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BJ
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He Who Founds Wyrmlings
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
| Posts: 3997 |
| Location: Sa sikmura ng Bakunawa |
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Posted: Wed Jun 11, 2008 9:16 pm Post subject: By the Campfire |
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This thread is intended as the chief fluff storage for DM's and players. This is not to be confused with the Cracklepoop History thread, which is locked to all but the fluff team.
For DM's:
*Stash in any fluff you may write down here. The fluff team will comb through this thread every now and then, and if it fits the feel of the setting, it'll be included in the Cracklepoop History Thread.
*You are required to write down your game summary (or have a player write it down for you) after every session here.
For Players:
*This is the place to post any IC you may have for any of your existing characters. You cannot post about characters other than yours except with the permission of the character's player or your DM. |
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Last edited by BJ on Sun Jun 22, 2008 7:31 pm; edited 2 times in total |
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BJ
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He Who Founds Wyrmlings
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
| Posts: 3997 |
| Location: Sa sikmura ng Bakunawa |
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Posted: Wed Jun 18, 2008 2:44 pm Post subject: |
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There were gods, once.
Yes, they were truly magnificent creatures. Though they looked like us, they were also so much more. For they were the progenitors, first among firsts, rulers of Creation.
And we killed them.
Yes, it was the hand of mortality that killed the gods. Through the treacherous liberators, radicals among the angels, were we tricked. They spewed lies, declared our loving gods as tyrants, and dared conceive rebellion against them, using us mere mortals mortals as foot soldiers.
Yet before the rebellion even began, they were rooted out by our wise leaders, and they were punished for their folly. But the infection has already spread. There were those who became sympathetic of their fates. What fools we were.
The treachery of the Liberators were deep. Somehow, before their deaths, they managed to give out weapons of great power, godslayers, they were called, and they could destroy the indestructible. They revealed their secret weapon and unleashed it upon our masters.
They say Destiny was first to fall; Her bosom pierced by her own husband, Uriah, the Protohuman. Then a massacre ensued.
We have the bones of our former masters. How long has it been since that war? Our best estimates place it at 500 years. We have no way of becoming sure; the sun itself is fueled by our sacrifice to the dead Daystar. How long do we have before our world finishes its fall to the Elemental Chaos? The earthquakes get worse every year. Flashfires spontaneously flash out. Darkness engulfs the land when the Daystar is not fed.
We don't have much time. |
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Aur Ain Soph
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Very Old Dragon
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| Joined: 29 Aug 2007 |
| Posts: 693 |
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Posted: Sat Jun 21, 2008 5:08 pm Post subject: |
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The Caves of K'maht, A Bonethrall Campaign
Chapter One: The Cave of the Baalim
It is amazing, the things we do for gold...
I no longer remember when last Daystar appeared but from what my companions tell me, it was about three or four days ago and yet we march on though it be cold and dark. We are working with Mandrakori and I think it is because of the grace and tenacity in which they endure discomfort that we of lesser races hold back our misgivings and maintain our morale. They are noble, the Mandrakori, and endure suffering easily but they are Dragonborn and I am human and though our victory keeps our courage up, I am not sure how long such good spirits will last when all is surrounded by the dark.
Not long ago, our camp was where we scattered the Baalim in combat. The dead, theirs as well as ours, we burned and then we dug in. We do not know why were are here or why the Baalim had guarded this cave so fiercely but we who fight for gold are never told such things.
I do know this though: the cave unnerves me as does our employer, the man called Gabron if man he be. And now there are rumors to bolster my fears. A group was sent in advance to explore the depths of the cave. They returned with frightful injuries and now the whole camp is filled with the talk of what they found: a white dragon and a horde of the vile undead and the list of horrors that the cave keeps within its heart grow in the retelling. Though I doubt half of what I hear, it still fills me with dread.
I am no longer sure if the clink of gold is enough reason to remain...
_________________
All hail the Bongolian Ultraprawn! |
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Aur Ain Soph
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Very Old Dragon
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| Joined: 29 Aug 2007 |
| Posts: 693 |
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Posted: Sun Jun 29, 2008 9:51 pm Post subject: |
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The Caves of K'maht
Chapter Two: Shifty Little Buggers
From the diary of Clarence the Wyrmpriest.
We in deep deep dung. Horned woman necromancer, she full of holes now. Serves her right. She try cook us but it no good--other horned ones get angry, this Clarence knows.
Clarence find out that Charles and Dexter ran into adventurers first. They both dead now but Clarence hear that Charles knocked one unconscious. Clarence cannot believe--Charles be remembered forever and ever! He hero to Kobolds everywhere!
Horned woman killed one of them. Made them angry, Clarence thinks. They come more now and be more painful with the pointy stabby things. Clarence no feel happy.
Chowchow approach Clarence. He say something interesting. There be dragons outside. Chowchow say we can join them. Clarence think that not be such a bad idea. Clarence thinks Clarence will.
_________________
All hail the Bongolian Ultraprawn! |
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Aur Ain Soph
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Very Old Dragon
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| Joined: 29 Aug 2007 |
| Posts: 693 |
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Posted: Sun Jul 06, 2008 1:55 am Post subject: |
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The Caves of K'maht
Chapter Three: Angelic Eveready
Seven was very unhappy at the moment. Why? First it was because she was at the moment cramped inside a tunnel with men who had not bathed in ages. Granted, she was dirty too but still. Then there was the rest they took on cold hard rock. Granted that she was feeling a lot better than from when she had been resurrected (at least they told her that she had died--she wasn't really sure), the cold coupled with the things that tried to eat them all and the things that tried to poke them full of holes did not make for a happy camper.
And now it got worse--arithmetic was involved. Ultrafagnus took the lead in this and Kaelis was helping, which suited Sevens just fine. The numbers were gibberish to her although the reactions Ultrafagnus had to some of the things he read were perplexing to say the least and then there was the tunnel itself--she was mute not blind and she pretty sure that tunnels weren't supposed to have that many corners and turns and figure eights. She was finding it very disorienting but eventually, the dear old man persevered and they found themselves at the end whatever that meant.
What it meant was a laboratory with three clunking four foot tall metal Kobolds filled with murderous intent. At one point, a trap door got involved as well. Voltaire actually fell in but he got up again!
Eventually, they found the owner of the lab. A Kobold with metal legs. Kaelis, being Kaelis, immediately did all the talking, which suited Sevens just fine being mute and all and the only contribution she did was to offer the Kobold food given to her by Chowchow, the Kobold chef that had recently joined their company. She did listen in though. She found out a couple of things. One, yes, there was a godstone in the area, two the Kobolds were working on a construct that could either replace mercenaries or have the capacity for sentience if the Tiefling factor was involved and three, their employer, Gabron, was an angel intent on the destruction of all godstones.
Sevens was not happy at the moment. She rather liked being a mercenary and though money wasn't he primary concern--it was always a plus and the construct replacing mercenaries and the whole godstone destruction thing wasn't sitting well on her. She rather willingly came to the conclusion that she wasn't being paid enough just to see an opportunity like a master godstone slip away because of some foolish zealotry and she was certain the rest of the group felt the same way. Also, she was feeling sorry for the constructs and felt that sentience would be a good thing for them.
And when the Kobold started talking about needing a lifespark, an idea fell upon her. She interrupted them, gesturing wildly to grab their attention and then pointing to the construct the Kobold had been working on with an evil grin on her face--the kind of dream that nightmares were made of. Kaelis got the gist at once. She wasn't the only one pissed off by Gabron.
They considered it as a possibility. The Tieflings would have to be dealt with first but, yes, Gabron's lifespark would indeed be perfect.
Sevens' evil grin widened. She would spend the night sharpening the seven daggers that was her namesake. She had a feeling that they would have to be extra sharp soon.
_________________
All hail the Bongolian Ultraprawn! |
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Aur Ain Soph
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Very Old Dragon
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| Joined: 29 Aug 2007 |
| Posts: 693 |
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Posted: Fri Jul 11, 2008 10:18 pm Post subject: |
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Chapter Four: I Attack the Darkness!
Kaelis was cursing hard. They were tired, having fought one of the warforged and some zombies early on. Worst was the small fighting space they now had and the ghosts between Olwyn and the rest of the party, cutting the Dwarf off from any support. They had been hunting for Nes'vath, the Baalim leader but instead had run into Atka the erstwhile necromancer now a maddened Wraith and, from seemingly out of nowhere, Dhil'ihm, trying to gut Yevor from the shadows. Fortunately, the elf was nimble and was able to avoid the attack but Atka had raised vampiric minions and the party helplessly watched as Olwyn was buried under a mass of foul dead.
All seemed lost then and there until suddenly, a nimbus of power erupted from the wizened Ultrafagnus and Dhil'ihm was suddenly rendered unconscious by the power of the wizard's enchantment. Ultrafagnus was roused and in a show of power cast the enemies aside with lighting, the powerful lances of light crackling from the magical orb he held in his hand, allowing Kaelis and Yevor to go in aid of the downed Olwyn while Sevens, sensing opportunity, rushed for the fallen form of Dhil'ihm, picking up the Tiefling's falling weapon along the way and stabbing him twice, her dagger, finding its way to his heart while the Tiefling's katar, pierced through his throat, spilling lifeblood, a small stretch of skin the only thing keeping his head attached.
Heartened by the wizard's display of arcane power, the party rallied and, Atka, dismayed by the death of Dhil'ihm, fled, her unearthly wail echoing in her wake. Without the empowered Wraith, the lesser ghosts were defeated easily.
With this victory, they felt themselves getting closer to achieving their goals...
_________________
All hail the Bongolian Ultraprawn! |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
| Posts: 1552 |
| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Sat Aug 02, 2008 2:35 am Post subject: |
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The Ruined Sea
Chapter 1: The Ruins of Kalliope
(From the journal of Kyris Lasirlan, Baalim warlock)
...The Ruined Sea itself seems to be a fascinating place. This region seems once to have held a rather sizable body of water, if the ancient maps from before the Godfall war are correct. Every indication so far seems to confirm that. The prevalance of gullies, ravines, canyons, and sedimentary rocks seem to indicate the presence of much water in the past. It appears that when Song of Destruction reshaped the world, the sources of water that fed this vast body of water appear to have been re-channeled, or even dried up completely, resulting in a vast broken desert.
The dry desert air is ideal for preserving ancient ruins and relics, and I for one am very interested in exploring the nearby ruins of Kalliope. Who knows what ancient knowledge from the Age of Gods might still be present within?
***
...Met the oddest dwarf today. I was at the tavern with the other mercs and adventurers when in comes this dwarf wearing a cloak dyed in bright, well-nigh screaming PINK. And no, I am not shitting you. Pink. Of course, the way I see it, a person can dress as funny as he or she wants, as long as they're offering us a well-paying job. All we have to do is escort this barve named Korki to some enormous dwarven gathering in the Ruined Sea. Sounds like a milk-run.
As a side note, the path that the caravan needs to take actually runs nearby the ruins of Kalliope. Lucky. Maybe I might be able to find some time to actually explore the depths of the ruins, if I can get the rest of my friends to come along. After all, we do need to figure out if there are any threats to Lord Korki's caravan hidden in the ruins, right?
***
The same dream again. Every night for two weeks. Locust and I together. And...we...As we embrace, again, there it is, the vision of an insect's eyes. And then claws ripping me apart. Ripping me in half. And when the chrysalis is opened, something steps out into the light.
I must be going mad.
***
It's not just Lord Korki's courier, apparently. All of the dwarves in this caravan seem to be color blind. How else can we explain the bright pink, the fuchsia, teal-green, sky blue, and god knows how many other colors there are in their bloody little wagons. The colors clash so garishly that every bandit for miles must be able to see us.
***
Kalliope. This city is fantastic. They say that this was one of the last cities devastated towards the end of the war. It's architecture is grand and monumental, a strange fusion of many styles of art, (primarily between Elven Grace and Dwarven Stability). There's so much to see here.
***
Dead god's horns. That fountain is monumental. We had been making our way through the streets in an effort to blaze a trail for the caravan, when we stumbled into this enormous fountain. The fountain soars into dizzying heights, and the intricate carvings extolling the virtues of elves and dwarves. I look up at the edifice, and I can't help but wonder: Were the architects, both dwarven and elven, compensating for anything?
It appears that the city's central plaza was dedicated to the old goddess of high art, though I can't for the life of me recall her name. I'd love to poke around and try to spot the city's archives and libraries, but the dwarves seem to be in a hurry to get to their festival. I'll have to come back later if I want to discover more.
***
An important note to the prospective combat archaeologist: When plumbing the depths of ancient ruins, it would be to one's benefit to have someone handy with locks, gadgets, and traps.
In fairness, we hadn't really planned to go tomb robbing. With rubble blocking the route out from Kalliope, we had to explore alternate routes. Is it our fault that the only navigable route out was through the ruins of that crazy old skeleton's manse? The paranoid old bugger had his entry hall rigged with an impressive battery of magical crossbows. Having a foot-long crossbow bolt lodged in your side within two inches of hitting something vital is not a particularly enjoyable experience. I will admit to a certain satisfaction at disintegrating the crazy old bag of bones in a blast of stellar radiance.
We managed to evade at least two more pit traps, only to have ended up triggering a far more impressive glyph of warding around what seems to have been an old vault. I'm amazed that Rath the dragonborn wasn't reduced to a bubbling pile of goop. The warforged Sparky's strange, porcelain-like construction may actually have ended up saving it from certain doom as well. While we survived, the contents of the vault were not as durable. Abaddon wept, it's a damned shame all those artifacts went to waste. Who knows what knowledge about the city and the mansion was lost due to the simple lack of a trapsmith!
We can't stay for long. We've blazed a trail out from Kalliope, and it's on to the long slog of the Ruined Sea and the structure that the dwarves call "The Fort." The ruins of Kalliope will have to wait, perhaps for another time. |
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BJ
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He Who Founds Wyrmlings
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
| Posts: 3997 |
| Location: Sa sikmura ng Bakunawa |
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Posted: Wed Aug 06, 2008 11:22 am Post subject: |
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The Caves of K'maht
Epilogue
The sound of clockwork gears melded with the silent but steady rythm of dripping water. The low creaking of the wagon's unkempt wooden wheels glided through the damp but bare rock.
The kobold pulled the wagon all by himself. His mechanical legs may not be the most silent apparatus he designed, but it surely allowed him to perform feats of strength otherwise impossible to a creature of such... disadvantaged height.
He stopped when he saw a dead balhannoth. Ah, the creature thought to himself, my traps have done their job well. This would be a sensible place to stop.
He carefully unfastened the ropes that bound him to the wagon. A few bruises here and there suddenly became obvious; rope burn no doubt. Nothing a potion couldn't take care of, for sure. He climbed the wagon carefully, his legs making that characteristic wheeling and tic-tocking sound as he did so. He carefully removed the cloth that covered the body that lay in the wagon...
The baalim body was far from glorious. The once glorious bat-wings were crumpled and brittle, and stench surrounded the corpse.
The infusion performed beyond my expectations. Hopefully, the antidote will, too.
Clockfoot took out a tiny vial. It was barely large than his fingers, but the crimson liquid inside glowed like the brightest of godstones. Indeed, one of the key ingredients was a minute part of the K'maht godstone, which held powers over death.
He unsealed the vial, and slowly administered it to the dead baalim.
The bat wings slowly unfurled, spreading back to its former majesty. The dead fingers slowly twitched, and the corpse's chest began to take in air once more.
Baron Nes'vath opened his eyes.
The pathetic kobold's mechanical legs knelt down, careful to not stare at the baalim's enraged, fiery eyes. "Baron, the infusion worked marvelously. Even their most experienced healers believed that I killed you..." |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
| Posts: 1552 |
| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Sat Aug 09, 2008 2:23 pm Post subject: |
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The Ruined Sea
Chapter 2: Racial tensions
(From the journals of Kyris Lasirlan, Baalim warlock)
(notes furiously scribbled in messy shorthand)
Abaddon's tears, we've hit the jackpot! We've widened our search pattern in an attempt to find a navigable route past the ruins, and we stumbled upon a veritable treasure trove of scrolls, books, and records stored in a relatively untouched structure. There's even one impressive looking tome here that I'm fairly sure is valuable in some way. I just need to get it appraised. And I'm going to need somebody to teach me pre-Godfall tongues such as Supernal if I'm going to have any chance of deciphering these texts. I'll see what else we can salvage.
***
The goblins can spot us from miles away. We've been hit at least twice as we headed out of Kalliope. Their damnable snipers are beginning to get on my nerves...
***
I think we're finally getting a better idea of what's really going on here in the Ruined Sea. Lord Korki's dwarves won't talk about it much but I'm fairly sure that they're somehow descended from the dwarves that once inhabited the area around the Ruined Sea. Perhaps even descended from the dwarves of Kalliope. From what I can gather from the tomes, when the nature deity was destroyed by the combined forces of the Liberators and Loyalists, Kalliope absorbed a large population of refugee elves and eladrin. Something about the shared patronage of the art goddess seemed to gel with both races, and it appears that the feyborn and dwarves got along reasonably well.
But then tensions began to escalate between the elves and the dwarves. I can't tell what exactly happened, as the texts seem to skirt around the specifics, and long sections are written in that damnably clunky dwarven rune-script. It appears that a group calling itself the Slayers arose, possibly from the feyborn remnants, and weilding a powerful weapon called the "Blood-Red Knife" seem to have turned on the dwarves. The dwarves were savaged by the onslaught, and seemed to be trying to setup a defense with something called the "Shield of Souls." This last bit came from a speaking-stone recovered at one of the Kalliope ruins. We don't know how things came down, all we know is that centuries later, Kalliope is a desolate ruin.
I wonder what all these would have to do with the Fort and this festival of Deliverance that the dwarves have.
***
The dwarves of Kalliope were dedicated to the gods of art and industry. They were architects and artificers of sublime grace, in their own, clunky dwarven manner. This may be the key to their garishly color-blind fashions.
I've been going around the campfires trying to cajole what little info I can from the dwarves and those who know anything about the history of these parts. From what we can tell, the dwarves appear to have succumbed to a deep racial depression when the god/dess of art and beauty was destroyed. In memory of their bond to the fallen deity, they took on the custom of wearing bright "beautiful" colors in an attempt to recall the spirit of their fallen patron. By the Iron Hand, how much more sentimental can this get? Still, I have to admit, there is something ever so slightly poignant about it all, if the clashing colors didn't make me want to gouge my eyes out. It definitely doesn't fit with the macho image that many dwarves project.
***
Dreams of Locust. Again. Strange though. This time, it's not a dream of the past. I'm in a city, before a crowd. There's a Nagthari preacher trying to whip up the crowd. And then Locust steps up. And when he opens his mouth to speak, out comes white fire a swarm of...well...locusts. And fire. White fire, pure, and clean, and deadly as a star. And then the city begins to burn.
I wonder why the dreams have changed.
***
Lord Korki's an interesting fellow. We were summoned for an audience at his tent. Now these dwarves seem to use the amount of color that they wear as some indicator of rank, so it's pretty obvious that Korki's pretty high up the totem pole. I mean, how much more 'colorful' can you get then his fabulous rainbow cloak? Still, it's interesting. Korki seems to be a member of a "war-bard" caste that seems to have taken the place of the fallen god of art and industry.
Korki seems to be worried about reports of elven activity behind and in front of the caravan. He's contracted our team to find out what we can about these elves. If possible, he wants some of them brought back alive.
***
Bingo. We bagged three elves. We haul these three back to camp, check them out, and wait for our hefty little bonus to roll in.
Hopefully, it shouldn't be too long before we get back to the fort.
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
| Posts: 1552 |
| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Mon Aug 18, 2008 7:04 pm Post subject: |
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The Ruined Sea
Chapter 3
(From the journals of Kyris Lasirlan, Baalim warlock)
...Well, Pascal's certainly a competent torturer. This is certainly a very entertaining bunch I've managed to team up with. Our interrogation of the elves was certainly quite entertaining.
There are appear to be a large number of elven bands filtering into the area around the Ruined Sea. I may have been a bit hasty in identifying them with the so-called "Slayers" that the citizens of Kalliope were defending against. Still, they are looking for the "blood-red knife." At least exactly as written down in the books.
***
Met up with another recruit to the team, a strange elf named Varys. Competent with a glaive, if a little...strange.
***
Crud. Crud. Crud. The elves have us surrounded, the camp could be overrun any moment. I for one am for getting the hell out of here with whatever we can salvage of our pay. Damned elves.
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Last edited by Revan on Wed Sep 03, 2008 11:59 pm; edited 1 time in total |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
| Posts: 1552 |
| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Thu Aug 28, 2008 12:59 am Post subject: |
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Trouble at the Gates
Epilogue
Traitor's Gate
Goran, Lord of the 'Scar and Master of Traitor's Gate drummed his fingers irritably on his armrest. "Well, Lieutenant Ward?"
"M'lord, the riots have been put down and the leaders of the uprising have been executed-"
"I know that already, Ward. What of the Black Spiral?"
"Sir, with the death of their leader, the renegade eladrin have gone underground, sir. They could be anywhere by now."
The tiefling's lip curled up in a smile. "Betting odds that they're following the mercenaries. They want the stone, and they want revenge for having their plans foiled."
The young warrior scratched his head. "I suppose, sir. Your plans are...how do we say? Just a bit too convoluted for me, m'lord. Give me a blade in my hand, an enemy before me, and loyal warriors at my side anyday."
"Of course, Ward. I hired you for your swordarm, not your guile. Any word on the instigator of the riots? The tiefling who provoked the riots in front of the Vulgar Unicorn?"
"None sir. It's as if he just disappeared."
What are you up to, Locust? "Very well, Ward. I'll expect replacements for the Warpblades that Team Fagnus eliminated. The Black Spiral was beginning to get on my nerves anyway."
Lieutenant Ward left the room, leaving Goran Skar to consider the view of the city below him.
"I don't know why you put up with that straight arrow, Gor."
Out of the shadows behind the throne stepped a nondescript man wearing commoner's clothes. Only close inspection would reveal that the man was missing three fingers on his left hand.
"Ah. One-Thumb. The hospitality of the Vulgar Unicorn is still up to par, I see. Do you have the other half of the stone?"
"Of course, Gor. The mage never realized I only gave him half the stone. The kobolds have that half, and we have this one."
***
Waypoint
"Well, Clank? We don't have all day!"
"Keep yer shirt on, Cap'n! It's almost done!"
The skyship shuddered, and for a moment, Diomedes Dragonheart was convinced that the Sparrowhawk would shake itself to pieces. And then, the ship leapt skyward with a chorus of yips, yells, and cheers.
Diomedes' smile stretched from ear to ear as he turned to the mercenaries. "It worked! It actually worked! I didn't think Clank could actually do, but the little guy's full of surprises! Now I know I already paid you all for the hard work, but still, if any of you guys ever need a lift, just give the word, and my Sparrowhawk will take you where you need to go! Now, Master Fagnus...about that shoe business you mentioned..."
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
| Posts: 1552 |
| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Tue Sep 02, 2008 11:54 pm Post subject: |
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The Ruined Sea
Chapter 4: Unlikely allies
(From the journals of Kyris Lasirlan, Baalim warlock)
We've been on the run for the past say, dodging elves, their goblin minions, and a new faction: filthy little desert dwelling humans. The humans are much less numerous than our other pursuers, but they make up for it with a nasty talent for ambushes. The scum are also pretty damned good with their longspears.
Can't rest for long. Have to move out. We've got two options: the Fort, or that isle where the Shield of Souls was said to have been placed before the showdown between the elves and dwarves. Personally, I'd rather push for the island, but realistically, the Fort is the safer course.
***
Well, that was certainly interesting.
This is about a day since the last entry, and a lot's been up since then.
To quote one of Locust's favorite lines: "An ambush, once discovered, repays the intended mischief, with interest." I'm sick and tired of being ambushed, and when we got the chance to turn tables on our prospective enemies, we jumped at the chance. We hacked and blasted our way past more of the desert humans and the elves. Interestingly, they don't seem to like each other, which allowed us to play the buggers off against each other.
We had our fun, but by the time we wrapped up, a larger party of the desert dwellers surrounded us and ordered us to drop our weapons. Say what you will about the kind of sanity it takes to explore ancient dangerous ruins, but I'd say our survival instinct still works pretty damned good.
Long story short, these humans seem to have some weird sort of warrior survivalist culture. The elf, Varys, took the lead on this one, and the party settled for the one sure solution when dealing with proud warrior cultures: "Challenge them to mortal combat and beat the living :consored: out of them."
Men.
Still, I must confess a certain satisfaction to pouring radiant fire down their arrogant, smug "I'm-more-badass-then-you" fuckfaces.
The results should have been obvious. Once the blood was cleaned up and the pissing match over and done with, we managed to force a tactical alliance with humans. We deal with the knife tomorrow.
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
| Posts: 1552 |
| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Thu Sep 04, 2008 1:26 am Post subject: |
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The Ruined Sea
Epilogue
Kyris Lasirlan stretched her arms languidly on top of the battlements of the Fort, the Baalim's tail contentedly flicking about in the cool nighttime air. She put her journal down and leaned out into the void beyond the crenellations, taking in the panoramic vista of the post-battle carnage. The bodies of the fallen elves, eladrin, and their goblin thralls were were so numerous that the the Fort's dwarves and the Halkori tribesmen still weren't done clearing the field a day later. Dismembered elven and goblinoid corpses littered the foot of the walls, ground into a bloody paste by the power of the Shield of Souls. Around the ruins of the attacker's camp were the pulverized remains of the besieging army's eladrin leaders and hobgoblin battlethrall commanders. Kyris breathed deep, the charnel stench of death and decay flooding her. The young Baalim gagged, but forced herself to breathe deeply of the fetid air. Breathe deep, Ky. That's your handiwork out there. She shuddered. and then smiled. A stray memory from her childhood among the nobles of House Lasirlan: Her grand-uncle Kallimachos' favorite saying: A dead enemy always smells good.
Kyris closed her eyes, exhaled slowly, carefully, and then got back to writing in her journal. The Nihilist Dark Cloak was a real nasty piece of work, bloodying us all and seriously wounding a few, but eventually, we clawed our way through him, to arrive at the Shield of Souls itself--
Ah, yes, the Shield... Here Kyris paused, recalling the incredible power that the ancient held. She recalled the thrill of using the ancient device, conceived as a defense, but oh so effectively modified for offense. Unconsciously, the fingers of her left hand fluttered in midair as she mentally reviewed the series of commands that brought up the energy field around the Fort, and then contracted it around the walls, crushing the hapless elves and goblinoids against the indomitable walls of the Fort. Many of the eladrin had managed to teleport to safety, but once Simon had figured out how to focus the Shield into a hammer of telekinetic force, mopping up the fey pansies wasn't much of a problem. Her eyes drifted to the massive craters slammed into the ground by the telekinetic hammer-blows of the Shield's forcefields.
Yes, she would remember exactly how to control the Shield of Souls. Its strengths, its weaknesses, and its backdoors. A carefully scribed copy of its instructions sat in her pack waiting for her to peruse it. Ah, the wonders of ancient magic from before the Godfall. I wonder what other relics, what other secrets are buried in the shifting sands of this forsaken hellhole.
The mercenaries had fulfilled their contract. They had brought the Blood-Red Knife and the Halkor leaders to the Fort itself, and they were rewarded handsomely, both in gold and in honor. Well, I figure this tale is going to be useful one day if I ever have to get some information out of a dwarf in these parts.
Still, the aftermath of the entire incident left too many questions in Kyris' mind. How did the partnership between the dwarves and the Halkori humans start? What secrets do they hide? Why are the dwarves being so extravagant with their fatuous displays of power and mastery over the Shield? They boast of their new toy like children given a mastercrafted tool that they can only barely understand.
Standing atop the battlements, Kyris watched a slow convoy of Halkori tribesmen shambling away from the mount. It's all a bait and switch of course. The dwarves show off their impregnable arcane defenses, implying that they're protecting something important. And then they pass of the object to somebody else who shuts the hell up and stashes it in a knife safe place. Clever. But not clever enough. And if she could see through it, it wouldn't be long before others began to realize the truth.
Still: Why are they all so afraid of the Blood Red Knife? What is the connection between the Halkor, the Dwarves, and the Knife? What secrets does it hold? What powers does unlock? Too many unanswered questions.
Kyris turned back to her journal, and then started when she saw a patch of freshly written lines written in a trembling hand. She wasn't even aware that she was holding a quill pen, and did not recall writing anything.
I'm sure your smart enough to figure it all out, my little one. I have faith in your abilities. -Locust
For a moment, an otherworldly buzzing filled Kyris' ears. Damn you Locust, what aren't you telling me? She ground her teeth in irritation, before relaxing into a grin. Bastard's right, though. I'll figure this out. Hell, if the Halkor and the dwarves knew just how much this all interested me, they'd probably kill me on the spot. Have to be carefull. She added another page to her list of unanswered questions. She paused for a moment before adding a final question to the bottom of the page:
Why is Locust so interested in the Blood-Red Knife?
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
| Posts: 1552 |
| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Thu Oct 02, 2008 12:41 am Post subject: |
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Wasteland Battle Arena ***WIP***
Interlude: You Can Choose Your Friends; You Can't Choose Family
The halfling warrior was transfixed by a bolt of searing light, and then slumped to the ground unconscious. Once again, victory was theirs. Kyris tossed the Rod of Corruption into the air, watched it spin and twirl in the late afternoon twilight, and then caught it in her outstretched arm. The tiefling warlock dropped smoothly into a bow.
The crowd cheered. Kyris let the thundering roar of the crowd wash over her. She let out a tired breath of satisfaction as she stood up and grinned at her comrades-in-arms. She'd been apprehensive about suddenly participating in this tournament, with a rag-tag team scraped out of the ass-ends of Creation, but her comrades had more than proven their worth in battle.
Like Kyris, the Nagthari elf Fhrayle Brittlewood was busy working the crowd. To the Baalim's eyes, trained as she was in the courts of the Lasirlans, Fhrayle's antics seemed almost transparently straightforward at times, but Ky had to admit that the elf had his own simple charm. Kyris knew better than to let appearances deceive her. She'd seen Fhrayle mercilessly hunt and take down competitors with a single-minded tenacity in the hunt, and the Nagthar cleric's healing magics were invaluable to the team's success. Just don't get him started talking about religion.
Sparky, the warforged and Sam the Raven were more dour and taciturn than the others. The warforged scrutinized the crowd, seeming a bit surprised at the reaction as it cleaned its weapons. The young human woman, Sam, quietly reeled in her wicked-looking spiked chain, giving the crowd a disdainful look before stalking out of the arena. Ky smiled. Some people just didn't have any showmanship. Still, they were solid assets in a fight, twin storms of furious bladework.
And then there was the sorceress Burnt Fienna. Ky looked askance at her fellow tiefling, who stood over the supine forms of the halflings with a disturbingly lean and hungry look. Ky shook her head and chuckled. The nature of Fienna's curse came as a surprise to Ky when she first heard about it. The pair of halflings were going to be in for a long, hard night. For a moment, Kyris was almost tempted to join in. After all, there were two of them, and the halfling twins did put up quite an...energetic fight. Fienna probably wouldn't mind sharing. Ky's tail twitched in anticipation. But then again, there was something unnerving in Fienna's ravenous stare. Poor girl must really need to let some steam out, Kyris mused. Guess I should leave her to her own fun.
Kyris headed out of the arena and into the warren of tunnels and rooms beneath the structure. The team had done good work, all in all, and had so far come through undefeated, thanks in no small part to the group's unexpected tactical efficiency. Sam's nasty spiked chain would buzz through the air, a whirling circle of devastation with the human at its center, keeping opponents at bay while Sparky's twin bastard swords hammered mercilessly at isolated opponents. Fhrayle would stand behind the warriors, channeling searing bolts of light through his godstone. Fienna would cover the arena with scorching blasts of flame, while Kyris herself circled the field, harrying unengaged foes, taking potshots, and unexpectedly striking with bolts of arcane energy when bloodied foes were occupied.
With the their match done, Kyris wanted to head out and celebrate. The warlock entered the cool shadows of the tunnels. A hand grabbed her shoulder and roughly spun her around. Kyris cursed and slid the dagger out of her left hip sheath, and then grunted as a knee smashed into her middle, knocking the breath out of her and sending her dagger skittering to the floor. Her attacker twisted her arm behind her, pinning her to the wall and causing her to yelp in pain. From behind, she heard a quietly familiar voice.
"You're getting careless, little sister."
Kyris snarled as a line of sweat trickled down her face. "Phaeton, you asshole-"
The taller Baalim twisted her arm to silence her. "And your friend? That thing that you rutted and ran away with?"
Kyris craned her neck back to get a good look at Phaeton, and then beyond him, before bursting out laughing. "Locust? He's right behind you, Phaeton."
Phaeton spun around, his red cape fluttering as he dropped to a crouch and delivered a swift slash with his sword that would have eviscerated anyone standing behind him.
"What the-"
He turned around to find Ky's Rod of Corruption leveled at his throat, it's surface flickering with lambent coldfire.
The warlock burst out laughing. "Dead gods' bones, Phaeton, the look on your face is priceless. You always were an easy mark, little brother. Glad that hasn't changed one bit."
"I'll thank you not to take the gods in vain-"
Kyris slid the rod up Phaeton's throat. "Now, now, brother, I've got you." She slowly took two steps back, her tail wrapping around her fallen knife. She picked it up and slid the blade back in its sheath. "So now that the preliminaries are over, can we drop the stupid act, Phae? How'd you find me out here?"
Phaeton sheathed his blade and then rolled his eyes. "Really now, little sister. Did you actually think you could join a tournament like this and not attract any attention?"
"Right. As if Father would waste his spies by watching every two-bit tourney in the wastes. Really now, how'd you find me?"
Phaeton shrugged and opened his palms. "Let's just say that I was more than a little surprised when I took a box in the stands and found my little sister in the sands below."
"Slumming, Phae? I wouldn't have pegged you as a fan of something as pedestrian as an arena battle."
"The Lasirlans were warriors first, before Abaddon turned us into political power that we are today. I simply keep that appreciation for battle alive." Phaeton glanced pointedly at the rod Kyris leveled at his threat. "Perhaps you can get that out of my face now."
Kyris' grin was impish. "Whatever you say, brother." Her hand dropped to her side, but Phaeton observed that the witchfire still danced on the rod's surface.
The two stood there in the shadows, the echoes of the roaring crowd filling the silence between them.
"It's not too late to go back, Ky. Father's royally pissed, but he's ready to forgive if you come back and apologize."
"Back to our beautiful little castle of plots and deceptions? I'm sorry, Phae, but the court and the Church of the Iron-Handed God don't have quite the appeal they used to have."
"Do you really believe the slanders Locust spreads about our faith in the dead gods? The quiet lies the Locust tells?"
Kyris' lip curled up in a sardonic half-smile. "Father and the Iron Hands lie to us all, and think that if enough of us believe them, that they must be true. Locust lies to me too, Phae. The difference is that Locust knows I'm smart enough to take his lies and figure out the truth. It's an interesting sort of relationship that way. I'm not going to stand here discussing theology, big brother. I'm not coming back. And while we're at it, neither will the dead gods."
Phaeton sighed. "It's your funeral, little Kyris. Meph isn't going to like this."
"Since when has our dearly beloved eldest brother Mephiston ever liked anything that I've done?"
"Stubborn as always, I guess. Well, don't say I didn't warn you." The Phaeton turned to leave, and then checked himself. "Kyris."
She raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Phaeton looked her in the eye. "Do me a favor Ky. If you're going to go out there into the pits like some common gladiator whose name happens to be Lasirlan, then at least do one thing right, little sister. Win."
"Of course I will, Phae." Ky tossed her Rod of Corruption into the air, the blue witchfire tracing ghostly circles in the darkness. She caught the rod and took a bow as it flared in her hands.
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
| Posts: 1552 |
| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Mon Oct 27, 2008 11:53 pm Post subject: |
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In The Forests of the Night
OOC: The players may instead write up a storylog for this arc. I'll leave this up till then.
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The dreams had grown stranger the past weeks, ever since she had entered the Wasteland Arena.
In dreams, Kyris wandered the wastes south of Traitor's Gate. She had gazed out of the eyes of a desert fox shadowing a long mule train of arcanists and pack mules. Leading the arcanists in their long trek through the desert was an odd group. The leader was an old man in robes so garishly colorful that they put the wardrobe of the late lamented Lord Korki to shame. Ultramorcium Fagnefus. Then there was the fair-haired eladrin warrior. Through the fox, Kyris could smell the scent of otherworld woods and glades, and a momentary impression of galloping unicorns. Ereth Aurs'hilk. The other point man was a masked elf polishing a nasty-looking pair of katars. Yevor Thorntrodden.
Trailing behind the vanguard was a familiar dragonborn, Kyris' former comrade Voltaire, his massive scythe herding the rest of the caravan onwards. Behind him was a little sprite of a human girl flitting about among the wizards and artificers. She bore more than a passing resemblance to one of Kyris' current companions, Sam of the Ravens. This must be Sevens, then. There was something almost charming about her, until Kyris got a good look at her eyes. The little girl's gaze spoke of blades in the night, of sharp razor edges, and the gleam of daggers. Team Fagnus. If this is where they really are, then who are we fighting in the Arena?
Among the arcanists, she thought she saw a familiar face: a Baalim from the courts of the Great Houses, reduced in stature to a lowly clerk and functionary. But her preternatural visions revealed cloaks of deception, webs of deceit, and a tangled weave of lies swirling around him. In his heart, she saw a bloody gauntlet.
Days later, the scene had changed. She saw through the eyes of scuttling tentacled fiends creeping through marshlands as they skulked around the caravan. She felt the hunger gnawing at the beasts, the thrill of the hunt as the chokers struck at the scrawny archaeologists and arcanists, feasting on their pack mules, gorging on succulent human flesh. And she could feel the searing pain of eldritch fire, the steel caress of blades cutting into her body as the adventurers dealt bloody vengeance. Joining the adventurers was an elf, his visage caged in an iron mask and his greatbow spitting bright shafts of doom. The mask hid his face, hid everything, leaving only the cold, calculating heart of a killer. A Hunter.
Three nights in a row, Kyris woke with a cold sweat, gasping for breath as she felt the blades and arrows strike her down. What the hell is going on?
Again the dreams change. As they enter into the heart of the forest, the Deepwoods, there is an unexpected air of silence, anticipation. The beasts that she shares bodies with no longer hunger, or rage at the intrusion of the curious mortals. They are alert, but not alarmed, for the party is led by the fey-born, who were the ancient custodians of this wood. And even if the interlopers meant ill, then the great White Hart at the center of the woods would cast them out.
And then came the night of the Hart's Vengeance. First comes the atrocity. The Hunter, calmly strings his bow and strikes down a pair of wolves. The arrows fly true and hit their mark. They do not kill outright. They are calculated to strike with excruciating pain, to deal slow, agonizing death. Then comes the call from the ruins at the center of the Deepwood. It is a sorrowful keening that splits the sky, and a call to arms. This part of the dream dissolves into a riot of sensation, as her awareness jumps from beast to rampaging beast, as the White Hart and its allies unleash their fury on the desecrators. Fang, tooth, and claw are drenched in the heartsblood of mortals. Screams and howls echo through the night as the Hart avenges those under its care.
In the darkness, waiting and watching with cold and calculating malice is the Hunter. It has sighted its quarry, and tracks it to its lair. In the heart of the other, the Baalim spy, is anticipation. At last his goal nears completion. The Hart will lead him to the godstone, and his master's will be done. The Bloody-Handed will give him the power he is due.
They clash at the ancient heart of the deepwoods. The lair of the White Heart, in the shadow of crystalline godstone, its facets reflecting scenes from the Feywild. The Hart summons the adventurers to its aid. It calls out, and finds surprising allies in the most bloodthirsty members of Team Fagnus. Cold malice and burning rage are poured against the adventurers, but proves insufficient. The Hunter lies fallen, and the warlock, fled. The Hart, and the elf, Ereth, stand before the flickering green light of the godstone.
And then she wakes. After a week of strange dreams, it is no longer quite surprising to be shocked awake by the feeling of some eldritch magics. What surprises her tonight is that she wakes, and she is not alone.
"Ah, little Kyris. Pleasant dreams, I hope?" Her breath caught as Locust's familiar voice whispered beside her. In the dim pre-dawn twilight, she could barely see him sitting at her bedside, bright eyes and dusky skin unchanged since she last saw him.
"Loke? What-- What are you-- The dreams?"
Locust smiled. Kyris shuddered as he reached down and caressed her cheek. She was aware of his nearness and the feel of his hand on her sweat-slick skin. "Ah, yes. The dreams. The webs that sluttish Destiny weaves are fascinating things. Even now, five hundred years after her death, they never fail to amaze. You are tied to them somehow, Ky, for good or ill, as you and I are sworn to each other." Visions swam before her. The bumbling old man. The masked elf. The noble Mandrakor. The fair eladrin. The little girl with the dagger eyes.
"What do they mean?" Kyris reached up tentatively, as if unsure of Locust's presence. She gave a start as he wrapped his hand around her own, their fingers twining together in a familiar gesture that brought back a flood of memories.
"They mean whatever they need to mean, Kyris, just as I am whatever you or I need to be."
"Damned lie-smith--"
Locust put a finger to her lips to silence her. "Rest now, little Kyris. You still have a long day ahead of you. And one last night of dreams to dream." He kissed her then, delicately, and then he was gone. |
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
| Posts: 1552 |
| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Sun Mar 29, 2009 9:44 pm Post subject: |
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Pyramid Of Radiance
Interlude
A library without words. An altar without a god. A radiant pyramid cloaked in deception and treachery. Hardly an auspicious beginning. Why had Locust and Karavakos led her here into this gods-forsaken place? The Locust had promised her answers. Karavakos’ designs hinted at great, if fickle, power. And the Sinagthari feared them both.
So far, Kyris was no closer to an answer. In truth, she had begun to wonder whether this entire trip was worth it at all. Time and again, her companions had come too close to death, and the rewards so far? Paltry trinkets and beads. What should have been a true treasure trove, Karavakos’ library, with all the knowledge it had once contained about the world of the Divine Imperium, had been ransacked by those filthy Thought-Eaters. It was almost…sacrilegious. She chuckled, but couldn’t think of a better way to put it. Kyris idly picked up another book and leafed through its pages. She cursed, and barely repressed the urge to incinerate the defiled pages with the radiant light of the star-spawned. Exasperated. she tossed the book away. It sailed past the second floor railing and onto the ground below.
She stalked the dead halls of the pyramid, past the arboreans in their righteous fury, the cold chill of the Carrion Lord, and the fallen corpses of Garashvren’s bandits. The tiefling warlock had long ago grown accustomed to the strange logic of the dreams that Locust, the quiet liar, continued to send to her. She wandered past the charnel pit and the fallen ettin, its rotting corpse slowly being digested by its former pets, a pair of carrion crawlers. Kyris stopped here and observed the carrion crawlers for a moment, waiting. The crawlers continued their grisly feast, oblivious to her presence. She smiled. Locust often chose the oddest avatars when it spoke to her in dreams, but then she should have figured that even the star-spawn would not have deigned to manifest itself as a worm.
She began muttering under her breath, quoting not from arcane formulae, but random passages from Appendix IX of Tiberius Lasirlan’s Histories of the Great Houses, filling her mind with random inanities, blanking away higher thought, trusting in her dreaming mind and Locust’s subtle hints to take her where she needed to be.
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The bandit hall. The bandit stripling’s hands were raised in surrender. She saw herself smile, her eyes cat-like, predatory. “Thank you for making this easy.” Something in her own voice chilled her to the core. And then the bolt of eldritch power shot from her rod, and the bandit’s head exploded showered the room in gore. She stood there a while, clinically admiring her handiwork, the shot frozen, the head captured in the middle of it’s violent dismemberment. Something inside her was telling her that she should be more disturbed about all this, but it was a small, weak voice. There was a certain satisfaction in making the bandit suffer for the effrontery of resisting her will.
“Ah. The Lasirlans truly wrought well in you, dear Kyris.” Locust’s voice was…different. Not the familiar sardonic tone of the star god whenever it teased her along with nuggets of truth. The voice was, younger. She turned.
Locust, as he had first appeared to her, years ago. Young, handsome, with what seemed to the unaware to be an innocent smile, a face that you couldn’t help but like, love, and take care of, like a little lost lamb in the woods. Locust as Kyris first met him, in the bowels of the Red Library, a strong hand reaching out and steadying her as she hauled a stack of House Lasirlan histories.
She pursed her lips, face tightening into a frown. “I left the Lasirlans a long time ago, Loke. You off all people should know that.” The warlock eyed him critically. “And that look? Well, that was a long, long time ago, Loke.”
“Ah, dear one, it feels like it was only yesterday when the gods fell and this world slid down the path of destruction. Compared to that, well, a few years are simply the twinkling of an eye. Still, have you truly left the Lasirlans and the Darkhopes behind, descendant of Abaddon and Brianna?” The scene shifted, and Ky saw herself addressing the arborean priests, shifting, lying, dancing and dodging in a verbal dance until the arboreans, convinced of her station as a priestess of Sinaghari, bowed to her authority. Again they leapt back in time, as she assisted her allies in battle after battle, isolating targets and marking them for death with the light of the Guide Star. “Lasirlan audacity and Darkhope ruthlessness, Kyris. You claim to have left it behind, but you lie. You cheat, steal, and kill with the best of them, dear one.”
She balled her hands into fists. “I’m not like them, Loke, and you know that. You chose me because I wasn’t like them.”
“And yet the blood runs true, dear Kyris. The blood of the hunter, the blood of the destroyer, the liar, and the killer. Abbadon would have been proud.”
Her eyes blazed with fire, the same coldfire that Locust had taught her to harness. “I’m not like them! I’m not one of them!”
“Then prove it, beloved.”
She reined herself back. Hot anger wouldn’t get her anywhere. Cold, focused fury on the other hand might. “I’m not like the rest of them, Locust. I refuse to give my allegiance to a God that failed my people when we needed him the most.”
“Is that it?”
“I refuse to bow to a lie, Loke. I want the truth. I want to find out what the Church of the Iron Hand is hiding from us all. Tiberias Lasirlan knew. He left clues in the Histories. And I will find that true story of what happened on the day that Abaddon and the Iron God sang the Song of Destruction. I’m tired of groveling to simpering lunatics and faithful idiots kowtowing to a dead god. I want the truth, Loke, knowledge. And as the Darkhopes say, knowledge is power.”
“Why do you seek power? Somehow, I don’t remember the old Kyris being this…hungry.”
She let her anger blaze then. She wrested control of the dream from him, projecting images of the blasted wastes of the Daemonscar, the dessicated lands of the Ruined Sea. She summoned up visions of the warrens of New Eurisia, the sick feeding upon the dying as the city slowly crumbled around them. She recalled the blood pits of the Sinaghari and the slave pens of the Iron Tower. And she contrasted it all with the knowledge of everything that had been lost, given up for mortal freedom, the suffering that the Godfall caused, the loss of knowledge. “A Lasirlan would want power for its own sake. But this isn’t about ambition, damn it! This world is dying, Loke. You showed me what was happening. The Astral Sea, the Far Realms, the Abyss, they’re all crushing the life out of Creation. It’s been going on for centuries, and it’s accelerating. And the bloodyhanded Redeemers and Liberators are too short-sighted, too obsessed with their stupid wars to see the problem staring them in the face! If they won’t stop it, then I will.” She was surprised just how much anger and frustration had bled out. Again, she brought back the impassive mask of control.
“Lasirlan audacity, Darkhope ruthlessness, and your own indomitable pig-headedness. It has its charms, I’ll admit.” The scene returned, to the moment of the bandit’s explosive decapitation. “So this is what it means to save the world? Blowing up little children because they tick you off? I don’t remember that ruthless streak in the idealistic young priestess who wanted the truth.”
“There’s something here in this Pyramid, Locust, someone or something powerful, something ancient. And I think it might be important. And it’s calling. And I won’t let anything get in my way. Or anyone.” It chilled her, but she knew it was true. Father, mother, Mephiston, and Phaeton, they had taught her well. Too well. Nothing would stop her.
Don’t listen to him, Ky! Please, you’re not like this. This isn’t you, Kyris. Don’t do this. A voice out of her past. Memories of coldfire, pain, bright steel, and warm blood. She couldn’t place it exactly. But she knew it was from the night when she had fled the Red Library.
“Why did you wall away those memories…Loke?”
“Because you told me to. You said that one day, you would be able to come to grips with the memory of that night. With what you gave up for that power. Was I wrong?”
She shuddered. “No. Maybe some day. Something…just bothered me, suddenly. But no, I’ve got a job to do. I will find the heart of this pyramid. And I will find its truth. And I won’t let anything stop me.”
Locust nodded in acknowledgement. “I chose well in you dear one.” He moved closer. She hesitated, and then reached out to him, drinking in his warmth, his familiar form, as he held her close.
“Go now, Loke. I’m sure you’ve got other lies to weave, other agents, other plots, others who call you ‘dear one.’” She smiled. “Go. Do what you must.”
His smile was sharp, predatory, and strangely endearing. “As you will. Go onwards. Something…interesting awaits you upstairs. Seek the truth, Ky, and know that whenever you look up into the night sky, that there is one star watching out for you, beloved.”
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
| Posts: 1552 |
| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Thu Apr 23, 2009 9:31 pm Post subject: |
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Pyramid of Radiance
Interlude 2:
From the Journals of Kyris Lasirlan:
“That took you long enough.”
Locust. Here. In this gods-forsaken place. Here.
“I did say you’d find something interesting on the second floor, didn’t I?”
Smug bastard. And then he beams back with that sardonic grin of his. I laughed then. Smug, arrogant, condescending bastard. I’ve missed him.
Fact: Most of the party can’t see Locust. As far as they can tell, I’m talking to thin air. I think this unnerved the hell out of old man Fagnus when the thin air suddenly lifted me up and embraced me in a bear hug.
Fact: Ryan Nyar and Klesk can see Locust. Apparently, Nyar’s bond with Klesk allows him to share in the Farspawn’s awareness. This is something of a comforting note, as they at least are proof that I am not out of my mind and simply imagining things whenever I talk to Locust. Then I listen to Nyar talking to Klesk with that strange pidgin that the two have developed. The warforge belts out its unnerving, mechanical laugh. Somehow, I don’t think I want to use those two as a comparative measure of sanity.
Fact: Locust has revealed interesting things about Vyrellis, which the elven corpse doesn’t really deny. He tells us that Vyrellis used to be Karavakos Lasirlan’s wife. The two had been planning to use the Pyramid of Radiance for something. And then they were imprisoned here. And they had a bad break. Well, that just proves one thing: Karavakos is a Lasirlan all right. Ever since Abaddon, our family tree’s been rather…tempestuous with its relationships. The thing with domineering egoism is a hell of a lot of personality clashing.
Oh, I almost forgot, she can see him too. Which is interesting. Then again, I don’t want to compare myself to a greedy, manipulative, disembodied head who was stupid enough to trust a Lasirlan.
The party has camped at the broad staircase landings, taking the time to rest and recuperate before continuing our exploration of the next floor. I’m writing this now while most of us are resting. Nyar is busy playing with Klesk, and Cyrille is maintaining his greatbow. Old man Fagnus is passing around cups of green tea. It isn’t half bad. Nice and piping hot. Sevens is sleeping peacefully. I have no idea where she disappeared to while the rest of us were hunting for the second floor, but she seems to have enjoyed herself.
**
Most of them have drifted off to sleep or trance, which is why I feel…safe enough to stand here in front of the gates to the second floor. The sense of Far Realm energies is palpable. I can feel it calling to me. Light, bright and burning. Light, cold, unfeeling. Dispassionate truth and all-consuming radiance, which will it be, I wonder? My hand drifts toward the door as the voices on the other side of the door begin speaking.
The voices whisper. They promise power, dominion. Interesting, really, but the sneakiest, the most insidious ones, they promise something even more seductive: knowledge. I want the truth. All of our long history of mysteries untangled and brought to light. Why did Tiberias Lasirlan conceal the truth about Abaddon? What happened at the Shadowed Mount? How can Creation be preserved?
Most of all, I want the truth, about myself and Locust. What is he, and what does he want? The star-spawned seeks knowledge, but to what ends? What am I meant to do here? What is he keeping from me about my past? What did I do that night? Why does Mephiston loathe me, though we once shared the same passion for the written word? Why does Phaeton admire me, though we never saw eye-to-eye with his martial pursuits and treacherous nature? And why does my little sister want to kill me?
**
Kyris carefully put down the journal. She considered placing it within her pack, and then reconsidered. If whatever was on the other side of the door consumed her, changed her, or otherwise twisted her beyond recognition, she wanted to leave a record behind. Truth, rather than another mystery. She placed the battered notebook a few steps down, between the door and the campsite.
The whispers surrounded her now, weaving and clashing with each other. It was like a choir, each member individually skilled, but nevertheless never having worked with each other, the subtle discordances further marred, as if being led by a second rate conductor. But the music itself, the call, was grand, and a measure of its glory could be heard under the discordant noise that flooded her.
Her hand reached for the door and pulled it open.
“Were you expecting some grand spectacle? Tentacles, perhaps? Or radiant beams of fire, consuming you, body and soul?”
Ky’s hands balled into fists, witchfire flickering.
Locust smirked. “Ah, Kyris. You’ve always had an anger management problem.”
Kyris let the witchfire flicker away, but the voices around her wouldn’t stop. They were calling, nagging, taunting, praising; a constant susurrus, like the torrential pounding of a rainstorm.
Power, unlimited power, you need only—
Join us, and together we will remake this world—
-and the mute shall speak unto the deaf the words of the stepping razor—
…from my throne, my ascendant will shall spring forth as lines of power rising into the sky, and my wrath shall be as lightning and storm unto the petty mortals. Yes. A God. The title suits me…
Can’t you see the truth, Ky, can’t you see what he is? Don’t do this Kyris! This isn’t you, and I know the real Kyris Lasirlan is still somewhere in there—
“And it won’t get any easier, I’m afraid.” The voice was deeper, sepulchural, echoing underneath an iron mask.
She took a step backwards. “Mephiston?” One hand instinctively gripped the dagger hidden in the small of her back.
The iron mask dissolved, and then reformed into Locust’s familiar face, though the edges seemed fluid, viscous. “You always did have a talent for imposing your will on reality. Here, with the Far Realm giving you strength, the fabric of creation itself responds to you…whether you like it or not. Hope, fear, dream, it doesn’t discriminate. Be careful in there. It’s becoming more than a little bothersome keeping myself bound into a single form, and you aren’t helping much.”
Visions assault her brain. An iron mask. A blood-stained knife. Locust holding her tightly, their bodies slick with sweat as they are surrounded by a ring of swords and spears.
“What—“
“The light can bring truth, Ky. And isn’t that what you wanted?”
A figure wreathed in fire and darkness sings a song from a mountaintop that echoes across creation. A form wrapped in radiant light rises into the sky as the corpse of a star gutters and dies.
“-the hell…”
I’m not going to let him take you, Ky. Fight him, sis.
A man wrapped in the robes of the Iron-Hands, the voice under the mask stern, commanding. Kyris sees herself wearing nothing save a mantle of stars, eyes cruel as the mortals of Creation bow before her. A man-child, eyes wide with shock and betrayal, steps back. She should recognize him. Blood. Her blood, and his, mingled on her blade. Pain and loss.
“NO!”
Witchfire, bright and hot, sears away the darkness. Coldfire, black and hungry smothers the onslaught of her visions. For a moment, her shout drowns out the susurrus of voices. The walls are crack, burn, melt against her fury.
“No.” She’s gasping for breath. “Lies. All lies.” Kyris sitting godlike on a throne. “No.” Broken earth. Gibbering hordes of mad things cavorting amidst an elemental chaos. “What…what did you—“
“You told me to keep those memories away, to wall them off until you were ready for them. But you cannot hold them off forever.”
“What did I—“
“All power demands sacrifice. We are bound together by shared goals, a mutual passion, and a sacrifice that I did not think you expected to make.” Locust’s eyes bore into her own, as if he was drilling into her mind and seeing into her soul. “My light can dispel your darkness, dear one. The question is, can you accept who you are and what you have done? When you look down at the blood on your hands, will you still be able to live with yourself and the cost of your sacrifice? And when the light burns away this simulacrum that I now wear, can you accept the truth of what I really am?”
And then it all goes away. Kyris stands before the door, its surface unmarred, unopened, unseared by her power. Locust stands before the gate, arms crossed, his face, inscrutable.
“Are you ready, dear one?”
The rod of corruption is a familiar weight in her hand as she levels it at him. “Was that all a trick, damn you?”
There is the slightest movement of his lip, the hint of a smile. “I love having to continually reassess our relationship. One moment you’re head over heels for me, and the next, you want to blow my brains out, regardless of the pact that binds us, or the fact that I have no terrestrial brain to speak of.”
She grits her teeth, half-smiles. “You haven’t answered my question, Loke. Are you really here, or is this another one of your tricks?”
He chuckles, steps closer. She motions with the rod. He stops. “True. Seeing is believing, Kyris. Do you really expect treachery, deceit, and illusion, here, in this place of light and truth?” He raises an eyebrow at the ball of coldfire manifest in front of the rod.
Ky slowly lowers the rod, carefully keeping it primed with coldfire. She meets his gaze, tries to read meaning in his bright eyes. “You know as well as I do that the light can lie, Loke. Slide it around you, and you can disappear, or bend it, and you can appear somewhere else, or shape it, and you can make something appear out of nothing. Even the light can lie. You taught me that.”
“True.” Suddenly, he was before her, his scent at once alien and enticing. She hadn’t seen him close the distance. “The light can deceive.” He took her hand in his, enveloping her fingers in his own. He placed her hand on his chest. She could feel the fine cloth of his doublet, the fabric drinking in the heat of his skin. Underneath, she could feel the rise and fall of his breath and the beating of his heart, a pounding rhythm matched by her own. “And is this a lie then, dear one?”
Don’t let him fool you. The voices again. Lies, all lies!
She breathes deep and closes her eyes, almost afraid of what she might see in his own. She looks down, exhales. “The senses can be fooled. Anything can be a lie. Dead gods’ bones, you taught me that.” His warmth was all around her now.
His fingers slide up her chest, her throat. His breath is hot on her skin, his nearness intoxicating. He tilts her chin up, and their eyes lock into each other. He leans down into her. “And is this too, a lie?” The touch of his lips on hers is soft. Their tongues meet. Warmth, and fire, as she feels a snaking coil of tension tighten within her like a taut bowstring. The heat fills her, and she shudders, breathless as she breaks from the kiss.
She looks up at him, and in his eyes she could see, reflected, her need. “Loke, I—“
“Eeewww!”
She spun around, reddening, eyes blazing with coldfire. Klesk sat coiled like a snake, eyes twitching in disgust.
“Master, she’s a fleshy! What could you possibly like about these fleshies? They’re so, so rigid, and ossified! They can’t change form, or shift. They become all squishy if you squeeze them, and they don’t have enough limbs to do anything fun!”
“And yet for some reason, I find them fascinating, Klesk. I don’t think you’ll understand.”
Ky rolled her eyes. Though she tried to hold it in, she couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, Loke, I like Klesk. He’s silly.” She turned around, and then took a step back when she saw what stood behind her.
The thing that stood behind her was enormous, alien. Its hide was covered in something that seemed to be dark scale and chitin, and vast wings, as of a dragon fly, stretched ponderously. It slavered and buzzed out with too many mouths. But the eyes. It was the eyes that drew her in and held her. They were eyes of black glass, faceted and mirror-perfect. As she looked right into them, all she could see was herself, reflected back.
Perhaps that is how he draws us in, she thought. By showing us what we want to see: ourselves.
“Are you ready, Kyris?”
And then he was gone.
Vyrellis laughs then. “Be careful of that one, child. He will use you, and then he will break you.”
Ky snarls. “Just like Karavakos used you, your highness?” Ky restrained the urge to lash out at the fallen eladrin. She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, that was unfair. We’re all stuck in the same boat, aren’t we?”
Within her, she could hear Locust’s voice.
Not long now, beloved.
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
| Posts: 1552 |
| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Tue Apr 28, 2009 12:34 am Post subject: |
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Pyramid of Radiance Interlude 3
Blood debts
The hallway was lined with statues. The figures were dominated by gigantic stone maws, almost cavernous, with a void-like darkness within.
And then they began to speak.
One statue turned to Kyris, it's visage a perfect copy of the immaculate iron mask of her brother, Mephiston Lasirlan. "Treachery and doom, sister. As you betrayed House Lasirlan and committed vile crimes against your kin, so too are you fated to fall in treachery and doom."
Her breath caught in her throat and she stepped back in surprise. "Meph? What the hell is going on here?"
Beside her, Yevor Thorntrodden, the crazy masked elf was screaming something about "feeding the statues." He then proceeded to throw rations into the statues. The Mephiston-statue consumed the ration with a grinding noise, turning towards Kyris. "Imagine the impudence of this elf, throwing food into my face. He must be punished!" Yevor suddenly yelped in pain as great rents opened in his flesh, the statue lashing out.
Kyris took a step back, a mixture of surprise and shock on her face. Then she remembered Locust's warnings, and the nature of the second level's Far Realm taint. "He's all yours, Brother."
The statue that bore the caricatured likeness of Mephiston turned towards her. "What do you mean, treacheress?"
She smiled and leveled her Rod of Corruption at the statue's maw. "If you really were my brother, you'd have found some a more appropriate revenge. Mephiston always did have a priest's sense for drama."
The statue leered at her, and then disgorged a filthy little foulspawn mangler, it's hands a whirling storm of jagged pain. Ky called on the knowledge that the Locust had taught her, channeling the radiant fire of the stars into a bright, searing beam.
**
Twice, she had stopped to try to catch a glimpse of an alien, squid-like creature flitting at the edge of her vision.
They were still wandering the twisted halls of the second level. Corridors seemed to stretch out to infinity before suddenly narrowing into claustrophobic confines. The place reeked of Far Realm energies, the eldritch influences twisting themselves to adapt to the viewer's fears and nightmares. Kyris had stopped to consult with her partymates, and had discovered that each of them had seen different visions at the hall of hungering mouths. Old enemies, lost friends, each had seen what they secretly feared or desired. The energies of the place were insidious.
There it was again, the tentacled thing dancing just beyond the corner of her eye. She turned and tried to follow it, only to be held back by Yevor Thorntrodden. Kyris turned to look at him in irritation, and then turned back. The gaping maw of the demon-statue leered back at her. She gulped, slowly exhaled, and then took a step back as Yevor moved forward to "feed" the stone with carrion taken from the fallen Farspawn. The maw slowly clamped down, blood and juices squirting from the chunks of carrion.
Ky shuddered. "Hey, elf, the next time it looks like I'm about to do something stupid, pull me back will you? Thanks." Yevor nodded, and then moved on.
Ky's grip on the rod of corruption tightened. She turned towards Locust's manifestation, again in the guise of the rakish tiefling youth. "For a patron, you're not being very helpful, you know, Locust?"
Loke smirked and shook his head. "Ah, Kyris, really, what did you expect? What do you think I am, a god? Sometimes the greatest gift that a master can give to his students is the freedom to make their own mistakes."
Ky grunted. She looked up at him with more then a little exasperation. "Hell, Loke, I've heard that the best complement that a student can give their master is to kill them."
The farspawn tried and failed to restrain a laugh. "An interesting adage." He ran a hand against the curve of her cheek. "There is something true in that saying, my student."
**
The statue looked down at her with the features of Phaeton Lasirlan. He was regal, commanding, every inch of him a noble and valiant warlord of the House. Only a closer inspection would reveal the sneer, the sword primed in the act of butchering a helpless foe. Phaeton exactly as he wanted the world to see him.
Cyrille and Yevor were carefully entering the room, weapons at high ready. The statue continued to have eyes only for her. She wondered if the others were sharing in the same vision, or if they were wrapped in their own web of hallucinations.
"Phae? This is getting stranger and stranger."
"Sister." Phaeton's statue raised its sword in salute. It spoke to her with a sinister echo, as if many smaller voices spoke together attempting to create the illusion of a greater whole. "Join us in our place of power. Join me, and together we will seek out your true destiny as a Lasirlan, one born to rule."
She was taken aback. "I left the Lasirlans behind a long-"
There was a great roar, and the statue shattered, shards spraying everywhere as a gigantic ogre bulled its way forward to lash out at the intruders.
**
The medusa fought like a cornered wolverine, lashing out with its serpents and its weapons. "Damn you, crazy hag, have the simple decency to die already!" Kyris blasted away with a shaft of dire radiance. The medusa dodged aside, and then turned its gaze straight at Kyris.
She almost dropped the rod of corruption when she recognized the face looking back at her. Its features were regal, a meld of Lasirlan and Darkhope bloodlines. Her horns were elegant, petite, unlike the more garish horns of the other great houses. The hair, like Ky's own, was black as the night, though longer and wilder. It could have been her own spitting image, had its features not been twisted and contorted with poisonous hatred. Kyris' eyes looked into the burning rage in her sister's orbs. "Betrayer. Murderer! You killed him Ky!"
"Adara? What do you mean? Who?" Shock, confusion, and a strange lethargy ran through her. The eyes can be deceived, the senses fooled. She tore her eyes away from the mesmerizing gaze of the medusa.
The pyramid was a treacherous place.
**
It leered at her, a doppelganger, twisted and mutated. Its voice was a buzzing mockery of her own as it beckoned to her with a mass of tentacles.
"Trust in the stars, Kyrisss. They hold the truth. Give up your essence, and you shall be transformed. Give yourself unto us and behold the truth."
Kyris clenched her fist and tried to ignore the vision. My future, my destiny, is my own. I will not be your slave.
"But you already serve a cruel and demanding patron, one who lies and deceives you. Join us, and be enlightened by the truth."
He is a teacher, guide, and lover. But I am not his slave, and he is not my master.
**
The side room held almost nothing, save for two relatively clean beds. Yevor and Cyrille recoiled, as if shocked by the sheer mundanity of the chamber. Ky chuckled at their indecision. She checked the mattress for fleas, and seeing none, decided to plop herself down and lie back on one of the beds.
Sly and amused. "What, are you tired already? It's only been an hour and a half since you broke camp at the platform."
"Well, Loke, knowing my friends, they're going to turn this entire room upside down in order to loot it or discover hidden secrets. I may as well get some rest while they're at it."
His voice was now a whisper as he loomed over her. "You may have something there. Perhaps I should join you, beloved?"
She chuckled, sat up on one elbow, and leaned up to kiss him, aware that to most of the others, it simply appeared that she was kissing the empty air. "Much as I would enjoy that, Loke, I don't think that now is the time for such things." She eyed the others surveying the room. "Perhaps when we have a bit more privacy."
A sudden vision. Locust and her, twined together. Tonight we seal our pact, dear one. Tonight we bind ourselves together, my immortal essence with your mortal soul. My star-born nature adn your mortal flesh. All power demands sacrifice, beloved Kyris. What do you offer as yours.
And then a bright light. The clatter of steel as an intruder barged into their sanctum. Get your hands off my sister! The voice was haunting, as if it was someone she should know, a wraith at the edge of her memory.
Kyris gasps. And then Locust was gone.
**
Radiant. Regal. Commanding. Imperious. Her doppelganger stood before the locked gates wearing nothing but a mantle of stars. "Come. Unlock the gates to your future, child of the light."
She hungered for it. She wanted it. Power. Power to control, power to command, power enough, she hoped, to change the world. But still she could not quiet the frisson of fear, an impending sense of dread as she approached the iron gates.
And then he came before her, a serious man-child, no more then 14 or 15 years old perhaps. He gives Kyris a haunted look and forces a weak smile.
The rod of corruption clatters to the ground. She should know him. The features of her bloodline are engraved on his face. He is bright, radiant, a favored child. His eyes are innocent, vibrant. A great wound rends the fine fabric of his doublet, and blood impossible amounts of blood pour out.
"Dead gods' bones. No. Please. No."
The pieces fit together. Mephiston steeling his heart against her. Phaeton's grudging admiration. Adara's burning desire to avenge her beloved and put an end to Kyris' life. For there were five children of the Lasirlan line.
She drops to her knees, trying to hold back racking sobs. In the distance, she can hear the dark elf, Cyrille, shouting "She's still alive! She can't be dead!" She can hear the twang of his bow string as the ranger peppers the gate with a volley of arrows.
"Ky, please, I know you're still in there. I know you won't listen to me, but I have to try anyway..."
Years ago, he had stood before her, blade bared as he tried to strike down Loke. Don't listen to his lies, Ky. He's not human! Please, sis, step out of my way!
Dead gods' bones. I didn't mean to do it. I just wanted to save him. Why did he go on? Why?
"If this is what it takes, then, Ky, then all right. I know you won't listen to me, but I have to try anyway. If that's what you really want, then I can't stop you."
"I didn't mean to do it. Please, you've got to believe me."
I hate this place. I hate this world. I hate myself.
Kyris wipes the tears from her eyes, one hand takes the rod of corruption. As she stands, the other hand wraps itself around the hilt of her trusty dagger.
All power demands sacrifice.
***
OOC:
-guys, does anyone else want to do the interludes? I don't want to monopolize this thread. I like writing Kyris but I do want to hear and see the other characters as well. I'd like to keep on writing interludes for this level, since it works with Ky's backstory, but does anyone else also want to do the other levels?
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
| Posts: 1552 |
| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Sun May 24, 2009 2:35 am Post subject: |
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The Pyramid of Radiance
Interlude
There were five of us, sons of Abaddon and daughters of Brianna.
Mephiston, the loyal son, priest of the Iron Handed God. Staid, bookish, but with a heart of iron.
Phaeton, the warmaster, heir to the mailed fist of the Lasirlans. Proud, impetous, with a tactical mind keen as a blade.
Kyris.
Adara, storm-hearted and tempestuous. The power that I harness through my pact, she wields effortlessly. Wields, is perhaps the wrong word. It flows through her, and she’s only barely learned how control that flow. It will destroy her, unless my brothers destroy her first.
And Ralin. Poor, sweet, doomed Ralin. My brother should have been born in a different age, a gentler time, a more honest and decent aeon than the one we live in today. In Phaeton’s words, too good to live. Dear gods, how we laughed at him. How we loved him. He was born small, sickly. He never should have lived. But Adara and I wouldn’t let him die; Mephiston and Phaeton would not let him grow weak. But it was Ralin alone who made sure that he would never fall to darkness. I guess he tried to do the same for me.
As I taste of your mortal flesh, so too shall you taste my immortal power. But he didn’t understand that, Loke.
Ralin’s mouth is set in a smile, and his eyes have his long-lost sparkle. All that is contrasted by the gaping wound in his chest, and the impossible amounts of blood seeping out. “Hello, big sister.”
I stagger to my feet. Gods damn.
All power demands sacrifice.
Damn you, Loke, may the dead gods :consored: on your bones you star-spawned bastard.
This is your truth Ky. I told you what had to be done, but it was your hand that chose the sacrifice.
Blood and steel in the darkness. Fire, long forbidden, blazes in the depths of the Red Library. It shouldn’t have been him. I grip the dagger tight and try to look at his eyes. I glance up, and I force myself to look him in the face. “It wasn’t supposed to be you, Ral. Dear gods, it was never supposed to be you.”
He stands there as he did years ago. He threw his sword away, and his hands were held loosely at his side. But where his eyes once plead mercy for his brother, now his eyes are accusing, and his quiet voice is a pronouncement of doom. “But it was me anyway Ky. You can’t escape that, big sister. You killed me.”
I almost drop the knife. Gates of Agony. The place is well named.
“I’m sorry, Ral. You have to believe me. I’m sorry.”
“So am I, sis.”
“You should have lived!”
Are you really sorry, Ky? Do you really regret it all? Are you going to turn away now, this close to the prize, after all you’ve given up? Do you really believe in what you’re fighting for?
I remember the squalor of New Eurisia, and the Nagthar slave pits. The suffering and devastation of a dying world. What is my own suffering compared to that? I tighten my grasp on my dagger’s well-worn leather grip.
“I am Kyris, student of Locust, warlock of the Shining Path, and I will do whatever it takes and pay whatever price to set this world to right.” I can hear my voice break, but I force it out anyway. “Forgive me, Ral.”
I move forward, dagger at the ready.
**
They had cut their way through the twisting halls, past the farspawn abominations that had barred their way. At last they had entered the heart of madness.
The chamber was vast, and its space was filled with a roiling storm of chaos. Pulsing energies roared within the chaotic maelstrom as a cloud of rock, debris, fire and hail danced in the air before her. And there, bound and chained in the heart of the storm was the form of a man. Though barely visible past the storm, I know that it has turned its head to face them. And then it howled. It howled of loss, and pain, madness and frustration. I know the voice. Damn. How many times do I have to kill him before he stays dead?
I dare to raise my voice above the cacophony of the storm. “Karavakos! Uncle! Come out of there you coward! Come out of there so that I can kill you!”
The hall shuddered as Karavakos answered back. I can hear chains being tested and bonds holding. Something was holding him back, the force storm, and cruder, physical bonds. I’ll have to take the war to him then.
I take a deep breath and steel myself. I enter the warp storm, and the world screams. Everything turns white-out as swirling bursts of radiance assaulted my eyes, and arcane energies danced past me, simultaneously searing and freezing. I call up arcane defenses and eldritch wards in an attempt to protect myself, but before I can finish, the breath is knocked out of my as a shard of rock slams into my stomach. I reel, concentration broken. Debris pummels me from every quarter. I force myself to stagger onwards, past the burn, past the pain. I take another step before a shard of ice crashes into the base of my forehead, the chill contrasting with the slicing pain as the world reels and I crash to the ground.
There is a rusty tang in my mouth as I lie on the ground. I try to force my eyes open, only to blink back tears as a trickle of blood pours into my right. Arcane force washes over me, and it takes all my effort to keep the vortex from swallowing me whole. It would be easy, all too easy, to let the power flow over her, to take her and consume her.
“Is that it, big sister?”
I pull myself to my feet with an effort and then force myself through the vortex one step at a time. It takes every ounce of magical training I have to shield myself and bull my way through the storm.
I step out of the vortex and wipe the blood from my eyes as Karavakos the Mad bursts free of his chains. Thwarted ambition and insane desperation have twisted my uncle into a monstrosity. Though he still bears the general form of a Baalim, he has been warped by Far Realm magics into a mockery of a man. Our weapons are drawn and our spells are ready.
“Hello, Granduncle. I’ve come to kill you.”
It opens its four mouths and howls. I let the power of the stars wash over me. I am Kyris of the Lasirlans, a student of Locust and warlock of the Shining Path. I let the power of the Far Realm embrace me and flow through me. I call upon the Crown of Stars and wreath myself in radiant wrath.
**
Karavakos reels from our combined assault. We are bloodied and battered, but so is he. I channel the power of the Crown of Stars, focusing my will into a radiant knife’s edge. I send a bolt of blazing light racing into the heart of madness, and it tears a hole in Karavakos’ body.
Karavakos roars, and then falls to his knees. The farspawn abomination’s form twists and bends, pseudopods lashing out in death throes. With arcane sight I can see the touch of the Far Realm slowly ebbing away, abandoning Karavakos and transforming him back into something less than mortal.
He looks up at me then as the warpstuff sloughs off him. His inhuman maw melts, turns back into his own face contorted in agony. It shifts into my face. Into Ralin’s face. “So, grand-niece, are you truly worthy of this power? Are you ready to pay its cost?”
“Hello, Grand-uncle. Goodbye, Grand-uncle.”
He expires, and from the corpse, a bolt of nebulous energy surges forth, no doubt climbing upwards into the prison where the true heart of Karavakos lies.
I feel the power ebbing, the touch of the Far Realm leaving as the radiance of the Crown of Stars begins to fade. I close my eyes, my breath coming out in shuddering gasps. I feel drained, as if the battle had sucked the life out of me. I start when I feel a warm, comforting hand on my shoulder.
“Ky.”
I open my eyes and look up. Loke.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that again, beloved.” He pushes a stray lock of hair from my eyes. Loke’s face shows an alien emotion as he runs a hand through my hair. Concern. I try to wipe the blood out of my eyes, but my vision remains blurry. I give up. I stand there and let Locust hold me close as I bury my head into his shoulder.
“I…I’m glad you made it, dear one. For a moment there, I almost thought that you would break at the Gates of Agony. I didn’t think you would be able to pass through whole, in mind or in spirit. I’m glad you came through. It would have taken me forever to train another to walk down the Shining Path.” A little of his old sarcasm returns to his voice, irritating and comforting at the same time.
“Why, Loke? Why him? Why Ral? And how many more times must I kill my granduncle before he stays dead?”
Loke wraps his arms around my body as I shudder in his embrace. “You have to ask yourself that question. And as for your grand uncle, well, it won’t be long now, Ky. I don’t have much time left, Ky. Go up, seek out Karavakos. Thwart his plans, and perhaps, if you defeat him, then the power of the Pyramid of Radiance will be yours to control. Or perhaps it will destroy you.”
I look up and see that some of the mischievous twinkle has returned to his eyes. “Since you’ve severed the link between this place and the Far Realm, then I’m afraid I must bid you farewell Ky. Walk in the light, and know always that whenever you look up to the heavens, a star watches out for you.”
I try to reach out, hold him tight, but by then he has already began to dissolve into at thousand motes of light, each like an individual insect burning with phosphorescent fire. They rise up into the ceiling and slowly disappear.
Karavakos will be stopped, and the power of the Pyramid of Radiance will be mine.
If that is what you truly desire, sister.
Ralin looks at her with sad, smiling eyes, before he too fades into darkness.
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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dark_axis
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Eternal Elan
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| Joined: 02 Jan 2007 |
| Posts: 1898 |
| Location: 666th Layer of Hell |
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Posted: Thu May 28, 2009 11:45 pm Post subject: |
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Afternoon of Undeath
Travels of an Exile, Day XXX
The stench of death filled the air as we entered the dark chambers of the mines of Marlton. It smelled of rotting corpses of unfortunate miners who didn't had a fighting chance to whatever there was below. As we continued to move forward, the decaying body parts became more frequent. They were killed by something very hungry. I mumbled as I examined the bite marks on one of the decaying hands that I stumbled upon.
What a day. I told myself.
It was my first day at work as a mercenary. I was hired to lend my knowledge in the arcane arts to accompany a group of sea-faring co-mercenaries to clear out the mines. We were ordered to take down any abomination that we might find.
As we ventured deeper, we encountered a group of undead along the way. My guess was right. Death reeks where undeath thrives. What an irony. Undead abominations were not new to someone like me. I had been assigned in expeditions by the ministry to eliminate such pests. Experience taught me that burning them was the fastest way to ensure that such abominations would never stand again.
Hordes and hordes kept on coming one after another. Eventually, one of the seafarers was flanked from all sides by the mindless undead. A simple assessment would tell me that the guy couldn't handle the situation by his own. I was surprised though with the words that came out of his mouth.
Go ahead, burn'em up. Don’t mind me.
What?! Are you out of your mind? I yelled at him.
That’s our captain! Hey, that's order. Just follow what he says, boy. as one of his crew shouted out without any hesitation.
No time can be put into waste. I channeled the arcane powers with my wand. Reciting every incantation strict to the letter, I summoned the fire resting within my veins to set ablaze the zombies and the captain included though at the best of my abilities, I tried to manage to let the flames evade the daring captain.
Kaboom!!!
The explosion was stronger than the normal. It almost shook the walls of the mine. This was not supposed to happen.
No!!! Not another rebound. I did everything by the book. What went wrong? He’s not dead, is he? I told myself. Guilt started to chew on my sanity as we waited for the dust to clear out.
I was shocked with what I saw. A lone figure of a man stood where the middle of the explosion was supposed to be. It was the captain with a grin on his face. Good flames, kid. I could use one of you in my crew.
I was in total disbelief. He wasn’t angry at me or anything. Not a trace of any hostile intent can be sensed from him. This….This is interesting.
We continued to move forward and soon enough we found out the cause of the sudden stirrings of the dead. It was a group of necromancers. They stood on top of each point of a pentagram on the floor drawn with blood. A green vortex was swirling in the middle of the pentagram as if they were trying to unleash something evil into the world.
We stood our ground. We used every ounce of our strength against the evil that we have come across. I tried to interrupt the ritual by trying to stir up the vortex with the arcane arts. Unfortunately, it was not enough. It was not working.
With desperation, I aimed my wand again at the center of the vortex. If I cannot destroy it then I would use it as a conduit then, I thought. I conjured an arrow made out of acid that can eat thru even the hardest metal that was ever made and directed it to pierce the center of the vortex. It went in straight the vortex. There was no immediate effect but after a couple of seconds the vortex was shooting out acid which eventually hit the necromancers who were facilitating the ritual. The ritual was hindered and it was an opportunity that we cannot ignore. My companions immediately rush towards them, snuffing the life out of the necromancers with the end of their blades. All of them were dealt with in a few minutes.
Though every necromancer was lying in their own pool of blood the vortex kept on growing. It was growing in an unstable way, devouring its way through the walls of the mine. The structure of the mine was not going to hold any longer. By instinct, we run out of the mines out of dear life and made it out safely.
A ray of hope shone on my path. That captain guy might be the key in breaking this curse. From then on I decided to join the crew of the Eyepluckers.
_________________
Only by confronting your darkest fears can you find the light...
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dark_axis
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Eternal Elan
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| Joined: 02 Jan 2007 |
| Posts: 1898 |
| Location: 666th Layer of Hell |
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Posted: Fri May 29, 2009 4:49 pm Post subject: |
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Rumors of Wealth
Travels of an Exile, Day LXVI
We managed to set port on Rising Flint upon hearing rumors about an unfortunate eladrin's treasure. Our captain's instincts call that we liberate the said treasure from the mountain ranges.
In my opinion, he's just making excuses. He just doesn't want to pay the crew's wages out of his own pocket. Cheapscape. Who cares anyway? It would be a great opportunity to test out my newly developed technique.
Finally land. It's been a while since I've step on land again. I exclaimed. For someone like me who isn't very good at swimming, it's a blessing to set foot on land again.
The captain had specific orders. We were to resupply first. Gather some information. And then hijack whoever is running the excavation of the eladrin's treasure.
They decided to keep it a small group as possible. I, Captain Xander and a nameless gnoll formed the small group after drawing lots. They still can't forget the previous incidents where some of the crew suffered from friendly fire. It's not my fault though. I didn't mean to burn them. Well, it was an accident.
After questioning some villagers, we managed to find our way near the entrance of the excavation. We saw a group of slave workers carry a bundle of explosives inside the cave. I saw this as a chance and asked permission from the captain if I can blow them up. He contradicted and told me to wait a little longer. We should watch them a little longer, he said.
A man wearing a fine robe armed with a staff came out of one of the tents. I assumed that he was directing the whole operation as he pointed and shouted spitefully at the slave workers. I also assumed that he was a third rate mage, since he needed that many guards to protect him.
As we watched carefully, the workers started rushing out of the cave and looking for cover. They covered their ears as they waited. It looks to me that they was going to be an explosion. That was our chance.
KAAAA-BOOM!!!
We wasted no time. Seeing that they were still shaken from the explosion, we took the opportunity to strike at them.
I channeled the arcane energy through the wand. Using the wand as a conduit, I raised my other hand pointed towards the third rate mage and snapped my fingers.
BOOOM!!!
I watched with enthusiasm as the flames started consuming the face of the third rate mage. I was satisfied knowing that my newly developed technique works. Aside from that, I was also happy to know that the fine robe was still in good shape. No one would want such a fine work of art go to waste.
Captain Xander rushed the first flank of guards, butchering them in a matter of seconds. Our gnoll companion stood tall in the chaos as he picked every incoming guard that attempted its way to the captain.
Get the one who burned my face and bring him to me!!!!!, the mage yelled furiously at his guards. The guards started to run towards my direction.
I found myself faced with three guards. At the same time, the captain and the gnoll were also being outmatched by the mage's personal bodyguards. It was make or break time for the three of us.
I stepped away carelessly letting one of the guards to strike me. Fortunately, the dead gods might have been smiling at me at that moment since only my robe was on the receiving end of the blade.
You idiot, do you know how much this robe cost me?!!!! About your month's salary??!!, I yelled at the soldier and snapped my fingers at the same time. Letting the flames consume the three of them at the same time.
The captain and the gnoll were able to take care of the bodyguards and eventually they engaged the mage to surrender. But the mage wouldn’t yield. He kept on cursing at me, hurling magic missiles wildly at me.
The temperature from the surroundings suddenly became cold as I chanted another set of invocations. Ice shards formed out of thin air and I pointed my fingers toward the head of third rate mage. The mage's head was ripped into shreds instantaneously by the shards of ice.
We managed to sneak in a dozen of sun rods along the way. It made it easier for us to traverse the cave. After half an hour of walking, we find ourselves in a fix. A deep crevice stood between us and the next chamber of the cave. We tried measuring but it was an impossible feat for us to jump through. I told them that I could remedy it with a ritual but it was going to take some time and they agreed.
I performed the ritual continuously for about 5 minutes. Out of nowhere, a spider as big as a dog bit me on the neck. It made me stop since the venom of the spider was causing me to continuously vomit. The captain and gnoll were also engaged with a pair of spiders which kept them busy.
I swore I was inches away from dying when the captain yelled at me. Allen!!! Wake up, we’ll cover you. Just stay behind us.
With every ounce of strength that was remaining in my body, I crawled behind the captain and the nameless gnoll. In the process, I was yet again wounded as one of the spiders tried to prevent me from escaping by burying its set of fangs in my leg.
I watched half consciously as the captain and the gnoll fended off the spiders. As soon as they were making progress with the spiders, a pair of vipers with annoying rattling sounds slithered toward us. The rattling was annoying by itself but what made it worse is that the cave amplified the effect.
I was recuperating little by little until I found my way back up. I was in no condition to fight but it was a matter of survival. We focused all our efforts in bringing down one threat at a time and our efforts were not wasted.
I leaned against the wall after the tedious battle. I asked the captain if the treasure was still worth pursuing. I thought that pushing through is suicidal and tried to convinced him to go back. I pleaded him to listen but he only responded with a grin.
I knew what it meant. I had no choice but to continue with the ritual after tending to my wounds. We were able to cross the crevice successfully and entered the next chamber.
We were all in awe with the sight that was in front of us. A great treasure chest lay on top of a mound of gold pieces.
We hit the jackpot, guys. ,the captain said.
Captain, wouldn’t it be best to check it first for traps?, I advised.
Sure, whatever. Go ahead.
I conjured a spectral hand to get a handful of coin from the mound. I hypothesized that if there was a trap it would surely be triggered.
Who dares? Who dares to steal from our treasure? You will not leave with our treasure!!!! ,an angry voice hissed at us.
Four ghostly apparitions manifested in front of us.
Wraiths!!! I shouted. I remembered that facing one unprepared would be an impossible task.
We had no choice. We stood our ground, just the three of us. The wraiths insubstantial forms made it harder to take them down. Their attacks made us weaker while our attacks were just gracing them. As time passed by, we were managing to wound them or it would be more appropriate to say, hurt them. We ditched every skill that we knew. We poured in every tactic that we can think of. It took a while to take care of those wraiths but we were lucky to survive such a formidable encounter.
We looted the place. The rewards were very satisfactory. I offered a prayer for the fallen eladrin as we left the mountain and we made it back safely to the docks.
_________________
Only by confronting your darkest fears can you find the light...
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juaberman
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Old Dragon
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| Joined: 04 Oct 2007 |
| Posts: 431 |
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Posted: Wed Jun 03, 2009 12:24 am Post subject: |
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Captain's Log
Excerpt from Captain Xander's...well, log
i decided to make a captain's log since there are a lot of things i can't remember i need something to remind myself, particularly the member of the Eyepluckers. i mean, come on, i just let N-Spyr run around a bit and suddenly we got a greatsword wielding maniac. sigh. so i'll list down the members here.
they are:
Xander Gilligan: that's me.
N-Spyr: a warforged and my best friend whom i picked up on an alley. still don't know why i did that.
Atreus: a crossbow-wielding bloodseeking money grabbing rogue who doesn't care about other people's lives. good thing he's on our side.
Nameless: a tough gnoll who doubles as an arm connoisseur.
Wreston: genasi paladin who strives order and abides by a code of honor, which is rare in our crew.
Da-at: a warforged arcanist who says weird things about strikers and die rolls. weird guy.
Allen: a human with a knack of burning people's faces... especially mine.
Limerick: she seems to be someone on the run from some kingdom. at least we have a girl now.
Grogg: orc who wants to learn the arcane arts. pretty smart guy, i mean orc.
Dom and Krunk: they have wolves named Krunk and Dom, respectively. it's an orc thing.
Nemes: some guy N-SPyr hired. said he's pretty good.
Slaves: can't remember all their names, but they're helpful
i guess that all of- wait! how would i forget!
Kirus: the awesomest cabin boy a crew would ever have. he's so awesome that he makes the boat all shiny and sparkly, and the damn thing's made of wood!
so there, that's the crew for now. i should be more strict on who to recruit, since a i don't my crew to be filled with crazies. then again i'm the captain, so yeah.
P.S. we need more girls
_________________
Let me tell you a story. But instead of "Once upon a time", let me start with the happy ending. |
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Last edited by juaberman on Sun Jun 07, 2009 7:22 pm; edited 1 time in total |
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Aur Ain Soph
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Very Old Dragon
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| Joined: 29 Aug 2007 |
| Posts: 693 |
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Posted: Wed Jun 03, 2009 2:31 am Post subject: |
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Greatly Exaggerated
Dannil walked into the inn's common room, taking a seat on the bar and loudly ordering for a mug of ale. When he turned around to lean against the table, he felt something against his elbow and turned to see a mug spill dark wine all over the polished wood. A small girl looked at the glass and then at Dannil with a frown.
"What's this?" Dannil said with a sneer. "Another rogue pretending to be a Fagnus member, huh?" The young girl kept her frown, crossing her arms. The whole common room had turned silent.
Dannil spat. "I've seen your kind before--declaring themselves the famous Sevens or Yevor or sometimes even Fagnus himself but they're all dead or haven't you heard? Killed in Ilawith. Best you quit playing before you get hurt," he said. He looked at her knives, noticing the jewels encrusted on some of the hilts. His eyes shone. "Let me take those knives from you before you hurt," he said, as he tried to grab her wrist. She slapped his hand aside and then pounced, forcing him off his stool and onto the floor, the double impact of the hard wood and her knees knocking the wind out of him. When he came to, she was holding a pair of daggers which crackled with the unmistakable power of enchantment.
Dannil gulped. He had heard enough talk of Angel's Grace to be able to recognize one of the daggers she held. Others saw it too. The room was immediately filled with hushed conversation.
"Enough of that," the innkeeper said, as he emerged from a back room. "Dannil! I should have known you'd be the one to bother our honored guests." Sevens stood up, as the the innkeeper beat Dannil over forcing him to kneel and beg forgiveness. Sevens looked at her drink and pointed quietly. Dannil nodded wordlessly. She then turned around, looked at the whole room and pointed at her drink again. Their could only be one meaning. Dannil saw his whole day's wages slip away before his eyes but there was nothing he could do but nod.
The knives disappeared into their sheaths as quickly as she drew them, clapping her hands together with a grin before producing a bright pink chalk and writing forgiven on Dannil's forehead. He sighed--it was going to be one of those days.
A Good Ruler
Limerick blew into her hands to ward away the night chill. There was little moonlight but what she had sufficed. She had seen darker nights back in Seawall, her family's ancestral home. She had endured colder nights then too but she was a long way from home and its memory was still more than enough to make her burrow deeper into her tattered gray cloak.
Parry and then counterattack! That's it! Use your speed! Hah, you'd have made a fine knight if you'd been a boy! His father's words. She was remembering him a lot recently. Remembering her lessons with him and how laughable a sight she must have been, a scrawny wild girl vainly trying to hit a seasoned warrior with a stick. She had been so silly then.
He had been a strong and responsible man--a good ruler and Limerick knew that she was his only failure. She smirked. It really had been impossible for him to say no to her. From her fencing lessons to knowingly letting her skulk around the castle at night without reprisal or interference.
"Shh!" she hissed, motioning for the others to stay completely still. They should be fine as long as Irvine didn't turn into anything silly again. The refugees looked around worriedly. Their fear was overwhelming. It assaulted all of her senses so much so that she could even taste it. It was a foul and bitter thing.
It had been an easy thing to overpower her. Her small frame landed hard on the cold stone floor. Hah! Lord Malkuth shouted, as he extended his hand to his daughter. She rubbed her sore bottom and pouted.
No fair, she said.
Everything's fair in battle, he told her severely. You put everything on the line--your life against your opponent's. So you best be sure that every cause you lend your sword to is a just one. Nothing else is worth dying over.
He was the good ruler. He would've been a good king if he hadn't been present when the king, his brother and the rest of the royal line died.
Limerick turned to the refugees, giving them the go ahead as the column of soldiers disappeared. She could never be a good ruler but she could afford to ease her conscience every now and again. Her father would have approved.
_________________
All hail the Bongolian Ultraprawn! |
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erwin
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Master of None
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| Joined: 06 Dec 2006 |
| Posts: 2932 |
| Location: Searching... |
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Posted: Wed Jun 03, 2009 5:15 am Post subject: |
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Apprentice's Notes: The Old Ways' Worshippers
(Domon's note in the White Tide campaign)
It's almost been a year since I've come out of the forest, only to be helping this farmer who seems to be lost at the forest. I thought he was tricked by the spirits, but after accompanying him for a short time, you'll easily understand that he's just stupid.
After a while we soon find his place, luckily I've been around here for quite sometime, and he did say he'll have some good food on his home. It's something I wouldn't easily refuse. But traveling for 3 days was not worth it for that. This should teach to not help random idiot guys who are lost in the woods again.
The humble house seems to be an inn, and it looks like it has guests. A pale man in robes, the one they call Orm, offering a strange and strong aura sits upon the corner. Not far from him sits Shyrna, who seems to be a horrid abomination, a humanoid clad in iron all over its body, yet it resembles much of a beast. It seems to guard her fainted friend, a pale purple skinned human, Alazlam I think was his name. He strikes much of the devas I've read during the days. An odd bunch I'd say.
You could easily sense in the room a foul aura, something diabolical must be cooking in here. But then again I've seen and felt more dreadful things, things I wish I could just ignore and forget. Years of training in the deep woods cannot make me forget that.
Anyway, I was offered good food and a warm bed. I've had chat with the fellow guests, it's been a while since I've talk to actual humanoids, not that I'm complaining with Savage and Owel as companions. There are times you wish the ones you talk to just speak to you clearly, not with signals and sounds they just make. Though much of we talk about is converting me to their religion, something about Or~ I can't really tell, but I'd just like to call it the old way. They're probably redeemers, ones I've heard before. They kill the gods, then they want them back. What is it with this people.
This is all I could write so far, so I guess I'll put some more when something interesting happens.
---
Be careful what you wish for as it may come true, my father use to say.
Interesting it maybe, but being part of dreams where you have kill hideous zombies to survive is not something you could wish for. Apparently, I got involve in some bizarre ritual where we live to or we die. I never signed for any of this, but apparently I got caught in. It seems the rite was needed to make revival of the deva complete, 'because "he" said so' to quote. I actually didn't know he was dead yesterday.
It took a while, as I've never coordinated with them before. The warforged (that's what they say she has become into) was hacking the zombies in the way, together with the revived Alazlam. Orm weakly but firmly raises his hands against them, sending vile waves and sparkling bolts upon them. I tried to use the things I've learned in the woods, with the help of Savage. Even from the start I knew he was not an ordinary duck. I was right. No duck would nonchalantly walk to a battlefield, dodging attacks as if he could see it coming. With his help, I was able to be of used to them. It's been a long time since I've used my atcane arts, so I did not use them effectively in battle. After we defeat then, we woke up from our beds, as if the battle never really happened. Only after talking to the others was I to confirm my weird nightmare, if you could call it.
Since it's been ages since I've been living in the woods, and as my master use to say, experience is the best teacher, I decided to tag along with the strange group. They say seem to be looking for a way to get out of this lands, and to find their friend named Kendrick, though I suspect Orm doesn't really care.
After a while, we see a large airship, something I've never seen before in person. I have only read them in books before, and even my master himself hasn't seen these large vessel. But the kobold riding the vessel seems to be having trouble, being attack by a lone goblin, though it seemed very powerful. We took out time to observe what's happening. I sent Owel to scout the area, and with the tricks I've remembered, I was able to see the battle up-close.
This could be our ticket out of here.
The dark pale voice of Orm seemed assured. It is a good vessel after all, but I doubt we could take to ourselves, let alone fly or drive it. I suggested we just help the kobolds, maybe getting paid for what we'll do. They agreed, though I think they had other plans as well. Oh well, as long as I we could get out of here the faster.
My suspicion was right, he was no ordinary goblin. I recognize the totem it holds, ones blessed by the spirits, but tainted by the holder. It put up a great fight, making me see some of my comrades' amazing abilities. I though I saw before was a dream, but apparently their abilities was true, and so was Savage. Though Savage has hard time fighting this gob, as it seems to know how it attacks. I tried to help with my skills, yet to no avail.
The goblin maybe persistent, but we were far more. With each successive blow, we defeated the goblin. I kindly ask for the goblin' totem which they just give away, seeing it has no use to them. It has marks of taint, but with Savage 's touch it withers away. I keep hold of it, hoping it might help me someday.
We're now currently cruising along the airship. I don't know where this is going, but it's been better here than the inn. And I hope to find clues in here as well.
--- |
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Last edited by erwin on Wed Jul 15, 2009 5:48 am; edited 2 times in total |
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erwin
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Master of None
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| Joined: 06 Dec 2006 |
| Posts: 2932 |
| Location: Searching... |
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Posted: Sun Jun 07, 2009 7:05 pm Post subject: |
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A Journey of Discovery: Attack of the Golden Moustache, Part 1
Simon Eldarcil has wandered far since his last adventure with Team Fagnus, as he is currently somewhere within the southern lands. Hearing the stories and tales of the famous Eyepluckers, he finds himself subconsciously going to Seaside Town, where they are said to have their headquarters. It was easy enough to find them, as they are known to be the town's great heroes against the pirates who lurk by the sea.
He goes up the ship, named S.S. Eyepluckers, and find the strangest combination of seamen: a tall gnoll sharpening his long glaive, a human in dark robes, seems to be muttering in a corner, a warforged by the crow's nest, looking high above, orcs and their dogs fixing the holes in the ship and cleaning the docks, a genasi who seems to be lifting some crates, and, something that surprised Simon most of all, a tiefling humbly moping the ship's floor, seems happily doing it. It's a quite site, said Simon to himself, as he would never thought such thing exist, knowing the general nature of baalims.
As he was to strike a conversation with him, suddenly a huge cold hand tap his shoulder. Simon turned around, only to find a warforged shaking heavily and said, Hello. Surprised, Simon jumped back, unsheathed his sword and pointed it out to the strange being.
PAK!! A large stone struck the weird humanoid's head, almost knocking him off ground.
N-SPYR!! DIDN'T WE TELL YOU TO NOT GO ON SCARING PEOPLE LIKE THAT!!, a loud voice came from top deck. A tall kid, with a fluffy hat and an interesting pair of glasses, stood there, looking really troubled. He jumps down recklessly, but was able to land standing up.
Greeting, I am Xander Gilligan, captain of this ship. Is there anything I could help you with?. Simon, surprised seeing the captain of such grand yet weird crew is only but a child like him, delightfully introduced himself. I am Simon Eldarcil, son of Argalon. I wish to ride your ship, hopefully getting back to my way, as I am a little lost. I don't mind if I have to pay.
The captain was kind enough to let him ride, and free too. Soon the ship sailed along, carrying other passengers as well who seems to hitchhiking as well, some of which are familiar to him. He sees Spark, a warforged he met during his expedition on the Ruined Sea. Simon also noticed Dreven as well, the young elven swordsman who he ventured with upon his travels in Mudtown, and the abnormal forest that surrounds it. The other one is new to him, but strangely familiar. He thinks she's the dwarf with Team Fagnus before, stories of her was told by Yevor to Simon. The happy dwarf, introducing herself as Olwynn, came to Simon. After a while Simon was pretty sure she was the one, as she utters nothing but the safety of everyone, and wish to saved them all, though he's familiar with what she means.
They were only a few kilometers away from the shore, then a sudden fog surrounded the ship. It blurred all sight, as it becomes thicker and thicker. Simon knew this was trouble, and instinctively casted a spell upon the mast.
Light, come forth! He points his light in a distance, and the bright light revealed what was hidden in the mist. Two odd ships flanked the S.S. Eyepluckers, their cannon ready to fire at it.
Simon sighs. Ah, here it comes.
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Last edited by erwin on Wed Jun 24, 2009 4:44 am; edited 1 time in total |
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erwin
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Master of None
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| Joined: 06 Dec 2006 |
| Posts: 2932 |
| Location: Searching... |
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Posted: Wed Jun 24, 2009 4:41 am Post subject: Simon Eldarcil's Adventures |
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A Journey of Discovery: Attack of the Golden Moustache, Part 2
Alas, is this the famous Eyepluckers?
A loud voice broke the silence. A tall white man stood proudly from one the ships. With just a glance you'll surely know he's the commander of the ship. He has a moustache as bright as gold and as long as noodles. His eyes were sharp, and glared upon the ship as if it's a measly vessel.
Who are you? the young Xander spoke up. He knew it was trouble, but the look on his face seems to mean he wants to avoid it.
The two commanders' voices echoed through out, as they try to argue upon the inevitable battle. Simon, on the other hand, has already had his mind up to how to battle the pirates.
Hmm, I might use that new spell I've got, go there and then ~
KA-BOOM!
Simon's thoughts was stopped by the loud explosion of the enemies' cannon. The ship took much damage, but it was still intact. He didn't notice that the fight has already started.
Be careful, young one. Don't let you guard down.
The cloaked man's dark but calm voice pulled Simon back to his senses. As he stood the cloaked man shoots a fireball from his wand, burning the pirates from the ship on the left.
I'll take this side, you take care of the other.
Uhmm.. sure..
The battle rages on. Every man on his own, but all was fighting for one goal; to survive. Despite his small stature, Xander's strong voice could be heard even form afar, telling the crew to guide the ship, as well as inspiring the whole party, if you could call this ship's passengers as one. Spark was slicing the crossing pirates, with the help of the planks they set up. Meanwhile Dreven was swashbuckling through the enemies' ship, jumping across it. He sort out all the crossing pirates from the other side, as expected of him, Simon said. Olwynn was busy looking after her puppies as she was ambushed by the moustached half-orc pirates who jumped from the left ship. Nothing she couldn't handle though.
As Simon recites a spell, he rips the air with his hand, creating a rift within the space. He jumps in, and appeared in the right ship, were the captain was. He then raised his staff, and slammed it down.
Shroud of Fire, vanquish my enemies!
A cloak of flame sprang out of nowhere, burning most of the enemy pirate crew. Dreven finished off the remainders.
BOOOOM!
Again the cannons struck the Eyepluckers ship. The damage is very visible, as if the ship might crumble if it gets hit again.
Take down the ballistas! And the cannons!
Xander pointed that out. Without hesitation, Simon and Dreven rushed the ballista by the sides. It took time, but with the combined effort the ballista was down.
You take out the cannons below, I'll help the other side. Dreven ordered as he jumps back to the Eyepluckers, and then to the left ship. Simon rushed down the stairs, accompanied by Captain Xander who handled the remaining crew.
Wave of Thunder, blast my foes!
A strong loud thunder took out the cannon loaders, as well as the cannons. The rest of the crew were already no match for the two of them. They almost cleared this ship, the only thing remaining is the elusive captain.
Captain Xander and Simon rushed to the captain's cabin's door. Xander kicked the door open, hoping to surprise the losing captain of the ship, only to be surprised by what was behind the door.
Xander and Simon was speechless. Xander looked with great awe, but Simon looked with much dread. The golden moustached captain stood inside with a proud look in his face, as if he's already seen them coming. Behind him is a pile of so much gold you'd wonder how the ship manage to stay afloat with it. He then made a villainous laugh, echoing all over the ship.
Did you really think you could hope to beat me, captain of the Eyepluckers?
As he spoke, his voice turned deep. His eyes glowed. His large smile grew big, as he starts to transform. His skin became scales and shone like gold. His clothes was ripped apart, as golden wings sprung out from his back. His hands became large claws, and a large tail sprouted from his back. And finally his neck, face, and moustache grew longer, completing his transformation.
Simon's eyes grew. No, not again.
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
| Posts: 1552 |
| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Mon Dec 21, 2009 1:18 am Post subject: |
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Dragon's Heart: postscript
Executive Officer Dreven bin-Hakoth's log
I'm going to regret letting that woman live. Then again, that's partially my fault. But I should have stressed to the others that we should never have kept her as a slave.
Yesterday, we pulled in at an island to take in repairs and buy new provisions for the SS Eyeplucker. The town itself was in a joyous mood as it celebrated some local holiday they call "Yule". All in all, the feast was going well, until the copper dragon showed up.
The copper, Aesthirtroden, was one tough customer, trashing buildings left and right, and screaming something about "destroying the strictures (structures? The thing had an odd accent) of civilization." We held off the copper a bit, and then it mysteriously withdraw, announcing that it would destroy the town the next day. Still, for a dragon hell-bent on leveling the town, he was remarkably careful not take any civilian casualties.
The baron offered a substantial reward for the death of the dragon, but then, just as we were about to seal the deal, a woman riding a direwolf comes in, declaring herself as Amberlana, dragonhunter extraordinaire, and makes a flashy show declaring herself as the most qualified hunter to take down the wyrm.
Now mind you, we just happened to pull into town, but the timing here is ridiculous. A dragon rampages through town, and not five minutes after the last rubble pile collapses, some bimbo in drakescale armor walks in and claims to be the perfect dragonslayer for the job? I smell a rat. Two weeks dead, rancid, and pestilent.
Come the day of the dragon's attack, we observed the confrontation. And we wanted to be in place in case anything went wrong. And maybe cover ourselves in glory while we're at it. Amberlana stood there, cool as you please, casually assembling a ballista while her direwolf growled at the mob. Then, as the sun began to rise, the dragon appeared with the sun behind it.
I couldn't have planned a swindle any better. With the sun behind him, few people would have taken a close look at Aesthirtroden. First rule of a swindle: plan it well enough, execute it slick enough, and people will believe anything. Amberlana let fly with the ballista, and Aesthirtroden made a show of being hit, waxing theatrical as he faked his death.
Mind you, I have a great appreciation for a good swindle, but only so long as I'm the one profiting from it. We couldn't just let them get away with that. So we tracked them down in the isle's central woods. Our suspicions were confirmed when we caught up with Amberlana and her draconic lover gloating over their swindle. We had the element of surprise, but it would be a tough fight. Aesthirtroden had proven himself to be a fierce fighter, and Amberlana plus the wolf would definitely complicate things. Raw, unbridled viciousness would be the only way we could triumph. The plan was simple. Jump them, isolate one, take it down, and move on to the next. And we would start with Amberlana.
That decision proved to be fortuitous. With a frenzied roar, we charged out of the undergrowth, and with a flurry of blows, we managed to pummel the woman into submission. That proved to be a lucky break, as the dragon suddenly grew concerned about his partner's welfare. Aesthirtroden ordered the wolf to take the woman to safety while he held us off. It ended up being a tough little fight, but eventually, Aesthirtroden was forced to retreat with Amberlana, while the direwolf, "Fluffy", fell to our blades.
We chased the dragon to his lair, an abandoned castle, and after breaking through a vicious illusion, we confronted the dragon's pets: A gelatinous cube and two rust monsters. RUST MONSTERS. Now at any other time, I might have been a little appreciative of the dragon's antics, but anytime rust monsters are brought into play, all bets are off. Let's just say that I wasn't a very happy camper when we reached the dragon's tower aerie.
The dragon was there, as well as the remnants of his force of minions, and an unconscious Amberlana. Still, a cornered beast is often the most dangerous one. While the mooks weren't a challenge, the dragon was infuriatingly elusive, using his mobility to strike and fade away. In the end, there was only one way to pin him down: Threaten his lover. Not exactly a proud moment in my adventuring career, mind you, but when I have to choose between morality and survival, I tend to take a very pragmatic view of these things. I made it clear to the dragon, in the simplest possible terms, that unless it stopped hit-and-fading and instead fought us toe to toe, that I would kill Amberlana. I'm terrible at bluffing, lying, and intimidating. But then again, when I make statements like that, I never bluff.
The dragon took my word for it. I'll admit, there was something noble about it landing in front of us to slug it out. He knew he was going to die. As we swarmed in around him, I gave him my word. He put up a good fight. I sent him to the afterlife knowing that we would let his partner live.
Long story short, we killed the dragon, took his hoard, and cleared up the situation with the Baron. Then again, the sneaky old coot had paid them in ginger. Clearly, he wasn't quite so trusting either. Sneaky bastard.
All in all, the Eyepluckers managed to gain a significant profit after we hauled in the copper dragon's horde. Of course, finding someone willing to change a few hundred thousand coppers into more portable currency is another thing entirely. My own little souvenir would be another dragon's fang added to my evergrowing collection, and the suit of drakescale armor, which, once resized, was a fairly impressive piece of kit.
Then again, the rest of the crew decided to use Amberlana as some sort of ship slave. A bad idea, and I told them so when they proposed it. I've never liked slavery. That's one reason why I dislike most Nagthari. Besides, most labor slaves aren't good for much. They're like hired hands, only worse. And this one in particular had reason to hate us all. But no, the others would have none of it. So that night, I made sure to lock my door, sleep lightly, and keep my rapier at my side. I wasn't particularly surprised when I woke up the next morning to find that she had escaped, managing to kill three of the enlisted crew while she was at it.
Oh well. I did warn them.
EDIT: Minor grammar tweaks.
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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