideously boring and would stay as such. She was instructed to wait in the Grand hall, she could tell Varcool was forcing himself with the greeting. With a snicker, she took her place and waited. Apparently the master hasn't arrived yet and will be arriving soon. It was no problem, after all, living in this realm for this long one has nothing but time on ones hands.
She took out a book and began writing something down in it when she takes note of another woman who was there before her. So this must be the Atrophy I heard so much about. Taking a moment to check her out, she went back to writing coordinates and such in the book, paying no mind to the others. After all, it wasn't Varcool she served. He was some bottom feeding scum that will do whatever it takes to move up and obtain more power. He probably expects all under the master to be mindlessly obedient and to kiss as much ass as posible to curry favor but not Falis. The master can always find brainless bimbos anywhere, I'd imagine it'd be boring to have a servant/subordinate that doesn't have a mind of their own.
Well, it doesn't matter either way. It doen't need to be said that Varcool dreams to kill and doing away with Falis and that thought alone amuses her. If the time comes when he finally takes action, she'll be more than fine with it. Maybe before she makes her leave from this realm, she can treat herself by dissecting that worm and feeding him to the lesser demons. Hell, maybe even to the mortals. Now wouldn't that be amusing? With a grin, she continued writing.
While we fade away from the bustling market where our benevolent giant resides, we spend what seems to be endless hours winding through the unfamiliar cobblestone streets. Slithering through the labyrinth of darkened streets and narrow passages until in this expansive city, we reach a place where the light rarely touches. There, beneath a fickle and flickering lamp, sitting upon her throne that marks her the queen of the underworld with a cunning and seductive smile is none other than I-Am-X. Calmly observing us with a yellowed iris beset upon harrowing black, her fanged grin only grows wider as her fingertip guides the rod that stirs a tall, thin glass of suspicious looking Red Wine. Here in the Dark, we exist temporarily in her Kingdom. A place where the unsavory sorts can find sanctuary, a black market, and often the tools of death, subtlety, and subterfuge.
Sliding her sultry fingertip upon the spine of a book, the tome seems almost alive as it shudders and props open to a blank, but weathered page. Dipping a sharpened fountain pen in ink, she takes her mark upon the leathery parchment after a sip of her Bloodied delicacy. Not a moment later for us, the innocent-minded folks living upon the streets above, she describes to us her next devilish machination.
With the arrival of Lord Varcool, Lady Atrophy cast her book aside with some small reticence as she changed the center of her focus to the demon approaching. He was ever a good gauge to measure your current standing and seemed at least that Atrophy remained in the good graces of the Lord's court. Did that bring her pleasure? No, but it did allow her some space to do as wished without the distraction of court politics for a time. It was exactly because of her standing that she hadn't seen the little worm in some time. Ohh, that was a bit unfair of her wasn't it. He had his uses and he served as well as anyone could. Varcool always acted as you'd expect a demon to and was exactly as good as you would expect at it. He was a demon who'd lived far longer than she and that time had bred a certain set of routines into his actions. Routines meant he was predictable. Course, the Lady Atrophy didn't need to know those routines to have spotted his annoyance with Falis.
She gave a pleasant smile as she surveyed their interactions. It pleased her to see someone annoy him just as it amused her to see someone act so thoughtlessly. It was her first time meeting the Lord's other favorite and the sight of her didn't really give her any answers. Falis looked about as she might of expected with an air of wild impatience that seemed so rampant among the younger denizens of the realm. What was far more interesting was the insight it gave into the Lord that had elevated her to such esteem. That was a thought for another though. A puzzle so juicy needed to wait until she had the proper space to experience it. She needed to give Varcool her attention now. Some of it at least.
"Varcool, darling, has it truly? It seems like only yesterday...," Atrophy sighed as let herself drift back to the invasions of yesteryear. Shining stars in an otherwise endless dark nothing. "Now, there you go again filling me up with praise. I do hope I don't disappoint." She played the giddy part. They both knew the words were as empty as a demon's promise but that was part of the game. "Is the invasion truly so close? Has the time come again at long last?"
Edited by Wandering Rogue, 20 February 2015 - 02:25 AM.
It took a while for Cecilia to notice her finger continuing to twirl the thin strand of brown hair that curled past her left ear. She had been lost in thought again after hearing another rumor, this one about a girl of 16 years feared to be with child. Her parents had fervently searched all day for a count or baron willing to agree to a matrilineal marriage with one of their younger sons. However, only a fat knight in the employ of House Derington took them up on their offer. In total, Cecilia had heard 3 accounts of wives killing their husband's mistress, 6 new backroom betrothals, and a particularly strange turn of events that had led to a court jester being found in bed with his baron. A lot of yarn would be spent to cover multiple bulletin boards and track all of the noble gossip and intrigue.
High above, the golden chandeliers continued to cast down a soft light into the packed ballroom. Even though the room felt like it could contain a mansion, too many people had crammed in for the Cecily Derington's coming-of-age birthday. Music and dancers still flowed with night in sections of the room, places that Cecilia still had not been to.
Moving through the crowds, Cecilia continued to keep an eye out for the other SWTF detectives sent here. The entire day she had been unable to find any of her squad and even with the children being shipped off to bed, her pursuit had been futile. She would have enjoyed spending a little more time playing hide 'n seek with the kids, but now she had to focus. The chief had been asked by the Deringtons to send 4 of the best SWTF detectives. He seemed mystified that they wanted officers though, telling Cecilia to be on her guard here and not pull any of her usual antics. So far, she had been on her best behavior.
A raised eyebrow followed a curt nod Cecilia gave to the nearby guard. This had happened multiple times today, probably due to the her current attire. A long flowing dark blue dress with rich embroidery that mirrored waves on the sea rolled down past her feet. Two satin white gloves reached up her arms, covering her lean biceps, and blending her in with the aristocratic girls. No earrings or jewellery, but to complete her outfit, she had decided to pull her hair out of the usual braids. Instead, her light brown hair now fell down and cascaded over her exposed shoulders. Clothes thankfully paid for by the department were getting their full use tonight.
However, two things gave away the reason for her participation at this ball. Close to her right hip, lay a slight bulge in the dress: her Fidelis and one extra clip of ammunition smuggled in. The second tip-off to any keen observant would have been the absence of her footsteps. Thankfully, the dress had been long enough to hide her combat boots. What was the motto of the Super Detective Club, again? Always be prepared? And prepared she was.
Raising her hand up, Cecilia yawned. It was getting late and the main character of the night still had not appeared. Might as well grab a bite to eat with the time still remaining before the final event of the night.
Lowell grimaced. It was a comfortable expression for him, and one which he wore well. He was certain that if people weren't so off put by it, they would tell him it made him look rather dashing.
"You're well informed," he said dryly, but before he could continue, he was interrupted. Lowell rolled his eyes and leaned back into the wall behind him. Sir Bryland Reach certainly could go on.
"I suppose it depends on what you mean by wealth. If you mean simply material wealth--gold and jewels and what have you--then of course. But if you mean capital of a more intellectual nature--history, language, science, and medicine--well... also yes."
It turns out that it really didn't depend on what Sir Bryland meant by wealth.
"How else do you suppose I make my living? I would rather die than be forced into some plebeian profession, and I'm certainly no soldier," Lowell said rudely.
"Is the invasion truly so close? Has the time come again at long last?" Lady Atrophy questioned Lord Varcool.
"Yes," came an almost whisper of a reply before Varcool could answer. Instantly the large, worm-like demon fell to the ground in a silent bow. "All of the pieces are in place. The circle is nearly complete." The center of the room rippled like water then as a bald head suddenly appeared, followed closely by the rest of it's equally nude body.
To any casual onlooker, it would have seemed as if the archdemon was slowly walking up a flight of stairs through a liquid surface. In reality, he was warping space all around him. The archdemon in question was modest looking for a demon, almost maymoon in size and form, minus their smelly fur and eyes. His eyes were devoid of lids and utterly dark. His mouth was equally hollow, devoid of a tongue, teeth or anything. It was all black, as if a living shadow had dressed itself in maymoon skin.
The only clothing the archdemon seemed to be wearing was a hoodless, black cloak with sleeves, loosely worn across his shoulders. The cloak was open down the front, revealing his crotchless form and naked feet. Behind him, the long cloak touched the floor and left a trail of inky that was as black as the archdemon's own eyes and mouth. Watching him slowly approach was like watching a bride walk down the isle, removing all color from the ground beneath him with each step.
"That however, is not entirely why I have summoned you both to stand at my side."
Both ladies quickly took their positions on either side of the archdemon as he lead them through a wall that instantly ceased to exist. Varcool followed closely behind them, careful not to step on his master's cloak or it's train. Behind the wall was a room with what appeared to be a stable rift in time and space, just large enough for a mid level demon to pass though and enter a mortal world. Such things were extremely rare since most demons hop into them instantly, sealing the rift behind them -- a natural result of them using one. The fact that the archdemon had one and was able to keep it a secret was almost unbelievable.
While Atrophy and Falis stood before the tear in space, the archdemon continued walking past it as if it was something he had seen countless times before. Instead he waved his hand as he moved and three-quarters of the room vanished, revealing a universe outside, one filled with stars, moons and planets. The closest planet to them looked as if it had been hit with an asteroid, violently expelling precious earth, water and gasses back into the vacuum of space as a result. In truth, it was merely the latest world to be conquered by the archdemon's forces.
"The portal you see before you leads to a fresh, new world. One ripe for plunder. The portal however is only large enough for one or two," the archdemon said with his back to the girls. "I thought you'd both like to take it, see for yourselves how these mortals live before they are eternally undone."
Lady Cecily: Playing With One's Sword I
"Good heavens," Lady Thomasine Derington gasped upon finding her daughter training outside in the southern courtyard. "Look what you've done to my beautiful clothes!"
"My Lady," Sir Lazarus squeaked in surprise, as he spun around. "Forgive me, my Lady. I tried to stop her, but..."
"Shush now Lazarus," Lady Cecily replied cheekily before turning to greet her mother. "Hello Mother! If I may remind you, you gave these clothes to me. So technically speaking, I do believe that makes them MINE now."
It was late in the afternoon and Lady Cecily Derington had elected to take a short break from her own birthday party to rest for a bit. On the surface it sounded rude but the way the lady had it figured, since her parents were the ones who had decided, without her permission, to turn her birthday party into an event, one that would last the whole day and force her to rub elbows with some of the more tiresome people in the realm... Well, she figured that it was more their party than hers and in that case, she would hardly be missed or needed.
Her mind made, Cecily and her shield, Sir Lazarus Gryffen III, quickly snuck away to the training yard near the rear of the estate. It was a magical place filled with all sorts of wonders such as weapon racks, training dummies and an obstacle course. All in all, the southern court yard was her second favorite place on this estate.
Not bothering to change out of her formal wear, a bit tired by this point of all of the costume changes she had been forced to go through so far today, Lady Cecily instead opted to make some quick, tactical changes to the silk shirt and dress she was wearing by making several cuts here and there. By the time her mother had found her, after about an hour or two worth of heavy sparring, her remained of her clothes were now drenched in sweat, mud and oil.
"Technically speaking, my dear daughter, as your entire being was once part of my own -- flesh of my flesh as they say -- and also considering that since you still live beneath MY roof," Lady Derington said as she inspected her daughter for injuries. "Well, I do believe that simple fact supersedes any of your claim of rights."
"Ahh. My, dear Mother," Lady Cecily teased as her mother tried to re-button her ruined shirt so Lazarus didn't have as an easy of a time ogling her naked flesh. "I remember well how you used to separate Elis and I when we were younger."
"Hush child. You know very well that your brother doesn't appreciate you embarrassing him like that in mixed company. More importantly, you're presence is requested in the grand hall. So I want you to head back to your room, shower, change, and then meet your father and I at the top of the center stairs."
"Oh Mother," Cecily pleaded. "Must I really..?"
"Yes, dear. Yes, you REALLY must. Sir Lazarus," Lady Thomasine greeted the knight. "I hope I can count on you this time to safely see that my daughter is where she needs to be and not where she wants to be?"
"Yes! Yes, of course my Lady. Forgive me, my Lady." Sir Lazarus apologized sheepishly.
Lowell and Æscesne: The Awkward First Date II
"How else do you suppose I make my living? I would rather die than be forced into some plebeian profession, and I'm certainly no soldier," Lowell said.
"Forgive me my friend but most artists make a decent living slapping colors across a canvas, which they then sell to nobles and call 'art'," Bryland laughed as he slapped Lowell painfully across the shoulder.
"I'm a simple man myself, and I only know how to place value on things I can touch between my fingers. Language, art and music," Bryland emphasized each one by pointing to the paintings on the wall and the band playing music in the corner.
"Those are things you can't touch. And in my humble opinion, that makes them worthless. I believe the same holds true for the secrets that one could glean from any dead species. Their wisdom certainly didn't help them, so why should it help us? There is no life to be gained by following in the footsteps of dead men, my friends!"
“It's all about Power."
"Grabbing it. Keeping it. Using It."
"Power is our currency, our DNA... Our God.”
"We control the World."
"We provide the blueprint. And we give the Instructions."
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