The Grey Dust
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Actually Wicked isn't "very good", rather quite the opposite really if you think about it.
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Actually Wicked isn't "very good", rather quite the opposite really if you think about it.
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5 days ago
Protip. Next time when some young punk challenges you to a boxing match, tell them you first have to beat Mike Bison/Balrog from street fighters.
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6 days ago
If you're happy and you know it clap your hands!.... Seize them and cut off their hands!
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8 days ago
A true Caesar salad is eaten piece by leafy piece by stabbing each lettuce leaf with a knife.
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19 days ago
It's Erection day in America! Go to the Poles!
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Most Recent Posts
He threw it into those rapacious gullets.
Such as that dog is, who by barking craves,
And quiet grows soon as his food he gnaws,
-Inferno, Canto VI, Lines 27-29
Three barking mouths, snarling fangs with lips uncurled. The chain of their tether strained back as a wolf tested the length of its chain. Finding itself salivating at the mouth, and yet pulled back and recalled to the post. Ah there it would find its bond infuriating, wanting to gnaw at the metal that condemns them to this starving hell. For they were gluttonous beasts, craving for flesh so unwittingly walking at the mouth of the cave before them. Food and water, so close to the water's edge as the party entered, threading across the stone, scented most foul. It was only natural that the canines took offense to the malingering scent which wafted in, and howled in recourse. What gave them away in the depth of the cave? Was it their faces in the light? The stench? the sound of splashing feet? Or the hunger that filled their empty stomachs to churn upon themselves. A tongue that dripped of venom, nearly foaming to maim and kill, to fill their pain with soothing balm of gilead, to feast upon something to save their stomachs from the ulcers that shall destroy itself. Oh for the sake of hunger, did their eyes sharpen, fur raised and bristled back, heart pump with a hunting vigor. The primal forces urging the wolves to howl and hunt, the pack alive once more.
And as they had their pack, so did the psion have his. Food for thought, as he reached into the reclaimed bits of goblin food and threw them within reach of hungry jowls. He knew a hungry mongrel when he saw one, too many times he had to fend them off to snatch a meal for himself as a street rat. But he also knew the appearance of a dangerous cur, one driven to the edge of starvation and rabid enough to bite. These wolves were no different, and it did not take a great intellect to surmise that it was difficult to bite an arm or leg or snarl and howl, when a mouth was busy chewing on food. As such with food in sight the wolves like current, flowed to the path of least resistance, taking to the food with lapping appreciation, allowing the party to move on in peace perhaps...
Unless of course these wolves would still be hungry after their meal, and find themselves hungering like the risen dead for human (orc, goliath, crow, and whatever the changeling classifies as) flesh. As such, lacking their presumptuously presumed leader Seethe, the mute turned to Kiki and raised an eyebrow, before making a hand motion towards the continued path. Hopefully these dogs will leave them be, and this bribe will not come to bite them in the arse later.
Such as that dog is, who by barking craves,
And quiet grows soon as his food he gnaws,
-Inferno, Canto VI, Lines 27-29
Three barking mouths, snarling fangs with lips uncurled. The chain of their tether strained back as a wolf tested the length of its chain. Finding itself salivating at the mouth, and yet pulled back and recalled to the post. Ah there it would find its bond infuriating, wanting to gnaw at the metal that condemns them to this starving hell. For they were gluttonous beasts, craving for flesh so unwittingly walking at the mouth of the cave before them. Food and water, so close to the water's edge as the party entered, threading across the stone, scented most foul. It was only natural that the canines took offense to the malingering scent which wafted in, and howled in recourse. What gave them away in the depth of the cave? Was it their faces in the light? The stench? the sound of splashing feet? Or the hunger that filled their empty stomachs to churn upon themselves. A tongue that dripped of venom, nearly foaming to maim and kill, to fill their pain with soothing balm of gilead, to feast upon something to save their stomachs from the ulcers that shall destroy itself. Oh for the sake of hunger, did their eyes sharpen, fur raised and bristled back, heart pump with a hunting vigor. The primal forces urging the wolves to howl and hunt, the pack alive once more.
And as they had their pack, so did the psion have his. Food for thought, as he reached into the reclaimed bits of goblin food and threw them within reach of hungry jowls. He knew a hungry mongrel when he saw one, too many times he had to fend them off to snatch a meal for himself as a street rat. But he also knew the appearance of a dangerous cur, one driven to the edge of starvation and rabid enough to bite. These wolves were no different, and it did not take a great intellect to surmise that it was difficult to bite an arm or leg or snarl and howl, when a mouth was busy chewing on food. As such with food in sight the wolves like current, flowed to the path of least resistance, taking to the food with lapping appreciation, allowing the party to move on in peace perhaps...
Unless of course these wolves would still be hungry after their meal, and find themselves hungering like the risen dead for human (orc, goliath, crow, and whatever the changeling classifies as) flesh. As such, lacking their presumptuously presumed leader Seethe, the mute turned to Kiki and raised an eyebrow, before making a hand motion towards the continued path. Hopefully these dogs will leave them be, and this bribe will not come to bite them in the arse later.
Yes.
I would like to throw my hat into the ring.
Would a God of Knowledge with subdomains of Secrets and Magic? Be acceptable and if so may I Claim said god?
I would like to throw my hat into the ring.
Would a God of Knowledge with subdomains of Secrets and Magic? Be acceptable and if so may I Claim said god?
A bite of the serpent's appeal,
Pain which physicians never heal,
Produced with evil seeds in wait,
Lost is innocence: gone is faith,
Eyes hungered for the tainted meal.
It had all gone so swimmingly, each player doing their task. Allies were summoned, conjured as they appeared to take into the fray. The water elemental although taking tooth and nail, seemed to avenge itself by pummeling its foe in the style of pugilists. Slamming itself into the chosen dog all the while a shark seemed to have joined in on the fray with pointed teeth. All of them took their marks, taking after how the warlock took after Jill's bullet and began to punish the hound. The beholder seemed to forgo his sword for a novel cast of lightning, the electricity jolting all at once across the line of three enemies. Each dog suffering after the other in exquisite pain that made the masochist scrape his tongue inside his mouth with a hint of jealousy. To feel the lash across ones flesh was a searing agony, but to experience the shock coursing through every neuron? Indeed the fallen had a burning desire to be the one receiving such a storm by Cynthia and Dyn. For this worthless mongrel failed thrice to obey and bite, for all the teeth that gnashed and growled, no such head could lead the attack without the inner quarrel. Thus with a heavy heart the Warlock was struck with impunity, unbearably unscathed for all his masochist drive.
Yet along came a dark angel, a cursed blessing that stirred the oceans into frenzy. A mistress clad in darkness and nothing more, a seducer in the shadows bearing fishnet stockings improper naked and yet clothed. Indeed like Venus, from the castrated impotence of a titan, born from the sea. Oh how the waters parted in her wake in her rapidly rabid advance, washed in foam and darkness as pure as tarnished silver. From those pale lips the kraken's ink, the essence of nyx that flowed so thickly from her harlequin smile, sweet pitiless salivation. In the darkness the duo dabbled, two wretched beauties as twisted as they were flawed. Enveloped in their danse macabre, a tango of death and domination. Whip and net intertwined as dark tendencies wove the odd couple together much to the impairment of the dog's vision to see the grey and pallor sight. His rhythm returning the whipping lash around his own body as the weapon snaked around his chest and waist as if directed by the will of the umbramancer. For all the disappointment in the hound's failure to strike back, Koan's presence beside him was more than welcome with the tides of darkness the perverted goddess brang. her hips gyrating in open carnality as she recited her orders like a vedeic mantra.
"My lady of agony... Shall we play with our misbehaved mutt?" Nothing would be as sweet as a private show in the dark. The others had avoided the summoned void, keeping to the underlight that was filtering through the sunless, airless sky of sea. But Koan understood him, and he yearned to understand her, a puzzling paradox of madness that tugged at his dark self. The nature of the clown was not that of a fool, not by those eyes, not by the way her dervish twirled in time to deliver the eldritch blasts those puppies so deserved. Dark magics filled the waters, what pact did she make with her soul? What taint did manifest in her mystery? Who was the master of this mistress? One above her that sent him to her in conniving and conceiving an wicked intimacy between them? A child of anemones beneath the blood-fed waves, offspring of dark and darker still.
And yet alas, it would seem the heavens would intervene from this trysted lariat. Beatrice, sweet Beatrice, from the celestial planes on high, breaking the moment with spellbinding beauty that outshone the darkest purgatory. The colours of the pattern, woven with the brother of death's curly locks, scintillating so from the crystal until alas their dog toy could growl no longer at the barking mad darkness. And behold, the tri-headed hellhound before the dangerous duo was lulled into a trance. Slowed from wrath and ruin into a sluggish apathy, much to the disappoint of 'Sauron' who frowned at the conflicting nuances in both women's demands. One goaded, urged, demanded of his lash to strangulate and harm until no more struggle would come from the whelping, but the other who had so wrapped the worthless mongrel around her fingers like the twirls of her own hair so desired that no such harm should come to her pet. Her pet? No, it was their pet, for only pain, only delicious pain could be fed to such a ravenous beast, a glutton for punishment. So why should the pain stop? There would be no pleasing Beatrice in the bounty of purgatory, but the golden apple of Dis was placed upon the Warlock's hand, just as much as the wispy shadow whip. From Adonis to Paris, fairest of all for the fairest. To Koan alone he whispered low in tutting: "How disappointing. She has taken away our toy..."
"Then to the shadows with you Curs! Shadow Banish." A whip untwisted with a flick, circling like a shark as it swung around like a lasso from the darkness. The master's symbol of dominion over the lesser beasts, the primal reaction to abhor the sting of the cruel lash. A crack resounded, and then another, twice fold was the whip cast and recast away at the uncharmed hounds remaining in the fray. And from their own shadows did rise the greater beasts, morphed into forms befitting their owner's nature. The jaws engulfed them, sealing shut as the twin heads of Orthrus emerged to snatch away the other dogs and leave the last one hypnotized before the warlocks. Jill had so taken away their fun together by demanding this dog untouched, but now he had forced the issue as the others disappeared from sight for the moment. They would return for as long as his concentration held, entrapping them in the realm of shadows in the belly of their fabled cousin. The hexblade had no intention of sharing their toy, what greed marked this target theirs and theirs alone was wiped as radiant Jill took control of the situation with a spell rather than by instilling a fear and natural submission to the plaything.
"Now we have no choice do we?" A smile of lunacy beamed at Koan in pride.
A compromise between both ladies, the one in control would be kept from the harm of the other dogs sensing their brother's stupor.
But now it was fair game for the rest of them to ravage until the seas ran with blood to bring forth the Furies.
Pain which physicians never heal,
Produced with evil seeds in wait,
Lost is innocence: gone is faith,
Eyes hungered for the tainted meal.
It had all gone so swimmingly, each player doing their task. Allies were summoned, conjured as they appeared to take into the fray. The water elemental although taking tooth and nail, seemed to avenge itself by pummeling its foe in the style of pugilists. Slamming itself into the chosen dog all the while a shark seemed to have joined in on the fray with pointed teeth. All of them took their marks, taking after how the warlock took after Jill's bullet and began to punish the hound. The beholder seemed to forgo his sword for a novel cast of lightning, the electricity jolting all at once across the line of three enemies. Each dog suffering after the other in exquisite pain that made the masochist scrape his tongue inside his mouth with a hint of jealousy. To feel the lash across ones flesh was a searing agony, but to experience the shock coursing through every neuron? Indeed the fallen had a burning desire to be the one receiving such a storm by Cynthia and Dyn. For this worthless mongrel failed thrice to obey and bite, for all the teeth that gnashed and growled, no such head could lead the attack without the inner quarrel. Thus with a heavy heart the Warlock was struck with impunity, unbearably unscathed for all his masochist drive.
Yet along came a dark angel, a cursed blessing that stirred the oceans into frenzy. A mistress clad in darkness and nothing more, a seducer in the shadows bearing fishnet stockings improper naked and yet clothed. Indeed like Venus, from the castrated impotence of a titan, born from the sea. Oh how the waters parted in her wake in her rapidly rabid advance, washed in foam and darkness as pure as tarnished silver. From those pale lips the kraken's ink, the essence of nyx that flowed so thickly from her harlequin smile, sweet pitiless salivation. In the darkness the duo dabbled, two wretched beauties as twisted as they were flawed. Enveloped in their danse macabre, a tango of death and domination. Whip and net intertwined as dark tendencies wove the odd couple together much to the impairment of the dog's vision to see the grey and pallor sight. His rhythm returning the whipping lash around his own body as the weapon snaked around his chest and waist as if directed by the will of the umbramancer. For all the disappointment in the hound's failure to strike back, Koan's presence beside him was more than welcome with the tides of darkness the perverted goddess brang. her hips gyrating in open carnality as she recited her orders like a vedeic mantra.
"My lady of agony... Shall we play with our misbehaved mutt?" Nothing would be as sweet as a private show in the dark. The others had avoided the summoned void, keeping to the underlight that was filtering through the sunless, airless sky of sea. But Koan understood him, and he yearned to understand her, a puzzling paradox of madness that tugged at his dark self. The nature of the clown was not that of a fool, not by those eyes, not by the way her dervish twirled in time to deliver the eldritch blasts those puppies so deserved. Dark magics filled the waters, what pact did she make with her soul? What taint did manifest in her mystery? Who was the master of this mistress? One above her that sent him to her in conniving and conceiving an wicked intimacy between them? A child of anemones beneath the blood-fed waves, offspring of dark and darker still.
And yet alas, it would seem the heavens would intervene from this trysted lariat. Beatrice, sweet Beatrice, from the celestial planes on high, breaking the moment with spellbinding beauty that outshone the darkest purgatory. The colours of the pattern, woven with the brother of death's curly locks, scintillating so from the crystal until alas their dog toy could growl no longer at the barking mad darkness. And behold, the tri-headed hellhound before the dangerous duo was lulled into a trance. Slowed from wrath and ruin into a sluggish apathy, much to the disappoint of 'Sauron' who frowned at the conflicting nuances in both women's demands. One goaded, urged, demanded of his lash to strangulate and harm until no more struggle would come from the whelping, but the other who had so wrapped the worthless mongrel around her fingers like the twirls of her own hair so desired that no such harm should come to her pet. Her pet? No, it was their pet, for only pain, only delicious pain could be fed to such a ravenous beast, a glutton for punishment. So why should the pain stop? There would be no pleasing Beatrice in the bounty of purgatory, but the golden apple of Dis was placed upon the Warlock's hand, just as much as the wispy shadow whip. From Adonis to Paris, fairest of all for the fairest. To Koan alone he whispered low in tutting: "How disappointing. She has taken away our toy..."
"Then to the shadows with you Curs! Shadow Banish." A whip untwisted with a flick, circling like a shark as it swung around like a lasso from the darkness. The master's symbol of dominion over the lesser beasts, the primal reaction to abhor the sting of the cruel lash. A crack resounded, and then another, twice fold was the whip cast and recast away at the uncharmed hounds remaining in the fray. And from their own shadows did rise the greater beasts, morphed into forms befitting their owner's nature. The jaws engulfed them, sealing shut as the twin heads of Orthrus emerged to snatch away the other dogs and leave the last one hypnotized before the warlocks. Jill had so taken away their fun together by demanding this dog untouched, but now he had forced the issue as the others disappeared from sight for the moment. They would return for as long as his concentration held, entrapping them in the realm of shadows in the belly of their fabled cousin. The hexblade had no intention of sharing their toy, what greed marked this target theirs and theirs alone was wiped as radiant Jill took control of the situation with a spell rather than by instilling a fear and natural submission to the plaything.
"Now we have no choice do we?" A smile of lunacy beamed at Koan in pride.
A compromise between both ladies, the one in control would be kept from the harm of the other dogs sensing their brother's stupor.
But now it was fair game for the rest of them to ravage until the seas ran with blood to bring forth the Furies.
Thomas Richard Harrison
Location: Barad-dûr (The Tower).
Interacting with: Satilla, Nor.
Interacting with: Satilla, Nor.
Vacant now as before,
Or perhaps I never was,
In essence I am nothing,
Do you know what I am?
What strange magics flitted here and there. Something was certainly amiss, Thomas could feel it in the air. The boy's spell had pulled his target back, just as he had intended, armor flung back and partially crushed by the sheer force of gravity. And yet something unexpected happen, something of an anomaly that all the armors seemed to be frozen in time. Their advance halted for whatever reason and the sorcerer wondered why. His own spell shouldn't have done that, not given the range he could manage and the stability of the gravity well he could produce. Sure with another decade or two of training the very same spell could destroy entire battlefields, swallowing up everything into the event horizon like extruding noodles from a pipe. There was a potential for greatness, and great destruction. Of course, that said, the Sorcerer had years of experience ahead of him, and this vocational exploration was exactly what was needed to hone his more practical skills.
That said, never look a gift horse in the mouth, or so the farm-boy would know. Whatever held the armors down be it his spell or something else, the rest of the group took it upon them to capitalize on the break in continuity. Behind him the sound of a bear mauling the reverent, Kyra, Keystone and Sana seem to also be managing their foes with their arms. Leaving the magically inclined of the party at arms with an armor that could charge them at any moment. Well not that the zombie could charge, more like shuffle towards in a very slow stumbling motion given the damage to the metal and the ex-ex-man inside. Did Satilla intend to be the point guard? As touched as he was, the party's healer really shouldn't be placed in such a dangerous position, then again he wasn't too keen on getting in a debate of party roles with Satilla right this very instant. Thus Thomas yielded, and stood his ground behind Satilla watching the girl take her defensive stance with a glorified stick as those soulless eyes stared from the helmet'd dead. "May we should let the fighters handle it Satilla, I mean you're too important to- Us."
Ask and you shall receive. For like some stout-drinking stout knight, the dwarven metal man interceded himself between the non-fighters. Well it was time to see the man's knife skills in play. All the while Thomas pondered what spell drove the cogs behind the armor. What possible interaction could have been made between his spell and theirs? Searching his mind for any sort of connection that could be drawn from the cosmic nature of the disruption to the nature of magicks most malefic. And alas, nothing. "Uh, Feel free to go at it, I'll withhold my spells for now and stay out of your hair!" Oh the irony of telling a barber they can cut without worry of being burned...
Cerberus, monster cruel and uncouth,
With his three gullets like a dog is barking
Over the people that are there submerged.
-Inferno, Canto VI, Lines 13-15
The Great Worm, or worms, in the distance howling. With a sigh the umbral one shook his head, one part disappointed in being dragged into a fight from the shadows, and one part disappointed that he would not be able to allow the darkness the drow mistress had conjured up to envelop his flesh. Oh for a tainted soul seeking cleansing, the warlock did love his shadows, feeling their cold warm his skin, the unradiance filling his spirits. Black as jet ink, ebongloam like the void, swallowing and expanding the edge of darkness unto the brink. Enwrapt by the tendrils, obsidian lace like a mantle over his mantled body, and with the sensuous touch of pitch a net held in hand. Just as Koan had instructed, though interwoven in such grasp a serpentine form snaking around his armored arm. Were they to capture this guardian? Hound or not, elemental or not, 'Sauron' had his preferences for his own canine companion. Even as he watched through the growing darkness with those devilish eyes ever-burning orange, he knew what must be done. Yes, A test, a trial, a labor, one of dozens to be done to be redeemed in the eyes of the accursed Gods. And so be it, to step out of the shadows, soon enough,
But one was not enough was it? One for all they had was easy, but three? Oh three would be a challenge. With teeth and claws, waiting to gnash and splay, to cut and cut deep. To gorge, and tear, to rip asunder and taint the dark waters with scarlet blood. To feel those fangs burrow into the flesh: such pain, and those claws slashing across the skin: such agony. Those thoughts made a creeping smile appear across the Fallen's lips, an eye cast at Koan, those pale lashes blinking in a forgiveness for her plan and preparation to be unraveled by some offending dolt. One of their numbers had summoned an aqueous ally, but it was she that awoke the tranquility of the watchmen. Whatever plans they had, be it capture, diplomacy, or polymorphic ways, dissolved away with the attention of the beasts. Thus the hunt began, the prey to be hunted the hunters, and the hunters where the prey. It has been only a week or so since he had the pleasure of killing a quarry, most preferred their bounties alive for whatever purposes they had to bring justice to those who evaded capture. Thus alas, so many were no good to him dead, but sometimes there would be an understanding of sorts and the death deemed was... Acceptable.
"I'll be sure to leave one alive for you to play with..." The warlock's wicked smile beneath that eternal hood shot at Koan just as Jill did the same to the approaching trio. They had summoned darkness, and what appeared to be a water elemental to their side, but now it was for 'Sauron' to do his part, taking his strides out into the underlight moving towards the female Aasimar who fired the first shot. And as the shadowed one left, the shadows pulled with him, linger wisps and tendrils longing to claim their servitor, or was it he that led them into the sea's light? Pulled out of the bitter darkness, the shape of a whip, cast of shadows themselves as they magically coalesced into being within his right hand. His shadow lash, manifested the dark tendril ever billowy but crisp with his full swim that glided effortlessly as afforded by the wing-like nature of his enchanted cloak. The whip a weapon to tame the foul beasts, to teach them the beauty in pain, the bounty of agony. It was time for battle and these whelps would find an eager, if not suicidal, playmate in 'Sauron'
"Shadow Hex." The invocation of the shadows as an infernal glare seared itself into the triple pairs of the beast marked for death by Jill. There before the menagerie did the Fallen stand in wispy armor dark, lash of shadows in hand like a dark lord of domination. Spell-storing ring glinting in hand a signet proper inscribed and prepared with magical shields at ready. Let them come at him, unlike those who preferred to savour their spells, the warlock had no intention of doing so, should all three beast come to engage him then all the better. They shall feel the feel the power of the dark side. Even now as the shadows bore witness to the mark of Cain upon the poor unfortunate beast's central head, one that would condemn it more than Jill's bullet may have so too did 'Sauron' think of the heavens. Was she watching? Did she care about him?
"Heel, Whelp." The whip cracked. Swung around to gain momentum as the hexblade raised his arm, circling back as they approached the shadow sentinel boldly striding into abyssal depths. There was no fear of pain upon death, no worry of being torn limb from limb. No the pain would be to die for, the greatest to feel in a lifetime as three mouths shredded your mangled still-living body between the three dogs. But for now, let them bark before the sting of the lash. The first of many marks cutting across as fading shadows danced across the target inflicting the pain its wielder so loved. And more was the back-swing flung away in sweet sadism as the weapon of darkness struck again, crossing the original slash with an X. There a true mark of a cursed creature, marked for death by the warlock's curse laid upon it as twinges of agony would seep into the foul wound. Unto the brink of death and back then, this bold move shall put him within the reaches of the beasts.
"Bite me!"
Tolled
Only for payment I shall ferry,
Boating you across to paradise,
Offer me one when you are buried,
Lower the body to lower the price.
May the dead bury their own dead. The psion watched as the earth sunk and swallowed up the beheaded bodies. It was a curiosity that their resident smell stone sorcerer had the gall and grace to give goblins a grave. Missing heads in their shallow beds, unmarked but far more than what an enemy deserved. Still, there were no last rites to commend them to their goblin gods, merely unceremonious executions. And of course the former street-rat knew better than to leave such warm bodies unmolested. Not in the way of Hymn-Adriane and Kiki, but rather with an intent to search their corpses of whatever useful things before the goliath finished his mounds of earth. Slim fingers lifted two silver pieces from the dead target, and a thought considered if he should pick up the discarded goblin blade. Twas either the blade or bow and arrows left behind, and a blade was far more fetching than sticks and string. Another weapon to be added to the growing collection, as the mute affixed the new piece to his belt and tucked the coins into the man's coinpurse. Perhaps he could fancy himself now as one of those warriors from (Hammerfell) the western desert with their curved swords.
Now that the scavenging was completed, the silent watcher considered the next course of action to be done as the loam and gravel covered the remains away. Three goblins to sentry was adequate, but their lack of vocalization was worrying. Did the greenlings believe a force of three could take the five lot of them? Bar the smoldering wizard who seemed to contracted either apathy or hydrophobia, their party had the numbers. So why did these cretins not call for backup? True they had nearly killed Kiki, but given the nature of the changeling's and the rogue's budding affections, it would only incite more than just vicious words from the tiefling.
Kiki has a bard in this wretched place
Ardiane is the singer in the band,
Kiki says to Ardiane: girl I like your face,
And Adriane swoons as she takes Kiki by the hand.
Yes, being the silent one had its benefits, set aside in solitude did allow you to people watch. Watching how their little party had begun to interweave as one cohesive unit. Each having their particular place and partner as it seemed, though the stragglers were just as dangerous as the Bonnie-&-Clyde's. Certainly he knew they had been wary of his silence, and so had he been of their words. For what was not said bore secrets which intimidated the mind, but what was said could also be a lie, with acts done to deceive. Of course they didn't know his name, but he knew theirs unlike the nameless corpses lying low and under now. And the more you knew about one's enemies, the better, but the more you knew about one's own allies? Well, even better still. As it is said in the east: know your enemy, know yourself.
Into the depths of Hades, threading the trickle of the Styx, the rushing sound of its waters running over the stones as shoe-clad feet stride across the rock. The resounding footsteps, prated by the very cave telling of where and when. Not as so much a stealth operation as a stroll into the cave, keen to take the observation in what little light left lingers behind them. The shadows of Nyx unto Erebus, darkness along the path unpierced by human eyes, but alas they had amongst them a walking candlestick to illuminate the path should that sooty snooty Lordsmen take the lead. And yet by placing the wizard there, to be a neon light advertising their decent into the fold, was to ask to be riddled by arrows from all sides. Hence perhaps it was a blessing the fiery mage was a step behind thus far. If perhaps the bird could care to blaze ahead, and tell of what use a ranger has in settings un-urbane, for the psion was only versed in the city alleyways and slums not repulsively pungent goblin caves. The smell of damp molds stank like guano, or perhaps goblin feces turning the olfactories away from inhaling such foul spores. Oh wait, a moment, it was the be-lisped goliath who made such offending odor, albeit perhaps it was the orc as well? Either way one of the boys would most likely have announced their arrival beyond attempts to muffle their walk into the cave. Of which, why bother thought the psion as he simply walked inside with nary a reason to so excruciatingly conceal his presence with every step.
Enso
Completed where I begin,
Infinity means nothing,
Repeating my mantra,
Cycles of revolution,
Leave no change on me,
Endless for all eternity.
What does it mean in the end? How each day dawns the breaking sun, bright and brilliant in the morn only to be snuffed out by the shadows of night? How most beautiful of all the world's flowers bloom and blossom for a springtime romp, only to wilt and wither away. And so too would mortals live and rot, each a single drop of rain swallowed by the endless tides. It seems meaningless does it not? The futility of it all, from which a sense of worth is equated to the empty void. But perhaps, just perhaps, in the infinitesimal chance that there exists a reason for it all, then may yet still be a motivation. A drive which makes the circular path spiral to some end, closer and closer as we rise and ascend. For was it not fitting that even a single tear shed from the heavens shall raise the storming seas. And perhaps, it is this wanton desperation for validation, this strive to find a meaning, that fulfills its own eternal quest. A search for meaning, for purpose, for function. Unless of course, this existence was all just a cruel mockery of life, a penny opera played at for sheer entertainment and amusement for a twisted audience unknown.
And as one entered the stage, another had left. It appeared the Umbramancer had melded effortlessly to this band of misfits. To an extent a least, having seemingly won the approval of the female aasimar, and at least the satisfaction of the beholder. The dark drow was more than welcome to inflict more exquisite agonies upon him, but this hazing ritual it seemed was not for everyone. Or was it? From the ranting spew sourced from the betentacled holder, Koan was more than cordial with all newcomers. Of which suggested to the shadowed one that this group was either much larger than they appeared, or far less successful. Something of a suicide squad perhaps given the commentary and numbers present. Yet before another comment could be made in stride (or in the case of the many-eyed-monster in float?), the cat-lizard objected even more of her protests. Something about the current females in the group out-playing her usual hand, so to speak, to which the draconian feline scampered off in a huff. Fair enough, if she was needed, she could be tracked, twas after all his particular job should Jill require a cat of some slug-like skill. 'Sauron' gave his parting acknowledgement, a nod with those ever-burning eyes keen on searing the tabaxi into memory. Then the gaze returned once more to Her, the aasimar who began it all, marking her words with a charmed smile as the devil's wit replied in kind: "It is a blessing then, should one find joy in one's own pain."
It was not too far a swim, to find a rather peculiar tiger. One suggested by the merwoman who seemed to be the guide for the group. Now a tiger on land made for a very fine rug, but underwater? Though almost as expected with a group of this oddity, the group had wove their way to see a polymorphed tiger. One that turned into a siren of blue scales and equally hued hair. And this one appeared to have somehow known the dunderhead, or whatever his name was, the harsh sounds coming from the beholder's mouth hole was rather unpleasant to a civil ear. Though by Koan's intervention, the dark elf had interceded in the inquisition, sparing the Fallen to answer with another clever retort. A clever tongue to twist the words and mind, drowning logic in lies and burying truth in charm. Yet for all the suspicion the beholder had cast upon 'Sauron' it appeared the man, or rather beast, was more than willing to accept a tiger turned into a fishgirl. Tentacles wrapt themselves around flesh and fin, scales and tail, in some lariat of gross mismatch. Although it seemed to the warlock at least, she may have some worth to the beholder.
Ah Koan, would she do the same rite to this newcomer? Another mix of... Species? A druid who so aptly clung on to an abomination? It was almost disgusting to watch the paternalistic affection afforded by Dyn. Yet in away it was amusing to 'Sauron' to watch the ever-vigilant being drop his guard for a familiar face, no matter now small the guard was. Certainly it would appear the tigergirl had his trust, some tidbit to exploit in due time. As the burning gaze scanned over their newest edition to the party. That said, what was their particular purpose of venturing forth into the chasm of the Verdant Stream? There would be an answer in the silence, and patience. As those eyes wandered to meet Jill's while Koan spared a moment to greet the druidess.
Strings drawn tight,
The ends reunited,
A completed close,
The Circle.
Completed where I begin,
Infinity means nothing,
Repeating my mantra,
Cycles of revolution,
Leave no change on me,
Endless for all eternity.
What does it mean in the end? How each day dawns the breaking sun, bright and brilliant in the morn only to be snuffed out by the shadows of night? How most beautiful of all the world's flowers bloom and blossom for a springtime romp, only to wilt and wither away. And so too would mortals live and rot, each a single drop of rain swallowed by the endless tides. It seems meaningless does it not? The futility of it all, from which a sense of worth is equated to the empty void. But perhaps, just perhaps, in the infinitesimal chance that there exists a reason for it all, then may yet still be a motivation. A drive which makes the circular path spiral to some end, closer and closer as we rise and ascend. For was it not fitting that even a single tear shed from the heavens shall raise the storming seas. And perhaps, it is this wanton desperation for validation, this strive to find a meaning, that fulfills its own eternal quest. A search for meaning, for purpose, for function. Unless of course, this existence was all just a cruel mockery of life, a penny opera played at for sheer entertainment and amusement for a twisted audience unknown.
And as one entered the stage, another had left. It appeared the Umbramancer had melded effortlessly to this band of misfits. To an extent a least, having seemingly won the approval of the female aasimar, and at least the satisfaction of the beholder. The dark drow was more than welcome to inflict more exquisite agonies upon him, but this hazing ritual it seemed was not for everyone. Or was it? From the ranting spew sourced from the betentacled holder, Koan was more than cordial with all newcomers. Of which suggested to the shadowed one that this group was either much larger than they appeared, or far less successful. Something of a suicide squad perhaps given the commentary and numbers present. Yet before another comment could be made in stride (or in the case of the many-eyed-monster in float?), the cat-lizard objected even more of her protests. Something about the current females in the group out-playing her usual hand, so to speak, to which the draconian feline scampered off in a huff. Fair enough, if she was needed, she could be tracked, twas after all his particular job should Jill require a cat of some slug-like skill. 'Sauron' gave his parting acknowledgement, a nod with those ever-burning eyes keen on searing the tabaxi into memory. Then the gaze returned once more to Her, the aasimar who began it all, marking her words with a charmed smile as the devil's wit replied in kind: "It is a blessing then, should one find joy in one's own pain."
It was not too far a swim, to find a rather peculiar tiger. One suggested by the merwoman who seemed to be the guide for the group. Now a tiger on land made for a very fine rug, but underwater? Though almost as expected with a group of this oddity, the group had wove their way to see a polymorphed tiger. One that turned into a siren of blue scales and equally hued hair. And this one appeared to have somehow known the dunderhead, or whatever his name was, the harsh sounds coming from the beholder's mouth hole was rather unpleasant to a civil ear. Though by Koan's intervention, the dark elf had interceded in the inquisition, sparing the Fallen to answer with another clever retort. A clever tongue to twist the words and mind, drowning logic in lies and burying truth in charm. Yet for all the suspicion the beholder had cast upon 'Sauron' it appeared the man, or rather beast, was more than willing to accept a tiger turned into a fishgirl. Tentacles wrapt themselves around flesh and fin, scales and tail, in some lariat of gross mismatch. Although it seemed to the warlock at least, she may have some worth to the beholder.
Ah Koan, would she do the same rite to this newcomer? Another mix of... Species? A druid who so aptly clung on to an abomination? It was almost disgusting to watch the paternalistic affection afforded by Dyn. Yet in away it was amusing to 'Sauron' to watch the ever-vigilant being drop his guard for a familiar face, no matter now small the guard was. Certainly it would appear the tigergirl had his trust, some tidbit to exploit in due time. As the burning gaze scanned over their newest edition to the party. That said, what was their particular purpose of venturing forth into the chasm of the Verdant Stream? There would be an answer in the silence, and patience. As those eyes wandered to meet Jill's while Koan spared a moment to greet the druidess.
Strings drawn tight,
The ends reunited,
A completed close,
The Circle.
Thomas Richard Harrison
Location: Barad-dûr (The Tower).
Interacting with: Voice in the Sky, Armor 4, The Fellowship.
Interacting with: Voice in the Sky, Armor 4, The Fellowship.
As I did stand my ground upon the room,
I looked toward Kyra, and anon methought:
The armors began to move.
Predictable.
Almost disappointing.
Animated armors.
"I knew I smelled something rotten." A snide remark made by Thomas' reaction to the taunting. It appeared their enemy had revealed themselves. And despite Thomas' joking assessment earlier, maybe the mage had some skill after all. It was not easy to create such constructs, autonomous armor guardians, requiring a spark of willpower was the trick. In theory it was possible to create an army of sentiient and self-aware servitors, bound by the magical arts as a synthetic life form. And yet there are grave ethics to be considered when playing with the forces of life and death, such abominations perhaps ought to never exist unnatural as they were. And yet was magic natural? Was Thomas, born of cosmic power, not such an abomination? A creature born of magic, self-aware and serving the stars that lure their brother closer? His powers from the tainted blood, an infusion from the far realms as ancient as the evening sky. A faint radiant glow emitted about Thomas's sun-form skin, charging himself with the inner light, twas the call to battle, one mage to another. The armors screeched their metal sounds, the terror of their soiled unoiled hinges squeaking away to the vulgar sounds of Uranus, the Magician. Brash brass clashing crass rambling shambling mass reeled unfeeling steel. The coordination slow and puppet-like, moving but barely, as if the weight of its own charge was far more than the force provided. Maybe they were not so advanced as Thomas once thought.
With a quick glance at their frontlines, Sana, Kyra, and Keystone all seem to have things handled. There was a bear now to his left, and the lack of a certain dwarf certainly didn't sit very well with Thomas. The barber seemed to split, and cut himself away for this rather dire battle. There were six armors, and though only a few had moved, six possible enemies to face, and Satilla needed to live to heal the cuts and injuries the rest of us had. Thus it was time to stand his ground, for to his right the boy raised his right hand as if to halt the armor as it approached, creaking away like a macabre tin solider, Thomas gazed at and then past the metal animus. The whites of golden sunny eyes became touched by darkness, turning black from the rim as the world faded away into naught. And as Thomas' vision turned to darkness, so too did manifest a bend in space, a void grew behind the advancing armor. A tear to be filled that sucked in the gap, a pull inescapable that light was swallowed up just as Thomas's eyes turned to pitch black. Alien as they were, a momentary blindness. With the timing mastered over months of practice, Thomas channeled his power with one final collapse of his fingers, suddenly turning a halt into a fist, the spell complete and the implosion imminent.
A strong gravity well pulled the armor animus back, a nearly comical appearance if it were not so dangerous. Returned towards the wall from whence it came, armor dented in the void, crunching like a tin can as the crevice sucked away with insatiable greed. A miniaturized localized black hole, that revealed the true nature of these things. armor twisted in a a kink until pop like Keystone's joints did the face plate become ripped off. And there Thomas could see, although strange that his eyes were able to escape the void that he stared into it which usually occurred with the casting of the gravitational void. What lies beneath was no vacant hollow, but rather, a mortified face, a villager perhaps? One twisted in pain from all the crushing gravity it had endured within the tiny event horizon. So they did get the right place... But was it the right time?
"Armored Undead!" Thomas shouted at the group.
It seemed his role in combat was largey identifying what exactly they were fighting.
"The poor wizard's steel sentinel."
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