|
|
Post by relentless on Oct 19, 2018 8:54:49 GMT -8
Hello Adventurers.
Outside of combat, you may post out of post order however, if an event occurs I would ask you all to hold off on posting until I have posted the context of the event. Thank you.
Combat -
Combat will be initiated via a turn order where all players must roll a d20. The highest goes first, the lowest goes last. Each hit will be decided via a d20, and i will describe the outcome of the attack.
============================ Past of Many ============================
The past has been revisited once more by a rowdy, and somewhat elusive pack of adventurers, doctors and nomadic warriors. Among the thickets of the Weald, they traverse down a wide spread path leading to a church long forgotten by the denizens of Rampshire. The walk is about a mile away, and any dangers have been cleared out with gunpowder and steel.
They followed the preserved steps of Ronin, a knight that had been reduced to a quivering mess as the horrors of the darkest estate broke him. The man was wounded after attacking a good friend of his, Libourg, where he was forced to act in self defense to save his own life. Ronin was able to speak semi-normally, and recalled the nature of the church. The party would've been informed about the cultist knights who had nearly killed him, where they were seemingly performing rituals in the described area. Ronin would then be reduced to a paranoid state, and soon put to sleep via chloroform.
Eventually, the footsteps would grow to a halt, seemingly covered by hardened mud as the days had gone by, though signs had began to appear crookedly along the way, marred with rot and with the surrounding area growing more dense and ominous, with the bark of trees projecting a screaming face, a branch shaped like a scythe, and large bushes of thorns that seemed all too sharp. Dirt became dark and riddled with a strange fungi that sprouted from the dark green of the Weald, covering the edge of the wide path. The sun had began to fall, its radiant edge fluttering between the thin twigs and branches of the trees, leaving the adventurers fate to the roll of dice.
The torch would not have to be lit yet, but beyond them, the darkness seemed to grow on them as they ventured further away from the hamlets sanctuary.
|
|
|
|
Post by EloHim on Oct 20, 2018 9:36:26 GMT -8
Elorit wasn't sure what the was going to get, when he signed up for another expedition. The circumstances were peculiar, to say the least. But since he established that The Hamlet was suffering from the relatively same cause as Gorhon, all expeditions posted on the board were starting to make at least a lick of sense. But still it was hard for the Alchemist to wrap his head around the concepts of "fishpeople" and the "specters", whatever those were. The working theory in the Alchemist's head was that whatever was buried under the Hamlet was more versatile and possess more power than the Bull. Or less, depends on how you look at it. Hamlet was no city, thus less immediate victims. But that and the placement of the Estate were allowing the malign force to spread itself out to bordering villages, forests and waters.
The expeditions were a medicine for the symptoms...not for the True Sickness. But Elorit needed to see those nonetheless to understand how bad things might've gone. Thus he joined to another group of wanderers to see those specters for himself. The group he was in didn't have anyone familiar, and some part of his mind thanked all the gods that the two from previous expedition decided to not make an appearance.
This time he decided to leave the Book back in his new place,leaving enough space for much needed supplies. And the urns.
While they were walking, he gathered the fungi that grew along the road into a small glass jar, setting it aside for the lab, though it also could be used to make potions on the road if necessary.
|
|
|
|
Post by EtherealNoire on Oct 20, 2018 17:21:13 GMT -8
Enthralled by whispers of spirits risen, Talea tread the dappled path, where shadows flitted and silhouettes oscillated beneath oaks splintered with age. Their wizened faces called to her, and she brushed away their fears. Pallid fingers smoothed the creases, and ditties soothed their cries. Appeased, they let her sway within their mottled cloaks, like a duckling harbored beneath its mother’s wings.
Fleeting though she strayed, she could not allude the glares cast so effortless from the golden eyes above. It scrutinized her with malignant fury, searing every inch of flesh its flaming tongue could find. Yet still the mortals clung to it, embraced its dying throes.
She dared not stray too close to them, despite her footsteps tracing their pass. Instead her gaze drifted where her soul did not, and lamented the wails of fungi plucked in greed from their verdant beds.
Clothed in shadows, Talea followed, determined to set them free.
|
|
|
|
Post by EloHim on Oct 20, 2018 19:25:43 GMT -8
He hid the jar within his satchel, seemingly not noticing the following girl. Yes, girl, for he could not find a better description for the person currently following him, and piercing a hole through him with her eyes. He known that sight too well. Determination to possess something that belonged to someone else. If he was bearing his Tome with him, he would be scared and already getting the dagger. But the book was back at the Hamlet, so whatever it was the girl was looking for...was probably not worth it. He was not going to grip the dagger's hilt just yet though. Words might've carried weight before the action.
"Tis unvise to try steal from people, who will travel alongside you. They might react like I just did and place the blame ahead of any action, and trust that might've formed be lost to aether."
|
|
|
|
Post by EtherealNoire on Oct 20, 2018 21:03:14 GMT -8
The light-dweller chided her, as if her resolve to save the innocent from their crystalline prison proved as malicious as his thievery. What whims did he possess to command her thus? But alas she was too late.
For the peals for rescue choked and silenced inside the satchel’s brimming bowels, and her gaze though veiled in crimson tresses, pined after their demise. Still his own sight remained fixed in stoic silence, calling forth an explanation that tasted ashen on her lips. No words compelled her, only twilight enticing her further within the confides of its mantle.
Though bathed in light he shone before her, burdened with determination she feigned to understand, there lingered yet a beast within his shadows. A fate entangled macabre that whispered to her own.
Footsteps wavering in pied darkness, she drew nigh to observe the mortal that brushed against the border of night.
|
|
|
|
Post by EloHim on Oct 21, 2018 7:13:05 GMT -8
"No answer, huh? One-sided dialogues aren't my strongest skill to practice. What did you wanted to take from me? You could answer to that at least. I might just give it, who knows? Or were you just swiping at the darkness of the unknown, trying to get anything?"
Elorit was puzzled by the girl, for she reminded the Alchemist about someone he knew. That was another warning flag...
Guess some roles tend to repeat their appearances from Play to Play - he thought to himself. A wheel of cycles kept turning all this time after all. It was only a matter of first lines to find out which role the girl was occupying.
|
|
|
|
Post by EtherealNoire on Oct 21, 2018 9:58:42 GMT -8
A seducing promise should she voice the protests that had perished undeveloped upon her tongue. Enough to lure her forward from each gnarled bough. Though hesitation lingered, and shrouded her in its shifting shape, she made no attempt to stop it. Instead she hummed her gratitude for the shadows that trailed each wayward step.
Envious of the corporeal, Dusk had set its powers against the mortal’s prying gaze. It clung to her. Spread out its tempestuous fingers to toss russet locks about her form.
“Speak not”, it cautioned as it brushed against her lips, yet her hand motioned to the satchel, longing to be heard.
“The earth beseeches its progeny restored.”
|
|
|
|
Post by EloHim on Oct 21, 2018 10:44:04 GMT -8
"- This?"
Elorit said, getting the jar out of his satchel. He was never a man of jumping to conclusions but the attire that the girl was bearing, the words she spoke...all those things allowed him to perceive the girls role.
"- I have no doubts that local earth deems me unworthy of the things it birthed. But that is simply because of what is buried under, what controls and poisons it. I do not know if you are one of the Brides stolen from her rightful home, or maybe local Mistress of the Night, but heed my warning - the earth here deems us all invaders and prey. I gathered that much, and seeing as it deems our deaths the only payment - i shall not indulge is urges and pleadings. I beg forgiveness from you, but that little thing will be used to make something bigger than itself, in order to sustain the likes of you and I on our way torwards the target."
He finished, hiding the jar back into the satchel. He didn't like to start connecting with the person from refusal, but he knew that this earth was not belonging to the Bull, but something or someone else, more malicious and deceiving than the aforementioned deity. If the girl had the ability to hear the local earth, Elorit was afraid that she was being misguided.
|
|
|
|
Post by EtherealNoire on Oct 21, 2018 12:41:29 GMT -8
He knew their poison more than she, and the trees bespoke displeasure. Talea cowered before their twisting limbs, which threatened to rebuke her. Yet the wind, compelled by pity, chose to quell them in her stead. A whisper replaced the bitter gust, though it seized one final chance to nip her skin in evident frustration before fading into silence. And with it found her voice restored.
Amidst baleful howls and groaning oaks, she breathed an agreement. Though ominous his words, the tinges of sincerity etched its form in every letter, like names carved in stark defiance of their demise. Were she to heed him not, they would fall slaves to this greater darkness, where the earth would gorge upon their corpses laid in waste.
Still, shackles of doubt consumed her. An impulse to understand that which stood unknown.
She fancied to touch him. If only to ensure herself that his mortality remained, despite the centurial wisdom imprisoned in his mind. Would he vanish if she dared?
Frigid as the icy breath of night, her hand brushed against his arm, thwarted moments after by the somatic weight of flesh. How was it that this mortal knew such secrets?
“You speak of knowledge greater than your years?” Her voice wavered, painted with intrigue
|
|
|
|
Post by EloHim on Oct 21, 2018 15:02:39 GMT -8
When she touched him she could see a cloud of black sand behind his frame, and a giant skull of the bird amidst that cloud looking at her with yellow glowing eyes. The vision was clear buy it was there only for a moment. Elorit smiled kindly. He was glad that he was able to talk with the girl, as she was seemingly trying to stay away from their companions. He allowed her the physical connection she was seeking and decided to speak freely about the subject. "I travel the long road, like my ancestors before me, and i've seen somewhat similar situations. I a saw many things big and small, spoke with beings greater than myself, to whom i was but a spek of dust on the wind. And when they asked me to help I did my best to do exactly that. And years have little to do with it." |
|
|
|
Post by EtherealNoire on Oct 21, 2018 15:37:53 GMT -8
Her body moved before her mind, drawn towards the image only to awaken with fingers splayed towards the shadows swirling beyond. A divinity stalked him, though the mortals eyes glimmered with the allure of youth untainted. Coruscating with knowledge both as precious and as sharp as jewels encrusted in forgotten rings, he weighed against her mind like a candle against a child's terrors. She withdrew in a shroud of silence, so entranced that words drifted foreign past her ears. She watched his lips for more, to prove their winged retreat in vain, and was rewarded with images of a wider world than the spirits had nay conveyed.
Was the Hamlet not the only haunt for evils steeped in Night?
Talea's grip abated, fading like the hope within her chest. He whispered to her in the stillness, ever loathe to release her from his claim. Had she understood the price to guide him?
"A mark taints the shadows in your soul. The eyes... it haunts you. What name doth the darkness bare that binds your mortal essence?"
Her voice became the wind, formed in a melody of sorrow and yearning that bore her soul in every doleful note.
|
|
|
|
Post by EloHim on Oct 21, 2018 15:53:37 GMT -8
"What did you saw?"
Eloirt asked looking behind his back for a moment. He didn't knew what she saw but had his suspicions. The Bird was playing his own games, as he always was. And Alchemist couldn't blame him - he would probably do the same in his position. For now Elorit was his main focus of attention, but was it blessing or the curse, he was not sure, nor did he really care. The Bird was limited in his actions to a bare minimum, that much Elorit knew.
"There is no strictly binding chains on me, per se... but I do tend to bring that kind of attention, truth be told."
|
|
|
|
Post by relentless on Oct 21, 2018 16:09:38 GMT -8
//OOC issues have warranted that I take control of Mithra aka "Big p*ssy"//
As the darkness would grow, silhouettes danced but none seem to stand out from the outskirts of the path, as if they were scared off. Good, the weak would be of no merit for Mithras trophy rack anyway.
From the back, a fur clad warrior, strapping with both equipment and physical prowess would march with Glaive in hand to test those worthy to stand against her. The mention of spirits was an interesting one, perhaps there would be a foe for her to face. But mainly, this venture in the dark once more would provide her with much needed gold to supply herself with weaponry.
The warrior stopped just behind the two... strange things that were picking at the moss. Flicking back her hair, a soft grit of tooth was all she would give as she looked down at the two in mild confusion, and irritation. There was no time for plant picking, it was the time of the hunt. With a sigh, she flourished her Glaive into her other hand, tapping Talea on the thigh.
"Poisonous?"
Mithra nodded toward the collection, cocking her head with a peculiar look on her face.
//
Anyone that has dabbled in any form of alchemy or grew plants would know that some of the fungi present would be edible, giving out a dry, pale white complexion. However, there were some large, rounded mushrooms that retained a bright red, which would be deemed poisonous in alchemy books and the like.
|
|
|
|
Post by EtherealNoire on Oct 21, 2018 20:46:19 GMT -8
Talea’s lips moved soundlessly, tasting the weight behind his question. The Wight, so fleeting in its study, had left its mark upon her heart, where with it stayed a promise; A promise to observe. A promise to claim.
The fickle words that had flicked along her tongue, and clashed against her teeth, now powdered into soot. Thick like the spread of ashes atop the graves. Too thick for her to breathe. Did this light-dweller not known the dominance of death?
She regarded him with caution, her weary eyes tracing the one that he had lost.
The mortal spoke of attention. Like a stain on tattered cloth he viewed the shadows, nay more than paltry to his creation. She could feel their claws upon him, eager to rend, eager to devour with their ravenous maws fixed on his soul, yet inexplicably, he pulled them to him. All manners of shadows and darkness, even she fell victim to his allure, were drawn forth to his forbearance. The Night should have held him captive, a speck in His domain. Instead where Night’s power dwelled lay shackles grasped between corporeal, mortal hands. Thwarted.
What living could dismiss Night’s dominion?
Though she searched, she found no answer, only the tangled threads of fate that spun tighter about her neck. The wight knew what she sought.
Yet before the questions, like moths, could flutter free from her lips, a hot and biting sting assaulted her. The trance, impeded, shattered as quickly as glass against a rock. In a flurry of crimson, she fled into the waiting shade.
Only there, where the trees ensured her refuge, did she study the ghastly women with a tinge of petulance in her gaze.
|
|
|
|
Post by relentless on Oct 22, 2018 2:56:55 GMT -8
The Hellion reacted in a confused manner, taking a step back as the woman shot off into the trees, regardless of her own safety. Mithra uttered a simple 'huh' in confusion from the events that occured. Surely she didn't tap her that hard, right? It was only a little tap, then again... little for the muscular titan of a woman, Mithra, might be too much for someone like Talea.
She looked to Eloirt with the same puzzled expression, before jabbing a thumb in the direction of the strange, goat head wearing woman.
"You know? She seems to have taken some of that redcap."
Mithra pointed out in a blunt, knowing manner. Clearly she wasn't right in the head, as Mithra looked back to catch the childish stare down from Talea as she hid behind one of the rotting trees.
|
|
