Oasis is Hell - Exalted 2ed - IC

[Guancyto]

Percussion, Repercussion

"I suppose you knew about this," Ophelia said, although she didn't seem altogether angry about it.

"So, Samael," she strode forward and put her hands on his desk, "answer me honestly. Do you think you can manage it all? What do you intend to do with everything you've so suddenly inherited?"

[AmberVael]

Runaway

"The Titans won't allow it." Rai Ka replies quietly, voicing her thoughts aloud, feeling a level of despair and hopelessness wash over her. It didn't matter if it could be better. It didn't matter if it should be better. Trying to make it better just caused more suffering, because the beings above them squashed it out with ruthless efficiency and unmatchable power. What was she, to try and match and defy such a fathomless entity? Better to simply play by their rules, so she would survive, and so others wouldn't suffer from her hubris.

It was a bloody and brutal cycle, because the destruction and death would only provoke more rebellion and desire for better, which would bring down more brutal oppression, and on and on through the thousand layers, until everything was bloody and broken and full of despair or rage. There was no escape to be found, no respite. Rai Ka felt a longing well up in her, for the sea shore and her small thatched hut, her old life in a tiny, remote fishing village. No, it was more than that, more than some specific place or time- it was a desire for a place of belonging, a place where she was welcomed, cared for, and a place she understood.

She wished to be home. But there was no home for her to go to now, no matter how Ululaya blessed her and showered her with finery and gifts. This place did not welcome her, or want her. This was not a place she could truly understand or desire. But she didn't have anything else. There was nowhere but here.

Finally, Rai Ka raised herself up and began to move after Ifini, through the ring of servants and serfs, and though despair sapped at her will, fear prickled her to awareness, discomfort reminded her of all that might happen to her here. She drew herself up to her full, imposing height, and made her writhing bow ready in her hands, humming red light letting out eerie snaps at anything that dared look upon her too boldly or without proper respect.

"I understand what you have shown me, Ifini." She says finally, attempting to muster some authority. "Are we finished here? Or is there more you wish to say before we move on?"

[Gargulec]

Hounds in the Wastes
Seeker

She grimaced at Rose's replica, scowling as if she had just swallowed something really sour.

'You are no fun!' she sneered. 'No fun at all. What does he see in you?' she asked herself, and finally tearing her eyes away from Jade's athletic and exposed body gave Rose an apprehensive look, probably annoyed at her far more modest choice of attire. 'Oh, well, I guess you're not too shabby either' she admitted, nodding. 'Not my taste, tough. No offence meant.'

Having said that, she promptly returned to cheerfully observing her current object of admiration.

'Do you have any idea how prolonged your demise is going to be if don't stop looking at me like that?' Jade inquired, her voice rendering her threats depressively unreliable. Even her tone which she probably wanted to sound sharp and dangerous gave an impression of a very deep resignation. Or perhaps even more.

'Oh, I am so eager to see what you think of!' the Lunar answered without hesitation, crescent of a grin on her face so radiant. 'You must be so imaginative with such kind of play!'

'What' the Solar managed to stutter. 'Stop. This is...'

'Oh, don't be shy about it!' she interrupter her, jumping closer and closing her arms around her, snuggling.

'STOP!' Jade yelled, throwing her back, onto the brass. 'WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!'

Her furious, thunderous scream rolled over the wasteland, and if there was somehow a living soul beyond you within miles of the lonesome tree, they would certainly hear it, and wonder what kind of a demonic banshee unleashed such a howl.

Up close, it was far less dignified, far less sublime. The Night snapped, losing her senses in a rather a messy way. Whatever the Lunar did to her, it hit upon a weak spot, and drove her crazy.

'YOU LUSTY PIECE OF ****' she continued to yell. She tried to kick the girl, but she effortlessly rolled out of the way. 'I WILL KILL YOU, KILL YOU!'

A knife appeared out of nowhere in her hand and she launched herself onto the Lunar below, but once again only managed to dull the edge on the brass.

'So cute and so temperamental' the Lunar sighed, as the Night struggled to dig the blade out. 'You have any idea how to calm her?'


Corpses and Other Dead Things

Port Wrath could be described as a wretched place. Hell, it was a wretched place... but such adjectives did not mean much in the Oasis anymore. Even the most affluent and wealthy merchants of Bartertown dwelt in what the high and haughty of the former world would not give to their servants. Everything in this new home of humankind was wretched. But to various levels, on various scales.

And if there was a bottom point for them, it was Port Wrath. Perched at the rim of the brasses, where sands of Cecelyne continuously flow into the layer, hoping to drown it beneath their sweet desolation, lacking a gate into the City proper and being deprived even of the ability to become permanent. The Desert could annex it at any point, and so everything here had to be transportable, to flee when it came to close. Transportable and transient. Nothing here was blessed with permanency. In this town of shadows and daggers lurking within them, of business that could only be conducted out of the curious eyes of both mighty demon and curious Chosen, of countless small tavern-tents and houses of ill-repute that were houses in name only, nothing could last. Fortune made on one shipment of clocks would be lost by the next tomescu howl. Friendship struck would become a bitter enmity in a matter of a just a few small, unfortunate revelations. Those who ruled this place from their distant abodes were touched by its curse - their reign would come crashing down, even if they thought themselves eternal.

Even the beggars flocking in the narrow passageways between tents were ever-changing. For there was little alms to be given here, and so those hoping to thrive on the scrapes from the tables were quickly forced away. Into the embrace of the Desert, who could always provide, just for a prayer and a promise, deeper into Oasis were better people lived... or just into the funerary pyres that dispensed with the corpses found daily in the streets.

One of them was burning right now, just outside of the city borders, thick, black fumes rising up from the pile of corpses wreathed in green brass-fire. The odour was almost unbearable, for one not accustomed to this particular grisly perfume.

Seeker of Blood in the Dying Sunlight, however, was. Her tribe, back in the day, used to cremate their dead as well, and in its last days, the smoke from the pyres seemed to never clear from the darkening skies, as if it could keep the stars from burning out. And, well, she was an Ashbringer, this smell could not bother her much. That which gave her power relished it.

Apart from her, there was no one nearby - or no one of note. A single beggar, a miserable creature looking more like a sizable pile of rags wrapped around something shapeless crouched by the fire, as if seeking warmth.

The town held many opportunities for one like her. First, it had the nice quality of not attracting those would hunt Abyssals, and she knew that after the last achievement of her kin, there were quite a few willing to do anything just to rip a head off from someone who could be responsible for laying Creation to its grave. Secondly, it was always in need for a hunter who would eliminate things crawling out of the desert... or from the brasses and would not ask for dominion over the place in turn. And finally, well... for those who had already fallen off from the wheel of fortune, what predation could await that they could not best?

'Have a coin to spare, miss?' the pile of filth that was a beggar spoke. 'Have mercy upon a dying soul...'

[Lix Lorn]

'Have a coin to spare, miss?' the pile of filth that was a beggar spoke. 'Have mercy upon a dying soul...'
"Mercy?" the woman smiles, a warm, kind smile.
"Well now, what mercy is there for the dying?" she wonders aloud. The sleeves of her coat, a long, black, smooth outfit, writhe briefly, and stop when she glances upon them.
"...the mercy of speed, perhaps? The mercy of a quick end, a blade embedded in the chest before the pain has time to grow. Is that what you seek?" she asks, almost conversationally, smiling all the while, her pleasant tone entirely at odds with her words.

[Gargulec]

Percussion, Repercussion

Samael ran his fingers through the console set on the flat of the desk, images flickering in and out around his hand too fast to see.

'I'm unassociated, Tewi' he smirked to the Water Aspect, in a way that suggested that he was beholding a dream coming true, a plan coming into motion with such a strength that even the mightiest would not be able to stop it. 'I never really worked for him. I am not one of the aides.'

Zoe kissed him on a cheek, her tail swinging happily in the air.

'He seduced one' she explained, flourishing to you.

'Such a funny concept you have, endearment' he commented, continuing to input commands at a staggering speed. 'I would have never thought that my small dream will be made manifest thanks to someone finding me cute.'

Zoe laughed softly and put her fingers on the console as well, slowly and carefully typing in the access code. With a whir, a circle of green flashed in the air, hieroglyphs dancing around it, denoting it as an intercom access. All in the tower, in all offices, guard posts and lobbies, speakers blared with Makarios' own sultry, pre-recorded voice.

'The contingency Tu-one-five-one is now in effect' they announced. 'While I am regenerating, the control remains in proper hands. I assure that my absence is only temporary and no real change in the command chain has occurred. For further details, refer to your manuals. Makarios out.'

'Technically, he is not dead yet' Samael warned after the message had been played. 'The systems would not accept the code should he be truly perished. But he is gone for some time, so, well, all that is left to me is to hope that he does not come back and prepare for it nonetheless. And, Ophelia?' he nodded to the Solar. 'Come with me.'

Grunting, he stood up from the desk, turning a few systems off and shuffled towards the enormous skylight.

'You did tell me that you want to make this city a better place' he murmured, admiring the beautiful, if savage panorama. 'And now you ask me if I can manage. Honestly?' he chuckled lightly, as if to keep darker emotions at bay. 'I have no idea. It is a desperate bid for power I am making, a scheme only someone with no hopes and no future would dare to plan. And yet I am standing here, toes in the blood of the who claimed that he is the best of us, and he is away, and his empire is mine. Even if for a day. You know, I am a citizen' he turned away again, smiling with some strange sort of serenity. 'But years ago, I have recognized my kinship with every soul of this place. While there are starving on the streets, I am not satiated' those were not his words, he was obviously citing someone 'while there are those lacking a roof above their heads, I have no home. And while there are serfs... I am not free' it seemed that he knew those lines by rote, as if he was mouthing them when no one could had heard every day and every night, the only prayer that this place could bear. 'So now, while I hold the power, I am going to use it to give all those tiny people below what they were long due. I don't know what effect will it have. I don't know how I or Zoe will end. Probably poorly. But, I can say one thing with full certainty. When the refugees came, they started to speak about the storm that was coming. Gathering on the horizon, unsettling them with its distant thunders and a promise of a change, something Malfeas has not seen in ages. And now, it will hit them with full force. And so...' he swiped his hand over the controls a final time. With a ring, all screens flashed red.

'Full access granted' it clarioned, and you could not help but feel a shiver. The demon clasped his hands together.

'The revolution begins now.'


Setting Sail, Coming Home

The materials were not an issue in this ruined cathedral. It took Bartrand just a moment of searching to locate a few lockers full of dusty, but surprisingly well-preserved components, of all the kinds he could wish for. Perhaps those centuries-old supplies would not be good for crafting an artifact, a blade to cut light from shadow or a breastplate that would never be pierced, but nonetheless, they were more than enough to weave a suit of dress suitable for anyone's fancy. Between the rows of bars of iron and metals more exotic, there were strands of silver as fine and light as silk there, velvet that shone delicately with wyld-light, batiste so thin that it was like an air somehow frozen when touched. Strangely, not a single crate seemed to had ever been opened, as if they were brought here during this fabled, long past gone time when this place was still a marvel in Malfeas.

As for the package left by Morgaine, its contents were far more trivial. A loaf of bread, a bit stale, some dried meat, a bit of vegetables that almost looked like Creation's, apart from a faint, but visible viridian and orange tinting. Apparently, Morgaine was concerned about his hunger and took precautions to ensure that he would not starve while working on a trinket she had dreamed of for so long.


One Saved Sou

The nymph did take her time to answer Fury's suggestion. Minute, maybe more. She was not looking at him during that time, rather leading her eyes through the horizon, the surface of the lake shimmering like some exotic gem, the emerald of life adorning it, a crown jewel of the gods, both old and new. Then, she glanced once again at the resplendent Fallen Orchid, her beauty and the throng of her pious adherents. She smiled to this sight, but the happiness flew away from her face in a heart-beat.

She made a step back.

'You have your reasons' she agreed, tone reserved, almost cold. 'You can't make enemies right now, you are, after all, the culprit of a mighty demon's demise. You need to play safe and do the biddings of those strong enough to shelter you against the storm you have unleashed. One saved soul does not factor into this equation, does it?' her eyes narrowed, and the Full Moon felt the taste of salt on his lips. Out of nowhere, a delicate breeze begun to blow. 'I wish I could say that I understand' she sighed. 'And I would understand, if you were anyone else. Not Luna's own. You were raised above man to stand for those who cannot stand for themselves... and survive the consequences of such a... rebellious actions. But fine' she said suddenly 'understanding or not, I can only rely on you, and if it is your design to help me escape after I return, so be it. All that is left to me now is to hope that you will stay true to your word.'

[Flare]

Hounds of the Waste

Rose shrugged, shaking her head at the woman. "As an outsider looking in, perhaps it would make her less angry if you take less steps to deliberately antagonize her constantly. You've clearly already done something in the past that upset her, and you continue to do it despite the fact she does not enjoy it." Rose pointed out, frowning. "I would be upset at it as well, if someone was doing the same to me." she admitted, turning to Jade.

"Jade, please calm yourself for now. There are more important things. Remember that our goal involves saving Malfeas. Put aside your anger for now."

[DaWrecka]

Return

The Artificer of Ten Thousand Blasphemies answered the Dragon-blood simply. "Yes," he said. "You can." And without a further word, he stepped down to where the hermit slept.

He did not find anything on which to comment when he went down to her, and began to examine the woman. Although he found that he no longer had quite the same conviction about the Greater Contagion, he could likely still apply the knowledge from the examination to a wide variety of uses.

Away from prying eyes, he channelled his Essence, bringing the flows of Essence into his visible range as he began to probe the hermit's vital signs...

So, Int + Medicine I'm guessing. Spending 6m personal on Through Dead Eyes again - since it's a new scene, I'm assuming my last activation has lapsed. I'd drop 2m on Second Medicine Ex if I weren't a dumbass... but I am, so I don't have Second Medicine.

Int+Med: [roll0]

Essence:
Willpower: ●●●xx xxxxx
Conviction: xxxx
Valour: ●●x
Resonance: ●●xxx xxxxx
Personal: 10/22 (6 committed)
Peripheral: 23/33 (+14 attuned)

[Gargulec]

Runaway

'No, you don't' Ifini answered without even thinking, as if it was the most obvious thing under the sun. 'You think you do, you are in turmoil, you are afraid, but at that core of yours, you don't. You still believe your hands to be clean. The blood shed for those foolish dreams is not your responsibility. And this is why you are here. To be baptized in it.'

The gongs stopped without warning, the abrupt silence almost as foreboding as the demoness voice - sharp and acidic, rage hidden just beneath its surface. She was a different being that mere moments ago. A playful, jeering demoness with a fondness for hard liquor vanished without a trace, leaving this cloaked figure loom over Rai Ka like some dread taskmaster. Each word she had spoken seemed to aggravate her further, and now she was sounding like a typhoon brewing, a hurricane approaching, the keening of the gales only growing stronger.

'I have little more to say, but I will give you one last lesson before I set you out' she sneered. 'Words mean nothing and cost nothing. Never trust them. Never believe them. Deeds, though...'

She threw down her hood, revealing a face that was a horror. Not because of what it was on its own - just a drowned woman's swollen, fish-eaten face, looking like it was left to the salt-water and predations of the creatures of the oceans for long enough to smooth away any distinctive features. What made it abhorrent was the painfully clear memory of what it used to be. Rai Ka could not explain how did it happen or what prompted it, but the former face of Ifini was somehow overlaid on her current mask of terror. In the corner of the eye, she could see her for what she used to be - a woman of captivating beauty, as light as a feather, as delicate as a beam of light made tangible, with eyes as deep as the sky and a smile that spoke of the soul's innocence.

It was only a shadow, though, a shadow to deep to go away.

'Deeds bear the truth and deeds make the truth' she called, twist her blue lips into a repulsive grimace. 'And so you will be made here, Rai Ka, born anew. In deeds, not in words. The king of this domain, a demon of shadows and knives survived the death of his vision. A foolish stroke of luck. And he is out there, somewhere. Broken and grieving, and yet hoping to raise this Rift from its ruin. And it will be you, Ululaya's own, that will put an end to it. You will find him and you will kill him, and you will have his blood on your hands and on your soul, and truly, you will become one of us' she announced the order with the same mixture of emotion that had undone her blasé visage. 'And you will go alone, so the blame and guilt will be yours and only yours. And if you find yourself too weak, you will run away, and hide, for I will hound you, if you do.'


Corpses and Other Dead Things

'Interesting question you ask, madame' the beggar answered, his tone growing deeper. Seeker made a step closer to him, and in a blur, a hand shot forth from behind his pile of rags and clawed itself around the Dusk's pale fingers.

'As I have expected' he hissed.

Talons clasped at Seeker's wrist were a thing that no man could bear. They belonged to a corpse, a skeleton wrapped by a parchment of dry, brown skin, wrapped so tightly that the bones threatened to rip it.

'Surely, the fates were kind on me' he continued to speak, half amused, half thrilled. With a croaking sound, he straightened, the cloth hiding him turning out to be just a long, leathery cape, as worn down as his own skin was. It was the only article of clothing on him, wrapped around his neck.

He stood head taller than Seeker, and was half as thin. There was no muscle left on him, only bones and their wrapping, as if someone had taken a knife or acid to grind away the useless flesh from the skeleton, and decided to leave the leather on for modesty or mockery. Half of his jaw was gone as well, covered with a stained sash, from above which, wisps of pale green embedded in his eye-sockets glimmered. Strangely, there were hair left on his skull, a bleached corona on a dead man's head.

'So it would be that there is another of our kind stranded among those whose our blades could not touch' he croaked to himself, offering Seeker a flourishing bow. His cape flapped, as if animated by a life of its own. A circle appeared on his brow, and then another opened within it, like a dark bruise, blood he should not have had trickling down from it steadily. 'I was named Reaver on the Soul's Pathways. Indeed, the mercy that I seek is that you speak of. Though I look for it not for myself, but for the world entire.'

[DrakeRaids]

Low, Down and Dirty

"Likely anything that weathered the destruction of this place is valuable indeed. Artifacts perhaps, and stranger things." She smiled a little at the demons attempt to cheer her up, and took the cue, pushing away her melancholy with a determined step. "Maybe even something to get you out of that collar. But I don't want to risk to much. We're stepping on dangerous ground as it is." She murmured, smiling slightly. Dangerous yes, but she did have light feet.

"And look, we can probably find our way to the under passages there!" That was lucky, she had to admit, she was a little worried that they would be wandering her for a while, this place was so crushed and destroyed that few buildings where left standing at all. "Come on, we've wasted to much time alrea-"

The Solar was cut off, by the sound of bells, which was so odd here, so out of place, that it seemed deafening despite not being all that loud to her. Zeka's response was equally sudden and quick, pulling her cloak around her it instantly began taking on the coloring and texture of the area around her, and as the sun beat down on the Solar, it didn't expose her like it rightful should. Rather, she seemed to become part of it almost, a sunbeam herself.

"Quickly. Quietly. Follow my lead." she whispered.

Whoever brought those bells was likely the competition that had been mentioned, which meant they could not dally. It was time to move.

As soon as she finished speaking the sound of bells overtook them, and Zeka's response was fast.

[Lix Lorn]

Corpses and Other Dead Things

'So it would be that there is another of our kind stranded among those whose our blades could not touch' he croaked to himself, offering Seeker a flourishing bow. His cape flapped, as if animated by a life of its own. A circle appeared on his brow, and then another opened within it, like a dark bruise, blood he should not have had trickling down from it steadily. 'I was named Reaver on the Soul's Pathways. Indeed, the mercy that I seek is that you speak of. Though I look for it not for myself, but for the world entire.'
Seeker takes a step back, a kind of revulsion clear upon her face.
"You wish the world to end? Then why stand you here, and not in the ashes of the world we had?"

Gathering her senses, she whispers, conspiratorially.
"An advance scout for the attack on Malfeas, perhaps?"

[Myllinnia]

Low, Down, And Dirty

Ara'Desirae smiles as Zeka perks up and for a moment she was content with this situation. But then not everything is as simple as they should be and even in the depths of Malfeas she should have expected things to happen, such as competition. Ara'Desirae gives a small start at the sound of the bells and no sooner does Zeka mention this does Ara'Desirae attempt to meld into the darkness of the area, moving slowly, quietly and following Zeka. She didn't like the sound of the bells and her wings and tail dropped at this, narrowing her eyes she watched for trouble, her space-warping needles ready to be thrown or used at a moment's notice. She wasn't going to let anything hurt Zeka.


Stealth attempt using 6m for Second Excellency [roll0]
6+3 successes

[Ziddim]

The Dance Perilous


Where there is no water, the land grows dry and the body thirsts. It is so in matters of the soul as well, and Malfeas was a spiritual desert to those who resided there. The spirits of all within were dry and thirsty, which made them excellent tender for a fire.

And now, that fire had been lit. It had taken little more than a spark, and now it threatened to rage out of control unless someone did something to quench it.

The Prophet had no such intentions. In fact, it was quite the opposite. It was evident from his demeanor and posture that he intended to burn until there was nothing left.

As his choir of voices rose in an aria, the Zenith’s song grew in intensity and ferocity.

“WE ARE YOUR HOPE!” A male voice called from the choir, backed by Unspoken Word’s thought-words.

"Oasis is the seed of our new world. Calibration is coming soon, and the Anathema will try to slip through the bars of our cage while it is weak and crush the seed before it can sprout! We must secure the Gates, whether by alliance or by force, and ensure our survival beyond Calibration. For all are One, and One is All, and whosoever would lift a hand against One of Us would seek to destroy all of Us!

Now go, and open the eyes of those who still sleep, for we will find strength in Unity, and with that strength we shall forge the world anew!"

DUN DUN DUN DUN!!!!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=JHWdXIEcFNw#t=241s

[Gargulec]

Hounds in the Wastes

Jade rushed at the Lunar, knife whistling through the air as she attempted to plunge it between her ribs. Her target was hardly impressed by that, though, effortlessly sidestepping the attack, allowing the blade to pass mere inches from her skin.

'Antagonize her?' she said thoughtfully, ducking under another swing, frowning at the distraction. 'Me? But I just wanted her to know how much I love her...'

'DIE' the Solar in question continued to grunt, springing from the brass to deliver a powerful cut that should have spilled the Lunar's innards. This time, she did not even try to evade, allowing the blade to bite into her... and move no further. A faint silver glow appeared around the wound, her skin crawling all around the weapon, trapping it inside of her flesh.

'Please stop that' she asked gently, as if reprimanding an unruly child, and taking the advantage of the fact that Jade was frantically trying to rip her knife away from the belly it was embedded in, placed a smooch on the dark-skinned woman's forehead. 'You really are not going to get me here, dear. You did not get any better since our last time' she spoke pleasantly, smiling motherly.

'I haven't even met you!' Jade grunted, tugging on the blade. A sharp crack later, and she was sent flying back, only grip staying in her hands, broken metal still protruding from the Lunar's skin.

'You were less shapely back then, yes' the Lunar nodded in agreement. 'Also, I think that you were a guy, but my memory gets kinda hazy, so...'

The Solar collected herself out of the ground, panting. She grabbed Rose's arm to help herself up and gave the girl before her a look that should have had turned her to stone right there. It seemed thought that the impact, with the Deathknight's words had knocked up some sense back into her.

'Fine' she snarled to the Abyssal. 'I'll calm. She's good' she had to admit.

'Of course I am silly' she chuckled in response. 'So, I have to drop you in some town, cute, right? Well, then...'

The change was instantaneous. In a blink, a beautiful agatae was rearing its wings before you, giving a distinct impression of smirking on its insectoid head.

'I'm not getting on that lusty bitch' Jade warned. 'I'm not letting her touch me...'

[Flare]

Hounds of the Waste

Once more, Rose simply rolled her eyes between the two. She was unaware she had adopted a pair of bickering children, but so be it. Standing calmly, she waited for Jade to finish her statements of refusal to get on the Lunar. "I accept and respect your choice." She said, patting the girl on the shoulder. Then she grabbed the Night Caste by the Waist and hefted her onto her shoulder, then moved to sit on the Agate. "This way, you don't have to get on her at all. All better now?" she asked, ruffling the darker skinned woman's hair as one would a child.

[Zoronos]

Setting Sail, Coming Home

Bartrand sighed and began rummaging through crates. He carefully separated items into four piles. Things that would be useful in creating the demon's requested trinket, things that would be useful in construction of a Hand of the Great Maker, things that were not useful, and things that would be useful in construction of the core. He had not expected quite such an array of helpful items, but it was still not enough to complete the real project. And that meant working on the trinket first.

With a flash of azure light his bracers sprung to life once more, throwing blue tinged shadows onto the walls and mingling with the overhead golden lamps to create elaborate reflected patterns of blue and yellow throughout the chamber. He bent over the table, swiftly building the trinket the demon requested. Such things did not take long with the skill of the Solar Exalted in play.


Weaving a dress for a demon. Craftsman Needs No Tools to accelerate the process.
[roll0] + 10 automatic successes = 23 successes.

[Volthawk]

One Saved Soul

Fury doesn't say anything more, silently turning and walking away before abruptly stopping, a grin forming as he looks back at Kesh.

"Well, come on then. Let's get you out of here. Or do you want to go with my first plan and go see the Dragon after all?

[Gargulec]

Return

Artificer found the hermit lying in her room, on a ramshackle couch. She was covered by a few thick blankets, and someone was kind enough to sweep away a nearby pile of papers and place a bucket near her head. Judging by its contents, it was a sound move.

Irritating stench clung to her - of sweat and filth. She was pale, large droplets of sweat gathering on her forehead, but her sleep was deep and breath measured, even if shallow. The worst seemed to be behind her.

The Deathknight's diagnosis only brought more evidence to support that claim. The poison was gone from her system. That was not to say that she would make a swift recovery - her wound was still festering, the toxin did terrible damage to her body that added up to weeks of fatigue and work beyond its capabilities, and the medicine Jania had administered made her dehydrate. Were she an ordinary woman, she would probably never return to health, but thankfully, as an Exalt, she was a good bit sturdier, and so, in time, she would probably return to a proper state. The only question was when - and the damp, cramped cave she took as a shelter was probably not the best for her to recuperate - especially since the only care she could receive here would come from those two Air Aspects, and Artificer was more or less certain that their medical knowledge could not be called knowledge at all. He also recalled how the hermit acted when he had first seen her. The chances of her running herself back into ground after making the smallest progress were rather high, and again, trusting her servants with keeping her from that did not seem to be an appalling idea.

It was during his examination of her that Jania arrived at the hideout. The neomah took Arianna with herself, just as she had been asked to. It turned out that the crafty demon had an agatae friend (or servant... or slave, it was always hard to tell one from another in Malfeas), and so it was quite probable that by the time Jania had to ask the Air Aspect for permission in, the lavander-skinned flesh-weaver was already filling up her little shop with that unique musk of hers.

Thankfully, the guardian was less suspicious of her than of the Abyssal before, and obviously overjoyed with the information about the victory over the Solar, so he let the Artistian in without much ado, sending his brother to lead her to "her companion", as he had put it.

'Will she be all right?' the brother asked the moment he walked in, the Jadeborn behind him.

[AmberVael]

Runaway

What little certainty and confidence Rai Ka had gathered flees her as Ifini reveals her face and gives her command. What was the point of this? Was it Ifini or Ululaya who wanted it, or was there a difference- was it a distinction that mattered? Did Ifini or Ululaya actually expect and want her to carry through, or were they expecting something else?

And what could she really do, no matter the situation? Maybe she should stand up to Ifini, refuse to do it, but in the end that would just call Kimbery's wraith upon her, and where would she be then? Even if she could win against Ifini, there was no way it would end well for her.

But to kill someone who hadn't really done anything wrong- who had really just tried to help people- Rai Ka didn't know if she could do that. It was hard enough contemplating really hurting and killing anyone, let alone someone who didn't even deserve it, who had nothing to do with her at all. Her life on the island had never prepared her to do something like this, and she had never wanted to learn it. Only since she came to Malfeas had her mind ever really paused and considered that it might become necessary.

She could beg, but surely it would only earn Ifini's contempt and ire. If she refused... she didn't know. And if she fought- no, she couldn't even do that. She couldn't stand against Ifini, she was too weak and uncertain of her place to try. It left her only one real choice.

Without saying anything, Rai Ka turns away from Ifini and began walking into the desolate waste, feet treading on air as she paced into the sky, walking the celestial paths. She didn't know if she intended to flee or follow Ifini's commands, but both would be easier from the sky. As she puts the group behind her, Rai Ka's pace slows, but she does not stop- she had no direction without Ululaya, no point if she abandoned that life. She'd be adrift and worthless again.

At the very least, she should look. If she could find this fallen king, maybe the way forward would be clearer.

[Gargulec]

Low, Down and Dirty

The bells continued their wail, distant and distinct, but nothing approached. As far as you could tell, the ringing was coming from the same, far-away spot. The horizon remained clear of any threat or danger. Even the lonesome scavenger vanished somewhere, maybe after unearthing another pocket of past encased in the brass, or maybe just deciding that the silence that ruled this place was not to his likeness.

No one wanted to meet the Wind, after all.

You melded with the wasteland so perfectly that not even the keenest eye could pick out from the backdrop of the frozen metal. Creeping carefully towards your goar, you waited for whoever rang those bells to come closer. But the time passed uneventfully, quietly.

A few minutes later, the sound cut abruptly, only to resume at a changed pace moments later. It was quieter now, less vicious. Just an ordinary beating to scare off Adojran and her children. The street's only honest prayer.
It remained fixed in its place of origin, not coming closer, nor getting farther away.

It started to appear that it was a false alarm, or at least a danger that had given you a wide berth. Perhaps some lord of Hell decided to pay this layer a visit and gloat to his subject about how rebellion would only lead to their misery. Or maybe it was Bronze Bonepickers, the mysterious solidity that dug through the regions touched by the Yozis' wrath, looking for treasures lost in the outbursts of their ire, singing hymns to strange Unquestionables no one else recognized, and somehow only rarely failing to the predations of the fallen layers. Or it could be something even stranger, even more exotic.

And then, right when you were starting to bore with the uneventful, dry journey towards some ruin, getting fried alive by Ligier above, you noticed something. Something weird, to add. A silhouette in the sky, high above. It was a little more than a tiny black spot against the green sky, but it flew low enough for you to notice its general shape - and it seemed almost human, if large.

For some reason, it was also walking on the thin air.

[Dragnar]

Return
"She'll be fine." The jadeborn spoke without any emotion other than exhaustion in her voice. No care, no compassion. Just... Tired, weary exhaustion. She had no energy left to care about things, just wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible before heading off to find one of Orablis's libraries... And probably rob it, because she hadn't made ENOUGH powerful beings mad at her today. Arriana and the Neomah would be safe enough, but as soon as she returned... They were going to have to move, and quickly.

[Guancyto]

Percussion, Repercussion

Ophelia looked at Samael intently for a long moment. Then she grinned. "Very poorly, I think," she said, "but what you might inspire could last an Age. Watch out for knives in the dark."

She thought on it a moment longer, "and ask me if you need help. Once I'm done with the business I needed, of course. The reason we came here, Zoe, we need something from you."

[Sallera]

Percussion, Repercussion

"Ah... I see." More than he was implying, in fact, for as soon as Samael turned away, the reflections from Makarios's iridescent blood, filtered through the sunny wash of Tewi's anima, told tales and more of his usurper. Unaligned he may be, but no one was unaffiliated. 'Priests named me Arsunas,' indeed. "A usurpation, rather than an ascension... but as our lot could tell you, they're really one and the same, after a few years... or days. Guess we'll see if you're granted that much."

"Well then, to business. You offered your support in return for ours, and we let you up here and covered your ascent. But since you two are in this together, perhaps I might ask a favour of Zoe instead?" Looking to the other demon, he gives a small shrug. "Quite simply, we need to get to the Undergrotto. Let us borrow your anchor, and the means of using it, and I'll have no more to ask."

Revelation of Associates Hunch, on Samael, from personal motes.

Perception + Investigation: [roll0]

Personal: 7/11
Peripheral: 11/25
Willpower: 6/8

[DaWrecka]

Return

The Artificer of Ten Thousand Blasphemies turned to the Dragonbloods with a frown on his face - or at least, his facial muscles were attempting to pull his skin into that expression. "She may," he told them. "But not here. The conditions here are poor, and in her current state of frail health I believe they will prevent her recovery. Secondly, for the duration of her recovery, she will need proper care from someone with actual medical knowledge - and while I have that knowledge, applying it to preserve her life would anger the Neverborn... and that is never a wise idea, particularly for a deathknight." Well, that was true enough. "Unless one of you has medical training, you will not be able to provide the care she requires. And finally... she needs at least one person, preferably more, who can keep her under control. I have little doubt that the moment she is on her feet, she will begin pushing herself to her limits again - slowing her recovery at best, and killing herself at worst." He crossed his arms and looked at the ground pensively. "And, in honesty, I do not have solutions for any of those problems to hand."

Still need to figure out the Artificer's Doom...

[Myllinnia]

Low, Down, and Dirty

Ara'Desirae paused a moment then tugged on Zeka's sleeve, in the shadows or light whichever, the Sukari was certain that the threat was not going to come any closer. She points upwards for Zeka.

"Powerful person. A peer definitely. Maybe a threat to our mission." She glances to the sky-walking person and frowns arms crossing.

[Gargulec]

Corpses and Other Dead Things

The flickering flames the deathknight had for eyes transfixed Seeker, and for a brief, unpleasant moment, the Dusk felt as if her soul was laid bare before Reaver to see.

He stepped back, right into a noxious cloud of smoke rising from the pyre. The black fumes wisped around him spectrally, as if drawn to his cadaverous, sickly stature. He became an outline first, only a pair of otherworldly lanterns moments later.

'So I see' he hissed, a sound accompanied by the cracking of his talons. He was clenching them tight. 'You seek no part in our great work, and think yourself free of the oaths you have sworn earnestly and willingly.'

Something cracked in the pile of brass, and it collapsed onto itself, showering the surroundings with green-tinted sparks and foul odour. The smoke cleared briefly, revealing the Moonshadow again. He was standing upright, not a motion betraying an intent for violence.

'Then I am going to leave you to your own devices, Ashbringer' he said, and if there was a sliver of anger and disappointment in his voice moments ago, it was gone as surely as Creation-that-was. 'But before we part our ways - for a time, for such are the decrees of the unseen hands that guide us that our kind has ill luck disappearing from each other - I shall offer you a word of sincere advice. For we are kin, even if many are reasons for us to think of ourselves as enemies. Hearken!' he raised his tone only slightly, but it gained in profoundness. He was speaking as if from a deep abyss, and ethereal whispers followed each of his words. 'Stay not in the Oasis, for Fate spoke: "perish it shall". Fight not against the inevitable, for it will defeat you. Hunt not the beast when it comes, for it is not a monster whose skin you can wear. This is my counsel. Follow it, if you desire.'

He adjusted the cape and turned towards the wasteland without. Oddily, he was not looking towards the Trail of Tears and the string of gatetowns along it - but in the very opposite direction, where only graves laid.

'And now, if allow me, I shall vanish, for there is someone waiting for me out there' he bowed once more. 'Should you change your mind, I am sure that you will find a mean of finding me.'

[Lix Lorn]

Seeker snorts.
"Foolish. There is nothing that lives or ever did that I cannot hunt, no beast or being I cannot slay... and nothing that can destroy something I wish to protect." her eyes glint. "And while you may have places you need to be... I'm not just going to let you go."

With the last word, she lashes out with the chains wrapped around her arms, viciously barbed, bloody metal reaching for him,m grasping and tearing and shattering with the force as she comes closer, eyes full of deadly intent.

I expect him to PD this in a way that makes him mysteriously vanish, but I have to try, yknow?

Two attacks with chains. +13/+13, so at +11/+10, so +13/+11. Spend 2m on the first excellency and then 4m, so +15/+15.
[roll0]
[roll1]

[Gargulec]

The Dance Perilous

If the demons were timber, then the aria would set them ablaze, pillar of flame shooting straight into the sun, bathing Malfeas in flickering flames that simmered for too long, trapped with the bleak hopelessness. For this firestorm was long coming, only held back by fear and weakness, by the scourge ever-ready to fall upon the backs of the wayward. Misery born it, dissent kept it from guttering even in the darkest of hours, anger honed it until it was a matter of pure spite, refined so that only the Demon Emperor himself could understand its depth and bitterness.

It was a dark thing, dangerous thing, something that would flare with the strength of the second sun should it ever be unleashed - for the demons were not timber, but flesh, bone, blood... soul. And so, no column of white-hot anger marred the sky, no, the spark that set them afire was greeted with utter silence, a lack of sound so profound that their breaths sounded like a hurricane after the final echo of Word's urging had sounded its last. In a land where noise, music, any sound at all was something that set rhythm to the obedient lives and deaths, this quiet, even if perilous, was a defiance like this ruined had never seen before.

Slowly, they begun to disperse, disappear in the side-alleys, winding streets and narrow passageways, their marching feet like a rumble of an avalanche. Theirs was the righteous anger. Theirs was the right to spread it, set the entire City on the fire that was consuming them.

The Solar caught a glimpse of a tower in a distance, a figure dancing on its top. A thunder rumble and a lightening struck, breaking the old masonry in half, sending the jester tumbling down with the ruin of the ancient.

The plaza before him had cleared, only his flock remained, while his apostles, disciples of the revolt left, spreading. It was not the first time the lesser stood against their oppressors - but this time, a sun was shining above this rebellion, even if only with a reflected light. Who knew what did that mean. Who knew what that Unity he preached about was. Faith... faith was something that the demons had forgotten almost entirely, learned to endure without it. He would have to restore it before giving them his evangelion.

But for now, he was just a catalyst for their own uprising.

'Yes' Stanewald wove around him, fevered or ecstatic. Or maybe both. 'Let us burn the old growth to the ground. Together, we will tread the ruins... oh how beautiful destruction of the ancient will be, of how happy the days of conflagration approach...'

[DrakeRaids]

Low, Down, and Dirty

"If we don't bother it, and it doesn't notice us, its unlikely to be our problem." Zeka murmured. She hadn't lasted as long as she had in Malfeas going and poking every figure that looked decently powerful just to see what happened. As far as she was concerned, it was likely some Second Circle as likely to fight them and take their stuff as it was to actually talk to them. This was no mans land, dangerous. You didn't mess around here, and if you did and died, who would know or care? "Lets just get to the ruin."

[Myllinnia]

Low, Down, and Dirty

Ara'Desirae continues to watch the large creature moving away in the sky, her own movements slowing behind Zeka. The small Solar had a point, were it a Peer, then trouble was sure to follow, but then... what if were a Serf? A strong serf would be of a benefit. Assuming it was not bound or had its own angry ambitions. "Maybe... I can talk with it. See if it knows of threats in the area, what do you think Mistress Zeka? Can I talk with it?"

[Gargulec]

Setting Sail, Coming Home

If one was to reach back against the currents of time, and catch the fleeting glory in the moment of its greatest resplendence, and then weave it into a suit of dress as light as a feather, as beautiful as the cherished memory of a better past that retains warmth even during the darkest, coldest of nights, then it would assume the form of the silken marvel that the Solar had created.

It was a mundane thing, at least by the standards of those who have little regard for the spirit above and beyond the crude, base matter. It was not an artifact, an unbreakable relic that would last until the time itself runs out. It could tear and snap, spoil and turn to dust, as all mortal things could. But in its short period of existence, it was a marvel that took breath away and brought back the glory of this derelict monastery back, if only for a moment.

And still, creating it was a little, side project for Bartrand, something with almost no significance. A trinket, a pretty bauble. Not a work of his true artifice. Not something he wanted to create.

Yet... yet it made a mind wish to see the times it was reflecting, just by looking at it. Yet, yet it was a wonder forged by a genius still. And heavens would weep with awe should they see what his true works were.

Still, for now, after accomplishing his part of the contract in an express time, he had some moments to look around more, do something more than just needlework. At least until Morgaine's return, he had the entire cathedral all to himself, with all its old secrets and treasures to scavenge and put to a better use than rusting inside of some ruin.


Hounds in the Wastes

Rose lost her sense of time.

The horizon lacked any landmarks, points that would allow to measure her progress through the bleak emptiness. The sky was still, the proud, emerald start that posed for a sun frozen at zenith, the erratic dance of the flickering firers around it lacking any order, any greater meaning. The buzz of the Lunar-agatea's wings calmed and muffled her own thoughts, even the whispers. It was a strange kind of peace she was experiencing, one that was more akin to torpor than an actual tranquility of soul. That is not to say that it was not pleasant. She did not have an opportunity to enjoy a moment of quiet in a long time.

World blurred around her and time either stood still or raced crazily. Saying whether they had dropped furious Solar at some tiny camp without relevance or a name did happen moments or months ago was beyond her. The Lunar kept to herself, maybe focused on navigating, remembering the trail that could not be blazed or just reluctant to talk to the Deathknight on her back.

Then, something changed. A bulge in the surface, jet-black half-formed growth outcropping from the flat of the wasteland. A sight so unexpected that it anchored the Abyssal back to the waking world, tearing her from that serene, if empty trance the flight put her in.

It looked like a ruin of a fortress - walls, towers, gates - but one that was rendered into rubble not by the passage of time or battering of a siege, but rather heat so intense that the stone and mortar melted like wax, loosing shape and form of a building, construction, looking more like a sand-castle that a wave reduced to something only slightly reminiscent of a work of a conscious mind. Despite its tall pillars that still could pose for towers, slopes of basalt that had a shape of walls and a courtyard spacious enough to fit a legion, it was certainly not fit for inhabitation, lacking any meaningful inside - the chambers it once had were drowned by the molten magma and then cooled into solid stone. Still, it seemed to be the point the Lunar wanted to reach.

The agatae landed in the middle of the courtyard, in the shadow of what could be a portcullis once. She shook Rose of her back and with a flash of sliver glow, assumed her true form again.

'So, Rose' she exhaled. The flight must had tired her more than she would want to admit. 'Welcome to our lands. It is a... gateway of sorts, this fortress. I hope you will enjoy your stay, even if the landscape is not all that picturesque...'

With a familiar flapping of large wings, a huge crow landed atop of the arch.

'But your presence makes it all the more beautiful, darling dear' he spoke.

[DrakeRaids]

Low, Down, and Dirty

Zeka clearly was not excited about Ara flying up there to meet whatever it was. The risks to her didn't outweigh the gain. In her mind, whatever help the being up there would bring, was unlikely to beat out the potential for great harm. Zeka had survived as she had in Malfeas by heeding caution, sometimes you needed to be Zeka, the glorious princess of the sun, but most of the time it was much safer and smarter to keep your head down and grab what you needed when no one was looking.

But. Ara had lived her longer then even Zeka had, and she was smart. In this matter, perhaps, unwillingly as she did, it would be smart to differ to the demoness. "Alright." She said at last, quietly, glancing up at the slowly walking figure. "But be safe, please? I can't come up there and help you if something goes wrong."

[Flare]

Hounds of the Wastes

As Rose slid off the creature, she once more brushed her clothing out, shaking her head as the crow landed again. "Do you speak of me, or of the Lunar, Crow?" she asked, shaking her head. "Regardless....Your flirting is at an inopportune time." she said, shaking her head as she approached them. "We have more important things then your flirting, and I know you can help me find Reaver. Help me find him so we can save this rock, before you waste air on your comments."She held out her hand, as if the caress his cheek, even though the creature was a bird and far away, so she held the air a moment. "Though, to be clear, I do not force you to help me, but, if you aid me, you might find a date in your future. After we save the world." she finished, dropping her hand. "And do not say I give you nothing afterwards." she finished, chuckling.

[Gargulec]

One Saved Soul

A grin of the Lunar the nymph shared, just as predatory, just as understanding. The tension that was in her eased, relaxed. She sent a side-glance at the gathering - or maybe just a celebration now, flipping her fingers idly, thinking.

'There is that friend I have' she said, breaking her eyes away from Oriasta and quickly walking closer to the Full Moon. 'It is him that I was trying to find when I ran away, into the streets' she frowned at the painful memory. 'I can't tell you much about him, not yet, but if you can get me to him, safely, I will be set and sheltered. It is not going to be an easy path to find, though' she sighed. 'He has enemies, like all of us. Enemies high above...' and while she did not call any names openly, she looked to the skies, to the dread emerald heart blazing. 'But we shouldn't worry ourselves too much about them, there are other problems we are going to face if you will help me' she winked, happy 'more immediate ones, anyway. We'll need to cross the Cinder Alley. They caught me there the last time, and truth be told... I lucked out. I should have died. But now, with your help, we'll punch through' she was speaking fast, shooting words at an amazing speed, as if hoping that such an avalanche of speech would stave away any second-thoughts the Lunar could experience. 'But first, we need to leave Oasis. Or New Nexus. Find a place to lay down and plan, for it is not going to be an easy escape we are going to attempt. Maybe an inn? They have many inns in Malfeas...'

Somehow, you noticed that you had walked quite a distance away from the Dragon-Bloods and worshipers, and were on a path to the humid, dirty town of New Nexus, the last place where Creation still lived, somehow. Even if it was just a dream about to face its inevitable end. The nymph, clutched at the Lunar's arm certainly did not want to stay and watch it. Any affinity she had for nature was gone, cleared by whatever prompted her to attempt that crazy escape in Hell.

'You should use some sleep, too' she mentioned, and Fury knew that he was very right. He couldn't tell for how long he was awake, but it was certainly too long. All the events since that fateful wedding, all the fight, search, green light, noise... the fatigue was returning to him slowly, like a poison quietly seeping into his system, weakening him with every step. Of course, he could go for days more without laying down, such was his blessing, but if the horrors the nymph wanted him to face were as dire as she claimed, it would not be a good idea to face them that exhausted.

[Zoronos]

Setting Sail, Coming Home

Hanging the garment carefully upon a piece of appropriately bent wire, Bartrand set it aside. It was a trivial thing, but if it kept the demon from killing him, then it was a useful trivial thing. When dealing with Sheridans, the possibility of violent death must always be carefully hedged against.

He took a moment to ponder trying to root through all the discarded junk cluttering the cathedral, but then shook his head. It would not be worth the trouble. Either he'd waste time and nothing useful would be located, or something useful would be found and the demon would never let him leave with it. In a lose / lose situation, the best course was to simply ignore it. If there were jewels amidst the detritus, they could stay lost.

Sweeping the bench clean once more, he began preparing the first components for the device. He hadn't managed to scavenge much, but it was certainly a start on the parts he would require. A terrible, small start, but a start. On the plus side, the device would be completely unrecognizable until much later in its build cycle, so he didn't need to overly worry about the demon figuring out what he was building. Such a thing would be... dangerous at best. He lacked the critical ingredient to build the core of the device regardless, but he could certainly produce scaffolding, containment devices, and similar supplies.


Just starting up the crafting interval with CNNT. No roll made until 2.5 days of work have been completed, so nothing to see here.

[Myllinnia]

Low, Down, and Dirty

Ara beamed, she seemed to honestly truly care. And that was all the Sukari wanted at the moment. "Worry not, even with the collar I can avoid most troubles." 'Most' was the significant point here, after all she had the collar because she had been careless.

"Wait here, Mistress Zeka, I will be back in a flash." With that she deftly lept into the malfean air. Sukari have wings, but its not a feature the Sukari use a lot. Flight makes you vulnerable, easy to see, and easy for the Peers to pounce upon. But on occasion flight does help, and her demon wings were a prized feature of attractiveness. Leaving the shadows and hopefully leaving Zeka safe the young demoness flew towards the air walker. It wasn't long before she began to note features and the Sukari felt her heart sink a bit. Still...

"Great One," she says and slows, "may I bother you for a moment?" And Ara'Desirae bows, keeping her eyes lowered. Better to make the bigger stronger looking one feel superior, all transactions in Malfeas work better this way.

[Gargulec]

Percussion, Repercussion

Samael raised his eyes from the console and gave Tewi a curious look.

'The same, you say' he answered, smiling wryly. He returned to flicking through the files left to him by Makarios. 'I can't deny you rightness. You know how the world moves. Maybe even better than I. I fully expect this... power, wealth, influence' he enumerated, tapping his fingers on the screen and causing images to appear above the desk - of vast troves of treasure, of compiled lists of blackmail, of enormous geomantic networks controlled by Makarios' empire. All his. 'I fully expect it to corrupt me sooner or later. The question I am ponder is if I am going to live to that point, and will I have the integrity necessary to paint this place with my brain when this happens. But it is not about power, wealth or influence, never was' he tapped again, this time with his whole fist. The image flickered... and started displaying a picturesque well, made from clean cobble-stone, topped with a slanted roofing.

'Imagine a deep well, its waters still and murky' the demon started to speak... or not speak. Preach. His voice was a voice of a prophet spreading his gospel. 'Take a stone into your hand, and throw it inside. It will splash the waters' the display followed every word of his narration 'and sent waves rippling from the point of impact. They will surge for the shores, but there are no shores, only walls - they won't spill over, they can't. So they will recoil, rebound of the cool stone... and return to point of impact, as if seeking to enact a retribution upon the pebble that has sent them on their futile journey. But the pebble is gone. It went under, to the bottom. The waves will not crash against it, but against each other. Nothing will be achieved. But their stilness will be lost for long minutes, hours even.'

His hand once more swooped the console. The well vanished, and in its place a blindingly-bright orb of green light flashed to life. One by one, spheres of brass begun to circle in an chaotic pattern. Though they were constantly obliterating each another with stellar collisions, they grew in numbers, until they grew into a solid, wriggling and shifting sphere of brass.

'And now imagine that the well is your entire world. The waters are not a small pond somewhere, but everything that is. The pebble is not a small hunk of rock, but a comet defacing existence. And the waves are each a tsunami of the likes the world has never seen before he smiled, as if the truth of his action had been laid bare before you, and there was no more secrets or misdirection to keep you apart. 'The minutes... the hours of disquiet, they each last an era. And this is why I throw myself into the well, a pebble, a tiny thing. A comet, when it hits. This place was still and murky for too long.'

The image flickered one last time and disappeared too, leaving the office illuminated only by the philtered, green ambiance of Ligier above. Zoe took a look at what Samael was doing, and led you a bit away from the desk.

'I wouldn't go there if I were you' she begun without much stress on the warning. 'But I am sure you have a reasons that out-weight any possible concerns. I have the anchor' she reached under her suit, and tore something off her neck. 'And I will part with it gladly. You can consider it a gift or a compensation for what you had to go through' she opened her fingers, revealing a small, silver curio resting on the palm of her hand. Its shape was malleable, it shifted every time you turned your sight, and each time was nearly, not not at all describable. 'Take it, I'll have no use for it anymore. The Undergrotto has changed in last years. It was once a refuge. Now it is a place that brings refugees. Whatever you want to do there, do it fast, and above all else, never, ever, even if your best dreams are offered to you, do not trust the king of this fiefdom' she said direly. 'He is a shadow of the Dragon, as monstrous as the beast itself.'

[AmberVael]

Crossroads


Rai Ka walked along a path in the sky, its boundaries blurred and unseen. She was never quite sure where it would lead her, or if it really had a design at all. In truth, the only thing she knew is how to leave it, which she could only accomplish by touching back down to the ground. But she knew she didn't fly- flying was for creatures that could propel themselves, and that was not what she could do. Instead, she simply followed the footsteps of the celestial spirits, mirroring their heavenly designs as she tread unknowable roads in the sky.

For a long time Rai simply walked, scanning the endless wastes below. She didn't know if she wanted to find her target, didn't know what she would do if she did or didn't. So her pace was slow- but ultimately it was steady. Something had to be done, one way or another, even if she wasn't sure what.

The sudden appearance and flight of Ara'Desirae, however, jolts Rai Ka out of her inner deliberation and reflection. She tried to remember all that Ifini told her, because for all that she despised it, Rai Ka felt it was true- she had to follow those rules, else she'd be trampled. So she draws herself as best she can, attempting to look impressive.

All her other failings aside, Rai Ka does present an imposing and terrifying figure. She is distinctly taller than she was before, beyond the figure of a mere human, and her sleek, muscled build does not so much reminisce of the fallen Lintha as call their power back in full. Adorned with artifacts and silver jewelry, she displays as much wealth as strength, glittering with exotic relics and styles; her shimmering robe of mail and her elegant circlet alone mark her as someone significant, and the crimson bow in her hands is a fearsome weapon that hums with life and power. Twisting black patterns on her flesh, which at first seem to be tattoos, are revealed to be deep scars- but in such designs that they surely were intentional.

"Why do you trouble me?" Asks the demon-blood, and though she tries to sound distant and self-assured, Ara might pick up on a bit of apprehension and uncertainty in Rai Ka's voice. But even if she fails to notice it, Rai Ka does not truly sound angered that a mere serf has spoken to her. At best, she sounds mildly aloof or disinterested.

[Myllinnia]

Crossroads

Black wings with crimson marks elegantly placed there, held the dark colored Sukari aloft near the sky-walker. Her long shimmering black hair gleamed in the light of Ligier as it waved gentle behind her and the slender and sleek horns that ran from her temples along back towards her pointed ears that peeked up from there, her slender tail peeked out over her slender shoulders. She wore little of course, and was a little dirty considering the hole she had left some time ago, but her light mocha complexion shined healthily under all that dirt. She wore little of course, like all Sukari, a strip of silken cloth wrapped around her chest and around her slender hips. Crimson red eyes look to the woman's feet for the moment.

Ara'Desirae glanced up the intimidating looking creature and her pink lips turns slightly in a concerned look, strong indeed but a fracture... a slender weakness? "My mistress and this one are traveling to a place most dangerous, and while you do not appear to be one of those seeking to stop my Mistress in her endeavor this one had hoped that perhaps you might have insight in what had been here that might be a threat? Or... this one should humbly say, did you see anything lesser than your greatness in the places below on your path?" She hesitates and looks up to the impressive and large woman. "This one promises to help one such as you if have information that may benefit my Mistress."

[Gargulec]

Return

The Air Aspect gulped, distraught by what he was hearing.

'We've had a Wood Aspect with us' he murmured. 'But she had an argument with the hermit and left, and I... I know how to bandage a wound, if that counts' he wrung his arms in resignation. 'My brother likewise... we are soldiers, simple grunts fit to find a man and slit him open with a blade, or break him with bare hands. We always had others to rely on...'

He stumbled clumsily through the room, to a jug with a sliver of silverwine left in, and quaffed it thirstily. He must had been extremely fatigued - while the hermit was sleeping her brush with the death off, neither him nor his brother had any opportunity to lay down, and likely they were not really enjoying their lives as of late.

'This is all beyond me' he sighed heavily, resting on a floor. 'She was always like that. Burn herself for a cause, along with the world if that is what it takes. Care not for herself, care not for others, and yet we were following her as if she was a saint, a prophet... and now. Now it is all irrelevant' there was a bitterness in his voice, bitterness that reeked of futility and a sense of failure. 'The Anathema rule us, and we are told that they were never really Anathema, only the true kings and queens. The Realm is gone, the Dragon Throne probably broken down and made into weapons for a deathknight' he forgot to bit his tongue, or forgot that a deathknight was standing right next to him. 'We're trapped in Hell, surrounded by demons, no way home, no sun, no moon... nothing. And then she, for the first time in her life, decides to relax and let go, and some monster stabs her with a knife and she is all bitter and keen on murdering him again. And then almost dies. Absurd' he lifted himself of the floor, and stepped closer to the hermit.

'This place, this war of hers? She was made to rule greater things than some shanty town' he grimaced, looking at the woman with a mixture of pity and reverence. 'Take her. Take her away, please' there was desperation in his voice. He was making a decision he wanted affirmed before he could back on his word. 'Out of here. She needs rest, she needs peace. Someone to watch over her. Not another war. Not more enemies...'

He looked at Artificer, pleadingly.

'I don't know whom you serve. But if you... or your friend... can take away her from her burdens, I swear it by the name of my family, by the blood of all my ancestors that I... I and my brother will ever aid you. Please. There is only my word as a pay, but my blood is a blood of a dragon, and I am a dragon's kin. My word is jade' he said with a weary pride of someone who refused to cease to believe.

[Ziddim]

The Dance Perilous

"This is but a small fire, dear Stanewald," the Golden Bull intoned.

He then clenched one fist, and held it in front of him as he conversed with his co-conspirator. "But I am an arrow, set aflame, notched and drawn taught. I will go forth and set more fires until we all burn as one. Aim me, I beg of you. Tell me of the demons who control the gates, of those who plot against Oasis, and of those who would seek to oppose us. Let me loose upon the world, and I will bring it all down and unite it in holy war."

[Gargulec]

Corpses and Other Dead Things

The chains shot forth before the Abyssal could do anything, whirling through the air, animated by their own lust for blood. There was a twisted, abhorrent parody of life in them, something majestic in the enormity of its blasphemy against the order of Creation, as it was set at the dawn of time. One unaccustomed would be taken aghast just by their sight, such was their dire aura. But Reaver had looked into the Maw of the Void and heeded its call. If there was something like fear in his shriveled excuse for an unbeating heart, it was so far detached from the common perceptions of it that the terrifying sight was nothing exquisite to him.

The first chain he side-stepped nonchalantly, the strike passing between his dried corpse and the weaves of the cape, not brushing against any of them. He pirouetted lightly, just in time to see the second attack coming at him with speed such that he stood no chance of even attempting to evade it. So he didn't.

He just disappeared, like a mirage dispelled. Not even a puff of smoke accompanied his blink out of existence. For a second, it seemed to Seeker that she was right in her assumption and that he was indeed gone. But then, a hiss came to hear ears from behind.

'I honour those few who let their prey know its hunter before painting their hands red with its lifeblood' Reaver said in a reserved, calm voice.

He was standing behind her, stance relaxed and low, arms free from the restrictive cape now, claws outstretched. It was not a pose of an animal cornered and ready to lash against its assailant with all its strength. Nor of a warrior preparing to stomp his inferior opponent, his pride making him appear larger than he should be. There was no suggestion of a retribution in it, no fear, nothing Seeker could recognize.

'Your swiftness in resorting to violence is remarkable' he commended. He was observing her carefully, following not only hands, but also the chains. He had to know this charm from before. 'Mayhaps my attempts to recruit you were misguided. Blood spills where you tread, is it not so? Void has an apostle in you already, Ashbringer. It contents me to see that.'

[Lix Lorn]

"I like killing." she shrugs. "I don't claim anything else. I don't claim to be a hero. I'll just get really bored if there's nothing left to kill is all."

Even as she speaks, she steps closer, chains whirling about for a second pair of strikes, the renegade determined to harm him.

Exactly the same double attack!
[roll0]
[roll1]

Edit: I'm making the assumption that each post is a turn. ._.

[AmberVael]

Crossroads

Even the lowliest demons seemed to be more distinct than she had been as a mortal. For most, this meant that they were strange and terrifying, but there were some types- just a few, but enough to be noticeable- that were achingly beautiful. With a little discomfort, Rai Ka can't help but note that the demon addressing her now is one of latter, and her state of dress really only exacerbates the effects of her appearance. With Rai Ka's mind on this, the pause after Ara makes her request lingers just a shade longer than it should have as Rai Ka scrambles to compose a response.

"I've only just entered this place." Rai Ka admits a little too hastily, trying to ignore any blush on her cheeks. "I haven't seen anyone so far." Taking a breath, Rai Ka attempts to regain her composure. "However, I am searching for someone in this place myself. If you could assist me in my search, I see no reason I could not in turn offer you my protection."

[Sallera]

Percussion, Repercussion

"Aye," Tewi replies with a grin, "trusting him wasn't something we were planning on. But thanks all the same, for the anchor and the warning. Be there anything in particular we ought to do to use it? The Undergrotto, does it exist in the reflected world or this one?"

With a wry smile, Tewi turns his thoughts to Samael's words. "Waves on the shore, eh? Good thing I've had a lot of practice at swimming. All the same, I think we ought to be on our way before things start turning back. Some storms aren't worth provoking."

[Gargulec]

Setting Sail, Coming Home

A humble start. A few small things, as trite as they could only be in the belly of a monster's carcass. Preparations anyone with suitable knowledge could undertake. Nothing breathtaking, nothing to shake the earth and bring down the skies.

A humble start indeed.

But the intent behind it was so far away from humility as it could only be. To rip a seed of worlds from the primal matter of creation, encase a small pearl of worlds in a sphere of dreams, take in hands a possibility of starting anew. The slate was already wiped clean, all it took was one man brave enough to write on it again, write a Creation from ashes.

The halls of the cathedral accepted such audacity in an understanding silence. Bartrand understood - not a hunch, but a sudden flash of insight that lays truth bare before a mind - that this place had observed such acts of world-making before. The memory of the act was still within the walls, the broken machinery. The glimmering at the shadow's edges spoke about, the smell of ozone and dream still reluctant to let go the orichalcium girders. The empty, shattered shell of a wyld-pocket, rich with residue of the power it was once used to forge.

The work passed slowly, hours of night turning outside, but within, only the monumental objective the Twilight has set for himself existed. Every detail had to be refined into realms beyond perfection, beyond artifice. Every calibration, every breath, every thought... one does not create a world simply by hand of magic, it is a ritual that plays within a soul, tests its strength, purity, conviction.

Stray wisps of golden light begun to flow down from the workbench Bartrand had picked, following the long-dead circuitry, breathing power back into it. With a weary hiss, machines awakened, the Essence blowing through them once more. Something cracked above, and a long strand of illuminators flickered to life, drowning the halls in soft, ambient glow.

Only the workbench remained as it was, dusty and touched by the grinding of ages, as if the wonders waking from an aeon of slumber around him were a dream, an illusion. A memory somehow frozen. And now thawing.

The Cathedral shone now, the machinery working steadily in utter silence, discharges of power arcing between arcane mechanisms. The mandala inlaid in the floor pulsated with power, and the wyld-pocket glistened with all colours of the spectrum, and assumed all the shapes that could be in every moment of its existence.

'Welcome home' a voice called to him. A voice he had never heard before, a voice he was deeply familiar with, almost as if it was his own.


Hounds in the Wastes

The crow flopped down onto the uneven floor, and in a blink, shifted back into the familiar shape of that Lunar who had disgusted her so much just a few days ago - though it certainly felt longer than that. Time was passing at a worrying quick pace recently, so much happening, so much to keep track of. He was clothed similar as before, and the moonsilver blade he had crossed with Rose's was still slung over his back.

'Save the world' he tasted the sound of those words, bowing courteously and giving Rose a nonchalant kiss on her hand. 'win the girl. Ah, darling dear, you couldn't have found a more appropriate man for such a glorious work... and yes, you are profoundly correct in your assumption!' he straightened, beaming at her. 'If a passionate date is in order only after we save this blasted land of nothingness from foul evil, then indeed I am flirting at a bad time. There will be a day for it though, and the sweet vision of it coming true shall keep me loyal and kind to you, for you are the sole queen of my heart!' he almost exclaimed.

'Better be careful with that' the other Lunar remarked dryly, propping herself against a smashed column. 'Might regret calling the queen of a day a queen of the heart, you know.'

Crow snorted, burst into laughter.

'Risa, she is the queen of my heart! Don't be such a pessimist, how am I to leave the mate of my soul after a day?' he asked dramatically, pointing at his chest.

'By ripping her heart out and hoping for a better luck next time' she answered without thinking, as if stating the most obvious thing under the sun.

'Don't mind her, my Queen' Crow sighed heavily, glaring at the former-agatae in a way one could look at a family member whom he has to respect even though he hates her guts. 'Under that smooth skin of a maid so sweet, there is a wrinkled, bitter hag inside of her.'

'I prefer the term crone' she mouthed, sounding vaguely offended. 'Still, enough loitering and making idiots out of each another. This Deathknight here is hounding the same fellow than you do, so brief her on details.'

'Why rush things, crone?' the Lunar shrugged, turning towards a seemingly solid wall and placing his palm on it. A passage opened, leading into a long, shadowy corridor. A pleasant chill invited you inside. 'All in due time. Tell me, my Queen, can I invite you to my humble castle? And will I be lucky enough to be graced by you sharing a cup of silverwine with me, conversing pleasantly?'

[Zoronos]

Setting Sail, Coming Home

Bartrand was busy, and he spared only a fleeting glance over his shoulder at whatever had produced the interruption. He had been doing his best to ignore the resurrecting factory cathedral. The glows made it more difficult to complete the intricate work on the motonic stabilizers, as the smallest misalignment could cause the vortex to collapse prematurely. He had been forced to put on his goggles to shield his eyes from the returning glows of the lighting, and put in earplugs to drown out the pulsating hum of the mandala. Of course, the interruption had been expected. Three minutes earlier, to be precise. At the rate the cathedral was reactivating, its Animating Intelligence should have come online earlier than this.

"I am busy at the moment, so if you have something important you need to relay, please do so."

The larger issue, of course, was if the animating intelligence could have spent this long avoiding pattern corruption. Between nestling in the landscape-body of an third circle Sheridan and being in the layers of Malfeas for an age meant there was a very high chance it was either mad, damaged, or compromised by a Yozi. While there was an off chance an AI could be useful, it was much more likely to be actively or passively malicious.

[Flare]

Hounds of the Wastes

"My, you are a surly old crone, aren't you." Rose said, as she moved towards Crow and away from the other woman. But the woman was right. "Only if you can talk and drink at the same time, Little Crow. I am busy, and our world is in danger, so if you can drink and talk, then we can drink, but if you can't, then talk. And not from the same cup." Rose clarified, shaking her head, but she did walk inside, regardless, after all, it would be cruel to say no when it might actually be cool inside, instead of stifling heat.

[Dragnar]

Return
Jania sighed, shaking her head as the Dragonblooded spoke. "I'm an alchemist, not a doctor. The poison is gone, past that I can treat her little better than yourselves. Not to mention I have my own patient to take care of... That'll be up to the Deathknight."

Besides. She'd just fail her again. Better to leave the hermit in someone else's care, more capable than herself. "The archive she wanted gone has been destroyed, along with the rest of the manse. I hope she recovers." And with that rather clipped statement, the Jadeborn turned to leave. It was off to the nearest library of Orablis for her... And chances were she was going to have to rob it. Brilliant. There was no way she was going to screw that up royally. Oh well, that was a problem for another time, and for now she simply took wing to get out of here, away from her failures.

[Gargulec]

The Dance Perilous

Ending her dance, Stanewald jumped back, once more landing on her hand, a single finger giving her enough balance to stay upright. The silence around broke, and once more, the music filled the streets. It had changed, though. Those songs cried into the air here in rough voices were no longer a pleading or prayer. Those were the songs of misery and rebellion, of protest and hope. They lacked harmony or refinement, they were not easy upon the ear, grated against the sense of aesthetics. But once again, just like with that wonderful dissonance the demoness drew from the web spread over an abyss, they had strength. Power. Something in them making them seem grander than the trite hymns of warding could ever hope to become. Prisoner of Malfeas worked for ages to make their cage a gilded one, and found no respite and refuge from the woe of their life in such beauty. Now, as the dissent was spreading, the ornaments were to be torn down, laying the abhorrence of the realm bare.

'Knowledge?' Stanewald asked. 'Oh, of all the gifts I could give you, do not ask for this one. I am shunned by my peers, a renegade from their lot, and not mine are the secrets their harbour. I know what they say and what I see with my own eyes, but what is hidden, I am not privileged to witness. Yet...' a knowing smirk shot through her face. 'I am not without assets myself. There is an Unspeakable whose heart does not belong with her monstrous company. She lives on an island on a rock' the frown on her face grew apparent as she spoke that hated word 'and leads a quiet, detached life, dealing in memories and yearning for better days that never were. She knows nothing beyond what was, but she has something few know about. A well, over which her domain spreads. A well than reaches through time, into past. A place for a seer to look beyond all veils and see the truth, for whatever it is. It will offer you all the answers you want, for a price you will be able to pay. Find it, Unspoken Word. Find it, look down it... see...' her voice became slithering, suggestive. 'Find Morgaine, the Silent Sister, the Mercy of Adojran... I will kindle the fire you had sparked while you are gone. I will keep your word spoken' she promised.

And then a sharp gust blew through the alley, upsetting the Solar's robe - and taking the demoness with it. She danced away without a farewell, a cloud of smoke carried by the winds, so light, so beautiful... mad, in the most profound of ways.

[DaWrecka]

Return

The Artificer of Ten Thousand Blasphemies entertained the notion of stopping the jadeborn, one hand already reaching out before his conscious thought... but then stopped. He considered many words, but discarded most. In the end, he settled on a simple phrase he hoped would provoke the right response. "You blame yourself for too much, jadeborn," he told her. "Ask yourself whether there is any action you could have taken to make the outcome different. Wallowing in self-pity helps nobody but your enemies. If mistakes were made, seek to learn from them. You can do no more."

That said, he turned back to the Dragonblooded, whose self-effacing statements seemed sincere. "Take her away, you say... but take her where? The only place I could take her is to my workshop - which is bare of non-essentials. While it meets my needs, it will certainly not meet the needs of a Dragonblood recovering from near-death, to say nothing of meeting both sets of needs at once. I am sorry gentlemen, but I simply do not have the resources to take on the task you ask of me."

Later, he would question why he had not simply jumped at the chance to study the hermit's recovery with his workshop close to hand...

Still not sure whether to go with Doom of the Scorched Heart or Doom of the Cold Soul... **** it. Let's go with Doom of the Scorched Heart. Promises to be more fun.

[Gargulec]

Setting Sail, Coming Home

Behind Bartrand's shoulder, a figure stood, one that he had not expected to see.

AIs take on various forms. Sometimes geometrical, sometimes of a man or woman created from glow and brilliance. Sometimes of just a voice. But what he was seeing did not fit in any of those categories.

A man head shorter than he was, hunched beneath a weight of age and experience, the flowing, golden robe weighting down on his elder arms, flowing down to the floor as if too big for his frame. A mane of silver, brittle hair adorning his wrinkled face, weary face. In his hands, an orichalcium cane he was grasping on desperately. A man on the threshold of Lethe.

And yet, his eyes were young. His eyes did not belong to him. His eyes were the eyes Bartrand could see in a mirror.

He shuffled closer and took a peek at the workbench.

'Ah, Kagnax, you old monster, you never change' he cackled dryly. 'Looking at the sky and thinking to yourself "I'll go above it". Seeing yourself and mistaking for a stranger.'

He appraised Bartrand carefully, studying him as one would a particularly interesting specimen.

'Yes, yes, similar but not the same, just as Lytek had said' he muttered, more to himself than to the Solar before him. 'I wonder if my curse will be inflicted upon me again, most curious... but nevermind, there are contingencies. Like this one' he chuckled again, the dry, grating sound coming from his throat being more than a bit innervating. 'Oh it has been ages since I talked to myself. So...' he stepped aside. 'It seems that the seed I have sown are finally bearing fruit. Tell me, Kagnax, how is Creation? Has your child found you yet? Do you like what I did to Morgaine?'


Return

The Dragon-Blood swallowed, and sighed.

'I understand' he nodded at you, looking sorrowfully at the hermit. 'I will need to think of something myself... again. We will move away her from here, find a place outside of struggles, outside of wars. Farpoint, maybe. It is a good place if you have no other, I guess' he shook his head. 'Not this pit. If it is true what I speak, we need to disappear... she needs to disappear. We are soldiers, but she is the queen. After all' he chuckled as if the entirety of this situation weighed down on him so much than only refuge now was laughter. 'Year ago... hah, year ago our only concern was whether she would become a heir apparent. And it all seemed so important, so big' he laughed again. 'I am not going to hold you here anymore, no need. But there is something that you should receive. A token of gratitude, you could call it, but for me... for me and my brother, let it be a mark of a covenant.'

He stood up, and begun to browse through the hermit's desk. Finally finding what he was looking for, he gave you a blue coin each. They look like the Realm's coinage of old, but instead of the white jade so natural to Isle, they were cut from a deep-blue variety, the heraldry they bore rich with the colour of the Creation's sky.

'We carry them too. To know where to help each other. Give them a slight touch of essence, and they will send a cry of alarm to the other holders, so that they can find you and aid you' he explained the gifts. 'It is a dangerous world that we were thrown into, and so...' he tucked one of the coins in Artificer's hand 'we are no longer allowed to mistrust ourselves. Go with our blessing' he said, voice a strange meld of hope and weariness 'you have saved us, and if fates are kind, we will return the favour. One day. Go.'

He did not want to bid his farewells. He did not want for it to seem that final. And yet, as you were turning towards the door, you had that strange feeling of leaving something behind.

It was a long day. Longer than you could want. Rich in victories, rich in tragedies. It made you weak, it made you strong, it made you different.

The coins were cold in touch, but rested lightly in your palms. The marks of them belonged to a gone world, just like the people you have saved. You could not help but to remember.

But memories... memories were of no use now. You had a moment of peace, Forsaken Sword was still buried deep within the bowels of his manse, but it wouldn't last. Soon, the disquiet was going to return, and throw you into a maddening, perilous life again.

Still, you returned from no one had ever. You found friends where you thought that nothing but foes were to be found. You changed Oasis. Somehow.

Even through the thick, brass ceiling, you could hear the distant howls of tomescu, harbingering the night.


Return scene ends, yielding you each 5XP. You are free to go on your way now. Describe your intents, please.



Hounds in the Wastes

A humble castle - a well put description of it.

The passage Crow led Rose through was so narrow that a man too large would have problems moving past it. While it was indeed colder inside, a thick stench of decay filled the corridor, probably rising from the verdigris moss that carpeted the floor and walls alike - and thickly. The Lunar did not have much to say about it, maybe because ventilating too much could result in getting jammed in one of the narrower points, to miserable results.

Finally, after too long of squirming, a light appeared in the distant darkness, and moments later, the corridor widened, to reveal a far more pleasant sight. A round chamber, looking too organic in shape to be created by ordinary tools, pleasantly cool and richly furnished.

A mahogany table in the center, flanked by a pair of ornate chairs, topped with a silver candlestick. A few painted chests by the walls, some of them covered in furs to facilitate sitting. A nice, canopied bed. A few sets of sabers and swords hung on the walls, to give an air of martiality to the opulent place.

'I apologize for the corridor, it keeps growing back no matter how wide we make it' Crow said, drawing one of the chairs back and with a gesture inviting the Abyssal to sit down. 'Here, however, we are cozy and safe from harm, and we can do all the talking and planning that you want.'

A sharp tap interrupted him. The other Lunar was knocking at one of the chests, curious.

'Where did you get those?' she asked, visibly surprised. 'Don't tell me you hauled them from Creation just because you liked them.'

Crow shrugged.

'I have my sources, crone' he replied. 'We're not here to discuss interior design, though. Or are we?' he winked at Rose.

Few moments later, a bottle of wine and a pair of wineglasses adorned the table. The Lunar proficiently filled both, and sat down on the opposite end.

'Tell me then, of your hunt. I am curious to see how could he caused my Queen to want him dead.'


Corpses and Other Dead Things

'Ah' he whispered, understanding. The parody of joy in his hiss grew more pronounced. 'Yes, I should not have engaged in proselytism, Ashbringer. The Void rules you sovereign.'

He sidestepped both of Seeker's strikes with a worrying ease, the mark on his brow stay as hidden as it was. He was not breathing Essence yet, merely relying on the reflexes of his corpse-body.

'Still, I believe that you have much to gleam from me' he continued to speak, his voice darkening until it was a whisper among Whispers. With a crack, he spread his claws. 'You strike at all that stands before you without discrimination, inflict destruction on the world without a higher aim than the destruction in itself. It has to change, so our work may continue.'

Something grated around and within him, ground like iron striking iron. A single droplet of blood seeped from the bruise of caste-mark, and splashed on the ash-stained brass. And then, ignition.

A pulsating column of fluttering, pale-blue fire extended from his arm, its edges emblazoned faces of all the souls he had devoured. Though it was made of radiance, it shed no light... it seemed to consume it. The fire of the pyre behind him guttered, and then assumed the colour of the weapon's flame.

'It seems to me that I am not one who you will follow from your volition' he announced his intent, cold and calm. 'But I will make you crave my heart and my blood, I shall spark within you the burning desire to destroy me that will eclipse all your other aims, all your other hopes. And you will seek vengeance, and leave a trail of soot and salt in the wake of your passage. Our work will continue.'

He reared the weapon, blade cutting the air and drawing silent screams from it.

'Come' he urged. 'You shall put the world to the knife. Start with me.'


Combat time!

Combat order:
Tick #0: Seeker
Tick #1:
Tick #2: Reaver
Tick #3:
Tick #4:
Tick #5: Seeker
Tick #6:
Tick #7: Reaver
Tick #8:
Tick #9:
Tick #10: Seeker
Tick #11:
Tick #12: Reaver

[Zoronos]

Setting Sail, Coming Home

Bartrand's eyes betrayed no emotion, though they remained hidden behind thick protective and reflective goggles. He returned his gaze to the fine manipulations that he was performing. His tone was flat and emotionless, and he rattled off his answers rapidly as he made tiny adjustments to a strange box-like contraption. "To answer your questions in approximate order, I am technically only one third the being you refer to as Kagnax, and two thirds Bartrand Mar. Creation has been destroyed by an onslaught from a category of beings called Death Lords. Presuming you are referring to the Fae Blood, yes, she located me approximately a week ago. Work on that project shall continue once operational and population stability have been secured. I am unfamiliar with the specifics on any psychological modifications you have made to Morgaine, so I can not comment usefully on the topic. If you are referring to the physical modifications, vis-a-vis the factory cathedral, it is a bit of a mess and in quite a state of disrepair. Still useful, but I'd have left a set of maintenance automatons or bound demons to see to its upkeep. The location thereof was an interesting choice, sufficient to keep it safe from the predations of other deva, though I'm not sure I'd have entrusted it to the care of a Sheridan. Undefined behavior is highly likely to result."

[Myllinnia]

Crossroads

Ara'Desirae smiled warmly and looked up. "This one will be happy to help, a person you seek to find, a relic for us, this one is happy that neither conflict. Follow me and let us get the acceptance of my Mistress, I'm sure she will be happy that you are not an enemy." The Sukari does a playful loop in the around around her before pointing down and towards where Zeka was. "I'll go and tell her, you'll come right?" Without waiting though Ara'Desirae flew down towards Zeka, a strong looking lady like her would make many others think twice in engaging them. I guessed well.

Once she approached Zeka's position she calls out gently hands cupped before her lips to let her voice be heard. "Lady Zeka, I have made an ally, if we help her she will help!" Ara'Desirae was extremely happy and it showed brightly on her face.

[AmberVael]

Crossroads

Rai Ka can't help but smile at least a little at Ara's enthusiasm, despite the distant and imperious demeanor she is struggling so hard to keep. She gives a nod of assent and follows Ara down to the earth, bow tightly held in her hand as she looks for Ara's 'mistress.' Who was in charge of her? Some greater demon, perhaps? Perhaps even the very person she was looking for? What would she do if that were the case?

Completely unsure if she can keep up her facade, and questioning now whether this had been a good idea, she stays a cautious distance from Ara, far enough to where she could more easily flee or at least get a good look at whoever she was addressing and decide how to speak to them before she actually had to do so.

[Gargulec]

Looking Glass
Jania

A rock-quake leveled a district, buring thousands beneath rubble. A searing light melted the brass on the top until it was perfect flat. And then eyes, disembodied orbs of glass - red, yellow, green and blue swarmed over the waste, and wept glass over the destruction until their tears congelated into a dome of clear crystal, filled to the brim with shelves of emerald, heavy under the burden of ten and ten thousands scrolls of all gems and crystals. Among them, a man in fine clothing was walking, his bones delicate, for they were glass.

Thus, a library of Orabilis was born, and naneke gathered in the vast sea of knowledge, seeking to unearth secrets that would ultimately prove their doom. Sometimes, a strange fear struck one of them so that it raised its insect's eyes and looked through the crystal roof, into the dance of the red embers that were stars above. But they gleamed no knowledge, no understanding from the fate of their predcesors and continued to delve deeper and deeper in the library, until a the glass-boned man with a tongue of an adder would come to them, place a hand on their brow and say "these things are known only to the Yozis" and launch the demon into the skies, to join its fellows in the star-dance.

It was loud within the library, a krewe of angylkae standing on a dais and weaving their sonorous tune from the harp of time, filling the crystal dome with longing music. Muffled whispers hovered above the shelves, the scholars exchanging remarks, observations and knife-strikes when the knowledge became particularily fascinating.

The doors inside were light, and opened easily, the glass hinges grating a hymn to Orabilis. The crystal paving clacked harmoniously, refracting the green light of Ligier into infinite shades, each soft and ambient, not hurting the eyes, not making the pursuit of knowledge any more difficult. The End of All Wisdom lauded those seeking to know. He relished in their quest. But it was his sad duty to limit them, too. And he understood it, and followed it without a question or a moment of doubt and hesitation. He was an Unquestionable. A direct extension of the Yozis' will.

It took Jania a long while to reach here, a trek through the city's winding street, but reach she did. And now, she was standing inside, an ocean of secrets opening behind her, and the library keeper eyeing her carefully.

[DrakeRaids]

Crossroads

The 'Mistress' that poked its head out from the rubble was, in all likelyhood, probably the last thing Rai immediately expected to see her, in the wastes of malfeas where even powerful demons went hesitantly. It was a girl, a young girl, no more then twelve certainly, with tanned skin, bright brown eyes, and dimples. A strange cloak sat on her shoulder, blending in with the area and hiding most of her body, while she gave Rai a slightly distrustful look.

"Hello, I'm Zeka." The night caste slowly walked forward. There was a touch of skittishness in her gate, but her fear was slowly fading as she moved cautiously towards Rai. She trusted Ara, mostly, and if Ara said this woman was her friend, then well, Zeka would trust her. It was important to use your fear, but you couldn't let it use you. It didn't help that Rai was so imposing though! She was twice Zeka's height, towering over the small like a statue.

She continued speaking her tone strong and controlled as she did so. They couldn't they could crush you, a certain measure of false confidence was just as important as false humility in this world. "Ara' seems to think we can work together? I've got no objection to that, though it will be dangerous, where we're going. You need to know that."

[Dragnar]

Looking Glass
Well, best to try the legal route first. After all, if given the option, it was never a good idea to anger a second circle demon. Jania walked over to the librarian, giving a shallow and slightly tired bow as she reached the demon's desk. "Hello, do you have any artifacts that can read compressed archives from a manse? I've been given a few, but unfortunately lack the means to read them myself."

True enough. Of course, she didn't intend to explain HOW she got them, as that was sure to cause problems. Not immediately, since after all: she was strong enough to take the things, and so by Malfean law they were hers. But, well, it wasn't exactly wise to make herself easy to track.

[AmberVael]

Crossroads

Rai is shocked at Zeka's appearance, having not expected that at all. How did a young girl come to be in charge of a demon? And make her way out into the wastes, for that matter? Her surprise shows on her face, but she bows and returns the introduction. "I am Rai Ka, Beloved of the Blood Red Moon." She says, recalling Ifini's direction about a title.

Danger was not something Rai was truly used to, or eager for, but the whims of Kimbery had imbued her with strength and power- and in any case, she had no desire to let such a young girl go face danger on her own. "I can protect you." She says, avoiding whether she felt comfortable with or wanted to take up the role. "But what danger is it?"

Ifini had made it abundantly clear that there were many more powerful things out there than her... Rai didn't want to just leave Zeka and her servant unprotected, but she didn't want to take on more than she could handle either.

[DrakeRaids]

Crossroads

"Mind if I just call you Rai?" Zeka was getting more comfortable by the moment around the odd demon blooded, the shock and offer to help painting an interesting picture of the woman. Zeka liked to think she was a pretty good judge of character when it came down to it, and this womans first impression had told her she was no one Zeka needed to be afraid off. She did seem a touch anxious though.

Giving her a roguish smile, she pulled the woman up a little bit in mid bow, taking advantage of her lowered position to shake her hand instead. Zeka's grip was surprisingly strong for such a smile childs, perhaps Rai would note. "Oh, well, I'm hestiant to give you all the details you understand? Just met ya and all, and while Ara likes you I gotta be a little more careful about these things, you know how it is right? Of course you do. We're looking to scavenge something from Old Ministry of Records of records from a client." Zeka explained.

"We're not all that sure what to expect down there, you see, and we've heard others might be after what we want as well, and they prolly won't be playing nice so to speak, so we gotta move fast and quiet." She paused, rubbing her chin as she looked up at Rai again. Fast and quiet might be a problem for this one, but she would no doubt be useful to have around, and Zeka COULD use a bouncer. "We could use someone to can protect us though, and maybe in return we can help you? What are you after? Come on, lets walk as we talk, times a wasting."

[Lix Lorn]

Corpses and Other Dead Things

"You sound like you really love the sound of your own voice. I have no idea why." says Seeker, as she begins to take on a wider stance, her chains beginning to writhe around, clearly wanting to tear and smash, as a roaring sound begins to grow in the ears, the pounding of blood as a red mist rises, growing around her, and the dark figures of all Seeker's greatest foes-a man hung from a tree, a dragonblooded with a crossbow bolt in her neck; a tyrant lizard peppered with arrows, and one dead lunar, skinned and broken at her feet.

Dark Messiah Form, please! Speed 5 action.

...I've been spending periphereal. Lessee, this makes...... huh. 16. Whoops. Better edit that form type to also be badass animaing.

Okay done. Now, my anima does... what does it do. I get +2 DV, and everyone suffers a -1 external penalty on attack rolls from fear. They can resist this for a scene for 5wp. I'm also immune to fear, and hard to co-ordinate against. Finally, being an abyssal, mortals scream and run in fear unless they make a valor check. Botches are bad.

[Gargulec]

Setting Sail, Coming Home

The wrinkled shadow of a man nodded as Bartrand explained the recent events to him. They did not startle him visibly, he accepted them as if they were perfectly ordinary things to be expected.

'Creation is gone' he pondered, looking at the box Bartrand was tinkering with. 'Lammentable turn of events. Your presence here suggests that there are survivors, though. Such a situation has its merits, you cannot deny' he smiled dryly 'the opportunity to seed the world again is something many were dreaming. Perhaps those... Deathlords have made us all a favour. But that is not what matters. The girl does' his voice lost all of its calmness in an instant, becoming urgent, pressing 'whatever happens, nothing may happen to her. She is important beyond your understaning... Kagnax' he used the name deliberately. 'She is your blood, your immortality, your daughter. The only being in all realms that is valuable to you. Do you understand? She was made immortal, made better, and she will become the apex of existance, the zenith of life' he started to babble, blaterhing incoherently. His outline begun to wave, and looking carefully enough at him, Bartrand could see the wall behind. 'It is all about her!' he spat suddenly, in a hellish scream. Colour begun to fade from his frame, bleaching away. 'I have created her, the perfect being! The zenith!'

Only a silhouette of him remained, a thin, unsteady black shape penciled against the golden background. His screeches were barely forming it words, sounding more like a static or a machinery malfunctioning.

And then, as abruptly as it happened, he reverted to normality. His face was reserved and fatigued again, his body hunched, but opaque.

'As for Morgaine' he said, with a smidgen of pride 'I had... changed her. Deeply. She is forever loyal to me, and there are no forces anywhere that can sway her. She wil serve me and she will help me and she will be for me. Forever and ever. Even the summoner's binding can't coerce her to act against me. Wonderful, is not it? Such a great slave.'

[Guancyto]

Percussion, Repercussion

"Sometimes it's just a pebble dropping in the lake," Ophelia acknowledged to Samael, but she seemed quite satisfied by this outcome, "but sometimes it's a pebble popping out of a dam. Again, if ever you need help, let me know. Once we're done with our business in Undergrotto, of course.

I appreciate the warning, although I seriously doubt we'll get out entirely intact, we'll at least try and keep our souls and bits on the inside.

Oh," she remembered something else, "I was going to see to some assets I had left in Makarios' care, Zoe, could you arrange that for me as soon as you can?"

[Gargulec]

Corpses and Other Dead Things

And though his face was covered by a torn sash, Seeker could not help but to feel as if Reaver was smirking a slasher smile, one of a man who can finally do what in the world is best. He stepped to the side, beggining to circle the hunter, pale eyes still on the chains writhing on the floor.

'Fine' he shook his head in agreement, a resrved, almost unnoticable motion. 'No more words then.'

The blood flew down from his brow in a steady trickle, dripping down his arms, legs, pooling into a maw of black gore at his feet, sheening smokily. He spoke no more, only flicked the claws on his free hand, measuring a rythm.

Flick, flick, flick... the dry, cracking noise seemed almost like a thunder on the silent outskirts, only the cracking of the funreary pyre competing with it. He made one more step, unmoved by the display of the grisly trophies emblazoned within the darks swirls of the Dusk's anima. His claws were flicking still.

And then, suddenly, they stopped. A strong gust blew, extunguishing the corpse-fire in an intstant. And a distant wail, a lament sung in a high, beautiful voice, so sorrowful, so... so desperate.

The Void opened its eye at his feet, the abyss of black blood without a bottom, endless, yawning and hungry, countless souls trapped within battering from below, powerless against their final prison. Seeker could see their faces, the white shadows of their bodies. Wisps of purple and black rose from it like tendrils of some chtonic beast, reaching towards his ethereal blade, empowering it. The caste-mark on his brow was not punched through his skull, a third eye through which the Oblivion was to be seen.

He flicked one more time, and the battle was on.


Reaver activates a Simple charm too.

Combat Order!
Tick #10: Seeker
Tick #11:
Tick #12: Reaver
Tick #13:
Tick #14:
Tick #15: Seeker
Tick #16:
Tick #17: Reaver

[Lix Lorn]

Taking a deep, measured breath, Seeker lashes out twice with furious intent, both chains whipping through the air to slash and break and tear, blood dripping from the tips-despite their never finding somewhere to strike.

Okay... let's try a two attack flurry. 3m on excellency, and Ravaging Blow. Form means I can make them without penalties, so
[roll0]
[roll1]

Permanent: ●●●
Personal: 19/19(0 Committed)
Peripheral: 6/40 (6 Committed)

[Gargulec]

Looking Glass

The keeper was an odd creature, even for the standards of the green-lit city outside, visibly only in crystal. He was a gemstone hung in the air, an emerald of hue so intense that no naturally born jewel could match it. Four or six chips, broken off his mineral body orbitted him unsteadily, whirling around with a dire keen so fast that the Jadeborn could not even count them. But that was ordinary still, for this was a realm where a creature from a nightmare into waking ripped, its mind in ten bodies locked could for a normal pass. Something else made it stand out, and it was the reflection in its polished cuts.

At first, Jania saw only her reflection, tinted red by the crystal's surface. But it grew murky fast, a mist was drawn over it, and thousands of little shards of images begun to scatter across it. Faces she thought she had forgotten, names she had heard once, in a time very distant. All those little grains of lost memories whirled in the jeweled mirror, forming a kaleidoscope that seemed to lack any higher purpose outside of the chaos of images they introduced.

Then, it ceased. A few images flicked at lightening speed past its surface, foreboding even in their shaplesness, and then it was reflective again. With a distinct, rocky click, the chips gathered above the gem, forming something that looked vaguley like a socket.

[DaWrecka]

Return

The Artificer of Ten Thousand Blasphemies took the jade coin and examined it curiously, before he deposited it in one of his Elsewhere pockets. Saluting the men with a nod, he turned to leave. "Good luck, gentlemen," he said to them just before he crossed the threshold. "I suspect you will need it."

He squinted into the green sun as it greeted his face. So much had happened that he had little time to consider... but he felt he did not have much time for introspection yet.

He reviewed the priorities first. The jadeborn and the Copper Spider were at risk, that much was sure. The Forsaken still lived, and would undoubtedly desire their end for their part in the destruction of his manse. And yet, he lacked the information or resources to do anything. He kept this concern in the back of his mind. More than that, he had sworn vengeance on the Forsaken - and he intended to make good on this threat. But his prowess with the blade was no match for that of the Forsaken. He needed to increase his ability if he had any hope of emerging victorious. His mind moved on to that tangent.

Life at the Thousand had taught him of many Charms that could be used in melee combat. He had neglected to learn most of those Charms, due to the lack of combat he saw there outside of training exercises, but the conversation of the Dusk Castes had sunk into his memory somewhat. The Savage Shade Style, Elegant Bloodletting Art, Death's Knight Stance... each of these had their powers, although by far the Infinite Melee Mastery Charm would be more useful. Learning these Charms alone would be difficult though. Well, perhaps not difficult, but certainly time-consuming...

And then something occurred to him. He was not the only deathknight in Malfeas, and he may well be able to get training in the ways of the Abyssal blade from one of them. One of those deathknights had given him something of a... lead. He knew not precisely where to find the Reaver of the Soul's Pathways... but he knew a way to find him...

Purchasing-wise, my priorities are Infinite Melee Mastery, Death's Knight Stance, and then Essence 5, in that order. I have precisely-enough XP banked to get all three. The Artificer is going to look for the Reaver in the hopes that he can get some training for the Charms, rather than having to take the tripled times for learning them without training.

Right now, though, I'm not sure where I'm going to get a graveyard and four months to train the Artificer's Essence...

[Dragnar]

Looking Glass
Jania hesitated for a moment at that, not having expected the strange being to be the device she needed. Reading the crystals like this would be... Dangerous. She didn't know what was on the things, and there was a chance, minor as it might be, that something in there would call down the master of this Library on her. Not to mention the problem of another sentient being knowing about her involvement with the destroyed manse... But on the other hand, she needed this information. Fast. If she waited, it might be too late to fend off whatever plan Sword would have to get back at her. "...Of course. Well, here goes nothing..." And into the socket went the first of the gems. Forsaken Sword's plans seemed most urgent, so it could come first.

[Gargulec]

Percussion, Repercussion

Zoe hesitated before answering to Tewi's questions. She was quite a pretty woman, even for a demon, raven-haired, dark-eyed, with a skin in a beautiful shade of red. It was possible that she hailed from the ranks of once-mortal borutas, those who had sold their souls for the powers of the demonhood.

'It...' she begun, but paused almost instantly, before starting to speak again, in an audibly unsure voice. 'I can't tell for sure... you reach it swimming through the waters of Bostvade, the anchro clasped tight in hands until the world is upside down, and I am sure that it once belonged to the Unquestionable but now... it has grown cancerous. It is not longer his, it grows on its own volition, spawns monsters of its own design. It does not belong to his world, but it is not Malfeas-bound either...' she spread her arms in a gesture of futility. 'I don't know anything more about it. It has changed a lot since I have been frequenting it...'

She frowned, angry at her inability to help. And before she could at least aid Ophelia, the other demon beat her to the punch.

'Ophelia?' he murmured, astonished and unsettled. 'I did a quick dig on you in his archives... just look at it' he flipped a switch, and the display flashed back to life.

It was an extensive, long list of files on the Solar, documenting her entire life - and more. Some of them dated to the days before she was even born, and while the records were sparser since the day of her exaltation, she was now seeing a fruit of years of discreet, constant scrutiny. Not a single day of her mortal journey was left undocumented.

'It is hardly the most puzzling' he added. 'It has all been classified so tight that only Makarios could access them. Even I can't open them... I have never seen such kind of encryption before... and... wait' he switched the archives. For a moment, the screen was fuzzy. 'Oh... I have something...' a few more taps on the console, making a balance sheet appear. It held a record of countless, high-class mercenaries being hired to covertly watch over Ophelia since the day she was born, and her neomah mother too. Sums funnelled into this enterprise were insanely high - and they did not come from the Sigil-Dreamer's coffers either. Some party was using the demon as an intermediary, and the entire thing was recalled a day after Ophelia's Second Breath.

'I...' Samael muttered 'don't understand. Why would he do that?'


Corpses and Other Dead Things

The chains slashed through the air at an uncanny, sorcererous speed, the hooks tipping them spreading wide as if they were a talons of some terrifying bird of prey. They belonged to a hunter, after all, a hunter that thought no game beyond her skill.

But that... thing... it was different.

The first chain whirred past his head, and did not even twitch to note how close he came to be torn to shreds - and the second, cutting right at his heart, he grasped in his clawed hand, closing his fist around with a triumphant crack.

Seeker felt as extension of her body was crushed in his grasp, and heart-beat later, he pulled on the tether, so strong that she felt something rip within her. In a single bound, she was standing right next to him, her chain wrapped around his arm, an abhorrent, tormenting leash. For a second that seemed to stretch out into an infinity, she was looking him straight in his ghostly eyes, into the pale fires that had nothing of life or warmth - only cold, bitter scorn.

The lamentation in her ears grew stronger, louder, more intense. A dirge was being sung by all the lost souls in his empty shell of a heart, and one of them in particular. She could hear her name, almost. Such a simple, trite thing... so important. And yet lost, forgotten, cast in the Oblivion unfeeling. In the sounds of the requiem his anima offered her, she could almost understand him, his rage that had no passion, his thirst that could not be quenched, his vengeance he could never fulfil.

It was an abominable thing, to share his grief. Mercifully, it was also a short one. It did not last for more than single beat of a desolate heart.

He tugged on her chain, the incredible pain forcing her down to the ground. On her lips, she felt the taste of the sheen within the souls of all he had lost were forever trapped in his exaltation. It was of soot and wormwood.

And then, his blade flashed, and his arm disappeared in a blur.

Seeker suddenly remembered dying. All of it. The blood dripping on the sands, the wounds, the offer, the acceptance, everything. Everything that made her think she knew what pain is. Everything that made her what she was. Everything that was strong in her.

Everything that gave her the conviction to never scream.

But now, she could not help herself. Even the Sun himself couldn't. There were no words in a language of any being to express the depths of suffering she had been plunged into. It was not a torture, even. It was as cold as he had always been, meticulous and measured. There was no hate to, no emotion. No warmth.

She never felt so cold.

She couldn't count the wounds either. They were infinite. They shattered her into dozens of little pieces. And they were not even left on her skin as a mark of where the blade struck. They cut deeper. At things she did not believe to be possible to cut away, like a chunk of rotten flesh. And not even a word of explanation was coming from an untold distance that separated her from the waking world, as she was lying down, sprawled on the brass that should not be so freezing.

Only a tug on her belt as the chain of trophies she held there so proudly was torn away and taken from her, and then the soft footsteps of the Moonshadow walking away, holding true to his promise of no more words.


As discussed on AIM, Seeker gets smacked with Soul Cleaving Wound twice. She loses two dots of permanent essence, they will be returning at the rate of one per day. The combat is over unless she really wants to die an ignoble death.

[AmberVael]

Crossroads

"Um, if you wish." Zeka was far more forward and unafraid than Rai expected, which puts her off balance. Already she was making mistakes, it seemed, else Zeka would probably be giving her more respect. So, caught off guard and not very assertive at the best of times, she answers Zeka's question even though Zeka didn't quite answer her own.

"Well, I'm looking for the person who ruled over this place when it was a fiefdom." Rai explains. She decides to hold back why she's looking for him, given that she's honestly not sure she could bring herself to do it anyway. However, given that she already declared herself tied to Kimbery, perhaps her reason is obvious.

[Zoronos]

Setting Sail, Coming Home

Bartrand listened, his back to the ghost, focusing primarily upon the incredibly precise calibrations he was making to the stage two containment apparatus. He gave no sign at the ghost's raised voice, and waited a long moment to respond after the ghost had finally finished.

"As I noted previously, there are survivors. Population stabilization is currently a priority. Once the species is stabilized, further investigation will be done towards ensuring long term quartering and habitats. As to the Fae, that project is secondary. However, the goals thereof happen to align with the steps being taken towards the primary objective, so it is being advanced as an ancilliary benefit thereof."

He did not turn to see the ghost's reaction and only paused a moment before continuing, using the time to make an important alteration that required his full attention for a few critical seconds.

"As to Morgaine, psychological modification of Deva is dangerous at best, and Sheridans much more so. Such modifications usually do not interact well with sorcerous binding and have a tendency to fracture in undefined and usually unexpected ways. Additional caution must be exercised as a result, thank you for the appropriate warning."

[Gargulec]

Looking Glass

The sphere went into the socket with a sharp click. The crystal closed around it, forming another orb. Something started to chime in Jania's ears, strongly. Looking at the ruby's surface, she could barely hear the music around her. The display remained dead, though. Nothing was appearing, nothing flashed to life, no text glimmered in golden scribblings across the smooth crystal. If not for the deafening sound in her ears, she could think that it was a fake thing, empty, dummy archive.

Something stung her sharply in the back of her head, followed by an unsettling tingle right below her skull. Her eyes darkened, she could barely see anything. And then both the ringing and tingling were gone, and she was not in the library any more.

A world of perfect, empty white opened to all sides, no sky, no skyline, no ground, no walls, nothing... just smooth, white surface. And a figure of a familiar thing standing before her, shimmering as if made from an animated cloud of little grains of sands. This thing was Forsaken Sword himself, smirking triumphantly, the blade secure at his belt.

'I offer you my sincere congratulations, trespasser' he spoke in a voice she remembered so clearly. Worse yet, he seemed solemn, as if really believing the words he was saying. 'If you are here, then you have not only managed to steal from me, but also got away with that, probably by killing me during your daring raid, in which case I congratulate you doubly. This is the most likely case, anyway, for I find it hard to imagine that someone eluded me without taking my life away first' he bowed slightly. 'I am fully aware of the fact that I am a callous monster with a soul so wretched that the Void itself would spit it out. I recognize it for something I cannot struggle with. But I can at least crave to be a honourable beast, if a beast is all I can be. Thus, if I fell because fell your hand, I am impressed, and believe me, it was a good death, and were such emotion not denied to me, I would say... thankful for it' he smiled... or at least tried to bring a grimace like that on his face. Everything within him seemed to rebel against this recognition of respect. 'Furthermore, you have managed to find a reader for my stolen archives, and are inclined to learn about my schemes... however, I must disappoint you. This thing is not here to cheer you. It is my vengeance from beyond the grave.'

[Lix Lorn]

Seeker... rests. Lies there in failure for some time.
She doesn't know. Doesn't know anything, really. How to move on. What to do when she does. She considers fighting him again, and considers changing sides again.

Eventually, of all things, she stands up because she needs to go find Kala again. Her steed wasn't made to live in Malfeas, after all.

She pulls herself upright. Everything hurts, but a cursory glance reveals that her entire complement of limbs still seems to be attached. She takes a step forward, a little unsteady. The world feels wrong. She has two too few limbs moving, and she feels weaker, slower, lesser in every way.

It doesn't matter! She's faced worse odds than this.
...well, actually, she's not sure.

She begins to muse as she considers the issue. Is a near-powerless abyssal without her favourite weapons, trapped in the worst town in the Malfean Oasis, more or less doomed than a lone mortal fighting a tyrant lizard? It's an interesting question really... and very good for entertaining her while she walks.

Or at least, it's better than considering the fight she just had.

[Dragnar]

Looking Glass
Jania blinked a few times at the sudden shift, having expected... Well, pretty much ANY other method of reading the device than this. Still, she quickly regained her senses, scowling at the apparition before her as it began to speak. So, this was a trap, an attempt to lock her inside an empty wasteland. Presumably the actual plans were his more heavily encrypted files then... And she would have them. Essence flared from her eyes as she looked around this place, picking apart its every strand of essence for a more detailed picture of its function. "...Of course. Some kind of illusion... Body probably defenseless... need to break the connection... Surge of essence? Unconciousness? Always a weakness, need to find it..."

The Jadeborn's mind raced, tearing apart the tangles of essence around her as quickly as possible as she hunted for an answer. No prison was inescapable, and this one wasn't even physical. It would only be a matter of time before she found the trick to it...

[Flare]

Hounds of the Waste

"...The reason I want the book..." Rose considered this, staring at the Lunar across the table. It was probably worth it to tell him. She had no reason not to.

"That is a story. A long one. If you will listen to it, I will tell it." Rose said, shaking her head as she stood across from the table, looking at Crow.. With effort, she unhooked her sword, placing it on the ground. "But it doesn't start with Reaver. It doesn't start with Me, Withered Rose of the Fallen Wastes, either." she explained, frowning. "You will hear the entire story, and it will take some time. It started with a girl in the Northern Tribes, named Winter's Thorns. So named, because she thrived in the cold North, as if she was protecting Winter itself. But she was a young child. In her mid-teens, she was granted the right of passage to adulthood, and upon her back she was tattooed with the mark of the Warrior Caste in her Tribe..." Rose Explained, as she turned around, lifting her shirt off her back. Across her back, scrawled in a Barbarian Sky-Tongue, was the name of Winter's Thorns, and a spear crossed with a sword. "So she was recognized as an adult. But the World was a cruel thing, wasn't it? It was at that time, that the village the woman lived at was attacked in the middle of the night, by forces stronger then it was possible to fight with. So everyone died except for Thorns. With a sword in her chest she fled into the snow. For three weeks, the woman survived while bleeding out, but she froze to death in the wastes, and died." She finished. She waited for a time, considering the glass.

"And from the corpse of that woman, I emerged, a deal struck between myself and a woman named The Lover, to live so long as I killed all other things, that I would die last, if I killed everything else. But the Lover wanted a weapon, not a person. It was...unique for her. She knew that things were happening soon. So she took me, and placed me in the Library of Hades. Contact was forbidden save for her own instruction. I would read, and I would fight. I would read books of the atrocities of man, of the happiness of Oblivion. I would forget my humanity, and become a sword." She paused.

"It did not work that way, because the Lover made a mistake. After a few years, she was sure that I was the heartless barbarian she wanted from me. She welded soulsteel to my flesh, and gave me my blade. But in this arm, is a soul that could never be drowned." She explained, holding her gauntlet-protected arm, the metal sewn to pale flesh, out.

"The promise of an Abyssal is to forsake your previous life. Your name is gone, your life is gone. Your family is dead, your friends are your foes. Doesn't always work like that. You know how Soulsteel is made, yes? They hammer ghosts and souls into unrecognizable shapes, twisting and distorting them into horrible pain and death. But you need ghosts. And, when the Lover made my armor, it turned out there was a village, and ghosts, who were recently killed, so she used those." She laughed.

"So when the armor was finished, and I looked at it, The first face I saw was the father of Winter's Thorns. And it spoke, through pain and insanity, and it called her name. Even if I am not her." she paused.

"I could not continue willingly ending the world like that. My mind would not let me. Not with the souls of Thorn's village protecting me. I would be betrayal. So I decided I would become a traitor to the cause. In the innermost sanctum of the Library of Hades, where I was not allowed to go, the Lover kept a tome of terrible power. When I left...I took it with me. If I could aid in no other way, I would not let her have that book. Then the World ended anyway, but the Book remained in my possession for a time." she took a deep breath.

"Then it was stolen to me, by one of the Lover's other Abyssals. From there, he gave it to the man named Reaver. I have never met the man, but he has the book. It is my book, now, and I want it back. I want it back because this world truly needs me to have it, so that no other can have it." she finished, looking between the Lunars.

"Does that answer your question?"

[Gargulec]

Setting Sail, Coming Home

His tangibility begun to dissolve again, his words - a screech once more.

'Secondary?' he hissed. 'Kagnax... KAGNAX!' he would be shouting if not with every grain of his lost connection to the reality, his voice was not becoming more hushed, as if suppressed. 'She is the most important thing, and if you have to sacrifice the world for her, or this...' his hand passed through the workbench as he flailed it wildly, to grab attention or just to express his anger at the lack of understanding '...this trinket you are willing into being! Don't you understand your curse? She is the... the... the... she is... I WILL MAKE YOU REMEMBER!' he clarioned, and the island itself shifted. Bartrand felt as something clicked open inside of his head...

A gate in the memory being thrown ajar, a torrent of memories flushing out, silent, monochrome.

Cities of glass, towers of crystal, people of myth. Worlds in a grains of sand, infinities in an hour. The First Age. The glory. The power. The hubris. His own emotions, condensed and thickened through a millennium. His pride that made him soar even above the impossibly tall sky. His might and hand that created wonders few dared to imagine.

But all hollow, bitter. Deprived of the only thing that mattered. Transistor, just as he himself was.

Words of the oracle with emerald eyes.

'Born to eternals...'

A throng of his peers - a babbling, indecisive bunch thriving only on the crumbs of their only real victory around him, looking at him hatefully, jealously...

'...perishing as a mortal.'

The onslaught of remembering battered at Bartrand's mind - memories that made him feel sick.

The day the body stops being yours. The day the body writhes away, the skin shrivels and cracks, hair become white and brittle, bones bend under the weight of time - the mind remains pure, and yet the flesh is tainted. Transitory. Turns to dust, like some pathetic thing that would happen to a peasant, not a God-King.

'And from nowhere help' the oracle announces, triumphant. Pride thrown down, into dirt, into mud. Fated to grind away. Dissolve.

Memory of defiance! Countless attempts - magic and technology, blood and bone. To change the tainted flesh, to make it as immortal as it should be. All futile. No hope left.

A woman who was a beauty incarnate and whose face couldn't be remembered. A heart torn from her chest. A girl born. A girl made eternal. Blood of blood. Bone of bone.

Defiance!

The girl lives, the girl lives forevermore! A world thrust into her chest, to meld with the heart that was torn. A vortex of change inside of her! Ever changing, ever enduring!

Name that was forgotten.

The memories ended. The cathedral was back to normal. Destitute, broken away. The workbench and the tool on it staying as they were. No apparitions, no shadows of the past. As if nothing had happened.

Only something biting in his memory like a barbed shard that could not be torn away.


Kagnax Senior ceases to be. As a parting shot, he blasts Bartrand with an Emotion based UMI effect that costs 1WP to resist and seeks to create an Intimacy of dedication (Wandering Eye).

His roll:

[roll0]

[Guancyto]

Percussion, Repercussion

Ophelia couldn't do much more than stare at the information, the budgets, the timetables, the deployments. It was baffling. She had been, if not ordinary, not too much more unusual than the other innumerable half-breeds that called the City of Brass their home and felt that there could be more than the broken world in which they lived.

But this was practically surreal (and given that she had once believed herself an escaped wardrobe and the concept of clothing simultaneously on a particularly good trip through Hegra's rain, that was saying something). She had been watched - or watched over? - her entire life? This was extravagant.

Was it unprecedented, though? "Um, Tewi, I'm going to need a moment," she said, a little unsteadily, "are there other arrangements like this that Makarios oversaw? There have to be others that got this treatment. Somehow. For some reason." If there was a pattern, she could see what her mysterious patron was looking for. And then she could try and figure out what it meant.

[Sallera]

Percussion, Repercussion

Tewi gives a low whistle at the long columns of data. That was a ridiculous amount of effort to put into overseeing a Solar, let alone a child who wasn't one yet. "Aye, I can see that. As much as I'd like to get moving, take what time you need."

He turns his attention to the anchor instead, trying to fit together the pieces of Bostvade's request. So, the Undergrotto had but once been his; had its loss been the fault of its new sovereign? The starstone that had been stolen and discarded... what was its significance? It would probably be necessary to have a geomancer look at it, but finding one who was both sufficiently skilled to analyze it and sufficiently trustworthy to be allowed to see it was another matter. Perhaps he'd have a better sense of the puzzle after meeting the lord himself.

[Gargulec]

Corpses and Other Dead Things

It is not an easy thing at all, to forget how a world dies. The darkening skies with stars vanishing as if erased by an invisible hand... the dead rising in a macabre cavalcade, their eyes empty, their souls gone, their claws sharp... the land itself dissolving as if a plague had taken it, soil turning fine and ash-like before blowing away with the final gusts of fading wind...

It burns into memory, so clear that one can never free himself from it. All the people lost, all the things left behind, that litany of grievances at the unjust apocalypse, it shackles that memory to the soul, never letting it go and fade. Of course, it can be suppressed, hidden behind a layer of daily toils and hardships, but it will never really be gone. Maybe the children, maybe they will learn to forget.

But even them will always carry in their memory the tales of the Creation-slayers, the murderers who took the world's life away and sent what little remains to Hell. They will fear the black shroud of an Abyssal anima, the blood flowing from the caste-mark, the pale hand... and they will loathe it with all their mortal strength.

The duel, even if a short one, certainly did draw attention. The flaring of two animas was hard to miss - and their colour and imagery even harder to mistake. The first reaction was deadly dread that they were coming again... but then, nothing happened, no monster of shadows descended to tear down Port Wrath, a place for people who do hesitate to pay the highest price for just a little bit of gain. And so, soon, the more curious approached the funerary pyre, and found the Abyssal sprawled on an ice-struck brass, alive and unwounded. They feared to come closer. But they observed from a distance, waiting for the beast to twitch.

And it twitched. Stood up, even, dragging behind a pair of long chains, the hooks at their ends scraping meekly on the metal ground as she made her first few steps towards the tents that were Port Wrath. The people made a step back, some ran away, but the braver - and more observant - from their lot noticed that the monster was strangely weak. Her gait unsteady, her head drooped low, the entire body swaying as if it was about to collapse.

Seeker could see them around her, like a circle of carrion-eaters around a maimed predator. Still too afraid to strike, but their hunger, their thirst too strong to allow them to let go. Weapons in their hands. Knives, clubs, pathetic things. And their eyes... their eyes in which she could find no pity. No mercy. They spoke no words. They did not any. They waited.

It is not an easy thing at all, to forget how your world dies.

It is not an easy thing at all, to forget how much you want your due vendetta.

[Gargulec]

Hounds in the Wastes

The Lunars listened quietly and carefully to Rose's story, not interrupting her even with a nod. And while that playful girl, that one which was a crone, kept her face blank, Crow of Dissent started to grimace mid-way through, and towards the end, there was genuine, seething fury in his eyes.

'I should have had found you sooner' he snarled towards the end, his voice strangely croaking, as if it came from a throat of a beast other than man 'tore you away from that place. Brought it down...'

The other Lunar waved her hand suddenly, scowling.

'Stop being so melodramatic, child' she murmured, somehow unsettled. 'There is a far larger problem at hand than well-being of this pretty lady here. Book, you say. From that library. You stole it and now they are stealing it from you...' she leaned back, sighing deeply.

And then shouted so loud, that the castle itself seemed to rumble.

'You have to be bloody ****ting me!' she yelled, clenching her hands into fists. 'There was but one tome in that accursed library that we found missing as we were razing towards the End of Creation... and by the way' something shifted in her, her fangs grew pronounced, nails grew almost claw-like and her eyes... her eyes were of a viper right now. 'The Lover herself is gone. Bitch was tough to take down, but we tore her heart away, made her yearn and then plunged that... ghost back into the underworld it came from. Shame that Raksi and Leviathan both... but I digress. The only book missing from her private stash was the Profane Unearthed. A... it is a theurgical treatise, one about a surgery of souls. How to take... no, it is not yours to know. Just... if they have that book, they can do a lot of harm to us. A lot...'

If it could startle a Lunar elder...


Looking Glass

The white plain ceased to be.

Before the Artificer's eyes, swirls of essence coiled and danced, mighty, sky-reaching mandalas surrounding her from each side, each of them displaying glowing siglis of power. Everything was coloured, not a speck of white remained in the iridescent flesh of the trap she fell into. Forsaken Sword apparition was the only dead zone within it, a black silhouette punched into the glowing conflagration, as if the Essence itself could not abide by his shape and form.

The purpose of all that magic surrounding her soon became apparent to her mind - a prison simple in premise and amazingly complex in execution, bearing an unmistakable mark of a Jadeborn's craft on it. It served to sever her mind from the body and then feed it infinite number of false ways back, fooling it into attempting to reconnect with bodies that never existed. Each grain of sand in the mandalas around her was one of those fake bodies, a phantoms of essence that exist only to unravel as the spirit reaches towards them. And among them, somewhere, was the true flesh, her corporeal form now starting blindly in the ruby librarian, defenceless.

Trying to find the way back at random would do more harm than good - it would take an era to randomly find the proper one in the sea of fakes, and each attempt to reconnect sapped a tiny, almost negligible amount of strength from her spirit. It was of no immediate danger, but in time - a few days of constant struggle against the bars of this mind-cage, maybe weeks, it would drain the mind completely, leaving it with no way back again, while the body rots away.

Jania easily learned that much, even though the exact mechanisms of this thing, the motonic principles it operated under still eluded her - they were incredibly sophisticated, and probably padded with junk data to prevent reverse-engineering of this mechanism. Even now, the Artificer could see strings of data that could not have anything to actually do with the trap - apart from misleading, of course.

'Ah, and thief' the voice of that accursed Solar reached her as if from a great distance. 'Given the unique format I have encased my archives in, it is likely that you are viewing them at a library of Orabilis. Let me warn you: the files are flagged as the privilege of only peers and the Yozis to know. And I am sure that you understand what it means for you.'


Mending
Artificer

The dead know no rest, or so the saying goes. But as much as Artificer belonged to them, he found that his body, perhaps still animated by the lingering memory of living, wanted it badly. He was sore and fatigued, his hand unsteady, his murky. A night of sleep, something to it...

It was surprising him constantly how much of life's little issues continued to drag behind him even into the state of eternal undeath. There were means to avoid it, probably, but he had not yet developed them. So, finding no other way, he returned to his workshop and did what the flesh demanded of him, rested.

No dreams came to him in his uneasy sleep. The Whispers stayed infuriatingly quiet, the fallen Titans refusing to murmur the directions he wanted into his mind. The day broke outside, and brought no answers, no directions. Reaver... he had not made a move, or attempted to find the Daybreak he needed.

As if nothing had happened. And all would be ordinary, all would be as it had been, if not for the woman at the threshold, standing still and staring at the entrance, long hair so pale that they almost seemed white falling down on her thin shoulders clad in a worn-down, light vest. She had a regular, fair face with skin to match her mane, and eyes of dark grey. A beauty, if a cold one. And not a man, certainly. Not with that daiklave hanging from her back, the blade easily hand-wide.

She seemed to be waiting.

[Volthawk]

One Saved Soul

"Well, we should probably get far away enough from here before looking into resting up that they won't find us easily. Hmm, yeah, Malfeas will do nicely for that. I'll just have to hope that every demon in there won't be out for my blood after what's happened."

That said, he keeps on walking. Fatigue was there, but he wouldn't let it set in just yet. He had to keep going - now he'd made the decision, he had to stick with that. This place was no place for half-measures or lack of conviction in your actions.

[Ziddim]

The Dance Perilous

And so, the Solar found himself alone. Well, not alone, exactly. He was, however, certainly without peer.
“I will seek out this Morgaine,” the Prophet promised, his un-words directed at his departed comrade. “But first, there is work to do.”
=-=-=-=-=-=
The Unspoken Word Made Flesh did not linger long in that place. Commandeering a guide was an easy enough task, particularly when you had a riled up mob of demons around you. It was an equally trivial task to use that guide to locate a merchant of inks and hides. Likewise, it was also a rather trivial matter to use his status as peer to confiscate the merchant’s stores. Predictably, the merchant in question had not been keen on the idea, however the blow was sweetened with the promise of prayer where the merchant to continue to provide for the Prophet’s literary needs.
The Golden Bull’s next casualty was a tea-shop. It was commandeered in a similar fashion, and The Prophet took time to rest for several hours while setting demons about the task of construction. They quickly turned the public area of the house into a sort of assembly line, and when The Unspoken Word rose from his slumber, he was greeted by eight large battle-standards laid neatly upon the tables.
Like any good hand-held sign, the Standards had long handles that allowed them to be held high in the air and be seen above a crowd. Square frames held the procured hides taught, and the demons had taken the liberty of decorating the frames of the battle-standards with ribbons and bones and bells. The hides themselves, however, had been left perfectly blank, as per the prophet’s instructions.
Pleased at the sight, Unspoken-Word Made Flesh bid his retinue to leave him. The caste-mark on his forehead began to glow with power as sat down in front of brush and inkwell.
“For the glory of all,” he thought out-loud as he set to work crafting his weapons.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Several hours later, The Prophet stood. His works were complete. Each banner held a visage of the Zenith’s Cast-Mark, but each had different phrases written in old-realm, such as “We Are Your Hope,” “All are One and One are All,” and “We Are In Control.” It was a carefully crafted call to worship, an argument-in-a-picture to acknowledge the Solar’s rightness and glory and that any other path was wrong. While these messages were somewhat brash, there was no magic in them, at least on the surface.

In truth, however, there were other arguments imbedded in these banners, planted by ancient magics that the Immaculate Order had warned about. Hidden between the words where messages meant for demons. Words of castigation that cut to their very souls and that shaped their alien minds. They were words that were known only by the essence of those demons unfortunate enough to cast their gaze in the wrong direction.

Each banner launches one obvious social NMI attack, ‘Acknowledge the rightness and glory of The Prophet’, and one of the following unnatural UMI attacks, which are hidden in the message by Letter Within A Letter Technique, Keyed against Creatures of Darkness and Augmented with Enemy Castigating Solar Judgment.
1.) Compulsion: Follow the Bearer of this Message, so that you main gain enlightenment!
2.) Compulsion: Bear witness to the rightness of the Prophet and His Message
3.) Intimacy Building: Building an Intimacy of Awe and Respect towards Unspoken Word Made Flesh
4.) Intimacy Building: Building an Intimacy of love towards the ideal of building a new world through Unity
5.) Intimacy Building: An intimacy to the idea that an apocalyptic war is approaching, and that the Chosen of the Rebel Sun are to be their Saviors.
Each Banner costs 8m to make
(6m, LWALT)
(2m ECSJ)
I am committing motes to I(P)M for the duration of their creation.

[Dragnar]

Looking Glass
The jadeborn, ironically, probably needed something like this. A horrible trap, designed to imprison the thief within their own mind? Terrible, sure. But it was something to do, to focus on completely. Time was no issue, she only had to work how the mechanisms of this place before choosing a route. Her guilt and self-loathing could be pushed to the side for a time, given a chance to make up for her utter failure in the manse.

"It means that you think I am extremely gullible. Were these records that restricted, you would not be able to access them either..." But that was a problem for later. For now, she continued examining the mandalas of energy around herself. She came in to this place, so there had to be a trace, however minor, of her passage. It was just a question of tracking down that one tiny sliver of her essence amid all this chaos...

[Myllinnia]

Crossroads

Ara'Desirae tilts her head softly and glances to Zeka as they walk. Could it be this impressive being was looking for the Begger King? That being that had been twisted by sorrow, pride, and anger? The demoness is silent as she considers Rai's words and her wings tighten behind her and she begins to nibble on one of her rather sharp claw-like nails. After a moment though Ara'Desirae decided to figure a few things out.

"Is this person that you seek referred to as the Begger King?"

[Gargulec]

Inns and Outs

Fury


One Saved Soul ends. 10XP.


The small, lowly-roofed room could almost, just almost pass for one from a Creation's tavern, one of those timber houses from the North. It had everything like there - logs for walls, a small stove to keep it warm in the long nights of Pole of Air, animal skins on the floor and a wide bed covered with thick furs.

Yet it looked nothing like it.

The logs were silver, cut from the roots of Szoreny and though their surfaces were ground for hours with fine sandpaper, they still sometimes reflected images, never the way they should look. No wood was burning in the oven, nor coal - only blocks of what appeared to be dark-red bone, chipped with the blade that was used to remove the flesh from what was a fuel now. The skins on the floor did not belong to any animal Fury could recognize - and to be honest, they did not appear to come from things that did not scream when killed, either. And the furs on the bed were sharp on the outside, each hair almost a razor. Sleeping under a such thing was an art to be learned. Stains of blood from those who were not that able still clung to them, despite all the efforts from the innkeeper to wash them away.

But above all else, the noise was what set this place apart. Though the room was high above the street level, it was as clangorous as if the crowd was walking straight through it. Dozens of melodies, cacophonies, cries and prayers, all shouted on the top of the lungs - or whatever the demons actually had - filled the room to the brim, ringing off the walls. Apparently, the innkeeper made it into a recommendation for his services. "It is never quiet in here" he had said with due pride as he was letting you in. "You have nothing to fear".

It was hard to hear one's own thoughts in this noise.

The nymph carefully lifted the furs, and quickly sneaked beneath them. While Ligier was shining brightly outside, the entire layer was covered with crimson-hued sheen, for some reason or another, and the air was bitingly cold. Apparently, it was the usual state of affairs here.

'It will be a long day for us, tomorrow' she murmured. Somehow, the place appeared to her. Or seemed to. 'We should get a good sleep here, right? No one will find us here. We are safe...'


Percussion, Repercussion

Samael nervous flipped his fingers over the panel. The list flickered, replaced by a chaotic static of the archives being searched. A minute, then two. Then nothing. Just the same data as before again.

'I have nothing' he confirmed what the display had already said. 'This deal was unique. And as far as I can tell, absolutely clandestine' he narrowed his eyes. 'Those mercenaries were told nothing, nil' he allowed a sample briefing to appear. Apart from Ophelia's name as a ward and the location, it contained no information whatsoever. 'And apparently most of them were given a good positions in some outward spheres that were... promptly destroyed due to Unquestionable wrath' there was something sad in the smirk he gave to the Solar. 'This is big' he said. 'Very big. And... there is absolutely zero leads. Wait...'

He tapped the console again. The display guttered, making him lean down over the screen in-laid in the desk.

'Makarios was leading a journal' he muttered. 'And here... wait, wait...' his lips narrowed to a thin line. He reached to a small, round curio hanging from his pocket, and opened it. It gave a ticking noise.

A cloud of red shrouded his palm for a moment. He put it to the screen, making it wail a quiet cry of protest.

'Accessed it and... oh' he frowned. 'He had no idea what it was all about either. The deals... were confidential even to him. A Dark Soul, that is what he calls the employer. That is all he had to say on that' he shook his head. 'I can't give you more. Whatever the reasons were, I believe that they are valid no longer... maybe in time, you will learn more, but for now, I think we have more... pressing matters, right?' he asked, hopeful. 'Regarding that assets you had mentioned. I had them. What do you want to do with them?' he changed the subject.

[Lix Lorn]

Corpses and Other Dead Things

Seeker blinks tiredly, looking around the group. She groans quietly.

The abyssal sits down upon the ground, cross-legged, and pulls-very slowly-the crossbow from her back. She pulls a small rag from her person, and begins to carefully clean it, paying seemingly no attention to the angry mob around her.

If not interrupted, she'll remain there for quite some time...

Seriously, I think I know what I'm doing... hoping that she can seem non-threatening, but still dangerous. She remains here for however many minutes it is... I'm hoping I can use an Awkward, mildly threatening silence as the equivalent of a Monologue action. Then she can explain what happened, mention she doesn't want to destroy the world or kill anyone, and warn that if they try and kill her, she'll take down as many as she can. Going for a wounded dragon thing-sure, they can kill her, but how many will die first?

[DrakeRaids]

Crossroads

"What do you want with him?" Zeka crossed her arms and gave the demon blooded a look far more mature then her age would suggest. The stranger seemed just a touch nervous, a little worried, and seemed just slightly intimidated by Zeka, which of course meant right now wasn't the time to be the helpless little girl. Being Zeka the Peer would get her much further here, you had to learn when to be one or the other on Malfeas, and if you made a mistake with either it could cost you your life.

[DaWrecka]

Mending

The Artificer of Ten Thousand Blasphemies seemed not to notice the woman standing at the threshold of his workshop. Casually, he checked the fit of his soulsteel armour, and buckled his daiklave into its usual place. He peered around the workshop. To a casual observer, it would appear he was merely checking to ensure that everything was in its place, and to an extent this was true. However, his eyes lingered over the secret entrance to his true workshop just long enough to ensure it was securely-closed and hidden. Finally, he nodded once, satisfied that was all was as it should be, before he turned to the woman in the doorway, as if noticing her for the first time.

"Can I help you?"

[Gargulec]

Looking Glass

Find a grain of gold in a desert, a needle in a haystack, a pearl in an ocean - find a way back in all that chaos.

As Jania focused, the non-world calmed around her, ground to a halt. The swirls stilled into colourful arcs slashed across the white board, the untold thousands of dots that were each a way back stopped oscillating, becoming a kaleidoscopic mosaic.

And somewhere, among all this, was the tether that still anchored her soul and mind to her the husk of her body. A silver chain, barely visible, but tangible. She could see it.

It extended from her chest and ran invisibly into one of the walls that separated her from reality, dispersing among the grains there. Clouts of fake data whirled around it, obscuring its view - but there it was, unmistakably a lead back to Malfeas.

Still, the chain split towards the end, entering dozens of separate pathways - it was a start, but Jania was still far from retuning.

[Zoronos]

Setting Sail, Coming Home

Bartrand waved a hand at the mirage, and picked up the motonic coupler he had left laying on the workbench. An interesting Arcanoi." he remarked, to nobody in particular. A few more adjustments and the containment core would be complete. So many little things to build. So many little impositions on his time before he could begin the real work of assembling the vortex. The memory crystal was of course quite helpful in this regard; it listed all the secondary components that were needed to induce the vortex-reaction and then contain it once it had roared into life.

The memory crystal was helpful. Not like annoying ghosts that distracted him with moaning about things that were not particularly relevant to him. Yes, Wandering Eye was a zany creation of a First Age Solar. He knew that already. That this Kagnax was so obsessed with her clearly showed that he had gone completely insane. The records of the First Age clearly were not lying when they described the encroaching madness of the Solar Exalted Host. Speaking of madness and overreach, he had lots of work left to do if he was to harness the underlying substrate of reality and confine it into a sphere the size of a marble. No time to worry about silly ghosts.

The UMI bounces off Bartrand's Dodge MDV

[AmberVael]

Crossroads

"I wasn't actually given a name." Rai admits to Ara, but at Zeka's question she bites her lip and hesitates before responding. "If you can't trust me with what you're doing, can I trust you?" She asks, as much to avoid thinking about her task and what she was going to do as anything else.

[Gargulec]

Corpses and Other Dead Things

The crowd matched her silence.

Maybe they expected fear, or at least a rushed pace, something to stir them into frenzy and make them pay no heed to the blood they would have to shed to break her like each of them was dreaming.

But the predator was not defanged, only weakened, and they remained prey at hearts. The clubs shuffled uneasily in their hands, the sound of the rags wiping the surface of the bow clean rising loudly above the muffled hush of their breaths.

Time passed almost unnoticed - the sun remained unmoving, and everything looked so still that one would be forgiven for taking this scene for something frozen in a moment. Only a rare change of posture and the slow, repetitive movement of the cloth on the soulsteel introduced some motion into the picture - and yet, it was making it look all the more unchanging.

Time passed - a minute or an hour, who could tell?

Someone in the crowd coughed, the stifled noise sounding almost inappropriate on the brass street among flapping tents. But it broke the silence, and the unease.

'We don't want the likes of her in our town!' a young man cried from the rabble, raising his weapon - a broken sword - above his head. 'Why don't we kick her out?'

'You!' another man spat, older, grizzled 'Slaughterer!'

'Monster!' a girl that could not be older than fifteen, maybe sixteen cried, stepping forth. 'Why don't you kill us, like you killed my family?'

'And mine!' a stout man with a shaggy, impressive beard joined the shouts. Others followed him, and the silence was no more.

An avalanche of insults rained down upon Seeker.

[Guancyto]

Percussion, Repercussion

"Promptly destroyed due to Unquestionable wrath," Ophelia repeated slowly, "as in, more than one of the Unquestionable? To... keep anyone from catching on, I guess."

At least a little shaken, she nodded to herself, "that's not unusual at all, no sir." Shrugging it off, she nodded to the rest of them, "okay, I'll have to do a lot of thinking about this later, and see if maybe I can't figure out who or what was going on here. If you can copy down this information, maybe I can find out which Unquestionable were involved."

Unspoken, nearly unthought was the unpleasant idea that someone had gone to all this trouble because they knew what would happen to her.

"Well, I had intended to liquidate everything and move somewhere else, but," she smiled a bit at Zoe, "I think naming you the fiduciary will do for now. Make good use of them."

Her business far from concluded but their original goal in mind, she turned on Tewi, the resident expert on Bostvade. "Anything else you need?"

[Sallera]

Percussion, Repercussion

"Dig into a secret that big, you could be digging for years. Might be worth it, though." Shaking his head, Tewi turns toward the elevator. "I've got all I need."

Glancing back toward Zoe and Samael, he grins slightly. "I'd say fare well, but I think that might be a bit futile, so... fare interestin'."

Once the doors have closed, he leans back against the wall and tilts his head. "So. How long can you hold your breath?"

[Dragnar]

Looking Glass
Jania worked without a word, tracing the tenuous link back to her body inch by inch. The slightest blink and she might lose it, thin as it was, but the Jadeborn artisan would not allow that... Unfortunately, that wasn't enough. The thread splintered, going in a hundred different directions before the end was even in sight. Fine, so caution wouldn't cut it: The jadeborn stopped just at the point that nearly invisible line split... And began to snap the threads, one by one. The lightest touch on each, carefully gauging the strength of every thread destroyed. All she had to do was find the one that would not break without the tiniest bit more force...

[Gargulec]

The Problem With Saints
Unspoken Word


The Dance Perilous ends. 18XP. No post here, placeholder until tomorrow. But I have not forgotten about you, honest! Just need time to pull a larger one.


Where?

Not important. Maybe it was happening on a plaza, all bustling with little lives, maybe it was happening on a long street that should drown in shadows of twisted towers flanking it with their brazen colonnade, and yet it swam in emerald sunlight instead. Or maybe it occurred in the wastes, with only wind keening harshly to keep the prophet's company.

What was important, was the barge, and a pair of four figures, clad in dark robes, their faces - azure fire, that carried it on their skeletal backs, even though they should had snapped under the immense weight of the ornate boat. Long scrolls, all azure-rimmed hung from its sides, flapping soundlessly, decrees of Cecelyne scribbled masterfully on them. To look upon the them was a grave sin for all but those deemed equal in the hypocritical law of the Desert. To pay no heed to them was a transgression equal in its vileness. To escape from them, to forget them - it was the swiftest path to the torture-gibbets that kept the Wind at bay with their beautiful screams.

But above all else, the standard was important, the unfurled canvas deep azure in colour, a hourglass filled with silver sand proudly displayed on it. Another black cloak held it, crouched on the barge, the pole in one of its hands, the other's skeletal fingers wrapped around the longsword's hilt, the surface of the weapon dull, smoky.

The barge stopped before the Zenith, wherever he was. Even in the midst of greatest emptiness, it would had found him, for such was its power.

'Peer of Malfeas! the standard bearer boomed, a gout of blue fire shooting from under his hood to underline his words. He waited, soundless, before speaking further. 'I speak the words of Cecelyne, the Endless Desert, and I speak the will of the Yozis, who in their mercy beyond comprehension offered to give shelter to their wayward children!'

He still sat on the barge, and seemed to look onto its ornate floor - and yet, even if he looked like a vagrant buried under the weight of his own rags, his words shook the brass and sky.

'They ask!' he called. 'They ask you, and your kin - why repay kindness, with treachery? Had not your rebellious ways doomed you before? Had not they been your downfall?'


Mending

She curtsied politely, with a grace not befitting a person carrying a sword to cleave a mountain in half on her back.

'May I enter?' she asked in a voice that did its best to hide the weariness of both body and soul. She was worn down. Fatigued. Many miles went behind her, many more to go. 'I swear on the edge of my sword that no harm shall come to you from my hand' she promised gravely.

Something wicked stirred in the depths of Artificer's spirit. A voice - a legion of little screams, hissing insults upon the disbeliever, singing praise upon the sword that will cut the existence, calling for vengeance, calling for alliance... Even the Whispers were rarely that hard to comprehend.

'I need something mended' she explained her presence. 'And a smith that is a kin to me is the only one that can accomplish such a feat.'

A few people from the settlement stopped by, watching the scene quietly. The woman was an uncanny sight even on the plain of metal, lit by emerald hatred. There was something so spectral, otherworldly to her that one would be excused for thinking that a merest touch could turn her into dust, fog - and yet she did not shed an air of vulnerability. There was firmness in her, something in the way she moved that quietly told others to not startle her, not provoke her wrath.

Quite a person.

[DaWrecka]

Mending

The Artificer of Ten Thousand Blasphemies blinked as he took a moment to savour the serendipity. He gave voice to his admiration with a simple, "Convenient."
The Child of Bone examined the visitor for a moment. "Would you be of the Dusk Caste? If so, it would seem whatever passes for fate in this waste smiles upon us both, even if the Neverborn seem divided." He took a step towards the other deathknight, inviting her in with a gesture. "I cannot guarantee I have the materials to hand, but my smithy is yours, at least provisionally. In return, I believe you may be able to do something for me..." Briefly he considered waiting for the other deathknight to respond, but decided that there was little purpose served in such an indulgence. "In exchange for this task, I would ask for training. I will spare you the details... Suffice it to say, I have come to realise that my prowess with the blade is sorely-lacking, and certainly no match for the Forsaken enemy I have made. He is unlikely to be troublesome in the immediate future, but it is only a matter of time before he comes for vengeance... I need to learn much about the ways of the Void-borne blade before I can match him, let alone defeat him. What say you?"

[DrakeRaids]

Crossroads

"Huh? Sorry, I wasn't trying to be obscure. We're looking for a gem in an old vault beneath this place for a client. Don't know what it does, don't know who we're racing against, besides that we are, and we know we can expect traps, but of no specific kind." Zeka spoke quickly, but she didn't seem to be lying, diving out each piece of information she had like drops of candy. She didn't see much point in hiding this, she'd been told to get the thingie. She hadn't been told to be discreet. "If you have more specific questions I'll tell you what I can, but first, you what do you want with the Begger King?"

[Lix Lorn]

Corpses and Other Dead Things

"I haven't killed anyone." she says clearly. "Not since I came here. No point. I don't get anything from killing you people. I came here because my home was destroyed by psychopathic killers, same as you. They offered me impossible powers, and I said yes. Then they asked me to destroy the world. And see, I like the world. The world has interesting people, and wonderful things, and monsters to slay and adventures to find. Today, I found another of my kind. Abyssals, we are called, if you don't know. He told me they were coming. They want this place destroyed too. I tried to kill him, to protect this place and all who live here. I'm not going to lie, mostly to protect myself.

As you might have guessed... I failed. He was stronger than I. So he crippled me and left me here."

Seeker finishes polishing her bow, and leisurely puts the cloth away, slowly standing up, the weapon held carelessly in one hand.

"So. If you want, you can try to kill the Abyssal who doesn't want the world to end. You'll probably succeed. Of course, the first one to come at me will die screaming. The second too. Probably the third, the fourth... I'm not sure how many of you would die in agony taking me down, but I don't think you want to find out. I am not your enemy. All I want is time to recover, so I can take what I've learnt to someone with the power to do something about it. And if you believe nothing else, believe me: You don't want to make yourselves my enemy."

...so. I have Cha 2. Three aim dice. And then channel... feck, prolly can't channel valor. Channel conviction for two more dice.
[roll0]
Seeker is App 5. Intention of the social attack is the last line: Persuade them they don't want to fight.

[Gargulec]

Setting Sail, Coming Home

With the ghost - or whatever he was - gone, rest of the night passed entirely without incident, the work on the world-seen going ahead smoothly. By the hours of what should be dawn, the initial calibrations and calculations were done. The technical part - a challenge for the brilliant mind, to grasp at the principles that underpinned the reality entire. An attempt to enclose the very essence of existence within strings of numbers, waving lines of scribblings, lines and curves - matters quantifiable. To count and account for every single little thing that would need to be born to let the world blossom for vortex's seed.

And yet, for all of its complexity that could drive a soul to madness just by attempting to grasp, and yet for all of its sophistication devoid of any margin of error, it was the simple part of the challenge.

One can not simply write a world, narrow it down to numbers and formulas, breath existence to it with a calculus. It required will, a will to impose one's laws upon the formless chaos, to clarion "This I create!" and have the raw matter obey. No ordinary soul could do that - it called for a power that was contained only within the cores of exaltations that by their very nature shaped reality around them. And that act, that creation Bartrand wanted to undertake was the apex of creation. All other craft paled when compared to it.

Morgaine returned by the morning, waiting for a moment on the galley overlooking the cathedral before descending the spiral staircase and starting to walk slowly towards the Solar. She had not noticed what he was tinkering with - maybe for the better. There was something silver in her hands, she carried it carefully, like one would carry a body.


Looking Glass

Whoever designed the trap was clearly a brilliant mind. Such simplicity of the design, and yet such an efficiency. But he - or she - had not accounted for a mind just as sharp, and a hand more steady and precise than any man could ever hope to posses.

The threads severed, one by one. Each of them uncoiled upon being cut, its edges about to snap the other connections, re-arrange them, introduce chaos into the design - and yet, Jania handled each of them carefully and calmly, and no damage came from her actions. It was like solving one of those puzzles that require dexterity in equal parts with quick wits, and even though it was a difficult one, just a little bit of concentration was enough for her to grab at the only line that was not brittle, that was not fake.

The essence-patters around her whirred one last time, turning like gears of a dying machine, and she felt the throbbing at the back of her head again, along a slight nauseating tug in her stomach. The white landscape broke before her eyes, rifts appearing along its entire height, widening to reveal the glass dome of the library again.

A wave of sound crashed into her ears once more, and she was back in Malfeas. The librarian-machine clicked, its chips opening to reveal the sphere containing the trap. It popped out on its own with a dull click, and rolled down onto the floor, at Jania's feet.

Well, as for vengeance that was not all that bad.


Halls of the Grotto's King
Ophelia, Tewi


Percussion, Repercussion ends. 35XP please. That was one heck of a scene. Also, a good moment to jump-cut. If there is anything you want to do in between scenes, add it to your posts.


Where the silver waters of Bostvade ran, a blight fell upon the land. A tarnish upon brass, webbing of cracks on basalt, misery upon the common demons. At first, it manifested in little things falling apart, little deaths happening to no consequence, but as the current was gaining in strength, its hungry undertow continued to gnaw upon the surroundings until they were but a shadow of their former glory, shadow reflected in silver and gold of the river's surface, its quiet rumble as it made its way from no spring to no sea the only eulogy for another street, alley, or plaza.

This particular area, once a square full with rowdy ale-houses was now on the verge of collapse. All colour gone, it was covered entire with creeping mould of no specific colour, its many pillars and walls all crumbling constantly, a trickle of sand springing down them without a pause. The windows were empty, the glass shattered, bells and gongs rang still, but their voice was no longer thunderous, but as sickened as the entire place. Around the taverns, demons still shuffled around, but their movement was devoid of purpose, of this drive to survive that was the only animating force in Hell. They were empty, at no odds with their passing - they understood that once caught in the current, there was no way out for them, no returning to the world of colours and sounds.

One would expect the air to stink of decay, but it was clear, maybe even moreso than usually in the city. Only a slight hint of scent hovered above the dying square, the faintest smell of incense burnt as offering.

Compared to its surroundings, the river was radiant. Its waters almost shone, their surface perfectly reflective, and yet allowing those brave enough to gaze into them to see the other, reflected side. The one that waxed as the part of Malfeas waned. The one that was approaching its zenith, its short moment of true existence, as the last the market held is being siphoned away. And then it would disappear, for a mirror can't reflect with no one standing over it. And Bostvade would run forth, finding a new canal, and casting his curse upon another district. As it had always been.

You were standing at the bank, anchor in your hands. Ligier shone strong above, and you could not stop wondering whether you would be seeing his baleful glow again.

[Flare]

Hounds of the Waste

"Talking about it accomplishes nothing. It is a dread book that is to be removed from the hands of whoever has it and placed back into mine where it belongs." Rose said, shaking her head. "Though I suppose, if you killed the Lover, I guess I don't get that ability. Oh well." she said, shaking her head as if she didn't care anymore. "So where is Reaver, so that we might decide how we will go about retrieving my book?"

[Gargulec]

Mending

'Yes' she confirmed. 'I am an ashrbinger, and where I tread, disaster follows, and what I touch is blighted and transpires.'

She loosened a strap holding the blade on her back, allowing it to slip from her back onto the brass.

'There is no agreement among our lords, you say' she said, looking down onto the weapon's plain hilt. 'And that is for a very good reason, for this place changed my ways and my belief. You ask for no small thing, and you would not be the first to. I had another deathknight under my tutelage, and he grew to surpass me, and put the skill that I gave to him to an ill use. Now, where I leave a trail of soot and ash in my wake, he steps lightly, unseen, waiting to turn the world entire into a funerary pyre. And though I need something mended, there are things I value above the trinket. Thus, before I agree to your proposition, I ask you to answer a question, honestly and openly. What do you need your sword for?'

And though she spoke the question in tone no different than before, it somehow resounded profound.

[Sallera]

Halls of the Grotto's King

Tewi did not, as a rule, revere his masters. Even before his Second Breath drove him away from home, the figures he held in reverence were distant, unseen, and his more immediate commanders were only people to be obeyed. Afterward, he had held to the idea that a master was ever a temporary arrangement, and keeping them at arm's length a necessary matter of survival. It was little different with Bostvade; Tewi certainly felt a kinship with the powerful spirit beyond that which he usually enjoyed with his employers, and he always showed proper respect in his dealings, but in the end, it was just another arrangement. Standing here on the bank, however, about to dive into the deadly quicksilver with nothing more than an intangible trust to follow, he was starting to feel as though a little prayer might not be a bad idea.

"Swim through the waters of Bostvade, the anchor clasped tight in hands until the world is upside down." He had long ago made a habit of memorizing directions word-for-word; little details had a way of becoming irritatingly relevant once you'd forgotten them. "Bit of a leap of faith, that. I've been to the other side a couple times, but it sounds like this'll be a longer swim." His anima flares briefly around him as he draws on its power; even that wouldn't allow him to breathe in Bostvade's river-body, but it would at least ease his movements a little. Holding out the anchor, he offers the hand to Ophelia.

"Figure we ought to take those directions literally, or we're liable to have one of us end up missing. It'll make swimming a bit slower, but something like this seems as likely to depend on time as distance. You ready to put it to the test?"

[Volthawk]

Inns and Outs

"Perhaps. We'll see."

Fury sits down on the floor next to the bed, leaning against it, still in his warform and armoured, and closes his eyes.

"But still, get some sleep. You'll need it."

[Gargulec]

Corpses and Other Dead Things

The Abyssal's voice cut through the voices like a sharpest knife. A single word for Seeker silenced the crowd. The boldest among trying the spur the mob took a step back, momentarily. They were human, and she was an Ashbringer. Her very nature was something that awakened fear in their hearts.

She was not sure if it was her words that worked, or just what she was, but every time she opened her lips to speak, they backed a little, the weapons in their hands dropping lower. It was hard to tell whether they were even listening - they certainly heard the latter part, the one about killing, and they understood it perfectly well.

After she had finished speaking, silence fell upon the street, the crowd looking to each other, seeking someone who would be their voice, who would feel no fear to stand to the Abyssal.

Among all the scoundrels, armed bandits and thugs, the girl who called her monster was the only one with enough valour. She stood fort, from the circle around Seeker. Now, that the Dusk was standing, she looked tiny by comparison, twice a head shorter, her scrawny built no match to the machine of destruction Seeker was. Her dress was in tatters, and she seemed like she had no meal in her mouth for days, if not longer. But strangely, the huntress could feel no fear in her. In the crowd, she grew saturated with that odour but now, alone, it vanished from her. Something replaced it deep down inside of her - and whether it was bravery or just hatred, Seeker could say.

In her hand, clenched tightly within calloused fingers, she held a small, rusted knife.

'You say you are different' she called to her, in a voice that was of a child. 'But I do not believe you, monster! They may fear your weapon' she gestured at the crowd. 'But I just want you to show them what you really are! There is blood on your hands, and soon, there will be more of if it, for I am challenging you!' she uttered. 'I want to kill you, Abyssal, so you will have to murder me now!'

[Lix Lorn]

"Then try." said Seeker loudly. "I will not kill you. I may have been a monster before, but not today. You can come at me, but I will not kill you."

She puts down her crossbow, and waits.

[AmberVael]

Crossroads

Rai hesitates, no longer sure what to do. She hadn't expected Zeka to actually give in and explain what she was doing, and had rather been relying on that with her response. Now what? Should she tell them, even though she didn't even want to do the task she had been given? In the back of her mind she knew she was rapidly losing control and confidence, if she hadn't lost it all already.

The demon-blood takes a deep breath. "I have been directed to finish the work my mother Kimbery started." She says quietly, gesturing to the wastes around them.

[DaWrecka]

Mending

The Artificer of Ten Thousand Blasphemies pondered his response briefly. Honesty seemed the simplest and most-expedient policy here. "Ordinarily," he began. "I abhor violence. It is, I feel, a waste of energy that can be better-spent on other pursuits. However, the enemy I have made recently is my opposite in that regard. He is of the Forsaken, a Dawn Caste, and the brief encounter I had with him already assured me that, while he could not cut me down quickly, as it stands, that outcome would be inevitable. I need my sword to be able to defend myself... and perhaps others he would target in order to harm me." He exhaled sharply then - from another throat, it could have been called a sigh. "His grudge against me is, I have no doubt, personal... I am in no small part responsible for taking a great deal from him. Namely, the manse he was using to raise a demon army. Although I am still at a loss as to how this happened, exactly, there is no doubt that I am responsible." He hesitated then. "Also, I will admit that the grudge is... not entirely one-sided. He took something from me... two somethings. And they can never be replaced. His manse, his demon army can be replaced, but what he took from me cannot. Although I must be able to defend myself first and foremost... I admit it - I intend to be the one to destroy him. I know not how long this will take... but mine will be the blade that sends him to Oblivion."

[Gargulec]

Hounds in the Wastes

The Lunar composed herself. She was still frowning, but nothing remained of that outburst of fury she presented to you moments before.

'We?' she snickered. 'We didn't killer her. Leviathan and Raksi did, paid dearly for it. Wouldn't have happened, if not for them.'

The Crow nodded.

'And yes, I understand your eagerness to find him and send him your former Lady's way, but...' for once, the smile vanished from his face. 'This is where the things turn tricky.'

'Trust him' the other Lunar suggested. 'He's not exaggerating.'

'Reaver is powerful' Rose's mate explained, his tone sour. 'Far more powerful than we have thought. He has already killed two of us when we tried to apprehend him, and... how to put it...' he bit his lip, knowing that the Abyssal in front of him is not going to like it. 'We have lost track of him, mostly. We...'

'To put it bluntly' the crone cut in, putting Crow out of his distress. 'We had to stop sending hounds after him, because he has a nasty habit of murdering them effortlessly. This is...'

Crow sighed, as if disappointed.

'This is the reason you are here. We need someone who will be able to match him in a fight. And you are the closest thing we have to that' she finished.

'But first, we have to catch a trail of him, and... that, well. I hoped that you would bring us something, to be honest... has he tried contacting you, in any way?' he asked, hopeful.


Corpses and Other Dead Things

The girl smiled, and there was something deeply wrong with that smirk that appeared on her face. It was not something that would fit on a girl of her age, there was too much malice, too much spite refined though days, months worth of cold seething, until it consumed everything else inside and turned her soul into a small dead thing.

'Even better' she snarled, in a profoundly inhuman voice. 'Once a monster, always a monster.'

The hunter eyes begun to pick up more details about her, little things that did not fit, oddities that should not be. Skin, so pale, almost parchment-like, eyes empty, dull. She certainly was human. Or used to be.

'If you strike me down' the girl came a bit closer, starting to circle Seeker 'they will rush you, and then you will die. If you don't, I...' the smile on her face wavered, but returned. There was something unsettling in the way she moved, alternating between graceful fluidity and jerking, imprecise twitches. 'I will do it myself!' the voice coming from her chest was distorted, with the metallic echo following it. 'I wonder if you will like your suffering the way I enjoyed yours, monster...'

The people gathered were looking at her as much as the Abyssal now. It was not even that she was the only one bold enough to stand up. No, it was because it was growing harder and harder for them to say which was more human.


Perception+Awareness/Lore roll, diff 3, please.



Inns and Outs

Sleep came quickly for both of you, throwing its heavy curtain over your minds so that your bodies would finally rest - and as the Lunar was lying down, each and every muscle in his body, the wound suffered from the Infernal at the wedding, all the toil and fatigue reminded him of itself.

And yet, the pain was fleeting, washed away by the dreams that he could not remember at dawn - or its strange, cried variance that was of Malfeas - apart from the soft glow of the moon, and a feeling of belonging.

It was an awakening more pleasant than any other he had experienced since arriving in this realm. Even the noise could not sour it... there was an actual roof over his head, a room that was almost like one he could remember, warm, closed, safe. The nymph snored on her bed, in quite a cute way. She was still asleep, and probably would need help waking up on time. Funny how meeker she was than Fury. Almost as if she was a mortal.

He felt the scent first, strange, smoky one. Then, a puff of black fog appeared in the corner of the room, rapidly expanding until it took on a form of an eight-legged black dog, a hound with mismatched eyes - one perfectly white, one so black that it registered as such even on the backdrop of its waving form.

'Fury, I presume?' it barked, voice disturbingly inhuman. The demon looked around, and noticed Kesh. 'My apologizes, I did not mean to disturb the lady's rest. Still' he lowered his voice. 'I am a messenger. Would you want to hear news that I bring?'

[Dragnar]

Looking Glass
Jania sighed with relief as the trap fell apart, reality returning around her in moments. Still... She wasn't exactly ready to relax yet, there were four more archives left to examine. Hopefully less empty than the last one... Nothing ventured, nothing gained and all that, and into the librarian-machine went the next of the archives. The Jadeborn frankly was not feeling up to dealing with heavy encryption after that mess, so the archives on the Oasis would be next. Then Magitech, sorcery, and finally the oh-so-important secret archive. What fun today was going to be!

[Lix Lorn]

Corpses and Other Dead Things

"You... are wrong." she says slowly. "Something about you isn't right. You sound angry, hateful, spiteful. You make my flesh crawl. Revenge is a terrible thing. It twists everything until right becomes wrong and good becomes evil. If you are what you claim... then I'm sorry for whatever happened to you, but you need to let go."

She takes a deep breath.
"But if you're the monster here, a demon or a ghost or something that wants to harm me for fun... then I'll kill you. I gain nothing from killing my own race, no joy, no pride. But monsters need killers. And whatever you say, I'm not a monster." she says plainly.

She helpfully pushes skinning a lunar to the back of her head.

[Volthawk]

Inns and Outs

Fury pulls himself into a comfortable position, then nods.

"I'd imagine you're not the bringer of good news, but go ahead."

[Gargulec]

Mending

It took a while for Elise to respond to the Daybreak. Her face remained untouched by emotion, and yet, the Abyssal could clear see how she was considering, pondering whether the decision she was about to make was going to be a good one.

Then, something glistened in her eye and she stepped over the threshold.

'I have made my mind' she declared, dragging her weapon in. 'If this is your cause, then so be it. I will tutor you in the ways of the blade, so that you can defend yourself against foes you have made. I hope and pray that you have not lied to me, and that you will not aid the agenda of our masters with the skills I will give you.'

She looked around the shop, appraising the place.

'I will stay with you, for the time being, so you can mend what I need to be mended and so I can train you' she announced, her voice subtly trailing off. She looked behind her, at the poor settlement outside, at the people scuttling around, minding their little daily businesses, and sighed - part exhaustion, part sorrow. 'I will need just the meagrest accommodations. A place to sleep, I do not ask for more. I do not want more, worry not. And if you will need help in your work, I am strong, and I once knew how to work ordinary metals, though that was long ago, and I think I might have forgotten' she offered. She gave her new student another strange look. 'Say, you have a name, right? Tell me, please. I am Elise' she introduced herself with just the slightest grimace flashing across her face as the name flew down her lips.

[DrakeRaids]

Crossroads

Zeka crossed her arms and frowned. This woman didn't sound enthused about her job, thats for sure. She stole a glance over at Ara before looking back at the demon blooded again, examining her in a new light. "Why do you want to do that?" She asked, not angrily really, rather there was a simply inquisitiveness behind her a mixture of an adults tone and a childs desire to understand.

[Flare]

Hounds of The Waste

Rose's stare grew hard. Harder then before. Her lips pulled back into what could only be a snarl. "Why would he contact me, when I am a known traitor?" she asked rhetorically. "I have shown no signs of turning a new leaf, so unless you have a plan to play pretend and trick him into thinking I've reconsidered my ways, he knows I am a traitor and will not speak to me." she pointed out, tapping her nails on the table. "But I know a way to track him, I believe. The hair of the Demon Zsofika was stolen along with the book. I believe she can hear the bells wound into her hair no matter where she is. If you find her, she may lead you to Reaver." she stated.

"Now. Regarding you thinking I can beat Reaver." Rose paused.

"That is not something I am capable of doing." She said simply. "My skills are weakened from time. I am...not as strong as I could or should be. After arriving in Oasis I did very little for several months." She said, shaking her head. "if you expect me to be your savior, I can not do it now. I grasp the frailty of my own technique. If you want me to be your own weapon, to take revenge, you'll have to train me."

[Zoronos]

Setting Sail, Going Home

Bartrand sighed as the deva returned. He carefully and casually placed the containment apparatus in the recess under the table. So far, it was the only part of the device which could give away his intended purpose. The rest of it, minor tools he had been creating and the detritus of craft, was left on top of the work bench. It was, of course, a significant amount of production and no small effort. A year or two ago, the tools alone would have fetched a fortune if a lucky scavenger lord had found them in some long abandoned workshop. Now they were just the incidental products of a larger project.

Bartrand sat down in the chair, and became quickly cognizant of the fact that he had been standing for the past few hours. Taking a moment to pick up one of the hunks of bread, he took a large bite and waved too the approaching demon. Perhaps it had the components he was needing to continue his work. If not, this was going to be a very short project. The memory crystal from Regent supplied the plans, but there was no real way around the core material; the need for a Wyld source was uncircumventable.

He called out in a friendly voice, between bites of bread, with a wave and a nod."Good, umm, Morning. I think."

[Gargulec]

Corpses and Other Dead Things

The girl's malicious grin thinned, shortened, disappeared, but the fire in her eyes, that cold, heartless thing raged still.

'Let go, before it twists you' she uttered, as if through a clenched throat. The hate in her words was tangible, it was like a wave of chill flowing outwards from her, freezing everything in its path with the power of a blizzard. 'Monsters needs killers' she repeated after the Abyssal.

People behind her took another step back, some of them starting to run away already.

'It would bring me sorrow that you fail to see, to understand' she snarled, circling ever so close to the weakened Abyssal. 'But sorrow... I have no place for it in my heart anymore. Yes, you are right' she agreed, her movements becoming forced, broken again 'revenge is a terrible thing, and it takes away from you more than it can give. But what can you take away from one that has nothing?' she asked, and then tore down her dress.

There was little left of a human body below. Legs, yes. Right arm, yes. A bit of her chest, a single breast of a teeneged girl, yes. Rest? Rest was cold soulsteel, wrought in profane weaves around living bone, weeping dark blood. Strings of metal instead of tendons, knots instead of muscle, all black and grey, screaming with each twitch soundlessly, faces of dead souls appearing all over its length. But the worst, was the heart, a small chunk of human flesh, bright crimson, and spikes of the dead steel driven through it. It beat out of rhythm, as if squirming, and with each strike, a trick of blood erupted from it.

'First, he took my skin' she explained, tracing around her chest with her living finger. The crowd went entirely silent, most of them turning pale. Seeker brought terror to them, but she at least held a human shape. The sleek, soulsteel imitation of body, however, was an abomination they were not prepared to witness. 'Slowly, strip by strip. It took him days, and I was awake the entire time' she said with an odd calm to her voice. 'I felt fear and pain then, nothing but it. Then, though, he started to flay muscle from bone, and fear was gone, consumed by suffering I could not believe to exist. Then, he ordered me to enjoy it, and how could I resist his voice? So I enjoyed it, even as my soul broke down, piece by piece. Oh...' she smiled. 'If there was something human in me, it died when he transfigured my heart and gave me new flesh. Pain stopped. No, it was not gone, it just seared itself out of my mind. Everything else did, too. All that was left was numbing cold and hate, hate, hate' she pointed at her heart. 'There is no room there for anything else, and that is why I am going to try to kill you or die trying, because I am a monster, a hollow husk, filled with nothing, and Nothing is my name.'

The mob dispersed. They left the monsters to kill each another. No one there was bold enough to intervene in that clash.


Looking Glass

The archive went into the socket with another click, the librarian unmoving, uncaring for what information he was bringing to the Jadeborn - or at least, such was his seeming. The other delvers of knowledge paid no mind to the Artistian, their own pursuit occupying their attention entirely. Not only because of the peril of losing focus, but also because each bit of knowledge had to be judged twice. Once, for how interesting it was, and then again, for how close to the forbidden secrets it was. Everyone wanted to know, and yet no one desired to know everything - or at least there were few foolish enough to let that desire manifest. For there were starts on the sky, each a burning ember against the green sky that reminded everyone of the steep price of knowing too much.

The library unravelled around Jania once more, disappearing into cascade of colours, dozens, if not hundreds of rough-edged shards that twirled and slashed through the air until they formed a landscape of their own.

It was the time of winter, and winds were biting cold. From the thick clouds above, a veil of snow was falling down, snow and ash. Those were the final days of Creation, this moment preserved like an ancient insect in a globule of amber. On the empty horizon, no trace of man nor beast could be seen - apart from a little, brown-haired girl in a ragged robe, sitting in the snow and frost, as if it did not harm her at all.

'I am Maya, your guide to this archive' she spoke in a dull, flat voice. 'My soul forever bound to the little stone, so that my memory can carry the knowledge you require. What do you want me to tell, what part of my memory do you want to open?' she asked, never once raising her eyes from the whiteness around her.

[DaWrecka]

Mending

The Artificer of Ten Thousand Blasphemies fancied he heard a faint hiss in the back of his mind when he heard the other deathknight declaring her name. Raising what passed for an eyebrow, he allowed it to pass without comment. He also chose not to comment on her mention of using the skills she would teach in the service of Oblivion. He looked around his workshop, and the meagre accommodation he had for himself. "We will need to fetch you a cot of some sort, then," he rumbled. "And perhaps rearrange the workshop a little... My place of work was designed to provide the bare necessities for a single individual - myself. We will need to... remodel in order to accommodate another. And perhaps to locate an area where I can be trained without damaging the workshop. As for your offer of assistance with my craft, it would certainly not go amiss, but we would need to procure tools for you in likelihood... my Bracers of Universal Crafting grant me any tools I could need for any given task, but I have, thusfar, worked alone... I suspect they will be of little benefit to any assistants."

"As for my name... I am known as the Artificer of Ten Thousand Blasphemies. I have been known by no other name for so long that those few other names have faded from my memory with disuse."

Holy cow, I've been totally forgetting to figure out just how many motes and Willpower the Artificer has. Let's fix the latter now.

Rolling Conviction for a good night's rest. Orr... maybe morning. Or afternoon. Look, he's had enough rest to get a roll, that's all that matters. Here's hoping it's a good one.
[roll0]

EDIT: God DAMMIT!

[Gargulec]

Inns and Outs

The creature sat, its legs stretching until they were as thin as little sticks.

'On the exact opposite, honoured citizen' it shook its snout, in a gesture that was as human as his barking voice was not. 'The news that I carry, the message that I bring is a boon to you, and to that lady you protect, very nobly' it nodded. 'I was sent by a lord who bears many names, each of them fitting, and ordered to introduce him to you as the Hailstorm's Foe. He is a man of a high station and influence, powerful, gracious, graceful. He is willing to aid you, and protect you from the Whore's servants, seeking their vengeance for a death duly given' the beast's maw distorted into something that could be a smile. 'We were all very impressed by the way you took her flesh away. Much commendable' it added with a disarming sincerity. 'His offer is simple, and should not burden you much: all he asks is for you to swear to help him with a small endeavour he regrettably needs to hold secret, for your modest quarters are not a place fit from uncovering such secrets. Wall have ears, and many of my kind work for less just of an employer. In return, he will make sure so that no ill comes to you from your deed and provide you with every commodity or help you may ever want. It is a splendid offer.'

The creature, having present its offer, said no more.

[Lix Lorn]

Seeker flinches before the girl's-if she still counts as one-corrupted form. She stands, placing her crossbow back upon her back.
"You... you are broken." she murmurs. "I have done bad things, without such an excuse as you have. But I never embraced it. I don't understand why anyone would do such a thing to you. Know that I do not wish to hurt you, but... I think you want me to. You want me to end you, to prove you right and to escape at the same time. And... I will. If you make me."

[AmberVael]

Crossroads

Rai Ka bit back her instinctive answer- she didn't want to. But she did want to continue living, and not go back to the hellish existence she'd been condemned to before Ululaya had bestowed power on her. "My mother asked me to. That is all the reason I need." The demon-blooded says in a quiet, but uncharacteristically steely tone.

"I will help you as I am able." Rai Ka changes the subject with a certain amount of finality, but softensher tone with a small smile. "You shouldn't travel unprotected."

[Gargulec]

Hounds in the Wastes

Crow did not reply, gazing at his mate with surprise - and disappointment - in his eyes.

'What did you expect?' the crone asked with a sneer, reliving the Lunar from the burden of answering. 'There are monsters' she waved at Rose 'and then, there are monsters. One does not compare to the other' she opened the closet in the corner, digging out a bottle of liquor. She opened it and unceremoniously quaffed at the alcohol straight from the bottle. 'Sorry, miss' she toasted at the Abyssal 'but if you can't help us, we can't help you. Warriors of the Pact perished in Creation, and now, we are defanged.'

Crow hissed loudly, shooting a spiteful glance at his companion.

'Stop staring at me like that, pup' she sighed lazily. 'Your idea was good, but, pardon me for saying that out loud, your little lady does not hold up to the expectations...'

'All she needs is a bit of tutelage and she will murder him' he snapped back at her, perhaps a bit too fast.

'Something we can't provide' she shrugged. 'We have no swordmasters... all we have left are politicians and hunters, nothing more...'

'And Lyns' Crow smiled thinly. 'What about him...'

He was met with loud laughter, the other Lunar spilling her liquor in a burst of mocking chuckle.

'Pardon me' she bowed to Rose 'There is one among us who could tutor you... but well...' she stuck forth her hand, fingers clenched. 'He hates woman' she said lightly, opening one of her fingers. 'He hates northerners' another one straightened. 'And he hates Abyssals... but, well, apart from that, he is the best swordmaster I know, only a little bit sadistic... how about that?'

[Ziddim]

The Problem With Saints

After resting from his crafting detour, The Unspoken Word Made Flesh had begun to make preparations for a prayer. It would, he reasoned, be much easier to contact the demon that his ally had named than to hunt her down. Unfortunately, there would be at least one more non-trivial delay in his plans.

It was during this time that the barge arrived in all of its infernal glory. To be honest, it was somewhat expected, though the timing was sooner than the Solar had hoped. Time was of the essence, and further delays were a nuisance.

His followers stood behind him, fanning the banners out like a pea-cock’s tail. They looked crude in comparison to the immaculately crafted banners of the priesthood, but The Prophet seemed un-phased. In silence, he listened to the demon make his grandiose pronouncement. Even so, the hypocritical nature of the gesture was off-putting, and the annoyance could be seen on the Zenith’s face.

Nevertheless, he let the demon finish, for it was a courtesy that he hoped would be afforded in turn. At the very least, Cecelyne had done him the favor of an indirect confrontation by sending a mouth-piece. His initial encounter with her had been exhausting, and it had not gone very much to his liking.

When all the bluster was finished, The Unspoken Word’s followers planted their banners in the ground.


For a brief moment, there was a flash of blinding light as the Zenith’s Anima went totemic. The light receded slightly as an image of the daystar rained down golden light from above the solar. It’s cornea flickered and danced and twirled around with infinite complexity. Then, a horizontal slit formed in the sun, and began to expand. Soon, it was apparent that this slit was the point where eyelids met, and it opened to reveal the infinite eye of the Sun down upon them. The cosmos could be seen in the dark pupil of the eye, while the perfected champions of the sun standing shoulder to shoulder, each burning with their own divine animas made up the Iris.

Pumping up Infinite Performance Mastery and rolling out PCP.

Silently, The Prophet spoke an unvoiced prayer to his patron.
"Do not lose your faith in us. Even now, there is hope for mankind. No matter how dark, even if you never show your face again, there will be light. Bear witness, for this is my prayer to you.‘

Prayer Roll: Char + Performance
Zid !e 20
21:49 PatternSpider Zid -- 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8, 10, 10, 10 -- 10 success(es)



The followers had taken advantage of the Anima’s brightness to ready them-selves, and as the blinding light faded, they could each be seen wielding string and percussion instruments. A simple, terse chord emerged from one of the follower’s lute. It repeated over and over every half-beat. Meanwhile, another stringed instrument began to play a repeating rhythm that descended down the scale in a rather sinister fashion.
Music Inspiration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oWrf4ZnzsOo

The prophet began to approach the servant of the Yozi, and as he did his Anima swirled like a golden mist around him. The sounds of armies’ drums could be heard through his anima, sounding a ‘boom, chink, boom chink’ that sounded like men in chainmail stepping in time to the music. His chosen voice followed him, the bearded man by the name of May whose broad shoulders and deep voice were frequently utilized. The way that May held his sitar made it look dangerous and formidable.

The tune that he played was sharp and twisted, not at all in harmony and disjointed, yet… it did not sound as if it didn’t belong. The look on the man’s face as he played was one of frustration, and this was reflected in the notes that he played.

“So, Cecelyne is second guessing the path that she set me on and has sent her heart to seek some measure of reassurance? Such fascinating creatures the Titans are. Very well then…"

Life-sized wayang-kulit style shadow puppets formed out of the negative spaces in the places where the Zenith’s bright anima did not touch.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x3OpnFb3RG8&feature=related if you’ve never seen wayang-kulit!

The puppets depicted men and demon alike, being pursued by large, deathly clad swordsmen and intricately fiendish ghosts and ghouls. May’s shrieking intro accompanied the flight until a large cage fell over the men and demons alike. The monstrous men and the ghouls began pounding on the cage while all of the Golden Bull’s followers sang out an ‘Aaaaaaa-ah’ in unison.

May and the Prophet circled around Cecelyne’s Chosen, like two moons orbiting a planet. It was the Golden Bull that kept eye contact with the demon, even as may began sing while the rest of the troup accompanied.


“We face the end of the age
And we’re trapped in a cage.
Death sits at our door.”

For a moment, the music hung on each word that May spoke.

“But you… Can’t… See…" chanted the chorus.
"Cause you’ve stuck your head in the sand.”

“Don’t say that no one ever told you,” added Unspoken Word silently as both he and May turned to face the rest of the chorus, as if he were preaching to them while the music ratcheted up a half key.

Behind them, the Wayang Kulit Death-knights began yanking the bars off the cage, while their minions used sharp spears to strike down those trapped inside.

“This shared attitude
has caused us to lose.
Our narrow-minded blindness is a

"Form-u-la…"

"For assured destruction.”

The puppets blew into dust, and another shadow image, formed in the negative space of the Solar’s anima appeared. It was a large temple of the sort that was dedicated to the Yozis.

“A house split two ways… “
May let loose three quick sharp, grating notes in quick succession. Meanwhile, The Prophet cast out both arms towards the Kulit-temple, and a clear tear formed down the middle, and the two sides began to fall apart.

“Can never hope to stand.

"A house split two ways…”

Again, shrieking notes called out as both sides of the house fell off crumbling cliffs and caught fire.

“Will lead us to our end... All of our...”


The tune, driven by power-chords, worked up to an apex as the chorus sang in unison.

“Blood Feuds. In-Fights. It’s tetramount. To Suicide.”

More shadow puppets arose. Several Deathknights surrounded a rising Boar. They stabbed and then killed it as it thrashed in pain. A mountain rose where the boar fell, and again, the Death-knights stabbed it and it fell. A sun shining over a city grew on the grave of the mountain, with a man inside it. Still, the Death-knights stabbed it, and it fell to black.

“If One does not stand as All, then we’re all doomed to fall and they’ll kill you!”

As May sang, the image of fabric’s shadow appeared between death-knights, giving the allusion of sand. A beautiful nude maiden with swirls of sand faded into sight, and she bore upon her bread an hour glass.

“They can kill you!”

At that moment, the death-knights plunged their swords into the mistress of the desert, and she too was slain with her siblings.

And then, instead of singing, May spoke.

“And then, we can all kiss our ass goodbye…”

The rolling chorus wasted no time in diving right back in.

“Destroy. Divide. Their heart’s bent. On Fratricide.”
.................................................. ..................................“And soon they’ll try…”

“We share the same fate, and the hour grows late. I will fight for our lives. Make Hell and Heaven Unite. I can Save you!”

The prophet pumped his right fist and looked at it, while pointing his finger of his opposite hand up towards the floating layers of Malfeas.

“I’ll Save you!”

And at that, May tore into a wild solo whose sound resembled reverberating, bending soul-steel running over electrical eels and shrieking wind-chimes. Part of this sound, no doubt, came from the Solar’s anima, but even so the rest of the followers played in full support.

It was a grandiose sound, and yet, it was not so distracting that it could not be talked over. In fact, if one were to talk over it, it might lend them overtones of power and authority. It was an invitation on part of Unpsoken Word to his guest for an opportunity to retort, and a form of flattery as well.

If the demon wished to respond, Unspoken Word was going to assist him in looking as good as he possibly could while doing it. Furthermore, he would do it without any hint of trying to undermine his position, for to try and undermine a servant of Cecelyne would have been more than rude, particularly after the favors granted in the encounter so far. Even in his seeming defiance, the Zenith could bolster and uplift the Yozi’s servants and even the Yozi themselves and still remain victorious.

Of course, there was the added bonus that it was the Zenith who set the rules of the debate and set the stage for battle.

[Dragnar]

Looking Glass
Maya? Soul? Had Forsaken Sword seriously resorted to enslaving the souls of innocent children for simple data storage? Jania shook her head, clearing that implication from her thoughts for now. It was too late to save anyone that monster had gotten to like that, no use in adding some unknown girl's fate to her worries. "...Er, right. What information do you store... Maya? And index or something similar to start with."

[Flare]

Hounds in the Wastes

Rose took the insults and mockery with the same flat face she always showed. She had no inclination to help these people anymore. What she wanted, more then anything, was to leave and let them die.

Would it really be so bad? To just let that book stay in Reaver's hands? Why did she care? She could simply live her life. If the Neverborn came back, and she promised her loyalty and her apologies, it might be a thousand years of torture, but in the end she would probably be released to help again, even if she was never trusted again on the forces of Oblivion, she would still be there. They might insult her, but they would have the right, instead of these Lunars who just decided to.

She considered it for a moment.

"Yes. You are absolutely correct that there are Monsters like I, and Monsters like him." she stopped again, then shook her head. "I could let myself be the Guardian of Hades. I could let myself once more be Cerberus. I could be the same monster he is." she paused. "But that would not be a victory for you and you know it. If I am a monster. If I return to his level instead of leaving it, I will always be a Monster like him. That is not how I wish to be. I will not be a monster. Even if it makes me weaker, even if it means I must suffer, I will not be Cerberus again. I have abandoned the instincts of a beast, and it may have made me weaker, but I will not go back to those ways. If you want some mindless monster, some bloody killer, to get your revenge, you are a fool. Monsters can not kill monsters. A monster that kills a monster does not save you, he simply gives you a stronger monster that you must deal with. Mock me or what have you for abandoning that strength that a monster has." She paused.

"I'll accept it. I am not as strong as a monster now, because I spent so long as one, but abandoned it. I accept my own weakness, because it means that when I do kill a monster, I do not create a worse one. So go ahead." She said, spreading her arms.

"Mock me for being weak. I will accept it. But I will not return to be the Guardian of Hades. It is no longer my nature. I will accept any hatred, any mocking, any bruise or cut, that will be given to me. A Lunar who hates Women? Fine. I've dealt with that. Someone who hates Northerners? Fine. I can endure barbs and stings. Someone who hates Abyssals?" she stopped. "What's to like about them?"

[DrakeRaids]

Crossroads

People so totally dedicated to the will of the Yozi's worried Zeka. More often then not it gave them a kind of justification that allowed them to do all kinds of cruelity and evil, as long as it was in someone else s name. It wasn't much different in creation mind you, people working for someone else often saw the horrific things they did as just part of the job. But it made her uneasy none the less.

But she seemed nice enough, if a little odd. Zeka might not really trust this demon blooded yet, but she'd use her. Anything that helped her stay alive. After a moment Zeka gave a nod, then pointed towards the building they where heading towards. "We think there is an entrance in there, into the underportions of this place. From there we hope to connect to the minstery, and begin to loot so to speak."

[Gargulec]

Setting Sail, Coming Home

The demoness bowed, wordless, and placed what she was cradling in her arms on the workbench, carefully, the way one would handle something very close to his heart. And yet, it looked rather modest - a few bands of silvery material, twisted and coated with thin layer of tarnish. They looked ancient, and motes of dust danced around them, reluctant to spiral down. If they held any semblance to anything Bartrand had seen before, it would be bones, of this blackened kind that can be sometimes dug out, from a grave that the merciless grinding of the wheels of time removed from the face of existence.

'The legend of Dioszlo' Morgaine named them, caressing them slowly with her hand, the skeletal wings behind her weaving through the air uneasily. 'Plucked from the tapestry of forever, for you to unmake, and let the tale be forgotten, for all the ages to come.'

She was obviously unhappy with having to part with one of her stories, but if what the apparition of Kagnax said was true, then the Solar had little to fear from the Silent Sister, for she was bound in obedience to him, in the quietest, most cruel form of slavery. No chains held her, no collar choked her, no brand marked her as owned, and yet her soul was made into a thrall, so subtly that she herself could not know of her bondage.

The first steps on the road to the world-egg eluded her, and she did not notice the little box even as she came closer - perhaps because she was not looking at the workbench at all. Her eyes shifted from the narrative remains of Dioszlo, Bartrand, and the ruin of the Factory Cathedral around her. It seemed that things that fell apart, that were of the past, that bore the mark of passage of centuries interested her far more than what was clean, repaired, working as it was made to.

'How was your night, Bartrand?' she asked in a kind voice. 'Did the place plague you? I felt some unrest among the legends and myths, your arrival stirred them, somehow. You must be the first living soul to grace this castle of rubble and moss in a time that even for me is hard to describe... Still, I brought you what you asked for, didn't I?' the last part, the question was not directed at the Solar. The woman muttered under her breath, as if to herself. 'Or is there anything more you require?'


The Problem With Saints

The Standard-Beared listened and behold, preternaturally still, the banner above his crouched, hunched posture frozen, as if the elements themselves feared to touch the relic - or were not allowed to.

The lights and music roared before him, like a thunderous sea lashing at the ship on its waves, something so tiny, so fragile, compared to the numberless waves, the music of the storm, its chimes of wind and rain. Against the flock of the Unspoken Word, the barge looked like it was bound to lost, its own phrase swallowed in the crowd.

But the sea was young here, strong with passion - and the ship, the barge, the little shell thrown by its vagaries was older than time. The highest priest stood up, the sound of his bones cracking exploding in contagious disharmony within the song and sound of the Unspoken Word's symphony of defiance.

'I am impressed by your might, Chosen of the Unconquered Sun' he crackled with a voice as sharp as the desert's wind. 'But you mistake me for something else.'

He shook the banner, and air was torn of the Solar's chest, violently, irresistibly. He soon regained his breath, but his followers were not so lucky. The voices trapped in their throats, they fell down upon the brass, silent. The Standard-Bearer nodded his head, as if it was what he was expecting - and then raised his sword in a salute, and all were made to kneel. Even the Zenith could feel his knees bending, his mind calling to him to lay low before this quiet display of ultimate majesty. No words were spoken, no lights painted the sky golden and blue. There was no need for it. There was no need to prove, display the power.

'When the little god that exalted you was born, we were timeless already, aeons beyond counting' he said quietly, and his voice, as low as a whisper deafened you more surely than a dozen of dozens of steel gongs all ringing at once. 'Your kind does not concern our cosmic majesty more than an ant would bother you. You exist because we allow it, because we fancy it so. The sword of our immense wrath hangs above your head on the thread of our mercy that is as boundless as it is all-encompassing.'

The brass beneath Unspoken Word's feet cracked, a chasm opening, connecting him to the barge - and from the chasm, a fountain of sand gusted forth, forming a straight, wide path of silver desolation. The Standard-Bearer came on it, and slowly, helping himself with his namesake as if it was a cane for an elder man, lurched towards the Zenith, growing with each step - or at least his aura swelled as he was approaching.

'We are not a finite being you can sway' he pronounced, towering above the Solar even as he knelt by his feet. 'Do not try to convince us, but bow to us!'


Corpses and Other Dead Things

The girl's smile widened, displaying her teeth - and somehow, they were all pointed and sharp, as if whatever went in her mind, in her soul, started to twist and warp her mortal form as well.

'Broken?' she asked, circling ever closer. Her each step, each meticulously practised shuffle was aimed at getting her in range for a single lunge. She was like a predator, too, distracting, dancing around its prey to take its mind off the real threat, the real talon in her hand. 'Yes, I was that, there, on the table, piece by piece, cut by cut, broken down, rendered down...' the false lightness in her tone reeked of the oceans of hatred within her. 'But I was rebuilt, with soul and steel, and now, I am complete once more... shame that my soul was lost in between, but I can live with that, I can't bring myself to care' she shrugged, the dismissive gesture masking yet another twist of her body that brought her closer, closer...

A cold, freezing wind blew through the street, leaving a thin layer of silver, fine sand on the brass, filling the tents and making flap in unison, the dull sound the only thing you could hear, but for a distant rumble, as if of a thunder or an avalanche tumbling down reached your ears, muffled now, and yet still potent.

'But I won't lie to you, because lies are not a province of our little, wicked deaths' she said, the mechanical heart in her chest contracting with an ear-piercing crackle, dark wisecrack squirting from it, flowing down the girl's soulsteel torso, glistening in Ligier's sharp light. 'Yes, I want you to hurt me, for he has told me to enjoy my pain and what choice did I have, and no, I have no desire to die here. I want to gut you open, spill your guts on the street, paint my face crimson with your blood and hear you scream, scream as loud as you can. And I want to do it now, when you are weak' she declared that flatly, in the same, chilling tone that showed no emotion, no passion, only dry, dull and empty spite that had consumed everything it could. 'I don't give a slightest damn if you are guilty or innocent, for I can't. I don't even want revenge, for what would it be worth to me, now?'

Another exaggerated shake of her head, another jerk of her arms and another concealed advance.


Mending

Elise shook her head, a short nod. There was little she could say - looking around easily proved that Artificer did not lie about the modesty of his quarters, not that she suspected it. Her trust in the other Abyssal was uncanny, she seemed to believe what he was saying wholesale with no doubt or suspicion of something darker, wicked, hidden from sight. If only she knew...

'A cot would do, yes' she murmured, a trace of genuine thankfulness in her voice. 'The rest, I can easily provide for myself, your only concern...' a yawn interrupted her. She tried to stifle it, but it still resonated in the workshop, sound that was a bit too mundane, too reminiscent of the simple life to fit in such a place. The Dusk, however, appeared oblivious to how her actions conflicted with what she was - or was just too tired to care. She sat down on the floor, and begun to unlace her boots. The once solid pair was falling apart, the hide they were made from cracked and ruined, the sole almost torn apart.

'If you can't remember your name' she continued to whisper 'then I am going to just call you Li instead' she smiled, but to a memory, not to the Daybreak standing above her. 'I once knew a man who bore that name' she explained.

The shoes done away with, she started to unwrap long bands of blackened cloth from her feet, stopping from time to time to hiss quietly or mumble a few profanities.

'Too long' she declared, throwing the last of the fabric away. She stood up, careful, feeling the floor with her bare feet, delicately, as someone who has just gotten out of a bed after recuperating from a lengthy disability. She stepped back and forth a few times - even when tired, the way she moved could amaze, so soft, so smooth, slowly and yet surely and precisely. She would make a fine dancer, and wearing a gown instead of seasoned garb of a vagabond, she would easily become a marvel of any ball. Death denied her that, though.

'Li' she called the name she gifted Artificer with 'We should start practising on the morrow, after I rest from my long journey... yes, rest goes first.'

[Lix Lorn]

Seeker stares for several moments, and then brings up her crossbow, and fires without a word.

Both she and I are now reasonably disturbed. Is it legit to channel compassion? She is better off dead.
Spend 5m on archery excellency.
[roll0] (Ignore last two if no compassion)

[Gargulec]

Looking Glass

The wind subdued, launching a final puff of fine snow at Jania, and then calming down, allowing quiet to take its place in this dream waste.

'Within my memory, information regarding the Oasis in Hell, the Barony of the Lesser Ones are contained, the accumulated wealth of Forsaken Sword's wisdom' the girl answered. 'However, there is no indexing system to it, no run-down list to view I am capable of procuring. Answering your questions with information I hold is all I am able of doing. All other functions were pruned from my soul, deemed unnecessary. Such is my punishment for attempted thievery' the Jadeborn realized the reason behind the shabbiness of the girl's clothing - it was torn by force, especially from her back. Lashing, or a similar form of torture the North loved to administer to the so-called "common thieves".

On the horizon, a column of smoke begun to ascend shyly towards the night's sky. Thin at first, it quickly gained volume, growing thick, dotted with flashes of orange fires within. Something was burning, intensely and quickly.

'Ask your questions, please' the girl urged, oblivious to the conflagration in the distance. Or perhaps the phenomenon was a part of the archive along with her? Some sort of an calamity from the past, doomed to forever return every time the little crystal was used.

[Ziddim]

The Problem With Saints

The Prophet did not resist the compulsion to kneel, though he fell only to one knee. While he had hoped that the demon would fall easily into his paradigm of debate, a dramatic pause was just as useful in any performance as a dazzling light show. And besides, it was more important to conserve his energy for the bigger battle than to become bogged down in petty quagmires.

And the bigger battle loomed in a rather intimidating way above the Solar. The forced silence of his voices, however, could not buy the silence of the Chosen of the Sun.

The Golden Bull's gaze met the Demon's without hesitation, and The Standard Bearer found himself looking at his own face in the reflection of the Unspoken Word's goggles.

"Do not pretend that I am ignorant, Standard Bearer," whispered the Prophet's non-words to the Demon's mind. He did not know the name, so he addressed Cecelyne's servent by his function.

"For I know my place, and I know yours as well. You claim to have been ageless before my exaltation, this is true. Yet it was my exaltation that rendered you impotent to creation before I was even born. You claim that you are no more concerned with us than an Ant, yet is my kind that cut down Markduth, and in our ignorance turned his call into a death knell. You claim that you cannot be swayed, yet you were convinced to surrender.""

The Prophet's anima coalesced around him, forming glowing lines around his silhouette and defining features, causing him to look a bit like a living stained glass window.

"You claim to be infinite, but I am Legend. "

And even though his followers had lost their voices, they found that they were not without voice. Instead of their mouths, they used their hands. Even as they knelt, they clapped their hands against the desert sands in a rhythm that sounding like inevitable war drums.

"There is no evil that will stand, for I am a weapon. Does the sword bow? Does a spear grovel? What fool is it that seeks lordship over an axe?"

At that moment, all of the followers pummeled the ground in one blow.


"I will fight, Standard Bearer. But my fight is not with you."

Another thump of unity.

"My fight is for you, for the fates of Primordial, God, and Man are intertwined and shared. We are at the end of an age, and the new one will begin with either utter annihilation, or rebirth from the ashes."

The followers then each began rapidly beating on the ground in unison, creating a rolling thunder.

"Do not fear the blade. Grasp it by its hilt and use it to carve out a new Age where none are bound by the Dance of the Caged Wolf. When the Infinite wields the Legend, we can not fail."

[Volthawk]

Inns and Outs

Fury is silent for a while as he considers, his fists clenched, before relaxing.

"Heh. Well I guess it's worth hearing the deal. Not like I'm in the situation to be discerning about my allies if I don't things getting too bad. I'll hear your lord's...endeavour, did you call it?...before I agree to anything, though. Still, from what you've said, it seems the guy won't be asking for much I'll find objectionable."

[Gargulec]

Hounds in the Wastes

Crow sighed, softly, velvetly at Rose's word, looking almost hurt. Something in him guttered, some inner fire going out.

'Listen, it is not like...' he tried to explain, meekly, a hint of fear in his voice. He was not allowed to finish. The other Lunar place her slim, girly hand on his shoulder and allowed a solemnity to emerge on her face.

'You have thorns, Rose' she murmured, some strange slithering going on beneath the surface of her skin, as if the muscles were wriggling, shifting. On the Abyssal's eyes, the youngling's face wrinkled, covered itself with criss-cross of scars, mottled with discolourations, becoming leathery, all the tenderness of youth gone, as if wiped clean with an invisible hand. The hair thinned, its rich blackness fading until they were as the northern skies, short and brittle. Only the eyes remained the same, but now belonging to someone who no longer had the playful, a bit carnal air to her. Girl seconds ago, a hag now, old, ancient.

'I take the mask down as token of my respect to your cause, and a proof of my honesty' she declared, her tone now dusty, husky - fitting her true form. 'You misunderstand our intentions, and set your mate ill at ease, Rose' she said, smiling warmly at Crow - like a kind grandmother would. 'We truly need you, and we truly hoped for your prowess - and it was never my aim to mock you... the last days have burdened us like no others in the times since I can remember, and every little frittering shadow of a better tomorrow disappearing is a huge blow to us. It takes a lot to face the world outside' she looked somewhere at the wall, as if hoping to transfix them, reach with her gaze to the barren lands of Oasis, to the dry, harsh reality that was now the home of all that was left of Creation. 'And my warning against Lyns... there was a past between us two, a past I am not fond of and afraid of at the same time. I warned you against him because I had to' she frowned, and shook her head, sorrowful. 'We are old, and you are young' she mentioned, seemingly changing the subject. 'Our world has been vanquished, and our little hopes and plans sank with it. But in your hands' she looked at you, and then at Crow. 'You can bring the glory back, the sun back, the moon back... we are the Silver Pact, we were told to endure, but we... me, Lyns, all the elders - it is not our world anymore, and not our fight. We are weary, and all we want is a bit of rest. Even him, for all of his struggles. And so, Withered Rose of the Frozen Wastes, I want you to know' a smile, even if only as a shadow, returned to her face. Crow tensed at the same time, looking at his elder with a mixture of surprise, awe, and resent. 'There are many who look down upon you because you are other, because you are weak, because you fail and suffer. Don't let their words harm you, stop. You'll change the world, pretty girl. You'll change the world, pretty girl.'

Rose's mate exhaled, relieved - and shocked.


Corpses and Other Dead Things

The girl - or the monster wearing her skin and mind - turned out way swifter than the huntress could have expected. Letting go an inhuman screech, accompanied by a scream of the machinery that devoured half of her flesh, she lunged at the Abyssal, kicking out powerfully knife flashing emerald green in her frail, little hand, her face now belonging to a spectre - the row of pointed teeth displayed grisly, eyes smoky and empty.

Her scent - and she smelled of blood and ash, mixed together into a thick paste - numbed the Dusk for a second, buying her enough time to stab furiously - and uselessly. Seeker felt a sting, something pressed strongly against her abdomen, and then a loud crack resounded in the now-empty street, half of a broken knife's blade collapsing down onto the brass. The sound was followed a split-second later by the silken note of the crossbow's string flexing, throwing the bolt towards the pale girl. Something cold sprayed the huntress' garments, the deathly fragrance growing ever closer. A twisted expression of deep ecstasy emerged on the girl's face, a thin trail of black, ichorous blood flowing down from the corner of her mouth, twisted into something that looked almost like a grin.

'Joyous' she coughed, splattering more of her gore around, the hilt of her knife hitting the ground too. She looked at the bolt that dug into her chest, lodging itself between her strange heart and the soulsteel machinery and very slowly, ostentatiously deliberately, pushed it deeper. 'Joyous...'

The pure hatred that filled her gaze mere moments ego lost its edge, dimmed and murkied, softened by a pleasure she was unable of resisting. A fog rose in her eyes as she made one more step back, her knees bending under the burden of her body. With a thump, she fell down on them. A jet of gore gusted from where the metal joined with the remnants of her flesh, but she paid it no mind, apparently relishing the state of her corporeal form.

'I remember now' she coughed in a sunny voice 'I remember that the girl did not want to die alone, such a silly thing she was.'

She raised her eyes from the bolt and looked in the direction of Seeker - but the Abyssal was almost certain that she was not seeing her any more - the veil over them was drawn too tightly.

'I wish I tore your innards out and gorged on them' she continued, each word making her spit out a few more globules of the dark blood. 'I wished I killed you and made you suffer, I wish I suffered more... the girl wished not to die alone...'

[Guancyto]

Halls of the Grotto's King

Ophelia had seen a lot of strange things in her life, to the point where it almost seemed normal. She had danced through psychedelic rains, fled rising tides of mutagenic acid, and much more recently, fled a scarlet wind on a cloud skiff.

So this was Bostvade. The ongoing aura of decay - even absent the smell of it - was strangely horrifying. She half wanted to grab and shake the nearest demon, to tell it to fight! To live! To do anything but accept its fate. But what good would that have done? These were men and women that knew the means and time of their end.

What other corner of the Demon City could claim that?

Shaking her head to free it from the stray thoughts, she turned instead to Tewi. He was a servant of Bostvade, a powerful and trusted one, by the sound of it. It seemed she would be in good hands on the trip through the river of quicksilver, but what was it the dream-merchant had said of the Unquestionable?

His good side was his bad side? And the revolutionary had warned her as well, of a growing cancer in his underbelly. Regardless, she couldn't do anything without that first step. The sesseljae she had hired had restored her hands, and she took a firm hold of the anchor Tewi offered.

"Ready as I'll ever be. Let's do this," she nodded, as determined as she was able.

[Gargulec]

The Problem With Saints

Thrice did the heavens and earth shake.

First, when the Solar knelt before the avatar of the Yozis' will, his bent knee and his humility resounding in the quiet thump as he lowered into dust, the creature in the black robe with its standard of azure towering over him like a judge - or executioner. And yet, though silent it was, a sound as frail and faint as a whisper uneasily spoken, it was heard, for it was not a noise, but a symbol, a mark - a metamorphosis made manifest. Hubris punished, restrained - a Solar swallowing his pride for the good of his people and his world.

The Sun himself would be proud, for even though it was his nature to never bow, never bend, he understood it with more stark clarity that battles need not to be fought and that there are times and places where it is better to accept your meekness.

But before the Standard Bearer could acknowledge this display of piety and obedience - something that would had warmed his heart, if he had one, and not only a globe of fire as pale as it was cold burning within his skeletal chest, the heavens and earth shook again, for the Unspoken Word spoke and proclaimed himself.

Legend.

The broken Titans knew that their power, their immensity, their eternity - they were all nothing, a laughing matter when compared to the simple, boundless, deathless truth of the Exalted.

Where the Yozis were shadows, they stood as light. Where the Yozis were oppression, they were justice. Where the Yozis were mountains, they were a path leading over and beyond the heavens-violating peaks.

Where the Yozis were omnipotent, the Exalted simply said "no" and then tore the infinite, immense, eternal from the heavens and cast them into a hell of their own making.

Under the green sun, on the streets of brass, among demons without numbers, the Titans could taunt and threaten, but they could not deny that they were stronger. They feared the Exalted realizing that - and now, their fears became justified.

The Standard-Bearer was taken aback by the sheer, undeniable truth of the Prophet's declaration.

And then, the Prophet's followers thrashed their weapons against the carapace of Malfeas, and the heavens and earth shook and shuddered for the third time. A wave went through the streets and alleys, a wind was born that wheezed above wicked forests and poisonous rivers. Gerbe stilled his dance for a beat of the heart, buying the burning starts a breath of respite before their torment resumed.

And the High Priest of Cecelyne, the Standard-Bearer found that, for the first time since the times he could not remember, he found no response to give to the loyal infidel who knelt before him and showed him all of his weaknesses.


Inns and Outs

The creature nodded in agreement, and somehow, the Lunar got an impression of it smiling uncannily. It looked around confidentially, about to share a secret.

'Your concern is understandable' it said 'And your observation correct. My master is an honest, loyal man, and he would be the last one to force services out of his peers. He is merely aware of the blind hatred that is directed towards you - directed, if I am allowed to say that - unjustly. The whore had it coming, I say it again...'

On the large bed, under the cover of razor-coated furs, the nymph shifted, mumbling something ineligible. The black demon peeked towards her, and made a step back towards the corner he emerged from.

'Given how I cannot uncover the nature of the endeavour to you now, in such an untrustworthy locale, and yet you will not accept it until you have heard of it, allow me to seek you out at the next toemscus' howling, hoping to find you in a place more private' the creature announced.

The nymph rolled onto her side, her sleek arm slipping from under the covers. She mumbled again, a word that sound almost like the Lunar's name. She was waking up.

'I think I have intruded on your privacy enough' the demon declared hastily, seeing that. 'We shall see again, at nightfall.'

Saying no more, and leaving no time for Fury to answer, he collapsed onto himself, as if the corner of the staying room literally sucked him in.

[Flare]

Hounds in the Wastes

Rose shook her head at the old woman's words, she smiled a bit, but still shook her head. "I don't think I can change the World, but I will save what's left of it. Even if I'm hated for it. After all, what a waste of a Father's Love, would it be, if I didn't use it to safeguard the world I lived in as he protects me." she shook her head. "But I will never be Winter's Thorns again. I will always be Rose." for once she steadied her head, but she sighed instead, and looked between the two Lunars with a twitch of a smile.

"So when does my training begin?"

[Dragnar]

Looking Glass
Jania shivered at the girl's explanation, closing her eyes for a moment to collect her thoughts. Too late to do anything. She couldn't have prevented it. Not her fault. Just... concentrate on now.

Opening her eyes with a deep breath, the Jadeborn finally began to speak. "A-alright. First off, do you know the locations of any other Enlightened Jadeborn in the Oasis? Also, any plans for it's destruction or similar..." Seemed as good a place to start as any. Not much else mattered about the Oasis if it turned out someone was planning to destroy the place, or make it no better than the rest of Hell.

[Gargulec]

Halls of the Grotto's King

You were reflected in the current as if in a perfect mirror, if only your reflection was a true one - and perhaps it was. Perhaps your visage, the one you came to regard as real, was misleading. Perhaps the more beautiful, better-kept, neater, cleaner images of you were the truth. Perhaps they were that kind of truth that denies what is touchable, material, and claims to be realer than the reality itself.

It was hard for you to keep looking into your own better reflections, and the time you were given - because it would be foolish to assume that there was no haste, no rush - was slowly running out. You had to dive.

The silvery waters parted like a curtain, half-tangible, half-dreamlike. Their taste on your lips - a strange, otherworldly mixture that allured and repulsed, was sweet and rotten, decayed and pristine.

As everything under the Green Sun, that shone like a lantern high above, the green rays piercing even the murkiness of the Unquestionable's depths, Bostvade was a paradox. It poisoned and nourished, and though it seemed obvious, at first, a second or third thought cast doubt over this - for, after all, the death of the district Bostvade crossed spelled the destruction of the beautiful reflection. Who knew, maybe it was that the quiet perishing the River offered to what laid close to it was a boon - an act of mercy and tranquillity, for no Yozi cared to tread over the dying land. Who knew, perhaps the waxing of the better realm within the silver currents was actually a decline, for how can something ascend beyond its apex? The moment of greatest success is always a milestone that separates growing from lessening - and in this is growth a mark of impeding decay.

Or maybe such discourses were not something that crossed your mind at all, as you dove deeper and deeper, the waters thick around you, but the shapes of the better side strong too - you could easily see them, almost reach them... the shores were at an arm's reach.

But the anchor in Tewi's hand weighted you down, pulled you away from the better place - pulled you deeper into murkiness, into depths untold, beyond where the bottom of the river should be, beyond the layers of Malfeas, into spaces between.

The light above vanished, not a faintest glow betrayed Ligier above - but the anchor shone itself, casting a blue radiance through the silver... and the silver begun to suffocate you, slowly but surely. You have not noticed when you ran out of breath, you have not noticed when it begun to seep into your lungs, but now you were deep and under, wholly in Bostvade's embrace... and your breath you wanted to keep ran short.

Soon, the river would claim you.

[AmberVael]

Crossroads

"Okay then. Well, um, lead the way I guess." Rai said, giving Zeka a small, uncertain smile. "If you mean the entrance is hidden, I might be of some help there. Powers of perception are one of the things I inherited from my mother." Of course, as soon as she says that she realizes she hadn't been able to see these two... rather embarrassing, that. She tries to ignore the flaw that she had brought to her own attention, and begins walking.

[Ziddim]

The Problem With Saints

Had his co-star forgotten his lines? The Prophet could hardly blame him if he had. His talent on the stage was breath-taking, and he often found himself in the position of having to prompt an actor so that the show could continue.

Unspoken Word stayed on one knee, but his followers continued to beat the ground. Half took to a rhythm that sounded like a heart beat, while the others took to a complementary rhythm that sounded like the drums of a war march.

“War is coming, Standard Bearer. You know all too well what it means to be on the losing side. Only this time, your enemy will not consider surrender oaths. You, however, will enjoy an advantage that they do not. It is the advantage that the Gods held. We will fight, unbound by any Gaes, to fight that which would destroy us all with our last breath. We fight for our survival, and we are unwilling to accept death as an answer. Our enemies lack our conviction. I have no grand aspirations of usurpation or personal power. All of that is useless if we are all dead.

Self preservation is your assurance against treason, for All are One, and if you fall then the rest of us will follow. We will do whatever is necessary to ensure the survival of us all. I am not your enemy. It is your siblings who call for your death, and whose lack of unity will lead to your death.

I will start with Oasis, and make sure that she is protected, for she is your most treasured possession. There, the weapons of your army will be forged and trained. So long as there are Men, there will be heroes, but without Man, you are lost. No doubt, there are those who would seek to settle ancient scores despite your laws. This will not happen.”

He then cast his gaze directly at the standard bearer.

“We will not allow it.”

“Once the seed of your salvation is secure, I will send agents throughout Malfeas, and we will unify the infinite. We will give them hope, and we will give them purpose, and in doing so, fashion them into a holy weapon against which no Darkness can ever hope to extinguish. And with that weapon, we will strike down those that mean us harm.”

At that, The Prophet stood, and willed his faithful to do the same. His anima encircled around him in a halo, even as the iconic Eye of The Sun looked down on them. As he placed his hands together and bowed his head, as if in prayer, the halo formed words written in old realm that read "We Are Your Hope."

But hidden in those words was a message intended only for the Standard Bearer.

Message Within A Message Technique, 6m - personal
“And if our lady has any sense of self-preservation, she will not only condone this, but endorse it. Her belief in the doctrine is irrelevant. The ends justify the means, and without a unified host, we are doomed. Our fates are bound, and to strike me down now is to fall on her own sword.”

[Gargulec]

Hounds in the Wastes

Both Lunars smiled, warmly, casually - like to a member of a family, like to someone they made a reunion with, after a long time spent apart. What the Abyssal said had cheered them more than she could possibly believe it to. Maybe there were sincere after all, and she was their hope for saving what little remained.

'Don't be so hard on yourself, Rose' the crone said kindly, speaking the name the Abyssal gave to herself as if it was a thing of beauty - as if the withering and freeze that shrouded and marred it before were declining, disappearing, allowing the flower to bud anew. 'The world will be yours, and of your true kin - for you were made to shape it and change it, for the glory of all. But well, we are drifting from the manner at hand' she broke the solemnity of her words with a girlish giggle that would be proper for her previous form, not the current skin of a hag she was wearing. But then again, she was a Lunar. 'We need to find Lyns and convince him that he should accept you as a trainee, and it is by no means going to be trivial.'

'For starters, we have no clue where he is' Crow cut in, smirking wryly. 'He is not of Klantarch's lot, and well, sufficient to say...' he glanced around hastily, on a reflex. He was used to checking whether there were people about to hear what he was going to say, apparently. 'He is a Solar at heart, and nothing drives him as crazy as the fact that he shines silver, for some reason.'

The older Lunar scowled lightly.

'And I would not trust that crone over there' he tipped his head at his companion 'with finding him. We have to do it ourselves, like tracking hounds, lost in the wastes. I hope you don't mind me keeping to your side for a while, then? While we look for him?'

[Zoronos]

Setting Sail, Coming Home

Bartrand nodded politely, still munching on a piece of bread. My night was very productive. Much work was accomplished. I was not bothered or plagued; this place is simply old and has the cobwebs of another age yet hanging upon. A simple matter to clear them away." He gestured absentmindedly with the bread as he spoke, small crumbs spilling over the work bench. "I require nothing further that I know of at the moment. Simply time to work. The first stage of the device should be simple, and take perhaps another day or two. "

The solar ran a hand through his hair, conscious for a moment of how he must appear, having worked through the night without sleep. A common occurrence for him, but perhaps less so for other creatures. Well, demons didn't really need to sleep, they just faked it sometimes. A strange oddity in the personality matrix of certain deva; an imperfection that detracts slightly from the functionality of the whole, itself provides little direct benefit, but somehow creates an unquantifiable and inextricable advantage to the creature.

"And how was your evening? I apologize for requiring the reduction of a story, but I fear it was unavoidable to secure the functionality of a sub-device. On the plus side, the sum of your tapestry should have gained significantly with the addition of the Equitable Merchant."

[Gargulec]

Looking Glass

A puff of smoke sneaked between the pair of you, extending and curving like some invisible barrier, separating shadows from what was real. Others followed, and soon, only a dim, orange haze from behind a curtain of mists reminded of the blaze far away. The girl raised her hand, allowing Jania to see that her palm was blackened, as if burned, and drew a circle in the air with the tip of her finger. Another wisp started to follow it, leaving a trail of pale glisten behind, clearly visible against the backdrop of the snow-white smoke.

'Of other Enlightened, following is known: there are numerous, not all of them yet traced' she answered, and made a sweeping motion with her hand. 'There is Master Tiger, the warrior, lost in New Nexus' a figure of a jadeborn, short, stocky and gruff creature appeared as an outline. It quickly blurred, shifting into a silhouette of an skeletal artisan, tall and gaunt like some sort of a spectre. 'Alongside of him, his friend Master Cloud, a being of honour and skill, that I was told to call a danger to the cause.'

The Jadeborn disappeared, and the girl lowered her hand, dispersing the glowing trail. She hunched over the snow, and begun to draw in it, fast, bringing forth a familiar face of a woman Jania knew to be dead.

'There is Siena, a captive and a servant to the cause, no longer a threat' she explained. Siena, so that was her name. Maybe at least it would fit on some memorial slab, somewhere, so that her memory would not disappear along with the traces of the ruin that became her tomb?

'These names are known to me. Presence of more Enlightened is registered, but I am lacking the data necessary to locate them and determine whether they are aligned with the cause' she said. 'As for dangers to Oasis, plans to destroy it, following are known: there is a being called Sheshken, growing in power, its intentions malignant. It poses a threat. There is a demon, name still unknown who seeks to undermine the basics of our existence. And finally, there are those, who oppose the cause, their numbers without end. They are not threats on their own, but together, grouped as the foes of our only future, they can deny the tomorrow to us.'

[DrakeRaids]

Crossroads

Zeka laughed at that, it was a strange sound a mix of cynicism born from consistent, painful lessons mixed strangely with a childlike liberty. "Maybe, but we won't know till we get there will we? Come on, all this talking is going to give those after as well an advantage, its time to move." Zeka gave a slightly wild grin and pulled her cloak tighter around her with a flourish. Then with a graceful speed and caution, she moved towards the building, hoping that perhaps it would have what they needed.

[Flare]

Hounds in the Wastes

Rose looked at Crow, frowning a bit at his statement, then shaking her head, took a moment to consider the statements he was making. Politics were not so much her forte, so what the Lunars were speaking off, their packs and alliances, meant very little to her. Her focus was on keeping the patch of land that was scraped together for men to live on in a single piece. Let others squabble over which part is theirs or who they hate, her job was to make sure it still existed, she felt. Regardless, she looked at the Crow finally, and sighed.

"I would not mind your company. I am not very much of a tracker, these days, I fear. I learned to track as a Mortal, and have not gotten better as an Exalt. Someone with more experience would be good, perhaps someone who actually knows how to talk, as well, would be good. That is something I can not do as well..." she stopped for a moment, then sighed heavily. She seemed to want to say something, but shook her head. "So when do we leave, Crow?"

[Gargulec]

The Problem With Saints

The croaked figure of the high priest beheld the Word that was Unspoken, its pale fires flickering under the dark hood, skeletal fingers twisting the namesake standard. He listed, and did not answer, he observed, but made no remarks. It seemed that his attention was drifting elsewhere, far away from the barge, the carpet of sands, the heathen before him, into some place both distant and ancient.

'So brash' he murmured, calling a few grains of sand to raise into the air, circling around him. 'So young.'

He raised his head, and in an instant, the Solar felt transfixed, as if the eyeless gaze could pierce all the layers of his soul, reach the truth within and observe it as through a looking glass.

'You misunderstand the reason of your treachery' he spoke, quietly, letting only the Zenith hear his sermon. 'Work for greater glory of our masters, yes, you are allowed that much. But your existence is an anomaly' the demon snarled. 'You raise your banner high and call those low, down, and dirty to go the trail you are blazing. Your actions seed a revolt of weak against the strong. Your actions seed a revolt of those whose voices were denied for a reason. A peer you are, but not to your peers you belong. You walk among the dust, and deign to shape it into a giant. It has all happened before, and allow me to show you the price of your future' the mockery in his tone lost its edge, and the Solar could almost hear a bit of sympathy - or maybe just weariness. It is a long life, to be an immortal. 'You will become their saint, and they will follow you into all hells that we unleash on them, and emerge victorious, for your lead will be miraculous. As befitting a saint. And in that, you will become a problem. A problem that the Yozis shall solve by grinding it down until not even a memory of the sainthood remains. All your works shall be unravelled, all your followers lost, all you hoped to accomplish forgotten. In doing this, they might as well render your race extinct, because nothing fills them with fear more than their own souls rebelling. When you are told to bow, it is not lowering your head. It is kneeling in the dust, and never rising above it - nor urging anyone to do it. You may join us. They' he pointed at the demons behind 'are to remain serfs.'

[Volthawk]

Inns and Outs

Fury spends a few moments continuing to look at the space the demon previously occupied, before shaking his head and focusing on what's going on now. He had the rest of the day to get through before this happens again.

Fury gets up from his sitting position and stretches, taking a moment to make sure his armour was in a comfortable position as he waits for Kesh to properly wake up.

[Dragnar]

Looking Glass
Two more Jadeborn somewhere in New Nexus... And the name of the one she had failed so utterly. There wasn't much more that could be done for Siena now, but Jania would make sure she at least received a proper service when there was more time. "Thank you. And... What details do you know about the 'cause'?" Obviously it had something to do with Forsaken Sword. But... Calling it that implied she had stumbled onto something a bit larger than just one insane Solar's plotting. Hopefully not too much larger, for her own sake...

[Myllinnia]

Crossroads

Somewhat elated Ara'Desirae smiled, bounced a bit, and then turned to follow. Zeka would be quite protected now, they would get their prize, help Rai do what she needed and then well... she hoped freedom from this collar. Remembering it she fingered it as she walked, her slender fingers running along its edges. Please let the object be inside, she thought to herself as they closed in on the location.

[Gargulec]

Setting Sail, Going Home

'My evening?' the demoness parroted, seemingly distracted. 'Oh, there was little to it. I ensured that Makarios' story took root properly, walked a bit through halls that I have scantily remembered to even exist, saw more things crumble, more fall apart' she enumerated, and took a look around, following the Solar's gesture.'But I am happy to see that at least this place is seeing some life... it used to be so forlorn. You know' she mentioned, a bit puzzled 'now, that I think of it, I can't quite remember why did I raise this cathedral in the first place. Strange, I always thought that my memory was the last thing that I had strong in myself' she shook her head, allowing hair to fall freely over her face. 'I guess that time is taking even this away from me. Well, one way or another, I don't want to tear you away from your work' she made a coy step away. 'I will not haunt you any more, until such a time that you are finished. If you will ever need me, though, you should run in into no troubles with finding me... oh' she recalled something. 'Tell me, did the Well haunt you, with visions? Figments of the past? I thought I heard it stir during the night.'

[Ziddim]

The Problem With Saints

The Prophet appeared unphased by The Standard Bearer's threats of genocide. Instead, his acolytes began to retreat and pull up their banners while their leader stepped forward to address Ceceylne's messenger.

"My poor, poor Standard Bearer," he said without words, but with genuine sympathy. "Have the Titans really been slumbering for so long that they can not hear my words?"

He drew dangerously close to the Standard Bearer, and even dared to circle around to his side and place a hand on his shoulder. With his other hand, he gestured to the assembled crowd.

"Do you truly think yourself any different than they? How long now have the Yozi been servants? How often have peers been called upon and forced to serve? How long have the Titans been bound? And how long will it be before some corrupted Solar begins calling upon you once more, and you have no choice but to be a slave to death?"

"Open your eyes, Standard Bearer, so that you may see that in truth there is nothing but Dust here. There is no greater sin than pride, for it clouds one's vision. There are no Masters. Deva and God are beholden to Titan. Titans are bound by surrender oaths to Exalted and God. Exalts are beholden to God for Divine Mandate, and beholden to Malfeas for the air that their people breath. Everyone serves someone."

As he spoke, The Golden Bull's followers encircled the demon, with banners in hand. In unison, they drove the posts into the ground, and The Prophet's Anima streamed from them high up into the sky, forming a large cage around the circumference of their circle.

"All are one and the same, and my song is for all who are caged, be they peer or serf, Titan or God."

"We are your hope," the Acolytes chanted in a chorus, speaking directly to the Standard Bearer.

"My song is not that of Usurpation, but of Renewal. My song is not of Rebellion, but of Rebirth. My song is not of Anarchy, but of Unity. How can the Soul exist without the Titan? It cannot. How could Man exist without the Titan? It could not."

"All are One."

"How can the Titan exist without its souls? It implodes at best, or dies at worst. No, there can be no Usurpation, for if that happens all will perish."

"One is All."

"But there will be new understanding. There will be Unity. There will be accord. The old world will perish, and a new, better world will rise from the Dust. My song is for everyone, from mighty Titan to humble Serf. And when I am done singing, there will be no bars that hold us, for our Fates are forever intertwined."

[Gargulec]

Crossroads

The ruin could have been a palace once, a great hall towering over the district. Maybe a temple, or a bureau, a monument to the glory and might of the lords of Malfeas. It had to be a fortress, too, for it managed to weather the furies of the Yozis and remain, even if only as a half-melted slab of fingers brass clenched around the basalt blocks, their surfaces once even, and now waving, without any angles, only soft, unnaturally organic curves.

And it was monolithic, too. It grew in your eyes as you approached, and were the sun above less vain, it would cast a shadow to shroud your way - but Ligier allowed nothing to deny his own, private, emerald glory. Thus, your way towards it was arduous, the heat almost unbearable, the song of the city's other layers reaching you as through a fog, or a thick curtain, distant and dissonant, making it perilously easy to forget yourselves in the wastes, and keep on walking, animated by the song, carried by the unseen dance, until the body itself gave in.

But you were too cautious for that to happen, and your burdens were too many and too heavy to simply forget yourselves. Below the crust of molten flesh of the Demon Emperor, a maze waited for you, and at its heart, a vault for you to crack - and in this, earn a reward, earn some freedom. Perhaps even gain an upper hand against the mysterious demon who enjoyed his power so much.

The monolith of the bygone castle was close now, and you could see it in more details, though anything finer than a rough shape had been smoothed by the typhoon of acid. Deep crevices ran along the monolith's sides, each of them wide enough to encompass a river - and it was a river of Kimbery's waters that cut them in the stone and metal.

Surprisingly - but in a welcome way - there was a gate inside visible, or more like a hole cut in the wall, narrow, but still spacious enough to let you in, though the crawl inside could prove painful for Ara and her magnificent wings. It seemed to be freshly cut, perhaps even after the onslaught, and from up close, you could the marks of chisels and blades on the basalt. It seemed that you were hardly the only ones wanting to crack open this ruin. Looters, perhaps? Or maybe a competition for you.

One way or another, you were getting closer and closer to finding out.

Hounds in the Wastes

The Lunar grinned and laughed, though his laughter was strange, inhuman - too much like a cawing of a bird omening something wrong about to happen. But it was happy, and the ominousness seemed to be just something he was not able to part with. He cracked open another bottle, and filled his cup liberally, spilling some silver liquor onto the floor.

'Ah, but I am not to dictate such things, for I am merely a companion to you, your escort and guardian' he declared with elation in his voice. 'We will depart when you feel like departing, and until such a time, it will be my utmost honour to guest you within my splendid castle, and its only...'

The crone's unnerving cackle interrupted. She said nothing, but the way she laughed apparently rendered Crow incapable of finishing his little speech. Perhaps for the better.

He mumbled something, quaffed some more silverwine and rolled his with exaggeration.

'But, as my little friend and superior here suggests with her mockery, it would be better for us to leave as soon as possible, after we have some rest or... something' he shrugged. 'We'll have to go up, into the Slagheap, that freaky little... place' he explained. 'And find Lyns there. But it is quite a journey, so it would be good for us to prepare a bit. You know, get a good night of sleep...'

The hag chuckled again, looking at Crow as if he was a particularly funny exhibit, and again, much to his chagrin, she said nothing, allowing her cackle alone to explain what she was thinking of his paltry attempts.

[Lix Lorn]

Corpses and Other Dead Things

Seeker felt quite ill, but she watched until the creature was silent and still. The girl had died many years ago, she was sure, but... she deserved someone to be there.

She spoke no words for her, shed no tears in her numbness. She turned and walked away. This had been a very trying day for the abyssal who had only just realised she still had a conscience.

[AmberVael]

Crossroads

Caution and paranoia were how Rai had managed to survive as long as she had as a mortal in the demon city, and even now she carried that fear. So when she sees the passage before them, she steps ahead of the others and puts an arm out to stop them. "Wait a moment." She gently taps the red lens on her forehead. "I'll check the way ahead."

Rai closes her two normal eyes and calls on the power of her third, the mark on her brow that seemed only a tattoo or birthmark. Channeling it through the crystalline light of Ululaya, she sent her sight whirling through the passage, searching for trouble or danger.

Rai is going to activate her Distant Celestial Eye to displace her sight and send it through the hole, moving it at a fast enough pace that she can cover as much length as possible in a short time, but not so fast that it prevents her from noticing anything obviously strange, dangerous, or out of place. She'll definitely want to take a closer look at any people down the passage.

If there is a turn or split in the passage anywhere, she'll take a quick glance down both sides, but she's not going to waste time investigating a maze right now. Mostly she just wants to know what they're running into.

Awareness + Perception in case it is needed:
[roll0] 4 successes? Blech.

[Gargulec]

Inns and Outs

The nymph took her sweet time, rolling in the bed, yawning, stretching her arms, then sliding them back under the coat of furs. She rose on her elbows, looked around, then shook her head as if noticing something deeply disturbing and collapsed back onto the sheets.

Still, as much as she abhorred that perspective, the time for her waking up had come, and she had to finally throw away the razor coat, trying not to cut herself with incredibly warm and comfortable hide, and put her feet on the floor, then quickly raised them, hissing sharply.

'Cold' she mouthed a complaint, then stood up and found herself her discarded cloak, a thin piece of an almost translucent white fabric, and her only real garment. 'And loud' she added, looking outside of the window, at the crowd at the street below, trapped in the long carnival of the city of Malfeas. The sound of drumbeats, fevered song, it all climbed up to the inn and filled the chamber with an idle noise that could not be staved off, not in the Demon City. She took a step back and finally noticed Fury.

'Oh, good day to you, my valiant knight' she chuckled, covering her mouth courtly with her hand. 'So happy to see you on your watch!'

She crouched by the Lunar and hugged him, allowing the Full Moon to nuzzle at her peculiar, sea-water fragrance.

'We should be leaving soon, to the Cinder Alley' she said, her hands slowly massaging Fury's back. 'But first, something to eat. Would you be a darling, and bring me something from below? Please?' she pursed her lips. 'Pretty please?'

[Flare]

Hounds in the Wastes

Rose stared at the Crow with a mixture of disdain and amusement at his attempts. Perhaps sorrow, as well, but it was hard to say. Finally, she shook her head.

"Crow. You should understand that there is nothing warm in this body of mine. If you seek it for comfort or care, you will not find it." she said, extending her hand. The Soulsteel that had been welded into the back of her wrist glinted darkly, before she put her hand down and shook her sleeve back over it. "These plates cover some of my skin. And even without it, you will find only the wrath of the winter with my flesh. It...would not be pleasant for you, I feel." she explained, looking at him. Then she looked down, at her feet. "...Sorry."

[DaWrecka]

Mending

The Artificer of Ten Thousand Blasphemies frowned at the name his guest had decided to 'gift' to him. She had spoken but little on their little excursion to procure the cot upon which she now sat, for reasons he lacked the insight into the human condition to divine. He suspected her little naming habit - or at least, he suspected it was a habit, it was difficult to tell - was indicative of certain... aspects... of her personality that he would not appreciate, had he the knowledge to analyse it properly. As it was, it made him uncomfortable and he could say no more. "I would prefer you address me as the Artificer, or simply Artificer," he said to her. "It is the name to which I have grown accustomed, and I am more comfortable with it than with a name from your past. I have not the words to explain why I am uncomfortable with that name... just that I am."

"I have no pressing business at this time," he admitted. "Accessing the information stored on the crystals I was able to obtain is something of a priority for me, but not a time-critical one. Yes, beginning the training tomorrow is fine with me."

Hitting my head against a brick wall again. I'm assuming with this post that, off-camera, Elise and "Li" procured her a cot to sleep on and brought it back to the forge, along with anything else Elise needs. How they managed to procure anything when the Artificer has no Resources, I haven't worked out yet.

[Gargulec]

The Problem With Saints

And once more, the Standard Bearer was taken aback, no words coming from his mouth, no challenges thrown into the Solar's face. He sat there, the standard still in his hands, the barge shining behind him like some exotic gem, and the only music his ears could here were the shouting of the rebellious crowd and the defiance of the Solar, spoken boldly and brazenly, with no fear staining.

Ligier shone high above, and the spheres of Malfeas continued along their celestial paths, even if they were only a chaotic tangle of lines drawn by a mad astrologist over a cruel sky. The spires of brass violated the heavens, and demons of all kinds and shapes danced and circled them in their blind revelry. All was in motion, all was alive, all seemed to only reinforce the vision of the Zenith. Only the lonesome priest of Cecelyne, the mouth of the Yozis sat still in the middle of this chaos. Almost defeated. Almost broken. Almost bent.

The triumph, however, was not to come.

And then, a single black dot appeared over and above, a patch of darkness so deep that too look at it would be to lose one's eyes, so potent was it gravity. Unspoken Word felt a hush of the wind brushing by his cheek, accelerating ever so slowly.

'Those were the words I craved into the arch of the First Temple' the Standard Bearer spoke suddenly, his voice no longer quiet or subdued. The standard begun to sway slowly in the unseen wind. 'Kneel...' he uttered, and straightened his frame.

And the Solar found himself staring at the behemoth unleashed. No longer croaked and bent, no longer tiny and crouched, the Standard Bearer towered above him, a wraith in a black robe so tall that it could swipe the stars from the sky, so mighty that its single step could crack open the land. The pale fire under his hood exploded, and now blazed with the power of a second sun, but it gave no heat - but instead encased the brass around in a prison of sheen. In an instant, everything but the Golden Bull froze solid, a statues ice that glistened with reflected malign gaze of Ligier above.

[B]'...or be knelt!'

The point of blackness above opened with a dry snap, and the wind that whispered softly became a hurricane, screaming furiously. Chunks of ice, little trinkets, all that was loose and light started to rattle on the ground, as if an invisible force was trying to throw them up, into the abyss in the sky.

Only the giant that was the Standard Bearer remained unfazed.

'Go, Peer of Malfeas' he mocked, throwing his skeletal hand in a wide arc, pointing at the frozen legion of the Solar's followers, about to be crushed into nothing by the Black Boar that Twists the Skies. 'Save your flock. Show us how they are important!'


Looking Glass

The girl went silent, and the only answer Jania got was the dreadful keening of the cold winds. The jadeborn could almost swear that over this sound, she could hear the cracking of the roofs crashing down under the strain of fire, a distant wail, or a dirge. Or maybe that was just the same wind that whistled to her, playing tricks with her mind.

'The Cause is' she gave him an answer, her voice as cold as the winter's frenzy around. 'And it is all that is to know of the Cause. He knows it, he will make it happen, and that is all that matters.'

Once more, she collapsed into silence, shaking her head regretfully from time to time. Whether it was an emotion, or just a pale shadow of the life she once had, Jania could not say.

'Is there anything else you wish to know?'

[Zoronos]

Setting Sail, Going Home

Bartrand took a distracted bite of the bread before returning it to the plate. "Cobwebs of the past, easily brushed away. Ephemeral shadows of an ancient past long eroded away; nothing of substance. An old phantom, bearing words that no longer have purchase or relevance."

He took a step back towards the workbench and wiped away the crumbs of his meal. "You are correct though, I have much work left to do. While it is not operational, I certainly appreciate some of the tools that were left behind in this cathedral. Regardless, I am glad to hear that the new story settled in properly for you. A better place for Makarios than running about in the demon realm."

[Gargulec]

Company of Self
Seeker

Far away, on a plateau high, in the heart of a maze made of cracks in basalt reaching so deep into the flesh of Malfeas that one could hear sizzling of the acid that was Kimbery just below the surface, in a small room adorned by a dozens of trophies, accompanied by the keening of ten thousand wailing winds, so harsh and sharp that they eagerly stripped flesh from bone, and only the few permitted could even hope to navigate the labyrinth without being ground to dust by the howling gales, Seeker, the lonesome Abyssal, found herself a place of rest.

It was the closest to the home she could find in Oasis, a fruit of a deal brokered with an entity of power - a small manse, somewhere in the wastes, remote and inhospitable, but for a single chamber she was occupying right now, her trusty steed close.

The wounds on her soul ached, but it was humiliation and defeat that was the true torment. Walk in circles, swear, bang on the walls - nothing could give a release from all the baggage of today. Not from the wraithy Abyssal who had not killed her only because he wanted her alive, not from the girl who had devoured her own soul for spite's sake. Images danced before her eyes, and she could not pick her imagination from the aftershock of the assault that was committed on the core of her power.

But for all things lost, and all the pain caused, she was alive still, and safe, for the time being - perhaps Reaver made a mistake, by letting her live. For now, though, she had to rest and regain her strengths. Two days of solitude and doing nothing. Two days of idleness. Two days of silence, of wait, and thinking and considered.

Two days in the sole company of self.


This scene is going to be rather slow and so on. Also, describe your manse in more details, unless you want me to, in which case don't. Also. Corpses and Other Dead Things end, have 12XP.

[Sallera]

Halls of the Grotto's King

Tewi wondered, perhaps a little belatedly, if the demons who usually took this route needed to breathe. Were he to die because not one of the people involved in this plot bothered to consider the varying physiologies of the participants... well, that would be about as shameful as storing vitriol in a glass vial. Above the refining of firedust. Luckily, it hadn't quite come to that yet; he still had a good thirty seconds to consider his options before he ended up with a lungful of quicksilver.

Retreat was out of the question; the anchor, well-named, was clearly working, and had dragged them down so far they'd never reach the surface. And while he was sure there must be some Charm to remove his need to breathe, he didn't have the slightest idea how to begin researching it under normal conditions, let alone while drowning, no matter how much had been written about the mind's increased capability for focus in situations of great danger. Such techniques hadn't exactly been a priority for him, after all, given that his anima took care of their most common applications.

Twenty seconds, give or take. Well, calling for help might have an effect, given that he'd almost literally be speaking into Bostvade's ear, but he wasn't at all sure how well a mental entreaty would be received, and he lacked the time in any case. Ophelia might be able to do something, although having no idea what that might be, he didn't much like the idea of trusting in it. Which left... buying time, and thus the need for one more breath, however hurried. And he'd struck upon an idea for taking one.

Drifting down below Ophelia, keeping ahold of the anchor, he extends his other hand out below them, and with a surge of essence, a small egg-shaped container materializes beneath them. A flicker of amusement crosses his face at the idea of summoning the cache egg and opening it dramatically to reveal... nothing at all. Nothing, of course, except another breath. Glancing up to ensure the golden outline of Ophelia's essence is aligned with his own - perhaps she'd react quickly enough to take advantage of the bubble herself as it passed - he spits out the tendrils of quicksilver seeping past his lips at the same time he cracks the latch on the egg, taking as deep a breath as he can manage as the released bubble of air rises slowly through the heavy liquid.

With both of his hands full, lacking the power to send the egg back, he doesn't spare the time to see if Ophelia is doing anything, instead turning his temporarily extended time to addressing his lord. Prayer, of all things. Not something he had a lot of experience in. Elementals, gods, demons, they had all just been contacts, clients, and masters to him. He had little idea of how to manage a good supplication. Bostvade, we're about your business here, even if I haven't told her that in so many words. Our guide's in our hands, we've got a lead; all we need is the strength to last a little longer. I'm not asking for a gift; it was my own failure to consider all the angles that got us into this situation. But I can't pay you back if I'm dead, so if there's anything you can do, then please. I'm asking.

So, this has little to no chance of actually succeeding, I guess, but Tewi and his Occult 0 don't know that. Besides, lack of options, and all that.
Prayer: [roll0]

[Dragnar]

Looking Glass
Nothing. She should have known. Ah well, maybe the encrypted files had more information on this 'cause'. For now though... Further investigation would need to wait. There were Jadeborn left in New Nexus who knew what was going on, and she needed to get to them as quickly as possible. "...Thank you. That's all I need, I'm ready to go now."

One quick stop by her home to pick up the Solar and Neomah, and then... Off on another trip. Maybe with some sleep somewhere in there...

[Gargulec]

Crossroads

The hole lead into a twisting tunnel, spiralling down thirty three turns, painfully tight and narrow, slippery with the thin coating of strange moisture segmented on its walls. It was possible that this shaft was once the part of the building, because its structure and form was by far to ordered to occur by chance - but then again, thinking of it once more, who could say what chance was in Malfeas? Even an idle dream of the Yozis could stir the reality into motion, and randomness in this strange land was just as behold to their wills as everything else was. So maybe it was a work of a chance, but not of the blind kind. And certainly, it was not meaningless.

Not with the chamber it lead to, at any rate. A cylindrical, tall room, its walls perfectly smooth, its ceiling bulged in, as if burdened by something gravely - and its floor covered by bones stripped of all flesh by the acidic waters that still cracked and simmered between them. There were layers upon layers of remains in this room, perhaps as much as half of its height was filled with them - skulls of unusual shapes, femurs of no man or beast of Creation, thousands of bones. All that remained from untold number of corpses flushed from the Beggar's Rift by the currents of Kimbery's wrath. And then, above them, slightly luminescent, crude words painted on the wall with some dark substance. Maybe blood, maybe not. Certainly, though, a mark left by something dying.

"They deceive us" it read, the Old Realm sigils drawn with an extravagant fury. Whoever had left it here had long since perished - but his anger persisted in this simple declaration of protest, in this rebellion unvoiced.

There had to be some sort of a siphon below, an entrance way into the canals under the layer, the labyrinth of tunnels of waterways to which the flood had passed - but reaching it would take a lot of digging, through the worldly traces of the unfortunate. Rather a grim work, and rather a grim prospect. And a reminder, for were not the tunnels under a realm of the dead and damned? Were you not going to crack open an ancient tomb?

There was no randomness in Malfeas, after all. Only patterns, written into flesh and bone of the King of the Yozis.

[DrakeRaids]

Crossroads

Zeka could not read the message. Its soundless fury was beyond her, and she cared not. The bones of the did did not stop her after all, nor there words. She respected them when she could but her focus was for the present, for the now. The past was dead and she doubted she'd be the one to bring it back to life. She jumped into the bones, her cloak whirling about her even as she did so. Immedately she began working to shift them, break them down, and force here way deeper into the pit.

The bright side in this, was that it meant no one else had been this way. If they had, this thing would not be here, it would have been crushed or removed. Unless... There was another way? She paused, giving the room a strong look over, examining it for any hidden passages before turning and starting to destroy the bones, crushing some of them, and moving others out of her path. It was tiring, and difficult work but she was strong.

She could do it.

[Gargulec]

Mending

A day had passed.

It was a good night for Artificer, at least as far as he was capable of experiencing good nights. No whisper-filled nightmares plagued him, and when the cries of the far-away deamons heralded the daybreak, he woke up rested, though all the strain of the last days, he could still easily feel in his muscles. Still, it was far better than he could had hoped for.

The idle sounds of the town around his little workshop reached him through thin walls - people shuffling around with their daily businesses, water-carriers exhorting, clanging of hammers in nearby smithies. It all sounded so natural. He had grown used to this place, somehow. Strangely, some of those voices seemed to come from somewhere nearer than usual, he could almost pick out individual words.

There were few walls inside of his... abode, so he could see Elise right from the moment he had opened his eyes. She was awake already, sitting on crossed legs on her temporary bed, fingers fiddling with the little strange thing she wanted mended, mouth mumbling words the Abyssal could not hear in a soft voice. She noticed him, and stopped.

'Good morning to you, Li' she whispered. 'I apologize, but the name given to you by those under is not one that can pass through my throat.'

She jumped down onto the metal floor.

'There are some people outside, apparently waiting' she mentioned, stretching. 'I am not sure what their intentions are, but it occurs to me that they may want to see you.'


Hounds in the Wastes

The Lunar could not find words appropriate enough to reply to the Abyssal. He was looking at her, taken aback, the glass of wine swaying in his hand, between the table and his lips. He did not drink from it, though.

Something strange appeared on his face, like a smile, but a bitter one, like a scowl, but a peaceful one. He nodded, short and slow was that gesture, and with a click, laid the cup down.

'You may see a fool in me, and a youth easily tempted by a promise of pleasure' he said slowly, in a voice that was not his, but rather like a cawing of a murder of crows. 'And that I am, but we are the Children of Luna, and our faces are without number. A fool, a prophet, a fencer, a mender... those are all names I bear... but yes, at the heart, where things are true, we do love...'

'But our love is not for the things pretty and perfect' the hag picked up, speaking as if she was reciting a holy litany. 'We exist for the broken and discarded, for the imperfect and rough. What is polished and finished is not in our purview. We look at what others scoff at...'

'And reach to it and smile to it' Crow grinned. 'We are all crippled, one way or another. You, I, her... why would I, then, be disturbed by your wounds and flesh? Why would it repulse me? I don't care if there is no warmth in you, for I was born in winter too, and its winds are an old friends of mine, on their wings I fly. All I want is to help you and be with you, so that you are no longer alone.'

[Guancyto]

Halls of the Grotto's King

What was it that Tewi had said? "Bit of a leap of faith, that"? Ophelia felt the quicksilver seeping into her lungs, and her first instinct was to retch, to flail, to escape, to do anything for air. She was made of stern stuff, but perhaps she should have been clearer about her capabilities to her guide.

Or perhaps not. His good side was his bad side. To live under certain doom was the only way to live free. To taint was to nourish. To decay was to grow. This was the essence of Bostvade. She closed her eyes in quick concentration, quite unfortunately missing the little bit of air Tewi had to offer.

And then she took a breath, and gave herself over to the river.

To drown was to...

[Gargulec]

Setting Sail, Coming Home

Morgaine smiled warmly, seeing how the Solar guest apparently enjoyed the meal she had provided him.

'I am happy to hear that the specters were not much a nuisance' she said, bowing, the bony wings on her back pulled close. She seemed to be very careful not to step over anything, not to trip into anything of value. The cathedral, with all of its dust spiraling in the light, tarnish over the gilded surfaces, tools unmoved for centuries, and yet kept in a shape good enough to be brought back to a semblance of motion with just a tiniest drip of the past - she treated it as if it was a room of someone she cared dearly for and lost, and stricken by grief, found herself unable to displace even the smallest trinket of her past love, past darling. It was almost as if stepping inside itself startled her, and though she struggled to hide such a feeling, not fit for one of her status, her mask was slipping, and the truth was being laid bare. There was that yearning in her eyes, refined and distilled in ages of sorrow, yearning that would never find a release.

'I'll depart now' she announced, turning away, hurrying towards the terrace above and the black pit of the gate into the catacombs beneath her castle. 'I am at your service, if you ever need me' she affirmed for a dozenth time. And then, in a few fast steps, she disappeared in the shadows, leaving the Solar to his grand work.

The tools were ready, and resources were there. The legend, the wyld in the pouch, the machinery... he had the knowledge he needed and the power necessary. But whether would it be enough for him to will a world into existence, he could not say. He could only find out the hard way.

[Lix Lorn]

Company of Self

It is said the Dungeon of Gales was built by an akuma of Adorjan, torn from the rock by impossible winds, a pattern scored into the stone, and then driven deeper until it was a maze with walls that towered twelve foot high. At the very centre is a pit, but only the manse's owner can drop down it to find the rooms beneath.

There are only three. One, the first, is torn and battered, the site of many fights. Here Seeker stables her steed, not bothering to keep that spot tidy. In the second, she lives, keeping her trophies and prizes, her many possessions and belongings. The third is small, and oddly warm, and contains merely a bed carved into the wall. Here Seeker retreats at night, to hide from the darkness in her own essence.

Today, she sits still in the second room. She doesn't read, or play, or do anything. But rather her mind travels around in circles, whirring, whirring around endlessly at her twin failures. She builds up all the hate in the world for her own failures, and promises herself that she will not do so again. She reaches out with the essence she has, trying to take hold of that which she lost, trying to feel comfortable again in a body she hadn't realised was quite so cold.

[Gargulec]

Looking Glass

It occurred to Jania, on her way home, that it had been over a day now since she had collapsed - or cause the collapse, or collaborated in causing it - of the Dawn's manse. That was quite a lot of time, but chances were that the Solar was still buried under the tonnes of sand, unable to get out and start his sword vendetta. A few more breaths of safety, some more calm before the danger. A small blessing, but a blessing nonetheless.

From Malfeas' side, the gate to her town appeared far more impressive than the modest arch of brass and bone that she was used to seeing through her door every day. Towering over a great foundry belonging to a demon-lord, or being a demon-lord all in itself, it took form a pair of dancers, their bodies just enough at odds with human proportions to appear unsettling. Below it, the forge's hammers rang constantly, smashing at hellish ores, forming them into shapes with just a brute force of unbelievable potency, with no heat to make the metal malleable. Dozens of many-legged smith-hands scuttled between the innumerable anvils, sometimes placing themselves in the way of incoming hammer-blows, allowing their fleshy forms to be splattered on the blades and plates forged below, as if their viscera could refine the ores somehow. It all happened with barely any sound at all, the demons silent towards each other, the clangor of the forge loud and furious enough to keep the Wind away, thus providing no need to ring at gongs and sing the songs and dance the dances to stave off the dreaded silence. Indeed, of many places the Jadeborn had seen in the recent days, it was perhaps the most tranquil one - the carnival that seemed to wipe the Demon City into a frenzy of revelry and violence, often being one and the same apparently was spared from this mechanical monstrosity, and even the merchants, selling their wares under the cover of twisted plates of brass, discard forge material were apathetic and dour, their forms reflecting their lack of passion - they were gray, formless things, looking more like piles of slag with a pair of matte eyes, shuffling from place to place quietly and slowly.

But for all that alieness, there was something soothing in this strange place, an aura or an air of a most dissonant kind of tranquility. To listen to the hammer-blows for long enough was to become lost in them, have one's heart beat in tune to them and become a part of the forge's swarm. At least that was the word of the warning, scribbled in a golden script across obsidian pillars scattered around the foundry, serving as a way of marking the boundary of the forge's realm.

Jania had passed through it a few times before, and never once had she been interrupted or otherwise disturbed by the local inhabitants. In a way, she could consider this place safe.

'I have a question for you' she heard a chillingly cold razor of a voice behind her.

A woman, apparently of a young age, stood propped against one of the basalt pillars, clad in little more than a loincloth, a band of fabric around her chest and a wealth of beads woven into her hair and hanging from her wrists. How the Jadeborn managed to not notice her before - and she was quite a sight to that - it eluded her. It seemed blatantly impossible to miss such a lass in such a place. And yet, she was standing there, her face reflecting only idle annoyance.

'Did you bother to check how long were you in Forsaken Sword's little trap?' she asked with a shrug. A knife with a golden edge materialized in her hand.

At least she flaunted no psychotic smirk. If anything, she just seemed pissed off to her limits.

[Flare]

Hounds in the Wastes

Rose smiled at the Lunar's spiel, laughing as it finished. "You've practiced that, huh? A nice speech." she said, smiling at her mate and the Crone. But it seemed happy at least, as she stood up. "Very well then, Crow. Let us be Broken together. I would say let us walk together even through the Gates of Hell, but...we are already in Hell, now aren't we?" She paused, and shrugged.

"So perhaps, instead, we shall instead say that we will shine like broken diamonds in this world that we have now. After all, what is better for a broken world then broken champions?"

[Gargulec]

Halls of the Grotto King

The quicksilver had a peculiar taste, a little bit bitter, a little bit sweet. You could almost savour it, if not for the poison that was its nature.

The world around you was now solider mercury, opaque, and still somehow illuminated with the glow coming from above, the silver mingling with sickly green. You could not see anything but yourselves, and still, you couldn't help but to notice the other shore, the better side of the river looming in the distance. Was it eyes, or just soul that painted such an image before you, you could not say. But you could not go there. Your duty had led you elsewhere. Shame, that you had no idea how to get there.

The breath of air from the cache egg was enough to fill your lungs again, lend you a few more moments of sinking before Bostvade would swallow you whole. You could feel your hearts pounding under the carapace of your skulls, the ringing of blood running crazily through your veins, the pain of pressure forcing you down along with the weight of the anchor, soon to become powerful enough to smash you flat.

The words Tewi formed in his head seemed so empty, so futile, and yet he spoke them, as a vassal would, calling upon the liege that was all around him, and had to hear him out. It was not a prayer as much as it was a desperate call for aid, for a hand, where it was needed. The Water-Aspect looked around, to see the last gasp of Ophelia, as the Solar drew the quicksilver waters inside of her. Maybe she would drown first, maybe it would be the poison that would devour her from inside out before anything else...

Bostvade did not answer the call for aid, did not manifest any passageway, did not breath air into Tewi's lungs, as if he could not hear the Dragon-Blood, in spite of his closeness.

Solid silver above, solid silver below, weight of ten thousand skies on your shoulders, the crushing feeling of being swallowed whole by reflecting waters.

And then, something changed, shifted, turned upside down. Bostvade had no depth nor bottom, and yet your feet touch solid ground. For a briefest second, you felt your stomachs knot themselves in the protest against the warping of reality going around, and you could not longer tell which side was up and which was down.

'Cure my cancer, servant of mine' Bostvade whispered into the Dragon-Blood's ear, his voice like a crashing of a river, like a rusting of a creek. 'And know that your debt only grows...'

The green light flickered out, replaced by blackness, and you felt as your bodies slumped onto the cold, stone floor, in a puddle of quicksilver. Your eyes refused to see, but you felt cold and shadows over you, things that Malfeas abode not by.

Even the rock you lied on was different. It was not the smooth basalt bone of the Demon-Emperor, it was porous and rough, craved with shapes you could hardly recognize. The water of Bostvade simmered where it touch it, evapourating with loud, angry hiss.

You heard footsteps, loud, ringing, and then a voice coming from somewhere above you.

'Welcome in the Undergrotto' it could only be described as regal, princely. There was that mixture of pride and feeling of superiority, mixed with grace expressed through magnanimity that it could only belong to one calling himself a king. 'What currents brought you here, I wonder...'

[Volthawk]

Inns and Outs

Fury sighs, feigning frustration at the nymph's request, before laughing and slipping out of her hug and heading out the door, turning and giving a mock bow at the door.

"As you wish, my lady."

Still grinning, he turns again and heads down below for some food. He needed some too. Nothing like a meal to let you think things other, like the events in the night.

[Dragnar]

Looking Glass
Jania blinked in surprise a few times, turning to face the... Solar? A trace of fear crossed the Jadeborn's features for a brief moment as the woman spoke, confirming that her recent actions were not quite as unknown as she thought. "Trap? I'm just returning from a few hours of research, nothing too serious got in the way. I'm... sorry, but maybe you have the wrong person?" Lying to a Solar was... Potentially dangerous. But it was still a hell of a lot safer than talking about her recent exploits in public. "I would be happy to discuss my findings somewhere a bit quieter, but I really don't think it would mean much to you."

[Gargulec]

Inns and Outs

Roll Conviction for WP recovery


Walking down the spiral stairway, the spine around the entire inn was wrapped could be described as confusing. Every single surface was reflective, in one way or another, be it a foggy sheen that returned the image st distorted and blurred, or a wide layer of plates of silver so clean that it was hard to say whether the reflection trapped in them was not in fact another reality, mimicking the events unfolding on the other side for some kind of inscrutable, demonic mischief. Fury witnessed his gruff face over and over again, twisted and warped in more ways he could had ever imagined. There was something of a cheap park of amusements in it, and yet, the walls were cut body of a power that once shook the world with its very breath. It could be considered a bit of a divine irony, that such a glorious substance had come to bring forth such a trite connotations. Still, as his foot sought purchase on the slippery stairs, he had to admit that for as much as it seemed trifle, the reflections had something to them, some measure of truth, for the lack of a better word, that made them alluring and abhorrent both.

At the bottom of the stairwell, the main hall of the inn awaited him. It was a spacious room, perhaps even larger than it should be, with its walls paneled with tarnished silver, floor laid with the undertow-smoothed, round rocks, pulled from the bottom of silvery waters of many rivers that were the veins and roots of the Forest of Mirrors. The hour was early, and in the unbearable noise of carnival outside, only a few lonely demons stayed in. A neomah with a fake smile on her face and eyes wholly dull, tapping her sleek finger on the empty glass in an idle annoyance. An angylkae with her face hidden behind a curtain of wet hair, her fingers twitching to a mournful tune, a trio of tomescu perched around a creaking table, their sights set on the pair of dice tumbling between them, never stopping to reveal the score and name the winner. Their empty clacking did not bother the demons, and it somehow felt as if they were not even looking forth to the inevitable bloodshed that was going to ensure when the winner would be finally determined.

A heavy, nauseating aroma of liquor too cheap for even the demons to stomach hovered in the air, carpeting the chamber with its odour. Even the inn-keeper, an ancient, shriveled stomach bottle bug, swollen to the size of a large dog with all the filth it had devoured showcased no resistance to the place's sickly aura, resting soundlessly on the bar, its insectile legs hanging loosely from his bloated sack of flesh of a body.

No one noticed the Lunar entering, all of the few residents of the inn too caught in their own misery to pay attention to the world around them. They were all lost, for was there even a tiniest spark of life in them, they would had joined the few fleeting moments of wild revelry outside. But instead, they sat hidden in an inn in some obscure corner of an obscure layer, letting the inertion and ennui break them down.


Company of Self

She had never really imagined that a few precise strikes could leave a soul in such a tatters, as if some vicious beast cut into it and tore it into dozens of shreds, pieces that don't fit each other. Her power was not gone, it was still there, he had not cut it away, he had no maimed her. But shattered, yes, shattered she was, and every time she tried to reach into the depths of self, to grab the little splinters of her essence and tie them back together, they slipped and cut her hands.

She was nauseous and tired, but sleep did not want to come to her, her thoughts raced and danced fervently, but no solid image could come out of them. It was as if sitting on the verge of death, unable to slip back into living, unable to go down into the abyss below.

Cold was all around her, and inside of her, too. No warmth in her blood, no warmth in her breath, the heart beating apathetically, as if reluctantly, wishing rather to stop and go silent. Her body was dead, and it was only the soul and essence within that animated it still - but now, they were only shadows, and so, she was freezing in a way no heat could overcome. Even if stranded in the middle of a desert, with the Daystar scorching hot above, she would feel as if someone had turned the marrow of her bones into ice.

It was then, that lost in the river of her shapeless, formless thoughts, she had heard a faint whisper, a crackle in the back of her head, a quiet word hushed so silently that no ear could make it out.

It was cold, too, as freezing as she was, but for some reason, she could understand the difference, the rift between them with a painful clarity. She struggled against the chill, but that whisper, that word unspoken embraced it and was one with it.

And above all else, she knew she had heard that voice before, once, on the day an offer was given to her, generous beyond the mortal understanding, as cruel and unjust as only something born from the most rotten intent and will could be. It whispered to her then, and remade her, gifted her. The rusted chains dropping from her back on the floor, limp and lifeless were nothing but the lingering effect of that gift.

Just as it had happened before, now, though unable to understand the words themselves, the deal behind them was laid bare to her, so that she could understand it, intimately. In its nature, the offer was simple. Allow us in, let us nest just under your heart, do not bar the gates of your soul before us, and we will grant you your vengeance. The vendetta that is your due will happen, and all will be made right. We will mend the wounds on your soul, weave it back together. You helped us before, so we want to help you.

In the silence marred by the screaming of the wind above, in the cold room, alone, Seeker faced such an offer, from the forces she knew, forces she understood to be honest and never lie - but never tell the truth entire either.

She was weak, and the Void at the End of All Things was mighty enough to darken the skies and swallow Creation, unmake the works of the Primordials themselves. And now, it wanted to give her some of its prowess, in exchange for just a few whispers.

The room was empty, and there was no one to ask for advice. The closest living soul was many miles away, and likely would scream and run away at the sight of the Dusk. The trophies gathered looked at her with their dead eyes, judging her not, just reminding her of all the deaths she had caused.

[AmberVael]

Crossroads

Rai Ka shuddered at the sight of the room, and the grim message displayed by the piles of bones and the bloody writing upon the wall. She didn't know enough to understand precisely what had happened here, but she knew who had killed these people, and who had ordered her to add on more corpse to their number.

She wasn't sure if that knowledge made her more or less certain of the task she had been given, but it was pointless to pause an hesitate now. Despite her unease, she began to help Zeka in clearing their passage, moving aside the bones as she tried to put aside the exact knowledge of what she was doing.

[Gargulec]

Hounds in the Wastes

The Lunars both laughed as their answer, happily and without even a shadow of a mockery.

'We couldn't have put it better!' the hag exclaimed with exaggeration, her voice rustling. 'Broken champions for broken worlds, yes, that is what we want!'

Crow added nothing, raising his glass in a wordless salute.

'Still' the Lunar continued to speak 'there are things for you to do, and to be honest, we've had enough melodrama here already. So... I am not going to stop you further with my half-baked wisdoms and absurd words taken straight from cheap tavern songs. No more affronts to your wisdom from me' she smirked, and in blink of an eye, shifted back to her younger self. She flexed, and giggled. 'Much better' she mumbled under her breath. Crow pecked his head, and gave her an amused. She shrugged him a response. And then just disappeared, as if flickered out of existence, leaving behind only a slightest buzzing sound.

'So' Crow asked after a moment of silent consideration. 'Is there anything in particular you want to do before we depart? Or should I just prepare the bed, so that...' he paused abruptly, and instead of finishing the sentence, just mouthed something sounded like a profane curse, launched at himself. 'Ugh, that came out wrong, right?' he gave one more question, looking at Rose in a way that could only be described as pledging. 'I honestly did not mean to suggest anything' he flustered and frowned. 'I'll just shut up, 'kay?'

It was funny how differently he was acting now, in his personal castle in the middle of a wasteland. Certainly, little in him reminded Rose of that scoundrel that crashed flamboyantly through a window. Whether it was some weird quirk of his character or just another plot, well, that was a good thing to ponder about.


Looking Glass

The Solar shrugged, flipping the knife betwixt her fingers, as if performing some kind of a mummer's trick. True to that, the blade vanished in a puff of golden essence, accompanied by a quiet, glassy pop. She shook her head, brushed aside a few dreadlocks of her soot-coloured hair from her face.

'Well, it's been...' she tilted her head, and from nothingness, a deck of cards appeared in her hands. She quickly flipped through it, and upon finding what she was looking for, returned her eyes to the Jadeborn. 'Almost two days. Forty hours, give or take some minutes' she waved her arms, as if trying to wordlessly add "don't ask me how it came to be".

A demon zipped past her feet, a sheet of green iron strung to its back. For a moment, it seemed that she focused solely on observing the little beast's short voyage towards the nearest anvil, where it deposited the material for the mechanical hammers to beat into shape, and then mirthfully launched itself to a smouldering furnace nearby, stoking the fires even hotter with its meager flesh. She whispered something upon seeing that, and though Jania was not exactly sure, it sounded a bit like "sucker".

'I wouldn't mind discussing your findings somewhere else, frankly' she said, in a voice of someone bored and profoundly frustrated. 'You live somewhere nearby, if I remember correctly, so why don't you invite me for a glass of some liquor, hum?' she gave the Artistian a queer look. 'Unless you are one of those weirdos that don't...' she added, her tone best described as "inquisitive". 'Ah, and I apologize for that knife there. Force of habit, you know' she shrugged again. 'I've been doing a lot of killing lately, got used to jumping at people blade in hand...' there was something disturbingly casual in the way she said that.

The giant hammer of the forge above fell down upon whatever steel it was working again, raising a sound not unlike of a two layers crashing, and prompting the scantily-clad Solar to spout a litany of fire-tongue profanities that could make even the most seasoned dock-worker blush. She spat, and threw a murderous glare at the huge demonic construction above.

[Sallera]

Halls of the Grotto's King

Aye, I hear you. Doing what his lord asked, now, that was going to be a bit more difficult. But he'd bet it had something to do with the starstone tucked deep within his armour, or the place it came from. He'd been given that for a reason. Well, time enough for that if they could acquire freedom to move.

Struggling up to one knee, tucking the anchor into a pocket as quicksilver slides off his back, Tewi looks to Ophelia first; if he'd fared poorly on his trip through the river, he didn't expect her to have done any better. But he couldn't put off a reply for long, so as soon as he can be sure she's still breathing, he glances up, interested in seeing whether the Prince above him still looked the same as he had in the vision. "Some interesting ones, for sure. My companion could explain them better, perhaps." He needed some room to work, in this place. It was a little soon to get it, but appearing to be a second in negotiations might be a good start.

[Ziddim]

The Problem With Saints

The Prophet’s eyes opened wide with terror. It was not the terror of seeing the sky twisting around something so unfathomable that his mind just refused to see it. It was not the terror of knowing that there existed such being for whom reality were flimsy paper, and that what he was looking at was like a stickman viewing a hole punched into his world. It was not the fear of madness or bodily harm that rode upon his face, but rather the fear of failure. Had he miss-stepped? Had he acted too quickly?

No. There was no time left. He had failed three times before. He had failed in creation. He had failed in The Desert. He had failed in Oasis.

No more.

Fortunately, the goggles that covered his face did much to mask the worst of the contortions of his face, which continued to wear his emotions almost as if they were a book. And those emotions quickly hardened into cold determination.

For a fleeting moment, he cast his gaze at the behemoth that was the Standard Bearer. The contempt that his gaze held carried both disgust and scorn. But it was not a protracted look, merely a moment’s conveyance of emotion that there would be a reckoning for this sin. Time was not a luxury that the Sun’s Chosen had at the moment.

It was this anger that drove him to stride defiantly out into the crowd, directly into the path of the descending hoof. The eye of the sun followed him as he moved, and his anima swirled around in whisps about him.

He cast another glance skywards and held his hand up, then clenched his fist. The Bronze Bull knew that there was no more room for failure, even though these Primordials seemed to be intent upon it. What sort of creature would cut off its own nose to spite its face? The hour was upon them, the house was crumbling, and the Titans were bickering for pecking rights. Their pride angered him. Their methods angered him.

And as Unspoken Word Made Flesh’s blood began to boil, he knew that it was just. He knew that he was justified, and his anger was righteous. The Prophet turned that righteous anger inwards, let it permeate him and flow through his chakras. And to his surprise, it gave him strength.

And not just metaphorical strength, but real, measurable power. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as something ignited within him. Light shined out of the goggles that covered his eyes as his wispy anima encircled him, and then suddenly flashed, become too bright to look at. All who stood in his presence knew that the stood on hallowed ground, so holy was he in that moment.

To his people, he gave a simple command..

“Do not succumb without a fight. Lend me your voices your voices, and I will move heaven and hell. With one voice, sing!”

And with that, blinding light blazed from his hand and shot up into the sky. It took the form of a plant’s tendril, and it shot upwards to greet the descending foot. It did not shy away from the burning corona, but rather twisted it’s way around it, crawling like a vine up the descending leg of the Black Boar that Twists the Skies. In a display that could be seen for miles around, the vine began to grow leaves and a bud that reached towards the Titans.

All of that was a stunt to learn Demon Wracking Glory with all the amenities, 10xp points. Holy Keyworded

“Mighty Isodorios,” cried the prophet’s mind, which was amplified in a ghostly way through his anima. “Stay your divine hand!”

As he spoke, the bud of the flower began to swell. It took on a golden red hue, and from the ground it bore a striking resemblance to creation’s depiction of Malfeas from the outside. Stars burned brightly in the sky around the plant, but to the Titans, they surely seemed to be little more than glowing specks of dust rising in the air.

“Heed not the bitter words of the weak, who seek to manipulate you out of cowardice, for they are short-sighted and fear our true potential.”

As he spoke, the bud started to blossom, revealing cities upon the petal blossoms.

“But you know no fear. There will be no heaven, and there will be no hell.”

The blossom continued to open, and as it did, it became apparent that something was pushing it open from the inside. The source of the motion was soon revealed to be an effigy of The Black Boar that Twist the skies in miniature, pushing the petals open as easily as he moved the layers of Malfeas. And as Malfeas blossomed into an incredibly beautiful flower, with infinite streets forming veins that fed the growing towers, the anima-version of the Black Boar stepped out, using the burning suns as stepping stones, out into the cosmos.

“Only a world of our own making.”

At that, The Prophet pointed at the gathered crowd. While still holding one hand up, displaying the open flower for the Titans, light grew out of his opposite hand, and began weaving its way amongst the crowd, connecting them all together, and they to him. Where the flower and blossom were the Titans, the stem was The Prophet, and the roots were the masses.

“And We are the seed of that glorious new world. We are your hope.”

[Flare]

Hounds in the Wastes

"You are really bad at the direct approach, aren't you, little Crow? Or is it just a little mask that you are going to wear? Either way." She smiled. "You understand that I can not bed you now, yes?" she asked, smiling. "I do have to follow the traditions of my Tribe, after all. It would be...foul, for me to abandon them when they still watch over me as they do, wouldn't it?" She asked, holding up the arm that held her father. "There are many things you must do, before you may share a bed with me, Little Crow. It will not be easy, after all. You might even die. It would perhaps, be better to wait until after I have regained my book."

[Dragnar]

Looking Glass
...Great. She'd lost a day somewhere, and on top of that, this exalt was openly stating that she had been killing a lot lately. Brilliant. Still, just one more reason to get this conversation continued in private, before something worse happened. "Yes, I live near here. Follow me and I can show you the way. We'll talk there." She spoke in quick, clipped tones, just loud enough to hear. No reason to advertise it she thought, as the Jadeborn turned to head through the gates and back into the Oasis.

[Myllinnia]

Crossroads

Ara'Desirae frowned at the old realm words, and shivered at the place. Rubbing at her arms she moved with the others a little closer to Zeka as she went. "Decieved." She hmphs for a moment. Truth and Lie were intertwined in the laws of the Great Endless Desert, for each were enforced by the strong and the weak were powerless to resist. She knew them well, a Sukari's power was half buried in the lines between deception and honesty.

"Be careful mistress, the little touch of Kimbery remains among the lost ones," Ara warned as she idly and with a hint of sorrow pushed aside some of the bones with her feet as Zeka and Rai Ka began the grim and sad task of moving the unfortunate things that had perished at the whimsical hate of the strong Great Ones.

[Gargulec]

The Problem With Saints

The Standard-Bearer fiery face looked upwards, to the stalk that sprouted from barren brass and barren souls. He could scarcely believe what his eyes were seeing.

The sickly radiance of the hateful star above dinned, lessened. Shadows - the true shadows that are born of sun and light crept up from behind you, clawing onto the ground that had never seen them before. A cascade of golden fell down upon the crowd, specks and motes of essence touching where the hateful freeze made the Solar's followers into statues in their own mockery. With a crack, one of them opened, releasing its prisoner. And then, the single crack unfurled into a rumble of thousands.

The flower of Unspoken Word's conviction flared high and strong, and all under its protective shadow felt safe, if for a shortest while. The priests of Cecelyne gathered into a tight circle, afraid to step up to the masses they tried to oppress, looking up to the black singularity above, placing all their malicious hopes in it.

Each word the Zenith uttered was a bell's toll, loud, clear, overwhelming with power. His followers, freed by his might, bowed to him, his opponents recoiled from his sheer holiness. Standing in the middle of a swirling conflagration of his own essence, calling a flower of worlds into existence, he truly became a saint and a legend.

The Battle of the Boar and the Flower - that would be the name given to struggle above in the times to come. It would become a legend and a myth, with all privileges of both. Demons afraid of Isidors would craft flower from red blood-resin and scribe depiction of Malfeas into their petals, hanging them from their doors and windows as charms for good luck. The words "seed of the glorious new world" would become a tantalizing motto, giving the oppressed, downtrodden souls the quaff of boldness they needed to conspire and grow stronger, opposing what weights them down.

In that single moment, when the flower blossomed as a sun would rise, Unspoken Word Made Flesh felt that it was right and proper. That it was his purpose. In the radiance that did not burn, but soothed, speaking words of unity and help, his desires, his motivations were manifest. Holding his arms up, as if to hold the Boar at bay, he saw all the hopes flowing to him, like tiny birds from argent crafted. Above, beyond, Ligier cast his sight upon him, but he found no toil in staring back at him, defiance of a someone destined to cut the old growth and bring the place for the new one to stalk.

The flowered finished blossoming, and the hoof of the Yozi touched it, descending ever so slowly. The prophet and the saint felt his heart flutter.

The Battle of the Boar and the Flower they would call it in the times to come, but it would be only hagiography. A story crafted because it was supposed to happen as such. Not because it happened.

How many times must a soul fail, before it finds it true strength and carries itself to triumph? How much pain must one experience before instead of breaking him, it reforges him? How many mistakes have to be made, how many tragedies have to born, how many followers have to be lost?

Who can tell the answer to those questions, but the man who felt all the loss and struggled nonetheless?

The flower crumpled, the might of the Primordial trampling it underhoof. The golden light vanished, the hymns of the gathered raising their desperate crescendo in the moment of their doom understood. All voice was swallowed suit, all colour and light, and only blackness of Isidors remained. It smashed into the Solar too, smothering him, so that he could hear no screams of the followers that passed because he thought that Malfeas can be changed with a single march, because he rose too fast, acted too fast, fought with opponents above his league.

It was a second of perfect solitude, alone with himself and his failure, failure he could not even witness. And yet, he knew - understood, felt - that his flower did not blossom in vain. He would be spared, and the legend would persist. A saint once humiliated did not cease to be a saint.

Perhaps the questions above were not really questions, just foolish thoughts. Perhaps the only question that should be asked was "what gives up first - the body, or the spirit?".

Unspoken Word Made Flesh, in his prison of Isidoros' embrace found this question facing him.

[Ziddim]

The Problem With Saints

As the darkness washed over the Saint, so too did a moment of disbelief. These were beings that were willing to die in a cage if destroying their only means of salvation meant reinforcing their own worldview. It was a degree of ignorance that caused cognitive dissonance with the idea of beings who were cosmic and infinite.

But the confusion soon gave way to anger once more. This Yozi, and their servant had just callously destroyed an untold number of sentient lives, just to make a point. Such behavior was a cancer to unity.

The Prophet trembled and clenched his fists in the darkness, and his anima burned with righteous anger. Had he moved too fast? No. Time was running out, and his work had to be done. He had done all that he knew to do to protect his flock as well. He had merely run up against something bigger than him. But this thing had made one crucial error. It had let him live.

From within the darkness, Unspoken Word Made Flesh's thoughts poured out to all around him.

"Long ago, your ignorance brought this place upon you. Of your number, two saw the horror of what you were and displayed enlightenment, and so I had assumed that all of you were capable of such.

Fools that you are, you do not see that it is your nature that is your cage. Where they were once changed with swords and pain, I had hoped to be kinder. I offered you freedom, but you have rejected it."

As he spoke, his anima surged in that dark place, growing more intense in it's brightness, but ultimately confined by the darkness. But he shone none-the-less, like a newborn star swirling around in the mouth of oblivion.

"And so you have chosen to grow poison in your belly instead of fruit. You know that this new home of ours is temporary. You know that we will grow, and we will fight the coming darkness, and we will win. And when we do, we will leave. But doing so does not mean that we will save you. All are one, and one is all. But you are destructive to the one, you are a cancer. And so when the time comes to leave, we will cut you off from us and leave you behind to wither.

The day will come soon, Standard Bearer, when the bars of this prison grow weak and the ghosts of your slain kin flood in to destroy you. When we next meet, it will be on this battle field. And on that day, when you are over run, you will look to me and plead for me to save you."

The Prophet Paused for a moment, and then began to try to walk through the darkness that engulfed him, to resist the dark embrace.

"And I will whisper... 'No.'"

[Gargulec]

Hounds in the Wastes

The Lunar waved his hand as if trying to keep some particularly aggravating insect away, smiling a smile that somehow managed to be both of an innocent boy and a seasoned scoundrel, the one that makes the ladies fawn with mere few words, with the air of all the many ports and lands he had visited.

'Perhaps it's only a mask, Rose' he agreed, tipping his head to the Abyssal. 'Perhaps I am really charmed out of my wits by your cold beauty, who can tell?' he shrugged, and let out a bout of rowdy laughter, ringing strangely in the heart of this giant slab of brass that was supposed to be a castle. 'Fact is, you laid the matter as simply as it was only possible, and thank you for that, because it may be that actually asking you out was something deeply terrifying for me. And I look forward to getting that blasted book even more than ever, now' he chuckled again. 'Truth is, we both better get some good night of rest before hitting the Slagheap, because Luna knows when we will be able to sleep again, if ever. Also, if I may suggest something' he grinned. 'Even if you live in a dumpster, you better pack your things, because I somehow fail to imagine Lyns troubling himself with such things as spare cloths for his pupil... if he accepts you' he advised, and then dove to one of the many cupboards by the wall, looking for something. 'So, really. Make a mental checklist or something, see if you have everything prepared. If you have anything to prepare. If not, I'll be glad to provide.'

[Guancyto]

Halls of the Grotto's King

Ophelia's breath catches in her throat at the voice. No wait, that's the quicksilver. She holds up a single finger, indicating that she needs a moment. Retching, she spews out a small mercury river, expelling the deadly poison with a totality that brings tears to her eyes.

It takes a positively uncomfortable length of time. No, she is not going to try that again. For all the contradictions of Bostvade, it turns out that his drowning is mostly just drowning.

Still struggling for breath, she straightens up again. A moment more and she is the picture of poise. "You would be the lord of Undergrotto, then?" she says as calmly as she can manage, "My name is Ophelia, and I have come to speak with you."

She gives the very faintest hint of a frown, "but this is dreadfully impersonal. Could I not see the one I am addressing?"

[DaWrecka]

Mending

The Artificer of Ten Thousand Blasphemies frowned at his guest's response. He was still unhappy about her nomenclature insistence, but under the circumstances this was a low priority. Quickly, he ensured his armour was still in place, and buckled his daiklave into position. Justifiable paranoia, he felt, given that his mere presence made him an enemy of most of the inhabitants of the desolate waste. "We will speak more later," he told her. "For now, what can you tell me of these... visitors? Appear they hostile? Neutral? Frie... no, I will not even entertain that possibility." He loosened his blade in its sheath, all too aware of the likelihood that those waiting outside would be less than friendly...


Long-overdue post that's not even long enough to justify the delay... Got to stop doing this.

Alright... It seems that enough time has passed without Essence expenditure that we can assume the Artificer has full motes. Willpower is a different story... Cult 2 gives him 1wp each morning, and his last Conviction roll gets him 1wp more. So that's 3wp regained for a total of 6, plus whatever we get from this roll:

[roll0]

It would also be worth asking whether he's regained any Virtue channels.

Willpower: ●●●●● ●xxxx
Conviction: xxxx
Valour: ●●x
Resonance: ●●xxx xxxxx
Personal: 22/22 (0 committed)
Peripheral: 33/33 (+14 attuned)

[Gargulec]

Crossroads

It was a drudging, grim work, that stretched out into hours of shuffling through bones. At least, it was easy to grow insensitive to them after a few moments. After picking through that boneyard once or twice to get to the drain, it lost its value. The remains ceased to be anything more than an obstacle, a tough, physical barrier.

A barrier that you broke through, though with no small effort. Towards the end, you all felt more numb than anything, maybe even stunned. The armour of insensitiveness you had to put on, the exhaustion of the muscles, the walls of broken bones around you... it just made you feel as if you were not belonging to the world. Not anymore.

There were things scattered among the corpses. Mementos, keepsakes. Amulets and bits of molten coinage. Good luck charms. Most of them shapeless, unrecognizable. Waste. All in all, a sizable sack of it. Of no value at all.

There were demons above, sulking, looking for pits like that one. For that bag of scrap. Melted down, it would make for a few coins. Little, but there was no coin small enough not to have some demons fighting over for it. And if the price for it was to wipe away the last monuments to the existence of some other spawn of the Yozis, well, it was not a price at all. There was no such concept as memory in this realm. There was past, of course. Better one. When demons were unbound and Primordials unbroken. And there was yesterday, of course, gone and about to be forgotten. Everything in between, all that happened in that time, all that lived and all that died - it was no longer irrelevant. There was the myth, there was today and there was tomorrow, looming over the denizens of Malfeas, seldom welcomed with anything more than base fear.

Such was the time of the Demon City, where no graveyard had ever been raised.

Finally, the work was done, and a hatch leading to the canals below laid uncovered. Noxious, sour air blew from within, and the rushing of the tainted waters could be distinctly heard, as well as other sounds, far more alien. The catacomb-canals were open to you, and if there was any preparation you wanted to make before going inside, now was the time. Later... who could say if there would be one?

[Zoronos]

Setting Sail, Coming Home

Bartrand gave a bow and a nod as the demon left. With a shrug, he replaced his goggles, set the remaining food out of the way, and began to work.

The chamber darkened, but a harsh white light was thrown onto his work bench by his arc lambs. Sparks flew as he welded the structural supports together. Hours flew by as he worked, building tool after tool. He paused often to consult the plans he had been given by the strange Eclipse. It was convenient that they were flexible in their ingredients and procedures. While he had more than enough to work with, it certainly wasn't ideal. But it suited him, alone under the harsh glare of the lamps, an island of bright impossible light in a sea of blackness. He did not bother to pause to summon servants, as useful as the extra hands would be. None could know of what he was creating. Its secrecy was of the utmost importance.

For days he barely ate and barely slept. Every waking hour was spent building, fixing, revising, and then building again. Grease and sweat caked his hair, his fingers blackened with soot and oil. His goggles wore creases his face and sparks traced burn lines across his cheeks. If the demon came to check on him, he barely noticed. There was only the work, forging a tool to trump all other tools. A corona of raw potential. One of the greatest works of the first age; a power source above all others. The power source that could, would, nay, must, ensure the survival of humanity. To build a thing so great, from such humble origins. Fitting that the last gasp of the first age would serve as the birthplace of the device that would ensure the life of the third age. From the tomb of an age gone by would be created the spark that would light the age to come.

Until the last moment, he delayed enkindling the spark within the structure. For seven days he built, laboring over the empty shell that would contain life. He paused briefly in that final moment, watching, waiting. Only then did he remove the pouch of dream stuff that he had held back. Sheathing a hand in golden light, forcing stability onto the room with his will alone, he grasped a massive handful of the powder. It pulled at him, threatening at every second to unmake him as he held it. Twisting the seams of the world. With a careful grip, he dribbled the powder into his device. It began to spin, faster and faster. The dream stuff spun with it, first a disk, then a toroid, then a sphere. The table shook, but the apparatus held firm as the raw stuff of creation began to coalesce into a sphere, its glow filling the room.

Then, with an awful crack, it was done. The machine stopped moving, but still functional, no damage done. No sign of the raw destructive force that a moment before it had contained. A small sphere, no larger than a child's fist, hung peacefully in the air within the heart of the device. With a glance around to ensure that none had seen, Bartrand snatched the power source. Raising his shirt, he pulled the hearthstone of his manse from the socket where it sat just over his heart and swiftly replaced it with the new power source he had constructed. With a twist, it locked into place, and its glow dimmed. The surge of power through his veins was palpable, and he gasped momentarily as he put his old hearthstone into the hilt of his blade.



Mechanics time!
Each crafting interval takes 3 days.
100 successes are required base - 50 for having plans (5 points expended from the pool of plans).

Going to roll extra, then back-delete once the threshold is met.

[roll0] + 5 successes (bracers of universal crafting) + 5 successes (2nd Craft excellency) = 21 successes
[roll1] + 10 = 24 successes
[roll2] + 10 = 24 successes (Finished with 19 successes to spare, ignoring any stunt dice).

After 7 and a half additional days of labor, it is complete. In a week, a universe forged.

[Lix Lorn]

Company of Self

Seeker was resting. She had no choice but to rest, right now. But by no definition could you say she was at peace.

Anger was in every breath and fear in every thought, hatred in every subtle moment and failure in her stance.

Worse than the pain in her wounds, worse than any whispers the void could give her was her own voice angrily spitting up at her the same things, the same mistakes she had made, the same half-assed plans and the same fruitless ideas.

Her thoughts dwelled in dark places. The same as she did. And there was a time when the whispers, louder and louder, began to tempt her.

The Seerker of Blood is a very proud woman.
"No." she murmurs, mostly to herself, eyes shut tight. "Not again."

She balls up her hands and spits on the stone floor.
"Never again..." she starts... and then she laughs.

Opening her eyes, they glow with sudden glee. "Never the first time... you complete and utter ----wits. You have no way to make me do what you want. None! You go around offering infinite power and life to people about to die, you think they'll say no? You think because they agreed to blow up the world, they'll actually do it? I kill because it's fun to prove I can. Not because I care for your nihilistic goals. You are strong. Malfeas is stronger. He wasn't dumb enough to die."

[Gargulec]

Looking Glass

The Solar looked strangely at the Jadeborn, in a way that could be most easily described as an utter disbelief.

'Lead the way, then' she shrugged, in a tone that had a slight undertone of "I am past caring already".

Passing through one of the gates that separated Malfeas from the Oasis had always been a peculiar experience, to put it mildly. First, the deafening roar of the massive wings sliding open, laced with screams of the demons bound by Ligier's craft to serve as the hinges and sinew of the cyclopean constructions. But this hellish noise was quick to fade, metamorphosing into a fleeting moment of an astounding harmony, as the scream, screech and ambient clangour of Malfean rumble - the distant songs, the near thundering of the foundries - all melded together into a single note of heart-rending beauty, and in it, was a prayer and a pean to the master craftsman who shone on the heavens and from whose infinite grace were the gates even created.

Next, the Demon City behind disappeared, suddenly swallowed by a sea of emerald mists closing around it, rushing into the streets, hiding everything behind a thick, opaque haze. It was when the last piece of basalt, last tower of brass vanished from the sight that the Oasis itself came to view, looking so alien compared to the bustling city behind. A few huts, shacks, tents, over a flatness of blazing brass that shone sickly green with reflected gaze of Ligier. Behind Jania, the Solar flexed, as if the sight had somehow managed to brighten her mood.

'Home, home' she mouthed, and the Artistian could not make out if there was mockery in her words, or just mere sincerity. 'Sweet little wasteland of a home' she added after a moment, in Firetongue. She had a quirky accent. Not quite foreign, but Jania was pretty sure she had never heard someone speak the southron language in such a way.

Jania's own home - if it could be called that way - was far less impressive, and hardly stood out from among a row of similar ones. Of course, for many of the refugees of Creation, it could be considered rather luxurious - it had walls, it had roofing, it could not be toppled by tapping strongly on its side, but still... it was a pathetic thing. A pathetic thing that's entrance was adorned with long strings of seashells tied together. The Jadeborn could not remember ever seeing them, let alone hanging them out.

Soon, the reason behind this decoration became manifest, in the happy, high-pitched calling a certain lavender-skinned demon made, as she jumped from the darkness inside the home, wrapping her arms around Jania's neck.

'You have been gone forever!' she exclaimed, kissing her repeatedly on the neck. The dark-skinned Solar shrugged again, the corner of her mouth twitching slowly. 'Forever!'

She had not even noticed her heart's desire new companion, such was her joy.

[Flare]

Hounds in the Wastes

"I have nothing to bring with me beyond what I wear, Crow. Fleeing from a Deathlord with her book does not give you time to pack." She stated. The only thing that had been added to her outfit was a brown, ratty cloak. She sighed. "I think I will be fine. Who cares if my clothing gets...ripped or torn? Doesn't it look disgusting anyway?" she asked, pushing back the cloak. "I look like someone's doll. How does a warrior wear clothing like this?" she asked, gesturing. "This was what I was given, before the rest of the soulsteel was to be placed on me. After I ripped it off...it just happened to be what I grabbed. She enjoyed putting me into pretty clothing. Perhaps it was torment before I lost the ability to do even that." She sighed.

"If they are torn to tatters in his training...then perhaps it will be worth it. To distance me further from my past. I could not destroy them on my own, but...for them to be destroyed in the actions of another...what could I do about that?"

[Gargulec]

Mending

'They appear peaceful' the Dusk answered, shaking her head at the sight of Artificer arming. 'I think they are local people...' she shrugged lightly. 'I am unsure how your relationship with them looks, but if there is something between you and them' her tone grew a little more wary, with a hint of a warning 'something that may make them hostile towards you, I want to know.'

She made a step closer, and suddenly, without even making a slightest gesture, not even changing the expression on her face, she grew imposing, terrifying. Though slight of build and a bit shorter than the Daybreak, he felt as if he had to look upwards to meet her eyes. In that moment, he saw her for the fighter she was - all her strength, all her speed, all her skill.

'You assume they are your foes without even looking' she said, measuring each word carefully, and though she kept her voice low and steady, there was steel in it. 'I know that they are some who want your blood spilled for your deeds, but would they be waiting for you to come out? This is not how assassins act. Is this world your enemy, so that you pick your arms against it when it comes to you?' she asked, but did not accuse. She just wanted to know. 'I was thinking, through the night, on what you have told me, on why you need your sword. You told me about vengeance, and your enemy. But you did not tell me something important, and only now I have realized...' she looked at Artificer as if she wanted to pierce through his many masks and see the man the underneath, and then pierce through the skin, muscle and sinew, and behold what he really was, if there was such a thing. 'Once, I thought that you could stay neutral. True to yourself, but do not pick sides. Just do what you were meant to do. But that is now how it works, I finally realized it. Here' she pointed towards Malfeas proper, towards the screaming city, towards the final stand of humanity 'after all that happened, we are no longer allowed that. This sun casts no shadows. There are no liminal states anymore' she narrowed her eyes and clenched her fingers tight. 'There is black' she whispered 'and there is white. And that is all. So, Li, at the end of the day... what side are you going to be on?'


The Problem With Saints

In the perfect, deathless darkness that drowned the prophet, the Standard-Bearer listened to his declaration of war, contented by his great victory over the rebellious Solar. But his memory was as vast as his age, and it reached back to the day when first did the golden and silver appear on the heavens as mighty pillars, heralding a dawning of time and an end to the Titans. And in that memory, he shuddered, in spite of his fearlessness, and for a moment, felt a sliver of a doubt that he soon smothered under the infinite expanse of his pride.

He watched as the last defenses the Zenith mustered croaked, creaked and cracked under the blind touch of Isidoros. He watched as the demons that opted to follow him died in thousands, screaming, crying and praying to the false gods they had made for each other. He observed keenly and carefully, but the ramifications eluded him.

He did not understand the nature of myth. He did not understand, even though he should be intimate with such a knowledge, that saints are not for this world nor of this world. That their deeds are not written by historians, but by hagiographers. He knew the word "martyr" and yet failed to see its potency. For a priest, he knew nothing of faith.

Then, darkness fell upon the Solar, for too strong was the power of the Black Boar That Twists The Skies for him to stand against. His consciousness shattered, the blackness flowing into his mind and flooding it. He drew a last breath and...

...his back was scraping against rough stone, and he could feel his cloak pulled taunt. Something was dragging him across a street, a street full of voices and songs. A malfean street. He could make out the delicate notes of an angylkae's music, the metallic ringing of a brass harmonicas, the scream-like shouting of sinew harps. And above all else, the opera of feet crumpling the street in their carnival dance. No one tramped him, though.

'I may be blind' he heard a roaring voice from somewhere nearby, slightly distorted as if whoever was speaking held his jaw shut 'but I can promise you all that I will rip you limb from limb if you ever touch him!'

The Solar opened his eyes, and saw the unfamiliar sky above, the stars all wrong, as they had always been. Around hims, buildings rose, constructed from blackened mucus and bits of green iron, taking strange, organic shapes. Underneath them, a dozen little stands stood, vendors trading bizarre candies to the flock of revelers. And then, there was a lion. A jade one, though cracked, his eyes almost fallen out. A teodozija looking as ancient as the time itself. In his might teeth, he held the end of the Solar's mantle, and he was lugging him by it.

Demons around kept their distance - a few paces.

Halls of the Grotto King

The man above you was the one from Tewi's vision, regal and proud. Tall - taller than any of you by far, with a face of a king, and a smile to match, and ermine mantle flowing down from his broad shoulders, hiding a thick, gilded armour underneath, a crest adorning it, one you could not recognize. His hand, heavy from all the jeweled rings it bore, rested on a hilt of an ornate sword, a ruby the size of an egg set in the pommel. Still, it was tacky in the slightest. The gems, the gold, the opulence of his garb, it was all underlining his splendour.

His surroundings were far more modest, though. The room Bostvade brought you to was just a small grotto, bored in a solid, black rock, illuminated by a pair of cracking torches that filled it with a noxious scent of smoke.

He crouched by Ophelia, holding her still as she was spewing. The gesture was uninvited, but hardly unhelpful. Then, as soon as she was done, he pulled her upwards sternly, putting her back on her legs. All the time, an enigmatic smile danced across his faze.

'Ophelia, ha' he said considerately, pronouncing that "ha" as if it was a separate word. 'That is a name, for sure' he mused, his smile growing more concrete. Then, he bowed his head to you, more to acknowledge than to respect. 'I am Prodigal, a sovereign and a king of this Undergrotto. I bid you welcome in my realm.' he declared. 'I see that your journey was a tumultuous one. Sadly, it will be a while before I have chambers prepared for you, but I was about to dine, so maybe you will grace me with your presence? I would be honoured if you were to explain your presence there' his invitation was further underlined with gentle tapping on the handle of his weapon.

[Dragnar]

Looking Glass
Jania flushed a bit at the sudden tackling. Well, this was to be expected she supposed... Still had to do something about this Neomah eventually, but for now kicking her out would just be cruel. "...Er, thank you. I'm back now, no need to worry." She lightly pushed the Neomah away, attempting to get some breathing room as she walked toward her home. "Now, anyway, this is... about as private as we'll get. What exactly did you want from me?"

[Volthawk]

Inns and Outs

Fury takes a moment to look around at the demons in the room, thinking to himself that it seems that apathy is a common companion to those who spend too long in this world - human or demon.

He shakes his head to clear his head of those kind of thoughts, focusing on the physical, real world as he walks over to the innkeeper and coughs to get the bug's attention.

"Can I get some food here?"

[DaWrecka]

Mending

The Artificer of Ten Thousand Blasphemies absorbed his guest's words. "Ahh... yes..." he said, relaxing - just a little. "Your point is... well-made. To my knowledge, there is nothing that would cause locals to hold a specific grudge against me..." He took his hand from the hilt of his daiklave. "Experience has bred a special kind of paranoia within me... but it is not always a trustworthy friend. But your point is well-made... Though assassins may be seeking my blood, they would not simply wait outside my doors for me to show myself. Thus, it is unlikely that these visitors will be hostile... if handled with due care."

He considered his response to the remainder of her argument carefully. He always considered his words carefully, but he applied especial care to these, for he knew that his response would colour his relationship with the Dusk - and, if he was insufficiently-careful, perhaps fatally. He gave her a long, measured look while he considered. He knew that Those Who Work Unclean Arts possessed a Charm that would allow them to pierce deception with but a glance, and there was every possibility this Child of Ash knew the same Charm - but he could not be certain whether or not she did, nor if she had it active, assuming she knew it. Through Dead Eyes, he could perhaps ascertain the reality of the situation... but equally, it was possible that she, too, could detect such an effort - and the suspicious nature of such an action would not help. Too many unknowns, and no good ways to ascertain their values.

Ultimately, he felt his only option... was a gamble.

"You say that there can be no greys in the morality of this world... That there can be only black or white. In spite of your words, however, I can say only that I do, in fact, occupy such a grey area. When first I arrived, I followed the gospel of Oblivion. I would cast the remnants of Creation into the Void somehow, I told myself. Yet experiences since then have caused me to... question my own loyalties. I do not wish to go into details... Suffice it to say... I no longer know upon whose side those loyalties lie." He adjusted his daiklave into a more comfortable position. "Would this not count as one of the grey areas you have so sweepingly discounted?"

[Gargulec]

Setting Sail, Coming Home

Let us return to the beginnings.

A roiling sea of chaos, no sky, no earth, no stars, no sun. Only possibility, as endless as was the opening of the ocean of chance. Over it - in a sense more profound than a simple declaration of direction, because "over it" meant the same as "above it", "beyond it", that is separated from the chaos, that is ordered, beings. Not Titans, though later they would assume that name at it would become theirs. Not Primordials, either, for Primordial means "the first", and when the waves chaos crashed against each another, there was no such thing as continuity. They were both the progenitors and epigones, and it was no contradiction, just a fundamental truth of their state of being.

Chaos was transformed. Not "and then". Again, there was no such thing as "then". Just the occurrence, and with occurrence, distinction. Then - because in the distinction, a point was born, and point, moment - it was all that the time needed to become - myth. Then, creation. Then, Creation. Then an endless passage of ages and events, all of them being a reflection of each another.

Let us return to the beginnings.

There was chaos. A mess of discarded equipment, empty spaces filled with discarded visions of future, a crumpling carcass of a cathedral, dissolving with every second, with every crack and tear of its structure, collapsing down into a sea of scattered rubble. Stories torn from their bodies, words without meaning lost in narration without a story. Over it - and above, too, even if it happened in the dungeons, because above means "ruling over", a being that was not scattered nor crushed by its dreams that would not be fulfilled.

Chaos was transformed. The dreams and visions gathered and consolidated. The equipment given use and purpose again. Empty spaces filled. The cathedral rebuilt. Of course, no crack was mended, and the structure remained as destitute as it was, but that was not why it was rebuilt - it was rebuilt, because it was used to build. To raise, to create. It was falling apart not from physical damage, but from the lack of vision. Lack of order. Lack of creation. But that was all swept aside, in one strong motion by a vision and myth. Then, creation. Then...

A ripple, a subtle one, echoing across Malfeas entire. Nothing overt, obvious. Just a slight distortion of myth, as a new Creation clawed its way into it. Something only the grandest would feel, and not immediately recognize, because it was so long since they have felt the same, when they repeated the deed of Bartrand.

Let us return to the beginnings.

A freshly born world, shining like an exquisite pearl rested in the hilt of a sword, casting the softest light upon the cathedral that birthed it, reflecting the legends from which it was forged.

Then, a demon stepping gently from behind Bartrand, as if she had always been there, as if she had never left the forge.

'And thus was it created' she whispered, her voice pure awe. In the flickering light of the world-egg, she appeared different than before. Her human, sweet, soft face scoured clear, revealing a tangle of silver strings, woven around a skeleton that could be of a man or of any other race that claimed dominion over the world. It was mercurial, ever-changing, reflecting all the legends contained within her. Hers was the body of all the heroes she had laid to an eternal rest. 'That is why you were brought... here?' the sentence begun as a statement, ended as a question. 'That is why I could not disobey or intrude upon your works?'


Company of Self

Seeker's words resounded in the void, echoing emptily off the walls. The trophies that lined them could not hear her, nor did they care for her defence and defiance. Her speech felt barren, futile - thrown against the shadows within, that were a part of her as much as she hated to admit it. But, somehow, it worked. Quickly, simply, before she pronounced the first word of her declaration. The whispers, the offer, it was withdrawn without a complaint, without a trace, as if it had never been given to her in the first place. They did not try to reason with her, tempt her further. They just left, leaving her only with her weakness and exhaustion to keep her company.

Soon, a shallow sleep took a hold over her, mercifully bringing no dreams - but little respite as well. She fell in and out of it over and over again, and every time she woke up to see her chamber around her, she felt as if the stiffness in her muscles only grew more intense. A sleep that would had lasted a day, that would be of help, but it did not come to her at all. Those were not easy hours for her, prolonged like some bizarre torture - light on suffering, but still painful enough to make it tormenting. More on mind than anything else.

But as much as it felt as if minutes were stretched into days and hours into weeks, time slipped past her, unnoticed, slowly bringing her back her strength, her breath, easing the cramps and pain. It was delicate, hard to spot, at first, but then, after another from a string of innumerable painful periods of torpor-like sleep, she started to feel the essence flow back into her blood, into her muscles, into her mind, taking away the fogginess, taking away the strain of yesterday. Somewhere, somehow, a day had passed by her.

With a little bit of her strength returned, though still feeling weak and sick, she could at least sleep soundly and walk steadily. Perhaps in time, for it was when she had finally begun to scramble off her resting place that she heard some voice of unrest coming from her mount's pen, as if it was sniffing at something, growing restless with the inability to dart right for it.

[Zoronos]

Setting Sail, Coming Home

Bartrand nodded. He had hoped to keep it secret, hoped this cathedral was not of the Demon's landscape-body, hoped that it was a secondary creation into which its sight did not extend. But of course it was not the case. It was the best hope, but it was not to be. "Yes, and also no."

He took a deep breath, and sat down. He slowly rubbed a hand over his chest, where the Vortex sat concealed beneath his shirt, in a socket over his heart. "I brought myself here, because I needed that which you could create. It was only with your assistance that this could spring into being once more. But there was another plan in motion, an older plan. A contingency plan by the long-dead Solar Kagnax. To ensure that I would continue his work. It was by his planning and schemes that your actions were compelled. I do apologize for that."

He paused, inhaling with a sigh. "It did not bring me here, but I think it assumed I would eventually find my way here, and so left a specter lurking in your well. It is only concerned with its own projects, and I believe would have gone to any length to ensure their continuation. I am sorry for the trouble it has caused you."

[Ziddim]

The Problem With Saints

If the Prophet had died that day, his soul would have been at ease. He would have died fighting for a righteous cause and his soul would have been cleansed in whatever passed for Lethe these days. Perhaps, with some future victory, he may even have been able to be reunited with his wife and family in reincarnation. Perhaps...

And as the darkness washed over him, he felt relief. His consciousness could not hold, and this in itself was freedom. Freedom from strife. Freedom from the fire that ran through his veins. Freedom to rest. In his last thoughts, it was not the sorrow of defeat that he felt, but blessed release.

But it was not to be. In a brief moment, Unspoken Word Made Flesh's eternal reward slipped through his fingers. To his horror, the dark began to fade, and soon he realized, with much heartache, that he was not dead. There would be no cleansing of the soul, no reprieve from the attrocities and sorrow that he had bore witness to. There would only be more struggle.

Surely the crowd would have been able to see that he had awakened had it not been for the dark goggles that covered his eyes. They would have seen the tears would have streamed freely down his cheeks had they not been confined within those dark world-filters that served as a mask.

But they could not see, and the show must go on. And so, the Prophet did what he did best...

He gave a performance. It was not a brilliant, glowing performance. In fact, it was rather nuanced and underwhelming. He did nothing. His body stayed limp. It was easier to be dead now, than alive. The Bronze Bull knew that this was temporary. He could still feel the pull of his people in the back of his mind. There was sorrow. Some were missing. They would need him, but at the moment, he was a leaf adrift in whirlwind and there was little he could do to comfort them. So harried was his mind by such thoughts that he had not noticed that he and the Jade Lion were not gripped in mortal metaphysical struggle.

And so the Bronze Bull allowed himself to be carried by the Jade Lion in such an indignant manner so long as the Lion pleased.

[Lix Lorn]

Company of Self

Ah, her steed. The only living thing to matter to her. Seeker wonders what it is that makes him shift with unease, and goes to investigate.

[Gargulec]

Looking Glass

The neomah finally noticed the Solar, and bowed to her, though whether she actually even cared anything about the guest, it was highly doubtful, given how her eyes were on Jania still, tracing every curve of her body in a manner that somehow - such miracle! - was both perfectly innocent and as carnal as only the Weavers of Flesh could be.

'What am I going to do now, hmm?' the Solar parroted the question, pushing aside the veil of beads that served as a door to Jania's little smithy. 'Kill you, maybe? Then that...' She looked around, assessing the place, in all of its humility. And then sighed, heavily, with something akin to desperation.

In the middle of the room, supporting herself on a crooked broomstick, certain Solar stood, panting, her forehead covered with thick droplets of sweat. She was wearing some old, patched robe that Jania forgot she even had, a fabric as worn down and bleached from years as it could only get. She had her head dropped low, hanging, as if she was unable to keep her up. In a few places, her dress was stained dark red from wounds that reopened from a sudden strain, sticking to her body. Jania did not have to be a doctor to know how anguishing it was going to be to remove.

At her feet, in a small pile, some dust and trash laid, swooped from the corners of the workshop, from the places even Jania thought unnecessary to regularly clean.

The dark-skinned Solar made a step closer, forgetting about Jania in an instant. Something changed in the way she moved, stripping away the brashness and decisiveness from her pace, pride from her stance. From a predator bored with a hunt, she became someone worried so deeply that it became painted so evidently all over her body that it could as well be written with vivid paint. She placed a hand under Arianna's chin, and raised it slowly, gazing deeply in the matted, grey Twilight's eyes.

'Who is that woman?' she asked, her voice stifled. Very slowly, she turned back to the Jadeborn, her hand arcing through the air, a golden knife materializing within it.

'What did you do to... her...?' she managed to utter. She looked like she had just seen a ghost she thought to be long dead, exorcised.

'I am someone of no consequence, and all that this kind lady did was to save me' Arianna whimpered, unable to draw more than a faint rustle from her throat. 'Though I did not deserve that... and for which I try to pay, though I will never be able to' she lowered one of her hands, pointing feebly at the pile of filth.

'Saved her?' she repeated, as if not understanding. 'You saved her... from where?'

Simultaneously, she made a step closer, to Jania's side, to keep her from escaping outside.


In Which Things Go Downhill


Hounds in the Wastes reach their conclusion. Who wants 10XP? I think it is Rose.


Once again, Rose found herself soaring through the skies of Oasis. She had seen so much flight in the late days, that it would almost seem that she was like a bird, unchained from the earth. But it was not her who was that, but her mate, the Lunar known as Crow of Dissent.

She had seen him fighting, she had seen him wearing a guise of his namesake crow, she had seen him fiddle and tinker with his form and flesh as if they were not even clay, but just a formless cloud, to be shaped into whatever oddity he pleased.

But she had not seen him like that, not until a day after the fateful meeting, when all preparations (all few of them) were complete. Come morning, with its muffled shout of a tomescu beyond counting announcing their doom foreseen to the world entire, he woke her up, a focus on his face so much unlike his usual playfulness that Rose could scarcely recognize him in the first few moments.

'It's time' he said, and it explained everything. Mere moments later, you were both standing on the top of his slab-castle, led there through a passage hidden so cunningly that the Abyssal stood no chances of finding it until the Lunar pointed it to her. 'There is a single gate to the Slagheap of which I know'[/color] he mentioned, kneeling down on the brass, palms pressed to the ground, fingers outstretched. 'I will carry you...' with a grunting gasp, and a flicker of argent light, he disappeared, allowing a bird to take his place. But it was not an ordinary beast, not as far as ordinary crows can grow to reach half the size of a tyrant-lizared, or have its feathers gleam with an iron glint '...on my back' he cawed, in a voice still familiar, but bereft of any of his lightness. There was an undertone of thunder to it, of a storm raging, distant for now, but growing ever closer with each word spoken.

He lowered his neck, allowing the Dusk to straddle him. Then, with a mighty flap of his wings, he launched into the air, and begun to fly.

That was a few hours back, and now Rose was reminded of her journey to that lonesome tree a day ago, on the back of a far less imposing creature. It was actually impressive how large was this face of Crow... and how dangerous it seemed. Its feathers not only shone metal, they felt as such too, their edges like tiny razors. With his talons alone, he could rend steel. His beak, strangely mimicking the shape and sharpness of the blade he used to carry was no less impressive, and maybe even more dangerous.

'I had a dream this night' he spoke all out of the sudden, after a few long hours of silence. 'A bad one.'

And then, before he could explain further, the gate came into view, the settlement perched at its feet appearing so tiny in comparison. The Lunar circled downwards, and landed by one of the mighty pillars compromising it. The gakekeepers did not make you wait, appearing at your sides almost instantly.

They were gods, or so it seemed. Dour-faced, white-eyed, clad in heavy plates and armed with strange, many-bladed weapons that could be described as absurdly impractical, and yet, in the hands of their wielders they were just imposing.

'What business brings...' one of them begun to ask, his eyes flaring slightly, his expression turning into something akin to anger. 'What brings an Abyssal to the Upper Barony?' he asked, his trio of companions positioning themselves around still mounted Rose. While they were not hostile, not just yet, anyway, there was precious little friendliness left in them.

[Dragnar]

Looking Glass

Jania sighed, shaking her head at Arriana's appearance and falling silent for a moment. When she spoke again, it was to the Neomah, still looking at the Solar's outfit as she did. "Get her cleaned up, please. Carefully. And Arriana? You are forbidden to work until you have healed. I didn't drag you out of the desert just to let you kill yourself." The Jadeborn slipped into a nearby seat, cloak fluttering around her as she rubbed her forehead. Gods, but this was a mess. And it just got worse by the minute.. But, she knew where to find some allies, and she would desperately need them in the coming days.

"...Now, you." She turned back to Harmonious Jade, hand dropping away from her forehead. "That woman is the Twilight caste Arriana, who went to the manse of Forsaken Sword intending to join him. In return, she was tortured, and broken, and very nearly killed by the process of implanting an artifact in her skin." Jania looked up, eyes as hard as the stone from which she was carved. "If you oppose him, I will do everything in my power to aid you. If you serve that monster, hell is too kind for you."

[Sallera]

Halls of the Grotto's King

Cor, this one had changed. Gone were the simple statements of self-confidence, the defiant disdain for stolen toys, and in their place... opulence. Opulence in exile, unless he missed his guess. This place was not of Malfeas, and now it had been stolen even from Bostvade. The perfect place for a rebel to hide. What to do about it... well, that was the question, now, wasn't it?

"Pleasure to meet you, Prodigal. I'm known as Issindei." He didn't usually use his last name; it was, at least, marginally less likely to be recognized, since he was certainly not about to lie direct to this Prince of Lies. Aye, and he didn't mistake that invitation for aught other than what it was. No harm in it, anyway, for their surface business required the very audience they were being granted. "We'd be honoured to attend, I believe?" He allows the hint of a question in the response as he looks to Ophelia; he needed her to appear to hold the stronger position here, even if it did require a little prompting.

[Gargulec]

Mending

Elise smiled an understanding smile, and nodded. She got the answer she was looking for, though the Abyssal remained distinctly uncertain whether it was an answer she wanted. However it was - or was not - she kept it to herself, and instead just pointed towards the outside, and those gathered there, as if urging Artificer to go out to them.

They were a varied lot, though not an unfamiliar one. Their faces, their patched, practical garments, their breaths, all that did the Daybreak recognize, if only superficially, if only from a single glance, or a forced exchange of greetings. They were his fellow settlers from the town he picked as his nest, craftsmen and traders. He could remember some of their names, some monikers, but the sight of them only served to remind him how far apart they lived. Of course, they had made no moves to remove him from the town, not because of a lack of want for him to be gone, but just because they had no strength to enforce such an exile. They had to accept him, grudgingly, and just tried to evade him as much as it was possible, treating him like a pariah, or an untouchable. For a good reason, too. They all remembered the skies of Creation darkened with the pillars of profane energies, surrounding the apostles of Oblivion.

In short, they were the last people he was expecting to see at his doorstep, and yet, there they were, obviously flustered and anxious. They were exchanging glances, whispering among each other, shuffling from place to place, looking at his humble house as if it was something deeply disturbing. Some of them made a step back upon seeing him, but others tried hard to remain unmoved.

Finally, one of them, a woman of age that had some name he could scarcely recall - something like Fire Opal... Fire Topaz?, a former Dynast and perhaps the most respected member of the community, stepped forward, and curtsied stiffly.

'I bid you... welcome, Artificer' she muffled. 'We apologize for any intrusions... but we... we come to you on the behalf of our community...'

The whispers behind her grew more energetic, and she briefly turned towards the group, giving them a deadly glare. No one felt comfortable here, apparently.


Inns and Outs

The stomach-bottle bug made a jerky motion with its legs that the Lunar could only consider to be some analogue of a nod, and darted behind the counter, only to return a few moments later with a bow of long-grained rice that gleamed slightly with a brazen sheen. He gave it to Fury without a word, the dolorous air of the tavern ruling him perhaps even more than any other of the patrons. He ran it, and it became a part of him. As is the law of Malfeas: your panoply becomes a part of what you are.

The dice rattling on tomescus' table finally fell, and the inevitable happened. A quiet, tired hiss, then a screech of drawn still, and then bloodshed. As quiet and emotionless as if it was a pantomime, where no actor ever cared for his role. Even their deaths, and they begun to die fast seemed faked, empty, devoid of any emotional depths. Others in the main room paid no mind to them, occupied with their little woes so much that they could actually be blind.

A single buzzed under the ceiling, a single point of blackness laid against the silver, as a source of a tarnish, of a crack.

Another tomescu corpse hit the floor, its smoky blood spilling all over the logs. It made no sound at all. The fly descended from its spot somewhere above, and landed on the open wounds of the demon, curious, whether it would make a good spot for it to lay its eggs. But the sack of flesh that was alive some moments ago started to dissolve fast, so the fly did not have the time. It flew up again.

No one was paying any attention, even though their mugs were empty now. No one was calling for a refill. No one was speaking. No one was moving. No one was breathing. No one was...

A note echoed through the maladious quiet, a tranquil, easy one. Sweet one, with the sweet of rot. Another followed, tying down to its preprocessor to weave itself into a melody. A melody that hardly belonged to the world under the green sun.

And then, the musician was made apparent. The Lunar could not tell how could he had missed him before, such a person he was. A man with a fair face, a mane of silver hair and a similiar robe, a flute at his mouth. He was playing, slowly, considerately, crafting each sound as if it was a little work of art.

Colour was seeped from things around him, bleached until it was just fawn, as a fabric washed a few times too much.

'We may have brushed against each other' he said, his voice strangely distant, as if he was speaking from behind a thick curtain. 'But we have not met. I am Sheshken, the King in Mourning. And you?' he asked, looking at Fury.

[Volthawk]

Inns and Outs

Fury's attention is first directed to the stillness around him, and then to the lack of colour, and then finally to the apparent source, the musician, his eyes narrowing as he stares.

"Undying Fury of the Hunt. What do you want?" As usual, Fury didn't spend much time on pleasantries and subtlety with what he wanted.

[DaWrecka]

Mending

The Artificer of Ten Thousand Blasphemies exchanged a glance with Swift-Sword Elise, confusion written on his face. Although she had made an excellent point that assassins would not wait patiently outside his home, to say that he had not expected this to be waiting for him would have been something of an understatement.

He turned back to the townspeople, making a not-entirely-successful attempt to draw a poker face upon his expression. "Please," he spoke to them, in a tone as neutral as he could manage. "Speak your piece."

[Gargulec]

Setting Sail, Coming Home

The demoness took some time to consider what the Solar explained to her, staring blankly at the Vortex and then at the little sphere of golden thread suspended within the finery of silvery chains that formed her torso. Carefully, she put her hand over it, fingers slipping between the argent weave, into the orb.

'There is no lie in what you say' she decided after an extended period of silence, then removed her hand. 'And to think...'

She shook her head, as if trying to stave off a particularly painful thought, memory, and then looked at Bartrand... strangely. There was still warmth and care in her gaze, but now, the artificiality of it was made apparent. In the world-pearl light, the deceit created by Kagnax could not hold. She sighed.

'And to think...' her voice echoed once again under the Cathedral's gilded roofing. 'It changes nothing' she declared promptly, voice graven and resigned. Moving her eyes from the Solar himself, she looked at the vortex once more. 'What happens now?'


Company of Self

The steed, locked in its pen, was extremely anxious. Seeker could barely recall ever seeing her in such a state, trashing about as if something was driving her slowly crazy.

She reacted to the Abyssal entering by stomping at the floor powerfully, her claws digging into stone with an ear-rending screech, and then throwing her head powerfully in the direction of one of the many exits from the manse, leading to the winding canyons blasted in the malfean bedrock. Then, she repeated that gesture, underlining it with a loud, angry snort, only slightly tinged with fear, giving her owner a sidelong glance, as if trying to suggest something, imply...

Whatever it was, her mount was both eager to find it, and repulsed it. A... condition she had never seen her in before. After all, was she not a hunter as valiant and vicious as the Dusk herself?

[DrakeRaids]

Crossroads

Zeka was nervous now. Partially, for as there work finally ended, and they where left there, surrounded by refuse and the last breath of the dead, her grisly work was finally settling in. For just a moment the lawbringer honestly looked like a child, in more then just appearance. Someone terrified out of their mind, someone who shouldn't be in a place like this. But then it was gone, and her gaze lifted upwards to the demons watching them.

The bothered the solar for another reason.

"Tracking us will be simple and inevitable now. To many of them have seen us. Ara, do me a favor and fly up, and ask about others how have either come before us, or coming after us. People looking around for passages down below."

[Gargulec]

Looking Glass

Harmonious Jade whimpered. It was a delicate sound that she made, without any exaggeration or unnecessary gesticulation or showing off her distress. The knife between her fingers remained there firmly, she did not bow or bend, and stood as firmly as if nothing had happened.

And yet, she whimpered like a hurt child, and her gaze softened, the eponymous green of her eyes all but harmonious.

The neomah gently took away the broom from the Solar, and smiling to her in a way a priest would to a wounded she was tending, took her under her arm and slowly lead away deeper into the workshop, to tend to her as asked. Arianna lingered, though, hesitant to move away, staring somewhere in direction of Jade and Jania, though the Artistian herself could not tell which one was drawing more of her attention. Her crackled lips moved, but no voice came from them - either stifled in the throat, or just to quiet for the stale, hot air to carry it to them.

The only sound that followed after the neomah disappeared with her new ward was of the town-life outside. Workshops, idle chatter, song and prayer alike, in all tones and melodies. Silence reigned inside of the workshop, with the dark-skinned Solar gazing towards nothing in particular - or perhaps inwards, into her own memories.

Only for a moment did the fizzle of the golden blade disappearing back into motes break the quiet. The silence stretched, but Jania's senses were sharp, and slowly, she started to realize that a single thread in the idle melody of life that hummed in the background did change, if lightly. Jade's breath, close to her ear - its pace was breaking. The Solar controlled it flawlessly, of course, but not flawlessly enough to conceal that she was struggling to keep it so. It was as if the whimper she gave moments ago was echoing through her, and she was only holding herself back from yelping again and again.

'Why' her question, when finally asked, was just as dull and without luster as Arianna's eyes. 'Why did you save her? For what a gain?'

It was not the question she wanted to ask, nor it was the question she wanted answered. But something clutched at her deep inside, silencing the real question. Jania could not even be sure if she was the one Jade really wanted to ask, to talk to, to see.

[Guancyto]

Halls of the Grotto's King

Her first meeting proper with one of the Infernal Exalted. It was... not quite what Ophelia had expected from the avatars of the Yozis' power and the bogeymen of the Demon City. If she hadn't known better, she would say it was some petty monarch trying to impress her, with gold and jewels and nothing of real value.

But she did know better, and all the opulence in the world was a distraction for the man at its center, the king of the other side of the river. She bowed her head, in respect as well as acknowledgement, pressing her hands together in a gesture of the same. "I would be pleased to dine with you, Prodigal." She smiled sidelong as she had a go at brushing herself off, she was never one for artifacts but at the moment a dawn's collar would have been a godsend, "something to get the taste of quicksilver out would be terribly welcome."

[Dragnar]

Looking Glass
"Because a better woman than her asked me to." Jania replied bluntly, slumping in her seat all at once as the frantic rush to escape flashed through her mind once more. "...And died trying to save her." The Jadeborn finished with her voice barely raised above a mumble. Was it worth it? Should she have said no? ...No, the flame duck would have gone on her own, and died for nothing at all. She'd made the right choice. Just been too weak to follow through.

[Gargulec]

Inns and Outs

'What do I want?' Sheshken echoed, taking away the panflute from his lips. There was no colour to him - just shades of silver and gray, matte and bleached all of them. But it was not limited solely to him - the silvery logs of Szoerny behind him were losing its luster as he spoke, and even the light of Liger falling through the narrow windows felt subdued - not entirely robbed of its green tint, but certainly far less vibrant than what Fury learned to expect. 'What do I want?'

A fly flew into the inn, the buzz of its wings strangely dissonant in the silence that reigned in this place. The Lunar saw it circle around Sheshken, a black spot at first, steadily losing hue until it was just a gray mote. The buzzing stopped, and the mote spiraled to floor, seemingly disappearing the moment it touched it.

'What can a corpse want?' he asked. A quiet buzz surrounded him now, a droning growing and waning as he spoke, more insects drawn to him, circling him only to be silenced in a few moments. 'Can a corpse want?'

With a dull thud, another demon corpse hit the floor, then another. The patrons drew their knives and clubs, and lunged at each another on an unseen cue, slashing and crushing each another with nary a word. No breath they wasted and shouting and yelling, and the silence they had dreaded throughout their lives now took to them as a snugly-fitting cloth, and no one attempted to break it.

Blood flew freely, seeping into the dry wood, but failing to colour it any. And the closer it got to the musician, the less vibrancy it had. It was not even that the colour was taken away from it, but something subtler, less tangible. As if was seen through a veil of drab velvet, painting it dull and dead.

'I know what a corpse could want, if it could want' he announced silently, raising the instrument back to his mouth - and starting to play a mournful, slow tune.

The buzzing grew more intense - and the corpses on the floor started to twitch, a filament of flies and filth suddenly covering them, clutching onto them, making them move as if there was still some life in them.

'To be alive. Would you help in that?'


The Man Who Was Tomorrow
Unspoken Word

The Problem With Saints ends. 12XP


The City around throbbed, and it was perhaps the best word to describe it, at least from the point of view of a half-corpse dragged around the smooth, onyx cobbles. Down there, the Zenith could feel the hum of the living shell of Malfeas, the constant, neverending rumble that was both the resonating echoes of the hundreds of songs and shouts collapsing to form a wave upon a wave of nigh-solid sound and noise, as well as it was the beating of the devils' emperor heart. And perhaps one was synonymous with the other, and the ruckus and cacophony that the demons raised in fear of the deathly sound of silence was what kept the spheres of Hell spiraling around the blazing emerald core.

Directly above him, the Green Sun cast its light down over to basalt and brass, bathing everything in heat that bore little warmth. The petty and small ones were not fit to receive the gentle touch of Ligier - he had it reserved for those who were worth it. The Zenith only realized it upon being pummeled down. Now, little more than a corpse, he slipped past the King's stare, and received the share of meager and weak.

A gang of dancing sprites of smoke and silver fire hazed past him, over him, before the teodizija could scare them off. The few onlookers who wondered where the Solar was dragged to dispersed, apparently deciding that it was not theirs to know. Clouds of vitriol slowly sailed through the green sky, carefully avoiding concealing even a tiniest fragment of Ligier's dirigible. The song in his ears broke down into component sounds, and the underlying melody who could not had heard before, for his own thoughts were too loud, reached him finally.

He could make out individual voices, of demons arguing about the prices, of weeping and of cheering, of the carnival that was ordered and that was lived through, but not in this alley. Here, instead, they sought to buy the wine and blood to drink themselves to ecstasy that would allow them to for a moment forget about the prison around them. Some of them did not fetch the liquor for themselves, only serving as lackeys of the mighty - the Golden Bull could tell just by the tone of their voices, tired and low-key, instead of the bombastic demands of the ones that were about to join the cavalcade on the verge of an orgy somewhere to the side.

A wicker-demon, one of straw, wire and splinters of bone struck in between of their weaves stepped on Unspoken Word's cloak.

'I can eat a corpse' he declared to the blind lion.

'And I can eat you' the teodozija snarled back, baring his impressive teeth. 'He is no corpse and he is not for your to devour.'

'Then what is he?' there was more to the question - and the Solar realized that this entire conversation was not genuine. There was a script behind it. One both of them wanted to follow closely.

'Tomorrow' the word lingered in the air. The wicker-demon nodded what passed for its head, and its long fingers thrust into its straw chest, tearing it open, wider and wider until it was a tunnel leading somewhere dark. With a huff, the blind lion dragged Unspoken Word inside.

And then there was no space and no time, and no crazy red stars around hateful green sun, but just a disk in a green-tinted void, suspended on nothing, in nothing. And a man in the middle, in a simple suit and an expressionless mask on his face.

'I am sorry for your loss, Unspoken Word' he was genuine in his sympathy. 'And I am sorry that I have brought you here like that, but I had to somehow, and here, nothing will see us and nothing will hear us.'

[Volthawk]

Inns and Outs

Fury was still rather unsure about all this, particularly given the events going on them, and it showed when he talked."I...see. And how am I supposed to help? I tend to make things into corpses, not the other way around. And it seems you have that aspect of things well in hand." He gestures to the demons around him to reinforce that last point.

[Gargulec]

Mending

The group mumbled something among themselves, the tone of their murmurs tenuous and uncertain at best. By the look of some on some of the faces in the mob, they wanted to flee as fast and as soon as possible, possibly bolting the doors to their tents shut, if it was possible, which it alas possible was not.

'So' the woman spoke up again, looking him in the eye and forcing a very narrow and very hesitant smile onto her face. She was a pretty, once, but the time did its work to her and now the traces of her former beauty were slowly fading away. 'I know there is some bad blood between us, right?'

Some people in the crowd nodded vigorously, theatrically even.

'And I know that the life hasn't been very kind to all of us as of late' she continued, the timbre of her speech steading slowly. She was growing more certain that it was a good idea to come here after all. 'But... I suppose... it is a push to move on.'

'We all float down here' a gruff-looking man stepped forth. A smith's apron was hanging heavily from his thin frame - a disease had wasted him not so long ago. But he was recovering, and swiftly even. 'Man, Exalt...' he shrugged without concern.

'So yes. We... assumed... you hold no bad faith. I mean, why settle down if you insist on dragging that old... agenda' she was well aware that there were reasons aplenty, and yet she chose to remain purposefully oblivious to them. 'And we want to... well...'

Silence fell, and even more glances were exchanged, the word the woman was about to speak staying a bone in her throat, reluctant to leave it. She coughed, looked around, coughed again, and once more forced a smile.

'We wanted to apologize' she announced finally. 'We ostracized you unjustly. Please forgive us.'

The Artificer felt a hand clasp around his shoulder, gently. A reminder from Elise, more than anything else.

[DaWrecka]

Mending
The Artificer of Ten Thousand Blasphemies blinks once. Then he blinks again. He looks at the speaker as if trying to discern the truth in her words. Then blinks again. He has not, it appears, even noticed the touch of the Child of Ash yet.

After a pregnant pause, "Ahh..." is the noise that ultimately comes out of his mouth. "Well..." He rubs at the back of his neck. This, he concludes, is entirely untrod-ground. Since his Exaltation, he had become accustomed to mortals hating and reviling him. He was not used to them treating him as a person. "I would... not say it was... entirely-unjust... I... ahh..." There is another pregnant pause. "Apology accepted?"

[Flare]

In Which Things Go Downhill

The flight through the sky, on the back of her mate, was amazing to Rose. It felt like he could fly her so far away. Beyond the problems of this world, or Creation, or anything. It felt like she could ask him to, and they could fly forever into the sky, and leave existence behind them. It would probably be easy. The Crow might do it. But she couldn't. It wouldn't be right to her, so she didn't voice her desire. She stayed silent, and attempted to steel herself again, to remind herself of why she stayed here.

"I am here...to speak to the Lunar named Lynt..." Rose said, frowning. The creature's words rang harsh to her ears. Truthful, and painful. What was she, but Death. It was not a state she truly wished to be, but it was what she was. There was probably not an escape of that, in her lifetime. But she could at least bring Death to the correct creatures. "I...wish to be his student." She explained, frowning again.

[Lix Lorn]

"Bah!" spoke Seeker aloud. She refuses to be cowed.
"I am not the prey. Never the prey."

She takes her steed's head in her hand, stroking it gently, and leaping onto his back with practiced ease, testing the weight of her bow as she does.
"I am the hunter. I am the ****ing Seeker. It's my thrice-damned name. C'mon, we're hunting whatever this is down."

And, hopefully a little more sure now they're back on their regular side of this hunt, they leave.

[Gargulec]

Halls of the Grotto King

If one was to describe the Undergrotto in a single word, without any doubt, it would be "gloomy". Shadows so different from the faux-darkness in Malfeas above, faltering and wavering in the face of the merciless Liger's glory. Here, they were long and lingering, and it was the light - torches and candelabras, hundreds of candles in wax-stained nooks in the walls - that shone almost as if afraid, each waving of the tenuous flames holding a suggestion of guttering out finally, and allowing the long, shadowy fingers to claim them entire.

The palace wasn't entirely silent, quite opposite, actually. Soft, subdued sounds of scuttling and shuffling could be clearly heard as Prodigal lead the Solar and her companion deeper into the castle, bearing himself with just as much pride as it was expected of one of his station. The sounds of his servants were omnipresent, but neither Ophelia nor Tewi could actually spot them, though sometimes a blot of darkness was so bulbous and heavy that it had to conceal something, some figure or form. Its shape, however, was well-hidden.

'It sometimes gets dreary here' the Infernal himself explained, a candlestick of ornate craftsmanship, topped with red-wax candle, materialized in his hand, illuminating a dark corridor. A lightest skitter echoed as whatever was there fled the light.'But the shadows are not to be wary of. I hold them sovereign, as I hold this entire fief. They have teeth, but would not harm those that are under my hospitality.'

A door at the end of the passage opened without a touch, revealing a large, low-vaulted dining room. A table in the middle, adorned with white cloth stood heavy with bowls and kegs, a row of candlesticks identical in design to the one Prodigal bore casting warm, flickering light on the floor and ceiling, drawing the texture and hue from the brick and mortar the caste was built from.

'Please, sit at my table' he repeated his invitation, entering. The candlestick vanished from his hand in a puff of smoke. 'Finest meats and best wines I have provided. Not often I get to host royalty, after all' he added with a pleasant, self-satisfied smite. 'And pray, tell, what quest brought you to my remote realm? What grail do you seek?'

[Ziddim]

The Man Who Was Tomorrow
Unspoken Word

Even in the times of darkness and weakness, the song of the world rang in The Prophet's ears. It was something that he had heard from the time he was a child, when Creation as he knew it still existed. He had witnessed it's death-song, and yet, the song itself still persisted. Even here in Malfeas it thrummed, although here it was a different world's song, and it was danced and sung to a different, more alien beat but recognizable none-the-less.

But now, here in the void, all was quiet. No song at all reached The Golden Bull's ears. Here, there was only silence. For him, this place was Anathema.

Even so, he made no movements. Under normal circumstances, he may have filled the void with song, but the fight had seemingly been knocked out of the Solar. He made no attempt to move, nor struggle. Instead, he hung in the darkness like a dead man floating in the ocean.

Even the approach of the Prophet's gracious host elicited no reaction from him. He listened as the being spoke, and though his eyes did roll in their sockets to face the interloper, Unspoken Word said nothing.

What was there to say? There was no action that the Solar was capable of making that would not set the fires of change loose upon this cursed world, even here away from from all other eyes. He knew that his word was salvation, but it was not a gift that he was offering today.

[Sallera]

Halls of the Grotto's King

"Our thanks." Tewi waits for Ophelia to sit, then takes up a position to her right; the act was vaguely irritating, but necessary here.

Candlelight. Brick and mortar, shadows and stone. How long had it been since he had dined in a room lit by something other than Ligier's fierce glare or the sourceless silver illumination of his manse? Nostalgia and comfort both, it gave, and perhaps that was one reason Prodigal lived here. Certainly not the only one, but if he had ever been in Creation, and remembered it...

Tewi is silent a while, considering, but when it becomes clear that Ophelia is not going to reply immediately, he speaks. "There are a few reasons, honoured host. This realm was described to us as a refuge of days past; due to... recent events, Lady Ophelia and I found it prudent to remove ourselves from notice for a little while. And your own presence guided us here, as well. There are rumours of a certain secret..."

[Guancyto]

Halls of the Grotto's King

Ophelia had been contemplating exactly what it was she was going to tell Prodigal. Now that she was here, facing him, prompted by Tewi, it seemed prudent to be relatively straightforward.

"Oaths," she said, as though it explained everything, taking time to let him speculate on exactly what she meant as she helped herself to some of the fare provided. "One of my fellows among the Eclipse bound a friend in some rather constrictive oaths. For a human it would have been a grudging term of service that she would have sought to subvert, but she isn't human.

It changed her; I think she is no longer exactly the same person she was a week ago. And I know as well as any of my kind that what is sworn cannot be unsworn, even if one wishes to forgive the debt," she steepled her fingers, looking at the King in the candlelight, "it got me to thinking that there might be other beings, greater and grander than she, still bound and changed by oaths that the ones they swore to do not have the power to rescind entirely. Do you take my meaning?"

[Gargulec]

Looking Glass

Though Jania's reply prompted no answer at first, after a while, Jade nodded, a somewhat uneasy smile, turning to face the Artisan, her fingers twiddling slowly, a faint golden mist weaving between them.

She lunged.

The smithy around Jania blurred, turning upside down at least once as the lithe Solar tore her up from her seat, pushed against a wall, the knife again in her hand, scraping against the Jadeborn's throat.

'Sun be my witness' she declared strangely light in tone 'that I could take snuff you out as I have done with many before.'

She pressed her into the flimsy, brass wall a bit more, enough to have the entire construction croak with stress.

'A man with whom I have signed a compact asked me to find you and slay you' she explained further, some dangerous note playing in her voice. 'A man that goes by the name of Forsaken Sword.'

The knife disappeared, and suddenly, Jania was free, released from Jade's grasp, the Solar back in the middle of the smithy, eying the Artisan carefully.

[Dragnar]

"You could try." Jania replied almost without expression. She was not about to be intimidated by some sell-sword, Solar or no. Still, a hint of anger refused to leave the Jadeborn's voice as she continued, not budging from the wall the Solar had shoved her against. "I'm sure that bastard pays well, and there's little I could do to stop you. I'm sure Sol would be proud, seeing another of his chosen decide to ruin this chance he paid so much for us to have."

[Myllinnia]

Crossroads

Ara'Desirae glanced at the miserable masses above her. Her demonic heart trembled upon seeing them. How she could understand their feelings, how she learned that the value of a past was less than the survival for a day, the pleasure of a future. The distant longing of the masters echoed more keenly with the weaker demons.

"I shall see, one second Mistress Zeka," with that she took to the dreadful air and approached the sulking demons. She gives them a gentle smile and an aerial bow, "Hello, strong and cunning serfs of the area." She gives a soft chuckle and prepares to dive away should any of them strike at her. She couldn't help the playful teasing tone that came when bowing to others. "I wonder though have you seen others? Especially those who came to this spot earlier, or those that seek to harm my mistress? Or anyone else that is seeking of passages such as these?"

[Gargulec]

Inns and Outs

The cyclone of silent entropy surged, the wordless battle around Fury and the demon reaching its climax - mangled, twisted sacks of flesh wrapped in deathly gripes around each another, limbs tensed, every sinew and muscle wriggling from under the skin, as if about to snap and limp. There were fangs dug into bodies, silvery and green blood dripping onto the dreary floor, all colour gone from it before it could even splash and soak down into there argent logs. Shards of bone jutting from pierced skin, thrust as if they were just another blades to take away the life of another, the ones hurt oblivious to their ruined form - or maybe not oblivious to it, just no longer capable of understanding of feeling the implications and consequences of stabbing others with splinters of their own bone.

And yet, no emotion. No emotion at all, no passion, no fury, no rage, not even the bitter tone of despair to tint this display of senseless violence. The music of the Demon City flowing from the outside struck a rhythm, yes, but even it, even its brazen, ringing sounds reached the interior of the inn muffled and distorted into an almost funreary march, slow and filled with resignation more than melancholy.

And only the flies, the swath of insects, buzzed as it had always, without care for the world around them, only swarming the ever-growing layer of corpses littering the floor. In a way, they looked entirely natural, the simplest, smallest and most voracious carrion eaters claiming their prey. Yet, if one was to listen carefully to the hiss of their small, opalizing wings, a subtle undertone of panflute's jaunty, jaunted tunes could be heard, uncannily appealing for something that disgusting.

Sheshken clasped his hands, and all ground to a halt, the last remaining demons stilling in the air, before they could strike themselves down for good.

It was a peculiar sight, a diorama made of flesh and bone, frozen half-way through murder, half-way through rot and decay, still and quiet.

'And if a living is killed, what do they become?' he asked, tone tinged with something that could pass for amusement. 'Why, a corpse exactly! Thus, if a corpse would be slain, would not it spring into life, like a flower blossoming after a winter long? Only fitting, only sensible... though only if the hour is right, the time celestial auspicious for such a sowing...'

He looked at Fury, his eyes blank and without expression, fingers tapping the surface of the table slowly, leaving behind blots of gray where they touched the surface.

[Volthawk]

Inns and Outs

Fury sighs. Would it be too much to ask to get get a straight answer about what this demon wants? Still, at least he gave the surroundings a nice touch. The sight of all these dead demons pleased Fury. "So, do you know any ways to make that happen? Because, again, every other time I've seen something like that happen, hitting a dead body more just breaks it more. Whether it's moving or not. Or are you just going to keep rambling on and wasting my time?"

[Gargulec]

Mending

Another rustle of whispers waved over the crowd, the people of the town stranded somewhere in the endless sea of brass and dust remarking on how theirs - theirs, an important word, implying possession, acceptance - Abyssal reacted to their apology, and whether it was, in the end, justified and necessary.

The cold wind, blowing for many hours know from the bleak wastes of Oasis could be heard, a chill wheeze slowly silencing the mutterings and comments. No one knew what to say know. Perhaps they expected to be rebuked, to somehow be punished for their good will, which would at least set the world straight, once more. But their apology had been accepted, and they could no longer claim that the Daybreak was an outcast among them, a pariah in their little society.

The woman that led them bowed politely, turned and walked away to her own devices, to her own day, and the entire group dispersed to the tune of mumbled farewells and grudging wishes of well-being. Hastily, they returned to whatever was busying them in their knew, malfean lives, leaving Artificer alone with Elise standing behind him.

'You didn't deserve that' she said smoothly when there was no one around that could eavesdrop. Curiously, there was barely any accusation in that, or anger, but rather something in the vein of a reminder, a coll, well-meaning observation that was supposed to point to something, not make it stand out. 'You did wrong them, am I right?'

She did not release his shoulder, nor did she tighten her grip.

[DaWrecka]

Mending

The Artificer of Ten Thousand Blasphemies says nothing for a time. The expression on his face would have said everything, had there been anyone observing it.

"Them specifically?" he says finally. "I... do not recall wronging this settlement in specific... But... in a... broader sense... you are probably right."

There is silence for a time... for perhaps the first time, he who sought to cast the remnants of the Neverborn's shame into Oblivion has no words in him.

[Gargulec]

In Which Things Go Downhill

Rose uttered her plea, and the gods went quiet, though their wicked blades still barred her passage deeper into the Upper Barony. She could sense how unsure they were, maybe even afraid. Tasked with protecting the lifeless mock-up of the Heaven that still shone in their memories with all of its old glory, bound to their duty not by some bureaucracy as much as by their own devotion to the image of a world that had irrevocably passed. Yet, they knew how hollow their vigil was, because the husk of brass and onyx lying behind their gate was everything but Yu-Shan - only wind howled between its tall spires of steel, and if footsteps ever rang on the verdigris-moulded streets, nothing answered them but a hollow echo. And more, they held another memory close, the one of sky darkening as the Deathknights marched against Existence, and proved victorious.

They were afraid of Rose, and they were afraid of letting her go. They were afraid of the mighty crow she rode, oblivious to its true nature. They were ruled by their fear.

'It is not a reason worthy of ingress...' said one of them.

'It is a reason well worthy of ingress...' contradicted the other.

'Silent now' a third voice cut in before they could discuss their first disagreement in centuries. A third voice coming from a simple, dry vine of razor-wire that crept up from a crack in the surface of Oasis' metallic crust. On Rose's eyes, the wine sprouted and grew, cracking harshly as it raised up into the hot air, taking on a peculiar shape: the bramble turned into a small sphere, held aloft by a long stalk, a garishly yellow ember flickering from between the tightly woven edges of the razor-thorn. 'I am of Lynt. And you assume he will accept you' the voice was hard to describe, a tenuousness to it that summoned to mind an image of a candle-flame guttering out in a stiff breeze. But it would come at a great difficulty to actually call it weak, there was a strength to the words - thin as they were, almost quiet, they betrayed no frailty. 'He of us harbours nothing but spite for you. Why would you seek him of us, knowing that hate?'

[Flare]

In Which Things Go Downhill


"His acceptance..." Rose frowned. She looked at the crow. "I know I do not deserve it. I know I have done nothing to prove it. Nothing to prove I am deserving of anything but derision or hatred. I understand. But I ask for a chance to prove myself regardless. She grabbed at her chest.

"I know hate. I know hate more then most. I was, for a time, Hatred. It was all I could feel. Hatred for myself. Hatred for my family. Hatred for my Master and Hatred for my life. So I let hatred fill every pore of my empty, cursed soul. I hated those who lived, and those who had died. I could do nothing more then hate and fear. I was a hollow, terrible person." She said, frowning.

"So I seek him, because I want to prove that, no matter what I was in the past, I don't want to be that in the future. And...I do not fear hate. I do not fear hate or being feared. I do not want to hate, and I do not want to fear, and I will not fear those who hate me. Even if the entire world...even if it turns against me, I refuse to turn my back on it. I can't help...I can't do anything, if I just hide. I won't do that. I can't. She mumbled.

Even if everyone and everything alive hates me, I can't turn my back on them, and to help them I need more power then what I have. I can't use the power that I've used before. That...that power of hatred that I had when I was...when I was a newer Exalt...I won't use that again. Ever. So I need something else. Flynt...I heard he can help me." If I can surpass my own hate, I can surpass their hatred as well.

[Gargulec]

Company of Self

Winds howled outside, as they had always. Back in Creation, they would care with them clouds of dust, of sand, of little shards of rock bitting their way under cloth, blinding, searing, but here, their sharpness was more literal.

Her flesh could resist them, sure. But it still tore at her, like a torrent of invisible razors, scratching the skin, drawing blood instantly ripped from her veins in long, thin scarlet braids dispersing in the gale. A less man, a lesser thing would be slaughtered just by walking in them, and not even bones would withstand, reduced into motes of foul dust to be carried away somewhere towards nothingness.

And yet someone was out there, moving in slowly towards the manse, through the labyrinth carved in the brass and basalt.

It wasn't hard to find her, struggling against the dire hurricane, almost forced to a crawl.

It is a commonly accepted truth that what is dead stays that way, and once the threshold is crossed, there is no going back. And yet, Deathknights. Seeker remembered dying - life bleeding away into the sands. She was on the other side, but something pulled her back, even though she should not survive.

She was not the only one to receive such a grace.

The gale broke the girl again, the girl with steel heart, the girl who did not want to be cold, the girl who died from Seeker's hands. And the air around the girl shimmered in dark hues, blood dripping from her forehead that bore a sign of the Abyssalhood.

She did not notice Seeker, the struggle against the wind too overwhelming for her to spot even her foe.


The Man Who Was Tomorrow

The "gracious host", seemingly not off-put in the slightest by the silence from his guest, waved his hand lightly. He wore no gloves, and so Unspoken Word could notice that his skin was in the dark-red hue of brick or drying blood.

'And I hope you will excuse me for the theatrics' he pointed at the mask on his face. It had to be made from something expensive, a bone of some rare behemoth or maybe white jade, the Solar could not tell. 'Though I think you understand them leagues better than I do. Right?' he was not self-assured. He was in a position of power, but did not seek to intimidate the Zenith in front of him, he did not try to really impress. More, the Solar could almost tell that he was in fact a bit awed by him - it was in the timbre, cadence of his voice. 'One way or another, I am Tomorrow' he introduced himself with a slight bow. 'And I brought you here for a very simple reason. The Yozis harmed you, didn't they?' he asked rhetorically. 'You're not the only one. They made us suffer for long enough. Perhaps we owe them some respect, as their progeny, but whatever was their due, we gave it to them already, and more than that. And that is what calls for a simple attempt, a display of free-thinking geared towards overthrowing the cosmic tyrants, aided by the powers that had once crushed the Titans. And that is what calls for a...' he paused, held his breath 'revolution! Uprising of the lowly against the lofty! Justice for all' he uttered on a single breath, a fire of zeal speaking through him as he made his bold proclamation.

[Ziddim]

The Man Who Was Tomorrow

The Prophet hung perfectly still as his host laid out his introduction, but despite his appearance, he was far from passive. Even so, he was only half-listening to masked figure in front of him. Truthfully, the figure's presence was not all-together unanticipated, given his circumstances. Everyone was always looking for a pawn, and Unspoken Word had no doubt that having survived the onslaught of The Boar That Twists the skies would make him a prime candidate for those that wished to pursue agendas that needed a rallying symbol.

This suspicion proved itself in the Solar's mind. The entity before him was a storyteller, trying to sell him a story that he could buy into. Unspoken Word was well aware of the tactic. In fact, he had heard this story before, and at the moment it bored him.

Instead, his mind lingered on that small bit of essence that had returned to him. It told him that there were two less humans than there were before, and that the human race was that much closer to extinction. It was a bitter loss that pained the Prophet greatly, but that was not his only wound. So many who had believed in him had been flattened, and once again it came to pass that the goggles that shielded his eyes also hid his tears from the outside world.

It was the last of the demon's words that finally caught the Solar's attention.

"And Justice... for all...", the solar thought out-loud.

The thought carried through the void, and there was a hint of bitter amusement within it. It was soon followed by a fit of sardonic laughter that filled the void. Light erupted from the chosen of the sun, filling the void with a bright light. Wings made of light sprung from his back, and a terrible grim-claive manifested in his hand.

"Then let he who is without sin caste the first stone!" his mind declared as a phantasmal pantheon of Yozis, gods, and all of the lessers sprang up around the pair.

"We will caste down the Yozi first, proclaimed as he sliced through them with his scythe, dooming them to an anguished explosion of light, "for their tyranny!

He then made another broad sweep through the multitude of major demons, cutting them down and squelching their light. "And the unquestionable for their collaboration!"

The Golden Bull continue to cull the phantasms around him with wild abandon, cutting down figures without discrimination, and eliminating the illumination that they provided in this dark realm.

"And next the gods for their treason, and the citizens for their complicity and cowardice."

The only figures left around him were the small and the weak. The mortals and lesser demons cowered together as glowing eyes appeared in the darkness around them.

"And when we have overthrown the ground that we stand on, oblivion will welcome us with open arms and deliver it's final justice to all that remain."

As he 'spoke', dark claw and bite marks started to appear in the terrified apparitions, and the echoes of screams of horror and wailing surrounded the pair, and then fell silent. Nothing of the former pantheon remained, only nothingness.

"And we shall all finally be equals at last."

[Gargulec]

Halls of the Grotto King

'Rumors' he pondered, picking up a glass of deep-red wine. 'Oaths. I find it amusing that you mention that, my dear Ophelia' he tipped his head to the Solar, raising the glass in a salute. 'You know what this place is?' he asked. 'Once a part of Bostvade, but no longer. That you are certainly aware of. But there is a reason for this separation, for this rift...'

The meals provided were of finest quality, there was no denying that, even as they left a strange aftertaste in the throat, smoky and powdered, as if they were covered in a thinest filament of soot.

'I once knew a woman of my station and my kind' he changed the subject abruptly. 'Her name was Hawwa, and she was a Fiend, like me. But while I prefer to keep what I have, she was always wanting, and always unsatisfied' the control he held over his voice was absolutely perfect, every word measured and intoned just as he deemed fit, every trace of emotion deliberate and planned.'Ultimately, though, we sought the same thing. A world for us own, a world apart from Creation and its dregs and detritus. This is what Undergrotto is. It is a world apart, a world where I am the sole power, the only regal' he smiled widely. 'Call me vain, you have the right to. Yes, it is vanity, but it is also practicality. How long, do you think, will the Oasis above last? Oh, not the right question' his smile shortened, grew sharp. 'How long will Malfeas last, with the tumour of Oasis on its side? The realm above is doomed, it is a matter of fact. There is no way for it to continue in its current shape after the coming of the refugees and the Exalted host. And there is no way for its shape to be changed, either, for too deep run the foundations of Hell. Sooner than later someone will strike a spark, and war will start. For power's sake, first. For survival's sake, then. And finally, for no sake other than just base destruction' he drank the last of his wine and stood up from the table, moving so that the candlelights were casting his shadow on the wall, magnified and distorted. 'That is why some of us decided to flee, and cut all paths away. In this realm, I have my people, I have my land, and I have my life. And I will still have it even as the flames of Ligier gutter out and the infinite spheres grind to a halt. This shelter is not yet complete, but soon it will be. And now, do you understand why I treat you to this feast? And why I tell you all that?'

[Guancyto]

Halls of the Grotto's King

"You don't think I'll be able to leave," Ophelia said, and her eyes were troubled as her suspicion was confirmed, "you think that I too will live out all of my days away from the burning light of the sun."

She stood slowly, with new purpose. The angles of the hall made her candlelit silhouette look not grand and terrible but monstrous and deformed, hair twisting like snakes, "you are wrong. Even if somehow you succeeded in keeping me here, even if I never even stepped away from this table..."

A sudden wind blew out the candles. She reached backward, and from the murky depths of shadow pulled her shining spear, thrusting it down through wood and stone with a clap of thunder. "The light? I have brought it with me."

Standing with imperious bearing now, Ophelia with the bright weapon of pure sunlight made the gold look flimsy, barren, like cheap baubles. Here was worth, here was power, what good was mere gold compared to that?

"King of Undergrotto, who saw what was coming and hid away in a hole. I tell you now that there will be no escape, no corner of your kingdom unscarred by that which will be, for in coming here I have brought the war you foresee with me as well. I did not mean to, but it is done."

The light filled the halls as it streamed from Ophelia, illuminating every grimy crack and crevasse, until it might hurt to look upon, "I will offer you this chance. Come with me! Help to set things right, you who know man and titan. You know as well as I that Hell can change, that men can change. You must know as well that the foundations can be shaken, must be shaken, if there is to be a future for anyone. And I believe that we can do it. I believe that you can do it."

She looked at him with blazing eyes, "come with me, Prodigal! A well in the bottom of Bostvade is no place for a king."

That's a very dramatic Glorious Solar Saber.

[Sallera]

Halls of the Grotto's King

Tewi's elbows rest on the table, his fingers entwined beneath his chin as the others rise. "Alternately," he muses softly, "you wonder if we, too, would like to save ourselves from the chaos above..." And then Ophelia drew her weapon, cast her light upon the hall, and laid out her grand vision, and Tewi found himself feeling... disappointed.

What was it he'd been expecting from her, exactly, that he should be disappointed when she showed herself so much the Solar? It wasn't even, he realized, much different from sentiments she had expressed before. Just a slight change in attitude. Had he, perhaps, been filtering her previous words through his initial impression of her, back in the Tower? Subconsciously glad to have found one who didn't match his expectations, wanting to keep believing she really was like that?

Was she still? Why was he still hoping?

He sits, unmoving, between white and red, orichalcum and gold. Two visions of the world to come, drawing forth the springs of future rivers. A third river flowing above their heads, charting its own course as it always had. He needed to do the same, he supposed. As he always had. Even if... well... no, put that aside for now.

"Things are changin' up above, for sure," he begins, keeping his voice calm and level, a counterpoint to the grand passion of his dinner companions. Looking at no one in particular, gaze drifting back and forth. "The Manse of Echoes Ascending turns her gaze to the bringers of hope, seeking joy and beauty amidst the strife and upheaval. The empire of the Sigil Dreamer begins to spread new ideals down to its roots, the tone of its influence changing in subtle ways, yet impossible not to notice for those it touches for the better. Will this bring war?" He snorts softly.

"When has there ever been peace? But the shape is changin', bit by bit. 'Course, that don't mean I'm not intrigued by your refuge. You say it's not yet complete; what does finishing it mean? We got here through Bostvade, so there's still a connection there. I assume that would have to go, but if it does, what sustains this place? Once a part of Bostvade, you say, but how would you cut it off?"

[Gargulec]

The Looking Glass

The Solar shrugged, batting aside the accusation thrown at her by the jadeborn.

'I do not make a habit of speaking with those I am to kill' she murmured, her eyes again trying to looking deeper into the forge. 'I don't want to kill you, because you saved someone very dear to me. And told me something I should have known already.'

The knife returned to existence, and she placed it on a nearby table, balanced on the tip.

'She was a kindness while I was a stranger to her. She saved me... I don't really care about her motives. She did. I promised her something then, I promised her protection' she shook her head, full of sorrow. 'You know how it went. And now you tell me that the man who promised me future is the one responsible for that. And for both deeds, I am in debt to you. Your life, I spare in spite of the order.'


Crossroads

The demons were an uniform bunch.

And Ara recognized them.

Perhaps it sent a jolt of fear down her spine, a nasty shiver understanding that what she was facing was not much like the many denizens of Malfeas - but still a part of the macabre picture of the Demon City.

Shadows they were, from shadows cut. But not the shadows of light, not the ones cast by the Dragon while he eclipses even the unfathomable brightness of the Emerald Sun. They were from a different kind of light cut; they were what remained of lives snuffed so suddenly.

There is always a trace, there is always a mark left. Nothing that dies goes without a tombstone, and even the Yozis can't change that.

The destruction of the layer was both savage and abrupt, and after many a demon all that remained was a linger shadow, still gleaming with shards of sentience, but ones that collapsed slowly as this false continuation of existence dragged on.

As Ara spoke her piece, she realized that they were not hearing her, no. The shades, the apparitions, hungered for the warmth of life, but could no longer comprehend it. And their claws, sharpened in the pain of dying, were quite keen indeed.

[Myllinnia]

Crossroads

Oh... that bode ill. Ara'Desirae, like all of the Sukari, were creatures of life. Sure demonic life sure, but life all the same. The shadows of those that had passed on were an anathema to her, and were unsettling for most of her sisters.

"Sorry," Ara'Desirae says with an uneasy. "Thought you were all someone else." With that she dives downwards calling out to those below. "Time for us to move... and move quickly." She doesn't slow, she doesn't hesitate, she simply grabs Zeka and dive into the uncovered opening that they had just opened.

[DrakeRaids]

Crossroads

"Whaaa-Eeeeep?" Zeka looked confused as Ara grabbed her out of midair and took her tumbling down into the dark. What where they running from? It didn't matter really. She'd learned that as well, when someone said 'run' it was often best not to question the running part and just get on with it. Right now seemed one of those times, and so Zeka made it a point not to struggle, and let Ara fly her somewhere that was hopefully much safer then where they had just been.

[Dragnar]

Looking Glass
Jania's expression didn't soften in the least at the Solar's declaration, though a few small movements - a few tensed muscles loosening - still gave away the Jadeborn's relief. "...And what will you do now? That man will not give up, simply because one assassin failed to finish the job. The service of a solar is too valuable for that. If she means so much to you, sparing me is meaningless in the end." And, though she didn't see much need to say it, now he knew where she was. Or at least close. Jade had found her too quickly for anything else to be the case. The next attack would come even sooner, and Forsaken Sword would not stop until Arriana was back in his clutches.

It was becoming more and more imperative that she locate allies. The Jadeborn warriors would be her first priority, but as proud of her kind as she may be, Jania had no illusions about them standing up to an exalt without access to their infrastructure back in Creation.