Cultists of the Imprisoned IC

[LordChaos13]

Over the past years you have roamed and been yourselves, performing acts of worship to your imprisoned Gods but generally trying to stay under the radar, knowing that to do anything large would invite scrutiny from the 6.
While you may be vile atrocity-committing monsters you have some self-preservation and lack any protection from a God wiping you from the map.


But lately, lately something changed. Visions from Vida, orders from Panli, Hegumi whispering thought of slaughter in your ear if you would only go to a certain place at a certain time.
Well that time is here.

The 5 of you (and any attendants you bring) approach a small clearing centred on an eerily still reflective pond.
As you draw closer the water flows and shapes, rising up into a mirror
"Greetings our Devout." Comes the sibilant charismatic hiss of Panli, his demon red eyes peering from the shining mirror
"Our most faithful" The slitted green eyes of Hegumi looking remarkably snakelike despite only being glowing eyes
"Our best followers. Our Chosen." Vida intones, her purple eyes between Hegumi and Panli
"You have been chosen to receive our greatest gift. The gift of Power and of Stealth. Should you choose we can imbue you, and through you others, with the ability to hide from those who Imprisoned us long ago.
While our true power is bound the millennia we have been trapped has allowed us to worm a small morsel of it free, to reach out and touch you, to contact you. And now, in this spot we can free more.
If you accept what we offer you will sever all ties to the Free Gods. No contact, you shall be hidden from them completely. You could stand in front of Gendurin himself and he would see through you, no prayers to Bemola, no being scryed on or hit with a bolt from the blue. You 5 shall be immune to the God's Fury and through you your followers.
If you accept step forward and place a single drop of blood on this Anchor. In the pool it will mix and corrupt, destroying the Anchor and releasing the power necessary to hide you." All three speak, one after the other before the mirror shimmers and collapses back into the eerily-still pool

[Grimsage Matt]

Hauntingly beautfiul women, unseelie drow and troll alike await the choice of their lord. The dark gods are offering a great gift, one where they could move more openly, lay farther reaching plans.

And so he steps forward, a pale looking man, clad in rich robes with bronze puldrons lending to the noble air. He approches with a sense if nobillity and dignity, though he shows the proper respect and humillity.

His bat winged Valkyrie, cloaked in the chill of winter, with a glaive carved if a glaciers frozen heart stands behind him, ready for a sudden attack.

Pulling out a knife, not made of metal, nor bone or stone, but rather a blade if blue ice, made in a forge if coldfire. Slashing open one of his hands, he speaks as the blood, pale and looking like ice water, falls.

"My blood I give gladly. The gods of self rightouness have kept the land locked in a false spring far too long. Winter must come, a time of death so the living may be strengthef, and the land rest."

[LordChaos13]

As the blood hits the water it begins to darken, turning into (a liquid form of) the dark ice long frozen under the depths. Inside you see a few small veins pulsing through it made entirely of crimson

[Clarkson]

A halfling dressed in Brown from head to toe, enters the chamber alone, standing as far away from the human as possible. You called this an anchor. What do you mean by that? He inquires as he creates a crystal in midair, poised to strike.

(Crystal Shard -1 pp)

That moment when you realize you have no melee weapons to draw a drop of blood.

[Draken]

The ground rumbles as a great mass slithers closer to the pond, wiry hands held together with interwoven fingers, a still face smiling with empty eyes. All of this at the forefront of a great worm covered in indigo plates.

"You always offer the very best deals, milady. As always, I serve with glee."

Yorrick's 'face' splits in a cross, opening four ways into a massive maw full of curved and serrated fangs. One of his hands reaches in and he slashes his fingers into the teeth, letting his cobalt blood spill into the pond, before the gashes slowly close and vanish once again.

[LordChaos13]

The veins growing and pulsating as two more life forces join the pond. The water churning beginning to swirl into a slow-moving vortex the blue water taking on a decidedly purple tint as it rotates


In your head you hear your Gods speak to you
"They Anchor our restraints. Drawing power from the Earth itself to keep us confined. Corrupt them and it frees the energy allowing the Earth to be revitalised in the area and to weaken our prison. Think of them like load-bearing walls of a house, holding the Roof that is our cage.
There are 12 more scattered this world, each with their own unique ways of corruption needed. This was chosen due to its ease to corrupt, requiring the voluntary sacrifice of blood from 5 people."

[Draken]

"Thirteen. How inauspicious a number for our esteemed divines of the hallowed planes to chose."

Yorrick pulls himself into a coiled stance, reminiscent of sitting, hands returned to their original position, mouth closed once again.

[LordChaos13]

"Oh my poor short-lived acolyte. 13 is cursed Because of the Anchors. If there had been 7 Anchors then 7 would have the same meaning."

OOC: I legit wasn't thinking that. I was going for a dozen then added in the corruption of the Anchor being the First Post forgetting that meant 13

[Clarkson]

Selrik casts about thinking. What would occur if we were to corrupt all of the anchors? And for that matter, where are the rest? Do you know how to corrupt those? He then begins manifesting his defensive powers.

(Share Pain - 3 pp, Vigor dual cast onto psicrystal - 1 pp)

Selrik 39/34, Psicrystal 22/17 hardness 8

[Draken]

OOC looks so much better in spoilers!

:smalltongue:

"Ho, ho, ho. Yes. I suppose this is the egg and not the chicken, milady."

Dreadfully informal, that he is. Respectful, certainly, but very informal.

"And why, tiny one. Clearly, should the locks be undone, the prison will open, and our benefactors three shall at last be free."

[Erik Vale]

Sirus had stood quiet in his thoughts, his arms crossed in his robes.
"When have I refused such a one sided offer to help me? You wills be done."
Quenching the flame on his sheathed blade, Sirus pulls out the blade slightly, nicking his finger and flicking blood against the anchor.

[LordChaos13]

The pond kicking up into a frenzy, the ground underneath revealed in a small circle in the middle as the vortex changes to pure blood-red.
A single drop of blood is all that's needed to change things


The power from the ritual emanating, unshielded from the Gods
A thunderstorm beginning to brew over your heads as Gendurin's attention focuses on the area

[Erik Vale]

Panic edges into Sirus's voice as he tries to retain his calm demeanor.
"You might want to donate now, before we are smers on the ground... Panli, does this ritual protect us from retribution or just sight? I would like to get a head start before the roof is collapsed upon us."

[Grimsage Matt]

Matt and his court loom into the gathering clouds. They dance and slay admid the winter storms, the bitter chill doing nothing to them. But bolts of divine fury? From a self-righoutus divine thug who does so merely to enforce its sense of morality?

They don't do so well with that.

A silent message is sent to his family/court. They can not even think of fighting this, and flight would be prudent if the last member of the gathering turns back.

[LordChaos13]

"They would not be able to do anything directly to you. Though their agents would. Provided the last of you accepts you shall be safe."

[Clarkson]

I swear human I will not be killed because of of your indecisiveness.

Selrik looks up, and at the first sign of anything dangerous coming out of the sky, manifests Time Hop, failing his will save intentionally.

[Nemesis67]

OOC: I think Mara makes 4? Has Selrik given his offering?

Posted while others did. Edited it to make more sense.

With a sigh, Father Mara steps forward to the water. Despite the title and the most out of place among them, he is a relatively young human, clad in the trappings of a priest of Kilito, silver holy symbol around his neck and a scythe at his back. Those who have lived in the nearby community would recognize him as a healer and preacher of the church, though with an abnormal focus on mundane cures instead of mystical. He remains silent, drawing a plain but well-crafted scalpel to prick his finger. Allowing the drop to fall into the pool, he gives a slight bow to the imprisoned gods before returning to his spot with the other cultists.

[LordChaos13]

Actually you are the 5th

Grimsage
Draken
Clarkson
Vale
You

The vortex erupts into the sky, a crimson waterspout splashing into the sky, forming a pulsing red forcefield right as a bolt of lightning strikes it sending sparks coursing through it
Completely contained in the red dome the 5 of you rising into the air propelled by unholy force.
What remains of the pond turning into ruby and shattering completely into shards, the biggest only as large as a finger

Red, Purple and Blue energies shimmering into existence wrapping around you all. Warping your souls and bodies, your tarnished metaphysical vessel overflowing with vile Evil energies before being siphoned away again to form a glittering shield around you

Slowly, gracefully, you descend and the dome fades away, revealing the thunderous sky
A bolt of pure white energy launching down at you, before you can react hitting the pond's remains and vaporizing it completely. The wave of force passing over you and through you, though you feel nothing.


"It is done our Chosen. Though the Gods have noticed the breaking of the Anchor so I would suggest fleeing before any Champions arrive. Or stay to defend, though nothing lies here for you anymore."

[Grimsage Matt]

"Very well my Lords and Ladies." Matt bows deeply and respectfully towards where the pool once stood, and then turns around.

The unseelie fae move at some unseen signal, heading to where ever it is they make their home, only the dark Valkyrie remaining, a constant presence, though se does offer a slight upturn of a lip, the closest you'll get to a smile from her.

<Well my fellow servents of the gods, were should we meet and when? If I may make a humble sugesstion, Mansion Winter is a private place in the woods, and as it so happens, were I keep my wine.>

If any doubts remained that he was human, the voice inside your minds may have out an end to it. Cold and dark as a glacial rift in the middle of an arctic winter, it still somehow seems to be... inviting and welcoming, as if he's an old friend who has just seen you again, and is inviting you over to catch up.

OOC; Ya, I'm polite, friendly, and offering free drinks served by scaintly clad drow girls.

On the Telepathy... I'm explaining it as dipolmacy spill over. My tone, mental and vocal, draws things in and makes them want to trust me...

[Erik Vale]

"I have no intents of letting the gods overwhelm us by transporting their followers directly to us, we must be cautious. I would be delighted to enter your home."

[Nemesis67]

"I do not think my temple would be a good meeting place, so after you, my friend. All of us have much to discuss."

[Clarkson]

Pfft... The human has a temple. And yes, we do have much to discuss. And since I for one know nothing of the other god's champions, I agree with our mighty benefactors.

Selrik exits the cave. Mansion Winter you say? If you own the property, seems like a good place to hole up.

[Draken]

Faster than any being on two legs, Yorrick catches up to Matt.

"Direct me to your abode, faerie prince. And I shall hide us from mortal eyes in the deep where their light will never outshine my dread."

Yorrick dives into the land, leaving behind a tunnel that the others can use.

[Grimsage Matt]

<I am not a prince, Dweller of the Deep. I count myself among the lower tiers, a mere baron at best. A Prince of the Dark Winter is far more.... impressive then I. A flurry to a blizzard.> A cold wisper of a thought goes to Yorrick, amused, though thoughful and courteous.

Onwards he leads them, directing the group and his court through the dark paths of the underworld created by the devourer in darkness, intill at last they return above ground.

It is clear that this is an abode of winter fae, for even in late summer there is a layer of frost on the ground, and a sprinkling of snow among the trees.

But the mansion itself at first seems to be a great tree, but with windows and small buildings almost grown from the wood around it into a greater structure.

Sending several of the Trollish warrior women forward, they soon return with chairs and a long table, and a charming rustic meal, accompined by much finer wine, is arranged in an open air hall.

"My guests, perticuly my good Yorrick, my abode is not sized for those of a greater then ususal size. I will have to remeber to remedy that in the future. But, as lord of these grounds and master of Mansion Winter, I welcome you. Enjoy the food and wine, and then we shall talk of grander things, and plans that must be laid, and anchors to be laid low."

The meal is a simple, though hearty affair, consisting mostly of salads, soups, meat and cheese.

Six of the Drow ladies, clad in little more then staps and bits of leather that serve only to attract attention to their figures serve you. They refill your drinks and make polite conversation, even as the other fae watch, eating and drinking sparingly, as most of the trolls patrol the grounds.

[Clarkson]

Fool! Unless you have some way to close the tunnel after we have passed, anyone could find the entrance, and follow to its completion! While your tunnels may aid in going unnoticed, they still leave crucial areas where tracking is easier.

Every time I try to post I get ninja'd!

[Draken]

"Ah yes, pardon my error then. Impoverished and landless I may be, but I am a Count myself. For what worth the title may have."

And at the halfling's diminute screeches, Yorrick slams his tail in the snow.

"Don't think me a fool while you stand on these ungainly stubs the gods saw fit to call your kind's legs. For every step you take I draw a thousand. While you followed my trails I turned back through new ones and sealed the way behind us."

Into the mansion, Yorrick lowers his body and stretches his tail long, to take over a considerable area of the room's floor.

"Well. If you will be our kind host for however long we stay, then I might offer to expand your cellars with tunnels and caverns for this budding fellowship to use."

Yorrick takes tea and avoids alcohol. Ever so often a sinuous tongue stretches from the sides of his head to pick something from the table.
That does not stop him from talking.

"But yes, business, business. We should get to it as quickly as circumstances allow. Twelve such seals we must find, as well as their keys, and so few of us against the entire world. These are the beginnings of a legend most foul, must I say."

[Clarkson]

To me the champions seem like a more immediate threat. Do we even know what they're capable of? Eventually we'll wind up facing them, and knowing if they're capable of scrying would be useful.

And since we'll wind up working together for a while, you deserve to know my name. Selrik. That's more than I've told most, in quite some time. Certainly no human Selrik glares at Mara.

[LordChaos13]

5 Gather Information checks please. Each.
Though this would be retroactive, stuff you already know.

[Nemesis67]

OOC: [roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]
[roll4]

Yeesh. Not my strong suite. 5 rolls each?

Mara eats the offered food, spending much of the meal looking around the table at his new co-conspirators. He returns the halfling's gaze, before stating, "The gods have had centuries to build their churches and gain followers. They have no lack of soldiers, while we only have those seated at this table. Focusing solely on the anchors or on the champions may spell misfortune. We should first build our influence and power locally while we find as much information as we can on such matters."

[LordChaos13]

Roll 1: Nothing
Roll 2: Nothing
Roll 3: The Champions of Kilito are in general lesser one on one than the other Gods, but much more numerous. Rather than The Almighty Champion that the others espouse above all other Kilito has the Almighty Squadron.
4 soldiers, raised up from an Army. Originally there was 12 but over the years they fell in battle for personal reasons, always when out of contact with the rest
They are said to be undefeatable in combat when together, even 2 operating in tandem would be a match against an army of mortals. moving in perfect sync, each one fighting on to protect the others, using their Bonds of Battle to ignore lethal wounds when their brethren still stand.
Roll 4: Nothing
Roll 5: Nothing

[Erik Vale]

"I have a few where they are needed, however. I agree that rallying others is our main concern... In any case, I current name is Sirus Blackscroll, I am a wizard of some skill, however many of magics are tied up in personal abilities."

[LordChaos13]

Roll 1:
Felida's Champions are chosen not due to their inherent capabilities but rather their pedigree. Many Kings and their direct descendants are blessed with Divine power though few use it for more than maintaining national stability and the divide between Nobility and Peasantry
The Ultimate Champion is said to be directly descended from both the First King and the Teacher of the 9 Ways, and he has been rumoured to be deadly with any weapon he can lift no matter how small or large

More information at DC20
Roll 2: Nada
Roll 3: Nope
Roll 4: Nothing
Roll 5:
Bemola's Champions come from the Peasantry more than the Nobility (making them clash more often than not with Felida's proponents) and generally commands armies rather than personal power themselves.
it is said many Bards draw their power from his philosophy, as do a certain sect of Wizards calling themselves God Wizards* (paying homage to their deity not claiming TO be Gods however) who aid their allies rather than try to directly kill enemies
Bemola's prized Champion is the mysterious Conduit. Nothing is known of his origins or even features, masked beneath a black cowl and cape. At home in the sun and the dead of night it is said he never sleeps.
His powers come from the Elements themselves, Flame burning in perfect synchronicity with Water shaped by the flow of the Air upon the solid Earth.
If the Conduit seeks out prey he will find it, without fail. No matter where his target flees he always finishes his mission.

[Clarkson]

[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]
[roll4]