Print

Please login or register.
1 Hour 1 Day 1 Week 1 Month Forever
Login with username, password and session length

[deadlycairn]

After the lecture, others file out, somewhat morose (you'll see why when I finish the turn).

Head with a small group of relatively young'uns (teens) to research Warper history and well known abilities? (It will chew up the rest of your day)

[Strife26]

Yes, try to figure out who  the Creator is at the same time.

[Acanthus117]

Yeh, I'll watch the Warpers.

[Ultimuh]

While Theodore is not afraid of other living things, he is very claustropohbic.
Ofcourse he's trying to escape.
And he's very aggressive when feeling fear, so he won't hessitate to kill.

[Archangel]

Cullos is offered basic slasher training. This will take most of the day.
Accept? Y/N

Yes. Although he is skilled with most types of weapons, Cullos will never turn down an opportunity to advice. He will listen attentively and ask questions whenever he invited to.

[deadlycairn]

Acanthus, I made a typo, I meant Warlocks. I assume your action is the same.

Strife, I'm going to give up the riddles so you get this point: THE CREATOR IS MARTIN, COZ HE MAKES STUFF GROW

And I think that's all. Turn up tomorrow morning.

[Strife26]

((I realize that the creator is Martin. Doesn't mean Trap knows. How dense do you think I am?))

[webadict]

((I realize that the creator is Martin. Doesn't mean Trap knows. How dense do you think I am?))

((Maybe you just accidentally run into me.))

[Cheddarius]

Watching.

[deadlycairn]

...OK. I think I'm almost there. Just to keep you guys occupied while I post a turn, here's a summary of the show Cullos went to on Day 1. (I wrote this some time ago, but it remains relevant, and might explain a bit.)

Sanctuary Festival Day 1: Entertainment

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Today was the first day of the week-long Sanctuary Festival, commemorating the founding of the great city. It was also possibly one of the most important days of Jake's life. And he was late. Dodging between traders hawking their goods, he headed towards the amphitheatre that, for this week at least, dominated the centre of town. As he ran, weaving through the crowds, one thought remained at the forefront of his mind.

Please don't let me be late please don't let me be late pl- DAMN

With a curse and a quick apology, he continued, leaving an irate pedestrian in his wake. The streets were packed. No one, except for the guards and the traders, worked during the Sanctuary Festival. It was the one chance of the year to relax, enjoy yourself, and maybe even participate in the events, or at the very least watch them. If Jake didn't get to the amphitheatre soon, there would be more than a few disappointed spectators..

“Where on Earth have you been?”

That was Fall, his best friend, even if he did get a little bit over-excited at times.

“Five minutes to go is cutting it a little fine, don't you think? Hope you didn't want to practise!”

“I'll manage. Here, help me get into these.”

Order robes. Not the most comfortable, or practical, of garments, but it was necessary as a competitor. Feeling the heavy fabric itch, Jake took a few deep breaths. Fall's nerves were catching, and suddenly he was having second thoughts. Performances in front of a few friends were all well and good, but this was in front of thousands of strangers. This was serious. What if he messed it all up? Friends could laugh about it, but he had a feeling these strangers wouldn't be laughing. Still, it was too late to back out now, so all he could do was his best. Here's hoping his best was good enough.

“Now, the next competitor. Jake Robertsson, a mere 17 years of age, presenting a retelling of the founding story of our very own fine city! For your enjoyment, Jake, the Empath!”

For a moment, he could only stand there, entranced by the amplified voice. All those people, just staring at him, waiting expectantly for him to impress, or disappoint. Then, shaking off his fear, he opened his mind, and began.

In the past, men were numerous, and wealthy. Though individually weak, they worked as a whole, and made machines to work for them. In their ways they were wise, and no beast of nature nor Act of God could stop them spreading across the land. They were kings and queens, wanting for little, needing even less. But nothing lasts forever.

It was a story they'd all heard before. But now, now they got a chance to tell the story. One with their minds, Jake sifted through their memories, selecting the best, the strongest, the clearest to present to the whole. An imagined machine from the child here, a picture of a royal king from the old man here, all went together and was blended into the whole, a story told by many, as one, through one.

One day, a Change was visited upon mankind, and they fell from power. No one truly knows the reason for this Fall; some say greed, some say God, some say nature itself is to blame. But, one way or another, humankind would never be the same again.

Roughly half of the population gained paranormal abilities, abilities science could not explain, abilities that can only be described as magic. However, though they had new power, they could not control it, and untold millions were slain that day.

A sombre mood now, with bereavement and destruction swirling through the crowd's mind.

For the few that survived, anarchy was the norm. Their lives were short and violent, with no protection from the roving gangs of bandits and killers that emerged. Mankind’s great stores of knowledge were lost, and so too, it seemed, was hope. But a beacon of Order remained.

Dread now.  Everyone knew how this story ended.

In the mountains to the east, a settlement had been forged. Men with power over iron and steel, silver and gold, and all the metals of the earth had gathered together under one leader, and sought to restore order to the land. At first, they came in peace, swapping metals for food they could not produce themselves. But soon their true colours emerged.

One day, without warning, the gates of their metal fortress opened, pouring out an unstoppable army. All who opposed were cut down, all who gave in were enslaved and forced to work their filthy mines. Isolated, dispersed throughout the land, none could stop them. Only one caste escaped their grasp; the Warlocks hid in the shadowy places and dug in, proving too fearsome a foe even for this mighty army.

And so began a reign of oppression lasting many generations. Slaves were born in the mines, they lived in the mines and they died in the mines; no hope was in sight. It seemed that there was no escape. This was the way it would always be. But nothing lasts forever.

Jake paused for a moment, to let the spectators catch their breath. Then he dove back into the seething cauldron of their minds. He knew exactly what he was looking for. A cruelly scarred face here, a despairing lover here, here a doomed man and finally, a hulking beast of stone.

Four emerged, four who, together, had escaped the mines and the metal fortress. Each had lost something dear to their captors, each sought to repay them in blood. Slowly they gathered more followers, those who had escaped the mines themselves, those who had forever been living in fear of capture. They began to form an army, a ragtag army, but one that thirsted for blood. Soon they numbered in the hundreds, then the thousands. The only ones missing were the Warlocks; they had enjoyed their neutrality and had no wish to endanger it.

When they judged the time right, they began to gather near the mountains, brazenly flying their flag high. For the first time in years, the gates opened, and the metal army again set forth. War had begun, and it would not end until one side or the other had been completely defeated. It was time for vengeance.

With a scream, and the crashing of metal on metal, the armies met. Warpers flitted through the battle, treating armour as though it wasn't there, while snarling Ferals tore through steel, flesh and bone. Arcanists unleashed unrefined destruction across the battlefield, and hideous Shapers preyed upon the unwary. Even my own kind, the Empaths, took part, striking madness into the minds of the enemy. But it wasn't enough. They were losing. The leaders knew this, and fought all the harder, but to no avail. First one leader fell, then another. All was lost.

And suddenly, without warning, Jake stopped. A mind was out there, a mind that was most definitely not right. He'd brushed against and recoiled at once, lest the cold hardness of it somehow affect him. And now he'd lost the flow of things; lost the flow of the crowd and the story. The pause stretched on and here and there he saw people begin to fidget, and mutter. Then, inspiration. He searched for the perfect image, found it, and spread it through their minds.

A figure, little more than a silhouette, swathed in black cloth, crests a hill. Soon he is joined by another just like him, then another, and another, until the hill is carpeted black with them. As one, they raise their arms, and begin to chant.

Jake grinned – he was back in the game.

At the last moment, when defeat seemed the only outcome, the Warlocks came to lend their aid. Spurred on by their arrival, the slaves fought with a new ferocity, and won. The metal fortress was torn down, the defeated men stripped of their weapons and armour and exiled. So ended the reign of the Metal Kingdom. And so began the reign of the Orders.

Travelling east, to the coast, the freed slaves founded a town, and a government. All were to be treated equal; none had dominion over any other, for the town was to be a sanctuary from the dangers outside. Each caste had an Order governing it, who would be responsible for the proper care of that caste. Under this system, the town grew, and grew. Look around you, and see the city it has become! Friends, look upon Sanctuary!

With a small bow and a flourish, Jake finished. He was spent, but satisfied. As he looked at the crowd, he was struck by their silence. Had he not been good enough after all? Then they began to clap. And clap. And clap.

The next few minutes passed in a daze. Jake dimly heard Fall cheering him on, saw, as if through a haze, his parents waving from the stands, numbly shook a nameless man's hand. He'd done it. He'd won. He was the champion.

EDIT: OK, now feel free to point out errors, as I got my (hopefully) fully edited version up. Writing the turn now.

[Acanthus117]

I like it! This is impressive, deadlycairn.

[Strife26]

Very nice. I wonder who the odd mind will be.

[deadlycairn]

Hehe. I wrote this a long time before I conceived of this forum game.

Events are happening, with or without you...

AAGH. Halfway done the turn. It's been over an HOUR

[Strife26]

Writing deep stuff takes an awfully long time, doesn't it?

I'm trying to write a lot more, but it's pretty slow going. I've got so many ideas, but I need practice. I don't to besmirch a good concept with sub-par writing. Makes me kinda sad, you know? So I don't write anything . . .

[deadlycairn]

SANCTUARY FESTIVAL DAY 2: KNOWLEDGE

Thom:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Thom wandered blindly along the Warrens, wondering how he could kill time until the end of the Festival. He'd accepted the offer of course, money was money after all, and he'd prefer his master to remain a secret for now. Speaking of which, he needed further instruction, nearly unable to sleep last night for the thoughts clouding his mind.

Was that the right decision, master?

Yes... you did well. But you are unprepared. Follow my directions, there is a class nearby. Listen, and learn, if you do not wish to earn my displeasure...

Not five minutes later, following his instructions, Thom came across a small, poorly lit room. Just as he'd been told, a lesson was currently taking place. Thom's lip curled – these were mere children! Why, with the aid of his master he could best them all, without any effort!

Several hours later, Thom returned to an old inn, a known safe place for the likes of him. His bones ached, his teeth ached, even his damn eyes ached. He'd come to the conclusion that the children were demons in disguise. That was the only explanation. Still, he'd done as he was ordered, and he'd learnt a few tricks too. Hopefully he'd have an easier time of things tomorrow...

You gain the ability to create the two most basic minions – Mirrors, and Shadelings. Mirrors are formed from a full shadow, either your own or someone else's. They appear as a silhouette of the person or monster copied, but are quite frail, and lack the skills of the original. Mainly an ambush tactic.

Shadelings are the cannonfodder of any Warlock's arsenal. They can be summoned from any shadow, and appear to be almost amorphous blobs of darkness. Not particularly strong, but numerous, and they grow various weapons and defences to suit their prey.

Both Mirrors and Shadelings are composed just of Shadow, and so die when enough mass is lost. They slowly evaporate in light, and lose mass as a result of damage. Their flesh is quite corrosive, and so is dangerous to unwary attackers.

Martin:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

”You have a choice, boy”

Martin gulped, the tutor was an imposing man, a well-muscled giant, at least two metres tall. He'd been led to see him after a restful sleep at the Therianthrope dormitory.

“You are not one of the Therianthrope Order, and you have not proven yourself to us. Why should we waste effort training you? So, you must prove yourself to us. The normal avenue through which this occurs is several years of apprenticeship, after which you would spend another year or two as a journeyman, and then you would create a masterpiece. Upon acceptance and recognition of the masterpiece, you would be fully accepted into the Order, and could be fully trained. However, I do not believe such a lengthy method is what you desire. Am I correct?”

Slowly, Martin nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak.

“There is another way then. Prove yourself worthy, and work for your keep. There is an expedition being recruited for – you shall travel on this mission, as a guard. However, it will be dangerous, and I will not send you untrained. The next five days will be a crash course, covering the basics. On the fifth day, you shall enter the Arena battles, and I shall judge you from the results. Should they be satisfactory, you will not be held to debt for the training, and you will be released to guard the expedition. Satisfactory?”

Martin nodded, “T-thank you sir.”

The tutor waved his hand, and strode out the door, motioning for Martin to follow.

“Thank me when you survive the Arena. For now, we'd best start with the basics. Today, I'll show you the garden's and shall teach you to read what is contained within...”

You learn to read the genetic code of a touched living thing, how to roughly manipulate that code in yourself and others, and some basic tricks – bone and wood weaponry, both fused with and seperate from your body, extra limbs and a bony carapace. Finally, you learn how to drain and add

Trap:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

”Ergh... what a dream. Guess I'd better get going then. Gotta find this 'Creator' fellow, whoever the hell he is... I wonder how that kid's going?”

Stretching, Trap rose to his feet, and began to wander around, looking for any obvious clues. Before long, he was absolutely lost in the Shaper gardens, surrounded by all manner of strange plants. Hearing voices in the distance, he hurried towards them, hoping to get directions. Who should he see when he brushed away the scrub but Martin! The kid was delicately holding some kind of flower in his hands, listening as dome big dude gave him instructions. Nodding, Martin tightened his grip, and the plant grew, sprouting new leaves and buds, before bursting into multicoloured flowers. Strife could only stare. Did the dream mean... did that weird kid mean... was Martin the Creator? He wasn't sure, but he'd keep an eye on him for now, at least until he had any better ideas. Shrugging, he went over to ask directions, and was promptly informed of some kind of lecture being held discussing Warper powers. Just what he needed. Thanking the big guy, who was apparently Martin's tutor, Trap hurried off in the direction of the building pointed out.

Well, that was a bummer, Trap thought to himself as he filed out of the building, along with a couple hundred other Warpers. The man's entire lecture had been about the inevitable death of every Warper, and that no solution had been found. As if to prove his point, he'd just vanished at the end. Not quickly, but slowly, and if the look on his face was anything to go by, painfully. Just flippin' wondeful. Now what was he going to do?

“Hey, you.”

“Hmmmm?”

Trap looked up. A couple of teenagers were eyeing him up, and he immediately took up a defensive stance, fearful of being mugged. At their next words, however, he relaxed.

“You don't look like you agree with that old fogey either. He'd probably lost his marbles, what sane man would deliver that lecture to all these people?”

“Come with us, to the Library. We want to do some research of our own. We'll show them. We'll make our own Fate!”

Shrugging, mildly bemused, Trap followed the teens. Information was information, even if they sounded a little bit too zealous for his liking. Arriving at the Library however, he was confounded. Corridors stretched in seemingly random directions, following no geometry he could work out. Everywhere seemed to lead to a dead end, or back where he'd started. And, just to add insult to injury, the teens were perfectly fine.

“C'mon man! This is easy! It's only two extra dimensions, after all. Just wait until we go to the advanced section of the library.”

“Wow, you are stuck. Need some help?”

Ashamed, Trap nodded, and was treated to an in-depth explanation of moving in multiple dimensions. It hurt his head to think about it, but he was able to do it at least, after some coaching. The first few attempts were disastrous, ending with his body halfway through various walls, but eventually he got it. Rubbing his head, he followed the teens, as they ran through the confounding halls. This was going to be a long day.

You learn how to move in extra dimensions (this does not, however, include time. Basically, teleporting, except requiring a LOT of focus) This will undoubtedly be useful should you ever need to escape in a hurry.

Theo:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Sulking, Theo lay down in his pen. Though initially he'd refused the food he'd been offered, eventually he'd caved in, his hunger proving too much for him after the first night. Various eyes could be seen glowing in the half-light, belonging to the other victims of this cruel scheme. What had he done to deserve this?

Probably something to do with eating all those people.

Theo growled. The voice wasn't welcome, especially not now. Always coming to gloat when he was weakest. He hated it!

“What're ya growling at, kiddo?”

Two eyes loomed in the darkness, before finding themselves in the face of a lumbering human, or half-human, at least, as Theo saw the long scaled arms hanging down at his sides. Theo's lips curled in a snarl. Damn scalies. Unfortunately, the other man saw the snarl.

“Don'tcha like the way I look, kiddo?”
He grinned.
“Tell you what. Give me five minutes with your face and no one will like the way you look either.”

“Leave me be, scaly. This 'kiddo' is thinking.”

A gasp echoed around the room, as the spectators digested this insult.

“Scaly, eh? I'm going to skin you and wear yor hide, and then I'll be REALLY scaly!”

With a roar, the half-human lunged, claws outstretched. Deftly, Theo dodged out of the way. No lumbering scaly would best him. He hissed as he was struck with a sudden idea. Easily dodging his foe's strikes, he backed up against the solid bars of the pen's wall. Grinning, convinced he'd cornered his prey, the scaly swung again, grunting in pain when his claws struck hardened bone instead of flesh. Theo snarled. If this brute couldn't break the bars, no one could. Ah well, he'd think of another plan, but first, to deal with the nuisance. Barely twitching as the scaly lumbered towards him, he lashed out with his tail, impaling the beast's head. Slowly, he slumped to the ground, held aloft only by Theo's tail, which he soon withdrew.

“That is why you don't leave things half done. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to eat.”

And so, turning away from the other stunned prisoners, Theo began to feed.

As a known killer who's been living on the run, you are already a badass combat wise, especially against that kind of foe. 'Scaly' is a racial slur, used to term Ferals who lack the willpower to control the Feral mind, and so remain only half turned. Barring some exceptions, most are weaker than their Feral counterparts.

Cullos:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

After a good night's sleep at an inn, Cullos hunted down the official who'd made the offer.

”Yeah, I'll join your men. Can I see 'em?”

“Certainly. We may even be able to obtain some training apparrel for you.”

“Sounds good. Lead the way.”

Cullos followed the official to a small building, housing about ten soldiers and a few academics. The soldiers were practicing wih a very strange weapon – a long handled staff, tipped with a curved blade. Seeing his interest, the lead soldier stopped the drill he was conducting.

“Haven't seen one of these before, have ya? They're slashers. The perfect weapon – good for slittin' Feral throats, carvin' up any nasty shadowy things and, most importantly, saving your precious hide from enemy attacks. Here, have a spare – the Shapers churn 'em out by the barrel-load, they're practically free.”

Cullos felt the weight of the 'slasher' in his hand. This was no sword, that was for sure. Made of wood and bone, it felt strangely heavy, and he felt unaccustomed to the strange grip he'd seen the other soldiers use.

“Wanna spar? I'll go easy, promise.”

Nodding, Cullos raised his weapon and faced the guard, in a defensive stance. The guard made the first move, whiping around his blade, but Cullos just managed to parry it with the handle. Before he could recover however, the guard attacked again, whipping his weapon around with amazing speed. With a flick of his wrist, Cullos' slasher spun out of his hands.

“Not bad for a first timer. Here, I'll show you the ropes.”

Cullos gains a slasher and training on how to use it, as well as camraderie with the guards.

Joseph:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

A bed here, away from the mindless chatter? Joseph was sold. He rested, having a blissfully quiet sleep, and awoke early the next morning, eager to impress the others and earn his bed. Sending out tendrils of thought, Joseph eventually came across the one they'd been talking about. They were right, there really was no mistaking it – cold and hard, and most certainly not human, nor any living thing. It was as if death itself walked the streets. Shuddering, Joseph kept only the lightest touch of his mind on the Link's, remembering the warnings he'd been given. He could see how this mind could bring madness.

Most of the day passed uneventfully, and Joseph realised with a start he was getting better at tuning out the voices – that was something, at least. His target had roamed seemingly purposelessly around the city. The only thing of importance was a trip it had made to a Warper lecture. That had been uncomfortable – the misery in the air afterwards was palpable, even if you weren't an Empath.

Sighing, Joseph returned to his bed, though not before relaying his information to the others, whose reports matched his. Still, they would maintain observation – something would happen soon – they could feel it.

Joseph gets slightly better at tuning out mental noise, and gets reasonably good at tracking. Nothing really accomplished today though.

Currency:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

As was earlier stated, the main currency of Sanctuary is the 'unit', which refers to the pay received from one month's Order employment (a set standard). This is broken up into various 'chips', which is the informal term for the various bone coins, each donating days, weeks, hours etc. of employment. Various measures are implemented to prevent counterfeiting, so don't even try it.

Lecture Strife and the Link attend:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

SANCTUARY FESTIVAL DAY 2: KNOWLEDGE
As Carl stood in front of the expectant crowd, he vehemently wished he was somewhere else. Anywhere that was away from here, away from the news he'd have to give. Still, today was the day for the sharing of knowledge; whether or not you liked the knowledge didn't really come into the equation.

Carl had been studying the Fates – in particular, the one that affected his kind, the Warpers. Exempt from all the usual laws of physics, a Warper could alter the physical dimensions of time, matter, space, could alter the very properties of matter and energy. In fact, they didn't have a choice. And this was the problem. They had to be taught to maintain total concentration from birth, lest they inadvertently cause havoc. But, in the end, it was always to no avail. From the day they were born they were doomed; a Warper that lived to the age of 30 was ancient. Carl was 32, and feeling every year.

In all his studies, he'd found nothing. No loophole, no way out, no cure. Carl himself was beginning to fade away, and he was far, far too tired to resist. Still, it had fallen to him to share this knowledge, and so doing crush the hopes of the young men and women that packed the hall. Sighing, he began.

“Brethren, it is well known among you that I have devoted my time to the study of our Fate, to the cruel way in which our life is taken away from us before our time. I look around me and I see a hall packed with faces, faces filled with promise. All of you could achieve great things, if only you had more time! Alas, it is not so”

Carl paused for a moment, watching the shock spread through the crowd. Oh how easy it would be, to fade away now, to lay responsibility on another scholar. But it was not his time yet. He would see this through.

“Believe me, it pains me to say this, but I have sworn to seek the truth, and it is the truth I present to you now. In all my studies, in all my years of painstaking experimentation, I have never even come across the beginnings of a solution. And so I must repeat to you words that were taught to me, words that you've heard many times before, words we've all wished weren't true. This is our Fate; to be born, to live, and to fade away before our time.”

Shock was giving way to outrage now, murmured words beginning to spill out. How he felt for them; he knew the feeling all too well. Surely this was not the way things were meant to be? Surely there was a solution, they just needed to look harder, work harder! He'd looked as hard as he could, and found nothing. It was time for another.

“I know what many of you are thinking – surely there is a solution, if only we work harder! Maybe this is true, maybe through some grave oversight I have missed the solution. Oh how I desperately wish this to be true, that you may be spared from an unjust fate. All I know is that my time for study has ended, and so I pass the torch onto you, the new generation, and my best wishes go with you.

I shall confide in you, this will be my last speech. The slow creep of age has taken its toll, and I am fading even as I stand before you. I count myself lucky I've had this long, I've seen too many gone before they've even begun to experience the world. Now is my time to join them. Brothers, sisters, farewell. And do not give up hope. I still believe with my innermost being, that you can fight fate. And maybe, maybe you may even win.”

Carl stopped, and looked up, but it wasn't the people his gaze was fixed upon. No, his eyes were drawn to that hated abyss, the gaping hole in all things, the void that had been hungering for him since birth. Now it was time for it to feed.

Sensation was first to go, leaving him all at once in a tingling rush. Sight was next, colour and light seeming to drain out of the world and into the ever-hungering abyss. Hearing, smell, and finally even taste were stripped from him, leaving him with nothing, no more than an over glorified brain in a jar. The pull was stronger now, stronger than ever before, and, finally, he gave in. Then... nothing.

To the crowd, Carl seemed to simply fade away, growing fainter and fainter until vanishing completely. It was a serene death, and for that they were grateful. He'd deserved as much. They would mourn in their own time, mourn for the dead scholar, mourn for themselves, but there was no time for that now. In public, they would hold fast. It was what was expected of them. After all, this was their fate.

Four and a half pages. Over two hours. Over ten thousand characters, and over two thousand words. That was a hell of a turn.