Breadman
Big loaf supreme
2
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Fantasy Terrorchild: Awakening
- Thread starter K0mori
- Start date
Infab
The Demon Fanatic
1
Damian0358
Roleplaying Procrastinator From Elsewhere
1
joshuadim
the writer
1
turtwigwins
Junior Member
1
hardcore.munchkin
Professional hater
2
dikdik
colossal leaf and prince of the universe
1
bat_hacker
Junior Member
2
Sic the Fae
K0mori
Servant Supreme
Option 1: 5 Votes (71% - Range: 1-71)
Option 2: 2 Votes (29% - Range 72-100)
Fae Roll: 27
"Press them!" you scream. "Bring out your steel!"
Embryx hoists her morning star into the air and lets out a battle cry. With her off-hand, she grips her wand and by the time she clears the tree line, you can see why - with a twirl, she throws the mace through the air before catching it in her telekinesis; it collides with an armored foe with a clang before tumbling end over end back toward her. The blow pitches the man backwards over his heels, and moments after his back hits the earth, his legs spread and skyward, Embryx closes the gap and slams her weapon into his loins with enough force to break his pelvis.
Right behind her, another witch emerges, using wildshape to take on the form of a wolf - she bounds through the trees and then weaves through the pell-mell of confused and disorderly soldiers, a large dagger clutched in her fangs. At last the creature leaps from the ground, easily springing up to the equivalent height of a mounted rider, before dispelling the wildshape and gripping the man from his back, slicing his neck open with the dagger before shifting again into the form of a crow. Inspired by the wanton bloodshed, the pixies disperse themselves invisibly into the crowd, slicing passing legs with knives and setting little enchanted fires.
From Jannava's side, Rowgu lumbers forward with her massive claymore, eyes fixed on the men retreating from your allies. With a huge, overhand strike, she buries her blade into the side of a man's neck before kicking his body to the ground. His startled allies spin to meet the threat, but as they push back against her, crossing their swords against hers and using their shields to back her up, one man is dragged away by his shadow thanks to Veralt's hideous magic, and the other is seized upon by the ankle by his recently-deceased friend, reanimated by one of Jannava's constructs.
In fact, as more and more of the witches and fae pour from the woods increasing the chaos of the scene with each passing moment, more of the royalist dead are puppeteered by Jannava's necromancy students. Within minutes, the opposing force shrinks by a third, with the remainder falling into sheer panic. All around them are men and women with twisted minds, unprotected from the witchcraft and quickly dying to fates far worse than anything found on a normal battlefield. The royal mages still present on the battlefield put up an admirable effort, blasting the zombies crawling to life around them with cleansing, holy magic, or healing the living with magical cures, they simply can't keep up with this much magic, from every angle.
Your coven allies suffer as well, but not nearly so badly; a number of witches have already collapsed from wounds from arrows or blades, while others have fallen victim to friendly fire - several, in fact, fall into the same inky pits of shadow that the enemy was meant to disappear into, suffering the same bloodcurdling horror in death that you witnessed before. You search around for Embryx, wanting confirmation that she's okay but...
You can't find her. Suddenly, you realize how important it is to end this battle immediately - it's time to make your entrance. Make it a memorable one.
1. Advanced Telekinesis - There's a lot of blood on the battlefield. You smile as an old memory crosses your mind of a campsite somewhere out on the open plains west of here. Forget about squeezing hearts... You'll show them what happens when you squeeze gallons of blood into a space the size of your fist.
2. Advanced Necromancy - Jannava and the others are thinking too small. There's plenty of dead flesh around; you can weld it into something larger than life.
3. Advanced Pyrokinesis - You can't help but admire the passion these royalists brought to the battlefield today, the way they fight and die so gallantly for their friends - mostly die. But having that much fire inside can be dangerous...
Option 2: 2 Votes (29% - Range 72-100)
Fae Roll: 27
"Press them!" you scream. "Bring out your steel!"
Embryx hoists her morning star into the air and lets out a battle cry. With her off-hand, she grips her wand and by the time she clears the tree line, you can see why - with a twirl, she throws the mace through the air before catching it in her telekinesis; it collides with an armored foe with a clang before tumbling end over end back toward her. The blow pitches the man backwards over his heels, and moments after his back hits the earth, his legs spread and skyward, Embryx closes the gap and slams her weapon into his loins with enough force to break his pelvis.
Right behind her, another witch emerges, using wildshape to take on the form of a wolf - she bounds through the trees and then weaves through the pell-mell of confused and disorderly soldiers, a large dagger clutched in her fangs. At last the creature leaps from the ground, easily springing up to the equivalent height of a mounted rider, before dispelling the wildshape and gripping the man from his back, slicing his neck open with the dagger before shifting again into the form of a crow. Inspired by the wanton bloodshed, the pixies disperse themselves invisibly into the crowd, slicing passing legs with knives and setting little enchanted fires.
From Jannava's side, Rowgu lumbers forward with her massive claymore, eyes fixed on the men retreating from your allies. With a huge, overhand strike, she buries her blade into the side of a man's neck before kicking his body to the ground. His startled allies spin to meet the threat, but as they push back against her, crossing their swords against hers and using their shields to back her up, one man is dragged away by his shadow thanks to Veralt's hideous magic, and the other is seized upon by the ankle by his recently-deceased friend, reanimated by one of Jannava's constructs.
In fact, as more and more of the witches and fae pour from the woods increasing the chaos of the scene with each passing moment, more of the royalist dead are puppeteered by Jannava's necromancy students. Within minutes, the opposing force shrinks by a third, with the remainder falling into sheer panic. All around them are men and women with twisted minds, unprotected from the witchcraft and quickly dying to fates far worse than anything found on a normal battlefield. The royal mages still present on the battlefield put up an admirable effort, blasting the zombies crawling to life around them with cleansing, holy magic, or healing the living with magical cures, they simply can't keep up with this much magic, from every angle.
Your coven allies suffer as well, but not nearly so badly; a number of witches have already collapsed from wounds from arrows or blades, while others have fallen victim to friendly fire - several, in fact, fall into the same inky pits of shadow that the enemy was meant to disappear into, suffering the same bloodcurdling horror in death that you witnessed before. You search around for Embryx, wanting confirmation that she's okay but...
You can't find her. Suddenly, you realize how important it is to end this battle immediately - it's time to make your entrance. Make it a memorable one.
1. Advanced Telekinesis - There's a lot of blood on the battlefield. You smile as an old memory crosses your mind of a campsite somewhere out on the open plains west of here. Forget about squeezing hearts... You'll show them what happens when you squeeze gallons of blood into a space the size of your fist.
2. Advanced Necromancy - Jannava and the others are thinking too small. There's plenty of dead flesh around; you can weld it into something larger than life.
3. Advanced Pyrokinesis - You can't help but admire the passion these royalists brought to the battlefield today, the way they fight and die so gallantly for their friends - mostly die. But having that much fire inside can be dangerous...
Last edited:
Infab
The Demon Fanatic
1
joshuadim
the writer
1
dikdik
colossal leaf and prince of the universe
2
Damian0358
Roleplaying Procrastinator From Elsewhere
1
Breadman
Big loaf supreme
2
turtwigwins
Junior Member
3
bat_hacker
Junior Member
1
hardcore.munchkin
Professional hater
1
Advanced Telekinesis
K0mori
Servant Supreme
Option 1: 5 Votes (63% - Range: 1-62)
Option 2: 2 Votes (25% - Range: 63-87)
Option 3: 1 Vote (13% - Range: 88-100)
Fae Roll: 34
You propel yourself through the air, slowly taking up position in the air above the chaos where everyone can see you. Predictably, the enemy archers immediately turn their attention to you, but you easily deflect their arrows with rippling telekinesis. This is the one form of magic that you're certain you've mastered by now, you reason. You flash a grin as you know what you're about to do will live on in the nightmares of your foes for the rest of their lives. That is, if they manage to survive.
End them. End them all.
You raise your hand upward as if you were lifting a heavy rope off the ground, the power of your magic unfurling into the battlefield like the tentacles of a sea monster, foundering the footwork of armor-clad knights and witches alike, as they fall against each other in search of stable purchase. All around them, flecks of dirt, rocks, and especially blood, in tiny drips and droplets and slithering ribbons, begin to rise at your command - and it's the latter which you will use to craft a weapon.
You are fear, loathsome fear itself.
It begins to collect and condense like a primordial star, a vortex of deep red death, gradually fattening into an orb as wide as the span of a man's arms as the bloody rain trickles up into it, filling it further and further. The clatter and dance of the battle below comes to a halt as necks begin to bend, heads craned skyward at your macabre spectacle. The wisest among them begin to inch away, seeking cover behind solid objects like the trees. You know from experience, however, how only distance can protect them, and most can't even fathom the destruction you're preparing to unleash.
But you've only begun. You clench your hand, barring your fangs as you exert yourself - a rarity at this stage of your journey - to compress the orb into a tighter space, telekinetically pushing from every angle to reduce the size of the weapon. It wobbles and resists, but like all things in this world, it eventually relents, giving up much of its former being to become something more dangerous and unstable at your insistence. It shrinks and begins to vibrate ominously - streams of blood escape the gravity of your spell and spurt violently over the field below, and only now do they begin to truly understand the nature of your attack.
Not yet. Put more of yourself inside. Every effort you spare is a soul you fail to reap.
Your smile disappears. Your vision clouds; the red sphere is the only object you can perceive as you begin to pour your entire pneuma into crushing it into a tighter and tighter space. Your body erupts into a haze of darkness unlike anything you've experienced before, the smoky remains of dark magic billowing off of your arms and legs, swallowing your body and finally your face whole, until all that remains is the outline of death personified - an evil phantom looming large over the defenseless masses. The great ball of blood becomes as you sought: an object no larger than your fist. It floats down towards the ground, a deceptively peaceful offering. The witches all scamper away in panic, leaving only the royalists, trying to back away all too late.
You let out a scream as you squeeze every last ounce of strength from your pneuma, until at last you can't keep yourself aloft any longer.
Let this be our masterpiece.
Amen.
The moment you release it from your magic, you hear a sound akin to a splash - such as when a chamber pot is dumped from an upper-floor window onto a cobblestone street below - combined with a sound like paper being torn in half. It's sudden, lasting less than a second, but the impact is undeniable: a flat disk of blood which carries its edge with the extraordinary power of your being in a full revolution around itself, annihilating every living thing in its path, regardless of whether it's wearing any armor. The closest men and women to the detonation are instantly cut apart into clean pieces, with those further away suffering more jagged and irregular wounds. The sound you heard is nothing less than the metal of armor and shields being ripped apart by the force of the instantly expanding blood. Trees near the edge of the clearing are torn to splinters in the middle, falling down against each other.
By the time your feet touch down on the soaked earth, dozens of your foes are toppling like faltered towers, their limbs and torsos falling free and tumbling away from you. In the middle distance, a new sound - screaming - resonates from every soul which failed to reckon with the arrival of Syrith's design. The half of the royalists who survived the battle thus far break into a madly terrified retreat as you nearly collapse. You add another voice to the chaos all around as you laugh to your dark heart's content.
It's only once you've had your fun that you remember Embryx, and having held on to the Pandemonium Door long enough to refresh yourself, you quickly set out in search of her. You see a number of dead witches mixed in amongst the mangled foes, and your heart sinks in betrayal as you curse your own lack of restraint.
Then, you see her, side by side with Rowgu, both lying down in the blood and grime. You land, your boots squelching against the disgusting and bloody soil as you place your hand against the drow's shoulder. "Embryx! A-are you okay?" you sputter as you give her a gentle shake.
She lifts her head off of the ground and looks around in shock. "...Holy fuck, Agranne," she replies, half in awe of your strength, and half in righteous anger that you would use it so close to her. "When I saw what you were doing, I dropped to the ground... Look at all this; you could have killed me!"
"Fuck, you're right. I'm sorry," you reply. "I lost sight of you and so I wanted to end things quickly..."
Rowgu then propped herself up onto her elbows before glaring at you. "I have Embryx to thank for my life; I don't even know what you did, I was so focused on my attacks. I just saw her dive to the ground and thought I'd do the same," she explains flatly. "...Glad it worked out."
"I, uh," you say, looking around at the field of carnage surrounding you. "It's a bit hard to explain," you mutter. "I don't know if it's a good time to mention it, but we've got the royalists on the run, and we're all still here, so I think Syrith would approve of-"
Embryx punches the ground in frustration. "It's not a good time!" she yells at you before shrugging your hand off her shoulder and standing up. Wiping some of the muck off her overcoat, she turns and looks over the path of destruction you've just cut, meeting the gazes of the other witches - mainly those from Jannava's side who had lingered further back in the trees. You turn with her and look at your circle, as they all come out of cover to examine the aftermath. Among them, Corrinth bursts into wildly insane laughter, dancing around in circles despite the mud and blood and offal all over the ground. In contrast, a quiet and reserved smile breaks on Veralt's face, while Jannava sinks into the shadows, covering her mouth in horror and disgust at what's happened.
A few other faces lost amidst the destruction begin to reappear. Witches regroup, some wounded, others untouched by the attack, all disoriented or awestruck, and some elated at the early victory. You estimate around a fifth of your followers have lost their lives, but as news of this battle spreads through the world, you'll doubtlessly gain more to replace them. Moreover, most of the fae survived, with relatively few falling to your magical bomb. You put your fist up into the air, hardening your heart despite your desire to pull Embryx aside and mend her hurt feelings. You pack those emotions away; this moment belongs to the Terrorchild far more than it could ever belong to Agranne.
"VICTORY!" you exclaim. "HAIL SYRITH! HAIL LYTHREFANG!"
Your followers summon up their gall to accept the horrible thing you've just done as a new normal. They are no longer traveling with a witch - even Syrith's chosen. They see you as a demigod, and they react accordingly - screaming their cathartic release into the midday sun. A chill runs down your spine as you realize what you're becoming - not in the personal sense, as in your identity, but rather in an objective sense. When Syrith's design rules over Turadal and possibly beyond, the oral tradition of witchcraft will finally be written in full. You... Your name will be included in that story, never to be erased.
1. Salvage - Before leaving this place, you'll be sure that your following gathers as much loot as can be had. Your witches could definitely do with some armor and weapons of their own, especially for once their pneumas are depleted. The necromancers can raise quite a few more zombies, too.
2. Call on the Circle - You can sense the growing rifts within your circle already from the various ways they've reacted to the battle's sudden end. You decide to provide them a chance to voice these differences and see if you can find a solution that everyone can agree on. If not, you'll twist their arms.
3. March Eastward - You've been stuck in the vicinity of this temple for days, now. It's time to move and put this behind you. Anything your army needs, you reason, you can find on the road. Nothing will stand between you and eternal glory.
4. Manipulate Embryx - As much as you want Embryx to forgive you right now, you know that true forgiveness will take serious effort on both of your parts. You did a bad thing, and it won't be easy to forget. You could, however, skip the hard part if you really want to...
Option 2: 2 Votes (25% - Range: 63-87)
Option 3: 1 Vote (13% - Range: 88-100)
Fae Roll: 34
You propel yourself through the air, slowly taking up position in the air above the chaos where everyone can see you. Predictably, the enemy archers immediately turn their attention to you, but you easily deflect their arrows with rippling telekinesis. This is the one form of magic that you're certain you've mastered by now, you reason. You flash a grin as you know what you're about to do will live on in the nightmares of your foes for the rest of their lives. That is, if they manage to survive.
End them. End them all.
You raise your hand upward as if you were lifting a heavy rope off the ground, the power of your magic unfurling into the battlefield like the tentacles of a sea monster, foundering the footwork of armor-clad knights and witches alike, as they fall against each other in search of stable purchase. All around them, flecks of dirt, rocks, and especially blood, in tiny drips and droplets and slithering ribbons, begin to rise at your command - and it's the latter which you will use to craft a weapon.
You are fear, loathsome fear itself.
It begins to collect and condense like a primordial star, a vortex of deep red death, gradually fattening into an orb as wide as the span of a man's arms as the bloody rain trickles up into it, filling it further and further. The clatter and dance of the battle below comes to a halt as necks begin to bend, heads craned skyward at your macabre spectacle. The wisest among them begin to inch away, seeking cover behind solid objects like the trees. You know from experience, however, how only distance can protect them, and most can't even fathom the destruction you're preparing to unleash.
But you've only begun. You clench your hand, barring your fangs as you exert yourself - a rarity at this stage of your journey - to compress the orb into a tighter space, telekinetically pushing from every angle to reduce the size of the weapon. It wobbles and resists, but like all things in this world, it eventually relents, giving up much of its former being to become something more dangerous and unstable at your insistence. It shrinks and begins to vibrate ominously - streams of blood escape the gravity of your spell and spurt violently over the field below, and only now do they begin to truly understand the nature of your attack.
Not yet. Put more of yourself inside. Every effort you spare is a soul you fail to reap.
Your smile disappears. Your vision clouds; the red sphere is the only object you can perceive as you begin to pour your entire pneuma into crushing it into a tighter and tighter space. Your body erupts into a haze of darkness unlike anything you've experienced before, the smoky remains of dark magic billowing off of your arms and legs, swallowing your body and finally your face whole, until all that remains is the outline of death personified - an evil phantom looming large over the defenseless masses. The great ball of blood becomes as you sought: an object no larger than your fist. It floats down towards the ground, a deceptively peaceful offering. The witches all scamper away in panic, leaving only the royalists, trying to back away all too late.
You let out a scream as you squeeze every last ounce of strength from your pneuma, until at last you can't keep yourself aloft any longer.
Let this be our masterpiece.
Amen.
The moment you release it from your magic, you hear a sound akin to a splash - such as when a chamber pot is dumped from an upper-floor window onto a cobblestone street below - combined with a sound like paper being torn in half. It's sudden, lasting less than a second, but the impact is undeniable: a flat disk of blood which carries its edge with the extraordinary power of your being in a full revolution around itself, annihilating every living thing in its path, regardless of whether it's wearing any armor. The closest men and women to the detonation are instantly cut apart into clean pieces, with those further away suffering more jagged and irregular wounds. The sound you heard is nothing less than the metal of armor and shields being ripped apart by the force of the instantly expanding blood. Trees near the edge of the clearing are torn to splinters in the middle, falling down against each other.
By the time your feet touch down on the soaked earth, dozens of your foes are toppling like faltered towers, their limbs and torsos falling free and tumbling away from you. In the middle distance, a new sound - screaming - resonates from every soul which failed to reckon with the arrival of Syrith's design. The half of the royalists who survived the battle thus far break into a madly terrified retreat as you nearly collapse. You add another voice to the chaos all around as you laugh to your dark heart's content.
It's only once you've had your fun that you remember Embryx, and having held on to the Pandemonium Door long enough to refresh yourself, you quickly set out in search of her. You see a number of dead witches mixed in amongst the mangled foes, and your heart sinks in betrayal as you curse your own lack of restraint.
Then, you see her, side by side with Rowgu, both lying down in the blood and grime. You land, your boots squelching against the disgusting and bloody soil as you place your hand against the drow's shoulder. "Embryx! A-are you okay?" you sputter as you give her a gentle shake.
She lifts her head off of the ground and looks around in shock. "...Holy fuck, Agranne," she replies, half in awe of your strength, and half in righteous anger that you would use it so close to her. "When I saw what you were doing, I dropped to the ground... Look at all this; you could have killed me!"
"Fuck, you're right. I'm sorry," you reply. "I lost sight of you and so I wanted to end things quickly..."
Rowgu then propped herself up onto her elbows before glaring at you. "I have Embryx to thank for my life; I don't even know what you did, I was so focused on my attacks. I just saw her dive to the ground and thought I'd do the same," she explains flatly. "...Glad it worked out."
"I, uh," you say, looking around at the field of carnage surrounding you. "It's a bit hard to explain," you mutter. "I don't know if it's a good time to mention it, but we've got the royalists on the run, and we're all still here, so I think Syrith would approve of-"
Embryx punches the ground in frustration. "It's not a good time!" she yells at you before shrugging your hand off her shoulder and standing up. Wiping some of the muck off her overcoat, she turns and looks over the path of destruction you've just cut, meeting the gazes of the other witches - mainly those from Jannava's side who had lingered further back in the trees. You turn with her and look at your circle, as they all come out of cover to examine the aftermath. Among them, Corrinth bursts into wildly insane laughter, dancing around in circles despite the mud and blood and offal all over the ground. In contrast, a quiet and reserved smile breaks on Veralt's face, while Jannava sinks into the shadows, covering her mouth in horror and disgust at what's happened.
A few other faces lost amidst the destruction begin to reappear. Witches regroup, some wounded, others untouched by the attack, all disoriented or awestruck, and some elated at the early victory. You estimate around a fifth of your followers have lost their lives, but as news of this battle spreads through the world, you'll doubtlessly gain more to replace them. Moreover, most of the fae survived, with relatively few falling to your magical bomb. You put your fist up into the air, hardening your heart despite your desire to pull Embryx aside and mend her hurt feelings. You pack those emotions away; this moment belongs to the Terrorchild far more than it could ever belong to Agranne.
"VICTORY!" you exclaim. "HAIL SYRITH! HAIL LYTHREFANG!"
Your followers summon up their gall to accept the horrible thing you've just done as a new normal. They are no longer traveling with a witch - even Syrith's chosen. They see you as a demigod, and they react accordingly - screaming their cathartic release into the midday sun. A chill runs down your spine as you realize what you're becoming - not in the personal sense, as in your identity, but rather in an objective sense. When Syrith's design rules over Turadal and possibly beyond, the oral tradition of witchcraft will finally be written in full. You... Your name will be included in that story, never to be erased.
1. Salvage - Before leaving this place, you'll be sure that your following gathers as much loot as can be had. Your witches could definitely do with some armor and weapons of their own, especially for once their pneumas are depleted. The necromancers can raise quite a few more zombies, too.
2. Call on the Circle - You can sense the growing rifts within your circle already from the various ways they've reacted to the battle's sudden end. You decide to provide them a chance to voice these differences and see if you can find a solution that everyone can agree on. If not, you'll twist their arms.
3. March Eastward - You've been stuck in the vicinity of this temple for days, now. It's time to move and put this behind you. Anything your army needs, you reason, you can find on the road. Nothing will stand between you and eternal glory.
4. Manipulate Embryx - As much as you want Embryx to forgive you right now, you know that true forgiveness will take serious effort on both of your parts. You did a bad thing, and it won't be easy to forget. You could, however, skip the hard part if you really want to...
Infab
The Demon Fanatic
2
Breadman
Big loaf supreme
4
joshuadim
the writer
1
turtwigwins
Junior Member
2
Damian0358
Roleplaying Procrastinator From Elsewhere
2
hardcore.munchkin
Professional hater
2
bat_hacker
Junior Member
2
