Oneiromancer

The Last City

Sorry for the delay but law school is a bitch. The first IC post is up and the Rp is now live . Let me know what you think

The Last City

PROLOGUE: A NIGHT OF KNIVES THE SYCOPHANT The Sycophant stood above the city; from where he floated in the air even the Wizard’s tower and Palace were but specks below his feet. It was nearing the end of the month and the moon was full in the sky; but even if some night-time denizen was to look up he would see nothing. Layers of magic shielded him from human sight and even the most skilled mage would only see a shifting blur. To the east the fertile the stony grasslands of the city gave way to the sand sea and to the west the Golden dragon was a silky blur on the horizon. . Antioch stretched out below him like some monstrous tapestry; from here the city was an open book to him. He closed his eyes and muttered incantations: the twisted tongue of magic. He drew analogy and Metaphor in that wretched tongue turning and curving the words with subtle intonation and as the words bent to his will so did the world. With an audible pop a third eye appeared on his forehead: horned, golden without irises and full of malevolence it regarded the city below him almost with a will of its own. The eye turned its gaze to the slums and he was there; walking through the ramshackle alleys: the aroma of cheap ale and piss and semen assaulted his nostrils. In a side alley a man had a woman pinned against the wall and was thrusting furiously; the woman moaned and stood limply under the assault. A bed on the upper story of a cheap brothel squeaked loudly across the street drawing jeers and curses from those traversing the streets. Food vendors selling meat cooked over flimsy wooden grills; whores too old or ugly to be taken in by any of the establishments that lined the street and those that were just too poor to live in any part of the city. They didn’t see him of course; he was here only in his mind. He moved down the streets to the hovels where the poor and desperate lived; past gambling games played by men on an overturned bucket with two battered looking wooden dice. He saw them all but they would never know that he was there. Slowly he guided his spirit form towards the nicer parts of the slums; such as they were. They were no longer lit by the odd lantern but proper gas lights. Finally his footsteps stopped before the Blooming Orchid. He was tempted to physically manifest himself and go in for a drink; he had been months since he had gone in and it gave him some childish satisfaction to see the people scuttling around and falling over themselves with shock. He was considering the idea when he felt a shift in the flow of magic. He uttered a single word and he snapped back to his body so far above the city. A large sphere of darkness floated above the city, a foul sphere of miasma. He recognised the Necromancer magic immediately. It hung there for a moment then split into dozens of smaller shapes plummeting into the city like stones from a slingshot. A few flew towards the market district; a larger number towards the slums. Almost two dozen black shapes plummeted towards the inner city: three of them splattered like flies against the magical wards the circle had erected around that part of the city; the rest had altered their trajectory after that and landed only at the gates of the inner city. Another dozen had landed in the area near the gate of the wizard. These however were not half as alarming to the sycophant as the even ten shapes that seemed to have landed at the foot of the cultivators’ plateau. All the other areas had some form of protection or the other. The inner city had the guards and the circle; there was no chance of the Nazarene wizard-assassins pulling down the gate and starting a massacre. In the slums they would have to contend with the local assassin’s guild. There was still no reason to think that whore Athel has turned cloak. The mercenaries were near the gate; they seemed trustworthy enough and even if they did betray their contract gate it wouldn’t matter anyway: the Nazarene army was miles away. Delphi would be sleeping now but would be soon enough to act once the Assassins started setting the market on fire. The Sycophant closed his third eye and dropped. He fell for what seemed like hours, his robes: a purple so deep it was almost black fluttered around his waist. He landed soundlessly among the assassins. Before any of them could as much as move he had opened two of their bellies; their intestines moves like snakes to his will and wrapped around the legs of their compatriots, the assassin’s stumbled and fell, cursed and fumbled. His daggers moved up and down methodically and five more were dead before they had as much as drawn their blades. The arcane assault nearly broke him when it came; obsidian thunder raced towards him from up the slope. It shattered the wards he had set around him, he felt his skull crack and blood run down the side of his face. He jumped back and fell into a crouch. More force slammed the spot he had been standing on blackening the ground and leaving it steaming and bubbling. The necromancer was on a higher part of the slope. His robes black robes were lined with wide golden whorls; indicating his rank as being just below the Necromancer Inner Circle: he wore the skull of a Yak or some other great horned beast on his head. The empty eyes of the beast crackled with black lightning as the Necromancer renewed his assault. This time the sycophant met it with lightning of his own. Azure and Obsidian crashed against each other with a force that cracked the ground under it. Again and again the Necromancer sent spears of black light after him and time and time again he met it with his own magic. The sycophant grinned: if this was the child’s play the Necromancers called magic he would soon – blinding pain crawled up his thigh. He looked down to see the corpse of the man he had just killed plunging a dagger into his thigh a second time. He shouldn’t have forgotten that he was fighting a necromancer. Red clouded his vision. He moved the air into his palm, the strain of the magic cracked a rib but he did not care. When he let it go an ear-splitting sound echoed across the city. The moving corpses in front of him disintegrated. Organs, blood and body parts rained down the length on the slope. Ribcages burst, teeth cracked and clothes were reduced to shreds, Any metal the corpses were carrying bent and twisted, Even the Necromancer was knocked of his feet. Then he began to sing. The strange grammars of the high magic filled the air: the necromancer began to counter with a chant of his own but he was a child to the Sycophant’s power. The necromancer’s body suddenly grew taught; he jerked up like he was a puppet on unseen strings and began floating towards the Sycophant. The sycophant started walking towards the slowly revolving man all the while singing the song of high magic. The Necromancer gave up his chanting and began to scream. The Sycophant bent down to the Necromancers neck and took a bite. Bloody sprayed and the Necromancer started thrashing further. The Sycophant; seeming oblivious pulled down his hood and took another bite, this time from the cheek; he chewed swallowed then moved his thumb near the eye socket of his victim. He regarded the eyeball solemnly in the palm of his hand for another moment then yanked at it to free it from the trailing string of tissue that still connected it too the necromancers skull and popped it into his mouth. After a few minutes the Sycophant suddenly stopped; letting a piece of the man’s gut he had just been eating fall from his hand. The red haze left his vision. He looked at the necromancer’s body as if he didn't recognize it; then he puked. He knelt there in the moonlight for a few moments with his hands clutched around himself sobbing. He cursed himself: for his rashness, his stupidity and above all his weakness. He reasoned that all was not lost and there must still be assassins left in the city: maybe someone had already captured a few alive. Rising slowly he broke into a sprint and jumped into the air. He rose into sky until he was no more than a speck from the ground. Then just as silently as he had come, he vanished.

The Last City

Also, do I get confidential information?

Yes, you do. Ill message it to you tomorrow...

The Last City

Also, is this in any way related to the actual city of Antioch IRL? Or is the city just called that?

No, It is not related to the actual city of Antioch. I had just finished reading a Biography of Tancred of Antioch a few days before I thought of the RP so i guess i got inspired...

Sutternalt's Shop of Signatures, Avatars, and Other Images

Type: Signature What: The present text of my signature Inspiration: Sandman by Neil Gaiman

The Last City

Great to see a cultivator liaison. Just a few things: the priesthood does not allow anybody else to farm the plateau's just being invited onto the is a great honor. Stealing from the priesthood is death sentence. Apart from that I think that the character is great. He is so very different from the rest of the cast. Hopefully he can play a foil to the more serious characters and lighten the tone of the RP once in a while... Add to the character tab once you've made the changes It also seems like we've filled in all character slots

The Last City

Ok, Ill make the first IC post tomorrow and we can get this show on the road.