Print

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

[Dwarmin]

Mini-Turn

Cria looks at Rykmar oddly for a moment.

"Oh, that...It's difficult to explain...

I can draw energy from my Ash Shadow to sustain and protect myself-from the Negative plane.

I mean, I would have starved long ago if I hadn't learn to fed off of my creations. It's not filling...it doesn't replace solid food...but it keeps me alive.

I could even destroy my Ash Shadow to heal myself if I was desperate...or, I could heal you...

But, I tried that once...a young girl who was hurt...and..it didn't work right...she got back up, but wrong..."

Cria laspses into silence, crying silently.

Rykmar is unconnected from her grief, his mind whirring.

He knows is that what she is doing is likely very unhealthy in the long term.

Draining life is enjoyable, as Rykmar knows by experience. Cria is draining anti-life instead, trading the energy to continue living and slowly killing and corrupting her soul...in fact, this might explain the extent of her abilities, he muses.

 For whatever reason, Cria had begun feeding on negative death energy at a young age-and it didn't kill her quickly, like it would have done to most Humanoids. Instead she's...changed. Something unique, with insight and power against the undead-Rykmar has a nasty thought that, if raised to fight for the White instead of the Black, she could have destroyed legions of Undead with ease, ridding the world of much evil. Heh, fate is funny that way. Whatever she might have been doesn't matter, now that she is a hopeless, cringing thing in thrall to a Demon...

He muses she is also quite right on the last account-she could devour her own creations for power quite easily, and gift the energy to others. Or attack them with it, but Cria doesn't seem to have gotten that partiucular idea yet.

Rykmar would have to be careful of accepting her 'gifts' though. Negative Energy is useful in ways, but quite lethal to most beings in large amounts, including him. It's likely the child she's sobbing about was killed and made into an undead when she tried to 'help'.

"Master...I didn't mean to do it...to kill her...I was trying to help. You believe me, right? No one believed me."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rhogar slips on his helmet and shield, as quiet as possible. His hammer stirs up the coals, shedding a tiny bit of light...and revealing at least a dozen pairs of tiny red eyes in the bushes. They withdraw almost immediately.

He hears a few litle voices in the brush, maybe arguing with each other. They sound like rats

Then a slightly louder voice calls out, echoing from no where and every where. It speaks in Draconic-a language Rhogar knows well enough.

It's screechy and amazingly annoying, a cross between a tiny dog barking, a rat squeaking and a lizard hissing. Rhogar scowls.

Kobolds. Yappy little bastards. The voice calls again.

"Yark yark! Svaust re wux? Nomeno thaczil belhalic ekess Sithyr'sone!"


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Halbarad nods, as Feleris moves forward in a low crouch with an arrow ready...it's amazingly easy to follow the music, almost as it were luring him somewhere.

The song seems to change in tempo as he gets closer to the pursuit-slightly faster, a quicker beat. Telling him to hurry up, and he does have to withstand the urge he feels to do so.

About a half mile from the camp, he steps into a wooded grove and see the musician he's been looking for...it's a Woman, an Elven woman. She's sitting cross legged, playing a very long flute with too many holes...she's in a circle about ten feet in diameter-and the ring is bordered by a brace of blood red stones-they look similiar to the ones in the walls of the Fortress of Blood.

On first glance, he might mistake her for a Sylvan Elf, but on closer inspection she's quite a bit more.

She does look like a Sylvan Elf-but something is off. She looks quite a bit more...predatory. Her body is perfect, too perfect-more hard angles than soft curves, as if she was grown like a tree. Her skin is pale green and blue, like certain types of mosss-and her hair looks like dead leaves. Most disturbingly, the Womans eyes have no pupils, and are just a single solid color-but one that seems to shift subtly with all the colors of the rainbow. They regard Feleris from her spot in the circle with incalcuable, alien regard.

Very beautiful, and very dangerous-a cross between a murderous praying mantis and a fragile butterfly, a thornbush and a daisy, a caress and a dagger...she's one of the Fey-a race of which Feleris's people, the Sylvan Elves, are but the lesser off shoots.

They have very real powers over nature and the mortal mind and soul in particular-but their whims, evil or good, vary as often as the weather. As they say-the same Fey who leads a lost traveller out of the bog one day, may lead the next him into a brace of hungry quicksand the next.

She stops playing her flute for a moment, once she spots Feleris. He feels the pressure in his head reside. When she speaks, her voice is sweet to hear-almost as sweet as her music, but it's giving him a headache and making him drowsy, as it he had drunk too much Sunshine Liqeur in one sitting.

"...M a s t e r E l f?

...D i d y o u c o m e? t o e n j o y m y s o n g?


The Fey-Thing smiles at him, but it's the sort of smile to freeze the blood in his veins rather than warm his heart.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Stealth Roll= 1

1+1

vs

Detection roll 1

Modifiers: Darkness, +1 to hiding]

Spent: -10% Stamina

Goseki doesn't exit as cleanly as she would have liked...the figure moved too fast...and yet, she was able to exit out the back of the tent in the cover of the shadows.

She makes it across the camp, and scrambles up a leafy tree with a grin-not so fragile and clumsy as some would think.

Then she looks down upon her tent-it's the Bird Man, Creek-Greek, dressed all in black. He's clawing through Gosekis possessions with some speed...looking for something. Tsuna can be seen on the other end of the camp-speaking with the Alchemist Halbarad. In fact, they seem a bit too friendly, and her body language indicates her guard is down.

Does Goseki raise the alarm?

[lawastooshort]

Damned outsiders... thought Goseki, always meddling where they shouldn't.

She called two calls of the Northern Night Swallow, hoping that silly Jiang girl would hear and understand her own alarm cry, before silently dropping to the floor and moving quietly over to her tent.

She was aware that the over-curious bird-ninja may perhaps have just been interested in verifying her own identity, but there were better and more polite ways of doing so. Besides, she’d never been particularly fond of the obviously-vain. She had half a mind to slice the fiend from ear to ear and then gut him to teach a lesson, and if she were younger, she realised, she might well have done. No. This was no time for prideful confrontation, but for investigation.

She got close to the tent without making a noise, before clearing her throat and entering as innocently as possible. She wanted him to think she was surprised, rather than stalking him.

Of course, there was a chance that he was trying to steal something of hers, in which case…

Regardless, she would ready herself as discretely as possible.

[Zako]

Kobolds... Fantastic. Not only would he have to contend with the fortress, but he had to deal with these theives and backbiters first. Rhogar made a mental note to keep checking his belongings.

"Yes, yes. You are all very scary and frightening. Now, if you are going to be civil, we can talk face to face, and I won't mash you all to a pulp." Rhogar called out in draconic as he backed up a bit towards the fire and dumped a bit more wood on it, then stood ready for any projectiles that might come out of the dark.

"Just keep your claws to yourself, and we won't have any problems. What say you?"

[Ochita]

Ochita glances around, before entering his own tent, and pulling out the scrying crystal. He felt something, and he hoped it was his mother, as he was already becoming slightly homesick. He activates the crystal, and waits for the image to focus.

Open a connection to mother, and see what she wants.

[micelus]

Source? Hypras? What happened? Why am I here? What reality truly is? Why is the sky green and violet?

"Hypras, this is the Source! We can make the place a better world now!"

Saren pushed the Source towards Hypras, and if he didn't take it, she threw it to him.

She climbed back up, all the while speaking. "See, its real! and our problems will be but a distant past! No more orphans, beggars, lepers or even thieves. We can make a better world, with this."

[IronyOwl]

Inwardly, Rykmar mused on this new information. On the one hand, he didn't want his pet doing anything unhealthy, even if it wouldn't be a problem for some time; he liked his minions in good repair. On the other, if this was the source of her powers... well, stopping her might diminish her abilities, which wouldn't do. It was a difficult conundrum, made worse by the fact that he knew nothing precisely or for certain.

Outwardly, though, he moved with confidence, though distracted as he was he couldn't help a somewhat predatory smile from briefly appearing on his face. He quickly embraced her in a comforting hug, wondering how many times she'd wished for such a gesture but had only the dead to give it.

"Of course I believe you," he said softly. "Having great power means that sometimes things go wrong. There's nothing to be sorry for; it was an honest mistake. You've learned since then, and next time you can do better."

He continued holding her until she was ready to stop. It was good to satisfy her needs right now, and besides, he relished the feeling of being needed.

[Tiruin]

((I'm currently busy, making post though later on in-- 5 hours? Sorry everyone. Will edit for that. @Dwarmin: Thanks!))
May my words not err...

Feleris thought of what to say, thoughts clouding his mind. If he would sound an alarm, then it may not end well, if he backed away then there was nothing he thought he could do-- The Fey Folk had power beyond many mortals; he did not want to give her any sign of wrong intention.

He was also in her territory-- well, partly his, but that did not technically matter. One wrong move, to expect the worst, and it was all over.

But, what of the music and the greetings? It...brought a part of him back in view, it called his soul. This could be a trap, far more obvious by the closeness to the Fortress but by it's power, but surely it wasn't that malevolent. Nonetheless, it did not hurt to show respect. Words had to be picked and his tongue had to be guided.

Feleris relaxed his grip on the bow, took a short breath, relaxed his posture and acted.

"Mae govannen, Maiden of the Fey," he said with a low bow as he removed his hood, showing his face for her to see. "Your song captivated my heart, your music is like none else." Still keeping his bow, he took note of the ring she sat in.

He returned to a stand after a moment of silence, but he could still feel her icy gaze locked on him. "Yet, I am not one to judge. Pray tell, what brings you here near the Fortress of Blood, far away from the pristine lands?"

[Dwarmin]

((No need to rush Tiruin-just take your time, since I'm infinitely slower updating than you'll ever be responding. ))

[Tiruin]

((Found out that edits don't cause an update in the 'Show new replies to your posts.' thing.))

[Dwarmin]

Mini-Turn

Saren watches as Hypras catches the Source in his hand. He seems to regard it's fond light with some deep contemplation.

"A better world...I agree.

But, there is no 'We'.

You know only one can wield the Source."

He rises, leaving Saren to dangle...and slowly losing her grip.

"Forgive me Saren. I will make the world a better place. May that ease your torment, I hope."

On cue, the cliff of stone she is holding crumbles under her hand...and Saren is falling, falling...and Hypras is gone...and the Source is gone...and her body turns downward.

Into the dark.

Falling, falling.

Then she sees It. Waiting for her. The truth of the Source, and of this place...the horrible, horrible truth...

...

Saren wakes up with a very loud scream. She remembers only fragments of the dream-and a nameless terror.

And Hypras betraying her.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Feleris is afraid.

The Fey-Woman is terrible and cruel, and looks at Feleris as a hungry snake might a bird.

Then she shifts, as subtle as a shaft of moonlight-now she looks an innocent young woman with a gentle pleading in her eyes.

Feleris relaxes.

...I a m a p r i s on e r...o f t h i s r i n g...

P a t i e n c e...

So...Iw a it s i n g d a n c e pl a yk i l l

She gestures to the red stone ring encircling her with an offhand gesture. Feleris could probably move one of the stones aside with no more than a single push, but-assuming she's telling the truth-whatever magic holds the Fey here makes them as immovable as iron bars to her.

u n t il...

a kind...m o r t a l...

frees...

me...

The Fey taps her flute with one overly long finger, perhaps betraying the slightest impatience. Then she motions for Feleris to remove one of the stones with a playful grin.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Goseki mimics the call of the Northern Night Swallow-two in a row. Only people of the mountains know that that each specific swallow has it's own unique call-and it is never repeated more often than five minutes apart.

[?]

Tsuna fails to react-instead, Goseki watches her step forward and put a hand on Halbarads shoulder fondly. Maybe she hasn't used the calls recently...or she's deliberately ignoring them.

Goseki moves on, and shimmies down the tree to flank the Bird-Ninja, quickly adopting her most frail looking guise and heading toward him.

Creek Greek notices her a bit off, adopting his own guise. Time for more games, Goseki thinks with an internal sigh.

The Bird-Ninja makes a hand wringing gesture, which can mean an apology in Kenku. Goseki also knows it can translate to 'I see you'.

"Ah, forgiving...Creek Greek worried for old lady, saw she was not in tent...tek tek...

Where was old lady, so late at night? Leka-Dak?"

Creek Greek cocks his head and beak at an odd angle, suspiciously-it reminds Goseki of the motion a crow would make when it's about to pluck out the eye on a corpse.

They hold each others gaze, challenging.

All of a sudden, both of you hear a scream in the night-more of sudden fear than pain. Goseki recognizes it as the Lizardman Saren.

But neither she, nor the bird-man react to that, or break their contest of wills.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rhogar calls out into the night to the Kobolds...boldly!

There is more hurried discussion, and what sounds like a few blows-and a particulalry runty Kobold with dull copper scales, and a missing tail stumble out of the brush to adress him.

"Yark! Si mi kettle. Yip! Thric svent?

Ahet...us petissei tuor cotui wux, jiil hoinp darastrix ekess zhaan mojka okh temep de nomeno goawy.

Okh darastrix sithyr'sone udoka ekess togik usv svent mojka wer irlym, yth vorq ihk achthend...uh, yth creol times tir. sjek astahii re ti vdri. Vrinpict ihk udoka, wux svern jaka."

The Kobold smiles nervously, his tiny fangs glistening in the moonlight. Rhogar sniffs. He knows that already-the Kobolds, diminuative though they are, would have swarmed him if his senses has not awoken him quickly.

"Hefoc yentair, sithyr'sone geou svent wux mrith othi usv darastrix trekis, usv shartleg wux sari silit katima, ti udoka petissei. sithyr'sone agantal yentair svanoa plythu fronah ui ekess jacion.

jaci ui turalisj darastrix, mrith vi owier ternocki hefoc orn hrekimic..and jaci tepohaic aurix...

zyak, nomagqe zhaan mojka jaka, vur petissei visp sithyr'sone yth togika mojka wux?"

'Kettle' veers between utter terror of Rhogar, utter terror of this Dragon Sithyr'Sone and a dim hope that somehow the sides can be manipulated into destroying each other and sparing the the Kobolds.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ochita crawls over to the scrying and holds it in his hands, activating it...he feels it's magic reaching out, awaiting an answer from the other mirror.

A few moments later, the view opens-he sees back to the tower...it's empty. The mirror only shows an empty room. Ochita looks closely-Mother must have been working hard lately. The Tower is a mess, with sheafs of paper and bottles rolling on the floor-and the window to the balcony is open, with wind and rain are blowing in, unheeded.

Ochita begins to feel a bit of trepidation...and then relief, and a figure that appears to be his Mother steps back into view, closing the window and tightening a thick night robe. She turns to him with a smile. Yes, it's her, for sure. How could he not recognize his own mentor?

"Ochita, my son...sorry for the mess. I've been working very hard lately...what was it you wanted to talk about?

Are you making progress in the Fortress?"


She seems uncharacteristically happy, and eager for news. In fact, all the excitement seems to have brought back a bit of her youth-Ochita is happy to see the color in her cheeks has returned. Perhaps the sickness she had been feeling lately has passed.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rykmar comforts Cria as best he can,stroking her jet black hair until she falls asleep-completely trusting him, despite the fact his claws could tear the living heart from her chest in an instant. He finds it odd he draws satisfaction from this, being trusted, giving comfort, being needed-most Demons would view any emotion as a weakness...but not Rykmar.

Maybe most of his foes embrace cold logic, by Rykmar has always lived by passion-it gives him strength. Long along he learned that Mortals can draw surprising strength and fury from their emotions, and he has tried to emulate that as best as he could.

Even if it leaves him vulnerable, like it does now, finding his usual disdain and pity over Cria, change into something like actual fondness, more as for a pet than a mere possession. He wants to protect her, for all the logical reasons, yes...but he also wants to protect her because he wants to, because she really doesn't deserve to die, not yet. Not until he has the Source, at least.

An odd feeling, to be sure.

He's shaken from his reverie by a familiar scent...he gnashes his teeth. Brother Rakmiel is wasting no time.

Rykmar feels it-a Demon summoning from the Nine-Hells, somewhere to the North...no doubt there was a Warlock or two hidden in the entourage.

It's not a strong one-not Rakmiel himself, thankfully-but all the same...yellow teeth..a bloody obsidian blade...hunger. The only one he knows fits those was his brothers old executioner, Vorathu. A ravager, a bloodhound that has tracked down and slaughtered his enemies before-no doubt sent to make a bloody exclamation point and send a message to Rykmar.

"I can hurt you."

Rykmar doesn't want to get in range of his claws...but, he's more worried for Cria. Vorathu is the sort of monster that delights in killing the weak ones first.

[Tiruin]

Feleris could feel himself breathing sharply, he was conscious of everything around him. More so now with the request of the Fey maiden.

He didn't deny it, he was afraid. Both, of what would happen if he refused, and if he accepted. Did that circle imprison the one to break the circle? Was it just a clever ruse by the wizard Toz?

He took a glance at the Fey's flute, deeply reminding him of his own and silently mourned its loss. The power of a music to one's soul was just like magic-- hard to understand, easy to manipulate; that was what he missed so much.

But, he had to be sure that it was the truth she was saying; words were deadlier than weapons where he stood.

He needed aid, and clutched the leaf-shaped amulet hanging by his belt hard with his free hand while uttering a short prayer, he knew his relation with the Goddess was strained but he did not want to harm an innocent. Afterwards, he reached over his shoulder and felt the familiar feel of wood on his hand; he drew the object slowly out whilst keeping his gaze fixed on the Fey.

He hoped this would end right. He had to be sure.

"Solara."

[lawastooshort]

"Thank you for your concern, Creek Greek. Old lady's bladder needs emptying very often during the night, and I prefer to attend to that out of sight," said Goseki, coldly, "Perhaps the same will happen to you when you're in your twilight... It is good of you to volunteer to help my niece's rounds on watch. I thank you on her behalf."

[Dwarmin]

((@Tiruin: Just for clarification, you're praying for some divine aid, right?

Or just lighting your torch? A small bolded action helps clarify what you are doing to me. ))

[Tiruin]

((Yeah, just discovered the problem. Color dissolves the boldness  ))

[Dwarmin]

Creek-Greek snaps his beak a few times, as if he was trying to swallow something unpleasant. Then he responds in a conversational tone.

"Old Lady Goseki right-Creek Greek should go on watch, fetch...Niece..heh. Klik crik ta.

Should be more careful, your Niece, I think. Bad things in the forest here, tala kalaa.

Needs to be more alert..klik ta pash...habalda."

The Bird-Man hops away fluttering his wings, with a single wary glance over the shoulder.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Feleris Prayer

1+1=2

Modifier: +1 Light in the Darkness bonus

Feleris prays for aid, activating his Sunrod. As he guessed, the bright flare of sunlight drives back the shadows, and helps his connection to the Goddess. He can feel the energy being drawn from the rod at a quicker rate, though.

The response from his Goddess is somewhat curt, but not impolite. If anything, it sounds tired. As if he just woke her up from a very restful sleep.

"Life is precious...Life should not be chained...I know you will make the right choice, child...now, let your Mother sleep in peace..."

He hears a contented yawn, and feels the Goddesses presence dim.

Spent: -10% Piety

Feleris knows it's the right thing to do. But is it the smart thing?

The Fey-Woman, revealed by the bright light of the Sunrod, seems not as fearsome now-she's cringing away slightly, and hiding her flute protectively.

She may be afraid or just annoyed, or possibly angry-her emotions are impossible to read. After all, her spirit is of the Moonlight-the Sun is her antithesis. There is no judgement of good or evil here, merely Nature.

She speaks again, in a slightly weaker voice.

...P u t a w a y l ig h t...

I t h u r t s m e...

P l e a s e free me ...