glibglobb

Blight [OOC]

@cthulu Be careful with perspective. If your character does not know she was marked then you shouldn't reference it in your post. Talk about the jester or getting bumped into, but don't slip into third person omniscient and mention being marked when there's no way Delphi could have known. Only the GM can really do that without causing confusion and I still often post from an NPC's limited viewpoint.

Blight [OOC]

@Tali Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuudge. I reviewed your CS, before posting but I totally missed that. Okay what I need you to do is just insert him into the scene you already posted. I'll change his name to Torbil and then we should be fine. Normally I'd delete but I like the NPC and he is necessary to bring Delphi and Clarissa into the thick of the plot.

@Ichthys There are multiple lines of action happening right now, almost to many. You should be able to find a way to hook him into one of these. Maybe he frequent's the Hole, maybe he hangs around the brothel and will become involved when the Iron Police raid it. Lots of stuff going on. Don't be timid, grab any NPC whose not a major villain and use them. Just keep them in character.

Think of a story like a gear train. Your post was good, but it's just one gear spinning by itself. You need to thread other elements from the story in. Then the gear teeth mesh and they all start spinning together.

@All Excellent example of what I was talking about with Tali. I made a mistake which could have amplified into a major paradox, but it was caught before it got out of control. Never be afraid to speak up if you notice an error or an inconsistency.

Blight [OOC]

My last post uses the character Lucius, introduced along with Clarissa, to hook Delphi into the ongoing plot. I think Lior is the only one not tangled up in this expanding web now. We'll get to him soon. Soooooooooon :-P

Blight [OOC]

Torbil

The jester pranced down the moldy streets in an outfit reminiscent of the rainbow vomit of drunken wyldlings. Armed with nothing but the bells on his shoes and his atrocious color scheme, the man none the less elicited terror in the small denizens of the Blight. Ceilicans vanished at his approach leaving only floating fangs to hiss at the jester while pixies flew to the safety of open windows and exposed rafters. Some feared the jester, it is true, for Torbil was a wyldling and wyldings were a danger to anyone, themselves included, but what they feared more was the Prince. Zemum Donovon, the self proclaimed Prince of the Unseelie Court, most feared of all the Blight's crimelords. In this sense (along with many others), Torbil was unique for the Prince's gang appealed mainly to faery criminals and freedom fighters yet in the crazed wyldling's distorted mind Donovon was a royal lord and he a humble, loyal servant. Streetwise inhabitants of the Blight knew that Donovon used his human jester primarily for two purposes, one to entertain his 'court' such as it was and two to act as his eyes both within and outside the slums. Freed by his humanity to leave the Blight boundaries, Torbil offered the Prince a priceless view on the affairs of the city proper and its human rulers.

Torbil, though always pleased with himself, was particularly exuberant today. He'd found that changeling bitch and he knew where she was headed... or he would know. Still grinning madly over his success, Lucius bent over and picked up a child's ball. Likely the casualty of a game cut short from by his approach. He tossed the ball into the air and soon others, coming perhaps from the jester's sleeves joined it. He juggled them for a few moments in a flawless arc until the yap of a stray startled him. He dropped all three to the ground where they cracked releasing yellow oozing yoke onto the stones, all except the last one which produced a fluffy live chick instead. Lucius laughed at his unintentional wyld magic and scampered toward the city proper. Iron police guarding a checkpoint that bristled with spears and rifle barrels reluctantly let him pass. They knew who he was and some even knew who he worked for, but what choice did they have? He was human... after a fact anyway.

Torbil's wild eyes and bright clothes kept him from blending into the orderly streets of the Commons, but none dwelt on the presence of a simple street performer. Instead most looked the other way lest they be guilt tripped into giving a coin for a moment's unsolicited entertainment. The jester on the other hand watched everyone and his mad eyes saw what others overlooked, like the foreign girl hiding her hair beneath a hood, hair that moved... Torbil followed it until he was sure. He clapped giddily at his discovery and considered putting his stiletto to its back, taking her as a prize to his beloved Prince. Even a madman knew caution, however, and this thing was new... new and strange. Instead, he opted for the same strategy he'd used with the changeling, 'accidentally' bumping into her and smearing a finger's worth of alchemical resin onto her clothes. A signal, a scent to be followed later by the trackers. "Oh we'll find you, my slithery little pretty," the madman spoke to himself after she'd passed, "just like the dreamborn, we'll find you both. Hooohooo! and you'll make our Prince so happy, so very very happeee."

Naming error

Please ignore this request if you guys are busy with site maintenance. Being used to the old RPGuild I named my game's thread with an [OOC] suffix without knowing that the new system merged IC and OOC into a single thread. If it's not too much trouble, I'd love to have the following thread, named Blight[OOC] changed to simply Blight. Thanks guys and thanks for all your work getting this site up and flying again.

-glib

Blight [OOC]

Okay, I set the scene for the Boggart's Hole. It's likely going to be a vital setting so I tried to give it a lot of love. Enjoy.

Blight [OOC]

The Boggart's Hole

Within the whole of the Blight's barren expanse, one plant not classifiable as a weed or a man-eating abomination of magic, still grew. The gnarled oak, more ancient then the most wrinkled elven dame of the Greenlight, twisted up out of the dark confines of the slum, leafy boughs cresting just above the eroding brick tenements which flanked it on either side. Of course, the tainted magic which leached up through her roots did not leave her untouched. Granny Oak, as she was called affectionately by Blighters, did in fact bud the lobed foliage expected of her and dropped typical acorns which pixies and wisps both fought like squirrels to gather. However, occasionally an acorn would hatch a dove rather than a seedling and sometimes her leaves moved to catch the dim smog-filtered sunlight even when the air was still. Her eccentricities, however, only made the Blight fae love her more. She was one of them. She was a mess. She was Granny Oak.

Although Granny's boughs and trunk boasted their own cacophony of life, wisps lighting her canopy like solstice lights and pixies assembled like bees in her rotted hollows, most fae knew her for what lied under, cradled by her roots like a precious possession. The Bogart's Hole, the watering hole of the Blight. Although the ghetto boasted dozens of bars where fae could loose themselves in the green depths of pixie sap, the bluish haze of elf wine and the hearty foam of dwarven ale, many of those bars stood in the Greenlight where they catered to human wretches as well as fae. Most of the others were court affiliated, Unseelie pubs where a Seelie would soon find an iron dagger in their back or Seelie saloons where snobbish bouncers stopped 'riff-raff' at the door. Only the Boggart's Hole remained neutral, serving forgetfulness to noble alfar and lowly goblins alike.

To reach the Hole, one did not pass bulging troll bouncers or submit to searches. The Hole was under Granny. It was part of her, the massive roots twisting to form its roof and everyone respected Granny. Fighting in the Hole would be akin to breaking an oath sworn upon a true name. In fact, there wasn't even a door. The Boggart's Hole never closed so it didn't need one. Instead, an earthen hole opened up like a rabbit's den in the cracked sidewalk beneath the tree's shadow. Following the rough tunnel through a couple erratic twists and turns, patrons eventually exited through the arching expanse of a great root and into a domed warren. Soft purple light from burning mana lamps plus the glow of the occasional floating wisp lit the dark interior of the hole, flashing upon the countless bottles lining the shelf behind the bar. Practically always in a state of pandemonium, the customers formed a tumultuous motley of every faery race imprisoned in the hell of the Blight, from noble elves to common gnomes and even more common pixies. Attempting to impose order on this riotous crowd were the Hole's pixie staff. Mostly denizens of the colony in Granny's trunk far above, they buzzed here and there carrying trays of food and mugs above their blurred wings. At the center of all this chaos stood (or sprinted) the old girl herself. Mostly they just called her Auntie or sometimes Auntie Boggart. Truth was no one knew her common name, not to speak of her true name. A breed of gnome, sometimes called a Dirt Gnome or Boggart, her people had once dug vast, complex warrens beneath the regions forest floors. Few remained for they'd not adapted well to the concrete ground of the Blight. One of the last of her kind, Aunty's work kept her too busy for melancholy. Employing her wyrding glamer, a gift of all gnomes but a particular talent in her case, she flitted here and there along the bar and across the floor like a pudgy, wrinkled bolt of lightning, serving her famous mixed drinks practically before their imbibers could order them.

As mentioned, all considered the Boggart's Hole neutral ground, but oaths could be broken, even unspoken ones. Auntie, well aware of the imperfections of man and faery, made sure to keep a deterrent close at hand. This deterrent came in the form of Grodgar. Grodgar was a troll, Grodgar was a very large troll. Usually seen hulking over an ale large enough to serve as a pixie swimming pool, Grogar looked out through a face scarred and bent by a life of violence. Filling up an entire corner of the tavern from floor to roof, he monitored the clientele with lazy eyes, knowing that a faery had to be double the fool to break the unspoken oath under his watch and few fools of such a magnitude existed. If Grogdar's mass wasn't intimidating enough, his horns spoke of his own notorious history. The right one broke during his final official bout, the last fight of an undefeated career in the Ogre Pen, most brutal of the underground cage matches. In truth, though, no one knew much about Grogdar apart than his talent for ripping things in half, his love of dwarven mead, and his fondness for pixies. The massive fae was often covered with swarms of them, dancing along his horns and splashing in his mug all without eliciting the faintest hint of annoyance from the mountainous creature. Sometimes patrons even caught sight of the troll using his huge thumb to mock waltz with pixie maids upon his ale stained table. No one mentioned it.

For decades the Boggart's Hole had remained a place of peace (albeit an occasionally rowdy peace), keeping its distance from the Iron Police, both courts and the wyldings, but even Auntie wondered sometimes, between washing glasses, mopping floors and mixing liquors whether it could remain so forever; whether the crime and violence rampant in the slums beyond would eventually worm their way into the Blight's last true sanctum.

Blight [OOC]

It looks good to me, but there's a lot going on as is often the case in an advanced RP in early game. Everyone needs to feel comfortable to point out mistakes and contradictions in mine or anyone's posts before they grow into thorny paradox weeds which are difficult to uproot. If you notice problems or things being overlooked don't hesitate to bring it up.

On that note, Delphi is on my mind. She's just the outlier right now so it may take longer to work her into the mainplot. Until then continue posting her story so I know where she is and what she's up to.

My creativity is tanked right now, but tomorrow morning, coffee willing, I will set what is shaping up to be our most important scene, the Boggart's Hole. Post your ideas for a fairy bar tonight and tomorrow and I'll try to incorporate them.

Blight [OOC]

The Blight: Miner's Street

After the last of the wretched working fae departed the Blight, Klade and Jaden met at the center of the deserted street. The Iron Police looked like a pair of golems in their heavy metal armor. Klade stood at ease, but his partner still eyed the creeping dark of the tight alleyways with his remaining eye. Perhaps, Klade considered, it was the thought of that pixie, still out there somewhere that kept him alert. Maybe it was out there somewhere, waiting for its chance to 'collect' his other eye. Silently, Klade cursed himself for letting the little monster squirm out from his gauntlets. He should have crushed it to paste that night.

“Quiet morning,” commented the senior officer skeptically.

“It won’t be quiet for long if the proposition doesn’t pass.”

Jaden’s single eye smoldered, “if that law passes it’ll be worse than just a riot, faeries crawling all over the Commons, goblins roving the Merchant Quarter, wyldings selling their enchanted junk to children, elf sluts…” His voice trailed off, as his eyes hooked onto something wandering drunkenly up the street. “Is that… by Dagon it is.” Jaden ran surprisingly fast in his armor, iron heels digging into the gritty thoroughfare. He gripped the unsuspecting drunk by the shoulders and turned him around. Klade expected to see just another pitiful enchanted wandering home after spending all his coin on glam. Instead he saw a fellow officer, his familiar face torn and still freshly bleeding. “Garret, what in the hell are you doing in the Blight on off hours?” The veteran officer inhaled deeply before wrinkling his nose in disgust. “You smell like cheap perfume and fairies, you’ve been in the brothels haven’t you!!”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Garret stammered. Klade recalled the young man from his cadet training. A natural swordsman, but weak on discipline…

“You disgrace,” Jaden growled, “you know regulation. No fraternizing with fae.” He pushed back the man’s matted hair roughly with his ironclad fingers exposing the fresh scratches. “You’ve been doing more than fraternizing, it looks like.”

“Elf bitch attacked me, sir, we need to raid that brothel, those fae bitches think they can give a man orders...”

Jaden’s anger only burned hotter, “the Iron Brigade does not exist to serve your personal vendettas! Now here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to get your worthless ass back home and clean yourself up. You'll spend the rest of the day coming up with a funny story about how you spooked a fae cat. Then when you report for duty tomorrow, you’re going to tell that story, and everyone’s going to laugh and forget this ever happened. Is that understood?”

“...yes… I mean, yes sir.”

Jaden shoved the young policeman so hard in the direction of the commons that his shoes practically left the grimy cobblestones. “And, Garret,” he called, stopping the man in his tracks, “if I ever catch you fucking elf whores again, I’ll treat your dick like a glam addict and toss it in the dungeons, after cutting it off.”

Klade just barely reined in his laughter while he watched the disgraced officer stumble/sprint away. The look of deadly seriousness on Jaden’s scarred face, however, stole the humor from his breath. He followed the older man’s one eye to its target, the glowing green lanterns of the vice district, visible through the dark corridor of a nearby alley. “You know what we have to do, don’t you?”

“Sir?”

“If word gets out that a common elf whore attacked an Iron Policeman and got away with it, we all lose respect, the fae grow bolder and we all face more daggers from the shadows.” He pounded his gauntlets together in frustration with a sharp metallic clank. “Gods knows that piece of trash asked for it, but that doesn’t matter.” He locked eyes with his partner. “Remember when I told you the Greenlight District was off limits?” Klayde nodded, suddenly disliking where this was going. “Well it isn’t today. We need to make sure they know attacking an officer, any officer, carries serious consequences… We have to kill that elf.”

Blight [OOC]

@Tali If you haven't noticed Clarissa is becoming a focal character. That happens sometimes in RPs. No one intends it. However, the consequence is that your post will have huge ramifications for the story and the other characters in it..... no pressure or anything :-P

@All I made a small edit to the first scene so that the Iron Officer, Jaden, lost his eye not to an elf arrow, but to Needle, our insane pixie. I don't make edits like that often. It was just too tempting.