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Force and Fury Member

Actually kind of mellow

STATUS: Shilling a good medieval fantasy: roleplayerguild.com/topics/… 3 yrs ago
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3 yrs ago
Current Shilling a good medieval fantasy: roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
3 yrs ago
Don't mind me. Just shilling a thread: roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
3 yrs ago
So worried right now. My brother just got admitted to the hospital after swallowing six toy horses. Doctors say he's in stable condtion.
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3 yrs ago
Nice to meet you, Bored. I'm interested!
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3 yrs ago
Ugh. Someone literally stole the wheels off of my car. Gonna have to work tirelessly for justice.
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Bio

Oh gee! An age and a gender and interests and things. Yeah, I have those. Ain't no way I'm about to trigger an existential crisis by typing them all out, though. You can find out what a nerd I am on discord, okay?

Stay awesome, people.

Most Recent Posts

In The Hourglass Order → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

It was rainy in Harmoln. The sky was grey and Edyta Laska sat on a bench beneath a colonnade, watching men and women in clerical vestments bustle about the cathedral courtyard. In the near distance, a bell tolled, announcing the change from Oraff to Eshiran. The young rezaindian closed her eyes, leaned back, and rested her head on the cool stone, listening to the city's other churches take up the chorus. Mother Oraff, we thank you. Mother Eshiran, we welcome you. There was a stray thought at the end, though. How you and Father Eshiran feasted upon the people of Mandelein. She quickly disavowed it, but it had happened. The rezaindian kept her eyes shut as the bells faded, their minute of impact over. Instead, she listened to the quiet voices under the colonnades and the patter of feet and raindrops across courtyards and rooftops. She let the scent of the rain carry her away. She was tired - the sort of weariness that sets within your bones and becomes near-impossible to root out without a few nights of uninterrupted good sleep in a row.

Then, two sets of the many footsteps that had passed her by... did not. They stopped right in front of her and bright green-blue eyes opened.

"Sister Mercy."

"Your Eminence." She rose to her feet, curtsying before him. Bishop Ambrose of Harmoln - a fellow rezaindian as it so happened - stood before her, a brother of the white order over his shoulder with a board and parchment.

"Walk with me, child." He smiled tightly and motioned for her to follow. The monk followed silently and something uneasy took root in Edyta's stomach. His footsteps were too practiced. His eyes too watchful. She knew him for what he was.

The bishop clasped his hands at the small of his back, slowing up to wait for her, and she followed, beside but slightly behind, hands clasped demurely in front of her. "So, I have heard that things in Mandelein did not go quite as we had hoped."

"No, your eminence. Eshiran forgive me."

He glanced down at her sternly and she found herself reduced in his eyes. "You had best hope so." He shook his head. "Not only does the threat remain unchecked, one of our own people has turned to blasphemy and remains free to pour his filth into the ears of others. Hundreds are dead, and -"

The reached a door and the monk who had been trailing them had managed to slip to the side and ahead before Edyta had so much as noticed. He opened the door quietly and bowed his head. She remembered to incline hers in return.

"- I would ask you to follow me, sister." It was a trap and she knew it. To enter there was a trap. Might we speak out here, father, where the air is fresh? She thought it but she did not say it. Instead, she merely nodded in submission and followed. "As you wish, your eminence."

The Black Rezaindian seized her from behind and she had to tamp down on her reflex to avoid killing him. There was a Stresian Philosopher in the small, dark room, and he pricked her with a spade. The drops of blood collected were emptied into a glass tube and examined for a moment. Then, the stresian shook his head. "She's uncontaminated."

"I am sorry for the deception, sister, but we had to be certain."

At the age of seventeen, Edyta Laska was starting to understand that the people above her were not necessarily, automatically more competent than she was. She bowed her head once more. "Of course, your eminence. I'd have done the same." She waited for him to dismiss the other two and substantially address the matter at hand, but he did neither.

"Your... report mentioned a demonic item," the stresian interjected.

The lone woman's eyes darted about. They remained in this small room by torchlight. She nodded. "Yes, father. There was a girl named Dorothea Hohnstein von Albesatz-Danzau - a Feskan. She's a student at the school. There is this headpiece - like a tiara - that she wears and she never takes it off." She regarded them each in turn as she spoke. "I sensed a dark energy to it - usually muted, but occasionally a great deal." She shook her head. "An opportunity did not arise for me to take it."

"We thank you for bringing this to our attention, sister."

"It is my pleasure, father."

His smile of thanks was intended to have warmth.

"Then this must be your next task, my child." It was Bishop Ambrose. He did not smile. "The gods are perfect. Us humans, less so. I will correspond with your superiors in the City of the Bells. I am certain that Lady Eshiran will absolve you should you find success."

She had failed. Edyta swallowed. She had failed Eshiran in both aspects. Those who deserved death had not met with it. Many who did not had fallen. I am sorry. Lord Eshiran, forgive me. Lady Eshiran, forgive me! I shall not be weak. I shall act as a better instrument of your will. This, I promise. She swore it, then, before the gods and their representatives, making the sign of the Pentad. There remained one question, however. "Forgive my ignorance, your eminence," she began, "but... success in what?"

The bishop nodded towards the White Black rezaindian who was taking his notes before turning back to face her. "My child: yours is a very special task indeed." He reached out for her hands and took them. She did not resist. "You must, one way or another, separate Dorothea from that crown." He squeezed gently and she nodded, gazing up into his cool grey eyes by torchlight. "Her family is influential, so you are to avoid harming her if it is a simple matter." His grip tightened. "But if it is not, you may use all and any means at your disposal."

Sister Laska nodded. "As you command, your eminence."

"I do not command, young one." He smiled at her now, and she averted her eyes from his steadfast gaze for a moment, casting about the room. "It is the will of the Gods themselves, and you and I are but instruments."

"Always, your eminence."

He looked her up and down for a moment. "So very blessed by Ipte are you." He shook his head. "A pity it was not a young man you were to deal with." Finally, he released her hands, and she found them cramped and sweaty. "Nevermind. You will succeed just the same, because you must."

"I understand." She bowed her head.

"Excellent, my child." Once more, his eyes fell upon her and hers rose to meet them. He managed a quick smile, with his lips. "Now, I imagine you've had quite the journey here."

"Your eminence, if I may?" There was an interruption. It was the Stresian.

"Certainly, Father Behringer." The priest bowed his head in thanks and turned matter-of-factly towards the nun. "Sister, we have reason to believe that the vault of the late Graf Kapperstel may contain an item of great importance to the church and to your order in particular." The three men exchanged glances. Then, the stresian continued. "This may or may not be the case, but rumours persist of a sword of unusual qualities possessed by the family."

Edyta pentacted herself. Lord Eshiran! It was the sacred sword, artifact of Eshiran-Zept himself, placed among men so that they might know the gods! Her heart leapt before the anxiety could take over. Thank you, Eshiran, thank you Dami and Shune! If they had truly chosen her for such a task, they had blessed her - but a humble servant - greatly.

"Some believe it is the sword of our Lord Eschiran himself," the bishop confirmed. "Though I doubt there is any truth to the rumour, we request that you look into it and provide your superiors in Ersand'Enise with some certainty."

"And if it should turn out to be the genuine article?"

"Well, my sister in the Pentad, I imagine it is not such a stretch of the imagination to understand just how dangerous such a thing might prove in the wrong hands."

"In those of a demon," Bishop Ambrose clarified, and Edyta found herself irked for a moment. She wasn't sure why.

"I shall always act in the church's interest, my lords." They were all noble. She could sense it in the way that they talked - in how they carried themselves. "As we would we all, sister."

"But... pray tell," she began, "How will I recognize such a sacred article?" She shook her head. "Imperfect as they are at interpreting Lady Ipte's will, the many artists who have depicted it have done so in a variety of ways."

Bishop Ambrose scowled, perhaps in thought, but Father Behringer smiled. "This is, of course, an issue." He regarded her thoughtfully and she felt her cheeks warm under the attention. She had rarely been studious - capable at best in academic matters as opposed to brilliant according to her instructors. "But they were not misled, I tell you." He smiled at his own cleverness. "For this form takes many forms, from a great many peoples around the world."

"So it is simple," concluded the bishop, eager to have the final word. "If she often seems to wield a different sword - and few women are so inclined to such a weapon anyhow - and wields it with great power, then you will have reasonable grounds to act, and you are heartily encouraged to do so."

Edyta bowed low to the ground. "I thank you and the gods alike for your wisdom and your trust." She rose. "I will not let you down."

In The Hourglass Order → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
♫
Present: Rikard Ambrus, Yalen Castel @pantothenic, Valerian Remi Leclere @yoshua171, Maura Mercador @Ti, Salomé Xiuyang Solari @Emeth, Trypano Somia @A Lowly Wretch, Ingrid Penderson @dragonpiece, Niallus Saberhagen @McKennaJ71, Abdel Varga @YummyYummy, and Neki Kaureerah Wenhan

Eleven students returned from their journeys one by one, some on their own and some with members of the Black Guard. Perhaps it was telling. Not all were the same either. Some appeared changed, either in demeanour or in some other subtle way that hinted at something deeper...

The first one was Yalen. He did not appear particularly disturbed by his meeting with Smoking Bandit, and as far as anyone could tell he had managed to leave unharmed for the time being. Yalen did not say anything, looking straight ahead with a neutral expression, but watching closely one might notice that his eyes were fixated in Jocasta's direction.

1. Yalen has indicated that his allegiance shall be tied to Jocasta's.

Next came Trypano. She entered the room, her face no less cold than a marble statue as always. She returned to her seat, keeping her eyes and her senses about her, but said nothing about how poorly her meeting had gone.

2. Trypano has decided to decline the offer.

Niallus arrived next.He was strangely nonchalant about it on the surface, but his eyes shifted back and forth with a sort of surreptitious anxiety that gave voice to the racing of his mind. He had held a sword but now it was not on his person. Cold Soup followed him in like a great hulking ghost, ice crystals forming where she walked. He cast about at the others and his eyes met Trypano's briefly. He managed a quick smile, but there was little joy in it.

3. Niallus has provisionally accepted the offer, but stands ready to betray the Black Guard's trust.

Ingrid was the next to emerge from the vast garden, chatting happily with Evil Eye, and she seemed somehow changed. Her makeup was a little disorderly but overall she appeared fine. She took her seat and smiled at Trypano and Niallus.

4. Ingrid has accepted the offer.

She was followed, soon after, by an anxious looking Kaureerah. The eeaiko's body language was stiff and uncertain. She cast about at her friends. Would some now be enemies? Would they try to kill her now? Would they really go so far? Would she have to fight back. She swallowed. "My woord es my baund," she said simply. "Eye em saurry."

5. Kaureerah has declined the offer.

Valerian arrived next. Emerging from the hedge maze, his attention seemed turned inward. He seemed pale and there was a strange disorder to his typically well-regulated aura. Something was off about his manas, yet there were no bruises on his skin and a strange exactness had invaded his movements. Occasionally the Perrenchman would glance up, peering at those who had returned, there was a slight frown on his face and a strange sort of disappointment. He seemed…conflicted. Yet....

6. Valerian has accepted the offer.

Rikard appeared next. He stalked in, glancing about. He swallowed and opened his mouth to speak before closing it again. Others looked his way expectantly. "Well, I figured we should wait for what, you know... our Zeno says, right?"

7. Rikard has indicated that his allegiance shall be tied to Jocasta's.

Abdel walked in, eyes wide and looking shaken but, paradoxically, there was some assurance in his step as well. He assiduously avoided eye contact, aside from brief, evaluative glances stolen at Wu Long and what appeared to be a search for Maura, who had yet to arrive. However...

8. Abdel has accepted the offer.

Xiuyáng was the third last to make her way in, bounding over from the direction of the island, thoughtful or otherwise. It was hard to tell from behind the mask. She seemed to be in good spirits, tossing a sacred plum up in the air and catching it, but she sobered some as she approached the others, trying to gauge where they stood. At the end of the day, however...

9. Xiuyáng has accepted the offer, with a non-violence caveat.

Maura came rolling back with Yawen in tow. Her eyes searched the others' and there was... a rather large chicken on her lap. She pulled up to the table and there was no doubt when she spoke that she did not want open conflict between those whom she considered friends or at least counterparts. Nonetheless...

10. Maura has accepted the offer.

Finally, all eyes turned to Jocasta, on whose answer could rest the fate of the entire affair.

The phenomenally powerful young Zeno seemed more like the former self that virtually nobody here had met: nervous. She drummed the tabletop momentarily, eyes darting about. Perhaps instinctively, her hands went to her wheels, a fight or flight response chewing at her insides. For, unlike many of the others, who'd been genuinely convinced, she had resolved to make her decision based on what Yalen had decided.

11. Jocasta has indicated that her allegiance shall be tied to Yalen's.

Yalen met her eyes and slightly inclined his head towards one of the Black Guards.

With that, Jocasta swallowed and nodded. "Then we shall accept your offer." She turned to the others. "If any are against, I urge you to reconsider now. There is more at play here than we were led to believe and, even if occasionally graceless, our hosts may not be entirely in the wrong."

Oh thank fucking Dami! Ingrid screamed out in her head when Yalen and Jocasta went with the Black Guard. She did her best to hide the relief.

It was at this junction that Trypano decided to speak. "I wish to propose that we might have been led into a false dichotomy. At this rate the forces coming to clash here stand much to gain but also much to lose. If any would agree I would like to suggest to the many acting parties here that we cease fire and open diplomatic discussions instead." She then cast her gaze over to Yalen. "Violence will benefit no one, least of all the general populace of Retan."

She then turned to the remainder of the students present. "Without need for conflict we'd be free to return to Ersand'Enise and resume our own endeavors."

Yalen shook his head apologetically. Inside his conscience he could feel himself agreeing wholeheartedly with Trypano, but the circumstances facing him crushed whatever idealistic notions he'd had upon coming here.

Hearing Trypano, Valerian glanced up, but much like Yalen it seemed his idea of a 'better' world had been somewhat shaken by the sheer complexity of the forces at play in Retan. "I wish it were that simple," he said somewhat quietly.

It was Ingrid who gave voice to what more than one was thinking. "Violence is going to happen regardless of our involvement and I don't plan on sitting down as the world shifts."

♫

The mysterious guest at the table rose, then. Even the twins turned to regard him. Abdel's eyes, meanwhile, went wide and his face whitened. He leaned over and whispered urgently to Maura.
"So, it seems you have made a decision," the stranger said. "How disappointing."

At that, Wu Long slammed the table. "Disappointing!?" he roared, casting about angrily. "We fought together! We nearly died together. We saved lives. We were going to save this place from the tyrants, not hand it to them on a silver platter!" He shook his head, turning red. "All of you." He balled his fists. "Won over by trinkets and disingenuous stories meant to pull at your heartstrings."

All around the table and all at once, immense powers began to build. The air went deadly still and silent, the temperature plunged, and even the very light of the dying sun seemed to dim. Wu Long glared at Valerian and Jocasta in particular. He said nothing more. His eyes spoke of his reproach for these... traitors and the incredible violence soon to follow.

"Oh do shut up, old man." It was Ten-Jiu. He giggled. "I'm going to enjoy putting you down. This has been a thousand years coming."

Evil Eye stepped between Wu Long and the Wei family protectively. "Get back!" she shouted. "Get back now! Carp, please! Get them out of here!" Sleeping Carp stepped between Wu Long, the family, and Xiulan.

"Do you really think me some monster who would murder innocents!?" the exemplar snarled. Maura, in the meantime, was busy speaking to Kaureerah rapidly and in low tones.

Lady Matsuhara rose. "For now, our interests align," she said to the dragon avatar, and he scowled, but he nodded.

On the opposite side, the VOID tore open, empowering the select few that could commune with it.

Ingrid’s hand shook as she tried to hold tight to her sash, clasping the dagger. What would come out of it if I opened the door right now? she wondered, but then Yalen tossed the Sceptre of Ahn-Shune towards her. He wouldn't need it anymore.

Trypano heaved a long sigh. Some things never truly changed. Perhaps she’d just needed more insight in the end. She gestured broadly to everyone else in the room as she addressed Wu Long. "Behold: humanity." She spoke with rich sarcasm before letting her arms sink back to her sides. In her mind, it was time to keep these criminally suicidal youths from the consequences of their own choices once more.

"I sympathize, Trypano," Jocasta announced, "I truly do, but the die is cast now." Indeed, it appeared to be. Sleeping Carp had disappeared and, with him, the family. Ingrid had caught the sceptre and seemed poised to do something characteristically reckless. Jocasta had - with a flicker of time magic to turn ten seconds into a tenth of a second - imbibed and held down a prime shot. There was a great deal of powerful drawing from many parties, but even among these giants, she was not unequalled for sheer raw power.

The air hummed with energy and eyes flicking back and forth in paranoia. Something had to give. Someone had to break, and it was Lady Matsuhara. She chose that moment to make her move. She dashed straight for Yalen, a half-dozen arcane lances converging on his position from various directions.

Jocasta drew them to nothing. She raised three fingers, twisted them about, and snapped Lady Matsuhara's neck. "Anyone else?" she offered, with frosty sweetness. She glared at the Progenitor.

Nobody had the chance to test her offer. There were portals, out of nowhere: dozens of them. Ogauraq poured through. Dragon Smirk caught Vel's and Niallus' eyes and grinned, happy to see his erstwhile allies. Elly followed him out, utterly unaware of the coming betrayal.

This was it, then. Ten-Re, eyes wide, snorted anxiously and snapped his fingers. The entire pavilion disappeared. "So it has come to this. I suggest we find a suitable place."

With that as her cue, Jocasta disappeared, gone to long range like any tethered worth their salt might.

Someone else appeared: More than one. More than ten. More than a hundred. The air filled with a scathing, mirthful, maniacal laugh. The Laughing Knight - Brother Ash - The man of a thousand names and faces had returned, and he'd brought help. "HOOO HOOO HOOO, YOU'RE ALL FUCKING DEAD, KIDDOS!!" The hundred Laughing Knights pointed. "Except for you, Trypano." He made a little heart with his hands... a hundred times over.

Then came the demon. From within the VOID instance already conjured by one of the Black Guard emerged a towering figure in the likeness of King Horik himself. He carried a colossal burning War Hammer over his shoulder. His eyes blazed with orange flame. His armour of chains jangled and rattled as he walked. He opened his massive mouth in a cruel grin. "YOU ARE ALL FOOD!"

Then came the ronin. A high pitched frequency filled the air as his sandals touched the ground, and he turned to face it, that despicable creature from hell, though his eyes were closed. He softly shook his head, resting his hand on one of the two swords in his belt. A second passed, the distance was closed, and 5 swift slashes filled the air, as the ivory white blade split the colossal demon into 5 equal parts, the sword being gently placed into the sheath before the clock had another chance to tick. "And you are already dead."

He moved to stand behind Ash. Well, one of the many Ashes. "Our interests align," said the high sanguinaire to the Progenitor. The Progenitor nodded. People spread out.

"Does it really have to come to this?" asked Lucky Dragon.

"SILENCE, traitorous girl!" snarled Wu Long.

The other two exemplars had not left. Their alignment, if any, was not yet clear.

Then, the air hummed. It... shook. It grew heavy and oppressive and all three exemplars collapsed. "Father, no!" Lucky Dragon screamed. Three colossal dragons writhed and snaked across the sky.

As they drew near, the sheer force of their energy was simply too much for the feeble mammals below. They collapsed, writhing and retching on the ground, holding heads that felt like they were going to explode, bleeding from the nose, the ears, and even the eyes. The Old Order had arrived and they did not waste time in attacking.

Action Opportunities

In The Hourglass Order → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
♫
Present: Esmii @BlackRoseSiren, Oksana @Ti, Yuliya @Suicharte, Marz @Th3King0fChaos, Yvain @jasbraq, Roslyn @Fallenreaper, Khaliun @YummyYummy, Sven, and Penny
The Conundrum

What had begun as a tense and standoffish meeting at the base of a large staircase had turned into a celebration of pure unfettered capitalism: a system that was, all told, fairly new to Vossoriya and not implemented particularly well by the ruling powers. It took hours, and most of that time was passed with the eight youths gleefully spending vast amounts of coin on a series of eclectic items. They spent with such gusto and glee - for the most part - that it soon became clear that their time in The Bunker was more than a mere shopping spree; it was cathartic. After all they had seen and experienced to this point, it was needed.

But they learned some things as well. Most importantly, it was Roslyn who learned something of Marz’s last whereabouts, for some hope was still held - cautiously among them - that he remained among the living. It was the early afternoon as they came down the stairs, Sven and Penny in the midst of an argument. “It’sh jusht treshpasshing,” he insisted, shaking his head adamantly. “Maybe they’re up to shomething. Maybe they’re not, but we can’t jusht go barging in and expect them not to defend themshelves.”

“You can call it whatever you like, Sven, but it doesn’t change the fact that they’re dirty: clearly.” It was Penny’s turn to shake her head. “They’re not normal ‘monks’ and they’re hiding something.” She was annoyed. It was clear. Yuliya, who normally seemed her best friend and ally among the group, had more or less sided with Sven and it was ever the habit of the Perrenchwoman to dig in her heel and lash out like a cornered animal when she felt outnumbered.

“You don’t go into holy place uninvited and just start beating priest,” Yuliya decided with a scowl, and Penny rolled her eyes and sighed. “Is basic common sense. St. Artyom’s are…” She trailed off. For what it was worth, they were not known as a militant order. The level of force they had displayed was still odd if the others were to be believed. “Allowed to have their privacy, no?” she concluded after a brief pause. Penny relented, going quiet, a wedge that was only temporary driven between the two friends. “Well, we know about that Blacksmith,” Rosyln recommended, finding her voice among the large group of semi-familiar people. “We could try that?”

The Collapse

It was no cleaner than it had looked some two days earlier. They stood outside of the Collapse, where they’d been told that Vladimir, the blacksmith, could be found. It was a grim place that reeked of death. Carrion birds circled overhead and the last remnants of the other day's late Stresian snowfall were still melting away. Every once in a while, the dozens of rescuers and salvagers pulled someone out, still blessedly alive, but it had been almost a day since the last one. Far more common were the bodies: mangled or frozen. The debris of people's lives - their homes, businesses, and possessions - was scattered, wilting in the sun and the mud among the great boulders and lesser rubble of the fallen cliffs. Yet, those unscrupulous enough found opportunity here. Valuables remained to be picked, and even artifacts of the sacred caves below. Some in the bunker and about town had hinted at the presence of a great treasure below. Perhaps it was this, as much as altruism or a concern for the possible last handful of survivors, trapped in pockets within the disaster zone, that drove the continued efforts.

The group of foreign students proved unable to resist at least trying, and they spent the next two hours picking and digging through the rubble. If it was not quite what they were supposed to be doing, some convinced themselves that Marz might yet be in there. Others took solace in the fact that no less than three lives were saved by their intervention. Thousands of oubles worth of valuables were recovered, including a few items of exceptional power that were quickly and guiltily hidden away and hoarded.

The Hours of Oraff were giving way to those or Rezain by the time that they finally encountered Vladimir: a large, gruff man who spoke no more than a few words of Avincian. He led them back to his workshop, perched perilously close to the yawning chasm where once had been part of a town. There, with Yuliya to translate, he answered their questions. “Aye, tall for a hegelan, right? Reddish hair…” He trailed off, seeming to consider but perhaps really regarding them with a degree of suspicion. “Who’d you say he was to you again?”

There was a rapid exchange between him and Yuli, and the others, left in the dark about specifics, couldn’t help but let their eyes wander about the shop. That was when she spotted the child: a small hegelan boy, peering out from around a corner. When they locked eyes for a split second, he ducked behind it once more. Penny leaned in and tapped Yvain on the shoulder. “Regardez,” she whispered, pointing subtly in that direction, “et attends.” Sure enough, about twenty seconds later, the child poked his head out once again, stealing a glance at the strange people who spoke in a strange language. Finally, Yuliya was finished, and a small bag of coins exchanged hands. “He says Marz came by here with another boy - Nazih, I think - and learned about other problem in this town.” She shook her head. “Hegelans that come here go missing. He says maybe a dozen. Maybe a hundred, but it is known thing. He says this two boys mentioned heading for caves across from…” She trailed off, unable to find the word for a moment. “Monashtery,” offered Sven helpfully, and she nodded and pointed. “Yes, this.”

Penny was already starting to move. So was Roslyn. The former was tired and achy, to be perfectly honest. She was not built to walk long distances without magic, but she was terrified enough of being a burden that there was no chance of her offering any protest. Instead: “Is there any doubt now where we must go?” she prodded. In the event, there was none.

The Monastery

The sun glistened golden upon the damp grass and scant remaining banks of snow and townspeople hustled about, finishing up their daily errands as the students docked in front of St. Artyom’s. One by one, they clambered out of the large skiff, footsteps thumping on the dock. Behind the walls and hedges, rising up into a large grotto, lay the monastery. Votive mosaics and wrought iron gatework greeted them. Beyond that, there was precious little to see. Yuliya decided to go first, clearing her throat and knocking on the gate. Any who had participated in the conflagration a few days earlier were kept back, out of immediate sight. Now, it was their turn to hide where, this morning, it had been Yuliya’s and Yvain’s.

It was close to a minute that they stood there, waiting, and Yuliya knocked a second time, for good measure. A little door in the thick iron slid open and, beyond it, was one of those monks in their red hats. “We are not accepting pilgrimages at the moment,” He informed her, voice tired and official-sounding. “given what’s happened in the town. All of our resources are needed in the rescue effort.” Yuli had just come from the rescue effort, however, and she had seen only a handful of monks at best.

Yuliya cocked an eyebrow in confusion. She’d not wanted to come to this place, but there were too many questions in her head now. Why weren’t there more monks at the wreckage? She hadn’t seen that many throughout her walk here from the town either, so where were they? Maybe the monk didn’t have the authority to answer her questions. She needed a holier person.
“We are not pilgrims. We’re here to speak to the Hegumen, if you wouldn’t mind.” she spoke politely, as whatever her doubts were about the situation, this was still a man of the gods.

He arched a dubious eyebrow at her, tamping down on whatever further rudeness may have risen within him. “And who are you, dear child, that you should be so exempt from the rules that others have to follow?” he harrumphed. “Does not Dami-Soluz teach us humility?”

”That he does, brother, but does he not also stand first among equals?” she retorted, a small confident smirk marking her face as she met his gaze. She’d never gotten to use these before, and oh boy was it exciting, but she sure hoped she hadn’t fucked up the words. How embarrassing that would be.

The monk froze for the briefest of moments, his face going still through the tiny sliding door and his eyes searching hers as if his mind were racing. After this pause, he nodded, and it was nearly seamless. “You make a very good point, Sudarynya.” He bowed his head. “I shall see if I can fetch him for you.” He reached up to close the portal. Yuliya held a hand out before he finished and coughed expectantly

“Oh yes. Sorry.” the monk cleared his throat. “Where are my manners?” He called back into the courtyard and a couple of others came hustling over. With their combined efforts, they heaved the gates open. “Please, step inside and he’ll be along.” However, upon sighting Sven and Esmii in particular, they froze, and their faces became stony. They whispered among themselves anxiously and their entire body language changed. It was clear to Yuli, even if she couldn’t quite hear it all, that there was something that these monks found deeply objectionable about her party, and she didn’t have to stretch her imagination very much to figure out what that was.

She turned back to Esmii and Sven, and scowled a little herself, before switching back to the same polite smile as she had done prior, leading the group into the monastery grounds. It would do them good to warm up, given the cold Vossoriyan night was soon to be afoot and the majority of her comrades were not used to such conditions, she’d seen as much on the way to Kirimansk. She turned once more and addressed them as they were walking ”Be respectful. We don’t want more incident.” as she playfully tugged Penny’s ear for a second before continuing and the Perrenchwoman batted her hand away and hissed.

The monks’ eyes darted warily back and forth, as if they were thinking of trying something. There was particular hostility in how they regarded Sven and Esmii. Perhaps the others were mundane enough not to stand out or simply hadn’t been recognized. Then, the monk in the red hat turned and barked some orders at his blue-hatted underlings: didn’t they have the gate to close? Then, as they knew, places to be? Didn’t they have the abbot to fetch? The students were left alone on the correct side of the heavy iron doors as further monks carried about their early evening business in the near distance. Had their magic been available to them, perhaps some of the students might’ve reached out and snooped. Yet, it was not, and they found themselves blind, in a sense, without it.

Then, finally, a small procession of six, with a seventh in the middle, began making their way from one of the larger buildings in the back, set against the cliffs. They wound their way towards the students and the figure in the middle - a tall, lean man of years rather advanced but just shy of elderly, dressed in fine clerical vestments - was clearly revealed to be the abbot. He pulled up in front of them, hands clasped before him. He inclined his head shallowly in regard, eyes suspiciously searching the others. “How may I be of service, my child?” he inquired in accented Avincean that was probably a shade better than Yuli’s. “Have you come seeking to bathe in the sacred pools, or is there some other blessing that you and these… foreign guests seek?”

Yuli addressed the man respectfully, bowing her head as he did, responding in Avincean “Greetings Hegumen, I seek blessing of Sveta-Shune, in regard to comrade of mine. Hegelan, red haired. Your brothers are searching around town, you have seen him?”

The abbot paused, mid-greeting, and furrowed his brow. “A hegelan?” he asked, face and voice tamping down on at least some degree of confusion. He gathered himself. “Greetings, of course. How rude of me, Sudarynya.” His eyes darted nervously in the direction of the others, at least two of whom had been recognized as having belonged to the interlopers from three days earlier. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “Do they speak our language?” Yuli shook her head “Save for those two, no. But that one is deaf. she gestured to Khaliun, and then to Oksana.

“So then, why are you with them?” he prodded, forcing a casual note into his voice. “Are you safe? Is it safe to discuss the… operation in front of them?”

Yuli crooked her head to the side. What on earth was he talking about? Why would she not be safe? Something about this whole situation set her on edge. Operation? Did he mean the boxes? The anti magic zone? She already felt sick from being in this field, and this did not help her one bit.

”Why wouldn’t I be safe? And what operation?” she asked, a hint of authority to her tone, as if she was insulted by the prospect that she’d ever be in danger.

The abbot’s eyes narrowed, and he exchanged glances with three of the monks around him. “Who are you,” he asked with some authority of his own. “I think it is right that you should introduce yourself when coming into my house.”

Yuliya walked up to him, slowly. Her suspicion at this moment piqued, and instinctively, she found a verse from the Menushyn leaving her lips as her footsteps echoed around the abbey. ”They should not ask who enters a house of worship, but the intentions they hold, and the gait with which they walk” as she was now face to face with the abbot, looking up into his eyes expectantly, waiting for a tell which she hoped would not come.

For a moment, he merely appeared confused, before a light turned on. “For who they are now matters not -” He corrected himself “- less than who they were before they came… entered.” He regarded her suspiciously. “My child,” he responded, falling back on familiar ecclesiastical vernacular, “Why is it that you ask me to recite this verse now that I have not read since I was in the seminary?”

Before she had the chance to respond, however, Penny let out an exclamation and Sven picked up on it. “The magic,” he exclaimed in Eskandish, and that was a tongue that Yuli knew as well. It was back! Surely enough, she could feel it. “Your eminence!” shouted a red-capped monk rushing up the hallway. “Your eminence! There’s trouble down below It’s the heg -” He noticed the outsiders and cut off mid-word, stammering for something else to say. “Hegumen’s… correspondence. You have a new message!”

The sickness Yuliya felt in her stomach from the loss of her magic faded, but not from the shiftiness of this character. She had spoken to many men and women of the gods in her time, and any that were of his rank would not fumble his words with holy scripture the same way he had. The man running into the room and cutting his speech was but further giveaway that something deeply wrong was going on here, and she would get to the bottom of it. “You… you… insolent worm.” She practically shook with anger, and the words forced themselves out in Vossoriyan, but she knew hiding this conversation from her friends was pointless. She momentarily calmed herself to speak the tongue they all knew as she bit her lip to the point of puncture. “No more questions. Only truth. What is plan. What are you hiding?”

There was sweat beading on his forehead. He looked back at her and then at the others, making a small, quick gesture with three of his fingers at another monk. “This is no time to be questioning an Elder of the church! Can you not see there are urgent matters at hand?” He gestured in the direction of the monk who’d recently arrived bearing the news. For his part, the chubby young man was wide-eyed and useless. The abbot leveled a finger accusingly at the others, then, eyes bulging and face reddening. “And them! At least two, we recognize from the other day! That knife-ear and the big lummox there! They broke in here uninvited and now I have multiple brothers maimed for life!” he stalked forward, his meekness beginning to dissipate. “How dare you come here, whoever you are, with a stolen password and a group of rogues, and speak to me, a Hegumen, with such brazen disrespect!?” His eyes were lit with fury now. “I could have you locked up for that! Why, I should!”

Sven caught Yuliya’s eye for a moment. Penny looked to him and then to her, both of them speaking through their body language, asking the same question: “Should I?” How Yuliya wanted to rip this blasphemer’s head from his shoulders, but nay. She had spoken her part. She nodded to Sven, the comments about Esmii gave him right of way in this regard. She would be grateful if she was offered the same opportunity in these circumstances. He stepped forward, brimming with energy. “Who you calling a knife-ear, asshhole?” A mighty directional shockwave emanated from his hands as he clapped them together, and the sickly feeling of atomic radiation followed. Yet, when the massive clouds of dust that had been kicked up followed, the abbot stood there, utterly unbothered. His robes flapped in the wind and a smile of grim satisfaction spread across his face and a half-dozen more monks rushed up to join him. “Unofficially, I was hoping you’d make a mistake like that. Say your prayers, children.”
In The Hourglass Order → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
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Present: Dorothea @jasbraq & Qasem @YummyYummy
Ethos


Manfred had been left behind by whatever was going on closer to the town and he was left with mixed feelings. They would need his help there. There was a purposefulness to the animals' attacks this time, as if his allies were being corralled. On the other hand, that Darhannic - a man who'd claimed to be relaxed and decent-natured - had turned out to be just another religious extremist, like that vile nun from Warlisz. Manfred should've disposed of him on the spot. Now, further corrupted by the wildblood virus, he was trying to murder Manfred's beloved.

For a moment, as he put a volley of bullets through the head of an onrushing wildblood, it struck him how callous he'd become - how like the men he had hated as a youth of fourteen. To take life so... He stopped himself. There was a job to do. Someone was trying to kill the woman he loved in cold blood. Fuck 'mercy'. He lined up another shot, pumped it into the chest of a small beast, and rushed forward towards where he knew that religious hypocrite would be hiding.

He was running, now, close to the cabin, and it was occupied. He could feel the energies swirling within. "I thought our friendship meant more," came Ismette's voice, disappointed and exasperated, and it set Manfred's nerves alight. "But very well."

"Our friendship does mean a lot!" Dory cried in response. "Why does waiting a longer hurt you so? I still trust you."

Manfred rushed to the doorway and, rifle pointed at Qasem, entered. That was the clear enemy: the one he knew. The yasoi witch was a less certain quantity. "Manfred," she entreated, as soon as he entered, "The crown. You know it's unnatural, how she wears it. It's a demonic artifact. I asked her to give it up to you since she wouldn't trust me with it." Her eyes were large and pained. "This is Qasem now. He's infected. He's trying to hold onto his reason. I can cover him if he loses it." So she was with Qasem. Manfred barely moved.

"Is there any truth to her words, Dory? Do I trust this witch?" His eyes darted the witch's way, and then Dory's before settling back on Qasem. He was prepared to act, they could tell. He kept his distance and kept in ready position, brimming with energy.

"I wanted to give it to you because Ismette wanted me to take it off," came Dory's much-distressed response. She held a shaking hand above the crown. "I trust Ismette, Manny... However, she's been acting weird." a saddened expression took over her face as she looked towards Manfred. He remained expressionless but, inside, he was afire. Just like it was then - before. Just like she was. memories of another life, another world and the cataclysm that had befallen it came fresh to mind, and the face begging him to attack his loved one, to get her to remove the demonic crown, was the one that had worn it then - that had been responsible for it all.

In a single, smooth motion, Manfred trained his rifle on Ismette. "My love, she is right that the crown has a demon in it and that you need take that thing off, but -" His eyes flashed about, paranoid. "- not now. Not in her presence. Your instincts are right: this is not Ismette. It's something else wearing her skin." Leluun. With that, Leluun's face fell. "You fucking idiot. You lovestruck idiot," she hissed. "You've doomed us all."

The presence of Manfred expedited the growing desire for violence that had clearly been bubbling inside Qasem. Manfred could see his stance change. His spear raised. He could see the man's warped muscles tense in preparation for a quick, horizontal slash aimed right at Dory's head. It was at that very moment, of course, that her fingers brushed the crown. The world slowed to a crawl. Manfred raised his gun but he would be too slow. She would be -

There was no more young woman named Dorothea standing in the space that Qasem's spearpoint passed through. Instead, there was only the hungering darkness. The tip of it was removed from reality, cleanly severed as if it had never been there in the first place. Dory reappeared somewhere nearby, only... she wasn't Dory anymore. She looked like herself, but she carried herself differently, moved differently, and used magic that the others could not quite fathom. She reached out to commune with the void.

Then, there was another flash of darkness, as paradoxical as it may have been, and Leluun disappeared. Manfred's eyes darted around wildly, and he tried to reach out and sense her.

Nothing.

She reappeared in front of Dory. "You were warned." Her hand shot out, a bullet from a rifle, straight for the girl's face. The speed of it was absurd, but so were this enhanced Dorothea's reflexes. The bulletlike punch grazed her cheek, scoring it deeply and raising a bleeding welt. Instead, it smashed into the wall behind her with enough force to punch a perfectly clean hole through it. There were no splinters - no mess - to speak of. Then, Leluun was gone again.

Without hesitation, Manfred snapped off a volley of five shots at her when she reappeared. A wall of shadow ate them all. "I recognize your reek, Vedil!" the yasoi screamed. Then, a void portal opened over Dory's head. The bullets came screaming back out at her, only to be stopped midair. They clattered to the ground, thumping on the worn wooden floor of the cabin that had become a battleground. "Your presence is not required here, Manfred. Desist or die."

"And I, yours, High Devil." Vedil was in control of Dory's body, and she attacked.

With that, matters descended into chaos. Binding magic restored Qasem's spear while blood magic began to compromise the foundations of the cabin. The half-transformed wolfman aggressively drew to bolster the size and sharpness of his weapon before thrusting its venomous tip towards the possessed Dorothea's chest. Once again, her defense was effortless, and he was hurled away and nearly broken. A warning prickle began to take root along the back of Manfred's neck. This couldn't be it! It couldn't end like this! They didn't have to kill her, for the love of Oraff! This, then, was Leluun: she wanted the demon for herself. That had to be it: just like in the world he had come from.

The yasoi witch tore from the VOID willingly and eagerly, then, hurling a bolt of pure anti-reality at her target. It would've overwhelmed Dory, too, but Manfred would not let it. Seeing Leluun try to harm his beloved, he ripped a chunk of brick from the fireplace and hurled it into the path of the dark bolt, using every magic at his disposal in the effort. The bricks disappeared into nothingness, and so did the bolt. The thing that controlled Dorothea did not waste the opportunity. For all that Leluun tore from the VOID, she pulled far more power and her reprisal happened so quickly that the yasoi had not even fully registered her failure.

A dark bolt materialized out of an enveloping nothingness. It flew and struck Leluun and cleaved right through her and then she was gone. Just like that: erased. Manfred's mind reeled. He felt sick to his stomach. He looked at Dory. She was not his Dory. There was not an ounce of remorse. In fact... there was a smile. A sick, wicked little grin wormed its way onto her face and it was the most disgusting thing he could recall seeing. He swayed where he stood. What had he done!? His heart pounded and he could feel his pulse in his ears.

It wasn't that Ismette had died. She was a vile and worthless thing in her own right. It was the coldblooded ruthlessness of it - it was the twisted enjoyment. This was not Dory. It was an ancient evil in her place. Manfred turned his rifle. He knew his duty.

He fired.

It was a desperate gambit. He knew how these demons worked. He had spent hours upon hours studying their foul nature by candlelight. Much as it pained him, Manfred needed to wound his beloved mortally. Then, the demon would leave. Then, he could heal her. Then, he could save her. She was busy with the slavering beast that had been Qasem and, like any good magusjaeger, he took advantage. Two shots to distract the creature: four aimed straight for the chest of his beloved. Two punched through her. She let out a cry of pain, stumbled forward, and coughed up a thick dark gob of blood. The crown fell from her head and clattered before her. Instinctively, despite the unbelievable pain and spreading coldness, she reached out and clutched it, eyes bugged out in terror and disbelief. "Why?!" she screamed, eyes searching, and it twisted Manfred's heart. This was her, again. He started to rush forward, but then Qasem - that foul thing - was there instead. He lunged forward and attempted to smash the headpiece with his massive palm.

Manfred was not fast to react. The world felt faint and fuzzy and his pulse hammered through his ears. Fortunately, Dory, even with the blood soaking through her dress, had the wherewithal to blast the wildblood's hand with coldfire and force it to retract. It was a reminder that this was still within reach. Manfred could do it. He knew his beloved. She was tough and, free of this evil relic's grasp, she was good. He could not bear to see her suffer, even less because he had been the one to cause it. He just needed to kill a beast, and killing beasts was what Manfred Hohenfelter von Meckelin-Thadau did.

The thing that Qasem had become was a pitiful sight, flailing to put out the coldfire, but it left him open. Manfred regarded the thing that the 'truthseeker' had become with imperious coldness masking hellish fury. "I never liked you anyways."

He rolled to the side, pulled upon Magnetic magics, and arced the bullets right into the werewolf's stomach and back. It was the spine. It would heal, of course, but it would buy him time and time was what Manfred needed most. It was what Dory needed. As the magusjaeger's shots usually did, these ones struck true. There were roars of pain as Manfred closed the distance to Dory, ready to ignore the downed menace, but Qasem just WOULD. NOT. GO. AWAY. He gurgled and growled and began to try drawing from both his new target and Dory via blood magic, trying to heal himself in the exact same vile manner that Casii had. While he tore nothing more than some of Manfred's clothes and hair, he still healed with freakish speed. Manfred seized the opportunity to go for the crown and tried, with all his might, to rip it from Dory's hands, but it was not enough. Even leaking her life into the ground below, she maintained a deathgrip on it, dazed and driven purely by the instinct of a cornered animal.

Manfred pulled as much as he could manage but Dory's strength was inhuman, and he knew it for the demon. "Let it go!" he bellowed. "Let her go, you fiend!!!" He could not pry it loose. It was, at this juncture, clearly the most precious thing in the world to her. Again, the werewolf lunged and there was nothing else Manfred could do. If he couldn't take the crown from Dory, he'd just move it with her attached to it.

As Qasem closed in, the magusjaeger slacked off in his pulling such that what had to be Vedil relaxed in its struggle. Then, at the last second possible, Manfred yanked suddenly upward. The solid metal object caught the malformed wildblood beneath its snout and sent it sprawling backwards.

Qasem roared and redoubled, almost entirely consumed. He had only one focus. A ball of condensed flame formed on his palm from the matter of the cabin he had siphoned via blood magic earlier in the fight. It became a sphere of molten matter, a fusion of blood, chemical and kinetic. It was sloppy with his fur beginning to burn, but it was potent. If he couldn't get the crown, he'd destroy everything in his way and everything around the wicked object.

The wolfman put everything he had into it but, now, it was Manfred's turn. He called upon the power he had learned from Volto Nero when he had made the man a promise. It was time to keep his word.

A Hohenfelter always keeps his word.

Pathos
♫


It was not an act of mercy, though some might've construed it that way. It was an execution: an act of the purest hatred. Qasem fell, a bullet hole through his head and another through his throat. No wildblood resilience or healing factor could undo those.

Manfred rushed over to Dory's side. He had done it! He had slain the beast and now he would heal her. He reached out with his senses, both mundane and magical, praying at once to Ipte, Oraff and Dami as he started to gather what he needed to bind.

She wasn't moving.

There was no heartbeat.

For a moment, he would swear, his own stopped. "Meine liebe!" He knelt there, holding the woman he'd loved, her stiffening hand still clenched around that accursed relic in what was now truly a deathgrip. "Meine liebe..." His hands shook, then, of their own accord. They shook and the inside of Manfred became a dead, painful, hollow thing. His mind thought no thoughts and the sound that he released was an animal thing. He screamed. He hammered his hands into his face and wept bitter, cruel tears. He had done this. It had been him, not the crown and the devil in it.

His hands fell away and, even amid the endless of suffering of a small Kerreman town called Mandelein, there was no soul more bereft, more stricken than that of Manfred Hohenfelter. Nothing. It had all been for nothing. He had been torn from Dory - his Dory, with her sweet, loving voice and her freshly baked cookies on Victendes mornings. So much had he suffered. So much had he fought, against the dark sorceress Leluun. He had watched friends fall: Penny, Desmond, Ashon, and the paradigm himself, Hugo Hunghorasz. Yet, they had prevailed. Then, he'd been torn from those who had lived. Torn and brought here. The tears came thicker and faster. They thought he was dead! They were his people and they thought he was dead!

But... perhaps it was for the better. What an animal he'd become! He'd conspired to murder. He'd shot his beloved, even if she wasn't exactly his. He'd come to a sort of happiness with her but, now, even that was gone. This Ismette wasn't even evil. She'd been an ally and he'd been instrumental in her death. He'd killed Qasem: a good - if misguided - man. He'd killed elders and children. He'd spilled blood for this stupid, ungrateful town. He'd... Manfred looked up at the sky through the collapsed roof and ruins. Four of the five were up there tonight, all except for Dami, but he knew that he was being judged. There was no way he could not be. Desperately, the weak man that he was beneath all of his swagger and bravado, Manfred seized upon the object of his hatred - that fell thing still clutched in dear dead Dory's hand. He could do one thing, at least, hollow though it was: he could destroy it.

He hesitated for only a second before his hard darted out, clawlike, to grab it. No sooner did his fingers touch the warm metal - wet with the blood of the woman he'd been trying to save - than he felt a voice inside of his head. "Hello, Manfred."

"Get out of my head!!! Get out, vile thing! You killed her!"

There was a pause and he dared to believe that he was rid of it. He was wrong. "No, Manfred. You did. You did and they will see the bullet wounds in her and in Qasem and in Ismette. These people who have already shown what they think of you. Who already react to good will with fear and suspicion."

If he hesitated, it was only for the barest of moments. "You will not find me so easily swayed by your sweet poison, demon. I would die to stop myself from becoming your vessel."
.
"Oh, I know," came the reply, "You are not a man afraid of suffering to do what he thinks is right." Vedil's devilish voice was almost... sympathetic. "That is why I would not even dream of making such an offer."

"Whatever it is, I am not interested. You end here." He gathered every bit of heat that he could and began filling the evil crown with it. He cared little for the burning flesh of his hand.

"I can take you back!" the voice pleaded, with no little measure of urgency. "I can take you back to them! To where you belong! You and I will never see each other again. My counterpart in your reality was defeated."

"But you will remain," Manfred replied. "Here, you will remain."

"One does not make an offer without some recompense, and that is what I do for you now, Manfred Hohenfelter, twice killed, twice a killer." Vedil had been rushing but, now, his voice calmed. The heat that had threatened to melt his reliquary was cooling. "I only ask that you wash your hands of this place so that I may wash my hands of you. You shall remember nothing if you wish. You may return, in fact, to the very moment of your supposed 'death' in your true world. It will be as if all of this never happened, for you and for your loved ones."

"And you will work your evils anew."

"This is not your world, though the Dorothea here was callous enough to rip you from it and bring you here. She was never yours. She was mine and her unwillingness to let me go, to part with me when it would've ended the entire threat to herself and everybody else here, stands as evidence. I ask you, Manfred Hohenfelter: Why should you care?"

Logos
♫


It was the end of rezain and, back home, Manfred knew that the leaves were turning colours and falling. Ersand'Enise was a good deal warmer and there was no such display to be seen. It had taken some time to recover from the effects of the previous year's calamity, but life would always find a way. On the surface, at least, there were no signs of the scars it had left behind, save for the missing people, the wonderings of what could've been, and a few new memorials. Sometimes, it bothered Manfred how replaceable it had all seemed.

Yet, Dorothea, his true love, and Marceline, the precious and precocious younger sister he had worked so hard to free, out there in the shifting sands of Torragon, were irreplaceable. He walked arm in arm with the former down the pathways of the Arboretum, the latter skipping out ahead, regaling them with tales of some recent moneymaking scheme of hers. Birds chirped and tittered in the trees and the late afternoon sun burned heavy and golden in the skies. It had seemed an emotional choice at the moment but, in the end, had proven the rational one - the right one, even. This was his place. these were his people, and he was happy. Manfred teased Marci about something or other and Dory flicked him teasingly on the side of the head. They continued in easy silence for a little bit.

"You know, darling," Dory began,

"I find I often know little, my spratzmuffin."

Dory's cheeks turned red. "I'll find something, someday, just as annoying to call you!"

"I eagerly await that day," he replied with a smug helping of skepticism. She snorted. "Anyhow, what was it you wanted to say?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "No. Nevermind. It would be a mood killer."

"Well, now you have me intrigued."

She groaned, and Marci turned and began paying attention, walking backwards as she did so. He never could've imagined her moving so freely five months ago. "I second my brother's curiosity!"

Dory shrugged. "Very well. You asked for it." Her face sunk and turned pensive. "I just..." She trailed off and shook her head tightly, lips pursed. "I had the strangest dream: a disturbing one, really, and I couldn't help but think how in contrast to everything here it is."

Marci glanced downwards. "I think what happened on Bloody Victendes has left all of us with scars," she commiserated.

"Visible or not," Manfred agreed, as his sister reached out and squeezed the free hand of his fiancée.

Reassured, Dory continued. "I dreamed that you died during that titan sanguinaire incident," she admitted, distinctly uncomfortable. Instinctively, he planted a small kiss on her head and felt a thankful squeeze of his hand in return. "Here's where it gets strange: I was wearing the demon crown - Leluun's crown - and it offered me a deal to bring you back, but I refused." She seemed to shrink a couple of sizes, pending further scrutiny. "We all know how dangerous that thing was, but it still bothered me how I just let you die."

"In the dream."

"Yes, in the dream," she agreed. "I know it was just a dream, but I'm wary. You..." She blushed in embarrassment at the irrationality of it all. "You... don't think that it means anything, do you?" Her voice rose in some tempered urgency. "That we ought to tell someone or at least be careful?" her eyes flicked between Marceline's and Manfred's, and the siblings regarded each other for a moment."Maybe he's trying to sneak back into the world somehow? Maybe he's not totally gone?"

"Vedil is dead," the younger one assured her sister-in-law, walking backwards once more. "Thank Eshi." She made the sign of the Pentad momentarily. "I know it doesn't feel like it sometimes, but we're safe now, truly."

Dory took a deep breath and released it into the warm evening air. Butterflies and fluttered between leaves and flower petals and cicadas hummed among the grasses and trees. Manfred had gone silent and the two women looked his way. He smiled reassuringly from beneath his moustache. He reached for Marci's hand and she took his. They walked arm in arm in arm down the shaded pathway. "Marci's right, my love." He picked up the pace and glanced down at her fondly. "It was just a dream."


Fin.
In The Hourglass Order → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
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Present: Yalen Castel @pantothenic, Valerian Remi Leclere @yoshua171, Maura Mercador @Ti, Salomé Xiuyang Solari @Emeth, Trypano Somia @A Lowly Wretch, Ingrid Penderson @dragonpiece, Niallus Saberhagen @McKennaJ71, and Abdel Varga @YummyYummy
There was a sense of finality to it. A light rain fell that morning as they rose from their beds, coating everything in a thin, clammy layer of coldness. Outside, Wangang was a vast grey expanse of rooftops, streets, and plazas, the trees having shed some half of their leaves by now.

It had been a near thing, the night before. Nearly, had they snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. A simple miscommunication, or had there been more at work? People shuffled into the central courtyard, yawning, stretching, and rubbing sleep from weary eyes. Accusations had flown last night but, against incredible odds, they had made it out through a half-dozen portals, gathering back at the inn within an anxious half-hour where they’d been unsure if their friends had lived or died. Some had spoken secretly. The Exemplar Wu Long, after exchanging words with Trypano, had quickly disappeared.

There was a wagon waiting for the nine youths, and more than one pored over it. Elaborate outfits in a variation of the style of the Retanese courts were laid out and labeled with their names. Yet, there was none for Xiulan, they noticed, and two extras: women’s clothes for…

“They mean to kill you or turn you. I’m your school-appointed protection.” Jocasta materialized behind Yalen with a soft smirk. “She was looking for her own portal here, so I gave her one.” Rolling up beside him, she pointed to one of the balconies, where a girl who most would’ve recognized from their classes or campus parties was sitting on the railing, legs crossed at the ankles, looking down at them.

What more could the Tan-Zeno have said that Xiuyang wasn’t perfectly capable of saying for herself? She came down and made introductions. More than one was curious about her reasons for coming. More than one warned her to turn back. It took a special sort of insanity to want to become embroiled in this fast-spiraling catastrophe.

An impromptu morning meeting quickly developed. Some voiced their apprehension about attending the dinner. Others stridently insisted that they would remain resolute and stay the course. The Twin Emperors had to fall. Still others were more circumspect. First and foremost, they maintained, all should strive to make it out of Retan alive. Information flowed in fits and starts, some more willing to share and others less. As a general rule, however, Jocasta’s presence seemed to help… encourage them to be more open.

It was Kaureerah who noticed it first, however: “Wheere ees Xiulaun?” A handful of them looked amongst each other. None had seen her. “Wheere ees Mr. Wei end Yeen end Yaung?” They were often shadows in this place, busy bustling about, cleaning, cooking, and turning up sheets. There was no breakfast prepared for them, but the table was set and there was a pot boiling in the courtyard fireplace as well.

The next half-hour was a maelstrom of activity as they scrambled to piece matters together. For the first time, the nine youths, plus their pair of new additions, communicated and worked efficiently as a team. And, through these efforts, a devious plot to rob them of their magic via plushtail oil was uncovered. Yalen, Ingrid, Maura, and Niallus conspired to turn this about on the Twin Emperors and their lackeys. Despite an attempt at a cover-up, they soon deduced that Xiulan and all three members of the Wei family had been forced to attend their kings and were likely in grave danger.

It became a waiting game. They ate their breakfast. They shared, prepared, and cleaned their poisonous clothing. As best they could, the others brought Xiuyang and Jocasta up to speed. Outside, the rain came to an end, but it did little to make the city a more welcoming place. A thin film of ash coated everything in sight and great was the panic at the previous night’s ‘eruption’ of Bailong Shan. The entire summit of the mountain had been blown off, chunks flying as far as a mile distant. Somehow, miraculously, not a single person had been killed.

Yet, that did not stop thousands from trying to flee Wanggang, believing the previous night’s cataclysm to have been merely a warning of further volcanic activity. These ground up against the recently increased city guard, taxing and straining. The carefully sewn tapestry of Retanese society was fraying precipitously at the edges and, it was under this cover that those who sought to undo it completely slipped into the capital.

Yet, even amid this cataclysmic upheaval, Some things continued as normal. The usual vendors, hucksters, and pickpockets were out in abundance. Some offered discounts. Others were selling masks of dubious manufacture and effectiveness to help their customers breathe safely in the ‘tainted air’. It was against this backdrop, and as they had just finished their purchases, that the Ersand’Enise Eleven watched as eleven litters, carried by enormous men large enough to be part ogauraq, appeared in a line. Single file, they wound their way toward the inn’s gates and, single file, they stopped in front. Their doors opened, beckoning the eleven in: one person to a litter: no more and no less. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, by Retanese reckoning.


It took one hour for everyone to be properly attired. During this time, their litter bearers neither spoke nor substantially moved. They did not struggle in the slightest to carry their assigned passengers, though the trip was not a quick one. The clouds cleared, the sun glowed, and the air sparkled with the dust of Ingrid’s great explosion, lending this vast foreign city an almost ethereal air. Through slatted windows, they peered out as they passed the chaotic port district, wound through streets packed with workshops, and made their way across plazas and down grand avenues. Leaves fluttered off from trees and blew about as they passed squadrons of patrolling Goldcloaks. The chill in the late rezaindian air made war upon the sun and its brave rays, and this seemed a battle it was destined to win, sooner or later.

There was a sense of inevitability as they approached the gates of the Forbidden Quarter. White Knights formed up to either side of them, the very sight of the highly-trained battle mages - some of whom they had fought only the night before - doing much to set some ill at ease in their little boxes. They had already witnessed the brutality: people who tried to leave the city without permission - people who panicked or ‘disrupted public order’ - were beaten and some hauled away. The Knights followed in silent formation until they were at the gate. Then, there were commanding shouts made in Retanese and they did not so much as slow when they passed through.

Beyond, lay the houses of the rich and grand, of the exemplars, the nobles, and the highest court officials. Beyond, lay gardens, temples, libraries, and shops stocked with only the highest quality goods. Here, there were not so many people and not so much bustle. If the rest of Wanggang had teetered on the precipice of outright panic, this portion did not. Yet, they were human like the rest and, upon sighting the procession of eleven, hardly a single passerby failed to look up. The handful of children they saw pointed and made excited exclamations. One, in the middle of training with four others in the art of water telekinesis, lost his concentration and would’ve soaked his teacher had it not been for the master’s quick reflexes and exceptional control. Playfully, he splashed the boy before exhorting him to focus, and all of the children laughed.

Gradually, through their entire ride, they had been winding their way upward towards a vast twin-towered palace that sat on a terraced hill, surrounded on all sides by wild and extensive gardens. Unlike many of the lesser palaces and mansions they had passed, there were no walls here, merely hedges. A great many exotic birds, cats, and monkeys fluttered, scampered, or swung about, peering curiously or cautiously out at these newest visitors. There was no obvious entrance. The guard captain escorting them merely announced their presence in Retanese. There was a pause as Kaureerah, in the lead litter, tensed up. Her bearers had not slowed in the slightest. They were about to slam headlong into the thick tangle of plants.

Then, it parted, armlike tendrils and photosynthesizing tentacles, unlocking, unwinding, and peeling away. The litters had not slowed even once. The White Knights, however, did, for this was where their journey ended. Great lawns surrounded the shimmering white road that they rode upon, and Rikard realized that the entire thing was made of diamond. A line of trees, great and ancient, paralleled the road to either side, their leaves unnaturally green in an eternal Nashibansek summer. There were no sounds save the marching of their bearers’ feet, the creaking of the wooden litters, and the whisper of the wind and distant calls of the animals. The lawns gave way to forest and seas of bamboo. Every once in a while, they would pass a small but richly-appointed house with a black roof, or else a garden with exotic fruit trees and vegetables in a well-pruned plot. What they did not see was another sapient being for as far as they looked. It was a tunnel of verdant green, with splashes of sudden colour and sound and it was mesmerizing.

Then, it was over. They stopped: all of them at once, without a single word spoken. The doors, unbidden, unlocked themselves and swung open. The wild, ethereal forest was behind them and a plaza before. Jocasta found her wheelchair waiting, and Maura as well. There were multiple pavilions in view, but one in the distance that stood out as far larger and more opulent than the others.

A single woman stood there to greet them. She was young and pretty and had a patch over one eye. To some, she was already known. “Welcome,” she addressed them. “I trust your trip here was pleasant enough.” She did not actually give them the opportunity for substantive answers before continuing. “Please, come along and - oh! - do leave any gifts or food you’ve brought with your porters.” She smiled sweetly, but this was not a request. “There’s no need to carry anything here. Their Serene Highnesses will receive these once they have received you.” She smirked. “After all, you’re the main show, and you’ve already demonstrated your goodwill by… passing some of our tests and still attending.” She bowed her head slightly and, once they were all ready, began walking, hands clasped behind her back, visibly restraining her bouncy step, at some junctures, from turning into an outright skipping motion.

So, they followed, for what else could they do? After about half a minute, they came upon the large bald man who they had seen before. He did not so much as move until they were past. Then, he followed them, silently, seeming to move as if he were slowed underwater while somehow still keeping pace. While a bamboo hedge maze stretched out in one direction and a Nikanese garden in the other, the pavilion they had sighted upon arrival soon became clearer. This one perched on a small lawn beside a peaceful lake with enormous lily pads, a brisk stream at its far edge, and a serene island in the middle. There was no bridge visible and no obvious way to reach it save for swimming or the use of magic. A single tree rose upon it, branches heavy with plums that seemed almost to glow in various subtle colours.


Underneath the gently flapping white fabric that now glowed golden with the sinking sun’s rays, lay a pair of enormous tables. “Please do try to remember your etiquette here,” said the woman with the eyepatch. “This is a royal dinner, all told, regardless of where it might lead.” There were already some twenty-two figures seated around them, and a handful up and moving around. Various students who had met with them recognized the remaining seven members of the Black Guard. To both their relief and trepidation, Xiulan and the Wei family were there. Wu Long and two of the other Exemplars were present as well, along with Captain Zhu, Captain Zhao, Ming, Zihan, and Yawen. Last were Lady Matsuhara and Mr. Bao, looking distinctly unhappy, and a quiet man in simple dark clothing who sipped a glass of deep red wine.


Slightly away from the table on the left, however, was Yong, busy playing some sort of tag game with a short, athletic, middle-aged man. A second man, identical to him, sat at one head of the other table, opposite Wu Long. Upon their approach, he rose and offered a small bow. He spread his arms in a welcoming gesture. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “You’ve made it.” His smile twinkled in his eyes. “Please,” he continued, “Come. Be seated. You’ll find your places labeled.” He clapped his hands together, businesslike. “I am Ten-Re, Emperor and Protector of Retan and your host this evening.” He gestured at the man who was playing with Yong and both halted briefly, the former fondly tousling the latter’s hair. “This is my brother Ten-Jiu, also Emperor and Protector of Retan. It is an honour to finally meet you.” He cleared his throat before a procession of introductions could commence, and raised his right hand. “Now, while I’m sure we all have plenty we’d like to say and ask, I ask that we do so over dinner.”
“It is… quite ready,” his twin interjected, “and I’m quite ready to eat. We can multitask, right?” He grinned. “你呢，勇？你饿了吗？” (and you, Yong? Are you hungry?)

“我不是!”(I’m not!) the boy protested, and Ten-Jiu laughed and shook his head. “Then you’re always gonna be a small-fry!” he teased, and Yong stuck out his tongue. Then, from the half-dozen buffet tables surrounding them came twice as many platters, all in the sturdy arms of more of those almost automaton-like servants.

“Oh, and don’t worry about poison,” Ten-Jiu reassured the guests, being the first to eat, “If we’d wanted you dead,” he continued, speaking while chewing, “you’d already be just that.” He swallowed and grinned and those skilled in sonic magic may have noticed him dampening sound around the ears of the child who had grudgingly taken a seat beside him. Mr. Wei shot more than one anxious glance in his son’s direction, but Yong seemed quite oblivious to it all.

“Indeed,” Ten-Re agreed with his brother. “You’ve been called here, in good faith, to discuss how we might avert a conflict that will surely prove ruinous not only to the parties gathered at this table but, more importantly, to this land and the millions of people who call it home.”

Ten-Jiu nodded, tearing chunks off of a bloody rare steak with predatory eagerness. “Mhm,” he followed up, “They’re everything. They’re why we do this. They’re why we have the laws about magic I’m sure you’ve all noticed and questioned by now.” He shook his head and gestured with his chopsticks in his brother’s direction. “His big idea, by the way.” The emperor snorted. “Never woulda come up with it myself.”

“Retan is too big,” clarified Ten-Re, and he shook his head with sad determination. “It was falling apart under the later Jiang emperors. Aside from the last one -” He paused. “No offense, my dear.” He smiled apologetically in Xiulan’s direction. “- they were good people, and they tried their level best to rule well.”

“But an empire like this doesn’t work with ‘good people’ at the helm.” Ten-Jiu managed to not quite glare at Wu Long. “Nah. It needs mean bastards, like us!” He scowled and dabbed at his lips with a silk kerchief. “It requires fear and power at the top and then softer, more accessible layers beneath. This is, of course, regrettable, but utterly necessary.” Ten-Re shook his head. “Better some smaller harms for the greater good than the absolute chaos that would ensue if magic was freely available to everyone in our great nation.”

Most of the Black Guard ate in silence, though some, like the massive, stocky man who they now recognized as Sleeping Carp, did not eat at all. Golden Monkey stuffed his face greedily, stealing, angry, paranoid, predatory glances at some of the students. Smoking Bandit scarcely took his pipe from his mouth to chew. Evil Eye chatted gaily with the others. Laughing Squid seemed on edge and one who they hadn’t seen before, who had to be Stormcloud, distinctly awkward. Cold Soup merely studied those with her, while Mountain Spring was already into his second bottle of baiju. Lucky Dragon and Wu Long played eye tag from across the table, both trying to look like they were ignoring the other. Yawen stole glances as well, periodically, in her father’s direction as he encouraged Yong to eat by making it into a game. In general, people spoke in a dance, their conversational feet perched perilously on a razor’s edge between the functionally casual and matters of the most dire importance.

Then, as they were being served a sweet and savoury variety of desserts, Ten-Jiu leaned back and patted his stomach. “Now that we’re fully and happy,” he announced, ruffling Yong’s hair again, “comes the part where we all kill each other.” He picked something from between his teeth and grinned wickedly, “Or, rather, we kill anyone who decides to fuck with us.”

Ten-Re scowled deeply. “My brother speaks with an uncultured tongue, and it does nothing to bring us closer to an equitable solution.” He stood and spread his arms, the very voice and picture of reason. “I would heartily prefer for us to avoid a costly conflict,” he entreated. “With this in mind, we have brought all living major players in this little drama to the stage at once,” Ten-Jiu clarified. They were presently eating some sort of cookie each. As they bit down, Most found themselves biting into a tiny metal plate. On these were simple instructions. “At your earliest convenience, I would like you to take a walk with the person named on those plates you’ve just discovered, separately, for the sake of privacy. They will listen to you and make you an offer. For those of you who accept, rich rewards will await. For those who don’t…” Ten-Re trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken, and Ten-Jiu stabbed the last piece of steak with his knife. Thin, oily blood dripped from it to pool in his plate before he shoved it into his mouth and chewed with a toothy smile.

“作为一个国王，你吃得很乱!” (You really make a mess of your food, for a king!) Yong pointed out. The emperor reached out and gave the boy a little flick behind the ear.

In Harold's Academy for the Magically Inclined → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Now we need a tier list chart for who gives the best hugs


Melle smells like smoke. Hey, some people are into that, I imagine.
In The Hourglass Order → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
♫
Present: Esmii @BlackRoseSiren, Oksana @Ti, Yuliya @Suicharte, Marz @Th3King0fChaos, Yvain @jasbraq, Roslyn @Fallenreaper, Khaliun @YummyYummy, Sven, and Penny
Into Darkness

The sun was waning as they gathered. For all that magic had wavered during the day and they had felt the blessed flow of the Gift coursing once more through them, it had been but a tease. Painfully mortal and mundane, seven youths trudged their way back to Dami the Shrewd, Khaliun floating in last and late, unsteady in the hazy magical interference.

“Just two more,” Penny sighed, stretching out languidly on one of the back pews. “Oraff, I feel like a jellyfish,” she whined, glancing Yvain’s way. “I shall require three feather pillows, gently fluffed, a glass of lemon water with four moderate-sized ice cubes, and a bedtime story. I’m not fussed about the genre.” She let out a groan. “We’ve been waiting an hour. Gods, where are they?”

“You gonna be okay, princessh?” Sven teased. “Think you’ll make it?”

“Ugh. Shut up, Shven.” She snapped back a little too quickly and forcefully, and then softened it b y letting out a snort and rolling her eyes playfully. “I will if you carry me.”

Time dragged and the light coming in through the stained glass windows flared for half an hour and then darkened. The group of seven decided not to wait any longer before debriefing each other in earnest. By this method they learned of Yuliya’s and Yvain’s harrowing ordeal and their rescue by what was confirmed to be Khaliun’s intervention. She hadn’t been able to seriously harm the masked man who’d had them cornered - he was that strong - but she’d succeeded in making him back off, risk-averse, perhaps. “Is member of Volti, obvious!” the Vossoriyan exclaimed, punctuating her point by tapping on the wooden pew. She quickly made the sign of the Pentad as an absentminded act of contrition. “We come there, good faith, and he is trying to kill.” She shook her head, fire flaring behind her big, pretty eyes. “I want his head as trophy. I mount him on my wall. Remind people what happen when they fuck with me.”

“I am also very… amenable to his death,” Yvain added coldly, “and those of everyone in his employ, though… I’d like the chance to ask some questions first.” He paused. “We’ve confirmed what we suspected, though, at least: the phenomenon isn’t natural. It’s one of those odious devices.”

The pair of ‘Y’ names weren’t the only ones to bring news. Oksana was boisterous in her recounting of her, Esmii’s, and Sven’s misadventure in the monastery grounds though, in practice, she didn’t get too many words in edgewise. Once Esmii started up, there wasn’t much anyone could do but listen, even as she gushed on about how Sven had gone berserk and obliterated the monks.

Penny admitted to something similar, as did Roslyn, who seemed… a little bit shaken by the entire experience. “I actually think we messhed up kinda bad,” Sven quietly proposed. “At the end of the day, they were jusht defending their property againsht a break-in.”

The Perrenchwoman wasn’t having it, however. “Are you telling me that what we found inside was normal for a monastery?”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “It was… more than I expected, but…” Sven scowled. “I wash originally being trained to go into the prieshthood,” he admitted. “They’re shurprishingly martial, but it’sh… not that unushual for a remote monashtery to have a large workshop.” He shrugged again, even as Penny and Yuli - the two-headed monster that they often were - both stared at him, borderline incredulous.

“Well, I’m glad he’s not a priest,” Esmii exclaimed. “That’s for sure.”

Penny audibly groaned at the comment, but Yuliya was still focused on Sven. She even shot Penny a dirty look. “What you think? This is Vossoriya. Everybody has something on the side.” She shook her head. “Sure, maybe they attack you. You stop to think this is because you break into their home and holy place?” She let out an annoyed sigh. “You will do the same in Quentic church?” She waved a hand dismissively, signalling an end to the digression. “You did something else useful, yes?” she prodded.

Abashed, Roslyn held out a notebook with a surprisingly detailed map of the southern and southeastern end of the city and explained that they had followed the edge of the anti-magic zone. Khaliun, in only a few words, explained that she’d gone up and it was a bubble. It was, in fact, at least two bubbles, Roslyn added. If they extrapolated the patterns out… she extracted a pencil from her satchel and followed the existing patterns to turn them into proper circles. A large portion of the city was left uncovered, yet there was definitely no connection to the Gift there either.

“But there’s magic where you’re staying, right?” Penny asked Yuliya sheepishly, having been chastised a couple minutes earlier. Yuli nodded. “Yes, no…” She paused, struggling for a word. “No ‘no magic’.” It was growing late and she was tired. Then, in the distance, they heard the faint tumble of thunder. A storm was blowing in across the plains as often happened around this time of year, and usually with little warning. Tentatively, Roslyn sketched a third circle into her map in the rough location where she thought it should be, leaving a question mark in the middle. The seven exchanged glances. A couple nodded. “Tomorrow, we should confirm it,” Khaliun decided, voice as flat as ever.

“But… the monastery, and the caves?” Esmii countered. “We can’t just ignore things like that. Why don’t we split up again?”

Roslyn, quiet for much of the meeting aside from her work with the map, shook her head gently. “I’d like to investigate as much as anyone,” she remarked in a small voice, “but today made pretty clear that it is not safe out there.” She pursed her lips. “We should stick together.”

Penny nodded in agreement. “I’m with her on that. It’s hairy.”

Yuliya nodded. So did Sven, before glancing once more out the now-darkened windows. There was a flash of lightning in the distance and then a more pointed crack of thunder. “Sho… what do we do about the othersh?” he offered, eyes searching his peers’ for some sort of consensus. “They’re shitll not here.”

“You know, if they’re not utter fools - which may be giving them too much credit,” replied Yvain, “they’ve probably just headed straight back to the inn. I, for one, would rather not be out in the… Eshiran’s weather that’s clearly headed our way.”

“Sounds like what smart person would do,” Yuliya agreed, shooting Yvain a smirk. The notion reached consensus and they parted somewhat quickly after that, with promises to meet back up in the morning and take the piss out of Marz and Nazih. In the back of more than one mind, however, a nervousness gnawed and, in the event, they did not outrun the storm either. Yuliya and Khaliun were thoroughly soaked. Yvain, Esmii, Sven, Oksana, and Penny had less distance to cover. They made a dash for it, the fifth being left in the dust by her bipedal counterparts, but it was for naught. All arrived cold and wet as they stumbled into the inn.

Trudging up to their rooms, moods brightened a bit with mischievously whispered plans to press cold clammy hands to the backs of Nazih’s and Marz’s necks or wring out soaked riding cloaks over them. However, when Sven pushed the door open and prepared to dash forward, he and his peers found the boys’ dormitory eerily unoccupied, sitting still, silent, and untouched. Outside, the wind howled and rain pelted shuddering windows.

“You uh… think they might’ve just spent the night somewhere closer?” Penny proposed, trying to avoid the inevitable. “They’re probably waiting for ush in the church right now,” Sven replied, “becaushe we didn’t have the patienche to wait.” He glanced back out at the storm and swallowed. “At leasht… I hope sho.”

What followed was a ten minute debate on whether or not to go back out there. In the event, the innkeeper mentioned, through broken interpretation, that he had seen a hegelan and foreign boy sometime earlier. Their worry imperfectly pacified and perhaps wanting to believe that all was well, the visitors bedded down for the night, the girls all forced to listen as Penny knelt by her bedside and whispered nighttime prayers for the safety of the missing pair and her beloved boyfriend Ashon, on the other side of the ocean. Finally, she made the sign of the pentad, climbed into bed, and fell silent. She and the others buried themselves in their covers as temperatures plummeted and, lulled into an uneasy sleep by the sounds of rain, wind, and gentle thunder, they waited for tomorrow and better news.

Into the Light
♫

Morning was a miserable affair. A thin, slick layer of slushy ice coated everything in sight. Laundry lines lay broken on the ground, clothes thrown in the all-encompassing mud. Shed and stable roofs sagged under the extra weight. Horses, oxen, and carts struggled down the filthy streets. The seven woke up, gathered in the common room, and sat around a large table, warming their hands on a motley assortment of teacups as they drank and the warmth slowly returned to their bodies. Still, thunder mumbled indistinctly in the clouds, though it seemed to be fading and, even as they sat there, some wretched, some still wrapped in quilts, the sleet turned steadily back into a clammy, miserable rain. Marz and Nazih remained missing and hopeful protestations that they may have just been avoiding the weather were starting to ring hollow.

While Oksana was well-outfitted and ready, it was another hour and a half before the foreigners were prepared to commence their search. There was no staving off the rain or warming themselves with magic. The scions of families old, wealthy, and proud found themselves reduced to slogging along like the commonfolk, no different from them, for once, save the nicer cut of their clothes and heavier coinpurses. There was just enough wind to buffet and twist umbrellas, and Penny, who couldn’t hold one anyhow, instead found the hood of her raincloak repeatedly blown back.

They met up with Yuliya and Khaliun once more at the church, and the pair of missing boys was, once more, nowhere to be found. An entire morning spent knocking on the doors of locals eventually gained them the idea that a hegelan and a foreigner had headed for the cliffs and caves across from the monastery. A few had mentioned the collapse but, then again, the students had also offered money. Regardless of payment, however, and whether grizzled grannies or spry young men, the locals, peering out through barely-open doors into the inclement weather, urged them not to go. It was dangerous.

At this point, however, most of their consciences had been pricked and a fear that the worst had happened really began to set in. The ground was slick, muddy, and unforgiving. Roslyn nearly fell down a set of stairs, catching herself on a railing at the last second. Sven’s feet went out from under him when climbing up a slope. Penny fell three times, each progressively worse. She slid down a ravine after the last one and lay there in the mud and gravel, wrapping clammy, shivering arms about herself and sobbing softly. “We left them out there,” she mewed, from behind chattering teeth. “We let them die and this is our punishment.” She snorted up a long dribbler, small and sad and very much not the Penny that everyone else was used to. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I deserve it.”

There was a long, ragged scrape down her right forearm, and it trickled a trio of thin constant ribbons of blood into the remnants of her shredded sleeve. A lesser counterpart could be found on her hip and a deep bruise to go with it. They did not have magic here, however, and there was no healing to be done. She picked herself back up only after a few minutes and only with help, gently rolling a tender ankle back and forth before continuing.

Esmii identified the cave she had visited earlier and all agreed that it was a likely candidate. They headed hopefully for its mouth, eager to be out of the rain and muck, but it was fool’s gold. Every surface was slick and treacherous, the pale limestone mud thin but all-encompassing and relentlessly sticky. Natural light faded and Oksana took out a match and a lantern and they clustered together within its small, yellow-orange oasis of light.

Stalactites dripped and rivulets of pure, frigid water trickled from cracks in the stone. Everywhere was the sound of echoing droplets and moving water. Their breath formed little clouds of condensation before them and the temperature, if possible, dropped even further. Surfaces became coated with frost.

The going became slow, even as Esmii warned of the strange pulling sensation she had felt the last time. Water that she could’ve sworn had flowed alarmingly uphill last time gathered in a placid pool now. Penny continued to lag, the others having to stop repeatedly to let her catch up. Her cheeks flushed with shame at her inadequacy and they could hear her muttering beneath her breath, though none could make out what she said.

Fallen rocks became more common as they went, the cavern littered with them, in many cases sharp and new, recently carved from the chamber walls. Looks were exchanged. In a couple of places, it was a tight squeeze, and Sven had to drag a couple of boulders free just to fit. “I hate to be the one to say it,” Yvain announced, his voice the first to cut through the cold and silence for quite some time, “But I fear someone must: what if this is a dead end, or a false trail? We’ve been walking for some time and…” He trailed off, eyes roving about the other shadowed faces. “Well, given that we’ve found nothing, perhaps that’s all there is to find,” he concluded grimly.

“Five more minutesh.” It was Sven. “Five more and then I agree. We turn around.” He looked to the others, or what little he could see of them. There were either nods and murmurs of agreement or else abstentions, so they continued.

For the first time more or less since they’d woken up the previous accursed morning, there was good fortune to be found. “You feel that!?” Yuliya chirped gratefully and, indeed, the others did! “Magic! Thank Shune! I knew she's be back!” It was hazy at first, but it grew stronger as they walked, as if they were nearing the edge of the field. Roslyn leaned in close to Oksana and flipped open her book, leaning hunched over it to prevent any of the ever-present dripping water from wetting the pages. She made a small mark. “We’re far enough north that we’re leaving the device’s influence.” Satisfied, she clapped the journal shut and tucked it away. Others began conjuring flickering lights before long, and these bobbed about in the darkness, growing in luminosity as they went.

And then, it ended. Up ahead was a collapse. They shone their lights about - how they shone them! Yet, it was well and truly sealed. Then, Penny flung a rock free. She had her magic back and the others noticed belatedly that the scrapes and bruises were healed. She reached out and pulled a second one free. “What?” she retorted, when she noticed them staring at her. “We came all this way, we went through hell to get here, and we have our magic back. What are you waiting for?”

Even before she’d finished, Yuliya was working. Yvain, Sven, Oksana, and Roslyn soon joined. Spirits rose. Just being able to use magic again - to once more enjoy the agency they usually took for granted - it was phenomenal. So intense was the joy, so irrational, that a few even started singing work songs they’d heard from the plebs.

Cold Comfort

There was a hand. It was cold, broken, and discoloured, and Roslyn scrambled back when she touched it, letting out a small sound of terror. It did not take Esmii’s energy scan to reveal that there was no life. Yuliya, wordless, pulled the last few boulders free with kinetic magic and there was the body. It was Nazih, or rather had been: someone they had fought alongside, laughed and joked with, shared lunches and classes with and he was… gone. This was just a lifeless remnant. More than one hid their eyes. The light that had animated them a mere minute earlier left the chamber and there was little else to fill it aside from the sounds of breathing and the occasional sob. This was one of theirs, no longer a youthful, invincible thing.

Dead.

It took a good couple of minutes for them to start up again. The body was moved with kinetic magic and set aside. It was covered with its own ragged cloak. Then, they started digging again, having scanned for anything abnormally-shaped, if only to brace themselves against the inevitability of a second body.

There was nothing, however. They went for another indeterminate amount of time, but probably a half-hour or so. Not a single sign of Marz was found by the time they reached the end of the cave-in, and so they continued, into its depths, reaching a second such obstacle, which they cleared with a few more minutes of magic exertion. Then, they reached a third. This, too, was shunted aside. Outside, the weather worsened, though they did not know it, and the sun began its descent.

The final collapse, however, revealed an undisturbed chamber beyond. Vast and dark, lit with the twinkling bioluminescence of fungi and tiny insects, it had an air of peace about it and a large, crystal clear pool that sparkled beneath the interlopers’ lights. A trio of olms quickly skittered away at their approach and then they had the cavern to themselves. There were a few stray rocks to be found, but whatever disturbance had created them was gone, a fact confirmed by Esmii in whispered wonder.

Sven glanced behind him. “I’ve heard that Darhannicsh should be bathed before they’re buried.” He let his light fade and, once the others had done so, the room lay once more in perfect, peaceful darkness.

It was some two hours later when they once again saw natural light. No body came with them. They had performed the ceremony to the best of their knowledge, spoken their words, and left their friend and classmate to the Gods. What they had not found, however, was Marz, and that failure lingered, intruding on what should have been a solemn silence. “You remember how a couple of the people we talked to gave a different answer?”

Oksana, able to lip read by lamplight, twisted and nodded. ”They say coolaps!” she confirmed excitedly. They were all in need of some hope. “Just so,” Penny concluded. “Then we go,” added Yuliya. “We look, find hegelan, bring back. Break any heads on way that needs breaking.”

A couple others chuckled at her bluntness, but the momentary mirth soon died. Wind howled and snow whipped across the cavern’s mouth, rendering the landscape beyond almost impossible to make out. With it, of course, came a ferocious chill that bit through clothing. Yuliya, so stalwart for most of their journey, was now lagging along with Penny, the two girls supporting each other. She suppressed a grimace. “I eat something bad, I think,” she said weakly, only half-joking. “I get to bed, rest, maybe puke… You know I’m tough, Penpen, ha?”

Whatever they’d planned for the remainder of the day was put on hold. Sven was brave enough to accompany Yuliya back to where she was staying and, partway through, Khaliun took over, hovering somewhere above them and above the magical interference, supporting her with kinetic magic. He barely made it back, exhausted and frostbitten. Penny had fallen twice more, but at least not been injured to any noteworthy extent. Roslyn was sneezing. Yvain had sprained his wrist somehow, and Esmii shivered beneath a mountain of blankets with Sven. Only Oksana had held up well. They gathered in the near-empty boys’ dormitory that night and discussed their plans for the next day.

These were not to be. The Stresian blizzard howled, crown jewel of a late cold snap, and utterly relentless. Windows were shuttered, animals stabled and swaddled in hay and blankets, and stockpiles of wood burned through as hearths stayed lit for almost the entire day. Ships sheltered in the harbour, animals huddled in their burrows, and Kirimansk drew into itself to ride out the storm. An entire day passed in futility. All that the seven students could do was play cards, talk, and drink around the fire, holding out hope that Yuliya was indeed alright and clinging to the faint likelihood that Marz had been… well, not killed, at least.

A New Dawn
♫

Orredes dawned blessedly sunny, the morning light glistening with stark beauty upon the snow. In the distance, a herd of muskoxen made their way between the sparse pines and, within minutes, a hunting party had set off to go and hopefully make meat of them. The students were similarly motivated. They ate quickly, dressed warmly, and met, once more, in the rear pews of Dami the Shrewd. Already, the snow was beginning to melt and mud encroach upon its former domain, for such were the fickle vicissitudes of stresia.

“Today,” began Yuliya, after she rose from her morning prayers, “We do two things: we go this collapse and find Marz or someone who knows something, yes?” Esmii and Sven heartily agreed, and she nodded along with them. “Good. First, we pay visit to this gap in the cliffs, find Volti there, and beat him until he tells us why he’s here and where the magic boxes are. Maybe we get lucky and he knows where Marz is too.”

Scarcely half an hour had passed when a group of mostly-foreign youths, armed with guns and swords - many of these high quality pieces of Nikanese manufacture - arrived at the foot of the triple towers in the indent. The people who were milling about rushed to get out of their way. The women sweeping snow off of the outdoor stairs gathered their brooms and hurried inside. Shops closed their doors and animals were led anxiously away. It had cost a good deal of coin on the part of Yuliya, Yvain, and Penny, but they had money to spare.

Icicles hung, dripping, from the massive wooden towers and their skeletal external staircases and scaffolding. Chimes jingled in the wind and laundry flapped from various lines. Three large, rough-looking men stood at the base of the steps, and two more emerged from nearby doors at ground level, closing these behind themselves and unslinging the rifles from their backs. The weapons were not yet aimed at the students, but then one man with a red cap, who seemed to be the leader, spoke up. “Ты! Почему ты здесь? Что ты хочешь?” (You! Why are you here? What do you want?)

Action Opportunities

In Harold's Academy for the Magically Inclined → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
<Snipped quote>

AKA
Bum


Where's my post, Pir? Hmm? Where's my post?

:P
In Harold's Academy for the Magically Inclined → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
<Snipped quote by Ebil Bunny>
Yep! Who says older students have to be responsible role models for younger ones? xD


Amen to that.
In Harold's Academy for the Magically Inclined → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Emmelynne 'Melle' Starbuck

There is no student more chill and easygoing than this 7th year from the House of Seraphine; some professors think she's gotten lazy, but you can't really blame her when she's got a personal pocket dimension to occupy her time.





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