Fantasy Ballad of Renegades

[Aegis]

Arnou Sylvain, The Wolf in the West
Agonos Isles, Atychía
GROUP 1 ( Corn Orc Vandal Goonfire Tool SilverFlight )​

Arnou regarded Annik's full entrance with naught but a sideward glance as he maintained his position by the window. For a brief moment, he could feel the clean, salty sting of the sea air against his face and lungs; it was a blade that could cut through the ever-present stink of the island. It was a lie, however, a crutch that he leaned on from time to time when things got a little too desperate for him here. Its effects were temporary and the holes it slashed were quickly stitched over by some new, sickening sight that he hadn't seen before. By now, it was less the shock of a new discovery and more of the veteran weight of life on the island that tore at his insides. Relief was a task that would leave him sitting in this window sill at all times only to catch a tease of it.

He began to feel once more like himself--light returning to his eyes even if only as embers to a diminishing flame.

First, Annik's speech roused him from his internal thoughts. It was good, valuable information, but not something he hadn't heard before; it was just from the mouths of people he neither trust nor count on the soundness of mind from. The Woman's discoveries brought a perk of interest to his brow and certainly drew attention, yet he couldn't bring himself to feel anything other than deeper despair at the full extent of the Conclaves preparedness. From his military perspective, walls were still walls and they were but a collection of the desperate and dying even if they could stoke the flame in the crowds. Arnou drew apart his lips to interrupt, but his silence was harden when The Northern Woman declared a story of hope, of salvation, of a Hero; She desired to be a Hero. The Exiled Lord could almost feel the bile begin to pool in the back of his mouth--not at her hopes, but the thoughts that rushed to his head soon after.

He could envision himself among throngs of starved hopefuls charging at the gates of the Conclave-- Arnou's sword would be one of the few as many people were either bare-fisted or wielded farm tools. The wild beat of his heart as he felt the shock of the impact from his feet on the stone street shoot up his spine, a defiant cry tearing through hollowed houses, and then the arrows would start raining from a place they would never see. Worse even... spells. Balls of fire would engulf entire families, bolts of lightning would streak through homes leaving ash in their wake. It would be a massacre. Blood would spill down the streets like a harsh summers rain and the sheer quantity of gore would plug the gutters. Arnou would drown in it.

All of that, for the sake of being a hero.

Arnou's eyes were wide with disbelief as she finished her declaration, but he was practically floored when Sheraga actively ignored both of their gut feelings and joined in with a cry that could levy an army. Their determination filled the room with a light--realistically cast by The Paladin's white flames, he hadn't seen on this island in his years of residence. It was freeing, hopeful... foolish. The Bitter Man shrunk back toward the window as they resolved to fight the ultimate battle for the sake of the island. Pfft, yeah, that's what the Nurities thought when they came, and now they were little more than a wounded animal hiding away in their little sect house god-knows-where, a battle-hardened company of crusaders brought low by plague and starving beggars. Well, he was only their guide and he'd already provided his ignored opinion so, "Well, do what you will--I won't stop you. If you need anything, you're welcome to stay here for now and I'll guide you to whatever else you need--as promised."

It was more diplomatic to not outright object. After all, whether he died with them soon, a month down the line to that Swashbuckler's gang, or years from now to some sickness--he would die. These days, that's one of the few things he dreamed about, that moment when he would take his final breath. It was a fear-inducing thought but it brought him some solace. There was something alluring to him about that final release and freedom.

Then, Dunan came with the questions as he presented his sleeping roll to him. The Wolf's Head scrambled his heart with a simple flattery but also a deep woe that shone through his eyes, "Uh, thank you, it's a symbol from my homeland."

Little did he know how smoothly that brought them into the Man's next line of questioning. Arnou paused as he was asked his reasons, and the bewilderment was clear on his face. There may have been a long time ago where a younger, hopeful knight paced these floors in a torrent of self-talk as he imagined how he would explain his circumstances to whomever asked. Yet, nobody ever had. Everyone on this island was facing their own problems and had no sympathy to spare for another, "I... was banished here by my father to die. Blame was never really a part of the question, but... it was more of a mistake than anything else. I was a leader, I made a tactical mistake, and people paid for it. That's all."

That was all he felt like sharing, at least. Arnou cast his glance downward to avoid eye-contact as the rotting scent of swamp invaded his nose once more. There he was again, drowning. Drowning in those dark swamps and all he could hear were the screams of people who trusted him. Arnou, in truth, wasn't disgusted by Annik or Sheraga or anyone who had tried to improve the island's situation before. He was scared. He had given up. He was ready to die.

Arnou was jealous of the resolve they had that he lacked. They had gotten back up on their feet or merely stumbled, and he had laid in the dirt for years.

"You're all going to die tonight. If you think you're going to change something, you're fools."

Then, without warning, Dunan fled the scene. Confusion flooded Arnou's body as he wondered whether he had driven him off with his negativity and something about him fleeing just after the first time he had opened up stung him.

 

[SilverFlight]

Dùnan Skye

Group 1

The things Arnou has said replayed in Dunan's mind. A mistake? Whatever the mistake had been, Arnou's own father had expected him to die for it. Dunan reflected on his own stolen memories, the looming of a dark and terrible past...such a harsh punishment for Arnou...it felt unfair. Dunan had seen the sadness in his eyes when they moved over the wolf now embroidered on his bedroll. A missed home, no doubt, a reminder of what he had lost.

Suddenly Dunan felt guilty for the gesture, and for leaving so quickly, when Arnou had answered his question so earnestly.
He had to try and make it right.
Dusk fell quickly now that the sun's gentle light had vanished below the tired city buildings. If Dunan kept to the shadows, he blended into them, this gave him an idea.

The shaggy dog Dunan padded lithely around to the window he had seen Arnou looking out of. He chose a darkened corner and sat in it, clearing his throat.
"Well, it's quiet around the house at least. I didn't catch a soul." He called out, as a way of announcing his presence.

His voice trailed through the window, but his form remained hidden in darkness.

"Arnou...for the value of a word, I don't think your father should have done what he did, whatever error you made..."
He let the silence grow for a moment, summoning words straight from his heart. "You...have the bearing of a leader and letting one failing colour the rest of your future...well, I think it would rob the world of something truly valuable."

He glanced up at the darkened window, his tail twitching in the slightest gesture of resolve.
"I cannot make you reconsider, but I do ask it. Arnou, come with us. You know the island better than any and, truth be told...I don't think we can do it without you. We need you."

Aegis Corn Orc Vandal Tool Goonfire

 

[Goonfire]

SHERAGA THE LEPER
GROUP 1:
Corn Orc Vandal Tool Aegis SilverFlight

---

Following the ex-crusader's solemn vow, he found his guide in a strange state. Though the fallen officer spoke negatively, there was something in his eyes so buried under hurt and heartbreak, it was difficult to discern what it may have been. Was it... a faint flicker of hope?

The voice from outside startled the leper, his entire body whipping around to face the shack window. He hadn't expected the newcomer to return so soon. Another rousing speech... Dunan proved himself quite the powerful speaker once again. Had the pilgrim any unseen lack of conviction, that would have bolstered him.

Once again, Sheraga sighed aloud. "Look upon my marred visage, Arnou. How much time do you think is left before this vigorous fool becomes a blind, crippled fool?" He stared quietly and intently, giving Arnou time to ponder the question. "I will not force you to join me, but it will never be said that I stood guilty of sloth."

 

[Tool]

GROUP 1
Goonfire Corn Orc Vandal Aegis SilverFlight



Magic was a tricky thing. So much of it was stolen from ancient Gods who were never meant to be the Gods of men. Sometimes, Men and Women were gifted by the Gods with the power to hear the Wild, speak to the Wild, to know its secrets and wield its powers. Wild Magic was a gift freely given. It was the kiss of a spirit's blessing. It was a single drop of the finest drink from the cups of the great immortals. It was miracles and wonders unspeakably vast and forever grand. Snøvandr, Annik's old teacher, had called such things Makutu. He'd shown her that all Makutu were powerful, no matter their size or strength. Like an arm, if Makutu was flexed and used, it would grow strong. Most people would never know of their Makutu, or have none. It was a gift. Like all gifts, Makutu was meant to be enjoyed and used. The Kellid knew these few with Makutu were granted their powers by the Gods and so no one questioned their use of magic; these were not the stolen secrets and powers used by foreign wizards and weavers of spells. These gifted were the ones to seek for answers...... not with demands.

When the Sick Man in Yellow Metal began going on about Captain of the something-something Company, Annik frankly got a little lost in the middle, but when the Sick Man in Yellow Metal raised his metal club and carvings upon it flicked into flame..... Annik's attention was absolutely drawn. Was the Sick Man in Yellow Metal blessed by his Gods? Did the metal club hold a spirit? What would such a spirit be like to call something torn from the Wild's belly and melted until it became Civilized home? Snøvandr had been the keeper of an object a spirit used as a home, though his was a wooden staff and able to speak in the Language Before Language.... but this?

It made Annik shiver.

The Not Man named Dunan seemed to compliment her. Was he interested in her in the way men were interested in women? It was frankly difficult to judge. The clear crystal of Annik's eyes swept Dunan up and down, and whatever she saw, Annik nodded and lifted a hand to her forehead in thanks. The moment passed quickly as Dunan asked Arnou why he was still here, if leaving was his honest advice.

Apparently, Arnou was banished here by his... father? Was..... was Arnou younger than he looked?

Annik's nostrils flared, and no, all the men in the room (including the Not Man) were definitely past beyond the line between youth and adulthood. They smelled like adults, each one unique, each one with his own particular odor, but none of them held even the faintest whiff of childhood. Apparently, Arnou had been a leader of his people, and a mistake had cost lives.

That was why he'd been sent here by his father?

Arnou tried to give a warning, but it simply didn't land for Annik; her Ancestors asked only that the Kellid live in a way that honored their courage and their history. Kellid Ancestors expected her to be strong in the face of hardship, to survive and thrive in the harsh world around her, to be fearless in the face of danger, and to meet every challenge that came with her jaw set firm and her mind made up...... Just like all the Kellid.

Then, something very interesting happened: Dunan left in a hurry, and then his scent changed and stayed the same at the same time. Like the first time she'd ever tasted the fizzy rotten grain drink heralded as a delicacy, Annik's mouth twisted all up to one side and her head cocked too far to be comfortable.

What in the world?

But then Dunan and the Sick Man in Yellow Metal spoke anew, and Annik did her best to follow along. But when the Sick Man in Yellow Metal was done, Annik spoke, her voice less one of grand tales and epic battles and more one of an ordinary girl, driven to distraction by the constant nonsense around her, in this baffling foreign land.

"I have heard of sloths. They are animals who live far away from even here in places hot and wet and green. What could they possibly be guilty of?"

She turned next to the wolf-soldier. "You are a man grown, Arnou. Is your father a God?" It seemed to be an honest question; apparently, Gods walking among the people was an entirely understandable proposition.

"If he is, I understand why you would worship him and follow his demands. If he is not a god...... why let another man judge for you? Why do you not decide whether or not a mistake you made is worth dying over? Plenty of mistakes are worth dying over; it is much harder to live with mistakes than to die by them, I understand that. But.... I don't understand - why are so many Civilized so quick to let others choose? I get that Civilization enslaves those who live by it, but I had no idea the chains went so deep or so far."

The splay of her fingers seemed to include the room and indeed the whole of this stupid city.

"Stay in your box or not as you please; find the courage to be free and make the lives you cost mean something, or don't; die in battle as brave and bold or stay here and whither in fear and regret of what you did or mistakes you might make, whichever you choose..... but please, please, for the sake of the long, long line of your ancestors who died to birth you wet and screaming into this world, if your father is not a god, decide for yourself what is worth living and dying over. Your LIFE is no-one's right but yours to decide."

Her gaze whirled back to the Sick Man in Yellow Metal as the realization finally caught up to her struggling mind, her free arm limp with desperate confusion, palm up.

"And YOU! Your name is Sher.... Shera'ga? It doesn't mean to go with speed?? When was someone going to tell me??"

 

[Aegis]

Arnou Sylvain, The Wolf in the West
Agonos Isles, Atychía
GROUP 1 ( Corn Orc Vandal Tool SilverFlight Goonfire )​

Their words were harsh. The undeniable reality of their ridicule was well-founded and cut deep as Arnou cornered himself against the window sill--his face curled into a bitter frown haloed with wide, wounded eyes. It was a matter of crumbling pride that kept him from agreeing with their observations despite the accuracy of their suppositions, and he heard his own words echoed back to him from Annik as she spoke of others making choices for him; those were the very same words he chastised himself for saying due to their hypocritical nature. Through that alone, he understood that some logical part of his brain knew that he was wrong to be doing what he was doing. The way ahead just seemed so dark and long with nowhere to go even if he traversed the thorny path that would lead from the island.

Arnou shifted in silence--his head swaying as his eyes searched for a place in the room that wasn't currently occupied, before he continued to process what was just said to him. His eyes planted on rock that stuck out from the ground at his feet, and heard Sheraga's muddled voice berate his laziness. The Exiled Lord had been stuck in the mud of self-loathing and pity for the longest time, and he had barely struggled to free himself. The situation was awful, yes. Terrible. Nobody was saying it wasn't, but he was continuing to come to that conclusion without ever moving past it; the full extent of his efforts were in acknowledging his own misfortune. At some point, Arnou had to move forward. He just hadn't--didn't really let himself build the energy to do it.

'We need you.'

The Man wasn't so sure if they truly did, but he was glad that at least Dunan thought so.

'You are a man grown, Arnou. Is your father a God?'

The Northern Woman's word were like a bitter cold through his veins as she questioned the power the phantom of Arnou's father held over him from such a distance. In truth, she was right. His father wasn't going to come on the next ship to see if he remained on the island or not--the man hadn't sent so much as a letter in years. The Man went out of his way to NOT hear about anything to do with Westvale as a matter of fact, "He is not. He's... just a man."

'I will not force you to join me, but it will never be said that I stood guilty of sloth.'

Arnou seemed small, like a rebuked child, and his voice was meek as his eyes spun from the forced introspection. The blood in his veins was thick and slow as his head burned--thoughts swimming from the hard truth, and he felt as though he might vomit as his guts twisted upon themselves. He didn't know what to do. It had been many years of accepting things as they came and lamenting the inability to change anything at all, but he had only blinded himself to the possibility because of the effort it would take. Did he want to stay here and suffer forever? It was painful but he knew the pain; he could wait and die just like his father wanted.

Or.

Arnou could move on. Leave this horrible fate behind and see what is out there for him. A new life. A new chance, at least, to seize it.

Arnou steeled his face as he stepped forward from the corner and with a shaky hand he grasped the blade at his side, "Heroes it is, then-- to whatever end that leads us."

 

[BlueXBlood]

Group 2 - Aris, R'hllor, Khadija, and Bal'Kafaz
The Southwestern Sanctuary of the Order ​

The descent was hypnotizing, as they spiraled into a dark abyss. Every now and then, a glint would catch Aris' eye, and repeatedly, she found herself an ounce of will away from unleashing a barrage of cold steel into the shadows. Regardless of whether or not they'd slain the demonic spider, the thought of an infestation irked her incredibly. Her hands ached from how firmly they clenched her weapons. They hadn't had room to breathe at this point, but still, this new revelation within the sanctuary compelled her. She was too far in, mentally, to quit now.

Beside her erupted a spark of blue, and suddenly, Khadija was illuminating the way. Of course, the clear sight of dust-covered, stone walls was no prettier than the greyscale scene Aris' half-elven eyes granted her, but nonetheless, it provided some vague sense of comfort. She continued to stare down the void below till, finally, the razor-sharp limbs of an unfortunate creature pierced through from below.

The Seeker slowed her pace, entranced. They almost seemed deadlier when frozen, still enough for one to see the sheer lethality of them. Sharp.. and hard as metal. Such was gleaned from Aris as she tapped the tip of her blade against the legs of the titanic corpse, most of which was buried. At first, it resounded with a twang, and out of curiosity, she let her sword softly scrape the hard flesh. Amazing... She tucked away her sword and revolver for a moment before out flicked a hidden blade from her wrist. Slowly, she began to pry off the steel-like material from the corpse, finding herself with a large chunk, the size of a knife, and tethering it to her belt.

Now came the cryptic room, beyond the chain doors... The sound of distant breathing brought Aris' mind to a deafening silence, and her chest felt cold, a haunting chill running up her spine. She heaved a steady sigh, collecting herself for the moment, as Khadija had already begun to shrivel in fear to an extent. With a searching expression, she glanced at the bard, and then the gladiator, wondering how much of the boldness from the past encounters was left between the both of them. Do we press on? That's what she wondered. Testing their resolve, she took a step forward. Then another. And another, till she found herself leading a cautious advance, prowling forth with her revolver drawn and clenched firmly in her hand.

The point of the gun aimed itself at the far end of the room, lured by the rhythmic panting of whatever was before them. Eyes narrowed, Aris' gaze shot into the darkness, searching for... anything. Anything at all. Feeling the crunch of loose pebbles beneath her feet, she swept her foot along the floor and sprayed it out in front of her, hoping to stir some kind of reaction. Again, she did the same. It was all that could substitute for a direct call, anyway. As desperate of an attempt as it was, she listened as carefully as she could, hoping to deduce something... Was it man, or beast? Friend, or foe? Desperate.. or insane? Her free hand grew restless as it waited in anticipation, forced to prepare itself to wrangle anything that might jump at her. Just show yourself already.

[ Aegis , Xen6n , Corn Orc Vandal , Zazz ]​

 

[SilverFlight]

Dùnan Skye

Group 1

Dunan listened to the slightly harsher words of his companions, feeling sympathy for Arnou. Dunan knew a thing or two about the guilt of deeds passed. He shifted in his place under the window, feeling the long, lanky, hairy legs of his curse. He had no memory of what deed had earned him this form, nonetheless the guilt was there.

Then, Dunan heard something he did not expect. Arnou changed his mind.
"Wonderful!" Dunan cried, leaping to his feet, tail wagging. He had a feeling this was a step towards healing for Arnou, and that pleased him more than having another fighter on their side. Everyone deserved to heal.

Dunan couldn't help but laugh at Annik's confusion about Sheraga's name. It was a bright and happy sound, and it defied the gloom of the encroaching night, and the looming sense of dread this island seemed to cast.
Dunan let himself laugh.

As his mirth died down he looked up at the sky, stars beginning to show themselves across the inky expanse.
"At least the sky remains untainted by the magic here."

As he watched the glittering points he set his resolve.
"The gates open tonight. We should be there when they do."

Aegis Corn Orc Vandal Tool Goonfire

 

[Zazz]

Group 2: Aegis Corn Orc Vandal BlueXBlood Xen6n

---

Bal'kafaz had been a breath away from reminding them of the horse and camels. But, alas, the bard was already leading them down the newly opened pit of stupidity. All she could do was shake her head and let out a heavy sigh as Aris followed suit. Stupid adventurer types. Did they have a death wish? Without the animals, they'd likely never leave this ruin. Bal's gaze shifted between R'hllor, the way out, and the dark hole. Her nose scrunched at her options. The other half-elves would absolutely be the death of her, she decided, and her tired feet dutifully followed after the blue light of Khadija's spell. At the very least, she would retrieve her own dagger from the spider's corpse.

Following behind Aris, the Prigallan eyed the Seeker's choice of weaponry. In truth, she had never seen its like, and wondered what it actually was. It wasn't sharp, and it did not seem like an ideal choice for bludgeoning with. Besides, she held it strangely, as if pointing it at an imaginary foe.

Almost at the foot of the steps, Bal'kafaz stopped abruptly as the bard plunged them into sudden darkness. Khadija tossed the dagger at her, only to clatter upon the stone floor unceremoniously. Bal' carefully, blindly crept over to where she had heard it fall. "Really? Couldn't have wiped it off, first?" Bal' complained, doing just that on one of Khadija's magic bandages.

The darkness squeezed in on her lungs. The only light came from far above, from the gaping hole in the library floor. Bal'kafaz could see nothing around her, save for barely two silhouettes she knew to be her companions. She was very glad she had elected to leave R'hllor upstairs. Taking shallow, controlled breaths, the Prigallan halfling slowly shuffled towards the other two, so as not to be left behind in the void. So deep in her own unease, the gladiator did not pick up on the sound of something deeper within the stone ruins, something barely alive. Something... old.

"Bal'!" the bard hissed in a low, panicked whisper. "Bal'! There's something behind that door. Alive." Khadija certainly wasn't going to be the first one through the door. She was just fighting the urge to split and run. "Go see what it is."

Bal' pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance. It was just enough to cut through her fear to complain, "Idiots." Still several paces back from Khadija, the gladiator listened. There was definitely something alive, and it was definitely unable to come out at them. At least, for now. "This is a terrible idea," she informed them blankly. "And how exactly do you want me to 'go see' what it is, in the dark?" Whatever hallway Aris was kicking up dust in was completely black, and Bal'kafaz refused to take one step further.

 

[Aegis]

Group 2 ( Corn Orc Vandal Zazz BlueXBlood Xen6n )​

Khadija's light peeled the darkness from the corners of the hall as they stood back by the door-- their voice small and frightened as they beckoned forth a more seasoned warrior. However, there was no need to ask. Aris was drawn in by the dark like a moth to an inverse flame. The shadow brandished an unmistakable fear of the unknown, but it also promised answers for the brave. It could be argued Aris was brave--maybe foolish, yet whatever adjective one would use it was undeniable that her feet drug her forward along a path of loose stones. The scraping and crunching echoed down a now-quiet hall. Rocks that had previously been falling had settled and the world was still save for the dancing of shadows at the edge of The Half-Orc's light. Now, even Bal'--the warrior she was, would venture no further; her instincts screamed at her to hold back, wait for her armor, heal. The way her heart began to hammer as she stared down the hallway... it would be understandable if she didn't want to go at all.

Their bravest member scraped heel down the hall, but the the breathing did not stop nor was any effort made to call out in response. Instead, her sole company were tools and instruments present in shelves inlaid into the wall. That is until they were replaced with sealed jars; jars, that upon closer inspection, were all filled with blue, human eyes. Eyes torn fresh from their sockets and dropped into a fluid, clear with clumps of milky white gathered around the top. All of them were turned to face inward toward the walkway and they bobbed and spun as if still planted in the skull of their owner.

Indeed, as Aris stepped forward down the corridor, the debris transformed into a dusty, tile floor inscribed with words from many languages--some of which she recognized in passing; there remained many, though, that she hadn't the faintest clue as to who might've spoken the tongue; there were phrases whose meanings were lost to her, but their importance was clear in the ritualistic way in which they were carved upon each tile. The stone told a story as her eyes glided over them. Common, Elvish, Dwarven, all tongues she at least recognized, yet the stories spoken were recitals of religious proverb, arcane instruction, and any story that might provide a warning to venture no further for what was contained was evil. The stones assured an evil of the purest and most deadly form. Whatever waited beyond the edge of the hallway, was a viper coiled to strike the moment the half-elf showed any weakness.

'Ward your mind.'

'Protect your soul.'

'Your dagger will do you no good against the evils that dwells here.'

The skill with which the words were carved was undeniable, but the disorganized abundance in which they were presented suggested the ravings of the desperate and mad.

Aris finally stepped forward beyond the edge of Khadija's assistance, and at once her vision began to fade beyond color as the darkness stole all but the most plain details from her eyes. It wasn't much further now as she could see the edge of the hallway peel open into a open chamber that held within a floor that seemed only to lead into a wall of black. That was, until, she drew closer. The random scrawl upon the floor gave way to a uniformity as it was replaced by evenly spaced arcane runes stitched between the lines of what was clearly an activated magic circle; a faint blue light shone through the darkness, but barely enough to act as a guide let alone provide any clue as to what was ahead. There was a drop as though stepping down just one stair, and the click of her boots seemed to echo across the open walls.

As she dropped, something became clear at the edge of her vision, a chair. There was what appeared to be a iron chair in the middle of the room, but more important still was that the chair was occupied. A thin, lanky figure was twisted upon it as their torso hung over legs that were bound and chained to the chair upon which they sat. Snow-white hair--even through the dark, hung to their toes and scraped the stone floor as their head strained against the tension of the body as though begging to be freed. Upon their head, a crown of steel was planted atop struts that held a halo of spikes--the foul decoration hovered as though suspended by magic. The monotonous breathing was now joined by a frantic, low whisper, "I AM Elianor. I am here, I am present, I am now. I AM Elianor. I am here, I am present, I am now. I AM Elianor. I am here, I am present, I am now. I AM Elianor. I am here, I am present, I am now. I AM Elianor. I am here, I am present, I am now. I AM Elianor. I am here, I am present, I am now. I AM Elianor. I am here, I am present, I am now. I AM Elianor. I am here, I am present, I am now. I AM Elianor. I am here, I am present, I am now."

The rant was interrupted by a steady, practiced intake of breath that lulled for the same amount of time, every time. Then, they continued. It was a voice like sweet wine, effeminate and intoxicating. Words hung in the air like honeyed treats even if they were being fired rapidly from a cracked and bleeding mouth, eyes--more accurately the sockets where eyes should've been, levelled at the ground with the singular intent of staying sane. Their features were that of a woman, but their face was too obscured by the shadow and hair to make out more than what was already seen; the dark layered like a midnight blanket upon her cheeks and jaw assisted by a veil that draped from atop her head. A dress hung--patchy and torn, to her ankles; the fabric was stained in blood and filth.

Aris drew one step closer and the stomp of her boot echoed louder than it ever should've, and at once the ranting whispers stopped. The Woman's frame stiffened as she pulled herself upright--hands bound by leather straps against the arms of the chair. Her features were assaulted by a clarity as she cast a glance straight ahead and toward The reckless Half-Elf--a chuckle racking her dried throat.

"Ah, so THIS is NOW. What a WoNdErFuL time now is," Her pronunciation bounced with a manic energy that bounced between high and low, "would you not agree? What a wonderful TIME this time is to be. IF, that is, time is a thing that can be; I suppose it is a thing all at once, but is not at all? That is... until IT is. Then, it is. Time, that is."

Her vocal cords shrieked with a croak of a laugh as she threw her head back in what could only be interpreted as unrestrained excitement, "Suphia... wait--I suppose you are Aris, right now. I understand. Names are so tricky when you're two people at once! So, I'm sorry. So so so sorry. Aris... Aris? Yes, now I know you. So, Aris, my lonesome elf, my midnight gunner, SEEKER, slave of Iyesgarth. Why--today, have you come to me?"

Long, unkempt nails bounced with a metal ring from the arms of the chair as the woman listened with a silent and probing intent.

​

​

 

[Rohan]

[✦] Hunadi Dralis- Group 3​

Chaos had erupted through the corridors as alarm bells rang out. Dwarf soldiers swarmed this way and that as some ran towards the escaped prisoners, while others ran from them. It had been a hard fight just to leave their little torture room, yet alone make it down the hallway where they met up with the scribe and her comrades.
“ We gathered your belongings and our friends secured you a boat back to the mainland. Come on, we'll take my route out of here." one of the spies spoke before the other piped up and the pair began to bicker .” Why are you helping us?” Nadi asked, dodging a barrage of attacks from the swarming guards. He was hesitant to trust them, but between them and the reanimating Hammerfist, he chose the latter and followed the group into the secret door. Sure they were helping him and the others get out of this festering prison, but what would they want as payment when..if the escape was successful? He didn't have much time to dwell upon the possible outcomes.

The hallway on the other side of the secret door was less busy compared to where they had come from. A break in the fighting offered the group a moment to gather themselves and prepare for the next leg of their escape. ” Is everyone alright? Nadi asked, looking himself over and finding a gash running across his left forearm. He tore a strip of fabric from the cloak and used it as a temporary bandage. If his medical supplies hadn’t been stolen, he would properly clean it once they were clear of danger- whenever that would be. For everyone’s sake, he hoped sooner rather than later.

Goonfire AriAriAbabwa escapist
​

 

[Goonfire]

SHERAGA THE LEPER
GROUP 1:
Corn Orc Vandal Tool Aegis SilverFlight

---

Sheraga slowly reached forward to place a reassuring hand on Arnou's shoulder, but quickly recoiled. As much as he wished to give a kind gesture, he feared spreading his own disease. For another body to be destroyed with sores and lumps... it would be a travesty.

The leper turned to stare back at Annik in utter bewilderment. With Dunan cackling, he felt the same response welling up within his throat. He bellowed a hearty laugh, the first one in years. The tension of the moment had been cut so easily. "I'm truly sorry!" he wheezed. "Yes, my name is Sheraga. I assure you, it is not a verb."

"'Sloth'... In the civilized tongue, the word can also mean a lack of meaningful action," he tried to explain in plain language once composed. "As you may know, doing nothing when action is needed can also cause harm... but we are now looking to take action. If the gates open tonight, then we had best be there to act—to whatever ends that may lead us." He lowered his visor after echoing Arnou's sentiments with a positive, almost heroic tone.

 

[Tool]

GROUP 1
Goonfire Corn Orc Vandal Aegis SilverFlight




When Dunan laughed, followed suit by the Sick Man in Yellow Metal whose name was apparently what Annik had taken to mean 'to move at speed', she initially flushed but the shell of embarrassment cracked and sloughed away as laughter of her own came from deep in her belly, rich and sincere and true. At least she hadn't used sheraga in casual conversation. The Sick Man in Yellow Metal had been capital-T THE Sick Man in Yellow Metal in her own mind for so long that she'd unintentionally made him a marker rather than a man, and being reminded that Sheraga was more than merely a sign of her own destiny guiding her on her path and was, in fact, a whole and complete person in his own right. He, too, had a destiny. A name. A past. Loves. Hopes. Despairs.

Sheraga. Dunan. And Arnou.

For his part, Arnou seemed to take all the advice to heart and decide for himself what he wanted to do.

If only other chains broke so easily.

She took a long look at Sheraga's face before the metal face of his helmet slid into place. He was very obviously sick, with an unwholesome complexion and a nose that looked somewhat deflated, to Annik's eyes. On the other hand, Sheraga did bear the scars of battle and those were definitely marks of pride and attraction among her people; they were evidence of survival of difficult circumstances, and that notion defined much of Kellid life. It was a pity Sheraga was both sick and Civilized. At least he was facing battle unafraid, such that his sickness did not stop him, even if he was undeniably civilized about things. If he'd followed the Kellid ways, he'd have been a compelling figure to any brave enough to risk laying with him.

When the Sick Man in Yellow Metal explained what sloth meant in the Civilized tongue, Annik shook her head.

"Language is not Civilized. Only the language of the Beasts and the Language before Language are of the Wild...... but language is just talking, and most do not have the Makutu to ever learn the speech of the Wild." From her tone, it was patently obvious that if her opinion was changed on the matter, the rag-tag group would be left with a largely mute companion. Civilization was a trap, and its hooks were notoriously difficult to remove from one's soul. Still, if Annik's verbal goings on ever became problematic, convincing her that certain modes of speech were more civilized than others would do it.

Arnou was the next focus of her attentions, and the good humor of laughter had not left Annik's delicate features. "I am glad your father is not a god. I....... feel bad for gods, sometimes. They are pure but have no..... choice. You have more freedom than you see, and more binding you than you know."

With the three men also deciding to stick around this cursed place and free the unknowingly enslaved, Annik felt a renewed sense of vigor and even a budding camaraderie, despite their misguided ways.

"It is decided." Annik confirmed, walking over to the window, hopping onto the sill, and twisting around to let herself down to the street in a controlled drop. When she turned, her eyes widened at the sight of the Not Man Dunan and her lips broke into a sincere, wide smile......... followed by confusion and then understanding. He'd left the room to change, and even now kept to the shadows. Dunan had a Makutu, he had a gift that brought him closer to the Wild than human man was normally able, but he obviously didn't want people knowing about it, probably because people might confuse it for magic...... or become jealous. Annik approached with her knees bent and nearly in a crouch, so she might look at Dunan in his eyes.

"You have a Makutu!.....er...... gift! It is a very good gift. I do not think you need to be worried about the other two being envious enough to fight you. They are too blinded by Civilization. I...... have never seen a wolf like you, before." Annik cocked her head and wracked her brain to remember any tales of wolves that were....... stretched in frame though no less tall than their cousins, but ultimately, the girl came up blank. Dunan looked like a wolf that had been squeezed and stretched in a few key places, with the difference in bulk from the wolves to which Annik was accustomed made up by thick, long fur, but all that might have been rude to point out, so Annik kept the observation to herself. Dunan seemed less musclar than a grey wolf, though a bit taller and comfortably large enough to take down a buck or boar, if he was skilled and lucky.

Annik resisted the urge to either sniff Dunan's crotch or issue a challenge of dominance; Annik did not have the gift to change her body in this way, and as a member of a budding pack, issuing a challenge wasn't really her place. As far as she knew, the three men had already decided to follow her lead in bringing the Tower-people low. They'd shown her respect with their words and their decisions. A challenge was unnecessary. Besides, she was the Karwi Shwadar; she had gifts of her own, no matter how lucky he was to have this one.

"Were you born a wolf or a man?"

 

[SilverFlight]

Dùnan Skye

Group 1

Dunan was happy listening to the sounds of mirth above him. He made a point to remember the sounds of their laughter, tucking the memory away in a special place of fondness in his mind.
Annik agreed with them also and Dunan was glad to have the wild woman on their side.
Then she did something Dunan did not expect. He saw the edges of her boots trailing over the edge before she dropped straight down in front of him.
Dunan froze, thought of running, but their eyes met and the thought melted.
At first she smiled, like so many he'd met when they saw the scruffy, lanky dog form. An animal. Friendly, but this expression faded all too quickly, and an icy pit opened at the bottom of his stomach when it changed to recognition.

She recognized him. He didn't know how but she did. Dunan had thought about playing dumb, pretending to be just a simple, regular dog, but even as he thought it he knew it wouldn't work. It may have, with anyone else, but not Annik, not the wild woman who smelled like earth and storms and snow, who had wild in her blood and a connection to it he couldn't begin to understand.

Her first words to him nearly made him choke. "G-gift?!" He stammered, in indignant disbelief, but the excitement with which she had said it almost made him believe it could be. She wasn't repulsed in the slightest, or frightened. She was...impressed?
Her reassurances that the others wouldn't fight him were met with no small amount of confusion.
"I suppose I'm more worried that they would skewer me for an abomination." He spoke quietly, trying not to rouse anymore suspicion than he already had.

Annik had said wolf, but her last question caught Dunan off guard:

"Were you born a wolf or a man?"

Dunan opened his muzzle to answer, but then he really thought about the question.

"I'm not a wolf." He began, the words leaving his pointed teeth as if they were spoken by a man. "I'm a wolfhound, a....a civilized wolf...bred by men to hunt wolves."
He tried to use her own language. "And...I was born a man...I think. If I am perfectly honest, I don't have enough of my memory to say for sure, but I think...I think I did something very wrong, and for that I was cursed to change into this, when the sun leaves the earth every night."
The shadows were useless now, so Dunan stepped out of them, so she could see his full form in the dim light of the alley. Thin but muscled, scruffy, wiry hair sticking out at odd angles, but his eyes were nearly the same, a rich, warm amber-brown, and they almost glowed in the murky black.

"Why...why did you call it a gift?" He asked.

Tool

Aegis Corn Orc Vandal Goonfire

 

[Corn Orc Vandal]

Khadija Aslan​

Group 2 ( BlueXBlood , Zazz , Xen6n , Aegis )​

"And how exactly do you want me to 'go see' what it is, in the dark?" came 'Bal's sharp retort. Evidently, she hadn't inherited the ability to see through darkness, common among many orcs and elves. Khadija sighed, listening to the strange breaths emerging from the shadowed tunnel before them.

Without warning, one of their number pressed forward. Aris, brushing past the two, and deep into the darkness beyond. Barely a silhouette cast against it now. Despite her fear, Khadija didn't want to leave her comrade-in-arms alone to face whatever lurked in the darkness. That, and she didn't want Aris to lay claim to whatever riches might be found there.

"Use your damn eyes, you fool; how else?" Khadija hissed at 'Bal, reigniting the ghostly blue flame in her unarmed hand. "Come. We'll all share the same fate, for good or ill."

Khadija pushed herself into the dark chamber with slow, methodical footsteps. Each one feeling leaden and taking a herculean effort. She caught up to Aris, flanking her left side; her illusory flame flickered dimly in the room, as though some malevolent force sought to smother its light. She studied the hall, taking particular note of the strange eyes locked away in glass bottles, like like the concoctions of some demented alchemist or a madman’s preserved specimens crudely pickled for future study. They possessed a curious intelligence to them, as if they were still capable of sight. On sheer impulse, Khadija wanted to overturn the shelves and send the eyes crashing to the floor, but she restrained herself.

The stone floors gave more cause for concern. Scrawled messages in every language, warding them away. Khadija was no great mage. Not even a good one. But even she realized that they were fools for exploring this place. Dark, sinister forces were at work here. What were the Seekers doing here? She told herself that whatever still inhabited this place must have been so weakened that these messages no longer mattered; that they could slay it with ease. This self-reassurance did little for her.

Something told her they were too far to turn back now.

A strange chattering from within, coming from a woman trapped in a chair centered in a faintly glowing circle. Just a woman. Khadija's keen ears could just make out the message, repeated over and over as it was. A mad litany, as it was, a repetition of her own name. "Don't step in that circle," Khadija whispered to Aris. She had a faint idea of what it could be. Some kind of binding spell, perhaps, or something that manipulated time. Maybe a ward that kept the woman in a tortuous, undying stasis as punishment for some past sin. Nothing she could contend with, considering her limited knowledge of the arcane arts.

Then the woman addressed Aris directly. Or, as directly as an insane creature trapped underground for what must have been hundreds of years could manage. The woman, if a woman is what she indeed was, seemed to have difficulty differentiating the past, present, and future. Khadija felt a growing sense of pity for the woman, obviously driven to insanity by years and years of isolation in the dark. She also knew Aris, somehow. A seer, perhaps? Khadija heard of such things, but only second-hand. If she could summon up that much knowledge about Aris just from looking at her, then she must have immense power and farsight. Perhaps...

"You won't get much out of her, I'm afraid. More the quiet type," Khadija said, summoning the courage to step forward. There was a slight quaver in her voice, but she stood tall, meeting the woman in the eyes. Or rather, where her eyes might be, beneath ragged strands of white hair. "We seek the Cradle of Life. Do you know of it?" Not exactly the truth; she didn't know what the others sought, but Khadija knew what she wanted. And she wanted the Cradle desperately, to turn back time. So much so that she was willing to risk speaking with this strange, cursed creature, trapped in the bowels of the earth.

 

[Zazz]

Group 2: Corn Orc Vandal BlueXBlood Xen6n Aegis

---

"Use your damn eyes, you fool; how else?" Khadija hissed at 'Bal, reigniting the ghostly blue flame in her unarmed hand. "Come. We'll all share the same fate, for good or ill."

The gladiator huffed in response. Blue light returned shortly, much to Bal's relief; her heart no longer felt tight and suffocated. With a deep breath and an uncomfortable squirm to address her itchy, marred flesh, she followed behind Khadija.

The walls were lined with tools and instruments, and the only light came from the bard. Bal'kafaz kept close behind Khadija, dagger ready in hand. The Prigallan turned her nose up at the eyeballs that followed them. Sure, she had popped out a few in battle, but to see them displayed like this... It was sickening to think what these "Seekers" had gotten up to in these ancient ruins. Whatever creature was beyond was alive by way of magic, no doubt, and distaste crept up the back of Bal's neck like a thousand needles. She could not read the warnings scratched into the ground; letters and arcane symbols were the same, in her eye. No, what weighed on her was the literal mountain of rock between them and fresh, circulating air.

"We should not be here," she whispered solemnly, knowing neither seeker nor bard would care to listen. There was no turning back.

Bal'kafaz heard the woman's voice before she saw her. Her voice drifted over the dust like an injured butterfly, manic yet soothing to the ear. When, at last, they entered the room where she sat, imprisoned, Bal's dagger lowered, and confusion set in. The circlet around her head.. floated? Her hair was long and unkempt, as were her nails. But she was not old - at least in appearance. Khadija spoke directly to the eyeless sockets, and Bal'kafaz glance between the three women, her unease clear as day.

"...What is the Cradle of Life?"

 

[AriAriAbabwa]

Group 3 Goonfire Rohan escapist​

"A fine plan!" she answered to Hunadi, thrashing another poor sap lifeless. "One never turns down a free drink!"

Maude was by all means having a grand old time. Pent up from the lashings, and the prospect of experiments, adrenaline was the only thing keeping her pain in check. She only focused in on the armored guards, flying around her cellmates in a frenzy. She noticed the two of them holding their own against these guards, and that was more than enough to assure her of their abilities.

It was only when the scribe and her friends appeared, that Maude snapped back. It took a moment—they got to see a face full of rage before recognition kicked in, and the demon-like snarl turned into a pearly white grin; a stark contrast to the crimson blanketing her face.

A tentacle of blood wrapped around a retreating guard's arm, dragging the poor sap across the floor until he was underneath Maude. "I, for one, have no plans to linger!" She gladly followed the trio. But the noise behind her sparked a glance back, and Maude was beheld with both fascination. Something had seen it fit to crawl to Hammerfist's mangled corpse. What it did? Well, it warranted a worried response from the scribe.

"Don't you worry your pretty heads!" She looked to Hunadi with the same toothy grin. "I'm fine! I'll handle it just like everything else!" Though she said that, apart from her seamless expression, she appeared far from healthy. The wounds from the lashings and some cuts during the fight had only widened thanks to Maude's relentless actions, and her magic forcing the blood around her body. As for how much of the blood on her body belonged to her or the poor victims? It was impossible to tell.

 

[escapist]

Jac'aal the Vagabond
​

In the last few weeks and especially in the last few hours, Jac'aal started really hating dwarves in general, however when the scribe and their companions arrived and offered an escape route just in time, Jac'aal was ready to forgive to their race. The hammer felt heavy in his hand, his superficial scars were burning with pain and he didn't feel like he had enough willpower and endurance to defeat another too of the formidable dwarf guards. "Just in time..." A deep sigh of an exhausted beast escaped from his jowl. His grotesque form leaped over the dead bodies of their enemies, nodding to himself contentedly, acknowledging the power and skill of his fate-mates. "Even if that blood manipulation of that looked too evil to my taste..." Jac'aal added to himself as he turned around...

He looked back to see the unsettling reanimation of the abused corp. Jac'aal didn't have too much connection with magic; he knew that what he could do with a smaller creature's corp is a bit similar to what was happening with the late Hammerfist, he couldn't ignore the unpleasant feeling as he was watching the unnatural transaction between the steel golem and the dwarf's body. From the background he partly heard the other's discussion. "If both of you are fine, I'm good too..." He chimmed in cynically and it almost feels like the wound, the bloody spear-scratch on his side hurt less already. The jokes that even he didn't like, always made the grim reality brighter...
"Fine-fine, I'll be the first one, you do not have to beg me!" He assured the others with one of his hands rised inthe air reassuringly and with one of his legs already in the secret route. "You better follow me quick!" He said to Maude and Hunadi, there was nothing close to mischief in his raspy voice. "Reanimation's practical because it takes little for the body to recover if the magic's strong enough..." He didn't even wait for himself to finish the sentence, he already pressed his ugly body through the tunnel that was certainly not planned for someone as big as him. "You son of a..." As Jac'aal pushed himself through the dusty, tight and dark beginning of the secret route, he cursed every rock or root that dared to stick out in his way.

Getting through the worst part, the tunnel widens into something that looked more like it was dwarf-made. Jac'aal barely, but could see the gentle light coming from somewhere that was covered by the walls of the slightly winding route. Under his feet layed stone tiles with an orderly mess, marking their way. The part of his mind that hoped too much from too little could already smell the fresh air of the mainlands. Maybe after a few hours he would be on the road again, wandering with his familiar wand in his hand and the dirty black cloak that hid his monsterous forms from the others.

"Wait, where are the others?" He posed the rhetorical question to himself. Without a word, with a glint of worry in his eyes - that he hoped was invisible in the darkness of the tunel - the Vagabond stopped walking and turned his head back, waiting for the others.

 

[Aegis]

Arnou Sylvain, The Wolf in the West
Agonos Isles, Atychía
GROUP 1 ( Corn Orc Vandal Goonfire SilverFlight Tool )​

Arnou felt in his stomach, the desire to join deeper with the group--but the chastisement he had just received was a little too fresh, the chains of his past too recently loosened from around his heart. As Sheraga reached out to Arnou, there was a micro flinch around his eyes but he did not withdraw from the large man in armor; instead, the man himself recoiled from Arnou. He understood the desire not to spread the disease, but the gesture was enough to soften his hard and unexpressive features with the small draw of a smile at the edge of his lips.

Then, they made their jokes whether or not it was intended to be so. Their humor was a welcome sight on this island which had only housed misery and despair for the longest time, and while The Exiled Lord didn't join into their merriment with laughter he did allow the smile to open wider as the red of color flushed to his cheeks for the first time in a while. Arnou looked human again--fuller than before, "Well, he may not be a God, but you're right about being bound--on both of our accounts."

Arnou shied away from saying any more on the topic as he questioned the wisdom of anything HE had to say on that particular topic at the time. He'd been a fool for too long, and even now the words of self-encouragement were mere echoes from another; his own words ringing hollow as he believed himself to be wholly unreliable on the matter. Choking down his pride, Arnou gathered himself and nodded as they agreed it was time to get moving, "The gates should open very soon. We have to go, now."

Without any more time to be wasted, Arnou made his way out the door as Annik bolted out the window in typical fashion for herself, He had faith that she would make her own way down as she seemed to be fond of travelling in ways he would have a hard time keeping up with. Thoughts of what was to come filled his mind rendering him blind to the conversation happening nearby, but he didn't let the reality of it crush him like before. It would be a hard night, a night to decide what would be the rest of their lives whether that be short or long.

It was time to go to the Conclave.

 

[BlueXBlood]

Group 2 - Aris, R'hllor, Khadija, and Bal'Kafaz
The Southwestern Sanctuary of the Order ​

As Aris advanced, stirring the dust of the ground, her nerves drowned in anticipation. She couldn't sense a flinch, not a single shiver of motion in response. As much as that served to calm her fears of something wildly roaming the depths of the sanctuary, the insight merely unnerved her more. What panted so heavily yet remained so still? So invisible? The uncertainty was far more frightening than any tangible threat, and each step was taken in concurrence with the forcefully steadied throbbing of an anxious heart. Deeper and deeper into the hall...

Aris' enhanced vision amidst the darkness meant close to nothing as Khadija's light faded behind her, the stone walls around her painting no better of a picture than a barely defined void of grey. The floor dropped a step, and she winced, startled. Nothing else seemed to change, though, save for a light that glowed dimly and uselessly from the other end of the hall. The dragging series of breaths that echoed from the distance continued, growing louder. Finally, they began to form themselves into words.

"I am Elianor... I am here... I am present... I am now..."

A hagged woman, sitting bound in a chair so deep in this sanctuary... Her attire and appearance depicted her as an oracle of some kind, in the Seeker's mind. One of an... unpleasant nature. Aris couldn't imagine another reason for her to be restrained, chanting in such a disturbed manner, in a dark room for who knows how long. Aris held her gun steady, the black eye of the barrel aimed at the woman with a piercing gaze. She appraised her slowly... First the crown of thorns, then her hair, all till her own eyes met the face of the woman. Elianor. She'd greet her with the name if she weren't bound to silence, wondering if it would wake her from her trance of muttering foreboding words. It seemed the gesture wasn't necessary, though. The moment Aris drew a single step closer, the sound of her boot alone miraculously shifted the woman's concentration from her chant to the seeker.

"Ah, so THIS is NOW. What a wonderful time now is."

The feeling of the woman's attention carried a piercing weight, one that took an immeasurable amount of strength and will to conceal as Aris held her guarded stance. Rambles about time quickly confused her... Something about now. What a wonderful time this is to be. That thought seemed to amuse the woman incredibly, as she lashed back in a hoarse laughter, beaming with an an enigmatic joy that was nothing less than disturbing to the Seeker as she watched.

What a time to be held to an oath of silence... Aris' mind flooded with questions, all of which she desperately wished to interrogate the woman with. Who are you? Why are you here? Chained? Like some demented creature..? This was a Seekers' sanctuary, and something concealed so deep within it simply had to be magical... Intensely so, for that matter. Her confinement was not the work of the lowly merchants and marauders that parade around in the Order nowadays. It must have been the true Seekers that imprisoned her here... Those were Aris' thoughts. Such a conclusion, however, made the being sitting before her all the more unnatural and frightening to speculate about. Aris' mind led her down a rabbit hole... one that was simply incapable of understanding the situation at hand.

"Suphia... Wait- I suppose you are Aris, right now."

The woman began to speak in a much more personal manner to Aris, which filled her with more unease than the entirety of what had passed up until now. Suphia? What does that mean? As she spoke something of Aris, and a duality of identities, just briefly, her words brought the Seeker's guard to ruin. Anyone could see in her shuddering gaze the turmoil of sudden curiosity that began to swell. But what could she say? She found herself at the mercy of the woman's monologue.

She heaved a sigh, attempting to calm herself... Then, she quirked an eyebrow, her soft expression carrying a hidden plea that the woman might elaborate further. In came Khadija, though, who decided to redirect the subject elsewhere. The Cradle of Life. Aris flashed a suspicious expression at the bard from beside her, though it lasted no more than a brief moment. So much could be derived from such a statement... Seeking the Cradle of Life. But Aris didn't have the thought to spare for that now, with all that her mind was consumed by the current moment. She could only wait and watch as the woman responded.

[ Aegis , Xen6n , Corn Orc Vandal , Zazz ]​

 

[Goonfire]

SHERAGA THE LEPER
GROUP 1:
Corn Orc Vandal Tool Aegis SilverFlight

---

With a good laugh lightening the mood, illusions dispelled, and morale renewed, Sheraga felt ready to tackle the sizable undertaking of raiding the Conclave's tower. He did not forget the ill-fated campaign that had landed him in this position, though. While the crusade stained his pride as the leprosy his flesh, his spirit remained unbroken. He would do as he had always done.

"Whether it is good or ill fortune that our boat arrived today remains to be seen," he noted. He positioned himself next to the door, beckoning for Arnou to join him in their exit.

The very air outside had grown heavy as the blue hour faded into the dark of night. The pilgrim knew the moment every resident anticipated was nigh... He wondered who would be there, and if Elspelth or Mikaela rallied their ragged followers in defense of these witches who dominated the island.

 

[Tool]

GROUP 1
Goonfire Corn Orc Vandal Aegis SilverFlight



Annik looked confused and aghast. Abomination? What in the world? Why? Civilization never failed to profoundly confuse the Kellid, but boy it became more and more depressing. A wave of pity and sympathy washed over the girl, and her face softened somewhat in the gauzy light; these were just people who found themselves on the wrong end of a fork in the road of life's choices. They very literally didn't know what they were missing.

Dunan was not a wolf, apparently, but some twisted not-wolf that hunted wolves. Annik considered this. A civilized wolf was a repulsive notion, a civilized wolf intended to hunt wild ones even more so...... but, if a wolf couldn't defend itself against its civilized cousin, then should it live on to breed pups of its own? Could a civilized wolf be derided or shamed for being born what it was?

Was there any hope for civilized wolves to become wild? Annik hoped so. If city people could throw off what they'd learned and shuck their shells into the sea to become something truly free, then perhaps a civilized wolf could do the same. Becoming a wolf, even a sad one, every time the sun set was still a Makutu worthy of envy. She spoke as she stood up more completely, glancing behind her at The Sick Man in Yel-..... Sheraga. Sheraga and Arnou. That was going to take some getting used to.

"Four legs move faster than two. Sight is better at night. Hearing is better than that of a man. Smell is MUCH better. Fangs. Jaws to use them. You become a..... wolfhound......" The word was unfamiliar but not impossible.

"You become a wolfhound when the sun sleeps, just when being a man would be a disadvantage. Becoming a beast is a rare Makutu among my people, worthy of respect and envy. It is strange that you do not remember who you were. Perhaps the gods of your people took your memories and gave you this gift in return. Many would consider that a fair trade."

Her smile became wicked and lush and frank in a way that more demure inclinations wouldn't allow. "Besides, I have seen wolves rut many times. If a wolfhound comes even close, that alone seems worthy of envy."

Once the other two were making their way over, Annik pitched her voice low, barely more than a whisper but hopefully still audible to those of the canine persuasion. "I will keep your secret, if you need. I can keep private your private things."

Subtlety was not Annik's strong suit, but she sounded sincere in the effort if not necessarily the skilled application of tact.

"The too-tall place is that way." She said at a more conversational volume, before taking off at a rough jog, moving easily from two legs to an odd four-legged lope that let her snuffle at the ground, before leaning back and looking at the sky, tasting the air..... Moving was a very sensorial experience, when on the plodding ground, and the city passed before her eyes in a staccato blur that still left the structures indistinguishable one from the next save for the amount of decay in their facade. The occasional glow of candlelight spilling from crumbled out windows left trails in the darkness and periodically ruined her night-vision. Occasionally, an oily smoke settled in the air and made Annik's nose wrinkle.

They were moving into the sickest parts of the city, filled with people that were dying in their bodies and their souls. Mist thicker than milk seeped from between alleyways before vanishing on more open paths, bringing with it the too-sweet scent of rot. This city was voracious, and it was eating people alive.

And there it was, looming out of the city like an iceberg appearing without warning in the middle of the sea, the cracked tooth of this awful place, pure white with a cavity at its core. Or at least , that was the emotional impression left on Annik's instincts.

The tallest building. This...... Conclave.

"Stupid magic." That was Annik's grand contribution to the moment.

 

[SilverFlight]

Dùnan Skye

Group 1

Dunan glanced above him, hearing the convictions of their allies. It put a wag in his lanky tail. For whatever would come, Dunan decided he would stand by them.

He listened as Annik spoke to him, listing the ways his form was fortunate. He had never even once considered...For so long he had hated himself for the punishment he had received, sure that whatever he could not remember was so horrible he was cursed with this form. He never once stopped to consider, that it may have been something of a blessing? Could it be that simple?

It was to Annik, it seemed, and she was right, the form did come with many advantages, most of them were sure to come in handy now. He regarded her with a look of skeptical admiration, even if her final praise changed it to one of absolute bafflement.

She offered to keep the secret of his form. "Thank you, sincerely, I doubt I will be able to keep it from them for long, and I suppose, they have a right to know."
Annik turned to leave, the shadows swallowing her up completely.

"Wait," he added, just as her final comment began to sink in. "What did you mean by 'rut'? Annik?" He trotted to follow into the gloom after her as the group started on their way, thankful his dog form and the darkness hid any sign of his flustered embarrassment. "Annik what did you mean?"

He had to laugh to himself as he ran. That morning Annik had seemed so intimidating, beautiful the way a mountain was beautiful: mighty and distant, and dangerous as well, but now he had seen another side, a compassionate and understanding side. He was glad for it. If they survived this assault on the magical conclave, he made a note to ask her more about her land, the world where, just perhaps, his curse was not so much of one afterall...

~~~

Dunan kept to the shadows, calling out to his companions when he was sure it was safe to do so, letting them know he was close beside them. For himself, dog-Dunan could see very well, well enough to catch Annik's odd form of walking. He studied it carefully, and, when she wasn't looking, he began to copy her, putting his snout close to the ground and then up.

The city opened before him. A world of scents above and below painted a picture well beyond what he could see with his eyes. He could almost have closed them, if he wished, and still would find his way. Amazing!

Then suddenly that was put to the test as the mist slowly rolled in. Everything became damp and sodden, but surprisingly, it made the scents all the easier to detect. Soon Dunan was loping easily as a dog would, head now up, then down, listening for the others.
He made sure to dart into the light now and again when Annik was nearby, letting her know precisely where he was, and if they were attacked, which direction help would come from.

Tool

Aegis Corn Orc Vandal Goonfire

 

[Corn Orc Vandal]

Agonos Isles
Group 1 ( Goonfire , Aegis , Tool , SilverFlight )​

Three human figures moved through Atychía's mossgrown ruins like black shades stalked by a lupine shadow. A thick mist rose like the spirits of all the dead who sleep in the damned city. It softened the jagged form of crumbled buildings and decaying roads into a nightmarish dreamscape with little definition, like the suggestion of a world. No starlight tonight. Just the twin moon’s shadows, barely visible against dark clouds.

Westerly winds carried into Atychía more than just the fog. It carried with it, coming from far below these upper warrens, the sounds of some debauched revelry. Cries of pleasure and cries of pain, manic laughter and demented chant, all warping and shifting into one discordant and faint cacophony. (The wind carried the acrid smell of burning wood, of burning cloth, of burning flesh.) High above, a pale raven floated on these pelagic thermals.

The windings streets were empty save for the four. Atychía lay dead around them like never before, houses crouching dark and empty, windows gaping like black eyes. The tower hung above all, standing against the black sky. A void in the void. The road twisted and turned, always leading upward toward the tower, always closer to the dark mass that loomed at the top of the city as if there had never been any choice for them. As if every road would lead them to its gates.


Atychía, that decrepit and dying city, now slouched at their backs, with only the tower and its iron-wrought gates before them. The Conclave's pristine white stones seemed like a mockery of the rotting world around them. Tall walls hugged it on every side, and two braziers hung from either side of the gate, their fires warding off the near-impenetrable fog.

They stood before it. Alone.

No sick and dying penitents seeking to gain entrance. No diseased, disfigured grotesques begging for salvation. Only the four. Now at the Conclave's gates, the tower's oppressive weight hanging over them, they felt something dark and powerful behind its gates. Something ancient and unyielding. The air felt different here. Heavier. It hummed with a power that seeped into the skin, into the bones. Not seen, not heard, but there all the same, like the heartbeat of some vast, slumbering thing buried deep in the earth. The tower's windows were dark.

Behind them, deep into the city, the mad revelry was reaching a fever pitch. Fires cut through the fog like malevolent starlight. Hundreds of torches. All climbing up, up, up. A burning snake slithering through the city.

The portcullis groaned as it rose. Iron teeth scraping against the stone, a sound like the grinding of bones. The iron bars vanished into the wall above and the wooden doors behind swung slowly open, revealing through the fog three shadows.

A robed figure, lean and bent as if from fatigue, stood flanked by two impossibly large armored knights, each carrying in their gauntleted hands enormous halberds. With each step the robed man took, so too did his silent sentinels. They walked into the courtyard, and in the firelight more of their features came into shape. A tall, thin elf with long white hair, his ageless, angular face worn with fatigue. His robes, once white, were thoroughly stained. (He smelled of incense and juniper, lavender and old smoke. It was an alien scent in this decaying island, not one Annik nor Dunan had encountered). The elf's exhausted countenance shifted into something like relief when his frantic eyes landed on the four outside the Conclave's gates.

"Arnou? Annik? Oh, thank the gods you've come," the elf said earnestly, calling them by name as if they were old friends. He seemed to realize this, and his nervous eyes flitted away for a moment, face reddening. " Where are the others? I thought there were five in your party?"

It could not be seen, but it could be heard by a keen ear. The soft *whoop whoop whoop* of a bird's wings in motion just over their heads. A blur of white passed effortlessly over the Conclave's walls, succeeding where Annik had failed. High from the tower cried out a young, frantic voice.

"Suldor, they're almost here!"

The thin elf paled. "Quickly, please, come," he beckoned, backing into the Conclave's walls. "We have little time, and I have much to tell." The hulking knights on either side shifted their immense bodies, standing at attention on either side of the gate. Beyond them, the Agonos Conclave beckoned them, the gate like an open maw to a world unknown.

 

[Aegis]

Elianor
Group 2 ( Corn Orc Vandal BlueXBlood Zazz Xen6n )​

The woman's head shifted to meet Khadija as she cut into the conversation, and she fell motionless and serious as she listened to the half-orc speak back to her. All of her manic expressions faded and--given her condition, it would've been understandable to believe that the stillness that washed over her was death. The actual exchange was short, but as Khadija brought up the Cradle of Life the woman's mouth split into a toothy grin that split her dried lips with streams of blood falling down her chin, "SO, The Cradle? My dear Khadija, fanciful bard of Axasterke, of course you do! You wish to turn back the past, no? Not an easy feat to be done; it requires GREAT magic. The kind of magic the Cradle possesses. I guess, of course, I should answer your question, then: Yes, I know of it."

Her tongue shot from her mouth to lap the vitae from her lips leaving them spread in pink-red, "Where is it? How do we get there? Is there REALLY a wish?"

Elianor tried to stifle a snicker but it grew and grew and grew from a giggle to a laugh to a cackle as the force of her bellows caused her to rack her body against the confines of the chair. If she still had eyes, they would be bulging with the joy of asking the very questions that would come to mind for the orc. She, at once, fell still and grim as he face became wretched and serious, "I know where it is, of course. I always have. It's simple to get to really--you just have to walk."

She practically spat her final reply to this trilogy of madness, "YES, there is a wish to be had for one STRONG enough to conquer the Cradle, but you, Khadija Aslan, will more likely die before you EVER reach it. That--that is what my eyes tell me. Your obsession with the Seekers will be your undoing."

Elianor's expression was a scowl as she turned to her head to the third arrival, "That must make you Bal'kafaz, and worse than the previous two for you want NOTHING. NOTHING. There were so many realities in which you died before you ever even ARRIVED at the Sanctuary and yet you have the lack of tact to darken my midnight chamber with your spineless presence. For what use have you of the cradle, to wish for an infinite pile of fried meat?"

The woman's face wrinkled into anger as she leaned back in her seat, but as she heaved wrathful breaths from her nose they began to slow as the tension melted from her face. The room was quiet for a moment after her outburst. Silence was again returning to the chamber, "Now, I know that no matter what I say or do, you will likely continue to pry for answers. I'll keep it brief: I propose a deal. Free me. Free me, and I will provide you with everything you wish to know about The Cradle."

Elianor slumped forward in her chair, but kept her head raised as her spine twisted at an uncomfortable angle, "How does that sound?"

Just as she spoke, the crown over here vibrated causing her to fall quiet as though she was expecting this outcome. The metal spikes at once slid from the outside of the crown where they remained as decoration and slammed inward to impale her head in eight different stab wounds. The process was slow as they jabbed at her skin before slowly driving deeper and deeper prompting an eruption of screams as the woman thrashed in her chair--metal creaking and moaning as she ripped at her restraints, "IMGONNADIEIMGONNADIEIMGONNADIEIMGONNADIEIMGONNADIEIMGONNADIEIMGONNADIEIMGONNADIE..."

Tears ran down her frantic face as she wailed, but the spikes showed no mercy and with a final pop she slumped impossibly still. Blood trickled down her face as her jaw hung slack. Elianor was dead. There could be no question. Yet, the spikes withdrew, and the blood that had washed down her face began to retreat into her skull once more as she drew a sudden, pitched breath, "Arghhh, always unpleasant."

 

[Corn Orc Vandal]

Khadija Aslan​

Group 2 ( BlueXBlood , Zazz , Aegis )​

Khadija groaned at Bal's question. Apparently the Cradle's myth was unable to penetrate the wall of ignorance that surrounded Prigalla. The question didn't even deserve an answer, and she let the bound woman speak.

Another soothsayer. She'd seen countless false prophets lining the streets of Safir Sehi, all would-be seers promising to look into the future or past for just a few coins. Charlatans, by and large, but some had just enough skill with magic to make their ruse almost believable. The strange woman knew their names, but this was little proof of her clairvoyance to the bard. She might have heard them say their names to each other as they descended, or otherwise used some illusory spell to trick them into believing their names had been spoken, when none was said. She'd already gotten Aris' name wrong once, calling her Suphia. As for the rest, Khadija had seen more accurate "second sight" from blind beggars. Who didn't have some mistake they wanted to correct in their past? And her obsession with the Seekers waned with every passing moment; between the collapsed state of their order, and their apparently tortuous methods applied to this poor wretch, she found her faith in them wavering. Khadija couldn't help but chuckle at her takedown of Bal, though. The seer had been spot on in her analysis, there.

She'd been considering the seer's words when the woman began her demented chant. Khadija recoiled sharply, her hand flying to her mouth as the spikes slammed into Elianor’s skull. The sound of metal grinding into bone, the sickening creak of her body thrashing against the chair—it all hit Khadija in a wave of revulsion. Her breath came in short gasps, and for a moment, she was rooted to the spot, horrified by the sight unfolding before her.

"Oh, gods," was all the half-orc could gasp as the woman's head was pierced like a pincushion. A rare explicative for the antitheist bard.

When Elianor’s screams finally fell silent, replaced by that awful, unnatural stillness, Khadija could only stare, her heart pounding in her chest. Blood trickled down the woman's face and then retreated in some grotesque reversal. She had seen death before, but not like this.

Then Elianor’s body suddenly rattled and drew breath.

Khadija staggered backward, letting out a yelp. Her eyes darted toward the others, looking for any sign that they had shared in the horror of what they'd just witnessed. There was foul magic at play here, Khadija knew, and they needed to exercise caution, lest they fall prey to it.

"We will free you, Elianor. No one should suffer such a cruel fate. Why did the Seekers condemn you to this torture? And how do we break you free from this nightmare? What binds you here?" she whispered, her voice shaky, as if speaking aloud might trigger the spikes again. Her knowledge of these foul binding rituals were only rudimentary, and she feared they might not be able to liberate the seer from this prison.