breathing_towers_to_hell

Hope's Harbinger [Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy]

Uh, present. c:

Hope's Harbinger [Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy]

I just wonder why RPs always stagnate after my posts. One was stopped hours after I put up my starter, it's like I'm an omen of bad luck to the thread. ^^"

Hope's Harbinger [Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy]

Aupa sighed and reclined her head so that her eyes were focused on the stone ceiling of the room, heard footsteps as others

entered. She would make time for niceties, introduce herself if the eye made her, otherwise she wanted little to do with the sheepish team. She couldn’t smile, anyway. The scar just made her mouth pull to the side in an ugly leer. It wasn’t really clear to her exactly who had made their entrance or when, not until an elf took the stage-- a limber, overconfident fellow, grandly trying to reconcile the group, disbanded before it had functioned.

“Any apprehension I may have had before has dissipated, as a truer band of adventurers has surely never been. I will be pleased to make each of your acquaintances. First, allow me to commemorate this occasion.”

He took out a stringed instrument in a U shape. His playing was skilful but he was big–headed and insincere.

Aupa decided to be wary of him, for there must be a good reason for this annoying façade. The Orc seemed to like it though, laughing genuinely and heartily, a sound not pleasant to the ears— like the collision of rusty blades—but he seemed happy, so Aupa enjoyed the sentiment.

“Oh ho… adventurers, are we? Well, it appears He works in strange ways. I did not expect to come upon a band of ‘adventurers’ when I was brought here! This should be VERY interesting!” he followed this up with the first introduction of the day, excluding that of the irritating bard, who had not so much as stated his name. “I am called Ulgahk. Though you may know me by another name… ‘The Lonely Blade’.”

“Ulgahk?” This was a woman, blonde and a shade younger than Aupa. “The Lonely Blade, you mean, The Lonely Blade?” There was silence for a moment. “I have never heard of you.” she said almost bashfully.

Strange, Aupa thought. Am I in the company of famous travellers and fighters…
Well. She grinned, lopsidedly, to herself. At least I will never fall short in the department of killing things.

Aupa breathed out and back in sharply. For just a moment, the space in her head behind the silver eye—the same place one might get a stress headache, in her temple—seemed to be on fire. The pain quickly decrescendoed, however, to a mild buzzing, an angry, erratic sort of static, as if there were voices arguing in her mind. She couldn't help but notice the giant–like figure (figures, rather) skulking in the far edge of the room, to the extent that a circular room could have edges. It seemed the biting voices could be sourced back to them.
Trying to ignore this, Aupa figured this was the eye´s cue to introduce herself, and she spoke in a voice that was more confident than she felt towards these pseudo–celebrities.

“It´s hardly a suitable time to be elaborating on who we do or don´t know, I think. We might as well become familiar with one another while we´re here…“ she paused for a moment to think. “I´m called by Puafria Aupa, and just so there´s no bad blood later, I am indeed attuned to the Chasm of decay.“

No. No, no, no, that was a mistake. There are creatures of death present. The blonde one in the armor looks very self–righteous, and stronger than I am. She fixed her eyes on the stone floor and silenced herself, leaving an eerie quiet, almost like negative sound, floating in the hall.

Hope's Harbinger [Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy]

Puafria Aupa
Half a day on foot from Underdeep

“By Norbr and Deidros, by Elethil and Icthus, by the shining of Ridya’s light on the sea
By Aspid and Faebold, by Cynid and Ranthe, by Thorbr’s metal forges in Underdeep.” the woman finished, kindly golden eyes sparkling.

-”What about Ionicus?” wondered Aupa.

“Pretend he’s in there somewhere.” laughed her mother, reading the rest of the poem with verve-- though the remainder of the verse was littered with names Aupa had never heard before, the stuff of cult worshipping and obsession. She didn’t bother to remember these, as most of her family, her mother exempt, had told her time and again that these were evil beliefs, the religions themselves as well as its followers were to be avoided.

* * *

For the last few days or so, Aupa’s eye (the metal one, not the real one) had been acting like a guide, although she hadn’t an inkling where she was supposed to end up under its leadership. Snippets of interactions with her family and others in the small village continually came back to haunt her.

‘A demon’, they’d said. ‘Thing of evil’. The farmer’s wife, arguably the kindliest woman in Kïy Hölkı, had spat at her to “go and crawl with your fellow vermin in Underdeep”. The last word was spoken bitterly, like a curse, while Aupa’s mother had always said it with such fascination.

rrrrRRrrrrrRRRrrRRrrrRrrrrrrr…

The rumbling of Aupa’s stomach had, of late, left little time to dwell on these unpleasant memories, and more on her own stupidity in not bringing some food. She was not a hunter, and though she could bring down an animal with a glare from the silver eye, it would be rotten, wasted as if it had lain there for weeks. This was simply how the Chasm of decay operated.

It seemed, however, that Aupa was in luck. Just as the emptiness in her stomach was beginning to incur sharp, hungry pangs in her side, her goal loomed over her-- a stately gateway hewn out of the side of the mountain, a rather inviting, molten glow emanating from inside. She stepped up her pace, the hunger pushed to the side, replaced by curiosity and excitement for a new world to be explored.

Another night passed and at high noon of the next day, she’d made it to the entrance-- the jagged rock in the entrance close enough to touch, the sunny glow from inside hot enough to feel. She took a deep breath. This was the place, Aupa knew, her eye was almost responding to the heat inside, becoming warm, but not scalding hot, and it was rolling to and fro wildly. Aupa was grateful for the veil of chestnut hair covering her Focus. If the residents of Kïy Hölkı could see the unholy eye now, they surely would do no less than stone her. She figured it would be the same for the inhabitants of Underdeep.

Aupa took a few steps inside, the hulking network of streets and walkways intimidating her. Her nerves were soothed, thankfully, by the fact that her silver eye had stopped rolling around and was looking straight ahead, ready to lead the way again. Though, to be able to see out of the replacement eye, she needed to move her hair, exposing the Focus to whoever- or whatever- resided in Underdeep. Aupa smoothed back her hair with a quivering hand and paced forward confidently, the silver eye giving her a reddened vision of her goal-- apparently, the base floor of a tower. She was there within thirty minutes, ignoring the disdainful looks of Underdeep’s rather short denizens.

The stone room currently was populated by maybe half a dozen more short Underdeep-ers (the thought of dwarves entered Aupa’s mind for the first time), an orc clad in clunky armor, and a--

It seemed to be posing as a giant, a porcelain mask and cloak concealing anything that would tell otherwise, but Aupa’s eye was throbbing in its socket, growing painfully hot. This was no giant, it was a creature of death-- more than one, at that. She sighed deeply and let her hair fall over her face again, not wanting to worry about this at present. Her voice died in her throat before it could get past her lips in a hesitant “Well met”, or even just “Hello”, and so she slumped against the stone wall and waited for something-- anything, really-- to happen.

Hope's Harbinger [Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy]

Ampharos said
On that note, I'm curious to know what everyone's character's alignments are. Do we actually have any characters who identify as evil?

I can only speak for myself, but I think that while Aupa is loyal to those she's established a bond with (and for good reason), she will not make any sacrifices to help a stranger or an enemy, much preferring to save her own hide or those of her allies.

Hope's Harbinger [Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy]

Panquake said @breathing - Really nice character, though you forgot one tiny thing. Might wanna skim through the rules/notes real quick ;)

Right— edited! I'd realized my mistake a little while after I submitted, but I didn't have access to a computer at that point. My apologies. ^^"

Hope's Harbinger [Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy]

OK, I think I have my CS. Panquake, please notify me if there´s any shortcomings.

(sorry for bad art, I couldn´t find what I wanted so I had to draw it)

CS

Name: Puafria Aupa (last name, then first)

Age: Somewhere between 20 and 23

Gender: Female, but indifferent to having specific pronouns or the like used. He, she and they are all fine.

Nickname: not applicable. ¨My name is Aupa. That´s all.¨

Race: Human

Skills: Handwork, like sewing clothes or spinning wool (although as of late she can only see out of one eye and has since stopped making clothes by hand, excepting when there´s a necessity). She can't cook, however, something she learned independently on attempting to make herself breakfast at age 4. Further, she´s short and slight and thus fast on her feet, which has proven extremely useful when running from the many dangers the Weeping World has to offer.

Profession: Born after the Worldbane´s destruction into the Weeping World, Aupa´s occupation has been working for the next breath of air, rather than currency. Her family sustained her until recently.

Religion: Raised to believe in all sorts of gods, Aupa will proclaim to herself and to anyone listening the stupidity of organized religion. However, she has often found herself saying subconsciously ¨Icthus protect me¨ when running from beast and man alike.

Equipment: Simple cloth robes, ripped at the hem and replaced from there with pants to allow for more mobility, a wooden staff (though it serves more as a safety blanket than a weapon, as it´s not her focus and she´s not skilled in hand to hand combat.)

Personality: Aupa is generally relatively reserved, although she becomes sincere, loyal and friendly once she´s warmed up to someone. She is generous with her affections, because they have never been rejected or betrayed. Aupa has a knack for saying precisely the wrong thing in any situation, and for making horrible, really God awful puns.

Backstory: Aupa grew up in a small fragmented family in which members were constantly disappearing, and the only constant was her mother, who had been doing extensive research regarding Magi and the process of Archtonement. When Aupa was (roughly) of age, her mother introduced to her the idea that she become a mage. The power, her mother knew, would serve her well in the dangerous world. What had not been predicted however, was that Aupa would finally choose the elemental Chasm of decay. This was seen by Aupa´s community as an evil ability, and the confused young woman was chased away to fend for herself before she could ´bring harm to anyone´ (though that had never been her intention).
Additional Info: The scar on Aupa´s face, if it was too prominent, should be nothing of note. It has no significance to the story, it was given to her in a bandit raid she wasn´t so quick to escape from.
Chasm: decay, or death.
Sacrifice: The left eye.
Focus: The eye´s replacement, a clumsily smithed silver sphere with a scarlet circle in lieu of an iris.

Hope's Harbinger [Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy]

We're doing reservations now as it seems, so the same for me. ^^"

Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy?

First, you had my attention. Now, you have my interest. I'm really into this post-apocalypse/fantasy realm fusion thing and I think, even if I say so myself, that it's within my capabilities to create a well-rounded character to fit into it. I'd like very much to participate.

Wєℓcσмє тσ Nєω Yσяк Cιт- ZOMBIES!

*Gasp* Please, everyone stay calm. There has been a breach of secur- *Gasp* security. Everyone...remain cal-

"A mi pokol...?" The nonsensical gibberish sounding over the PA system slowly fused into recognizable works as Adorján became fully conscious and functioned once again in the bilingual manner he was accustomed to. As far as he was aware, there was no wake-up call requested by the administration when they had arrived at the Four Seasons.

Though, this sounded more like a panicked warning than an everyday wake-up call. The person at the mic was gasping for breath. Adorján pondered this as he rose from the bed and dressed himself-- he couldn't recall what clothes he'd brought along to the trip and, by extension, was currently wearing and didn't really care much. Adorján was well aware that he was a dense person, socially and otherwise, but he was by no means stupid. He brought along the bulky backpack that sat like a sack of salt against the mint-green wall and took a book in his hand-- his latest fancy, a cooking volume by Jamie Oliver-- in case he’d need to make a quick escape.

The door jammed on the way out. Adorján forced it with all the strength he could muster. Relatively, this was not much, but it was enough to open the door a smidgeon with a sickly squishing sound and then a ‘thunk’ as though the door had his something hard at full force. The boy stepped out warily, and looked down in horror upon realizing that whatever had been blocking the door was now a bloody mass on the ground. It appeared to be a human (or an ex-human). One impossibly thin arm was stretching out, bony fingers flexing and gripping Adorján’s leg loosely. He threw the packet of dehydrated ghost peppers that had come with the book in its face.

The mass on the ground convulsed, its hand clenching desperately, and it emitted something like a cross between a breathless scream and a death rattle before ceasing to move entirely. Adorján carefully edged away from the skeletal hand, which had ripped away part of his pant leg, and ran towards the stately stairway leading down to the lobby, thinking it would be no safer to take the elevator in this circumstance than it would if the whole damned building was ablaze. The ornate stairs were no longer anything close to “pretty”, instead littered with bloodstains and human remains, including a corpse with only half its face remaining. Adorján, not nearly as steely and emotionless as he tried to be, had to keep from retching.

He’d arrived in the lobby (having done everything to keep away the remaining threats, from throwing his right shoe at one’s head to headbutting the other) to see something he would have laughed at, were this situation not so terrifying: four or five of his classmates locked in a Mexican standoff, all pointing assorted weapons and speaking candidly to one another. Adorján tried not to bother them and headed towards the decorated gate, both the entrance and exit to the Four Seasons, hoping to make it home to his mother and away from whatever the hell was happening here. One of the taller, faster boys caught up to him effortlessly and queried: “Where the utter fuck do you think you’re going?”

-”Home.” Adorján shrugged, trying to hide his fear (he’d always been unreasonably scared of the athletic, quote-unquote “cool” crowd).

“In one shoe, in a world where the dead move, a kid the size of a shrew?” the boy attempted to rap. In the poor light, his hair appeared an eerie white. “That shit ain’t cool.” he finished.

-”There’s no time for this!” a girl about Adorján’s size hissed.

“Can--” his words caught, and the sandy-haired boy tried again. “Can someone please tell me what the hell happening--?” he’d probably missed a word there. Said a contraction wrong. It didn’t matter, proper grammar wasn’t of the utmost importance like it usually was.