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5 yrs ago
Current Fire and donuts.
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6 yrs ago
Would be cool if you could just choose to not exist for a few days.
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6 yrs ago
show me any two eyes that don't believe in the dark. i'd like to see them try to hold back the stars.
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6 yrs ago
"One day I will find the words, and they will be simple."
7 yrs ago
It's 5 AM, couldn't sleep, got out of bed did like 30 push-ups. Let's hear it for ADHD!
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Sapharan High City, capital of Lanostre


[written by Lovejoy & OppositionJ]


The crowd of provincials began to howl louder as the Varyan infantrymen raised their rifles. Elisheva could not fault them. The Church had its eyes firmly set on the invasion and all else had fallen by the wayside. The land of Lanostre had long been pacified and its strongest warriors, R'heon and warpriests had been folded into the empire's ranks, but even then there were always whispers of dissent within the nation's former military. Leaving the queendom to be watched over by this thin garrison, it was folly. Elisheva was no strategist, she was a warrior bred for the frontline, and even she knew this. What manner of catastrophic failure had occured within Church's leadership to allow Lanostre to fester in sedition and rebellion?

She afforded one look at Galahad. The young inquisitor was the son of a great Lanostran general, and these people would know him. She hoped beyond hope that he would be able to qwell the crowd's anger before things got too out of hand. She decided to place all her faith in Galahad for the moment and then turned to Mother Tatiana, who stood by watching the crowd as they grew more and more boisterous. The young woman seemed a bit calmer now. Whatever Galahad had said must've gotten through to her.

Elisheva walked to the young summoner's side. bracing with every step. The pain was still there, but she did her best to ignore it. She had to be strong. The next words out of her mouth would demand it.

"Mother Tatiana. I've just received word from the military police. Last night, there was an incident at your family's manor," Elisheva said. She breathed in, and in that moment, she realized that she was afraid. Afraid of the young woman's reaction, afraid of how the words would come out. She had been forged for combat, not for this.

"Your father... He has been murdered," she finally said in a low whisper.

***


As she stood at Galahad's side, Tatiana's looked braced and on edge. The riled crowd did little to soothe her frayed nerves, and more than most, Tatiana knew that as inquisitors, she and her colleagues could step in and attempt to resolve the conflict that escalated before them. It was almost as if the slowly building tension that seemed seconds from snapping into violence had captivated the inquisitor. She was so focused on the scenario as it unfolded, that she almost would not have even noticed Elisheva approaching her and Galahad. Was there something entrancing about the violence? No. Tatiana wasn't that sort of person. She didn't think so at least, but for the few trained inquisitors in her proximity that had been around the likes of her before, they may have noticed that Tatiana was surrounded by that palpable. Such a tactile feeling in the air signified only one thing in the summoner's presence. It was a telltale sign of her summoning process, as if Tatiana was on the brink of bringing forth her beast on a whim. Something held her back, though.

As Elisheva stepped to her side, Tatiana didn't have great hopes for what she wished to convey. There was too much misfortune in the young girl's life at that point. Perhaps Elisheva was going to call off Phoenix Warband's expedition to the glacier. If only it was that simple. If only it was another order she could defy like at the Seminary. As Elisheva finally spoke up, Tatiana's blank face seemed stagnant. There was little surprise splayed across her face. Instead, Tatiana's visage sported a certain emptiness. Her pain, however, was plainly evident, but it was by no means a usual way for the bright-minded Tatiana to express frustration or sorrow. Something was off.

"Father..." One word was all that managed to broach her lips as the news reached the young girl. While it may have looked like Tatiana was then lost in her thoughts at the breaking of the news, there was something different going on in her head— or rather there was a distinct and uncharacteristic nothing going on. Whatever Tatiana felt was not present in her head. She was instead just lost. Tatiana's eyes flicked in between the growing riotous crowd and Elisheva. She didn't dare lie so plainly, but Tatiana knew better than to explain things to Elisheva.

"We need to go to the Glacier. There could be survivors... wounded..."

"I understand. You only wish to do your duty, as any inquisitor would. Still, I need answers from you, Mother Tatiana."

The summoner's response had not been unexpected. The concept of parents and anything else that belonged in the chasm of their old lives had become a blurry abstraction long ago. Elisheva barely remembered her own mother and father, or the family that she was born into. All that was, all that had been, was the Seminary. She was comfortable in that. Had the warmth of home faded for Tatiana as well?

"Tell me of your whereabouts last night. Did you not spend the evening at your family's manor?"

I need an answer... The words echoed around the head of the young inquisitor. She had been there. Was there anywhere else she could have been? Why was she lying? Why was she going to keep lying? The questions roiled through Tatiana's mind, but she had no answers. Maybe she didn't want answers. She just wanted it to stop— All of this.

Tatiana glanced around after Elisheva first replied. Her eyes shot towards the ever expanding crowd, though more particularly, her gaze landed on Galahad. Busy. Her one bastion to fall back on had been elsewhere. Tatiana was alone. It came as an empty feeling in her gut, as if you were cornered by your greatest fear with nowhere to run or cower. She wanted to just release it all. That's what she would have done if she were the same person she was only one night ago. No. She was changed. Her voice was meek, but after a long silence interrupted only by the cacophony of riotous forces only meters away, Tatiana spoke.

"I-It was locked. I never made it in..."

Tatiana averted her eyes from Elisheva once again. No. No. It wasn't enough. There would just be more questions. Tatiana didn't want more questions. She knew who killed her father. She didn't need one of her pupils to try and fight her battles. At her side, a hand would twist into a fist...

"Look, 'Inquisitor'... You're doing your duty, are you? Because from my eyes, it appears like you're trying to interrogate one of the few people you could call an ally in this mess while your brothers and sisters in arms are not only dying at the hands of the Glacier, but also trying to stop a riot without you to command them! We don't have time for this."

Elisheva met Tatiana's response with an unmoving stare. Her one crimson pupil stared unblinking at the summoner as she lashed out. The Lanostran inquisitor was acting strange, and doubtless she was hiding something. Elisheva could feel it. Despite that, the girl was right. There was no time for this.

"Inquisitor Tatiana Leviatan," Elisheva spoke the young woman's name, allowing her exhaustion to creep its way into the words. She was tired, hurt, and wanted nothing more than to get back out into the ice and slay those bastards. But this was more important.

"Your father is dead. I thought to be delicate, but I can see that approach is not needed here. Thus, I will get to the heart of it."

Elisheva felt the old pain boiling in her chest. It wasn't the wound that stung her, but the memories. She closed her eyes for a split second and pictured his face. Gaunt yet evergreen. He never seemed to age. His eyes were pools of black. She had never seen someone with eyes like that.

"Father Dara. The apostate summoner. You trained alongside him under Mother Indira for years. The wretch's demon was seen in these lands not long ago. According to reports it tore through a hunting party of native Lanostrans, leaving the snows slick with blood. Dara appears in Lanostre, your father loses his life, and the Glacier awakens. Surely you can see that something is amiss here. Something that could be the key to whatever is happening."

Elisheva's face was still, as placid as ice, but she could not keep the old hurt from burning in her eyes.

"I recall the talk surrounding the Circle in the Seminary. You were Indira's prized star, her chosen heir. Dara was... something else. Did he hold a grudge against you? Did he ever wish you harm?"

Elisheva's reiteration was all it took. Another mention of her father and just like that, a certain subtle trembling awoke in the young inquisitor. Her breathing faltered as she held back a tears. Again, she looked well kept compared to what occurred inside her, but there was no doubt in her mind that Elisheva would notice her demeanor. She shook her head a bit. If Elisheva thought her unfit for combat then that would just further complicate things.

"Dara..."

Tatiana knew the name well. Summoners in the Seminary weren't a dime a dozen, and the few prodigies Indira did find were well acquainted. The pair were for all intents and purposes complete opposite. Dara's silent demeanor only further guarded him from Tatiana's attempts to befriend him. Warband Seraph was above Phoenix anyways— Tatiana thought so at least. She could still recall the day it all changed, though. Once one summoner snaps and turns tail, support and belief in the training of summoners altogether. Was Tatiana mad? No. She pitied the boy. She always had.

Dara wasn't a great man. That much was obvious, but was he a killer? Tatiana wrestled with such thoughts, but she still had little doubt in her mind what had happened just last night. That didn't matter, though. Elisheva was right. With the strange occurrences revolving around the Glacier, the most obvious explanation would be that he was involved. After all, Tatiana knew well that there were a very select few people that would support the awakening of the Glacier. The thought gave her a weird feeling— like what she was just wasn't right.

The thought of Dara coming after her family amplified her that unsettling feeling. Tatiana finally let her stone-faced facade fall, revealing a pained expression beneath. It seemed like a definite possibility, but that shred of connection the two summoners shared held Tatiana from speaking. Did she identify with him?

"No... No, Dara wouldn't do something like that, but the demons... That's more like him..."

Tatiana didn't say much further. It was hard enough to choke out the few words she'd managed to.

There was a hurt in the summoner's voice that Elisheva felt all too familiar. Whether this was due to Dara or her father's passing, Elisheva wasn't sure. Still, there was a clarity in the girl's eyes that wouldn't betray her words.

"Very well. I will send word to the Church about your father's murder, but I will not question you further about the apostate," Elisheva told her. "I am sorry. He was a good man. The people here loved him," she said with a conciliatory smile.

@The Angry Goat @Sisyphus @draken

Took some liberties! Hope it all works well. :)

Also, I hope I got Hassan right. If you ever come back, Sisyphus, let me know how I did!

Anyhoo, I think I have one more post for this scenario and we'll be done with it. It'll involve Hassan, Stina and Ragnar converging back at the Phoenix compound to discuss certain new info.

Tale's End Slums, Magnagrad



A part of him felt invincible.

His heart trembled, as it always did, but there was a newborn courage blossoming within it. He had blocked a rocket. Sure, the paling had been shattered into a thousand pieces, but still... He had saved them. Not only his friends, but everyone at the pub as well. It was undeniable. He was a hero! He couldn't wait to rub it in Galahad's face.

Ragnar allowed himself one final glance at the pub as he ran ahead toward the warehouse where the sharpshooter was located. While Ragnar's heart swelled with pride, his brain was swimming in questions. He had no idea what the hell was going on. Why had a rocket been fired with the express aim of blowing up the place where his friends drank? How was the cyan wolf cub able to warn him in time? And, perhaps most importantly, why the hell were there sounds of a fight now coming from within the pub? He supposed none of those things mattered at the moment. All that mattered was the bastard sharpshooter. Ragnar had to reach him before he could reload.

Something in his spine moved in a way it wasn't supposed to. He had endured worse, but here, in a live fire situation, an injury like that could prove disastrous if he allowed it to get in the way of his movements. He did his best to square the discomfort away in some dark corner of his mind.

Twenty feet ahead of him stood the warehouse. There was open window at the top floor where the rocket must've been fired from. Ragnar cursed silently, wishing Ziotea had been there beside him. She would be able to jump to that window instantly, or fling him up there. Ragnar smirked, wondering how she'd react when he told her about this night.

Ragnar maintained his stride, not daring to make himself faster through his ether, as he would need as much of it as possible in the coming fight. When Ragnar reached the entrance of the warehouse, he unleashed a spark of ether in his right palm, summoning his etherblade and in one swift instance he swung the silver-colored sword horizontally across the rotting doors, immediately cutting them in half before plowing through them to the warehouse's interior. There was a chance they weren't locked, but he couldn't risk slowing down.

Ragnar's pace slowed as the darkness of the warehouse overcame him. A singular shaft of light bled into the shadowed space from the open doorway behind him, but whatever this warehouse held within it, he couldn't tell. Ragnar quickly raised an open palm and with a flick of his fingers a glowing sphere of light manifested itself in the air above his outstretched hand. The ethersphere gave off a pale sapphire light, pulsing gently at first, but then blooming violently until its luminescence lit up the entirety of the warehouse floor.

Ragnar paid no mind to the countless crates stacked all across the floorspace. In the instant after the place had been lit up he had scanned the room and spotted a staircase at the far end of the floor.

Before he could reach the first step of the staircase, a scream pierced through the musty air.

It was a man's voice, crying out in pain. It had come from somewhere high above him.

Ragnar listened intently, but he could hear nothing else but the sound of the wind coming from the open doorway behind him. He made his way up the steps carefully, one by one, his etherblade humming softly in his right hand.

When he reached the top floor of the warehouse, he saw her.

The artificial etherlight spilling in from the open window painted her and the corpse of the ice pirate at her feet in a hazy amber light. She turned to Ragnar and though she stood a distance away and the light from the ethersphere was now too bright and he could barely see anything in front of him, he knew that her eyes were staring deep into his.

The sound caught in Ragnar's throat.

"Y-You... You're the girl from before. You sold us the wolf pups," the inquisitor said.

"One hundred-sixty gia. Not enough for a girl struggling to survive in this city," the girl spoke in a voice that was not hers, but seemed to belong to a hundred separate people at once.

Ragnar's heart was beating so hard it almost hurt. Whatever he was witnessing was... not natural. There was something off about the girl, as if he was seeing her through one of Rodion's micro lenses. Her body was like mist, and as her lips moved the air around her blurred. With a sickening horror he saw the splatter of blood framing her mouth. His eyes then focused on the man lying crumpled at her feet and at the horrifying wound on his neck.

"Who are you?" he asked, his eyes daring to gaze at the strange apparition in front of him .

The girl turned away from him and stared down at the pub where his brothers were.

"Everyone," she answered.

***


The Shadow & Storm Pub, Tale's End Slums, Magnagrad



There was a gloved hand holding on to Dragonov's ankle, a sliver of bone sticking out from where the wrist had been severed. With a sneer the Varyan lieutenant bent down and pried the ice pirate's fingers from his boots.

He was covered in blood. Everyone was. Everything was.

The fight against the ice pirates had ended as quickly as it began. Quite simply, it had been a massacre. All of the SA soldiers had survived, and none had been so much as wounded. Dragonov wagered the real wounds would be psychological in nature.

"Once, during the war, a Lanostran prisoner broke free, got his hands on a frag grenade and threw himself into a crowd of our conscripts. The result of that particular incident didn't compare to... this," Dragonov said to Stina, taking a cursory glance at the mounds of viscera and bone that now decorated the dancehall.

"Well done, I suppose," the Varyan lieutenant said with an appreciative smile, clasping the inquisitor on the shoulder. The inquisitor might've still been drunk, which would probably explain the horrible mess he had made of the ice pirates, but he quelled the threat with ease and for his efforts, Dragonov's men would live to tell the tale.

The giant inquisitor had tore through the ice pirates with such ferocity that even Lycaon and Dragonov had been left slack-jawed by what they were witnessing. After the fight, Lycaon had quietly asked Dragonov if this had been Father Stamenkovikj's first live combat encounter, and when the blue-eyed lieutenant answered yes, Lycaon was taken aback.

"I feel sorry for the Elurians," the Lanostran officer responded.

"Indeed," Dragonov agreed.

"What now? Kadenza managed to slow us down long enough for him to escape," Lycaon said quietly.

"Don't worry. If I know our other friend as well as I think I do, Kadenza won't be getting very far."

***


The cellar stank of old virrika and dead rats.

Their footsteps echoed through the old stone tunnel. Above them, Sister Mel heard noises. Screams, gunfire, armored limbs being sliced off and falling to the floor. The cacophony of death and slaughter that was taking place just a few feet above her head was terrifying to her ears, but she couldn't allow it to frighten her. She was a Sister of the Varyan Church. It was her duty to bring people salvation, and that was what she intended to do.

"They're all supposed to be blown to bits. What the fuck happened? Why do I pay these useless fuck ups?" Kadenza muttered to himself.

"Will you stop for just a bleeding second and listen to me?!" she screamed, her voice resonating through the dark tunnel.

The smuggler ignored her and continued onward, his hands buried in his pockets. Sister Mel remained where she stood.

"Kadenza," she called, tired and desperate.

Finally, he listened. Kadenza turned to face her, and for the first time, she could see the terror in his eyes.

"What?"

"I know what they'll do to you," she said.

"So do I."

"No. You don't."

Mel wrapped her arms around him. She rested her face on his chest, hearing his heartbeat. It came in quick violent pulses, like the music that had been ringing in her ears just a half hour ago.

"They'll take you to the Ice Vault in Muraad, where they'll keep you in a frozen cage until your body decides it doesn't want to bother anymore. That's what'll happen if you don't go along willingly," Mel spoke the words candidly, as if this was a known certainty. "I don't know why the SA is after you, but you're a valuable source of information for them. If you cooperate and agree to work with this Lieutenant Dragonov, they'll spare you," she pleaded.

He smiled.

"All those years at that nunnery and you still don't know a fuckin' thing about anything," he answered, pushing her back violently.

"I'm in deep! You've no semblance of an idea what'll happen to me if I talk," he spat, his face contorting with fear and rage, "You think a cold cell scares me? It doesn't compare to what they'll do--"

"And just who are 'they', exactly?" a voice spoke from the darkness behind them.

"Who's there?!" Kadenza screamed, his voice breaking. When Mel turned around, Father Hassan was standing a few feet behind her, a smile touching his lips.

"Father--"

"Take your friend's advice and get out of here," Hassan said, cutting her off.

Fighting back the tears in her eyes, Mel nodded at the inquisitor. Taking one last glance at Kadenza, the Sister began to make her way past Hassan when a glint of something shiny flashed in the dark. As if in slow motion, she watched as Kadenza raised the jeweled hand-cannon he had been gripping behind him and aimed it at Father Hassan.

In the eternity between seconds, Sister Mel knew. That weapon, at that distance, was powerful enough to blow both her and Father Hassan apart. He didn't care if she was in the way. There was murder in his eyes, and nothing would stop him from pulling that trigger.

As the realization hit her, so did the explosion. She felt the blast of force rocking her backward, and in the instant before she blacked out, she saw a dark blur moving with an inhuman quickness in front of her.

Mel found herself on the cold stone floor. Her ears ringing. Her vision obscured by flashes. It was as if a bomb had gone off in her head. She tried to get up, but realized that she couldn't. Something was holding her in place.

When her vision finally came into focus she found Hassan kneeling in front of her, one hand gripping her arm tightly, the other stretched out in front of him. A pale gold light seemed to be resonating from his open hand. A paling, she realized. To her horror, she realized that same hand was a bloody mess and was missing several fingers. The inquisitor was still smiling through it all. Sweat was collecting on his brow, but somehow, Hassan was soldiering on through the injury as if it was nothing. Whether the man had trained to be able to endure such pain, or if he was just insane, Mel didn't know.

Kadenza was writhing on the ground in front of them screaming, a curved dagger buried hilt-deep in his shoulder. Hassan made his way to the smuggler and with his one good hand he grabbed Kadenza by the collar, picked him up and slammed him hard against the wall.

"You and I, we're going to have a conversation," the inquisitor spoke.

Kadenza continued to scream in agony.

"Stop screaming, please."

In an instant, Kadenza closed his mouth and ceased his wailing. His eyes seemed to relax and though he still trembled from the pain, the same cocksure attitude returned to his face.

"Tell me about your dealings with Father Dara, the apostate summoner," Hassan demanded.

"Didn't deal with him directly. He was weird. Didn't talk at all, seemed terrified of everything. There was someone else. He wanted me to find Dara a vessel and a crew. They wanted to cross the sea. To El."

Hassan paused for a second, seemingly to take that last bit of information in.

"Who was this other individual?"

"No one important. Some stiff servant. A proxy."

"A proxy for whom?"

Kadenza stared at Hassan unblinkingly, then scowled.

"I'll die if I tell you that," he answered matter-of-factly.

"I don't care. Tell me who this servant was working for."

Kadenza smiled then.

"He was cautious. Did a decent job of it. Erased his tracks, but nothing gets by me. If I want to know something, I find out. It took me a few months of digging but eventually, I discovered who he's working for."

The young smuggler leaned in close to Hassan with an impish look in his eye.

"Lady Ophelia Bjornlie. Head of the Bjornlie Ether Stock. She's financing the apostate's journey to El, and she's keeping him hidden."

Er, make that tomorrow!
@The Angry Goat @Draken @Sisyphus

Post should be up tonight/early tomorrow!


Mother Lilana Merketh
Warband Leviathan




20 yr. Female Muuradan
Short-Range Divination Magic
Specialties in Reconnaissance, Field Survival, and Predation

About Mother Merketh:
Mother Lilana Merketh is a comely woman, whose tidy braids of white hair and small lithe body hold the potential to sway many men. However, those who gaze too long at her usual loose, flowing outfits are as likely to first notice the sturdy padding beneath as she is to begin moving upon them. Though a woman with an empathetic heart for those she cares for, Mother Merketh is a huntress by nature, and does not take kindly to anybody treating her as a catch. Having participated in great hunts far to the north in her youth, she considers the opinions and input of the unproven as half-valid at best, and instead focuses upon the truly capable, and the next great trial she has chosen to surmount.

Lilana was born in the far north to the Merketh clan, where the sheer cold demanded each be able to hold their own warmth with ether - or be lost when they could no longer remain pressed to their parents for aid. In her instinctual drive for freedom, toddler Lilana left the relative comfort of her insulated home for the first time a solid year before most were allowed to dare, and shocked many when she lived to walk again, for cold is the single greatest killer of the wastes. Her grit and etheric potential were praised, even as her parents delivered scoldings and worried tears.

By the age of 8, she was assisting in the Merketh's Great Hunts, wherein the young adults of their tribe - the men and childless women in their prime, tracked, trapped, and slew the greatest beasts of the wastes for protection, food, and incredible materials nearly beyond value. At that time she carried things and helped repair simple tools such as nets. By 9 she was carving hides and scales, even assisting in the laying of new traps in the paths and lairs of great beasts. On her 10th birthday, she was given the honor of participating in the kill, being one of the first five to loose arrows into the drugged wyvern. Though not as great as the Ice Dragons of old, the scales she collected for herself are among her most prized and financially valuable possessions, being harder than metal, sharper than a spear, and almost impossibly conductive to the cold. But a week after this first taste of glory, an Inquisitor of Varya passed by on an annual visit around the clans. Upon hearing of her reputation, the man spun her true tales of the glory he had won in his work, and tested her. She accepted the subsequent offer with little hesitation. Since then she has bonded with her warband, and grown respect for her officers, though the specifics of the Seminary's strict hierarchy yet elude her capacity to care.

Mother Lilana Merketh is a terrifying woman, whose loose and dirtied braids of white hair and inconspicuous, powerful body hold the potential to take down most any foe. However, those who can see past her powerful bow and clawed gauntlets of poisoned wyvernscale may first notice that beneath the hardened exterior is a caring woman, who would stop at nothing for those she trusts and considers family.
hey everyone,

sorry for the lack of updates! been in kind of a rut lately. just the usual lack of energy/focus. will try to work on stuff this weekend. :)
@deathbringer Oh hey! Didn't see your last post about the move! Good to hear from you. Take all the time you need. We'll be here.
@Drakey Hi! Glad to see you back!


@shylarah I like those! Let's go with :

Right Leg: Regel
Eyes: Yora
Soul: Kirana

@CollectorOfMyst I think Vertax is going a bit too simple.
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