Tominas

The Shattered World

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Harun Fakim Al-Kashir

DATE: Year 7,432 of the 3rd Era. 3rd Month, 15th Day
LOCATION: The Sprawling Plains of Bervenia, Heart of Bervenia
INTERACTING WITH: Morgan@Lyla, Nimue@Crusader Lord

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The thief-king rose, maintaining his composure as he looked at this… strange child. Of course, he certainly couldn’t judge based on appearances. Knowing how things work, she was likely several centuries old, just to fuck about with common preconceptions. Still, her manner of speaking was a little carefree for his tastes. Shifting his form for the sake of comfort, his traveler’s clothes were replaced with the silks and jewelry he had taken at Castle Fraweth, freely wearing his ill-gotten goods. Part of him wondered if the two heroes of that place would notice, though their queen had not in her own hall.

Not that it mattered. Quietly, Xil was translating. More than he had said in a few days, that was for sure. He could understand Royce fine, but Nimue was different. Still, as he listened to their words, his smile faded. Monsters and demons and spirits, he had dealt with them previously. But these abominations from the East were apparently something new, different. The spirits told him that much, but their perspectives were always… off. The truly worrying part was that all of them had been concerned. The wind, the trees, even the very ground they walked on all spoke of these creatures with dread. Nothing Harun had ever heard of was that bad. Nothing.

The thief noticed Morgan being notably quiet. She glanced between her two companions, seemingly sulking in the corner. Harun was slightly surprised, she tended to be rather… outspoken. He supposed being the patron saint of a nation would do that. Still, he sure as hell didn’t mind. The sooner he got the information he needed, the sooner they could all part ways.

“Xil, I trust you’ll give me a hand here? I’ll try my best to avoid flowery language.”

“I definitely believe that.”

“I’m taking that as a yes.” The bastard cleared his throat, arms crossed as he glanced towards the mage. “With all due respect, Felspeaker, if I may interject, there are more pressing matters than Lady Royce’s ancestry.”

His smile faded, brows knitting together in concern as he stood over the rest of the group. “We need information. You either speak with the souls of the land or use divination magic, and the spirits haven’t told me of you so I’m assuming the second. How many of these abominations are there? Are they as strong as a bear, a dragon, a man? Are they land-bound? Are they intelligent? Can you see them? How do they spawn? The moon was not always dark, have we no idea why it has become so? Do we have our own armies, naval forces? Do the other nations work with us? How do our forces stand, how many men do we have? What ‘others?’ Are they as strong as us? Where are they? And most importantly, why exactly would Vis resurrect us? We are strong, but are there no great heroes in this age? Have men grown so weak?”

He let the deluge of questions hang in the air for a moment, taking a breath. It was much to consider, but he was not going to die fighting a fool’s quest. Preparation was ninety percent of any victory. Still, there was one word that stuck out from Nimue’s statements, and he could feel a grin pulling at the edge of his mouth. “Finally, and my apologies for being behind the times, but did someone say ‘airship?’”

Afterlife: Dead Sun

This was distressing.

The smell of blood and sulphur still suffused the air, but now the kits were up and trying to fight. One of them was… odd. Alien. Made of insects and moving wrong. The beast didn’t like it.

Another was smaller, weak, fragile. It had to be kept safe, had to grow… but the beast was confused. One of the group had a similar head, the creature could tell on an instinctive level that it was the same as the beast. But the others were different, strange. They had metal armor and strange appendages, moved wrong and used strange words. It turned its head to look at the biped with a similar face, simultaneously asking for clarification and guidance. The skull-man had a small item in its hand, and had conjured green flame along the side of the bridge, but it looked like the creature. Surely it was still kin, if none of the others were?

Regardless, the monsters from the ceiling were beginning to converge on the group on the bridge, and the skull-man was standing still while it threw about its green flames. The beast didn’t know much, but it saw more and more of the abominations coming towards the bridge, and knew that there wasn’t much time for the group to make their escape. They were all kin… it thought. It just had to make sure that they stayed alive long enough to figure things out.

Breaking its thoughts, one of the monsters scrambled out from the side of the bridge, only to be knocked screaming into the fire by a ball of something thrown by the alien biped. The ones around the beast were fighting, even the small one with the fluffy tail. This all was foolish. There were more coming than were already converging on the bridge, and there was no way the group could handle all of them, surely.

The creature didn’t understand. There was a growing threat, it didn’t make sense to stay. The beasts hackles began to raise, a rising snarl issuing from its throat and mixing with a small whine as it looked around. There were too many to fight, many too many. If nothing else, that was something the strange one of its kin seemed to understand. The monsters were swarming on the walls, the ground, the ceiling… and several of them were beginning to drop down onto the bridge from a low-hanging stalactite. One of them dropped down immediately next to the skull-headed kin.

Without thinking, the beast lurched forward, foaming at the mouth and crying out with a guttural call. Its teeth sank deep into the back of the thing, blood and flesh and bone compressing and snapping between its jaws. In the beast’s belly, another small growl came forth, but the creature ignored it. Snapping the monster's neck, the beast threw it over the bridge, smacking into another one of the creatures. There was no time to play, no time to eat. More were coming.

The beast slashed and clawed and bit and tore, fighting like the cornered animal it was. On one side were the monsters, but the kits had to be protected, had to be kept safe. The creatures were landing blows on the beast, but its claws were strong and its teeth were stronger. Half a dozen bodies were lying around the creature, but more were coming fast and their claws were like razors. The beast was already bleeding from a series of slashes on its hide.

Reaching with its snake-headed tail towards the skull-headed kin, the beast made to wrap its tail around the biped and run to the edge of the bridge, attempting to scoop up the fluffy-tailed kin in its jaws as it ran. It knew in its heart of hearts that it would be faster than either one of them, and they had to GO.

It only hoped that they would understand that this wasn’t a hostile action. They were defending themselves, but they were still kits, after all. If not, why did they lack claws and teeth?

The Underground

http://powerlisting.wikia.com/wiki/Murderous_Possession

I'm okay with this if you are, Cap'n GM@The Incredible John

The Underground

Ultimate bravery test, hit random page on the wiki for the sake of powers. True glory awaits

http://powerlisting.wikia.com/wiki/Special:Random

The Underground

@The Incredible John
So hey, if this is still open to apps, I'm highly interested.

The Shattered World

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Harun Fakim Al-Kashir

DATE: Year 7,432 of the 3rd Era. 3rd Month, 15th Day
LOCATION: The Sprawling Plains of Bervenia, Heart of Bervenia
INTERACTING WITH: Morgan@Lyla, Nimue@Crusader Lord

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“Thank the gods.”

Three staunch horses stood at the crest of a grassy hill amongst the rolling fields of Bervenia, their riders overlooking the Twinned City. Two women, both with red hair and simple travelers clothes, and one, rather busty and scowling. One of the slimmer women looked to the others, a mischievous smile on her lips. Her voice was not the thief’s own, but it was one he was quickly growing accustomed to. “I can’t believe we’re finally here. Now you two can move on with whatever grand destiny you have and I can knock out my chores. I would like to say it has been a pleasant journey, but I don’t lie. For the record, Fly Without Wings is a fantastic stallion, don’t you dare let them geld him. I’ll be checking back in with him in a few days.” With that, Harun ran his hands over his horse before transforming into a sparrowhawk, spiraling off towards the city. Fly Without Wings was a beautiful beast, and the thief had every intention to keep him, Fraweth be damned. Xil was eerily silent on the subject.

Traveling to Bervenia had been hard. Not the actual route there, the road was easy and the wind was always to the travelers’ backs, but let the world be damned if it wasn’t awkward. The two lady legends were sheltered in their own tents, though the thief distinctly heard them sneaking between them multiple times as they traveled. It was obvious that where the warrior’s bodies had long been dead and their spirits dampened, they were looking to make up for lost time.

More importantly, Xil’Gurash had been uncannily quiet since the launch party, only breaching the silence between them to bring up their ‘important talk’ that needed to be had. It was usually at these points that Harun would change the subject or begin addressing minor issues with the two Ladies, putting things off. It wasn’t that he didn’t wish to have the conversation with Xil, just that he didn’t want to now, and sure as hell not in the company of those two. More than that... he didn't know what to say. Xil had been happy, that was easy to tell. He had a wielder who deserved him. But Harun had found him first, saved his life even! Surely that made him deserve to wield the holy blade... right?

Putting those thoughts away, Harun was actually glad for the budding romance between the two stone-brained fools. As far as he was concerned, the more the twin heroes of Fraweth paid attention to each other the less they paid to him, and he had more than his fair share of work to do. As they made their way, he continually set contracts with local spirits for the sake of surveillance, gathering information and leaving spies. He even set a few gusts of wind to watch his associates and respond in case of emergencies. Nothing they would notice without obvious magical assistance, and if they did then what of it? He was looking out for all of them, whether they liked it or not. That, and he was learning their mannerisms better and better...

Regardless, they were finally here, in the shimmering jewel of the plains. ...Or something along those lines. The point was that the shapeless prince had finally found the object of the strange urges in his mind, and could get down to business. Or at least, those were his thoughts when he landed in a stall in the market. Shifting to a familiar shape of a tabby cat, Harun walked down the streets unmolested, taking in the strangeness around him…

“Excuse me, Harun?” The tabby spun around, claws out and back arched. The thief could already feel the anger rising. The witch had followed him to the city? Seriously? After trekking across the gods-damned continent sighing and moaning and wishing that he wasn’t with her, she followed him?!

It was at this point that the southerner realized that the voice addressing him was male and coming from a tall, armored form. Still, the man was looking directly at him, mostly stoic. Much more importantly, he was speaking Kashiyem. It was stilted and obviously not something he was fluent with, but it was Harun's own language. Blinking once, the bandit king stopped dead in his tracks, seeing how things would go. This was different.

"Yes, er, Harun Fakim Al-Kashir? Sandwalker? The Ladies of this city request your presence at the palace with the other heroes, as well as the Ladies Morgan and Nimue as soon as they arrive in the city. Lady Royce would also like to comment that ‘redhead and the busty fool’ seems like a disrespectful way to refer to someone when speaking with spirits, but your life choices are your own. Additionally, I've been told to inform you that your stallion will be more than tended to. Mayhaps more importantly, the Lady addressed him as 'your stallion,' so as to avoid conflicts. Follow me, if you would?” Immediately the guard turned around and started to walk, his face slightly red as the people in the street stared at him, speaking to a cat. It wouldn't be odd if Harun didn't follow him, but this seemed like a way to get answers, or at least important questions, so...

Harun ignored the strained laughter in his mind, Xil’Gurash chortling in his mind’s ear. Considering his options, The tabby cat followed the guardsman, blinking with confusion. Either the leader of this city was a divinist or another spirit speaker, and considering how common the latter was in his own age... Divination magic was always a pain in the ass. He could take any form he wanted, if she knew his name he could be found eventually. Horribly inconvenient, but she knew he was alive. That itself spoke volumes as far as he was concerned. The bastard king would be at the palace soon, and would be more than happy to speak with this ‘Lady Royce.” Maybe she would have some godsdamned answers.

His thoughts came to a halt as he was led through the palace to a small chamber, silks and cushions piled in small mountains. To be entirely honest, it was a little too similar to his own throne room for comfort. More greens than he favored, though. Still, his attention was more than taken with the throne across the room, facing away from him. As he stepped inside, he shifted, taking his full form plus a few inches of height for dramatics. He swept into a low bow, a confident smile crossing his handsome face as his amber eyes flashed in the dim light of the room. He didn't bother changing languages. She would know plenty. "Lady Royce, I presume?

Afterlife: Dead Sun

@Holy Soldier
Well, sorry m8. First full week of class has been hellish, 18 hours + labs.

Afterlife: Dead Sun

@Holy Soldier
Life has been crazy busy lately, I'm gonna try and drop a post tomorrow.

Farrow's Gift

Shawn Barrett

DAYS AFTER THE PARTY: Negative Something
LOCATION: Darkwell City Diner
INTERACTING WITH: Wren@Elle Santiago, Cait@Ambra

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Shawn took in a deep breath, steam curling around his head as hot water rushed around him. He felt his entire body relax at once, the heat working out the aches and pains of his daily routine. God, nothing in the world felt better than a hard workout and a good shower. Still, despite feeling like a goddamn stallion of a man, a few things kept keeping him from truly being at ease. One hand rubbed idly at an old scar on his shoulder as he turned the facts over in his head, again and again.

The recent deaths didn’t make sense. Rural dogs went feral sometimes, but the wounds in the most recent case looked like they were done with steak knives taped together and wrapped around a chainsaw. They were too deep, too jagged, and quite frankly too messy. When a dog attacks someone, it doesn’t look like their insides were put inside a fucking blender. The bodies were torn to shreds. Not eaten, just scattered. Spaghetti with a chunky sauce. Despite himself, memories of I.E.D.’s came to mind... But those were bad thoughts, and there sure as hell hadn’t been a detonation. No ash, no smell aside from the rotten sweetness of old blood, old meat.

Perhaps more strangely, there was the letter to consider. It wasn’t extraordinary in and of itself, as far as the police department could tell, but the man who had died held it clutched in his fist, even after whatever had killed him had done its work. A few of the officers had mentioned that it WAS the hundredth anniversary of the founding of the town soon, but none of them knew about the party. Most likely a private shindig. Still, with the timing of these “accidents” and the way things were going, people were getting superstitious. The latest victim had survived, but she sure as hell wasn’t in any condition to talk, and wouldn’t be for a while. Shawn knew in the rational part of his brain that full moons and hundred year-curses were all fake, but the primitive lizard part of him had its own ideas. Frankly, he had been a cop for eight years, and after a while you learn when to trust your hunches. Ever since he had come to town, something was just off.

The detective shook his head, letting the water run over his face before killing the pressure. He toweled off, pulling on a button-up and some jeans while taking care that he wasn’t completely coated in cat hair. It was a losing battle, but he had to put an effort into it. Still, it was good to have something a little more comfortable. Those uniforms got stifling after a while. He didn’t have to work tonight, thank God, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to cook. Locking the door behind him, he ran his fingers through his hair and lit a cigarette, rolling the smoke around in his mouth for a moment before slowly exhaling, watching his breath trail into the brisk night air. He had tried to quit before, but with work like it had been lately… Fuck it, who could blame him?

Making his way downtown, Shawn thought about the letter. A party in the Darkwell City Diner, celebrating the hundredth anniversary… Maybe the staff would know about it? Still, he noticed a dog sitting outside the diner. He was an adorable animal, Shawn had seen him on a few occasions. As far as the detective knew, the pup belonged to a student at Darkwell, some young girl who worked here sometimes.

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching him, Barrett knelt down, scratching the little guy behind his ears. “Hey there, fella. It’s been a bit, I was worried your big sis had taken you off somewhere.” A small smile split his cheeks for a moment, his attention focused on the pooch. “But hey, I’m gonna go grab a bite for myself. If you’re still around when I head out, I’ll give you a little something.” He stood up, taking another look around before entering the diner. He had been visible through the windows, but hopefully no one had been paying too much attention.

Walking inside, he took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the diner soak his bones. Something smelled delicious. Wednesday… soup? Chicken, if he knew the schedule by now. Near as he could tell, it wasn’t too crowded, only one person was sitting at the bar. Likely a good thing, though he wasn’t sure why. He had been here a hundred times, was the definition of a regular. But something wasn’t right, and he couldn’t shake an ominous feeling down his spine. Maybe it was the way one of the lights was flickering, but he couldn’t help but think that either work was getting to him again or something was coming. Hopefully the first.

Taking his usual seat up at the bar, he opened a menu and flipped through it without really reading at all. He knew the damn thing frontways, backwards, and sideways at this point. In the first few months of living here, he had quickly established where the best places to snag something edible were, and the Diner easily made the high middle ground of the list. At this point, he played with the menu out of habit more than anything else. Dule was over talking to Cait, he thought her name was, and he wasn’t in a rush. Soon enough, the woman made her way over to his seat, and the ritual began.

“Miss Dule.”

“Mister Barrett.”

“Is there anything hot?”

“Well, we can find something or another. Probably. Coffee and water?”

“Coffee and water.” And with that, she started off towards the kitchen. He honestly couldn’t say what she would bring, and he didn’t care so long as it was switched up from time to time. She got a good tip, he got a decent meal, and time kept marching by. “Excuse me, Miss Dule?”

She turned back, a slight frown of surprise on her expressive features. “Yes, Mr. Barrett?” He usually didn’t say too much after the initial overture.

The officer’s gaze was focused on the waitress, but he was all too aware of everyone else in the restaurant as the words left his mouth. His voice was serious and his face hardly changed as he spoke, but that wasn’t different from usual. However, his eyes were just a touch harder than usual, a cold light reflecting their icy blue. Significantly different from his usual interactions with the woman, but he needed answers. Most likely, no one knew too much about the letter, and it probably didn’t matter. But if it did, then he would be one step closer to finding out what the hell had been attacking people around here. “What do you know about a party being held here on the 27th? Anniversary of the town’s founding, all that jazz? Maybe it’s from where I'm new in town, but I recently received this letter and have no idea who sent it.”

Afterlife: Dead Sun

@Holy Soldier

...you know, I kept reading the latest GM post (and I promise, I've been reading them when they come, but apparently I'm a bloody neanderthal.) My bad, won't happen again.