Fantasy We Are The Evil Nutty Cultists, I Guess

[Birdsie]

+++ Posting Rules +++
-> The character's name should be placed on top of the post. Let the Dragon know who serves it.
-> And below their name, the current location they are in. And let it know where its servants can be found.
-> Post at least once every three or so days, or I will lynch you. The Celestial Dragon is not pleased with... inadequate performance.
-> If you have questions, ask them. Being confused hampers the Esoteric Order's capability to fulfill the Dragon's will!

-> Book of Strange Mysteries, Chapter 12, Verse 10: "There are things the Dragon hates, seven that are detestable to him: a proud look, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked schemes, feet that are quick to rush into evil, a false witness who pours out lies, and one who sows discord among brethren."

-> Book of Strange Mysteries, Chapter 12, Verse 11: "Every sin is forgiven under the Eternal Auspice of the Celestial Dragon. His spite for you matters not, his scorn burns you not, his hatred stings you not; for so long as you submit and serve, to bring his spite, scorn, and hatred for those who do avail him not."

-> Book of Strange Mysteries, Chapter 12, Verse 12: "Through complete submission and loyal service, we become the Dragon's remnant. Standing in the Dragon's shade, we become immortal and transmute our hearts into gold."

-> Book of Apocryphal Statements, unrecorded Chapter, Verse 57: "I'm pretty sure everything in this entire collection of works is bullshit. The fact that I can just write this down in here is probably evidence. Who even put this garbage in the library?" There was a drawing of a Dick Butt next to this verse.

 

[Birdsie]

Noble Scion Lemercer Conloth June Verles Hanarei Barbas Churl archur OldTurtle Epiphany Zerulu Reinhardt Worthlessplebian Shatter Shard

Prologue

This introductory post can be divided into three, main sections: (1) introduction to Trihexa, (2) backstory of the plot, (3) The Order's base.

You may feel free to skip forward as necessitated by the time you can allot to reading.

***​

Trihexa, Year 955 AD, Seventh Day of the Month of Colors

Among the countries of the eastern seaboard of Gael, the Royal Authority of Sarafell was easily the most opulent.

Its capital of Trihexa was easily the largest city on this side of the Great Divide, and the cities of Vulmimar and Saranhe were both second and third behind it in volume and scope. Trihexa was home to over a hundred and eighty thousand citizens and served as a logistical hub for hundreds of thousands more. Its fall would surely represent a crippling blow to sapient, mortal civilization as a whole.

The entire city was surrounded by a perfectly round wall, with an internal street map that divided the city into three circles. Each circle had a magical spire in the middle; light gray bricks arranged into a hexagonal architecture, protruding high above the rest of the buildings like desperate antennae. Their tips were emblazoned with sparks of blue magical light; mana drawn from the leyline and crystallized into raw power for use by the city's archmages.

The local streets were showy to the point of tastelessness, as seldom could one turn a corner without stumbling into a roadside circus, puppet show, a painter who'll draw your portrait for a silver coin, or a team of adventurers showing off the severed head of the ice dragon they slew a pair of full moons ago in the wild blizzard-lands of the far north. There was movement, action, energy, and something to entertain no matter where one walked; in the day, in the evening, or at night. Sometimes, especially at night, as the city was known for an unquestionably hedonistic quantity of bars and taverns, pointing at a society that had long since surpassed the concept of 'need' and moved onto 'want.'

Snow-white brick arrayed in curved shapes leading onward in arteries so broad they could fit on them an entire procession of armored, royal drakes and have enough room to spare for costermongers to continue their sale of fruit, vegetables, and newspapers as if nothing was happening.

As if they were spears trying to pierce the skies and open up a path into the Heavens, tall buildings of antique, dull grey stone rose up high, mottled with blue crystalline windows, and joined together by grand, elaborately carved arches - doubling as bridges - that sprawled hundreds of feet aloft over the city streets. Old temples stood in the central regions of each district, six divided evenly for each Auspice, with the exception of the Temple of the Fate Auspice, which rested gloriously on a hillock overlooking the entire city from a good kilometer away.

In the dead center of the city, there was the King's Chateau. It was a mansion with a large dome, shaped like a crescent moon.

Its very edges hung over the infamous Abysmal Oppose, a black quarry in the earth measuring around a hundred meters in diameter at the surface, and rumored to be quite literally infinite. A hole that went nowhere, aside from perhaps the core of the planet. Either way, its curious, anomalous properties were the subject of great interest and study from magical researchers, scholars, and hobbyists alike, and it was known for both consuming and disgorging the ambient mana in a cycle that wasn't entirely understood but almost resembled breath. In ancient times, people were said to be thrown in as sacrifices; long before Trihexa was built on top of the Oppose by a trio of archmages who desired to study its effects.

Despite the best attempts of the city watch, over a thousand witless idiots and people without hope decided to test its depth over the last hundred years alone.

***​

By all means, that was all there was to the city of Trihexa, the capital of Sarafell.

It was a nexus of ambient energy that drew in the curiosity of passing archmages and then grew into something more because of that. It had an interesting, unnatural, but ultimately stable anomaly in conventional physics in the middle. It was, in all likelihood, the result of some experiment by ancient druids, a glitch in reality the Auspices never got around to fixing because it wasn't that harmful, or maybe something the fae left over during their incursion in the area prior to the city's construction.

That's all there was to it... to the untrained eye, at least.

A masterfully keen scholar; not just a keen scholar, but one who is utterly devoted to his studies, might notice some interesting factoids regarding this area.

For instance, a highly trustworthy historical manuscript penned in the Year 550 Before the Divide suggests that, over five thousand years before its writing, a great battle took place in the general vicinity of this geographical location, between a Primordial and a number of deities that would later be worshipped as the Seven Auspices. This Primordial was sealed by the deities, and interestingly enough, it was said to take on the form of, 'a great cave that devours all.'

This, on its own, wouldn't be suspicious. A great cave that devours all? An anomalous hole in the city that leads to nowhere and goes on forever? Coincidence? Yes, coincidence. It's possible the entire battle was a fabrication, or the manuscript wasn't as trustworthy as it seemed. There were lots of similar furrows, quarries, and cave systems in the entire country - true, yes, centered on Trihexa - but it was evidence of nothing, other than maybe some rock elementals getting too bored and too sexy with each other in one place in too short span of a time.

But then, this hypothetical masterfully keen scholar took a glance at other pieces of rather glaring evidence. It happened that, by some strange reason, the Church of the Auspices was storing a Divine Artifact - one of the leftovers from the Age of the Gods - in the Temple of the Fate Auspice outside the city. It was said to be a great key, that could undo dimensional and conceptual barriers, but was aimed at opening a specific one in case of a contingency or great need.

A coincidence. There were always going to be lots of mages in Trihexa, and the Auspices are said to divine the future with the same ease that a man divines what he's going to have for breakfast tomorrow based on the contents of his fridge when he's going to sleep. Surely, they foresaw that some idiot star mage apprentice accidentally fumbled an extradimensional sealing and prepared a contingency to stop the excess unnatural space from leaking out before it became too much of a problem and required direct intervention from them.

But then, this hypothetical masterfully keen scholar noticed something else. An obscure tome found in a library that no scholar should have access to contained an interesting ritual - one that could detect Primordial essence in a decently wide range. There would be no harm in it, surely?

Our scholar performed it, and bingo! There was a blip on the radar.

Now, what if I told you that our masterfully keen scholar wasn't hypothetical, and he was actually a member of the Esoteric Order of the Celestial Dragon? Furthermore, what if I told you that, upon making this auspicious discovery, he passed on word to the higher ranking members of the Order?

Because guess what, that's exactly what happened. This dude uncovered a big cave that eats people, and now you're going to release it, because you're a bunch of bastards.

***​

The earth beneath Trihexa wasn't inert stone, like most other places. It was in fact, chock-full of underground passages, natural cave arteries, and pits. Occasionally, a minor portal to the Elemental Plane of Earth opened up for seemingly no reason, closing itself just as quickly. An unprepared traveler could be lost quickly.

One-hundred meters beneath the surface, on the edge of the inner city ring, there was a hidden base.

It consisted of a barrack where a staff of roughly twenty faithful lived on a casual basis; praying, studying, and performing rituals, as well as a common room, kitchen, storage room, war-room, throne room for visiting high members, an armory, a magical storage room, and - don't ask - an underground koi pond with a garden.

There was an elevator, leading directly upwards and into a tunnel which branched off; letting the traveler emerge either in a cemetery mausoleum belonging to one, 'Ataraxis Saturnalio Memori Relevante,' or go in through a secret entrance in a giant ale barrel, in the back room of a tavern the owner of which was an orc, and definitely not a cult member or anything like that.

Right now, in the war room gathered a squadron of elite cult members called there by one enterprising businessman, Narcissus Zaraon, whose company was the legal owner of both the tavern and the cemetery, as well as the workers' guild that constructed both of them - strange business diversification tactics to most people, but a source of pride for Mr. Zaraon himself - and who was definitely not the cover identity of one ancient lich sorcerer, Ner'Zhul the Despoiler, known for burning down the Great Allenbrool House of Wisdom and keeping its greatest manuals for himself, and then for the legendary action of punching out the eleventh Hero of Fate and quite literally murdering him via repetitive kicks to the head while he was down, over a hundred years ago.

The Chosen Heroes are smart. Their callow eyes see a lich as the enemy, and come bearing spells of holy purification to rid him of undead strike groups, as well as pendants that grant immunity to instant death effects. No one expects the lich to punch you in the face.

So, Mr. Zaraon - who, I repeat, was definitely not in any way associated with, or related to, Ner'Zhul the Despoiler, Burner of Allenbrool and Puncher of Fate - waited for the elite levies and mercenaries he hired to grace him with their appearance.

The war room wasn't much to look at, quite frankly. A long oak table with a dozen chairs for both sides, with Mr. Zaraon at the head of the table. There were four banners standing in the corners of the room - white background with a golden maw of teeth open in the middle, with a blue eye emblazoned in the center.

If a paladin ever came into this place, he wouldn't recognize the symbols, as they were a clever, or not-so-clever code for 'maw that eats everything in sight,' for those involved in the esoteric practices. Even if they figured it out, they probably wouldn't realize these were symbols of the Esoteric Order.

 

[Noble Scion]

Tael Rendan
Esoteric Order war room

Spoiler: Appearance

Approaching the thick oaken door, Tael grumbled incoherently as he began fumbling with its handle and creating a rather loud cacophony of rattling metal before eventually figuring it out and barging his way inside with a slight stumble, freezing at the sight of the cult members.

Taking a long moment to fix his posture , the knight looked around the room, unimpressed by its lack of shiny decor as he took a deep breath and bellowed a garbled mess of words that only seemed to share a slight resemblance with the human tongue. "Daar viilut staad? Bah, ne'ermind, 'course i'is." the words echoed before the knight casually stomped over to a chair and plonked himself down with a final clunk, crossing his arms and turning his dull helmet towards the head of the table.

The room seemed to have been rid of any possible silence as the old dragon slayer continuously fidgeted, clearly irritated by the notion of remaining still for any period of time, he couldn't remember the last time he'd taken the time to sit down, but then again, he didn't remember many things anymore, and stillness was not enjoyable in way for him, so perhaps forgetting was a blessing in disguise.
Birdsie

 

[June Verles]

Spoiler: Appearance

Katarzyna Kaliskanaov "The Night Witch"

The Koi Pond >>>> War Room.


Humanity has always dreamt of being sent to another magical world, where they would be given the role of the chosen one destined to saved the world, wielding incredible power. A feeling most prevalent in the youth of Japan, who living in a society where they are bred to fall in line and become a member of the masses the sound of a world where they were the special one in a million sounded rather amazing.

Curiously when Katarzyna Anastasia Kaliskanaov, what brought to the world by an alternate reality by an all powerful lich the first thing she asked was about the status of the gun laws. When the animated pile of bones told her that conventional guns didn't exactly exist in this world it could only mean one thing, zero gun legislation.

Of course, Kata as people who couldn't be bothered to pronounce her full name would call her, wasn't a morally bankrupt person. She couldn't just use her AK74 assault rifle without reason, luckily the kind gentlemen who brought her to this gun lawless world was kind enough to give her reason to put it to use! Something about a primordial dragon that was imprisoned by the 7 heroes thousands of years ago and they had to bring it back or whatever.

All Kata could tell is that no matter how the lich sold it they were probably the bad guys in this scenario, no offence to the primordial dragon but this lich guy was basically asking her to become a paramilitary terrorist organisation intent to bring Armageddon.

Buuuut... it's not like she had any other choice right? I mean it's not like she thought using her gun to bring back a opulent regime was fun, but it's like, imagine the hassle to not join him? If she went to the kingdom they were probably going to arrest her, call her a witch and take her gun! That was just unimaginable.

So there she was, in the underground koi pond sitting before it. In front of her laid out on a piece of cloth would be her AK47, before making sure no one was watching or in her presence the woman would turn her attention to the gun, a deranged smile forming on her face as she begun to disassemble it.

For most gun maintenance would be something they would do out of necessity, but it seemed as Kata loving removed every part of the gun slowly and gently that this was also a form of uhhh.... passion filled recreation. I mean you would be surprised how aroused she could get from doing this, no highschool harem protagonist could come even close to the ecstasy she got from hearing the pin click as she fully reassembled the gun, the signal that it was ready to party.

After that daily ritual, her dead pan stoic expression would return as she walked over to the war room, ready to take orders.

 

[Conloth]

Kol’ Undyer An’thoweken
at The Esoteric Orders base in Trihexa​

Kol’ briskly walked through the dimly lit stone corridors and tunnels of what was soon to be his home away from home here in Trihexa. The Trihexa branch of the Esoteric Order of the Celestial Dragon. Energy filled Kol’s limbs and he picked up the pace, his dwarven bulk and thick leather boots clopping in a satisfying way. Kol’ prided himself on his punctuality and as an older member of the Order it would be proper for him to greet the other members as they entered.

Kol’ finally arrived at the doorway to the war room. He took a few deep breaths to calm his heartbeat, readjusted his grip on the staff he carried made of wood from the hemlock tree with a bead of mercury magically floating at its tip, and tucked the long red and graying hair away from his face into the back of the hood he wore. Finally he shifted his family’s black-green war-pick tucked in his belt to the front so that it would be easily seen. With one last deep breath Kol’ opened the doors and grinned at the room.

He was surprised when he saw the heavily armored individual sitting restlessly at the table so much for being the first one in. He thought. If the large armored man surprised him then shocked is the only word that could describe seeing a strange looking young woman, dressed in oddly styled cloths that vaguely reminded him of armor, and welding an even stranger looking device made of wood and metal. Maybe it was a crossbow of some sort? It had a handle like some of the miniature hand made models.

“Greetings.” He called after giving his head a quick shake, not waiting for a response Kol’ moved to the chair near the knight and sat with mild shuffling as he readjusted the war-pick so he could sit comfortably. He then turned to the man seated at the head of the chair but was prepared to give a courteous nod and smile to any who entered the room.

 

[Hanarei]

Lady Manourei (Reine Manourei)
Location: Esoteric Trihexa Base - War Room

A light clicking noise could be heard as the red haired woman entered the war room. Her red eyes glanced upon spying the current inhabitant rather few in number. All seemed rather peculiar in their own way whether it was the strangely clothed woman or the peculiar armored individual who seemed to reek of a presence not quite that of human. The stout dwarf oddly stood out the most as he gave his greeting coming off almost out of place given the traditional stereotype that often befalls that of a dwarf. She saunted her way in her red dress holding to covering just stopping just a few inches low enough to hide away any particularly details at its highest point with the back side tappering off roughly at knee level. A few straps kept her dress lifted up as it did little to hide much of her chest clearly teasing it without much shame connected to a collar at her neck.

The pale skinned woman walked in giving another glance over the few who arrived a little bit disappointed. It wasn't so much she was that disappointed by the ones there, though truthfully speaking she wasn't all that please going solely off appearances. She had intended upon arriving fashionably late yet her arrived seemed to be well before many others. Worst perhaps would be if it turned out this was all that they could muster. An utter waste of her dead husband's wealth to be throwing money to them and they couldn't bring to her the form of 'ecstasy' she so craved watching the beautiful fall of complacent mortals. Not to mention the fact she had arrived a few nights ago to provide more monetary funding would of meant missing several days of lounging about her manner in absolute luxury whittling away more of her potentially infinite life or perhaps finding some entertainment with the local 'livestock'.

"A pleasure to meet you fine dwarf... and you other rather... exotic individuals. You may call me Lady Manourei, though if you wish to become closer to me... I am not above sharing my first name as well... perhaps even more if you are lucky. " She spoke her voice coming off rather sultry as she winked. It wasn't at all out of her character to be that way. In part it was instilled in her over her life, and even after taking control of it has only retained being a part of her to get her way. Unfortunately for some 'her way' didn't necessarily end very well for them despite how welcoming she might come off. Her short heals clicked as she continued to walk seeking a place around the table.

She finished wandering her way around the table not even hesitating to stand before one of the head seats at the table. She looked upon it her hand lifting out as a shadow cascaded from her arm before falling to the floor quickly rising up taking the shape of an old butler. The man's hair was grey with his skin taking a shade of dark grey. His very appearance though came off strange, a whispy black aura seemed to faintly surround him as he pulled out the chair bowing his head to Reine. The woman sat herself down propping one arm on the arm of the chair sitting much more informally leaning against her open hand on her cheek looking on as if sitting upon some throne bored looking at her subjects. Several decades of having a position of power tended to have the side effect of giving such an individual a sense of grandeur about themselves even in a place of which they didn't formally have much power over outside being a very charitable benefactor to the cult and providing her own support with her presence.

"So... entertain me... what brings such fine specimen such as yourself to such a dark and dreary place?" She spoke as if to one up the dwarf's greeting by expanding it into asking why they might be there. She figured the cult's coffers were likely rich enough to pull some less the honorable mercenaries to their cause. Honestly she didn't hold mercenaries in all that much high regard though given the particular task and for them to be asked to undertake a rather shady affair it did help to spark a bit intrigue in Reine's mind to at least not completely dismiss them outright as boring and unworthy of her time.

Interactions: Conloth June Verles Noble Scion

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Frank Cassidy
Pardner, Carter, Rider

Location: Storage Room > War Room

In the darkest corner of the storage room, laid an eerie white horse. It stood out from the blackness around it, the horse's white mane and skin color contrasted by its' vacant black eyes. A horse belongs in a stable, you say so how did it find itself in a storage room beneath a hundred or so meters of dirt? That is the doing of her rider, Ol' Frank Cassidy. Famed outlaw from the old west in America, who through sheer force of will remains in the mortal world. The rider sat on a stool next to his white steed, Belka. His black jacket, matching black hat, and repeater rifle rested beside him in a neat pile while he tended to Belka's mane with a brush. A faint, blue glow emanated from Frank's hands, eyes, and neck. With great care he moved the brush between Belka's hairs as if she was his own daughter. The apparition knew that the meeting was about to take place so regrettably had to stop brushing his horse's mane. Belka pushed her head against Frank's chest then nickered, causing him to smile beneath his cloth mask. Frank gave her a small pat then stood up from his stool. He waved his glowing hand and like that, Belka evaporated in a white cloud. The spot where she sat now vacant and cold.

Frank put on his jacket and swung his rifle over his shoulder. He began to walk towards the storage room's door but just before he left, the ghost flicked his wrist. The hat which sat lonely on the floor, blinked out of existence with it leaving a light blue cloud in its' place. The hat then reappeared on top of Frank's masked head, like it had always been there.

The Spectre pushed the storage room door wide open, startling a cultist that was behind it. Frank said no words as he continued down the corridor. As he traveled down these winding hallways that were buried beneath dirt, the unmistakable sound of metallic parts pushing against each other rapidly followed in his wake. Frank was spinning one of his revolvers on his pointer finger.

The masked spirit reached the war room's door. With some concentratin', Frank phased through the door."Howdy" Frank greeted the present members. He spun his revolver until he reached his chair beside the little dwarf. While Frank sat in his chair, he threw a glance at that Russian woman. Cassidy only met one Russian in his entire life and unlife so seeing one again, a little girl no less in this world even was still strange to him. That ginger lass had that sassy, high-class attitude that reminded Frank of his train robbing days. The big man in armor jittered like a sleep deprived man who downed several cups of Arbuckle's. All in all, this was a fine little assortment so far.

Spoiler: Cowboy Slang/Terms

Howdy ~~ Hello, Hi... Obviously.
cups of Arbuckle's ~~ Cups of coffee.
Nicker ~~ A low pitch sound that horses produce when showing affection towards one another or towards their human caretakers.

 

[Barbas]

Kruvick the Demon

Spoiler

Kruvick, the Cult's resident demon, made his way through the dark halls of the Cult's underground hideout, his claws tapping against the stone floor with each step. He walked at a fast pace, one that was a bit odd for him, or at least it was in situations like this. Meetings were hardly something that he liked. There were a few reasons for this, but the main one had to do with the chairs. Kruvick found most chairs to uncomfortable, and the Cult was either unable to find any suitable for him, or were just unwilling to spend any money. He suspected that it was the latter.


But though he despised having to attend meetings, and understood that couldn't just skip them, not if he wanted to remain a member of the Cult.


And so, he continued through the hall until he eventually arrived at his destination. Reach out, he pushed open the door with a clawed hand before entering the war room, and boy, was he an ugly sight. Blood dripped from his maw, his fangs were covered with bits of fur and flesh, and worst of all the 'object' he held in one of his clawed hands: the bloody, half-eaten remains of some poor small animal that he managed to catch.


Kruvick stood there for a moment, his glowing eyes staring at each of the room's current occupants, before going and taking a seat next to the dwarf, Kol’.

 

[Shatter Shard]

Falmme Aceros

Kitchen > War Room

Spoiler: Falmme

Falmme had recently finished baking four pans of worth of fruit pie, and was currently making the finishing touches. After removing his chef's hat and apron, the fruit pies were orderly put on a tray and were ready to be served. Falmme congratulated himself for a job well done, thinking on how his baking skills had come so far. He carried the tray, without further ado, and navigated the stone corridors of the base towards where the meeting would hold place; the war room. Along his way was a trail of blood, drops forming an eccentric line which eventually led to the door of the war room. Normal people would be concerned just from this detail alone, but Falmme knew better in this nutjob of a cult- or the "Esoteric Order of the Celestial Dragon" the said cult would call themselves.

Falmme opened the door with gusto, announcing his presence to the occupants inside. "I'm here!" He declared with his signature perpetual grin.

Falmme wore what seems to be a mage coat, patterned with fiery designs and a modest amount of shiny embroideries. Underneath it was the casual wear one could find in the Sarafell Kingdom, as he did not have the will to bother and change his clothes to a more presentable one.

Seeing that the dwarf nodded at him after he entered, he returned the courtesy and bowed slightly. He walked over to the table with the tray in hand, promptly tip toe-ing over the splotches of blood on the floor. "Sorry if I was a little late, had to make some pies for the newcomers and everyone else in this meeting." he excused, putting three of the pies down to where most of the participants of this meeting would be. "They're already cut in eight, so help yourselves." He then respectfully put the last pie in front of Sir Zaraon. "Of course, a whole pie is reserved for you sir." Afterwards, the tray was put away somewhere in the room where it would not be a distraction.

Done with the delivery, he walked around to find a seat that was not close to the unhygienic demon. "So how's everybody doing? Fine, perhaps?" he said in passing before sitting directly opposite to the fidgeting knight, with his hands held together on top of the table. Although he was looking at everyone here, they probably cannot tell from his closed eyes.

 

[OldTurtle]

Solomon Whitehall
War Room, Trihexa Branch of the Esoteric Order of the Celestial Dragon
Mentions:
Interactions: Shatter Shard

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​

Sol tapped his foot impatiently as the elevator descended through the earth. He was running extremely late. Of the two entrances to the underground base, the man had chosen to use the tavern. Unfortunately, he had also managed to somehow get the wrong tavern, making for a very awkward with a very confused bartender about a secret pathway in a barrel that certainly did not exist. Thankfully, Sol had realized his mistake before giving away any information of real value and hastily made his way out. Hopefully the bartender wouldn't question the patchwork excuse he had given. It wasn't hard to believe that he was a poor, tortured soul searching for a "passage in the bottom of a barrel of ale to escape his woes," right?

No, it was fine. Completely satisfied in what he was sure was award-winning acting, Sol strode out of the opening elevator as it came to a stop. He headed down the middle pathway quickly, his footsteps ringing in the dimly-lit hallways. There were very few of his fellow cultists around, a fact that only served to further pronounce Sol's tardiness. Everyone else must've already been gathered in the war room, he realized.

Cursing under his breath, he picked up the pace, his cloak flapping noisily in his wake. Truth of the matter was that Sol couldn't afford to offend anyone important. And given that the one who had summoned him was Narcissus Zaraon, the man who was effectively Sol's new boss, it was all but assured that this was something important. Having only recently joined the Esoteric Order, Sol knew that he needed to be properly integrated with them as quickly as possible, lest he risk being placed in an unfavorable position. Being late to this meeting was in no way aiding his goal.

Finally, after what felt like hours of walking, the entrance to the war room came into sight. Stopping in front of the large, wooden doors, Sol took a moment to compose himself, straightening out his clothing and running a hand through his messy, dark hair. Having done so, the man opened the doors, stepping into the war room quietly.

Peering around at the occupants of the room, Sol was struck by the variety of... characters seated at the long table. A tall, very heavily-armored man, a young women dressed in a rather quaint set of clothing, a masked, spectral man waring similarly quaint, though entirely different clothes, a strikingly-beautiful and scantily-clad woman who was accompanied by an inhuman servant of some kind, a man who appeared to be a mage of some sorts, a bloody demon, and, of course, Zaraon himself. With the appearances of his fellow cultists being so unusual, Sol almost missed the old, bearded dwarf seated in their midst. Compared to the others, he was positively plain. Despite that, he appeared to be perfectly comfortable amongst the others, so he clearly was far from normal as well. Sol moved to take a seat, giving wide berth to the demon, who held the bloody, mangled corpse of some creature in its hands. Giving a quiet, respectful greeting to Zaraon, Sol plunked himself down in a chair next to the mage, who appeared to have brought pie. Of course, that instantly made him Sol's favorite.

"So how's everybody doing?" The aforementioned favorite asked. "Fine, perhaps?"

"Wonderful," Sol replied distractedly, already reaching for a slice of pie. "And you?"

 

[Churl]

Tamah Babbit
Location: War Room

Spoiler: Appearance

Oh dear. OhdearOhdearOhdear.

Was she running late? Or maybe she would be too early? Gah, time is so damn confusing! Hopefully some time with her sinful brethren would help her feel more balanced as time went on.

Tamah Babbit had been curled in a dark corner for the whole day. She had only arrived at the behest of the Order the day before and hadn’t gotten around to seeing her compatriots as she slept off her journey. Brushing off as much dirt as she could while hurrying, Tamah raced to the war room and was pleased to see the meeting hadn’t begun. Or at least, she wasn’t late to it.

Eyeing the bizarre people gathered, she bit down on her lips before they could pull into a frown. Was it really okay for the villains to be so diverse? Such an assortment of unique misfits working together for a common goal... that’s supposed to be the job of the good guys... ah well. At least they’d be able to give a good challenge to the heroes when they arrived.

Tamah glanced at the demon. Hmmmm. She wasn’t unnerved by it, but she was aware demons tended to not like her recently. On the other hand, that armored fellow looks downright cool! Why, she could easily see him cutting down bandits and protecting villages if his posture was less feral! Even if he is a villain, he’s definitely the Black Knight type of character. The type that manages to stand out from the crowd and give the hero a good one-on-one fight near the climax. Tamah wiped at her mouth before she could start to drool, chasing away all thoughts of the glory of heroism before she could get lost in her head and potentially embarrass herself.

The pale hero-freak drew a seat near Tael and quietly began watching the others with silent interest.

 

[archur]

William Von Strauss
The War Room

The doctor's boots clicked on the stone as he marched, accentuated by the rhythmic tapping of his golden cane as he made his way into the rather quaint meeting place. A tavern, was it? He hadn't stepped foot in one for some time, and he's had no reason to. Alcohol was an inhibitor for greatness! No, tea was the way to go, and he taught all his daughters this lesson well, especially the one by his left; Modesty, a doll the size of a child, and his most important servant; he envisioned that one day she would replace him. To his right stood another one of his greatest creations: Mercy, his enforcer. She was stone, spikes, and rage, and had absolutely no mercy in her heart, just like the curiously rare black rose the good doctor had modeled her after.

"Surely father, there's a better way for us to find funding?" Said the doll. The beak-masked man tutted, and shook his head. "Modesty darling, we aren't in need of much funding! It's merely for the materials. You'll understand once we begin our work again." He nodded to himself as he approached the tavern's thick wooden door. He played a game of code words and cross checking with the tavern owner before he was directed into the storage room and told to "go through the barrel", which led down an elevator into a sprawling series of hallways. Thankfully, the directions were clear enough for him to find himself in what was described to him as the 'War Room'. Here, he was greeted by the sight of more than a few oddities, asides from the rather plain dwarf who had greeted him as he entered, strange. He had never seen a dwarf before in his life, and from what he knew of them, they were supposed to be these squat creatures full of rage and grudges. Perhaps they were older accounts, or perhaps all of that rage and impatience went to the knight who was busying himself with waiting. He reminded him Mercy in a way. Perhaps, that knight could train her if he found the time, heavens knew she needed something to temper her. A rather strange creature captured his attention, and from the wings, deep maroon skin, and the sloppy remains of some unlucky thing, he wholeheartedly determined it to be a demon. Hopefully, he could get but a drop of it's blood by the time he left this chapter of his life behind, it would make at least a few of his daughters more lively. Speaking of lively, he began to circle around the perimeter of the room, making sure not to get in the way of any trays of pie or particularly dingy pale strangers. There was a number of them in here, but the one that he made pause to let pass seemed to have an offsetting aura about her. Whatever it was, the very magic in William's stitches did not sit right with it, and he made very sure to keep Modesty by his side, away from the odd woman.

He had decided to sit near the head of the table, a comfortable distance away from the two strangers whose otherworldy garb and spectral appearance advised him to stay far away. His experience with ghosts had left him faint, and from what he had known about otherworlders is that they usually left society changed. Perhaps, if he could convince this strange looking woman to never get hurt, he wouldn't have to heal her, but her expression was one of stoic invincibility. To his right, just past an impatient Mercy, was a woman who sat as if she were in a throne, butler at her side. Or at least, the visage of a butler. He's seen the effect a few times before, but never for any meaningful distance or length of time. Maybe it was just for show? Why not make a homunculus for that specific purpose? Glamour, a homunculus made of glittering jewels and gold, oft served that purpose for him, but showing her off made him appear aloof, and having been hired as the person designated to keep everyone else functioning, appearing aloof often made things harder for him to do his work properly. Ah, the luxury she must have to be aloof.

"Papa!" Modesty had frantically pointed to the pies laid out on the table before them. "Patience Modesty. Somebody else is having a slice first, and you wouldn't want to be rude, would you?" She shook her head once, and watched as a rather plain green-swathed man served himself a slice. "Apologies sir- my daughter, very impatient." He nervously chuckled to himself as he placed a slice just in front of his protege, who quickly busied herself with devouring it. He hesitated for a moment, then fetched a second slice, placing it in front of a seat next to him. "Sit, eat. These people are being kind." Mercy grumbled, took her plate, and went to sit in the back of the room, as far away from her father as possible.

William caught a few sparse How's everyone doing's? and as many Wonderful, and you's? from across the room at each other. Perhaps, he could participate in the polite conversation, but his interests lay in the woman and her butler that sat just a seat away.

"Excuse me miss, but would you humor me for a moment?" He jabbed a finger at her spectral servant. "Your butler. Is that umbramancy, or something more? I've truly never seen anything quite similar in form and function, outside of show of course."

Spoiler: William and Modesty

Spoiler: Mercy

Interaction: Hanarei
Mentions: Literally everyone who has posted so far.

 

[Reinhardt]

Y'ndra

THE WAR ROOM​

Without much of a flair, Y'ndra entered the war room. Dressed in her usual robes, with a wooden staff on one hand and a thick grimoire on the other, she didn't really give that much presence as the others did. After sending a casual salute to the big boss in the room, she immediately headed over towards an empty seat and claimed it as hers. Once she was comfortable enough, she plopped the grimoire onto the table with a resounding thud. After several pages flipped, she settled onto a specific chapter in the seemingly endless book.

To most, the writing was absolute gibberish, but to someone like Y'ndra, who has spent several years with this mysterious tome, it was a treasure trove that keeps on giving. The only downside was that amongst the treasure, there was also innumerable garbage - one moment the book discusses the detailed specifics of a certain spell and then suddenly transitions into a very profound, but senseless lecture about the recreational uses of interdimensional fungi, which would drag on longer than the former, more beneficial topic.

Y'ndra continued to read, paying no attention to the others seated at the table. A few moments in she began to chant under her breath, in a language that sounded both too alien and too forgotten to have ever existed. It didn't even take a second for the spell to be cast - conjuring a minuscule skeleton, wearing what appears to be a female servant's attire. This tiny undead danced, with its tiny bony feet, on top opened pages of the grimoire as it chanted "Cyrus is an old fart" repeatedly.

An impressive spell, but a useless one. Nevertheless, Y'ndra has learned something new today, and now she could divert some attention to those who were around her. There were familiar faces here and there, though most seemed quite new. An introduction would be proper, but Y'ndra path has strayed too far from such.

So, with a little fiddling on the new spell, she made her own grand entry and introduction.

The tiny skeleton changed from dancing with its bony tiptoes to one that would imitate a chicken's movements - arms flapping and head bobbing while spinning in place. Its chant turned into cheer, gleefully speaking with its squeaky voice.

"Y'ndra is so cool! Y'ndra is so cool!", it said repeatedly.

With that, Y'ndra leaned back on her chair with a relieved and proud look evident on her face. The spell was not so useless after all.

Interaction/s: NPC ( Birdsie ), Anyone who dares to pay attention to the tiny skelly

 

[Zerulu]

Al-Amin Abbasid
Common Room ----> War Room

Spoiler

Al scribbled on a piece of parchment with such fury that it was very likely going to tear in the next couple of scribbles, but this didn't mind the dumb barbarian as rips and tears added 'humanity' to the paper as he saw it. After a few more minutes of mindless scribbling with the chalk his masterpiece was complete, now i proudly present to you:

Le Grand Mors

​

His inspiration varied widely from the flames of villages after they are set on fire and his visual representation of what screaming while burning would look like. He was proud of his creation, so proud in fact he carried it with him as he entered the war room, a rather dull room that had no piece of aesthetic or creative spice too it, Al reckons if he was given a chance to be the interior decorator the place would finally look half decent all things considered. A few black scribbles there, maybe some broken chairs there and boom already the war room is 100 times more fun to be in, but as he imagined his request to renovate the place would probably get denied for no good reason at all.

Some of the other peaceful activists were already seated at the table and in their own little conversations and interactions, but Al wasn't having any of it, their conversations were entirely irrelevant when compared to his masterpiece of a drawing. He stepped up onto his chair then another step onto the oak table, one would assume the way that Al appeared he would act more mature, one would also be very wrong in their assumption. "My piece of art, look at it, all of you!" He stated, showing his parchment with scribbles on it around, making sure everyone could get a good look. His face mask concealed it but Al had the biggest grin on, he was always happy to share his art.

Interactions: Everyone currently at the table
Mentions: No one in particular

 

[Churl]

Tamah Babbit
Location: Order War Room

Spoiler: Appearance

As more entered, Tamah found her attention fixed on the dancing skeleton the beastgirl with the book had summoned. She supposed that the girl was Y’ndra, based on the skeleton‘s words. Ah, she remembered her own first grimoire... well, actually she didn’t. Just flashes of inhuman screeches and grasping shadows. Wait, where did her own shadow go? Oh, right, it was taken when she used... when she made a pact with... hm, maybe noncommittal overuse of the dark arts wasn’t the best for her mental health in hindsight, considering half the time she ended up possessed or going mad with power and couldn’t remember anything. Well, that’s a sacrifice in the name of good.

She looked up as a warrior strode into the room and hung up a piece of art. Oh! A chalk drawing of the visual representation of screaming while burning! How neat! Many an underdog story starts with a burning village, after all. She clapped softly for the man and his art.

Mentions: Zerulu Reinhardt

 

[June Verles]

Spoiler: Appearance

Katarzyna Kaliskanaov "The Night Witch"

War Room.


If Kata was to compare this situation to anything else the first thing that would come to her mind would be the first day of highschool, everyone is new to each other and therefore trying to be nice while waiting for the teacher to put the class in session. And just like that situation many years ago Kata was more than content to keep her distance from everyone else, since none of them were particularly interesting her.

So she would spend most of her time looking over little detail of her AK47 to make sure it was in working order, Slant Muzzle break, Detent Plunger, Detent Spring, Front Sight/Gas Block retaining Pins- Then she would stop, realising while that had happened multiple minutes had passed and her breathing had almost gone into overdrive., the more important thing for now at least was that she only had the AK to fawn over, so she needed to delay herself and enjoy every corner of it, from the original wooden stock to the pristine condition gas chamber.

She let out a sigh, She supposed she would then have to entertain herself with everyone else present. Quick glance around the room he noticed that it was now more filled and there was a lot more pie on the table.

Quick glance around she would notice the ADHD suffering Giant Knight, the nice grandpa dwarf who probably had a dark secret, the snooty aristocrat with a butler, the plague doctor who thought today was bring your children to work day, the turk man who had the skill of a modernist in terms of art, the overly positive guy who brought the pies, probably to make friendly with everyone else. Too bad Kata was more of a savoury kinda gal and if these pies were savoury she didn't want to know what kind of meat this type of cult puts in their pies.

Finally it was the girl with the holografic book and the other girl, who for some reason gave off the similar obsession that Kata was very familiar with, maybe she was also a fan girl. For what though? Kata couldn't tell and if it wasn't fire arms and/or assorted technology she couldn't care.

Could there be no one really who interested her in such a diverse group of characters? No one that could make her maiden heart pound-

Then she saw it, a shadowy man dressed in the style of the old western men, and more importantly what he was packing. Quickly she would shuffle her chair very loudly over the floor as she got into his personal space, wide eyed.

"Is that a original type 86?" She asks before taking a sniff. "Doesn't smell like black powder, so is it chambered in .38? Wait... no it isn't" She'd somehow be able to tell by just looking at the barrel. "Did you mod this? Not cool man."

Worthlessplebian

 

[Hanarei]

Lady Manourei (Reine Manourei)
Location: Esoteric Trihexa Base - War Room

It seemed as if any sort of fears she might have of a lack of compatriots was being swiftly answered as more entered the room. The first phasing through the wall only to put on a little show with a rather... quaint greeting. Someone who seemed to lack any sort of fashion at all. The rather hideous demon she had seen a few times before venturing into the room looking more as if he might try ripping them apart rather then taking part. She truthfully didn't so much mind the beast nor looked down upon it for its appearance. As obsessed with her appearance as she could be she understood also the pain of being without it... something that had its own sickening elements with the twisted monsters mortals could be.

The chief's appearance was caught well before he entered the room with the whiff of the pies catching her nose. Quite upbeat as ever to the point of treading easily upon the obnoxious side. There was only so much of that sort of sickening attitude a woman of her particular stature could stand. Another human entered looking quite a bit more handsome then the former though it was perhaps more of her disdain for the chief's upbeat tone that more so painted him that way. He was quite ordinary compared to the rest of the lot, him sitting next to the noisy cook in part causing her to dismiss ponder much more about him. A pale-skinned woman entered next causing her eyes to wander to her. She took a seat allowing her eyes to wander already causing Reine to drift away from her not seeing much value in staring at her.

A plague doctor entered the room causing her to glance at his way noticing two girls beside him one with a bit more of a... relaxed nature to the other. Even from a distance she could tell they were lifeless... or perhaps that was the wrong word to use. She could tell there was a soul within it though it wasn't one that belong to it as much as the body and soul bent and shaped to fit it. In a way many might consider it a rather hideous creation though for Lady Manourei she found it quite beautiful if in a way cruel. Hearing it call her papa making it in a way sickening... yet for her enthralling. It wasn't a voice forced to speak in such a way but contorted in such a way to do so genuinely and believe it deeply. . She had no interest and pestering him about his motives. While she opted to not inquire him it seemed he had the opposite intention as she turned to look at him giving a warm smile as he prodded her butler causing the servant to look at him as the man would feel as if he just touched a living man, though it was likely a feeling that was also accompanied by a sense of something being 'wrong'.

"Oh? Umbramancy? That's a term I have to admit I haven't heard too much. I suppose in functionality that would be the best way of explaining it. He is but a soul I consumed given form and manifested as he was before I consumed him. You can touch him and he will feel very much human... though it is but a doppelganger of what his body once was. Given enough damage is sustained the soul itself with simply break apart and the shadowy apparition cease to be and his existence no more within me. Of coarse being the soul is part of myself..." She spoke lifting her hand. The butler bowed his head as if out of instinct despite really having no power in the operation as his figure darkened as a black haze that was his body appeared in his place as the shadow was sucked up immediately into her hand before completely disappearing from view. She finally lowered her hand resting it back down upon the arm of the chair.

"... I can so simply draw his soul back into me. My butler is one of the more aware souls that exists without me though I have many.... many more who have no will of their own at all left. I can draw them out of my body to serve me and serve me they shall blindly until their soul is destroyed or I should use it up. Souls are quite versatile in what they are capable, wouldn't you agree?" She spoke up her voice still sultry looking upon him though her eyes quickly drawing over particularly to Modesty as if showing her knowing nature of what he had down, her fangs just slightly teasing with her smile. As they were talking she had noted more had entered though she simply dismissed their presence finding the conversation quite entertaining.

"You likely missed it but you may call me Lady Manourei if you so dire. What might your name be Plague Doctor, and perhaps that of your fellow compatriots?" She asked electing not to treat the two 'girls' following him as companions rather then calling them his daughters despite the one girl calling him papa. She figured it was far more polite to allow him to bring things up if you so wished.

Interactions: archur

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Frank Cassidy
Pardner, Carter, Rider

Location: War Room
Interactions: June Verles (Kata) and OldTurtle (Soloman)
Mentions: Barbas (Kruvick), Shatter Shard (Falmme), archur (William, Mercy, Modesty), Churl (Tamah), Reinhardt (Y'ndra), and Zerulu (Al-Amin).

Frank had settled neatly into his wooden chair, a relaxed pose with an arm over the cresting rail. He'd taken note of the other ne'er-do-wells and lawbreakers that had arrived after him. The first one to arrive after him was a crimson skinned fella with twisted bull horns, it reminded him of those biblical demons that he'd read about back in his time. In fact, that got the ol' outlaw thinking. He's been here for two to four months tops, yet he has barely scratched the surface of this world's inhabitants. No matter, he thought if it can be killed with his guns then he might as well not care. Although the way it carried itself made Frank a bit on edge.

The next one who made his "quaint" entrance was apparently the cult's resident dough belly or bunko artist who wanted to buttery everyone up to let their guards down around him. Whatever the reason, it's not like Frank could eat anything. Also he hated most pies, more of an Indian pudding man himself. Although, that get-up with the fiery markings looked impractical yet fashionable.

Then another man walked in, except this gentleman styled himself more for practicality rather than form, with that green cowl and reddish brown garment underneath. It's a pattern that he noticed in this world, a lot of the spellslingers wanted to stand out with their fancy robes as they hurled fireball, lightning bolts, or whatever other devilry they could muster. Mages, odd fishes the lot of them. At least, he could appreciate the lad's practicality so he answered his inquiry."Swell, partner." With a lighter tone in his voice.

A lass, with the look of dead meat wrapped in expensive garments. Those garments of hers reminded him partially of the high-falutin folks back home. Those strange batlike shoulder coverings and squidhead boots brought Frank out of his nostalgia, causing him to shake his head. She looked like an undead, which Frank has actually encountered once or twice.

Frank had almost missed the beak headed man but his rambunctious daughter caught Frank's attention, what is a little girl doing here of all places? To be fair, Frank couldn't complain, he made his first kill at 16 when he robbed his first bank. But that thorny creature made him raise an eyebrow beneath his mask. Best to leave these sideshow attractions alone for now.

That cat-thing muttered something under her breath and summoned a teeny tiny skeleton that made various gestures and noises. It was incredibly annoying to Frank, it made him scratch the hammer of his right revolver intensely but throwing a tantrum because of a mini skeleton being a loudmouth was not his style.

Another masked man proudly proclaimed his artistic masterpiece.... A bunch of chicken scratchings. Frank stifled a giggle at how poor the man's artistic talents were.

Frank would sigh but then again, he doesn't have the lungs for it. This merry crew of misfits grew stranger by the hour but they provided a certain comfort, Frank always liked to work with a stable crew. Okay, maybe some of the members weren't quite as stable as the others but the ones who were could prove to be reliable partners in crime. The more competent they are, the quicker Frank can get sent back home.

While Frank's attention was focused on the others, the Russian woman shuffled her chair over to him. He caught noise but by the time, he turned around in his chair, she was already in his space. The blue light that emanated from his eyes blinked a few times."Oh...uh.. howdy, miss?" The suddenness of the situation caught Frank quite off-guard. "Ah you got a good eye on ya," Frank grabbed the Winchester's off of his back then presented it to her. "This beauty is a Winchester Model 71, chambered for .348 Winchesters. No, miss, no direct modifications from yours truly. You're probably wonderin' in your noggin' about how I came across such a hell-fired beauty of a gun? Always happy to tell a tale." Frank pointed the muzzle away into an empty space to the side, then slipped his fingers between the gun stock and lever whilst keeping his finger off the trigger. He cycled the action to release a single round from the firearm then set on the table next to the Russian."Da date was February 10th 1920. Me and muh crew had procured information detailing da transport of some six-shooters and rifles. They were being transported via train so we did what any owl hoots would do, we robbed da train. It went down at dawn, we pulled together some explosives and bombed the tracks, just before the train crossed over them. The train toppled over and slid across the rocks. Then we rushed the crew and security while they were out of fix, the whole thing happened so fast that barely anyone managed to get a shot-off. We started searching through them like starved mice looking for food. Then we struck gold, there were 10 Winchester model 71 rifles like this one with around 200-450 .348s. Apparently Winchester and co. were developing a new model of 86s for the government. Ever since then this rilfe and I became like a hand and glove, inseparable. I took this rifle with me to my last heist later that year and died with my hands holting it. Then when I pulled my spirit together, this rifle also returned to me then I continued my heists, mostly for the glory since I was dead and I didn't really need the money. Then I find out, they made the model 71 official in 1935 and the .348 later that year." The apparition paused in his storytelling to glance at the woman, noting her wide eyes." You seemed really infatuated with my Winchester like a chap just found the most stunning painted lady."

Spoiler: Old West Slang & Terms

Dough belly -- Chef
Bunko Artist -- Conman/Con artist
Odd fish/es -- Strange/illogical person
Hell-fired -- Something of intense quality.
A hand and glove -- Self-explanatory, goes well together and are inseparable
Indian pudding -- Not actually pudding of Indian origin but pudding based on an Indian recipe
Painted Lady -- Escort girl, prostitute and other terms for women of a certain job occupation

 

[Birdsie]

If you're too lazy to read this, skip it an ask for a tl;dr in the OOC.

Mr. Zaraon
War Room

Mr. Zaraon, their mysterious backer sent by the Esoteric Council was sitting in his chair and waiting for people to stream into the room. He did so with unerring patience, hands steepled atop the table.

He was unmoving and stiff, like a block of wood on a pedestal; the only moving element appeared to be his eyes, which occasionally moved in order to track the motion of people coming in and sitting down. To someone keeping a close watch, it would soon become apparent that he wasn't even breathing or blinking, as if those actions were completely unnecessary to his physiology. For some, this would be a mystery; to some others who knew his true identity, it would be a chilling reminder about the true nature of the creature sitting in front of them.

Mr. Zaraon did blink, however, as a chipper young man came into the room bearing pies. It was a blink that crossed disbelief with sheer amazement.

The man smiled as the aforementioned member of the elite brought the home-cooked pie and laid it down in front of him. "Of course, a whole pie is reserved for you, sir."

"Thank you," he answered. His voice flowed like wine, unnaturally smooth and pleasant to listen to. Looking down at the pie beneath him with an assessing gaze, he commented, "My wife used to cook pies like this. I'm afraid she's a skeleton now."

Following that, the calm businessman returned to being a stoic rock, watching as new members came into the room. Each had their own eccentricities; one proudly declared her approach with some manner of skeletal mascot, while another brashly demanded they pay more attention to his art.

He was pleased to see that, in many places across the table, conversations were unfolding.

The pie-bearer asked the others how they were feeling, and the vengeance-chasing mercenary responded with a positive thrum. The necrobiological constructionist conversed with the embittered lady, most likely unknowing of how much she secretly loathed the lot of them. The daughter of the gun spoke with the son of the west of the one common trait they shared: an aptitude for firearms.

It was tempting to let the conversations simply... unfold, let them develop; to watch as the winds of fate took the people in the room into interesting directions.

Knowing that he was pruning branches from the tree of possibility, Mr. Zaraon cleared his throat. "If I may have your attention, I believe we have gathered enough members in the room. We're not at full capacity, but that is to be expected, given the sudden nature of this meeting. I will fill them in on the details later."

Mr. Zaraon stood up, and as he did, the illusion of humanity unfolded. As if throwing away an old layer of skin, the businessman gestured and his flesh vaporized into sparks of blue, his elegant suit of tailored, black silk dissolved into mist, and the friendly blue eyes wore away to reveal the image of two dark holes.

He was a skeleton, wreathed in a sickly green light that emitted from him and floated around him like a slow, lazy snake. His bones were onyx-black, with a strange metallic sheen, as if they were not bones at all, but rather a facsimile of a skeleton made out of some kind of black metal. Encased in gold-decorated armor, edges adorned with dozens of sigils in an unreadable glyph-cipher, a scepter with a red gem held tightly in the right hand, and a dark gray crown full of purple gemstones, the creature looked like some long-dead king risen from the grave.

The most interesting item, however, was an artifact that anyone in the room with an appreciation for ancient lore would recognize, for its fame on Gael was comparable to that of the greatest relics on Earth, the likes of Excalibur or Durandal.

It was the Ring of Truth. A band of white silver holding an ice-blue sapphire of elongated marquis cut within a slender lattice of solid diamond. Inscribed on the band in the High Script of the Magus Conclave were the words: "All our glories, we pass on to you." Both its provenance and maker were unknown, but it was suspected to have been first wielded over a thousand years ago, by the first Hero of Truth, who was gifted the artifact by the ruling body of the Second Empire, known as the Praxis Council.

Those who witnessed it intuitively understood that the Ring was very valuable, a precious thing to be coveted, even despite the fact that its abilities would be unknown to them. Those who knew the lore of the Ring would however quickly taper down on such feelings: the light of Truth was said to outshine any illusion, making it difficult to conceal. The very fact it hadn't been noticed before would quickly draw eyebrows, as everyone subsequently realized the lich in front of them had access to magic strong enough to hide the Truth.

"Now, then," Ner'Zhul continued in the same pleasant voice, skull unmoving, after letting those in the room bask in his visage for a brief instant. "Those of you who had a chance to take a walk through town, or read the tourist's guide have surely heard of the Abysmal Oppose. The so-called infinite hole. I will be straightforward - the Oppose is the sealing place of a Primordial known as Lykkenan. It is in the... active interest of my employers, to see to the release of this entity. It is your charge to carry out the operations necessary to achieve that interest, and it is my charge to see that your operations are free of excessive trouble. Very few of you are familiar with me - the real me - even though I know a great deal about most of you."

The skull rotated, taking in the contents of the room. "There are several approaches we can use to release the Primordial. I will present them to you, but it is up to you - the people in this room - to vote on the one you would prefer, given your abilities."

The lich tapped his scepter against the oak table, and a bird's eye view of the city was projected above it as a hologram. Wondrous combination of scrying and illusion magic to some, a weak imitation of a television image to others. "The Temple of Fate on the hill overlooking the city is known to contain a Key, and I have trustworthy information confirming this Key contains a cipher that can be used to release the Primordial through an hours-long ritual. This is indubitably the most 'stable' approach, as the Key was quite literally created with the express purpose of removing the seal and releasing Lykkenan. The Auspices created it as a failsafe, in case that Lykkenan's magic started to break down the seal and the surrounding area, and a resealing ceremony was required. I can tell you with surety that it will not be, and the Auspices probably realized that later on as well, but they have foolishly disregarded removing the Key, and it is within our range of actions to exploit that possibility."

"Another option is to bypass the seal itself; we can do this in a plethora of theoretical ways, but the only surefire way is to kidnap as many people with Primordial essence in their souls and ritually sacrifice them." The hologram changed, shifting and transforming into a diagram that explained the soul magic spell in question. Even so, the lich saw fit to apparently describe its function to those in the room who were less mystically educated. "As their souls leave their vessels, the ritual spell will force them through a filter that drains their essence and then builds a foothold that Lykkenan can use to step across the seal and into our world, so to speak. The souls themselves will be used as fuel for this foothold, where the essence acts as the blueprint."

"It's a stable and decent solution. The only problem is that Primordial essence eventually melds into the life-force of those who bear it, meaning we'll need... fresh souls." The lich twirled his scepter thoughtfully, conjuring up the image of a young half-elemental boy. "Children and young people, for the most part. Regrettable. Still, our only risk in this approach would be the fact that many children would go missing and the authorities would be forced to investigate. We'd also need to find a place to hide all of the victims until the day of sacrifice, and feed them somehow. Arguably, this is still preferable to breaking into a highly defended Temple and alerting the authorities that someone is planning to outright open the seal."

The lich changed the image once again, into a recording of a young man with a sword. He would be recognizable only to those who have seen the current Hero of Might in person - which meant at least one person in the room, wearing a heavy suit of armor and not entirely thinking. "The last, and arguably the riskiest approach, is to brute-force the connection instead of bypassing it. We kidnap someone with divine authorization; a high connectivity to the Auspices, such as a Chosen Hero, then we subject them to excruciating pain. Eventually, the Divine essence sluicing through them will ask the soul of the world for additional energy - and if we torture them close enough to the Primordial's prison, the Primordial's prison, built out of divine energy, will be the one to provide it. Its structure destabilized, it will release the Primordial. This option is dangerous, because it involves the kidnapping of someone who is inherently dangerous, and completely breaking the willpower of someone who trains to have amazing willpower."

"Alternatively," the lich said, turning to face the room and dissipating the illusionary pictures, "If you feel confident in your abilities, we can try several approaches all at once, in order to make sure that if any one attempt fails, we'll still be prepared to bring out another option. Discuss."

Noble Scion , Lemercer , Conloth , June Verles , Hanarei , Barbas , Churl , archur , OldTurtle , Epiphany , Zerulu , Reinhardt , Worthlessplebian , Shatter Shard , Alteras , Silver Wolf , Celestial Speck

 

[Silver Wolf]

Sophia Surumbrax Kleidon
"The Black Knight"
Interactions: Basically anyone who cares
Mentions/In Area: Birdsie (Duh), Worthlessplebian (Frank), Hanarei (Manourei), June Verles (Russian), Churl (Tamah), Barbas (Kruvick), Zerulu (Al-Amin), archur (William), OldTurtle (Solomon), Shatter Shard (Falmme) Conloth ( Kol’ Undyer), Noble Scion (Tael)
Location: Common Room ----> War Room

Spoiler: Appearance(s)

Spoiler: Appearance(s)

The ground darkened in a random location of the common room. A shadow, materialized from nowhere and spread with black miasma creeping out. Slowly, a black helmet emerged from the shadow. The miasma began increasing, as if a pool was being overflowed. The rest of the armor and body slowly rose from the shadowed ground until a harrowing figure stood on top of the shadow. The black fog faded away and the shadow closed, leaving behind only the knight in black armor with black fog dissipating from the cracks. The knight looked around the room without a word, then they slowly made their way for the war room. The spell used to transport into the room had an effect on the Black Knight as miasma continued to flow from the nooks and crannies of the armor.

The door to the war room opened and the figure silently walked into the room and took a seat. To those with keen senses to magical power, a form of eldritch energy could still be found resonating from the being that had just entered. Some may recognize the figure, but fewer likely knew what laid under the mask. The Black Knight, successor and apprentice to the legendary Death Knight who was slain by two heroes three years ago. Many of that enigma's duties fell upon the Black Knight, and the missions the Black Knight did participate in were ones that didn't necessitate taking the armor off. It's head slowly turned to the pies and a deep rumbling filled the room, almost unnaturally loud.

"Excuse me," a masculine sounding voice warped by a helmet rumbled from the knight. Two armored hands reached for the helmet and a click was heard. Black miasma hissed and rushed out from under, covering the face until the helmet was mostly off. What laid under the helmet was the face of a young nineteen year old girl with silver hair. She looked exceeding normal compared to the others in the room. Once the helmet was all the way off her pale green eyes opened and she looked around. With a smile she placed the helmet on the table and looked to the pies, drooling creeping down her chin. The monstrous rumbling was heard again, she hadn't eaten yet today. The girl grabbed her stomach and gave a short chuckle before taking a piece of pie in her still armored hands and proceeded to shove as much in her mouth as possible.

The pie slice was scarfed down in record time and the girl burped loudly. She reached for another and took a large bite. As she chewed she spoke.

"Eyhm Shofbia, the Bfac Nait. Nais to ophifsholy mheet yvou awhl." Realizing that the chewing was impeding her speaking, Sophia gave a large gulp and pushed the remaining pie off to the sides of her mouth, puffing her cheeks like a hamster. "I'm Sophia, the Black Knight. Nice to officially meet you all," the girl said with glee as a few crumbs flew out of her mouth. She gulped the remaining pie down and shot an innocent smile with her eyes closed. She then reached for a third piece of pie.

 

[Alteras]

Vitaliya Kardos

LOCATION Tavern > War Room

INTERACTIONS None

CS

Vitaliya entered the tavern in an extremely exhausted manner. She had just returned from an Emergency Quest, one filled with a large amount of misinformation and bad planning. The reporter misidentified a Land Drake for a Variant Bear somehow, so the quest became a Red quest the moment the first newbie party came along. And while she was getting called in, another newbie party from the next town over took up the quest without knowing that it got changed. During her deployment, some self-proclaimed Hero somehow got hold of the Emergency Channel and decided to "help" with the quest. And so, said Hero raced ahead to the Land Drake only to make the situation worse, leaving an enraged Land Drake for her to clean up. Oh, and the self-proclaimed Hero-turned-coward decided to flee the moment the Land Drake turned the entire place into burning pits of rock and magma, so the area became extremely difficult for safe combat. But that still would've been manageable for her if it wasn't for the fact that another party on a different quest let their target, a Lightning Weasel, wander into the zone!

"AGH!!!" She let out a yell as she slammed her empty mug onto the counter. Needless to say, she ended up completing a quest and a half, but wasn't happy with how poorly it all went. The bartender asked if she wanted more beer for her woes, but remembering the reason why she came here, Vitaliya waved him off and told him to give her passage.

I would love to drink it all down, but seeing as my income is dependent on a cult, I should wait for after this meeting of the freaks.

Walking down the passage way and into the War Room, she could hear old and new voices, and the odd appearances that accompany them. Normally, she wouldn't be working with any of them, people that even the Guild would turn away, but the state of her bank account being what they are, she had to follow along. It wasn't too bad for her though, as she has already worked for them a few times in the past and they paid well. Crazy, but rich. It's always gotta be the crazy ones...

Soon the voices quieted down. Realizing the meeting just started, she found an empty spot along the wall and leaned against it. She nodded towards those who looked at her and remained silent while the big guy talked.

... I regret coming to this meeting already.

FontsFonts Coded by Alteras

 

[Shatter Shard]

Falmme Aceros
War Room

Falmme was pleased that at least a person was grabbing for his pie the moment it was laid down. This in turn gave the green man a favorable impression for Falmme, and he was happy that there was someone else 'normal' in this diverse set of people in the meeting. Frankly, his time with the cult had costed him a great deal of sanity from dealing with the members, all the while trying his best to not offend them in some way. Though he could be considered as a great mage, magic does not do well with lunatics, and he'd rather not have any misgivings pile unto him while he attempts to work away his debt. And so when the green man asked him back with a "And you?", he replied with enthusiasm, "Absolutely great!". However, his reply seemed to give him pause, before he continued with a light shrug, "Probably. I'm not so sure. At least I'm well and alive though." He also nodded to the ghost... spirit? Before saying "That's great!"

Now that a bit of time has passed, Falmme watched with interest as more and more members entered the war room. One of them, a particular woman with very pale and sickly features, made Falmme raised his brow. Now, necromancers were usually stereotyped to be pale and sickly looking with a particularly "unique" sense of aesthetic. He wasn't one to base one's capabilities based on their appearance, but he can't help but think of her as a necromancer. Of course he may be wrong, but that image will stick to his head until he was proven otherwise. He gave her a friendly nod, before internally deciding to tread carefully when dealing with her.

Another was a masked man with two "daughters", who raised his curiosity. He was very well kept to himself, his whole appearance hidden behind an outfit that looks as if they were from nobility. Usually, Falmme would have a sense of distrust against masked people, but seeing his "daughter" want his pie increased his favorable impression. He raised her well, he thought. Bonus points were even added for the man's polite manners and his great care to make sure both of his "daughters" get a slice of his pie. Very pleasant people, Falmme would think as the man switched his interest to the butler of the red dressed lady. Although he would like to talk, it was rude etiquette to interject in a discussion he has no business of. He may be a mage, but even he has a preference when it comes to magic.

Next came the mage, a cat-eared personage who had seemed to carry a grimoire with her. His interest rose sharply as he looked at the book she was holding. He could recognize that it held magic power, or vast information, and was something he would desire to learn as a mage. The spell she showed, a dancing skeleton, was somewhat of an entertaining thing for his eyes. Too many times he had to see undead clamber around like rusted, unappealing puppets, and this one was a fresh sight to behold. Unfortunately, Falmme knew better than to try and ask to read the grimoire. They are treasures heavily guarded by their users, and to peer into their secrets would greatly offend them. Plus, she doesn't seem like the talking type, so he'd rather play it safe. God knows how many people of her type he had interacted with by mistake. Never again. Y'ndra huh, he noted before moving on.

Then another masked man came up with confidence is his steps as he walked up the table. Falmme immediately stretched his body over to move the pies away, trying to make sure the man wouldn't step on a perfectly good set of pie. Once the disaster was averted, Falmme could only inhale deeply through his nose, before commenting on the man's "art", "That's uh... Mhmyeah. I could feel the uh... chaos and uh..." he tapped the table, trying to come up with a word, before snapping his fingers in realization, "Passion! I could feel the passion you put into it." To be honest, he has no idea what the man's "art" was even supposed to mean, but he had hope those relatively safe words would fly by undisturbed. He then spoke to him in a friendly manner, trying to get him off the table, "But try to calm down, the boss is watching." He signed to the head honcho in the head of the table, before settling back down on his seat.

Eventually two more came, one an actually-young-girl black night named Sophia and another seemed to be an adventurer judging from her leather getup. The black knight was particularly interesting, simply because she ate his pie. She was immediately put in Falmme's list of "well liked" people, along with the others who had eaten his pie.

The adventurer, on the other hand, Falmme couldn't make do of what he can see from the woman. She seems to be in a sour mood, so Falmme had no interest in souring her up more. If anything, her willing to stay away from people was a good thing, as it would mean "I'm not dealing with you guys" in Falmme's book of body languages.

However, among all these people, Fal could only truly resonate with one person. Patting the shoulder of his green-cowled comrade, he said in a re-assuring and sympathetic tone "You're alright."

After a few moments, the boss of the entire meeting began his briefing after he turned into the Lich he knew off, one of his bosses in the Esoteric Order. He already knew of him and had seen him before, and so was not as shocking for him as it did a few years ago. However, as a mage, that Ring of Truth does still seem to pull on his desire to have it, but he had already culled that notion a long time ago. After all, who would want to go against a Lich and an entire cult of lunatics? Not him, no.

He listened to everything he said as the lich debriefed the mission, before laying his opinion right there and then. "Absolutely no kidnapping of children." he declared. "It might seem the easiest way to get things done, but heavens know how batshit insane those people would turn into once they realized the young generation missing." he reasoned while circling his finger at the side of his head. "Never mind the authorities, once word of missing children spread around the country, we can bet our asses that at least a Hero's going to come kicking down our doors sooner than we'd anticipate, maybe two, or three." he argued as he continued "Brute-forcing it as well is a no go, since the kidnapping of a Hero is going to cost us a huge amout of manpower and time, as well as give the other Heroes enough time to realize that something is off." He finished, before laying down his vote. "I say we go the Temple Route."

Mentions: Churl archur Reinhardt Silver Wolf Alteras
Interactions: OldTurtle Zerulu

 

[archur]

William Von Strauss
The War Room

Strauss nodded and internally began taking notes as the woman demonstrated the capabilities of the butler, or rather, the butler's soul. As he watched her simply suck his essence away into herself, he determined that she must not be human, or that perhaps she was much more skilled than he, but with the unbroken and pale skin, he doubted that she went down the same routes as he. He's only ever read that humans could only ever absorb and release souls with the use of soul gems, valuable gems attuned to have the properties of a spiritual cage, much like some lesser phylacteries. However, that's just it. Only liches made phylacteries, and it was only to hold their own souls. How did she do so?

"...What might your name be Plague Doctor, and perhaps that of your fellow compatriots?"

The befuddled doctor lost his train of thought as the woman's words entered his consciousness once more. He would have to notate this at a later time, once whenever this meeting would begin. "Plague Doctor? Oh no, I am not a doctor who deals with plagues. In fact, my profession used to be one of on-the-scene recovery! Trauma doctor if you will. After all, this is my great-great-great-grandfather Wilhelm's mask, I simply find use for it now more than ever, but I am getting ahead of myself." He chuckled reminiscing about his family's legacy, something that was always a point of pride whenever it came up. "My name is William Von Strauss, practitioner of necromancy and the art of ensuring the alive stay that way! Or at least in your case Lady Manourei, intact. I have had the pleasure of working with..." He followed her eyes to Modesty as he spoke, and then quickly glanced back to Manourei's face and her glimmering fangs. "...vampires before." The need to protect his protege rose in his chest, but he suppressed it for now. Vampires were the sort to prey on weakness, and he was determined to not show any.

"This is my daughter, Modesty." At the mention of her own name, her head perked up, mouth still full of pie. She gave a polite wave before she began to pace herself on her third slice, competing for the last few pieces with the other heavily-armored youth whom she had determined would be her pie-eating-rival for the hour. "And of course, her older sister Mercy is most likely somewhere in the back of the room, as she usually is. Growing pains, I can imagine. Surely, you've had children of your -"

Suddenly, as if on cue, one of the various people sitting at the table that had escaped his mind began to sit up and speak. William gave a "We can finish this later." nod and hand gesture as he sat back and readied himself for the spiel common to all of these induction meetings. 'Welcome to our Guild/Club/Cult, these are the rules, here is our mission statement', but as who he understood to be potentially his employer stood, he became slack-jawed at the sight before him. A skeleton, nay, a lich with the Ring of Truth. How had he not noticed this earlier? Who was this undead, and what did he get himself into? He reconsidered his options. If he backed out, they would probably chase him down and end his life, ruining his research forever, and leaving Ashley to rot in her bed. He could potentially have Mercy provide a distraction, or even Modesty, but what was the point? It bought him time, but he would lose two of his most prized daughters in his possession. He deeply reconsidered bringing the two of them here. So much for a learning experience.

At the end of the day, this is what he did sign up for. Danger, new people, and a little bit of excitement. A learning experience. He would simply have to see how it played out in the end, and make sure that whatever happened, he didn't anger this lich.

He listened closely, and found their task set before them difficult, to say as little as possible. Infiltrating a well-guarded Temple with an immeasurably secret and potentially dangerous artifact was nowhere near his expertise. Neither was fighting a Chosen either, the breaking part was something he definitely had an expertise on however. Knowing how to fix effectively also meant knowing how to break, and that was something he had been hired to do on occasion.

Perhaps, the option most suited to his skillset would be... "Modesty, remember that spell we've practiced?" The girl looked up from her fourth slice to her father, nodding vigorously. "Firstly, that's enough young lady, you don't want to stuff yourself. Secondly, I want you to practice it until I give you the signal to stop. Grown ups are about to start talking." A mote of pale light rose from her fingers and then dissipated from the air, giving her head a faint gray haze. "Perfect silence zone sweetie." The doll didn't respond, and William began to speak up. "Greetings! I am William Von Strauss, Sir Strauss for short, and I would like to propose the second option, in complete contrast to what that kind gentleman had to say, and I apologize for that, I am in no means a contrarian.

"I do have a way to store souls, and I also have ways to replace and kidnap those children entirely! Of course the material costs present a problem, as well as time and the trouble of having to record the appearance of the victim before I were to replace them, semantics really. But it is one of many methods we do have access to!" He stated triumphantly.

~x~

Mercy was doing her best to not appear bored, but her best meant mentally boring a hole into the ass of the barbarian who stood atop the table, presenting his art to everyone else in front of him. Sure, there was talking going on, and some man shed his skin just to surprise and appall everyone, but she's seen it enough times before. After all, what was so special about some floating dead guy?

What did catch her eye was a cat-eared woman that sat just across from her, flipping through what was undoubtedly some magical book. The way she read it and the gibberish she skimmed over informed her as such, especially since Mercy was usually the one who had to carry her father's stupid magical books around to begin with. She learned to detest these sorts of things. However, when the woman created a tiny tap-dancing skeleton that not only spewed insults to some Cyrus, but then gave complements to another Y'ndra, she found that to instantly be the next most entertaining thing in the room.

The thorned woman pointed a clawed finger at the little skeleton as it flapped about. "How'd you do that?"


Interactions: Shatter Shard Reinhardt Hanarei
Mentions: Zerulu Silver Wolf Birdsie

 

[Barbas]

Kruvick sat there in silence, listening to the old lich as he spoke. And as he spoke about their goal the different ways in which they could achieve it, Kruvick began to think. Each route had it's positives and negatives. Each route offered a different sort of enjoyment to him. But of the three, his mind settled on one, and that was the child sacrifices. It was just far easier compared to the other two, and no demon would pass up the opportunity to kill a shitload of kids.

Taking one last bite out of the mangled carcass, Kruvick tosses it aside before speaking up.

"The child sacrifices are by far our best option. Tastiest, too." He said as he recalled some his past meals. Kruvick paused to remove a piece of meat stuck between his fangs with a claw before continuing.

"Children are plentiful resource, one that is essentially inexhaustible. No matter how many you kill, you'll never run out. And...." Kruvick said as he glared at one of his fellow cultists, the mage who voiced his opposition to this plan.

"...if we do things right, none of our enemies will be able to discover us. I mean, this city alone is teeming with orphans, and no one would notice some gutter trash going missing."



Birdsie Shatter Shard

 

[Churl]

Tamah Babbit
Location: Order War Room

Spoiler: Appearance

She paid attention as some of the other cultists introduced themselves and quietly noted their names when spoken. When their benefactor revealed himself, however, is when she straightened and focused intently. She wasn’t surprised by his appearance at all, but it was the ring that caught her eye. The Ring of Truth... this (former) man had managed to slay a Hero of Fate. It made her blood boil for several seconds, before she reminded herself this just allowed a stronger successor to take the mantle. Still, there weren’t many that can claim to singlehandedly slay one of the Seven, and she was able to piece together who this person was. Wow, she was dealing with a true villain here! With him here, this plan is bound to eventually pull in the Heroes, her Beloved among them, and bring salvation to all!

...she definitely wanted that Ring if the opportunity presented itself. Never mind Truth is her least favorite of the Heroes, or the one she has no information on, it’s still prime merchandise!

She listened to the options and considered them. She definitely preferred the first and third ones, the second posed a risk of being too discreet, how could she ever hope for the arrival of the Seven if they pulled this off flawlessly? Still, she was aware her comrades held different, flawed perspectives and wouldn’t appreciate this reasoning, so she tried to attack through another angle. As much as the third option appealed to her the most, it wouldn’t do for them to all get easily slain if they misstepped. It’d be personally satisfying, of course, but that’s selfish thinking! The selfless thing would be to make sure Good continues to come to others, and the release of this primordial is the sure way to accomplish that. Therefore, the first option is the compromise that seems likely if successful to fulfill her ambitions, her desires, and that of the Cult as well. Besides, they were stepping stones for destiny, surely Fate’s darker hand would guide them through this obstacle if they were worthy and its’ light side not stand in their way beyond a few challenges!

Several of the other cultists voiced their opinions. The demon and the necromancer suggested the second route to her disapproval. They were playing it far too safe. If cruelty is absolute and unknown, what Good can rise from the ashes? Luckily, the affable cook broached her desired topic.

“I-I agree with him,” she gestured at the mage. “S-Sorry, but it seems like using a lot of resources and time when it isn’t completely necessary, ah, in my opinion. The longer we take, the more chance there is of being discovered, a-and the point’s moot if we’ll be discovered when it’s crunch time anyway. I think, um, if that’s okay, that planning for the temple way allows us to account for time and p-prepare the quickest way to secure what we need and perform the ritual. T-This way we won’t be discovered until we already have the only piece we need, a-and if we plan this right, we can figure out how to do this as quickly and efficiently as possible. Oh, um, and I’m Tamah, by the way, if that matters. S-Sorry, should have probably introduced myself first... heh.... heh...”

She didn’t even laugh at the end there, she just said the vocalization ‘heh’.

Mentions: Barbas archur Shatter Shard
Interactions: All present