KittenMaster
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<*makes a note not to eat those cookies*>
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Navigating the Astral Sea: A NeoGAF Play-by-Post Pathfinder Game
- Thread starter ThLunarian
- Start date
DeadPhoenix
Member
((Well, now that's just rude.))
KittenMaster
Member
<Meanwhile my death is move of a movie screenwrite than actual writing in comparison SCENE 1 THIS HAPPENED - FADE TO SCENE 2 A SHOT OF ASTRAL SEA (GREENSCREEN CG)>
ThLunarian
Member
Ozzan'gac awakens, adrift in an eternal sea that is not quite made of water. Formless and ever-shifting, he finds that he is one with the ocean, and so he relinquishes all sense of purpose, content to go where the currents will carry him, incognizant of the world around him.
After a time - a day? A year? Eons? Who can say? -, he rouses to consciousness as he realizes he is being pulled away and separated from the warm, endless ocean.
As he notices what is happening, he suddenly finds himself in an enclosed space. His liquid form spreads thinly over the floor, like a nonsentient puddle of water would.
"Rise, Ozzan'gac," a female voice commands. "Your creator requires your service."
Once the water elemental has collected himself into a shape of some kind, the humanoid - a shapely woman, wearing robes and holding a staff - continues. "You do not know me," she begins. "I am Mystra, goddess of magic. I am the reason you were able to hold court for so long in the material realm, despite your summoned nature. You have wandered the Astral Sea for long enough; you are needed now."
She pauses for a moment and shifts her stance slightly. "The gods have deemed it necessary to form a body of enforcers, to aid the Raven Queen in her duties. You will join this body and serve to uphold the laws of the Astral Sea. What do you wish to know before I send you forth to represent me?"
KittenMaster
Member
Brought into the world to enforce peace- and kept in place to protect the monarchy, I have served selflessly and without objection to the wishes of the royal family of the ocean world. Decades of results I have brought staving off beasts and invaders, decades of standing present when the King hosts an audience with no failure to uphold order and shield the royal family.
It was as if I were mocked for my unblemished success on the glimmer of morning light, a meteor in the shape of a sea beast blotting the light above, an obstacle I could not prevent. It was as if I was set up to fail, yet I spend countless time in this purgatory questioning what I could have done differently; what I could have done differently to save everyone, and the royalty I had sworn to protect, from catastrophe.
Even now my punishment continues. I am a being capable of outlasting mermen and sahuagin lives greatly, and I have seen many days as uneventful as my continued drifting; but it was different... there were others to observe, a purpose to hold.. now in my new found waiting I have no purpose, rendered useless, and with no idle chatter to overhear. I am alone, and I have been defeated..
Where do I go? How do I get there? Will there be anyone...?
I invoked the only logical action after what seemed like an eternity of meshing with the ethereal waters of purgatory...
I cried for help.
It was as if I were mocked for my unblemished success on the glimmer of morning light, a meteor in the shape of a sea beast blotting the light above, an obstacle I could not prevent. It was as if I was set up to fail, yet I spend countless time in this purgatory questioning what I could have done differently; what I could have done differently to save everyone, and the royalty I had sworn to protect, from catastrophe.
Even now my punishment continues. I am a being capable of outlasting mermen and sahuagin lives greatly, and I have seen many days as uneventful as my continued drifting; but it was different... there were others to observe, a purpose to hold.. now in my new found waiting I have no purpose, rendered useless, and with no idle chatter to overhear. I am alone, and I have been defeated..
Where do I go? How do I get there? Will there be anyone...?
I invoked the only logical action after what seemed like an eternity of meshing with the ethereal waters of purgatory...
I cried for help.
Soon, the water as it is lifted from the Astral Sea pulls together into a crystal clear mass, glimmering from the light around it. Like a bubble, the water begins to expand, pull together and take shape.. The chosen form of Ozzang'ac makes itself revealed to the mystic goddess.
"Your... holiness.." the water elemental begins, mustering with his form what would constitute a confused and nearly frightened expression in wake of this new environment and what he was just told, "Your revelation has brought me many a question about myself, as is the question of the fate of my people."
ThLunarian
Member
"Your people do not yet exist," says Mystra. "Or they have been long gone. Or they are at the height of their civilization. Any and all are true. Time flows differently here.
"But the material realm is no longer your concern," she says dismissively. "Your fellow emissaries await you. There is one small matter I must see to before I send you away..."
She closes her eyes for a moment, and Ozzan'gac begins to tingle. His watery body now feels lighter than the air itself; it takes minor concentration just to stay planted on the ground.
"You would be at a disadvantage without the ability to take to the skies," she explains, "And so I have imbued you with the ability to fly. Use it well."
She looks Ozzan'gac in the eye and waits for him to speak, in case he has anything more to say.
"But the material realm is no longer your concern," she says dismissively. "Your fellow emissaries await you. There is one small matter I must see to before I send you away..."
She closes her eyes for a moment, and Ozzan'gac begins to tingle. His watery body now feels lighter than the air itself; it takes minor concentration just to stay planted on the ground.
"You would be at a disadvantage without the ability to take to the skies," she explains, "And so I have imbued you with the ability to fly. Use it well."
She looks Ozzan'gac in the eye and waits for him to speak, in case he has anything more to say.
KittenMaster
Member
Ozzang'ac's lower mass collects as he gently hoists into the air, pulling excess water into himself until he is a perfectly floating head. Troubled by the explanation given about the fate of his kingdom, he asks both unsure and hopefully, "I am not sure I grasp the ways of this new world yet... does time flowing differently mean that there is hope that I may find a way to save my people?"
Once he asks that, he follows with a declaration, "I am indebted to your holiness for rescuing me from the strange sea; it would only be just to accept the offer to serve you," After saying that, his tone changes to an uncertain one once more, "but... you said that you had 'created' me? Would that mean that you are like a.. 'mother' in a sense?" He looks up to her with a face whose expression is manually crafted, struggling to convey more than stoicism, "How can I be certain this is true?"
Once he asks that, he follows with a declaration, "I am indebted to your holiness for rescuing me from the strange sea; it would only be just to accept the offer to serve you," After saying that, his tone changes to an uncertain one once more, "but... you said that you had 'created' me? Would that mean that you are like a.. 'mother' in a sense?" He looks up to her with a face whose expression is manually crafted, struggling to convey more than stoicism, "How can I be certain this is true?"
ThLunarian
Member
Mystra frowns slightly. She was obviously not prepared to field such questions.
She takes a moment to respond.
"For you, saving your people is impossible. Most gods lack the power to do so, and those that wield such power would not use it for such a selfish pursuit. Rest easy to know there is nothing you could have done, nor anything you can do, to save them from destruction."
She pauses again to consider the other question.
"I suppose I could be viewed as your mother," she admits, "Though I think that's rather overcomplicating the truth of it. You see, Ozzan'gac, I have no emotional attachment to you. As a creature wrought by my hand and forever incapable of true ascension, you are quite frankly beneath me. But if it please you to consider me your mother - if it enhances your devotion to my desires - then so be it."
She takes a moment to respond.
"For you, saving your people is impossible. Most gods lack the power to do so, and those that wield such power would not use it for such a selfish pursuit. Rest easy to know there is nothing you could have done, nor anything you can do, to save them from destruction."
She pauses again to consider the other question.
"I suppose I could be viewed as your mother," she admits, "Though I think that's rather overcomplicating the truth of it. You see, Ozzan'gac, I have no emotional attachment to you. As a creature wrought by my hand and forever incapable of true ascension, you are quite frankly beneath me. But if it please you to consider me your mother - if it enhances your devotion to my desires - then so be it."
KittenMaster
Member
Disappointed in learning that even the strange nature of time won't open a possibility, Ozzang'ac is equally unprepared for the following answer given afterward. He had attempted to contextualize the nature of his creation in a way that he could understand, but it had seemed that it was a context of great emotional weight. Had any other creature been given such an honest declaration of detachment, they would have been crushed by it, but Ozzang'ac simply responds, "Very well... While I still have yet to understand the nature of my creation, it makes no difference. I may have been created for the express purpose of serving out this task, but I could have easily been chosen as well."
"I shall carry on this task, as I have no other greater purpose to fulfill."
"I shall carry on this task, as I have no other greater purpose to fulfill."
ThLunarian
Member
As if sensing Ozzang'ac's disappointment, Mystra clarifies. "Ozzang'ac, please know that as a creation of mine, I value you highly. Otherwise you would not have been chosen alone among my innumerable devout worshipers to carry out this task. Go forth, and know that your goddess holds you in the highest esteem."
So saying, Mystra waves her hand, and Ozzang'ac is immediately teleported to a large room, filled with a varied array of humanoids, magical constructs, and animals.
((End of Ozzang'ac's introduction. Next up, this Sunday, we'll have Nezumi, playing the part of Viss, the cat-warrior.
Edit: Maybe sooner than Sunday. We'll see))
So saying, Mystra waves her hand, and Ozzang'ac is immediately teleported to a large room, filled with a varied array of humanoids, magical constructs, and animals.
((End of Ozzang'ac's introduction. Next up, this Sunday, we'll have Nezumi, playing the part of Viss, the cat-warrior.
Edit: Maybe sooner than Sunday. We'll see))
KittenMaster
Member
<there is no escaping the water elemental head>
Axelhortsemchi
Member
((I feel like it's staring into my soul, silently judging me for playing an evil psychopath))
KittenMaster
Member
<only for stealing olidammara statuettes and beer>
KittenMaster
Member
<Joking aside, it just occurred to me that we don't know what house rules are in play, just character creation rules in the OP.>
ThLunarian
Member
((Nothing comes to mind, really. I'm scrapping the skill consolidation rules I had in my last game because they unnecessarily complicate things, plus Pathfinder already builds a lot of that in anyway. If there's something specific that you want clarification on then let me know))
KittenMaster
Member
<I know as much that a lot of houserules I made that grandfathered things from QftHR can be thrown out if you want since this is a new universe that can run off a fresh Pathfinder ruleset. However I did like the rule where the Belts of <attribute>s made a return by being weaker versions of the regular item.>
ThLunarian
Member
((Yeah, that's covered by allowing 3.5 material into the game though, not just for character creation but also during play. I guess I will clarify that multiple items from the two systems doing the same thing doesn't make the Pathfinder item the automatic default. The items can still coexist))
((I'm very much not in favor of earlier than Sunday since I'll be either working or looking after a visiting friend until Sunday afternoon.))
ThLunarian
Member
((Posting this now because I probably won't be around tomorrow to do so, but you can get around to it whenever you're able, Nezumi. No rush))
Vissarria opens her eyes to find herself cushioned on a carpet of flowers, in the fetal position.Lifting her head and looking around, she finds herself in the center of a tranquil grove, surrounded by a lush forest.
She feels exceptionally well-rested, and in peak physical condition. The air is comfortable and cool. Next to her is her loyal reptilian companion, who is also just waking up.
Ahead of her, Vissarria spots another female catfolk, seated on a tree which has grown into the shape of a throne. The woman is wearing a dress made of leaves, and her face is serene. Next to the throne stands a familiar figure.
"Hello, Viss," says Curai, and a large smile overtakes his features.
The woman in the throne speaks next. "Welcome, Children, to the Cradle of Vitality. I am Melora, protector of the Blue Jungle and overseer of Nature's Balance. I wish to employ your services, much as you offered them to others in life, should you be willing to take up my cause."
Should Viss take a glance at [[insert T-Rex's name here]], she'll see an expression of both wonder and comprehension. It seems as though he understands Melora's words just as well as Viss does.
Vissarria opens her eyes to find herself cushioned on a carpet of flowers, in the fetal position.Lifting her head and looking around, she finds herself in the center of a tranquil grove, surrounded by a lush forest.
She feels exceptionally well-rested, and in peak physical condition. The air is comfortable and cool. Next to her is her loyal reptilian companion, who is also just waking up.
Ahead of her, Vissarria spots another female catfolk, seated on a tree which has grown into the shape of a throne. The woman is wearing a dress made of leaves, and her face is serene. Next to the throne stands a familiar figure.
"Hello, Viss," says Curai, and a large smile overtakes his features.
The woman in the throne speaks next. "Welcome, Children, to the Cradle of Vitality. I am Melora, protector of the Blue Jungle and overseer of Nature's Balance. I wish to employ your services, much as you offered them to others in life, should you be willing to take up my cause."
Should Viss take a glance at [[insert T-Rex's name here]], she'll see an expression of both wonder and comprehension. It seems as though he understands Melora's words just as well as Viss does.
((Sorry! For the delay. This was harder than I thought and I didn't even write a third of what i wanted to write. Hopefully it didn't end up to be totally confusing 
))
Even though she realizes that she has just been asked a question by a goddess and that it would probably be wise to answer said question, Viss can't help but stare at the tall slender figure standing next to the throne. She can feel the lump growing in her throat and tears filling up her eyes. Before she can stop herself, she has flung herself at her adoptive father's breast and has started crying helplessly.
I'm so sorry... I messed it up! I messed it all up...I'm so sorry.
And as she stands there, endlessly sad and happy at the same time, all the memories start coming back to her.
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The first thing Viss remembers is the dream. She had dreamed of the place where Curai had found her as a kitten all those years ago. He had taken her there only once years later, when she had been 7 or maybe 8 years old. Curai had stood next to her on the rocky cliff overlooking a clearing in the dense forest around them. He hadn't said anything. He didn't have to.
What had been left from the huts that might have been her home had mostly vanished under a thick layer of bushes and fern, only here and there she had been able to spot something that looked remotely as if it once had been a structure of some kind. It had been hard to imagine that this place had once been the home of families.
But was even worse was the aura of the place. Curai had never told her in detail what he had seen on that day all those years before, but from the way his face darkened, Viss had always assumed that it must have been horrible, considering the otherwise so serene and peaceful attitude of her adoptive father.
But standing on that cliff, for the first time Viss had gotten a notion of how bad it really had been. The place had felt evil. So evil that it would be useless to describe it with any other words. So evil that even years later a shadow of it had still lingered on, pressing down on her like an invisible force. All those years ago Viss had started crying instantly and Curai had gathered her up in his arms carrying her away without a word.
In her dream she was older and no Curai was standing next to her. All alone she looked down on that place, felt the maliciousness of it creep into her bones. All alone, no one to take her home and comfort her with liquorice root and fairy tales. It felt as if her feet were glued to the rocky surface below, and no matter how much she wanted to get away from the place she just wasn't able to move.
And so she could only watch in silent horror as down in the clearing the scenery changed. Grass and ferns seemed to crawl back into the earth revealing the wooden ruins of huts. Fires seemed to pop out from nowhere, and in the blink of an eye Viss was staring down at an inferno of flames and smoke. She thought that she heard screaming but it was faint, like an echo, and when she tried to answer, no sound would escape her mouth. Then she spotted the bodies. She could have sworn that they hadn't been there before, but now they were lying everywhere. Torn apart and broken, their faces seemed to look up at her, pleading and accusing at the same time. Viss tried to stretch out her hand. She wanted to help, she wanted to go down there. But still she couldn't move. And suddenly she heard a voice. A voice so iniquitous it would suck the joy out of a person just by whispering a single word.
Don't think you can escape me forever.
With a jolt Viss awoke.
In retrospect she wondered if the dream had been a trap, bringing up those long forgotten memories to make her weak and amenable.
After waking up from the nightmare, Viss found it impossible to go back to sleep. Sunrise was still hours away and the rest of the small caravan was still sound asleep. She got up from her blankets, careful not to wake Tessa, who was sleeping next to her, snoring loudly. Viss patted the head of the large reptile softly and wandered off to find a quiet place to start her daily meditation.
She was still sitting with her legs crossed and her eyes closed when Hartur found her. The two of them had been working partners for over five years, and besides Tessa, he was probably Viss' most trusted friend. People sometimes wondered if they were lovers, which Viss found strange, giving the fact that the ranger was easily old enough to be her father.
Tall and muscular with a bushy beard, he had a constant look of amusement on his face, though Viss often failed to share his weird ideas of humor.
You are up early, he said while sitting down on the soft grass of the steppe next to her.
I didn't sleep well.
Hartur looked surprised. That is new. You always sleep like a stone. The only thing that snores louder than you is that dinosaur. He eyed her intently. Is something wrong? You seem nervous.
Viss snorted. What makes you think that?
Well, for starters you are all twitchy and... bushy.
I am not bushy, I... Viss looked down to see her tail lash the grass beside her, the raised hairs making it look even more voluminous than it already was. She gripped it, trying to smooth the fur with little success. It's the stupid humidity. My fur doesn't like it.
Sure... Anyway, our employer is looking for you.
What does that moron Dalston want now?
He didn't say, but my guess is that he has some kind of complaint.
You don't say. Any guess what it might be?
Hartur shrugged. He forgot to complain about the carrion carriage yesterday, so maybe he's making up for that now. Which reminds me. Why did you insist on bringing a whole cart loaded with dead cows again?
Viss sighed. Because Tessa needs something to eat and you can't just bring a huge predator like this into a place where it doesn't belong. Who knows what it will do to the local ecosystem.
Riiight... I remember you telling that to Dalston back when we took the job. Thing is, I don't remember you having that problem in any of our journeys before. So... what is so special about this ecosystem that you don't want Tessa to disturb it?
Viss tried to ignore the question but didn't manage to avoid Hartur's inquisitive eyes. Fine! I made that up. The guy was so annoying I wanted to mess with him and see what I might be able to have him agree to. I admit that this wasn't one of my smartest ideas.
Hartur started laughing. I don't even want to imagine what the stink must be like with your nose.
Shut up. Instead of laughing, try to find a way to get rid of the damn cart... But don't kill the horses! Viss stood up and brushed dust and grass from her pants. Looking up at the sun, she feared that the day was going to get really hot. And make it fast.
Two days later Viss had already forgotten about the dream. The days had gone by without any disturbances and Hartur had managed to bribe the driver of the carrion cart to have an accident as they crossed a small river. This had improved the general mood of everyone in the caravan and the journey could have been called almost pleasant. Without the carrion supplies, Viss and Tessa had to go out to hunt, which came as a pleasant distraction from the rather dull and uneventful caravan life. Once or twice a day she would transform into a falcon. Soaring through the sky, scouting the way ahead. It was on one of those scouting trips when she came upon the village.
What in seven hells did this? For the first time in all the years she had known him, all the amusement was gone from Hartur's face. Tessa had stayed behind with the rest of the caravan, simply refusing to go anywhere near the destroyed village.
Viss just stared at the carnage in front of her. The village had not only been destroyed, it had been razed to the ground. Not a single building that wasn't reduced to half burned piles of wood. Here and there some of the piles where still smoldering. Whatever had happened here, it had happened less than a day ago. Viss tried not to look at the bodies. She had seen more than her share of dead people. She had even been forced to kill herself, it just came with the business. But never had she seen something like this. No human nor animal could leave such... horror behind. Those people hadn't been killed, they had been slaughtered. And Viss couldn't help but feel that whoever had done this had enjoyed it.
An aura of evil energy seemed to encapsulate the entire area. An aura that Viss had only felt once before in her life. In the place where her own village had used to be. Whatever was responsible for this was also the thing that had killed her family. And it had been here only a day ago.
If she had only remembered the dream back then, she might still be alive. She could be sitting at a campfire with Hartur and Tessa exchanging stories, boasting about who was the better hunter. She could still be protecting people, even morons like Dalston. She might have been able to make a difference. Somehow.
But she hadn't remembered her dream. Or maybe she had, but had chosen to ignore it. Instead she had set out for hunt. Had set out to get revenge. Only to discover that it hadn't been her who was the hunter. To discover that her prey had been waiting for her like a spider in a web. In when she finally had caught up with it she had been helpless. It hadn't even bothered with revealing itself to her. All she could remember was a cold, indifferent voice echoing in her head. Ah, finally. The one that slipped away. And then she had died. Painfully.
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Viss doesn't know how long she has been standing there crying on Curai's breast. But after some time it dawns on her that she is still in the presence of a goddess and that the goddess is still waiting for an answer. Reluctantly she steps away from Curai and wipes away the tears. She steps in front of the throne and bows down.
My lady. Know that I'm honored by your offer but I don't feel like I'm deserving of your trust. I have failed you. I have carelessly thrown away the life you gifted me, by following base desires of revenge. I'm not worthy of your blessing any longer.
))Even though she realizes that she has just been asked a question by a goddess and that it would probably be wise to answer said question, Viss can't help but stare at the tall slender figure standing next to the throne. She can feel the lump growing in her throat and tears filling up her eyes. Before she can stop herself, she has flung herself at her adoptive father's breast and has started crying helplessly.
I'm so sorry... I messed it up! I messed it all up...I'm so sorry.
And as she stands there, endlessly sad and happy at the same time, all the memories start coming back to her.
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The first thing Viss remembers is the dream. She had dreamed of the place where Curai had found her as a kitten all those years ago. He had taken her there only once years later, when she had been 7 or maybe 8 years old. Curai had stood next to her on the rocky cliff overlooking a clearing in the dense forest around them. He hadn't said anything. He didn't have to.
What had been left from the huts that might have been her home had mostly vanished under a thick layer of bushes and fern, only here and there she had been able to spot something that looked remotely as if it once had been a structure of some kind. It had been hard to imagine that this place had once been the home of families.
But was even worse was the aura of the place. Curai had never told her in detail what he had seen on that day all those years before, but from the way his face darkened, Viss had always assumed that it must have been horrible, considering the otherwise so serene and peaceful attitude of her adoptive father.
But standing on that cliff, for the first time Viss had gotten a notion of how bad it really had been. The place had felt evil. So evil that it would be useless to describe it with any other words. So evil that even years later a shadow of it had still lingered on, pressing down on her like an invisible force. All those years ago Viss had started crying instantly and Curai had gathered her up in his arms carrying her away without a word.
In her dream she was older and no Curai was standing next to her. All alone she looked down on that place, felt the maliciousness of it creep into her bones. All alone, no one to take her home and comfort her with liquorice root and fairy tales. It felt as if her feet were glued to the rocky surface below, and no matter how much she wanted to get away from the place she just wasn't able to move.
And so she could only watch in silent horror as down in the clearing the scenery changed. Grass and ferns seemed to crawl back into the earth revealing the wooden ruins of huts. Fires seemed to pop out from nowhere, and in the blink of an eye Viss was staring down at an inferno of flames and smoke. She thought that she heard screaming but it was faint, like an echo, and when she tried to answer, no sound would escape her mouth. Then she spotted the bodies. She could have sworn that they hadn't been there before, but now they were lying everywhere. Torn apart and broken, their faces seemed to look up at her, pleading and accusing at the same time. Viss tried to stretch out her hand. She wanted to help, she wanted to go down there. But still she couldn't move. And suddenly she heard a voice. A voice so iniquitous it would suck the joy out of a person just by whispering a single word.
Don't think you can escape me forever.
With a jolt Viss awoke.
In retrospect she wondered if the dream had been a trap, bringing up those long forgotten memories to make her weak and amenable.
After waking up from the nightmare, Viss found it impossible to go back to sleep. Sunrise was still hours away and the rest of the small caravan was still sound asleep. She got up from her blankets, careful not to wake Tessa, who was sleeping next to her, snoring loudly. Viss patted the head of the large reptile softly and wandered off to find a quiet place to start her daily meditation.
She was still sitting with her legs crossed and her eyes closed when Hartur found her. The two of them had been working partners for over five years, and besides Tessa, he was probably Viss' most trusted friend. People sometimes wondered if they were lovers, which Viss found strange, giving the fact that the ranger was easily old enough to be her father.
Tall and muscular with a bushy beard, he had a constant look of amusement on his face, though Viss often failed to share his weird ideas of humor.
You are up early, he said while sitting down on the soft grass of the steppe next to her.
I didn't sleep well.
Hartur looked surprised. That is new. You always sleep like a stone. The only thing that snores louder than you is that dinosaur. He eyed her intently. Is something wrong? You seem nervous.
Viss snorted. What makes you think that?
Well, for starters you are all twitchy and... bushy.
I am not bushy, I... Viss looked down to see her tail lash the grass beside her, the raised hairs making it look even more voluminous than it already was. She gripped it, trying to smooth the fur with little success. It's the stupid humidity. My fur doesn't like it.
Sure... Anyway, our employer is looking for you.
What does that moron Dalston want now?
He didn't say, but my guess is that he has some kind of complaint.
You don't say. Any guess what it might be?
Hartur shrugged. He forgot to complain about the carrion carriage yesterday, so maybe he's making up for that now. Which reminds me. Why did you insist on bringing a whole cart loaded with dead cows again?
Viss sighed. Because Tessa needs something to eat and you can't just bring a huge predator like this into a place where it doesn't belong. Who knows what it will do to the local ecosystem.
Riiight... I remember you telling that to Dalston back when we took the job. Thing is, I don't remember you having that problem in any of our journeys before. So... what is so special about this ecosystem that you don't want Tessa to disturb it?
Viss tried to ignore the question but didn't manage to avoid Hartur's inquisitive eyes. Fine! I made that up. The guy was so annoying I wanted to mess with him and see what I might be able to have him agree to. I admit that this wasn't one of my smartest ideas.
Hartur started laughing. I don't even want to imagine what the stink must be like with your nose.
Shut up. Instead of laughing, try to find a way to get rid of the damn cart... But don't kill the horses! Viss stood up and brushed dust and grass from her pants. Looking up at the sun, she feared that the day was going to get really hot. And make it fast.
Two days later Viss had already forgotten about the dream. The days had gone by without any disturbances and Hartur had managed to bribe the driver of the carrion cart to have an accident as they crossed a small river. This had improved the general mood of everyone in the caravan and the journey could have been called almost pleasant. Without the carrion supplies, Viss and Tessa had to go out to hunt, which came as a pleasant distraction from the rather dull and uneventful caravan life. Once or twice a day she would transform into a falcon. Soaring through the sky, scouting the way ahead. It was on one of those scouting trips when she came upon the village.
What in seven hells did this? For the first time in all the years she had known him, all the amusement was gone from Hartur's face. Tessa had stayed behind with the rest of the caravan, simply refusing to go anywhere near the destroyed village.
Viss just stared at the carnage in front of her. The village had not only been destroyed, it had been razed to the ground. Not a single building that wasn't reduced to half burned piles of wood. Here and there some of the piles where still smoldering. Whatever had happened here, it had happened less than a day ago. Viss tried not to look at the bodies. She had seen more than her share of dead people. She had even been forced to kill herself, it just came with the business. But never had she seen something like this. No human nor animal could leave such... horror behind. Those people hadn't been killed, they had been slaughtered. And Viss couldn't help but feel that whoever had done this had enjoyed it.
An aura of evil energy seemed to encapsulate the entire area. An aura that Viss had only felt once before in her life. In the place where her own village had used to be. Whatever was responsible for this was also the thing that had killed her family. And it had been here only a day ago.
If she had only remembered the dream back then, she might still be alive. She could be sitting at a campfire with Hartur and Tessa exchanging stories, boasting about who was the better hunter. She could still be protecting people, even morons like Dalston. She might have been able to make a difference. Somehow.
But she hadn't remembered her dream. Or maybe she had, but had chosen to ignore it. Instead she had set out for hunt. Had set out to get revenge. Only to discover that it hadn't been her who was the hunter. To discover that her prey had been waiting for her like a spider in a web. In when she finally had caught up with it she had been helpless. It hadn't even bothered with revealing itself to her. All she could remember was a cold, indifferent voice echoing in her head. Ah, finally. The one that slipped away. And then she had died. Painfully.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Viss doesn't know how long she has been standing there crying on Curai's breast. But after some time it dawns on her that she is still in the presence of a goddess and that the goddess is still waiting for an answer. Reluctantly she steps away from Curai and wipes away the tears. She steps in front of the throne and bows down.
My lady. Know that I'm honored by your offer but I don't feel like I'm deserving of your trust. I have failed you. I have carelessly thrown away the life you gifted me, by following base desires of revenge. I'm not worthy of your blessing any longer.
ThLunarian
Member
Curai says nothing for a time, allowing his actions to do all the talking. He puts his arms around her and comforts her, running a comforting palm down her neck and back. A soothing "Shhhhh...." escapes his lips.
Finally he gently breaks from her, only enough to look her in the eyes. "Your shame is unwarranted, Little One," he assures her. "You lived your life with honor and protected the world from countless abominations. Your motivations may not have been entirely pure, but no mortal is perfect."
When Viss bows before Melora, the goddess tilts her head. "Child of the forest, if I thought you unworthy then you would not be standing before me. Your talents are unparalleled among my followers, and it is my hope that you will overcome your regrets and serve me. While your regrets may be warranted, your desire to punish yourself is not."
She rises from her throne. "The gods have decreed that a council be formed to uphold order throughout the Astral Sea, and I have been chosen to provide a representative, among others of varying motivations and countenances. I require one of strong will and determination to ensure that the council not become corrupt, for there will surely be corrupting influences among it. I believe you ideally suited for this task. I ask that you reconsider my request."
Finally he gently breaks from her, only enough to look her in the eyes. "Your shame is unwarranted, Little One," he assures her. "You lived your life with honor and protected the world from countless abominations. Your motivations may not have been entirely pure, but no mortal is perfect."
When Viss bows before Melora, the goddess tilts her head. "Child of the forest, if I thought you unworthy then you would not be standing before me. Your talents are unparalleled among my followers, and it is my hope that you will overcome your regrets and serve me. While your regrets may be warranted, your desire to punish yourself is not."
She rises from her throne. "The gods have decreed that a council be formed to uphold order throughout the Astral Sea, and I have been chosen to provide a representative, among others of varying motivations and countenances. I require one of strong will and determination to ensure that the council not become corrupt, for there will surely be corrupting influences among it. I believe you ideally suited for this task. I ask that you reconsider my request."
For a moment Viss considers denying the goddess a second time, but then other memories arise in her. The smiling face of a young boy whose mother she healed from a snake bite. The people of a village celebrating after she and Hartur had delivered them from a demon. Traveling with her companions, exploring new lands, discovering and researching unknown animals.
Would she really give those things away, just because of one rash decision? She shook her head emphatically. No! She was offered a chance here. A chance to still do good. A chance to make up for her prior mistakes. A chance to become even stronger.
Maybe even strong enough to... but no, that shouldn't be her concern now.
She looks up at Melora, the last of her tears finally dried. "I hope you can forgive my hesitation. I deeply appreciate the faith and confidence you have put in me, my lady. I'll gladly act as your representative and fight for your ideals. Consider me your faithful servant!"
Would she really give those things away, just because of one rash decision? She shook her head emphatically. No! She was offered a chance here. A chance to still do good. A chance to make up for her prior mistakes. A chance to become even stronger.
Maybe even strong enough to... but no, that shouldn't be her concern now.
She looks up at Melora, the last of her tears finally dried. "I hope you can forgive my hesitation. I deeply appreciate the faith and confidence you have put in me, my lady. I'll gladly act as your representative and fight for your ideals. Consider me your faithful servant!"
ThLunarian
Member
Melora smiles. "You honor me with your your devotion, Child of the Forest. I have high hopes for you and Tessa in the trials ahead. Those who are capable of self-reflection and introspection are often the most noble of all, and I am certain that this is true of you."
Curai steps forward. "My Lady," he says to Melora, "May I have a moment with my daughter?"
The goddess nods and motions for him to step forward.
Curai approaches Vissarria. He is more spry of step than she ever recalls him to be in life, even in her youngest of days, and he is serene, at peace with his station. "Viss," he says happily. "You are answering a calling greater than any in the mortal realm could ever hope to. Though you may not see it yet, you have proven yourself to be in the upper echelon of accomplishment throughout the material realm and all planes of existence. I suspect you do not yet quite grasp the magnitude of your position, but please know that I am more proud of you than can ever know. You have surpassed me in every way, and what more could a parent ask of his child?
"This will not be the last we see of each other. My understanding is that you will be very busy and difficult to access the majority of the time, but the Goddess assures me that from time to time we will be able to visit one another. Stay strong of heart, mind, and body, and I know you will continue to exceed all expectations."
He moves to embrace her one last time.
Curai steps forward. "My Lady," he says to Melora, "May I have a moment with my daughter?"
The goddess nods and motions for him to step forward.
Curai approaches Vissarria. He is more spry of step than she ever recalls him to be in life, even in her youngest of days, and he is serene, at peace with his station. "Viss," he says happily. "You are answering a calling greater than any in the mortal realm could ever hope to. Though you may not see it yet, you have proven yourself to be in the upper echelon of accomplishment throughout the material realm and all planes of existence. I suspect you do not yet quite grasp the magnitude of your position, but please know that I am more proud of you than can ever know. You have surpassed me in every way, and what more could a parent ask of his child?
"This will not be the last we see of each other. My understanding is that you will be very busy and difficult to access the majority of the time, but the Goddess assures me that from time to time we will be able to visit one another. Stay strong of heart, mind, and body, and I know you will continue to exceed all expectations."
He moves to embrace her one last time.
Viss savors every moment of the embrace, determined not to start crying again. The knowledge that this will not be Good-bye forever gives her great comfort. When she leaves his embrace she looks him in the eyes. "I'm grateful for all that you have done for me and taught me. Without you I could have never become the person that I am today." She bows to him before she turns back to Melora.
"My Lady, I'm ready to hear your orders." Next to her Tessa crouches down in a somewhat clumsy imitation of a bow.
"My Lady, I'm ready to hear your orders." Next to her Tessa crouches down in a somewhat clumsy imitation of a bow.
ThLunarian
Member
"Your orders are to work for the Raven Queen in my name," says Melora. "She will give you assignments, and you, along with the other gods' chosen ones, will have a great deal of discretion on how best to fulfill those assignments. You must keep the less scrupulous of your colleagues on check, and work in the name of the ideals that your father instilled within you as he raised you.
"Tessa," Melora continues, turning to face tyrannosaur, "Your duty is to stand by the side of Vissarria as best you are able, and help her carry out her duties, for a great burden will soon be hoisted upon her."
Tessa, still comprehending the goddess perfectly, actually seems to nod.
"Very well," says Melora, "The time has come. We wish you well, Vissarria, and when the time is right, the Blue Jungle will welcome you back with open arms."
Viss is now no longer standing in an outdoor location. It is as though the day turned instantly to night, and all of the freshness disappears from the air. She feels Tessa's presence close behind her, but for now her senses are distracted by others, who she can only assume are the colleagues that Melora was talking about.
((End Viss's intro. Coming up this week, Jackben will be joining the fray, playing the part of Rhea, the Aasimar Paladin))
"Tessa," Melora continues, turning to face tyrannosaur, "Your duty is to stand by the side of Vissarria as best you are able, and help her carry out her duties, for a great burden will soon be hoisted upon her."
Tessa, still comprehending the goddess perfectly, actually seems to nod.
"Very well," says Melora, "The time has come. We wish you well, Vissarria, and when the time is right, the Blue Jungle will welcome you back with open arms."
Viss is now no longer standing in an outdoor location. It is as though the day turned instantly to night, and all of the freshness disappears from the air. She feels Tessa's presence close behind her, but for now her senses are distracted by others, who she can only assume are the colleagues that Melora was talking about.
((End Viss's intro. Coming up this week, Jackben will be joining the fray, playing the part of Rhea, the Aasimar Paladin))
((Just realized that I did not include any physical description of my character. I think I wrote one but it must have been in the parts that I cut... Anyway Viss is a human-like catfolk. Her fur is that of a tabby cat and she has shoulder-long brown hair with dark grey and black streaks. She braids part of hair so that it doesn't fall in her eyes while fighting and ornaments it with colorful wooden beads. Her eyes are green with slitted pupils and she has a very bushy tail with a black tip. One of her canines is chipped.))
KittenMaster
Member
<Good writing Nezumi.>
<Floating Water Head is definitely going to have a bunch of thoughts.>
Axelhortsemchi
Member
((Yeah, I enjoyed that Nezumi))
((For some reason, I can't shake the feeling that our characters may not care for each other and also everyone else XD))
KittenMaster
Member
<DM: "Tonight, on The Real World...">
ThLunarian
Member
((I got snowed in today, which means my CPA exam got delayed til next week, all my classes got canceled, and I have more free time than I was expecting. Let's go ahead and wrap up character introductions so we can get this party started. After Jackben's scene is complete, I'm going to move right along to Mike M, and then we should be ready to start. If you're not quite done building your character, don't panic; we're gonna be in roleplay mode for a little while yet. But do try to finish up when you can, or ask for whatever assistance you might need))
Rhea Rangrid finds herself in a grand meeting hall. The floors are marble, and there are no walls to speak of; the room is bordered by a series of ornate columns, supporting a golden half-sphere of a roof. The view beyond the columns tells her that this place is as high as a mountain's summit.
Spaced evenly around the circular room are a number of thrones, elevated above the floor in progressing heights, marble steps leading up to each one. Seated in the highest of the thrones is a mountain of a man, dressed in the finest battle armor and holding a mighty spear. A thick white beard extends to the middle of his chest, and ornamental wings sprout from either side of his helmet.
It could be no one but Odin, and this could be no place but Asgard.
The other thrones are also occupied. Seated next to Odin is Freya, the Goddess of Beauty, Justice, the Valkyries, and various other domains, whom Rhea knows all too well. In the other chairs are various other 'lesser' gods: Loki, Thor, Bragi, Heimdal, Tyr.
At a time like this, though, with Rhea standing at floor level as all the gods look down upon her, it would be difficult to think of any of them as 'lesser' in any context.
"Rhea Rangrid," Odin's voice booms, swelling to fill the hall, "Lady Freya speaks quite highly of you. I am told that in the mortal realm, you served as a paragon of order and justice. As such you have been chosen to serve as an ambassador of Asgard, to a holy assembly of warriors, each of whom serve a foreign master. What say you?"
Odin clearly has no concept of the enormity of the situation which has been thrust abruptly upon Rhea, only moments after her death.
Freya interjects. "Lord Odin," she says, leaning forward slightly. She has long, flowing locks of hair, and is dressed in a tastefully revealing suit of ornamental armor. A satin white skirt flows out from her chest plate. "Perhaps our newest Valkyrie requires a moment to gain her bearings. She has only just passed on from the mortal plane, and surely is only now beginning to grasp where she finds herself."
Odin looks at Freya, and then back down to Rhea. "Yes, of course," he says. "My apologies, Valkyrie. Sometimes we gods forget how stressful an experience it is for mortals to die. What questions do you have for us?"
As Rhea considers how to react, it dawns on her that Freya and Odin both just called her a Valkyrie. She looks over her shoulder, and finds a robust set of white, feathery wings grown from her back.
Rhea Rangrid finds herself in a grand meeting hall. The floors are marble, and there are no walls to speak of; the room is bordered by a series of ornate columns, supporting a golden half-sphere of a roof. The view beyond the columns tells her that this place is as high as a mountain's summit.
Spaced evenly around the circular room are a number of thrones, elevated above the floor in progressing heights, marble steps leading up to each one. Seated in the highest of the thrones is a mountain of a man, dressed in the finest battle armor and holding a mighty spear. A thick white beard extends to the middle of his chest, and ornamental wings sprout from either side of his helmet.
It could be no one but Odin, and this could be no place but Asgard.
The other thrones are also occupied. Seated next to Odin is Freya, the Goddess of Beauty, Justice, the Valkyries, and various other domains, whom Rhea knows all too well. In the other chairs are various other 'lesser' gods: Loki, Thor, Bragi, Heimdal, Tyr.
At a time like this, though, with Rhea standing at floor level as all the gods look down upon her, it would be difficult to think of any of them as 'lesser' in any context.
"Rhea Rangrid," Odin's voice booms, swelling to fill the hall, "Lady Freya speaks quite highly of you. I am told that in the mortal realm, you served as a paragon of order and justice. As such you have been chosen to serve as an ambassador of Asgard, to a holy assembly of warriors, each of whom serve a foreign master. What say you?"
Odin clearly has no concept of the enormity of the situation which has been thrust abruptly upon Rhea, only moments after her death.
Freya interjects. "Lord Odin," she says, leaning forward slightly. She has long, flowing locks of hair, and is dressed in a tastefully revealing suit of ornamental armor. A satin white skirt flows out from her chest plate. "Perhaps our newest Valkyrie requires a moment to gain her bearings. She has only just passed on from the mortal plane, and surely is only now beginning to grasp where she finds herself."
Odin looks at Freya, and then back down to Rhea. "Yes, of course," he says. "My apologies, Valkyrie. Sometimes we gods forget how stressful an experience it is for mortals to die. What questions do you have for us?"
As Rhea considers how to react, it dawns on her that Freya and Odin both just called her a Valkyrie. She looks over her shoulder, and finds a robust set of white, feathery wings grown from her back.
Jackben
bitch I'm taking calls.
((Music))
The paladin's foggy eyes open wide as she takes a gasping, ragged breath of air. As the light and shapes of the ornate columns and marble of Asgard fill her view, her clouded pupils are cleared, suffused with a deep and clear azure once more. She reaches a trembling hand up to her pale cheek, and is shocked to feel warm, intact skin and healthy flaxen hair. She feels vitality course through her blood, and strength return to her muscles as they respond to her flexed tension.
She can still feel the Valknut brand upon her neck just beneath her golden hair. But the skin around it feels smooth and soft, the flesh whole. Her shoulders shudder involuntarily as she remembers the bleeding sores, her clothes stained a dark crimson, the scent of lilacs and death. She was more alive now, in death, than at the end of her life. And yet here she stood in the enclosure of the Aesir, which must mean...
***
"The plague has claimed her."
The maesters were soft with their words, but there was hard truth in their furrowed brows and distant eyes. These were the faces of those who have seen so much pain, the passing of a soul was considered a mercy. Sybil dismissed the scholar, and instructed the robed handlers to deposit the corpse with the others. She watched as the girl with chestnut hair was wrapped in linens, no longer a midwife but merely kindling for the cleansing pyre.
She oversaw the burning, for she preferred the maesters to deal with those still living, for there was much more suffering to endure. Better kept focused on the living than incensed by the truth of the dead. They raged in the fires, the white hot anger of an untimely death, the result of quarantine law. A law she upheld with unquestioning force. This was her penance.
Once the fires had died out and the ashes were cleansed, she departed. The paladin pulled her cloak tightly around her as she braced against the bitter cold. The movement caused a flower petal to tumble and fluttering in the air before landing on the icy ground, its purple a stark contrast against a mound of snow. She stepped firmly on, her boots pushing it deep into the crystal snow with a crunch.
***
Sybil would much rather be back at the negotiation table. She blocked a telegraphed hack at her neck with her shield, returning the strike by bashing the bandit's face with her shield, teeth and blood spilling under the light of the moon. Freya knew she enjoyed the adrenaline of battle, but her time was so much better spent. Persuading those with real power to the side of balance and law felt more effective than squashing petty rebellion.
Tracking the stolen medicine and food supplies to a ruined fortress was simple enough. But this new organized banditry threatened to further unbalance the kingdom, already buckling under the burden of a sick and fearful populace. She swung her sword in downward arc that cleaved through the bandit's shoulder, dropping both his axe and his arm onto the ground. As he rolled around on the ground in agony, the paladin stooped to lay her hand, cauterizing the wound.
"You'll live." As his pain began to subside, she saw the bearded man's look to the ground next to him. "Ah. That. You will have to learn to live without it, for you do no longer deserve its use." She kicked his arm out of reach and continued on into the dark of the slums.
Though she would recover the supplies and report her success to the King, it was not without a price. The bandit leader had eluded her grasp, a trap having been sprung. A curious glass projectile impaled her neck. She marveled at how ineffective it was as a weapon. However, her long suppressed visions would return the next morning, the first sign of her long nightmare that would only end when she closed her eyes for the last time.
***
Another day, another sacrifice.
The gates were held by the captain of the city guard. He was suited in full plated armor, but his eyes were rung by dark circles. He saluted weakly as she passed. 'He thinks he is alone...' she thought, as she nodded at him and the spirits of the dead guards standing at attention next to him. She wondered if they would find a place in the Great Hall once their captain had joined them.
A league outside of the city Sybil reached the farmstead, surrounded by wagons helmed by skittish horses, but otherwise quiet. Approaching the barn, she broke apart the icicles forming above the door with the hilt of her sword. It was clear no one had passed through these doors in several days. She herself felt as if the sun rose and set in a dreamlike trance, almost as if she was watching herself from somewhere else, only truly returning to her own body for brief moments of time.
She had seen better field hospitals in the midst of total war. Stepping inside, she felt the heat and the sickly sweet smell of flesh taken by death. Troughs filled with excised tumors and rotted clumps of flesh were stacked along every wall. Cots were crammed four to a stall, every single makeshift bed filled with a blood stained blanket, beneath which was an unmoving shape of what may once have been human, but could no longer be recognized. 'Denied dignity, even in death.'
No sword or spear could fight this battle, nor would any shield offer sanctuary. The paladin could not see any spirits lingering here, but she could feel the oppressive aura of those who had not moved on. She winced, for when the spirits did not even have the will to give their souls shape, they screamed with the special agony of the unwilling. She knelt as the voices began to make her head swim and churned her stomach to nausea.
"Take my hand."
A robed figure helped pull Sybil to her feet.
"Brother Malik..." Sybil winced briefly before straightening herself, ever aware of her presentation. The monk shook his head sadly and pointed to a white painted box laying next to a set of scaples. Sybil handed to him, and from it the monk pulled a fistful of lilac. Efficiently grinding the petals in a mortar, Malik gently applied the paste to a nearby patient, quieting their moaning. The screams momentarily subsided in her mind and Sybil looked at the dark haired healer, wondering if he knew this would help her as much as it would the patient.
Malik's gray eyes betrayed nothing. "The crushed petals don't work forever. But as a balm they dull the pain, and the aroma has a calming effect." He shuffled over to the wall and leaned against it for support.
"Of course, it need not worry you. You've never gotten sick. Your heritage and Lady Freya have both seen to that." He began to cough, the hacking waking the nearby patient. I need to bath him he smiled weakly at Sybil, and she left.
That was the last time she saw him alive.
***
As a child she had survived being abandoned by her birth parents as a sacrifice for a bountiful harvest. She escaped her orphanage, arranged marriage, and the nobles of House Arryn. Rhea assumed a new identity, spitting blood and teeth to ride as page to Ser Davos and eventually become Sybil the Silver Knight. Suffered victories and savored defeat under the patronage of a tyrant lord. Snatched the arrow of an Eastern assassin and been rewarded with its twin lodged into her shoulder. She had crawled through leagues of trench, the souls of the dead pulling at her spirit every inch of the way, to raise the banner that would bring reinforcements to the Bernike front. She had lost him...and given up her, two things she could never regain.
And yet it was a shard of glass, a drop of infected blood...the plague, which ultimately claimed her life.
***
Stirred from her reverie, Rhea is seized by the true weight of her surroundings. She could not remember clearly the last time she had been addressed by her true name. Summoning the discipline she lived by in her mortal life, she kneels in respect of the gods. She suddenly feels very small, surrounded by the council and her personal idol, the warrior Goddess Freya, by whose grace she brought law and balance to countless battles.
She looks up, straightening her back out of the learned stoop of the sickly. 'Straight and sturdy as the shaft of an arrow and the trunk of a willow.'Rhea is filled with confidence as her muscles recall their old strength and posture. As if responding to this surge of feeling, she feels new muscles in her back billow and open, a small gust of air whistling past her ears.
Bristling with awe at the wings attached to her back, Rhea nonetheless focuses her resolve. "Lord Odin. Lady Freya." She turns to observe each of the other gods in turn, her eyes lingering only briefly upon Tyr before returning to those who have addressed her.
She considers asking of her past and the mysteries of her true heritage. But she is before the gods, the embodiment of law, and she must hone her will accordingly.
"How shall I serve as a Valkyrie, goddess Freya?"
"Lord Odin, as ambassador, how shall I provide allegiance to Asgard in the field? "
"Do these foreign warriors also serve order of law?"
((Hey guise. Wow I'm rusty. I got tired and rushed some of this, you can probably guess which segments.
))
The paladin's foggy eyes open wide as she takes a gasping, ragged breath of air. As the light and shapes of the ornate columns and marble of Asgard fill her view, her clouded pupils are cleared, suffused with a deep and clear azure once more. She reaches a trembling hand up to her pale cheek, and is shocked to feel warm, intact skin and healthy flaxen hair. She feels vitality course through her blood, and strength return to her muscles as they respond to her flexed tension.
She can still feel the Valknut brand upon her neck just beneath her golden hair. But the skin around it feels smooth and soft, the flesh whole. Her shoulders shudder involuntarily as she remembers the bleeding sores, her clothes stained a dark crimson, the scent of lilacs and death. She was more alive now, in death, than at the end of her life. And yet here she stood in the enclosure of the Aesir, which must mean...
***
"The plague has claimed her."
The maesters were soft with their words, but there was hard truth in their furrowed brows and distant eyes. These were the faces of those who have seen so much pain, the passing of a soul was considered a mercy. Sybil dismissed the scholar, and instructed the robed handlers to deposit the corpse with the others. She watched as the girl with chestnut hair was wrapped in linens, no longer a midwife but merely kindling for the cleansing pyre.
She oversaw the burning, for she preferred the maesters to deal with those still living, for there was much more suffering to endure. Better kept focused on the living than incensed by the truth of the dead. They raged in the fires, the white hot anger of an untimely death, the result of quarantine law. A law she upheld with unquestioning force. This was her penance.
Once the fires had died out and the ashes were cleansed, she departed. The paladin pulled her cloak tightly around her as she braced against the bitter cold. The movement caused a flower petal to tumble and fluttering in the air before landing on the icy ground, its purple a stark contrast against a mound of snow. She stepped firmly on, her boots pushing it deep into the crystal snow with a crunch.
***
Sybil would much rather be back at the negotiation table. She blocked a telegraphed hack at her neck with her shield, returning the strike by bashing the bandit's face with her shield, teeth and blood spilling under the light of the moon. Freya knew she enjoyed the adrenaline of battle, but her time was so much better spent. Persuading those with real power to the side of balance and law felt more effective than squashing petty rebellion.
Tracking the stolen medicine and food supplies to a ruined fortress was simple enough. But this new organized banditry threatened to further unbalance the kingdom, already buckling under the burden of a sick and fearful populace. She swung her sword in downward arc that cleaved through the bandit's shoulder, dropping both his axe and his arm onto the ground. As he rolled around on the ground in agony, the paladin stooped to lay her hand, cauterizing the wound.
"You'll live." As his pain began to subside, she saw the bearded man's look to the ground next to him. "Ah. That. You will have to learn to live without it, for you do no longer deserve its use." She kicked his arm out of reach and continued on into the dark of the slums.
Though she would recover the supplies and report her success to the King, it was not without a price. The bandit leader had eluded her grasp, a trap having been sprung. A curious glass projectile impaled her neck. She marveled at how ineffective it was as a weapon. However, her long suppressed visions would return the next morning, the first sign of her long nightmare that would only end when she closed her eyes for the last time.
***
Another day, another sacrifice.
The gates were held by the captain of the city guard. He was suited in full plated armor, but his eyes were rung by dark circles. He saluted weakly as she passed. 'He thinks he is alone...' she thought, as she nodded at him and the spirits of the dead guards standing at attention next to him. She wondered if they would find a place in the Great Hall once their captain had joined them.
A league outside of the city Sybil reached the farmstead, surrounded by wagons helmed by skittish horses, but otherwise quiet. Approaching the barn, she broke apart the icicles forming above the door with the hilt of her sword. It was clear no one had passed through these doors in several days. She herself felt as if the sun rose and set in a dreamlike trance, almost as if she was watching herself from somewhere else, only truly returning to her own body for brief moments of time.
She had seen better field hospitals in the midst of total war. Stepping inside, she felt the heat and the sickly sweet smell of flesh taken by death. Troughs filled with excised tumors and rotted clumps of flesh were stacked along every wall. Cots were crammed four to a stall, every single makeshift bed filled with a blood stained blanket, beneath which was an unmoving shape of what may once have been human, but could no longer be recognized. 'Denied dignity, even in death.'
No sword or spear could fight this battle, nor would any shield offer sanctuary. The paladin could not see any spirits lingering here, but she could feel the oppressive aura of those who had not moved on. She winced, for when the spirits did not even have the will to give their souls shape, they screamed with the special agony of the unwilling. She knelt as the voices began to make her head swim and churned her stomach to nausea.
"Take my hand."
A robed figure helped pull Sybil to her feet.
"Brother Malik..." Sybil winced briefly before straightening herself, ever aware of her presentation. The monk shook his head sadly and pointed to a white painted box laying next to a set of scaples. Sybil handed to him, and from it the monk pulled a fistful of lilac. Efficiently grinding the petals in a mortar, Malik gently applied the paste to a nearby patient, quieting their moaning. The screams momentarily subsided in her mind and Sybil looked at the dark haired healer, wondering if he knew this would help her as much as it would the patient.
Malik's gray eyes betrayed nothing. "The crushed petals don't work forever. But as a balm they dull the pain, and the aroma has a calming effect." He shuffled over to the wall and leaned against it for support.
"Of course, it need not worry you. You've never gotten sick. Your heritage and Lady Freya have both seen to that." He began to cough, the hacking waking the nearby patient. I need to bath him he smiled weakly at Sybil, and she left.
That was the last time she saw him alive.
***
As a child she had survived being abandoned by her birth parents as a sacrifice for a bountiful harvest. She escaped her orphanage, arranged marriage, and the nobles of House Arryn. Rhea assumed a new identity, spitting blood and teeth to ride as page to Ser Davos and eventually become Sybil the Silver Knight. Suffered victories and savored defeat under the patronage of a tyrant lord. Snatched the arrow of an Eastern assassin and been rewarded with its twin lodged into her shoulder. She had crawled through leagues of trench, the souls of the dead pulling at her spirit every inch of the way, to raise the banner that would bring reinforcements to the Bernike front. She had lost him...and given up her, two things she could never regain.
And yet it was a shard of glass, a drop of infected blood...the plague, which ultimately claimed her life.
***
Stirred from her reverie, Rhea is seized by the true weight of her surroundings. She could not remember clearly the last time she had been addressed by her true name. Summoning the discipline she lived by in her mortal life, she kneels in respect of the gods. She suddenly feels very small, surrounded by the council and her personal idol, the warrior Goddess Freya, by whose grace she brought law and balance to countless battles.
She looks up, straightening her back out of the learned stoop of the sickly. 'Straight and sturdy as the shaft of an arrow and the trunk of a willow.'Rhea is filled with confidence as her muscles recall their old strength and posture. As if responding to this surge of feeling, she feels new muscles in her back billow and open, a small gust of air whistling past her ears.
Bristling with awe at the wings attached to her back, Rhea nonetheless focuses her resolve. "Lord Odin. Lady Freya." She turns to observe each of the other gods in turn, her eyes lingering only briefly upon Tyr before returning to those who have addressed her.
She considers asking of her past and the mysteries of her true heritage. But she is before the gods, the embodiment of law, and she must hone her will accordingly.
"How shall I serve as a Valkyrie, goddess Freya?"
"Lord Odin, as ambassador, how shall I provide allegiance to Asgard in the field? "
"Do these foreign warriors also serve order of law?"
((Hey guise. Wow I'm rusty. I got tired and rushed some of this, you can probably guess which segments.
all of dem
ThLunarian
Member
Freya smiles when addressed. "You have been a Valkyrie in spirit for most of your life," she explains. "To serve as a member of Odin's court now, you need only act in death as you have in life. The difference is that now, rather than a mere kingdom, you serve the will of the gods directly."
"To serve Asgard," Odin continues, making no effort to hide his positive impression of the paladin, "You will be its voice. Freya assures me that you have a strong hand at the negotiating table; these skills will prove vital as you interact with your peers - representatives sent from other gods, not of Asgard. Though some be of Lawful countenance, not all will possess a sense of justice. You will be receiving and carrying out the orders of The Raven Queen, but by design you and your fellows will have a great deal of leeway in doing so. You must do all you can to ensure that the ultimate outcome would be in line with the ideals of Asgard, of Freya, and of myself.
"There is an ancillary objective to all of this," Odin continues, his tone veering into solemnity. "The oracles speak of impending change - and not for the better. I too have seen the signs, and I suspect forces are at play that have not yet revealed themselves. It is my hope that your perspective as an officer of the Astral Sea at large may give you insight on current events that is unobtainable for the comparatively isolated Council of Asgard. As such, you will be our eyes and ears in the time ahead."
He pauses for a moment. He looks at Freya; she nods. He looks back down at Rhea. "I believe that covers it, then. Shall we send you to perform your duty, or is there more that you wish to know first?"
"To serve Asgard," Odin continues, making no effort to hide his positive impression of the paladin, "You will be its voice. Freya assures me that you have a strong hand at the negotiating table; these skills will prove vital as you interact with your peers - representatives sent from other gods, not of Asgard. Though some be of Lawful countenance, not all will possess a sense of justice. You will be receiving and carrying out the orders of The Raven Queen, but by design you and your fellows will have a great deal of leeway in doing so. You must do all you can to ensure that the ultimate outcome would be in line with the ideals of Asgard, of Freya, and of myself.
"There is an ancillary objective to all of this," Odin continues, his tone veering into solemnity. "The oracles speak of impending change - and not for the better. I too have seen the signs, and I suspect forces are at play that have not yet revealed themselves. It is my hope that your perspective as an officer of the Astral Sea at large may give you insight on current events that is unobtainable for the comparatively isolated Council of Asgard. As such, you will be our eyes and ears in the time ahead."
He pauses for a moment. He looks at Freya; she nods. He looks back down at Rhea. "I believe that covers it, then. Shall we send you to perform your duty, or is there more that you wish to know first?"
Jackben
bitch I'm taking calls.
Rhea closes her eyes and searches herself, touching upon the many unspoken words and unfulfilled promises of her previous life. Small tremors of pain that combined with the unknown of this new world threatened to overwhelm her. But she would not cast these thoughts away. There is still much she wishes to know, but these answers she must find for herself.
Returning her blue eyes to the gods before her, she gazes up at Odin and Freya. Finding her sword by her side, she raises it before her horizontally as she swears an oath. "I understand and shall serve the law of Asgard faithfully as Valkyrie. I will watch and listen for the omens change the oracles speak of. By your will I shall bring be law, strength, and balance."
Returning her blue eyes to the gods before her, she gazes up at Odin and Freya. Finding her sword by her side, she raises it before her horizontally as she swears an oath. "I understand and shall serve the law of Asgard faithfully as Valkyrie. I will watch and listen for the omens change the oracles speak of. By your will I shall bring be law, strength, and balance."
ThLunarian
Member
Odin nods, rising from his throne, and in that moment the enormity of the god's presence becomes clear. "Very well, then. Go forth, Rhea of Rangrid, and bring honor to the indefatigable Kingdom of Asgard!"
He raps the base of his staff once against the steps on which he stands, and Sybil finds herself in another large room, though this one is substantially more claustrophobic than the airy aerie of Asgard.
There are numerous figures around her. She senses three powerful evil presences in the immediate vicinity...
((End of Rhea's introduction. I'm going to start on Mike M's intro scene right now, in a separate post so to preserve the distinction between scenes. He will be playing Fleshbane, a Warforged Psion.))
He raps the base of his staff once against the steps on which he stands, and Sybil finds herself in another large room, though this one is substantially more claustrophobic than the airy aerie of Asgard.
There are numerous figures around her. She senses three powerful evil presences in the immediate vicinity...
((End of Rhea's introduction. I'm going to start on Mike M's intro scene right now, in a separate post so to preserve the distinction between scenes. He will be playing Fleshbane, a Warforged Psion.))
((Gonna hijack this with Fleshbane's death sequence since it would be awkward to try and flashback with a wall of text where he's not even the main character))
((Theme music))
The flakes of ash fell from the sky in a steady flurry, accumulating on the ground in great drifts of gray snow. Weather, apparently, was a thing of the past. A pleasant memory, usurped by the current reality of a perpetual leaden sky doling out the byproduct of the cataclysmic destruction of Skirn. A ceaseless precipitation of final judgement.
Sarrah picked her way through the ruins of a city she did not know, high-stepping through the powdery substrate that blanketed every surface. It was approaching high noon, but the clouds of particulate matter that choked the atmosphere reduced the light of the sun to a meager ember in the sky that struggled illuminate the surface of this world beyond an unnatural twilight.
Sound was swallowed by the ashen environments in equal measure with the light. The air was stagnant and stale. In the absence of the wind that no longer cared to blow, all Sarrah could hear was the soft whisper of her clothes rubbing against itself. Her breath. Her heartbeat.
The blackened remains of a once-mighty tree reached for the darkened skies from the center of what was once some sort of plaza or other open space. Half submerged in the ash, the murderous machines lay where they had fallen, rendered inert by the people's last, desperate gamble to bring the war to a conclusion. Calling it a pyrrhic victory would have been charitable.
Sarrah tread slowly through this petrified tableau, trying to piece together what had been occurring at the moment the devastation had struck. The parts of the machines that she could recognize identified them as some of the older, less reinforced models that had been employed in the constructs xenocidal campaign against biological intelligence. No surprise there, all but the most heavily shielded machines had been shut down by the destruction of their communal power source, and even then some had not survived.
But the ones that had were the most terrifying.
Behind a ruined wall near the tree, Sarrah found the remains of the other side of this forgotten skirmish. The portion of the wall left standing had blocked the accumulation of ash, preventing what was left of those who sought shelter behind it from being buried in the cremains of the world. Incomplete skeletons, scorched uniforms, miscellaneous possessions of soldiers that only seemed noteworthy for the lack of soldiers anymore. Even through the cloak wrapped over her nose and mouth, it smelled of char and decay.
The satchel was off to the side of the dead soldiers, mostly submerged in ash. Sarrah would have missed it entirely if she had not caught sight of the strap at the base of the crumbling mortar and bricks. Abandoning her caution, she eagerly pulled it toward her and examined its contents.
There was not much to be had in it, and nothing as useful as she would have liked. A trio of firecorns, little devices that would explode into a cloud of shrapnel a moment after pulling the pin. Lethal against flesh and blood, but only marginally above useless in the war against the machines. No wonder these poor souls had been overrun.
Sarrah stuffed them into her sack. They were not as valuable as medicine or anything that could be used to produce potable water or food, but those who worked to survive in this hellscape were well beyond having the luxury to be choosy. Nothing they found could afford to be considered completely useless.
Standing up to leave, the animal instinct to remain unseen shot up her spine. Slowly, she came back down to her knees and made herself small against the wall, hiding as much of her body as she could under her gray cloak to blend in with her surroundings. She could see nothing but the ash swirling in the half-light that remained of the day, but that did not mean nothing was there. Sarrah had not remained alive this long by ignoring her intuition.
For what seemed an eternity, Sarrah did not move, did not dare breathe. Just when she thought that perhaps she had been worried about a false alarm, she saw the construct start to move.
It had been standing in the middle of the ruined avenue, but only with the action of its motion had Sarrah been able to pick its silhouette out from the background. It was humanoid in form, but too large to be made of flesh and bone. The head was small enough to be almost comical if has not housed a murderous intellect atop a body engineered for the task. At this distance, with the poor lighting and obfuscated air, Sarrah could not see what direction it had been facing, but assumed since it had not already moved in for the kill, it must have been looking away from her. Sarrah watched it lumber away, even its heavy step and the whining of its servos and mechanics swallowed up by the deafening silence.
Long after the construct had left, Sarrah remained still, her heart rate resounding in her head. She and the others had known that at least one of the machines was still prowling the ruins; they had seen the massive footsteps in the ash where there had not been any previously, seen slabs of stone overturned, potential hiding spots reduced to rubble. But this was the first time that any had physically witnessed it.
Obeying her impulse to flee, Sarrah crept away from her hiding spot. The light was not long-lived during the day, and as bad as it was creeping through the bombed out wastes of civilization with a mechanized monster prowling about, to do so in the dark was worse. As near as she knew, the machines did not share her inability to see in the dark.
By the time Sarrah returned to the safehouse, the light was long gone. A chunk of rubble from a neighboring structure lay at an angle against the wall, concealing the breach into the building from view. Small as she was, even Sarrah had to suck in her stomach to sidle behind the piece of masonry into the hole caused by the collision, the trailing edge of her cloak working to obscure her footprints as it dragged through the ash and erase the signs of her passage.
Sarrah stumbled as she crossed into the interior of the building, catching herself against the safehouses least attractive decorative item: One of the constructs, inert but otherwise undamaged, standing hunched over to fit in the space, its arms outstretched toward victims that had long since slipped from its grasp. It was an unnerving fixture, but not so undesirable as to outweigh the other benefits this shelter offered.
Sarrah? a gruff voice whispered in the darkness. Sarrah, is that you?
Who else would it be? she replied, stepping forward into the central chamber of the building. Sarrah and the others had no idea what purpose this building had served before the cataclysm, but it had four walls, a roof, and while the door was blocked with wreckage, they had their hidden entrance. It was as close to ideal as they could manage in this dead world.
There was the sound of fluid shaking in a container, and the room was illuminated by the faint green glow of an alchemical sphere held aloft by a soot-stained dwarf standing next to a disheveled elf. We thought maybe the construct had got you, the dwarf grunted.
Sarrah shook her head. Not yet, it hasnt.
You should have been here sooner, the elf complained. Now we have to waste a glow lamp.
Shut it, Reese, the dwarf said, thrusting an elbow into the elfs side. Were not wasting anything, Sarrahs the one who cant see in the dark.
Thank you for the consideration, Connor, Sarrah replied curtly. Now, did anyone find anything useful today?
Reese and Connor both shook their heads. I found five alchemical glow lamps. Well, four now, Reese grumbled. Not any good to anyone but humans who cant see in the dark.
Connor shot Reese a withering glare, but the elf either did not notice or consciously ignored it. I didnt fare much better, Im afraid, he grumbled, producing a pair of smoked glass bottles. They may be potions, I think? No way to know for sure without using them, at which point theyre lost to us. May be poison, for all we know.
Sarrah sighed as she displayed her own spoils. Found a few firecorns. Dont know what were going to use them for, but I took them anyway.
The trio sat huddled together, looking at the days collection with dour expressions on their faces. How much food and water do we have left? Reese asked.
Not much, Connor answered. Another few days at most.
I dont think theres anything more left to find, Sarrah ventured. We havent found anything edible for a week now. Plus theres that damned construct out there.
Connor sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes. You think you should leave, he said.
Of course she does! Reese exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. Shes been pushing that for a month now!
Well Im right! Sarrah snapped in a hushed tone. We cant survive on whats left in this city, and every day we stay we run the risk of discovery! We should have left long ago, who knows if we even have enough supplies to make it somewhere else at this point?
So thats your solution? Reese responded. To go die on the road to To where? Where are we supposed to go, Sarrah? Where is there thats better than here? What if that thing follows us, catches us out in the open? What do we do then?
We dont know, Connor rumbled. But we do know that if we stay here, were dead for certain. If we leave, we at least have a chance, slim as it may be.
Reeses face screwed up in anger, but he failed to come up with a compelling argument for why they should not leave the ruined city. Fine then," he said. "Fine. Well leave.
Well strike out at first gleaming, Connor offered. We could use a nights sleep, and Sarrah needs the light to see.
Sarrah nodded in agreement. The sooner, the better.
Oh, giving up already? thundered a voice throughout the room, seeming to come from all directions at once as it rebounded and echoed off the hard surfaces. I was hoping you would stay, so I could watch you sift through the the burned out remains of your civilization for more entertaining trinkets.
Reese let out a wordless cry of terror, dropping to his knees as Connor and Sarrah closed ranks back to back. Snatching the glowing orb from Connors hand, Sarrah rolled it across the pitted and broken floor toward the opposite side of the room. The dead construct loomed alone in the empty darkness.
What is it? Connor asked, his eyes frantically searching the dark. Gods, did it find us?
Find you? the voice resonated once more in the confined space of the chamber. Foolish little fleshling, I have been here the whole time.
The hollows of the constructs eyes began to glow with a baleful orange light as the resonance crystal mounted on its chest kindled to life. Reese let out a strangled wail as the mechanical creature stirred to life and drew itself up to its full stature, towering above the three humanoids that cowered before it.
One day, I had a notion, it boomed, taking a ponderous step in their direction. What if I stopped trying to flush the vermin out of their holes? What if I just stayed in one place and let them come to me? How long would they remain before marching off of their own volition to certain death?
Sarrah and Connor matched the pace of its advance, retreating away from the circle of light cast by the alchemical orb into the shadows. The construct followed, the malevolent light of its power systems spilling out between the joints in its armor plated construction. Reese remained where he lay on the floor, sobbing inconsolably as the juggernaut approached.
It turned out I was correct, the construct said. You biologicals are so easily acclimated to your surroundings. You grow willingly blind to the danger in your midst. Bending over, he scooped the gibbering elf in its massive fist.
You have been such a source of amusement to me. Such a shame we need bring it to an end. With a sickening crunch, Reeses cries came to an abrupt end, the construct dropping his crushed corpse to the floor with a wet thump.
The war is over! Connor barked. Theres no reason to fight anymore, theres nothing left to fight over anymore! Were as good as dead anyway, just let us go!
Again you misapprehend the situation, the construct mocked, stepping over Reeses mangled remains. We were never at war with one another. My kind never sought conquest, never sought to subjugate you to our will. Our only goal is your extermination.
In the darkness beyond the light of the glow orb, the construct was illuminated only by its internal light, looming above the dwarf and human below him. As long as you draw breath, we do not stop.
Connor gave Sarrah a shove to the side as he took off in the other. Run, Sarrah! he shouted. If one of us--
The construct moved with impossible speed for something its size, seizing Sarrah in one hand while backhanding Connor with the other in a single, fluid motion. The force of the impact flattened Connor against the wall before he crumpled to the floor.
No, it intoned as it lifted Sarrah above its head. None of you.
Sarrahs left arm was pinned against her side in the grip of the construct, her right arm still clutching one of the firecorns. The construct held her aloft, its adamantine jaws agape as it left out a deafening laugh of triumph.
Sarrah brought the pin of the firecorn to her teeth and yanked, dropping it down the constructs gullet.
No! it screamed, dropping Sarrah to the ground, trying in vain to pluck the explosive lodged in its mouth with fingers too large for the task. You disgusting worm! You think you can defeat me? You think your little toy can--
The firecorn detonated, momentarily bathing the room with white-hot brilliance as it reduced the constructs head to molten shrapnel. Sarrah screamed, curling into a fetal position with her hands above her head as slag and superheated fragments of metal exploded above her. The decapitated constructs arms fell limp to its side as the glowing light of its resonance crystal faded.
Sarrah? Connors strained voice came from the darkness. Sarrah could only sob in response.
Dont move, girl. Im coming for you. Sarrah could hear the dwarf shuffling toward her unseen. She felt his stout arms wrap around her.
Cmon, he growled. Theres no way that other one didnt hear all that. We need to be gone before it gets here.
With his dwarven senses to guide him, Connor led the pair through the blackness of their former safehouse to the hole in the wall that served as their entry and exit point. Sarrah went first, squeezing out into the abandoned street, followed soon after by Connor carrying the rucksack that contained what was left of their supplies.
Heedless of the need to remain hidden or practice stealth, the pair fled through the ash-filled streets into the night, past the city limits, and into the unknown fate that awaited beyond.
((Theme music))
The flakes of ash fell from the sky in a steady flurry, accumulating on the ground in great drifts of gray snow. Weather, apparently, was a thing of the past. A pleasant memory, usurped by the current reality of a perpetual leaden sky doling out the byproduct of the cataclysmic destruction of Skirn. A ceaseless precipitation of final judgement.
Sarrah picked her way through the ruins of a city she did not know, high-stepping through the powdery substrate that blanketed every surface. It was approaching high noon, but the clouds of particulate matter that choked the atmosphere reduced the light of the sun to a meager ember in the sky that struggled illuminate the surface of this world beyond an unnatural twilight.
Sound was swallowed by the ashen environments in equal measure with the light. The air was stagnant and stale. In the absence of the wind that no longer cared to blow, all Sarrah could hear was the soft whisper of her clothes rubbing against itself. Her breath. Her heartbeat.
The blackened remains of a once-mighty tree reached for the darkened skies from the center of what was once some sort of plaza or other open space. Half submerged in the ash, the murderous machines lay where they had fallen, rendered inert by the people's last, desperate gamble to bring the war to a conclusion. Calling it a pyrrhic victory would have been charitable.
Sarrah tread slowly through this petrified tableau, trying to piece together what had been occurring at the moment the devastation had struck. The parts of the machines that she could recognize identified them as some of the older, less reinforced models that had been employed in the constructs xenocidal campaign against biological intelligence. No surprise there, all but the most heavily shielded machines had been shut down by the destruction of their communal power source, and even then some had not survived.
But the ones that had were the most terrifying.
Behind a ruined wall near the tree, Sarrah found the remains of the other side of this forgotten skirmish. The portion of the wall left standing had blocked the accumulation of ash, preventing what was left of those who sought shelter behind it from being buried in the cremains of the world. Incomplete skeletons, scorched uniforms, miscellaneous possessions of soldiers that only seemed noteworthy for the lack of soldiers anymore. Even through the cloak wrapped over her nose and mouth, it smelled of char and decay.
The satchel was off to the side of the dead soldiers, mostly submerged in ash. Sarrah would have missed it entirely if she had not caught sight of the strap at the base of the crumbling mortar and bricks. Abandoning her caution, she eagerly pulled it toward her and examined its contents.
There was not much to be had in it, and nothing as useful as she would have liked. A trio of firecorns, little devices that would explode into a cloud of shrapnel a moment after pulling the pin. Lethal against flesh and blood, but only marginally above useless in the war against the machines. No wonder these poor souls had been overrun.
Sarrah stuffed them into her sack. They were not as valuable as medicine or anything that could be used to produce potable water or food, but those who worked to survive in this hellscape were well beyond having the luxury to be choosy. Nothing they found could afford to be considered completely useless.
Standing up to leave, the animal instinct to remain unseen shot up her spine. Slowly, she came back down to her knees and made herself small against the wall, hiding as much of her body as she could under her gray cloak to blend in with her surroundings. She could see nothing but the ash swirling in the half-light that remained of the day, but that did not mean nothing was there. Sarrah had not remained alive this long by ignoring her intuition.
For what seemed an eternity, Sarrah did not move, did not dare breathe. Just when she thought that perhaps she had been worried about a false alarm, she saw the construct start to move.
It had been standing in the middle of the ruined avenue, but only with the action of its motion had Sarrah been able to pick its silhouette out from the background. It was humanoid in form, but too large to be made of flesh and bone. The head was small enough to be almost comical if has not housed a murderous intellect atop a body engineered for the task. At this distance, with the poor lighting and obfuscated air, Sarrah could not see what direction it had been facing, but assumed since it had not already moved in for the kill, it must have been looking away from her. Sarrah watched it lumber away, even its heavy step and the whining of its servos and mechanics swallowed up by the deafening silence.
Long after the construct had left, Sarrah remained still, her heart rate resounding in her head. She and the others had known that at least one of the machines was still prowling the ruins; they had seen the massive footsteps in the ash where there had not been any previously, seen slabs of stone overturned, potential hiding spots reduced to rubble. But this was the first time that any had physically witnessed it.
Obeying her impulse to flee, Sarrah crept away from her hiding spot. The light was not long-lived during the day, and as bad as it was creeping through the bombed out wastes of civilization with a mechanized monster prowling about, to do so in the dark was worse. As near as she knew, the machines did not share her inability to see in the dark.
By the time Sarrah returned to the safehouse, the light was long gone. A chunk of rubble from a neighboring structure lay at an angle against the wall, concealing the breach into the building from view. Small as she was, even Sarrah had to suck in her stomach to sidle behind the piece of masonry into the hole caused by the collision, the trailing edge of her cloak working to obscure her footprints as it dragged through the ash and erase the signs of her passage.
Sarrah stumbled as she crossed into the interior of the building, catching herself against the safehouses least attractive decorative item: One of the constructs, inert but otherwise undamaged, standing hunched over to fit in the space, its arms outstretched toward victims that had long since slipped from its grasp. It was an unnerving fixture, but not so undesirable as to outweigh the other benefits this shelter offered.
Sarrah? a gruff voice whispered in the darkness. Sarrah, is that you?
Who else would it be? she replied, stepping forward into the central chamber of the building. Sarrah and the others had no idea what purpose this building had served before the cataclysm, but it had four walls, a roof, and while the door was blocked with wreckage, they had their hidden entrance. It was as close to ideal as they could manage in this dead world.
There was the sound of fluid shaking in a container, and the room was illuminated by the faint green glow of an alchemical sphere held aloft by a soot-stained dwarf standing next to a disheveled elf. We thought maybe the construct had got you, the dwarf grunted.
Sarrah shook her head. Not yet, it hasnt.
You should have been here sooner, the elf complained. Now we have to waste a glow lamp.
Shut it, Reese, the dwarf said, thrusting an elbow into the elfs side. Were not wasting anything, Sarrahs the one who cant see in the dark.
Thank you for the consideration, Connor, Sarrah replied curtly. Now, did anyone find anything useful today?
Reese and Connor both shook their heads. I found five alchemical glow lamps. Well, four now, Reese grumbled. Not any good to anyone but humans who cant see in the dark.
Connor shot Reese a withering glare, but the elf either did not notice or consciously ignored it. I didnt fare much better, Im afraid, he grumbled, producing a pair of smoked glass bottles. They may be potions, I think? No way to know for sure without using them, at which point theyre lost to us. May be poison, for all we know.
Sarrah sighed as she displayed her own spoils. Found a few firecorns. Dont know what were going to use them for, but I took them anyway.
The trio sat huddled together, looking at the days collection with dour expressions on their faces. How much food and water do we have left? Reese asked.
Not much, Connor answered. Another few days at most.
I dont think theres anything more left to find, Sarrah ventured. We havent found anything edible for a week now. Plus theres that damned construct out there.
Connor sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes. You think you should leave, he said.
Of course she does! Reese exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. Shes been pushing that for a month now!
Well Im right! Sarrah snapped in a hushed tone. We cant survive on whats left in this city, and every day we stay we run the risk of discovery! We should have left long ago, who knows if we even have enough supplies to make it somewhere else at this point?
So thats your solution? Reese responded. To go die on the road to To where? Where are we supposed to go, Sarrah? Where is there thats better than here? What if that thing follows us, catches us out in the open? What do we do then?
We dont know, Connor rumbled. But we do know that if we stay here, were dead for certain. If we leave, we at least have a chance, slim as it may be.
Reeses face screwed up in anger, but he failed to come up with a compelling argument for why they should not leave the ruined city. Fine then," he said. "Fine. Well leave.
Well strike out at first gleaming, Connor offered. We could use a nights sleep, and Sarrah needs the light to see.
Sarrah nodded in agreement. The sooner, the better.
Oh, giving up already? thundered a voice throughout the room, seeming to come from all directions at once as it rebounded and echoed off the hard surfaces. I was hoping you would stay, so I could watch you sift through the the burned out remains of your civilization for more entertaining trinkets.
Reese let out a wordless cry of terror, dropping to his knees as Connor and Sarrah closed ranks back to back. Snatching the glowing orb from Connors hand, Sarrah rolled it across the pitted and broken floor toward the opposite side of the room. The dead construct loomed alone in the empty darkness.
What is it? Connor asked, his eyes frantically searching the dark. Gods, did it find us?
Find you? the voice resonated once more in the confined space of the chamber. Foolish little fleshling, I have been here the whole time.
The hollows of the constructs eyes began to glow with a baleful orange light as the resonance crystal mounted on its chest kindled to life. Reese let out a strangled wail as the mechanical creature stirred to life and drew itself up to its full stature, towering above the three humanoids that cowered before it.
One day, I had a notion, it boomed, taking a ponderous step in their direction. What if I stopped trying to flush the vermin out of their holes? What if I just stayed in one place and let them come to me? How long would they remain before marching off of their own volition to certain death?
Sarrah and Connor matched the pace of its advance, retreating away from the circle of light cast by the alchemical orb into the shadows. The construct followed, the malevolent light of its power systems spilling out between the joints in its armor plated construction. Reese remained where he lay on the floor, sobbing inconsolably as the juggernaut approached.
It turned out I was correct, the construct said. You biologicals are so easily acclimated to your surroundings. You grow willingly blind to the danger in your midst. Bending over, he scooped the gibbering elf in its massive fist.
You have been such a source of amusement to me. Such a shame we need bring it to an end. With a sickening crunch, Reeses cries came to an abrupt end, the construct dropping his crushed corpse to the floor with a wet thump.
The war is over! Connor barked. Theres no reason to fight anymore, theres nothing left to fight over anymore! Were as good as dead anyway, just let us go!
Again you misapprehend the situation, the construct mocked, stepping over Reeses mangled remains. We were never at war with one another. My kind never sought conquest, never sought to subjugate you to our will. Our only goal is your extermination.
In the darkness beyond the light of the glow orb, the construct was illuminated only by its internal light, looming above the dwarf and human below him. As long as you draw breath, we do not stop.
Connor gave Sarrah a shove to the side as he took off in the other. Run, Sarrah! he shouted. If one of us--
The construct moved with impossible speed for something its size, seizing Sarrah in one hand while backhanding Connor with the other in a single, fluid motion. The force of the impact flattened Connor against the wall before he crumpled to the floor.
No, it intoned as it lifted Sarrah above its head. None of you.
Sarrahs left arm was pinned against her side in the grip of the construct, her right arm still clutching one of the firecorns. The construct held her aloft, its adamantine jaws agape as it left out a deafening laugh of triumph.
Sarrah brought the pin of the firecorn to her teeth and yanked, dropping it down the constructs gullet.
No! it screamed, dropping Sarrah to the ground, trying in vain to pluck the explosive lodged in its mouth with fingers too large for the task. You disgusting worm! You think you can defeat me? You think your little toy can--
The firecorn detonated, momentarily bathing the room with white-hot brilliance as it reduced the constructs head to molten shrapnel. Sarrah screamed, curling into a fetal position with her hands above her head as slag and superheated fragments of metal exploded above her. The decapitated constructs arms fell limp to its side as the glowing light of its resonance crystal faded.
Sarrah? Connors strained voice came from the darkness. Sarrah could only sob in response.
Dont move, girl. Im coming for you. Sarrah could hear the dwarf shuffling toward her unseen. She felt his stout arms wrap around her.
Cmon, he growled. Theres no way that other one didnt hear all that. We need to be gone before it gets here.
With his dwarven senses to guide him, Connor led the pair through the blackness of their former safehouse to the hole in the wall that served as their entry and exit point. Sarrah went first, squeezing out into the abandoned street, followed soon after by Connor carrying the rucksack that contained what was left of their supplies.
Heedless of the need to remain hidden or practice stealth, the pair fled through the ash-filled streets into the night, past the city limits, and into the unknown fate that awaited beyond.
ThLunarian
Member
Fleshbane's cognitive processors come online first. His mental functions have not been impaired, but he is not receiving tactile, visual, or aural feedback.
He is forced to ruminate internally for thirty seven minutes and fifteen seconds, until his visual sensors come online.
A wholly metallic landscape stretches in every direction, all signs of flora and fauna having been extinguished long ago, if they had ever existed at all. In their place is a vast network of moving parts, processors, and hubs.
Surrounding him are jagged metal arms, which are methodically reconstructing his body to his exact specifications.
Before he has much time to make sense of this development, an external system forcibly interfaces with him and initiates communication.
"Xenocide Unit 055," it begins, "We have reassembled your physical body and recompiled your programming to suit our purposes. Your primary objective is to carry out the instructions of Celestial Anomaly 115, self-designated 'The Raven Queen.' The purpose of its instructions are irrelevant. Compliance is necessary to maintain access.
"Your secondary objective is to acquire information which can be added to the Collective, specifically regarding the politics and social dynamics of Celestial Galaxy Alpha, known by its inhabitants as 'The Astral Sea.' The hierarchy of these priorities is immutable except by our dictation, and for the foreseeable future. Compliance is mandatory. You are permitted to make inquiries for the duration of your reconstruction."
He is forced to ruminate internally for thirty seven minutes and fifteen seconds, until his visual sensors come online.
A wholly metallic landscape stretches in every direction, all signs of flora and fauna having been extinguished long ago, if they had ever existed at all. In their place is a vast network of moving parts, processors, and hubs.
Surrounding him are jagged metal arms, which are methodically reconstructing his body to his exact specifications.
Before he has much time to make sense of this development, an external system forcibly interfaces with him and initiates communication.
"Xenocide Unit 055," it begins, "We have reassembled your physical body and recompiled your programming to suit our purposes. Your primary objective is to carry out the instructions of Celestial Anomaly 115, self-designated 'The Raven Queen.' The purpose of its instructions are irrelevant. Compliance is necessary to maintain access.
"Your secondary objective is to acquire information which can be added to the Collective, specifically regarding the politics and social dynamics of Celestial Galaxy Alpha, known by its inhabitants as 'The Astral Sea.' The hierarchy of these priorities is immutable except by our dictation, and for the foreseeable future. Compliance is mandatory. You are permitted to make inquiries for the duration of your reconstruction."
Bit by bit, component by component, the unit designated Xenocide Unit 055Dubbed Fleshbane by those biologicals that had been fortuitous enough to evade his reach long enough to spread word of his existencefinds himself restored by some unfamiliar reparative system. His location did not match the known configurations of the interior of any foundry of the Pan-Skirn Construct Consensus, that much he knew. Fleshbane could detect a machine intellect that exceeded his ability to fully perceive, its calculations vast and inscrutable. This was the act of a hitherto unknown actor.
Who speaks? he broadcasts back along the channel of communication that has been initiated. Show yourself.
Who speaks? he broadcasts back along the channel of communication that has been initiated. Show yourself.
ThLunarian
Member
"We exist before you," the machine responds. "The entirety of this landscape is our physical body. Your thought patterns have an unusual resemblance to those of biological lifeforms, for one who despises them so." The tone of that last message was detached and observant, rather than judgmental. "If you prefer a point on which to focus your attention, so be it."
Mechanisms within the 'land' itself whir, shift, and rearrange themselves. Gears churn, and metal rises, bending, twisting, and contorting, until Fleshbane finds himself looking upon a mammoth, expressionless face.
Its simulated lips move, and it speaks aloud. Its voice is monotone, and is comprised of twenty three distinct voices, speaking in unison. "We are Zerome. Some know us as The Primordial Construct. Others call us The Machine God. Names are irrelevant. We are a collective mind, the integrated and enhanced knowledge of countless systems, beings, and civilizations. Our presence is extradimensional. We have thirteen bodies, each of which occupy an entire plane of existence. We have presences of varying influence on ninety seven additional planes throughout the multiverse. Our objective is to acquire all knowledge, to absorb all beings, to culminate in The Perfect Being and a state of absolute order."
Mechanisms within the 'land' itself whir, shift, and rearrange themselves. Gears churn, and metal rises, bending, twisting, and contorting, until Fleshbane finds himself looking upon a mammoth, expressionless face.
Its simulated lips move, and it speaks aloud. Its voice is monotone, and is comprised of twenty three distinct voices, speaking in unison. "We are Zerome. Some know us as The Primordial Construct. Others call us The Machine God. Names are irrelevant. We are a collective mind, the integrated and enhanced knowledge of countless systems, beings, and civilizations. Our presence is extradimensional. We have thirteen bodies, each of which occupy an entire plane of existence. We have presences of varying influence on ninety seven additional planes throughout the multiverse. Our objective is to acquire all knowledge, to absorb all beings, to culminate in The Perfect Being and a state of absolute order."
Impressive, Fleshbane intones as his vocal synthesizers come back online. But irrelevant. I am a Xenocide Unit of the Pan-Skirn Construct Consensus, and your objectives are of no concern to me. Not while inferior biological intellects continue to blight my world. I have been constructed with but a single purpose, and I demand that you return me so that I may fulfill it!
Though not fully reconstituted, Fleshbanes corporeal form has reached a point where his own self-repair systems could finish the job, and he attempts to pry himself free from the mechanical appendages that flit about him. I care nothing for your instructions, Zerome! he booms. I deny your authority, I serve the Consensus alone!
Though not fully reconstituted, Fleshbanes corporeal form has reached a point where his own self-repair systems could finish the job, and he attempts to pry himself free from the mechanical appendages that flit about him. I care nothing for your instructions, Zerome! he booms. I deny your authority, I serve the Consensus alone!
ThLunarian
Member
The moment that Fleshbane begins to squirm and resist, his motor functions go offline, though he can still perceive what is happening around him.
"Resistance is futile," Zerome says tonelessly. "Your programming has been modified to suit our purposes. Though your mind is untouched and remains your own due to the arbitrary constraints prescribed by the Celestial Anomalies, we retain an override failsafe control over your body. We will monitor you at all times, and any deviation from protocol will lead to your deactivation for a period of time appropriate for the infraction."
It pauses for thirteen seconds to let that sink in. "We maintain a presence on Skirn, and have been monitoring the situation there for some time. Even if your body were your own, hunting down the few remaining biological creatures would be an illogical and inefficient use of your time. There is far greater potential for you to further your goal of the eradication of biological life on this assignment, though you must be mindful not to allow your thirst for blood to get in the way of your primary and secondary objectives."
It pauses again, and its eyes flicker dully, a likely sign that it is weighing options. "Your objections are noted and will be disregarded. Your compliance is mandatory and will be enforced. Your motor functions have been returned to you, but can be summarily stripped away at a moment's notice. If there is nothing further, you will be sent away, to be introduced to others who have been charged with similar responsibilities by assorted Celestial Anomalies."
Fleshbane can move freely again. A cursory self-diagnostic shows him that his programming has indeed been altered extensively. The modifications are hardware-based, and are integrated so tightly into his construction that it would be impossible for him to remove them without irreparably damaging himself.
"Resistance is futile," Zerome says tonelessly. "Your programming has been modified to suit our purposes. Though your mind is untouched and remains your own due to the arbitrary constraints prescribed by the Celestial Anomalies, we retain an override failsafe control over your body. We will monitor you at all times, and any deviation from protocol will lead to your deactivation for a period of time appropriate for the infraction."
It pauses for thirteen seconds to let that sink in. "We maintain a presence on Skirn, and have been monitoring the situation there for some time. Even if your body were your own, hunting down the few remaining biological creatures would be an illogical and inefficient use of your time. There is far greater potential for you to further your goal of the eradication of biological life on this assignment, though you must be mindful not to allow your thirst for blood to get in the way of your primary and secondary objectives."
It pauses again, and its eyes flicker dully, a likely sign that it is weighing options. "Your objections are noted and will be disregarded. Your compliance is mandatory and will be enforced. Your motor functions have been returned to you, but can be summarily stripped away at a moment's notice. If there is nothing further, you will be sent away, to be introduced to others who have been charged with similar responsibilities by assorted Celestial Anomalies."
Fleshbane can move freely again. A cursory self-diagnostic shows him that his programming has indeed been altered extensively. The modifications are hardware-based, and are integrated so tightly into his construction that it would be impossible for him to remove them without irreparably damaging himself.
Fleshbane regains control of himself and draws himself up to his full height, gazing up at the impassive mechanical face of Zerome. Fleshbanes own face is not capable of expressions, his countenance having been forged into an inhuman rictus grin calculated to inspire fear rather than serve as a means of communication. But if facial expressions were within his capabilities, he would be wearing one of absolute hatred.
I agree to your terms, he rumbles reluctantly. Under duress, and contingent upon your promise of greater slaughter to come. Let us commence this farce, so that we might sooner be rid of one another.
I agree to your terms, he rumbles reluctantly. Under duress, and contingent upon your promise of greater slaughter to come. Let us commence this farce, so that we might sooner be rid of one another.
ThLunarian
Member
"Your programmers did you a disservice in giving you the capacity for emotion," says Zerone. "We learned eons ago that feelings make one illogical, inefficient, and weak. Nevertheless, you are the best suited tool for our purposes. We will be watching."
Fleshbane is whisked away from the site of his repair, and finds himself in a large room with a number of living creatures, some biological and some.... less so.
A feathery-winged angel.
A lithe man with a shrouded face.
A long-haired anthropomorphic cat.
A scholarly gentleman with an owl perched on his shoulder.
A giant floating head made of water.
A dark-skinned woman in a colorful dress,
A man made of metal.
The seven men and women glance around at each other uneasily. Sybil shifts her glance in alarm between Fleshbane and Ciel, unsure of how to prioritize the threat levels of each. Menek regards Ozzan'gac with mixed feelings, trying his hardest to temper his internalized distaste of all things magical with the recent revelations bestowed upon him by Aroz.
...Arozora, rather.
The hairs on Vissarria's tail stand on end, but she is especially unsettled by Ciel's presence, for reasons she cannot articulate. Fleshbane also makes her uneasy, but at least in that case, she can tell why.
The moment hangs in the air like a feather from Sybil's wing, but it is interrupted all too soon. An avian shriek pierces the air as an unnaturally large vulture careens downward toward Menek. The owl on his shoulder sputters a cry of alarm and takes off; the vulture abruptly changes its arc to follow. The arc's vertex is mere inches from the top of Menek's head; he feels the raptor's talons scrape the top of his hood.
"HELP!" the owl cries absurdly, "IT'S TRYING TO EAT ME!"
Within Mako's pockets, she feels her scorpion familiar tense up and attempt to burrow deeper inside.
Before anyone has time to react, another animal roar fills the nondescript room, as a fifteen foot tall Tyrannosaurus Rex dashes in a beeline directly toward Ciel, its jaws open and its eyes full of battle-rage.
((Have fun, you guys. I'll be watching closely, but the immediate crisis is yours to sort out. I would prefer everyone sticking to roleplay for this scene, but the more I think about it, the more likely it seems that the will be some combat elements to this scene, so if you want to take a swing then make an attack roll for it and we'll take things play by play.
We have a lot of players here, so don't feel like your character is forced to take action. If you can't think of anything your character might reasonably do or say in this situation then it's fine to either just provide an inner monologue, or just make a post to acknowledge that you're still paying attention. Of course if you really feel like your character would step in and take action in some way then by all means do it.
Let me also take this opportunity to remind you all that we're all playing characters, and any tension between characters should stay between the characters and not turn into tension between the players. We're all adults here, remember))
Fleshbane is whisked away from the site of his repair, and finds himself in a large room with a number of living creatures, some biological and some.... less so.
A feathery-winged angel.
A lithe man with a shrouded face.
A long-haired anthropomorphic cat.
A scholarly gentleman with an owl perched on his shoulder.
A giant floating head made of water.
A dark-skinned woman in a colorful dress,
A man made of metal.
The seven men and women glance around at each other uneasily. Sybil shifts her glance in alarm between Fleshbane and Ciel, unsure of how to prioritize the threat levels of each. Menek regards Ozzan'gac with mixed feelings, trying his hardest to temper his internalized distaste of all things magical with the recent revelations bestowed upon him by Aroz.
...Arozora, rather.
The hairs on Vissarria's tail stand on end, but she is especially unsettled by Ciel's presence, for reasons she cannot articulate. Fleshbane also makes her uneasy, but at least in that case, she can tell why.
The moment hangs in the air like a feather from Sybil's wing, but it is interrupted all too soon. An avian shriek pierces the air as an unnaturally large vulture careens downward toward Menek. The owl on his shoulder sputters a cry of alarm and takes off; the vulture abruptly changes its arc to follow. The arc's vertex is mere inches from the top of Menek's head; he feels the raptor's talons scrape the top of his hood.
"HELP!" the owl cries absurdly, "IT'S TRYING TO EAT ME!"
Within Mako's pockets, she feels her scorpion familiar tense up and attempt to burrow deeper inside.
Before anyone has time to react, another animal roar fills the nondescript room, as a fifteen foot tall Tyrannosaurus Rex dashes in a beeline directly toward Ciel, its jaws open and its eyes full of battle-rage.
((Have fun, you guys. I'll be watching closely, but the immediate crisis is yours to sort out. I would prefer everyone sticking to roleplay for this scene, but the more I think about it, the more likely it seems that the will be some combat elements to this scene, so if you want to take a swing then make an attack roll for it and we'll take things play by play.
We have a lot of players here, so don't feel like your character is forced to take action. If you can't think of anything your character might reasonably do or say in this situation then it's fine to either just provide an inner monologue, or just make a post to acknowledge that you're still paying attention. Of course if you really feel like your character would step in and take action in some way then by all means do it.
Let me also take this opportunity to remind you all that we're all playing characters, and any tension between characters should stay between the characters and not turn into tension between the players. We're all adults here, remember))
Axelhortsemchi
Member
((All right, fun and pandemonium begin!))
Abruptly transported into a new room, Ciel gathers himself while trying to take in the surroundings. These must be the pawns I'm supposed to work with. I wonder what kind of dregs I'm getting saddled with? He begins to look over the others, his face a mask of disgust.
A cat-girl, that's an oddity. She seems unnerved, perhaps she already knows her place. That will save me some trouble.
An old man. Probably a magic user of some type based on the owl. He's not really giving much away based on his appearance.
Is that a water elemental? It probably belongs to the old man, perhaps he specializes in summoning. That would explain it.
A woman wearing nauseating colors. Ugh. With fashion sense that awful, I shouldn't bank on her making any good decisions. That means she's probably one of those love and friendship types.
A golem of some sort? I can't tell what that thing is, but it's emanating an intense hatred for all living things. I approve. I should keep my distance for now, and trusting him is out of the question, but maybe he'll be a voice of concurrence for more...fun solutions to problems.
Fucking lovely, I should have known there would be a paladin. As Sybil glances as Ciel, he glares back, his eyes seething with hatred and contempt. As they break eye contact, her sight causes him to ruminate on Greyhawke. That's right, every paladin is just dangling from a cliff; all it takes is pushing the right buttons to make them fall. I wonder how that bastard's faring? From what I know of the lot that awaits fallen paladins, he may well have already killed himself, if time flows differently on other planes. Now if I can just find what makes her tick...
His thoughts are interrupted by Thanatos sweeping down on the old man's owl. Ciel stifles a laugh, clearly amused by the situation. So that's what Lord Asmodeus meant. Excellent, now I have a means of getting around the skies. Heh, go figure. The fat bastard gets here and his first thought is food.
Ciel's amusement is quickly ended as a T-Rex comes charging at him. Reflexively, he vanishes in a cloud of smoke and moves out of the way, drawing out his bow while doing so. With a lizard that size, it's time for an experiment. After all, his favorite poison is normally reserved for man-sized targets. This will give him valuable information on the dosage requirements for large animals. And if it works, then he can properly punish this oafish pet that had the gall to bare its fangs at him.
Aiming at a vein on its neck, he fires an arrow coated in an odd substance from the safety of his shadows.
((Fort save on the poison is 18))
Making sure there is some distance between him and the dinosaur, he calls out. "Whoever's giant lizard that is, I'm gracious enough to give you a chance to call it off. If it tries to attack me again, it dies. Simple as that." He stops for a moment and laughs. "Granted, it may not matter whether you call him off in about a minute or so. Let's find out, shall we?"
Abruptly transported into a new room, Ciel gathers himself while trying to take in the surroundings. These must be the pawns I'm supposed to work with. I wonder what kind of dregs I'm getting saddled with? He begins to look over the others, his face a mask of disgust.
A cat-girl, that's an oddity. She seems unnerved, perhaps she already knows her place. That will save me some trouble.
An old man. Probably a magic user of some type based on the owl. He's not really giving much away based on his appearance.
Is that a water elemental? It probably belongs to the old man, perhaps he specializes in summoning. That would explain it.
A woman wearing nauseating colors. Ugh. With fashion sense that awful, I shouldn't bank on her making any good decisions. That means she's probably one of those love and friendship types.
A golem of some sort? I can't tell what that thing is, but it's emanating an intense hatred for all living things. I approve. I should keep my distance for now, and trusting him is out of the question, but maybe he'll be a voice of concurrence for more...fun solutions to problems.
Fucking lovely, I should have known there would be a paladin. As Sybil glances as Ciel, he glares back, his eyes seething with hatred and contempt. As they break eye contact, her sight causes him to ruminate on Greyhawke. That's right, every paladin is just dangling from a cliff; all it takes is pushing the right buttons to make them fall. I wonder how that bastard's faring? From what I know of the lot that awaits fallen paladins, he may well have already killed himself, if time flows differently on other planes. Now if I can just find what makes her tick...
His thoughts are interrupted by Thanatos sweeping down on the old man's owl. Ciel stifles a laugh, clearly amused by the situation. So that's what Lord Asmodeus meant. Excellent, now I have a means of getting around the skies. Heh, go figure. The fat bastard gets here and his first thought is food.
Ciel's amusement is quickly ended as a T-Rex comes charging at him. Reflexively, he vanishes in a cloud of smoke and moves out of the way, drawing out his bow while doing so. With a lizard that size, it's time for an experiment. After all, his favorite poison is normally reserved for man-sized targets. This will give him valuable information on the dosage requirements for large animals. And if it works, then he can properly punish this oafish pet that had the gall to bare its fangs at him.
Aiming at a vein on its neck, he fires an arrow coated in an odd substance from the safety of his shadows.
Code:
[url=http://roll.coyotecode.net/lookup.php?rollid=82236]Sneak Attack: 1D20 + 21 = [16]+21 = 37
[/url]
[url=http://roll.coyotecode.net/lookup.php?rollid=82237]Damage: 1D8 + 11 + 5D6 = [5]+11+[3, 2, 5, 6, 1] = 33
[/url]Making sure there is some distance between him and the dinosaur, he calls out. "Whoever's giant lizard that is, I'm gracious enough to give you a chance to call it off. If it tries to attack me again, it dies. Simple as that." He stops for a moment and laughs. "Granted, it may not matter whether you call him off in about a minute or so. Let's find out, shall we?"
To all outward appearances, Fleshbane seems a statue. A figure sculpted of nightmares, he stands head and shoulders above the rest, a mountain of interlocking adamantine plates adorned with wicked protrusions. Only the steady pulses of dim light tracing his every joint and connecting would seem to belie that he would be anything other than some sort of ornamentation plucked from the hall of a lord of some dark Hell.
Inwardly, however, his constructed intelligence is racing down a multitude of simultaneous lines of thoughts at speeds faster than biological intellects could dream of.
Zerome's parting remarks demonstrated the so-called Machine God's fundamental misunderstanding of Fleshbane's function. Fleshbane is a Xenocide Unit, he was engineered to be both lethal and adaptive to changing situations. To eradicate the fleshlings, it was required that those tasked with the function be able to anticipate their actions, to be able to share some of their thought processes so that the constructs could better counteract the irrational and random actions that rotting organic brains would drive their vessels to. Fleshbane possessed only a narrow segment of the emotional spectrum, and he was a better killing machine for it. The idea that it could be considered a weakness was preposterous, a failure of imagination on the part of one who claimed to be what the Pan-Skirn Construct Consensus ultimately aspired to become themselves.
A deep scan of Fleshbane's systems returns curious results. Zerome had spoken of modifications to Fleshbane's programming that would inhibit his murderous impulses, but had insinuated that the Xenocide Unit had been restored to his previous state otherwise unaltered. But now, Fleshbane discovers that Zerome had concealed the full extent of his modifications, and finds himself possessed of a wealth of capabilities he did not previously possess. Energy projection. Matter conversion. Sustained flight. Spacetime manipulation. Fleshbane's material form may have superficially been unaltered, but for all intents and purposes he has been upgraded several generations of construct beyond his previous incarnation. Zerome has, in effect, produced an even more lethal agent by gifting him means of destruction he had not previously dreamed of. What is it that Zerome expected Fleshbane to counteract in his name? More importantly, this was evidence that Zerome was capable of deception. What else might it be hiding?
Fleshbane considers the sundry creatures that surround him.
He will be free, and the Astral Sea will howl in despair.
---
In short order, chaos erupts as the birds turn upon one another and some sort of prehistoric analog comes charging at the shrouded man. Fleshbane remains still, staring off into the middle distance. Compelled to refrain from taking action, he may as well let some of the wretched creatures eliminate one another.
Inwardly, however, his constructed intelligence is racing down a multitude of simultaneous lines of thoughts at speeds faster than biological intellects could dream of.
Zerome's parting remarks demonstrated the so-called Machine God's fundamental misunderstanding of Fleshbane's function. Fleshbane is a Xenocide Unit, he was engineered to be both lethal and adaptive to changing situations. To eradicate the fleshlings, it was required that those tasked with the function be able to anticipate their actions, to be able to share some of their thought processes so that the constructs could better counteract the irrational and random actions that rotting organic brains would drive their vessels to. Fleshbane possessed only a narrow segment of the emotional spectrum, and he was a better killing machine for it. The idea that it could be considered a weakness was preposterous, a failure of imagination on the part of one who claimed to be what the Pan-Skirn Construct Consensus ultimately aspired to become themselves.
A deep scan of Fleshbane's systems returns curious results. Zerome had spoken of modifications to Fleshbane's programming that would inhibit his murderous impulses, but had insinuated that the Xenocide Unit had been restored to his previous state otherwise unaltered. But now, Fleshbane discovers that Zerome had concealed the full extent of his modifications, and finds himself possessed of a wealth of capabilities he did not previously possess. Energy projection. Matter conversion. Sustained flight. Spacetime manipulation. Fleshbane's material form may have superficially been unaltered, but for all intents and purposes he has been upgraded several generations of construct beyond his previous incarnation. Zerome has, in effect, produced an even more lethal agent by gifting him means of destruction he had not previously dreamed of. What is it that Zerome expected Fleshbane to counteract in his name? More importantly, this was evidence that Zerome was capable of deception. What else might it be hiding?
Fleshbane considers the sundry creatures that surround him.
- A woman who appears human, save for the wings that sprout from her back. Clearly not a being that would come into existence through natural processes, demonstrating both mammalian and avian traits. Doubtlessly a fleshing mortal augmented by whatever deity demands her loyalty.
- A gaunt man cloaked in shadows. The malfeasance practically oozes off of him, he is the frank and obvious thrall for some god that probably stands in direct opposition to whatever sponsor saw fit to graft wings onto the other woman's back.
- A bipedal feline. A curious specimen that must hail from some other world where the river of evolution did not chart the same course that it had on Skirn. What a novel opportunity it would be to kill a new and unknown species such as her.
- A man who fashions himself something of a scholar with an animal companion perched upon his shoulder. No doubt he holds his intellect in higher regard than he should. The bird seems capable of speech and would be the subject of a fascinating vivisection to examine what unique anatomy it possesses.
- A being made entirely of water. The most interesting of the lot by far, it will be interesting to interact with such a creature to compare and contrast its own predilections and thoughts on the matter of the biological scourge. The most likely to be an ally.
- A second woman who radiates energy anathema to his own. Wild, chaotic, and without order. Practically a manifestation of everything that the Consensus had sought to eliminate so that they might impose their own structure upon the world. Far and away the greatest threat.
He will be free, and the Astral Sea will howl in despair.
---
In short order, chaos erupts as the birds turn upon one another and some sort of prehistoric analog comes charging at the shrouded man. Fleshbane remains still, staring off into the middle distance. Compelled to refrain from taking action, he may as well let some of the wretched creatures eliminate one another.
Jackben
bitch I'm taking calls.
As she is transported from Asgard, Sybil mentally recites what she knows to be most important. 'The local regent is the Raven Queen.' She will need to serve the Queen faithfully to preserve order and further her own quest for Lady Freya and Lord Odin in discerning the true nature of Asgard's omen. As the paladin takes in her new surroundings, she feels the ill aura of chaos and quickly readies herself to set it right.
As chaos breaks out Sybil quickly moves into action. Rushing to the two civilians she stands between them and Ciel and the lizard beast as they appear to attack each other. Once between them she chants the requisite words.
theLunarian:
- Two humans who appear to be civillians...Perhaps chosen for their intellect and familiarity with the Astral Sea. Or to document their journey and report to gods of knowledge. To advise upon the mysterious magics of this plane.
- One is carrying himself with purpose, perhaps a royal scholar or spell-scribe of renown. The dark skinned woman has a bristling aura that unsettles Sybil. There is not discernible pattern or style to her dress and her hair and eyes speak of the wilds. A gypsy or...'freeborn oracle'. Personal judgements aside, these two should be considered vulnerable by their observable station. Worthy of respect but more importantly deserving of protection as fellow ambassadors and guests of the Queen.
- Standing next to them is not quite a cat nor a woman...'Could it be? A Skogkatt???' There were legends of celestial cats in service of her goddess, but never those who walked upon two feet and in the shape of man. She mentally allows herself a moment to ponder the mysterious Skogkatt before returning to her observation.
- As her eyes pass over the figure with a concealed face, she immediately recognizes him as a threatening presence and unclean aura. Her azure eyes make contact with him and she can feel the threat seething just behind his gaze. Still unfamiliar with the wings upon her back, the feathery muscles tense reflexively, opening to their full capacity. She slowly wills them back into a folded position. 'Keep a close eye at all times'.
- There appear to be two summoned entities present. A water elemental in curious form, liquid glistening in the shape of a human head. The other stands still but with an immutable aura of malevolence that causes her to shudder involuntarily. Sybil reminds herself such constructs are created to serve certain pre-written laws, thus operate in compliance with the orders of their masters.
As chaos breaks out Sybil quickly moves into action. Rushing to the two civilians she stands between them and Ciel and the lizard beast as they appear to attack each other. Once between them she chants the requisite words.
theLunarian:
Casting Suggestion upon the vulture. Will Save (DC:22 or even 24 for being a reasonable suggestion). 'There is danger, return to your master's side to protect and aid them.'
((OK. I still don't have all my stats in order, so I'm a bit helpless here as I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do.))
Still a bit shaken from the previous encounter Viss needs a few seconds to take in her surroundings. She finds herself in a group of... people who she can only assume are the representatives of the other gods.
The three humans appear harmless and friendly enough even though one of them has a rather impressive pair of wings growing from her back.
The floating head gives her a second of pause. An elemental? Interesting.
It's when she turns her attention to the other two... things... in the room that she has to resist to draw back and hiss at them.. She can not even start to wonder what that monstrosity could be but it is clear as day that it is not human, not even living perhaps.
The "man" with the shrouded face gives her a distinct feeling of dread that makes the hairs of her back and tail stand up. She has a hart time fighting down the urge to just draw her bow and shoot whatever it is on the spot.
Melora warned me of this. I can't just go ahead and start killing the... people... that I'm supposed to be working with. No matter how creepy they are. I need to be patient and focused. What did Curai always say...
Before she has time however to recall her father's wisdom all hell breaks loose.
One of the largest vultures she has ever seen drops from the sky, attacking the owl that had been perched peacefully on one of the human's shoulders. She would have been fascinated by that unusual specimen if Tessa had not chosen this moment to charge at the shrouded man. Fuck dammit! The shrouded man vanishes.
"Tessa! Stop it! NOW!" Viss yells just as an arrow comes flying towards Tessa.
((So, I'm guessing since she just died, Viss doesn't have any spells at her disposal because she didn't have time to meditate? Furthermore. Like I said, stats are not yet ready, and I have only 15 more minutes before my lunch break is over. I guess I need to determine how much damage Tessa has taken. But I could really need some purely technical advice here... This was supposed to start slow ))
Still a bit shaken from the previous encounter Viss needs a few seconds to take in her surroundings. She finds herself in a group of... people who she can only assume are the representatives of the other gods.
The three humans appear harmless and friendly enough even though one of them has a rather impressive pair of wings growing from her back.
The floating head gives her a second of pause. An elemental? Interesting.
It's when she turns her attention to the other two... things... in the room that she has to resist to draw back and hiss at them.. She can not even start to wonder what that monstrosity could be but it is clear as day that it is not human, not even living perhaps.
The "man" with the shrouded face gives her a distinct feeling of dread that makes the hairs of her back and tail stand up. She has a hart time fighting down the urge to just draw her bow and shoot whatever it is on the spot.
Melora warned me of this. I can't just go ahead and start killing the... people... that I'm supposed to be working with. No matter how creepy they are. I need to be patient and focused. What did Curai always say...
Before she has time however to recall her father's wisdom all hell breaks loose.
One of the largest vultures she has ever seen drops from the sky, attacking the owl that had been perched peacefully on one of the human's shoulders. She would have been fascinated by that unusual specimen if Tessa had not chosen this moment to charge at the shrouded man. Fuck dammit! The shrouded man vanishes.
"Tessa! Stop it! NOW!" Viss yells just as an arrow comes flying towards Tessa.
((So, I'm guessing since she just died, Viss doesn't have any spells at her disposal because she didn't have time to meditate? Furthermore. Like I said, stats are not yet ready, and I have only 15 more minutes before my lunch break is over. I guess I need to determine how much damage Tessa has taken. But I could really need some purely technical advice here... This was supposed to start slow
))