PlaneShift
Gameplay => In-Game Roleplay Events => Topic started by: Masked on February 05, 2015, 12:40:48 am
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Come Home, My Love
[An RP for everyone, featuring intrigue, mystery, suspense, beautiful women, and more!]
[You'll have to pardon me for my writing style. I have a huge worry about giving out too much information on the forum that can get people IC/OOC confused, so I keep it brief. We look forward to seeing you in game!]
The candlelight flickers unsteadily, illuminating the woman bent in prayer to the altar that stood in front of her. The figure on the altar has Its arms outstretched, palms outward, as if beckoning to an unseeing mass. But there is only one woman praying, only one when perhaps there should be masses, today. She is a young woman, beautiful by almost any standard. Too young to be praying such a prayer, on such a beautiful day. Her garb is simple, not that of a rich merchant's daughter or a lover taking her pay on the side. It is not so simple as to be called poor, though, and it would be a mistake to describe anything about her as plain. Today, though, neither garb, looks, or even tria matters to her, nor to the figure she prays to.
Sweat drips down the woman's brow, and there is a look of feverish devotion, or concentration perhaps, embedded in the lines of her face and the rigidity of her posture. Her eyes are focused at the feet of the figure, as if unable to look all the way up at the chiseled stone of the god - for it must be a god.
To the left of the woman are two caskets, bearing two bodies. They are covered with the ceremonial sheets of those who are dead, soon to be taken to a well and removed from existence entirely. Two masks cover their faces, the only indicator of anything to do with status, religion, or race, if one could guess those things from such an indicator. One of these bodies is slightly taller than the other, the casket a bit longer to accommodate it.
Unbeknownst to the woman, there is another being in the room. All it does is watch, impassively. And when she stands, finally, tears falling down from her face, it is gone. She moves to close the casket, whispering a final goodbye to those inside.
And she moves on, clutching a precious journal closely. It is worn, in fact, quite well worn, and many of the pages are dog eared, as if they have been looked over several times, for reassurance of the precious contents they hold.
As she walks through the cobbled city streets, a page unsteadily tears loose from the journal underneath her arm, already loosened by her un-caringingly heavy steps, filled with grief as they are. It starts wafting through the cold winds and settles on the stone pavement, fluttering occasionally as a breeze bites its corners. She walks on, drying her tears with the strength and knowledge known to her race.
[Welcome one, welcome all! This RP is open to everyone, and I believe we've already had one person find the journal piece. There'll be plenty of other ways to involve yourself, so if you find yourself in a /tell from one of the characters asking your consent, don't hesitate to say yay or nay. There are violent and nonviolent options, so we welcome all of you to come along. This isn't just another "necromancer" "mass murderer" "blah violent blah" story, and we welcome all from the newest roleplayers to the most advanced. Have a good time, and we'll see you down in Hydlaa and the rest of Yliakum!]
[On a side note, those involved with this RP are encouraged to post logs, or post their story as they see fit! Those of running the RP usually store logs, though one of us does not, so I will post in place and keep the story moving as best possible. Good luck, all, we're enjoying the community coming together and RPing! :)]
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[This post is reserved as necessary to reveal the puzzle when it unfolds from the 'other perspective']
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The klyros darts from the library as a chilling winter's wind blows past the door. She scowls and curses, both at the cold and at the papers it sends flying from her satchel. She chases after them, stomping all over the street in Eastern Hydlaa and trying to catch them with her feet and hands. The last one hooks on a cobblestone, and she leaps at it with enthusiasm before clutching it tightly.
"Gotchya!"
Grinning, she turns the paper over and starts trying to figure out where it belongs in her manuscript. Only then does she realize the writing is not her own. Scanning the sentences, a scowl crosses her face, quickly replaced with a look of pity. With a groan, she stands up and deliberates, shivering as the wind continues to blow.
Then she nods sharply, decision made. Evirea runs back into the library. She buys a piece of parchment and scrawls on it in a neat hand, before making her way to the billboard and nailing her letter upon it.
(http://i.imgur.com/oyRhHBw.jpg)
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A Very Silly Girl Indeed
[Taken from a conversation with Asmo, & More...]
All I could think about was his notebook, which he entrusted me with. He said it was the only way, and here I'd gone and lost a page! I thought I could cry with how frustrated I was, and in fact I came quite close. Enoile really saved me on that one, catching me mid-mope near the fountain and whisking me away to a picnic in the rain. What a beautiful woman, and such a kind heart.
But as soon as I stepped foot back into Hydlaa it hit me like a ton of the cobblestone that these city streets are paved with. I'd let him down, and He'd been my only hope.
And that was when Asmo came along. I was despondent - perhaps a bit frustrated with my own despondency, even. Have you ever gotten so down that you begin to hate yourself for your own failure and the reaction to it? He either didn't care, or genuinely wanted me around.
So I hitched my boots up, adjusted my blouse, and convinced him to buy me a drink. I was all charm and smiles, and for a minute there I forgot that I had a role to play. Sure, it was an easy role, and I fell into it naturally, perhaps one could say I was born into it, but it only felt exciting when I crossed the boundaries a little bit.
Two Twisted Emeralds later and I'd already kissed the man - granted, it was on the cheek, but I couldn't help it he made me a little hot under the collar. I'd found out what I needed to know, about his proficiency in the Blue Way, his aspirations to become a doctor, and a little bit more about the goings on of the mages in the city.
My part was coming quicker than I thought. I went to my room, with a bit of a headache, but with much more confidence. Shortly afterwards I managed to send out a message to whomever it was that had found 'my silly note' and tacked it to the public noteboard. Problem solved, surely. It'd be foolish to involve anyone else in something so simple.
Soon I'll see them. Soon I will see It.
Laanx, come home? There is so much work to be done.
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Move One: Pawn Forwards, Two Squares. Set the board.
[Thanks to Asmo, Lyelora, Anhur, and more!]
Emmeth sweats - and even that experience is new for her, the young Dermorian having barely reached any maturity. But why wouldn't she, in a moment like this one? She reaches into her pocket to finger the token that she has there, rubbing her thumb back and forth over the well worn coin and the figure on it. Some of the tension eases, and her chest stops heaving, at least for a moment or two.
"Help! Help! My friend - he's - he's - he's hurt!"
The tall Ynnwyn man turns, and Em almost runs into him, her arms stretching out to stop her from a full on collision. Fortunately the pavement does it's job also, and her feet find some footing. The man looks down at her, with what she thinks must be concern.
"What happened?", the Ynnwyn asks, looking Em over.
"He was...He was down there, and some Rogues attacked him!" Em replies, gasping for breath. It's a thin ruse, but she's confident that these do-gooder Hydlaans will fall for it. And it seems like there's a sucker born every minute, for it doesn't take long for the man to make up his mind and consent to follow
Emmeth's feet pound, slapping the pavement, her footing sure when she reaches the entrance to the sewers. "Down here!" She exclaims, and motions for the tall Ynnwyn to follow. While she looks back, a thought flickers through her head:
What if this one was too strong? He had the Blue Way magic, just like she'd been told. But what if he was too much for them? It was a risk she had to take. Better death than to face Him.
As she turns the corner and sees the 'injured' Ynnwn lying there, a soft sigh of relief passes her lips. It's almost inaudible, and she quickly swivels on the balls of her feet to see if her quarry had followed her. Good, he had. It was time for business, and business looked bad.
The large man lay there, what looked like a large cut running across his forehead. Surrounding his head is a pool of blood, and his eyes are closed in what seems like unconsciousness. It's what seems like an obvious scene: The man was attacked by rogues, his goods stolen, and he was left there to die.
When Em's 'friend' knelt down, she almost had to close her eyes. Was it really this simple? And when he reached toward's the downed man's forehead, she started to edge towards him, in case there was trouble. Not that she could do much to help, she was smaller than some leaves, and about as strong as them also. She wasn't going to be much help here, if help was even needed.
And it wasn't long until the action begin. As soon as the first drops of water cleared away the smeared dirt and clacker's blood on the downed man's forehead, his arm shot out, the hidden dagger blade there leveling at the young Ynnwn's throat.
"Now, stay calm. We're not going to kill you, we just need something."
Emmeth's friend's reply is equally calm, "What do you need?" His voice is level, without any sense of fear. Emmeth's heart skips a beat, and she gets the sudden urge to run away.
Run? I can't run. I'm in this for the long haul, now. I've gone and sold my soul, and I think this devil would hunt me until payment was taken in full if I ran. I can't run. I have to do this. We can't fail.
These thoughts race through her mind in a never ending loop as soon as the first dagger plunges into the Ynnwyn she brought with her.
It wasn't supposed to happen this way. There wasn't supposed to be any death, just a quick prick, a simple spell, and he could leave with no memory of what went on. That was all! Why was he making it hard? It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
The 'injured' man seems to have the upper hand, now. He probably wouldn't, Em thinks, if he hadn't gotten in the first blow. The Ynnwyn she brought with her fought like a man possessed, or a man not afraid of death.
A shout brings her out of her revery,
"Em, now!"
With that, she looks closely, seeing a dagger buried in the young Ynnwyn's chest, and a knee rocketing towards his inner thighs. She focuses hard, a very weak Azure Way spell soon casting from her to distract the man. It seems like it works, and the knee hits home, finally putting the fight away for good, she hopes.
And it does. Soon after that, the injured man wrenches his dagger up into the quarry's heart, and his other comes across with precision, slashing his throat.
Now, it is time for Em to do her job. Vial and dropper in hand, she sucks up as much of the dying man's blood as she can, her body shuddering at the task. Before he passes, another spells is cast, to cover up what happened.
Why did it have to happen this way? It was supposed to be easy.
She hoped the others were having better luck with their targets. There are plenty of other ways to draw blood, figurative or not.
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Recovering, and setting the stage:
The Ynnwn lays in his bed contemplating the last few days of rest. How could he have been so foolish... he'd grown soft, and yet, he was willing to take another risk. It's a shame they had to try to erase his memory of what happened, normally he'd just congratulate them on being brave enough to hold a dagger to him... When this is all over, he muses, he still might. For now though, they need to learn a lesson. He tucks the journal page into his satchel, and looks up at the ceiling "My father was right... I messed up big time, but maybe... just maybe I can still fix this." he continues to think over the actions of the past few days. They're attack on him and steeling his blood, Evirea's trip through his mind, the meeting, the plan... and the girl who seemed to honestly feel some kind of guilt over what happened to him. They're new to this, he decides, and they'll have to learn, it would have been better to pick another mark like he'd told them. Now to see what happens when they realise just how much he's managed to figure out with just a few good friends, and some simple words. He hopes that his plan goes smoothly. "But any rough spots, will be ground out."
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And We Move Again: "The Rook" Up, 5 Spaces. Other Pieces Coming Into Play....
[Thank you Sulaika, Evirea, and more!]
"Cord" sat under the tree, looking himself over. It really was a clever plan, and it didn't take a lot of magic to make him look like this. How much easier could it get? His "Uncle" was going to get the right person, and when they saw him in this pitiable state, they'd do whatever he asked them to.
It was taking a bit longer than he expected, though. Knowing his "Uncle", he'd found a pretty woman and was trying to get into her pants as much as he was trying to get the necessary blood. Good thing he'd already been paid his guarantee, small as it was. Whoever was running this show was efficient and knew how to get the most out of his players.
Cord just wished he knew who was running the show. Only the girl had ever met him/her/it, and Cord didn't even think the girl had any idea what was happening around her. In fact on second thought, it all seemed a bit disconcerting. There were a lot of puzzle pieces being moved and fitted, and Cord honestly had no idea what the big picture looked like.
Ah, well. Trust his Uncle, and it would all come out in the wash, he said.
Cord huddled under the tree, doing his absolute best impression of a sickly cub. The magic held, and it didn't seem like the woman either knew about the shields, or if she saw them, didn't care. More's the better, because if there were less questions than everything would work out better. So he coughed, mewed, and even allowed the woman to pet his head. Gods, what a woman! She fawned over him, gushing about how cute he was, and sneaking sidelong glances at his uncle. It looked like both of them were going to be happy today.
As soon as it was done, and his "Uncle" carried him into the house, Cord relaxed, and the bindings of the spell came loose.
"You made me /drink/ that dung?!?" He asked, accusingly.
The other man in the house simply laughed, shaking his head and grinning in return.
"Yeah, cracked me up. Plus, we managed two vials on this one, and she's quite a powerful Crystal Way user. I thought it'd be funny to see you gag it down like a good little boy."
"Well, damn you to the realm and back! That was a foul trick!" Cord spat back.
The other man simply laughed again, carefully rolling the vial in a thick set of linens and leathers and stowing it with the first. Fortunately they wouldn't have to watch over these much longer. The next target was being picked out, and it seemed like Em and the Old Man were almost ready for theirs also. The last two, though? Not a peep.
It always seemed like the Black Beast waited until the last moment to put on a show.
How typical, and how foolish, Cord thought.
But the tria was good, so that was what mattered.
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*reserved*
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(I want to make sure it's out there: no blood gathered will be used to 'force' a character to do anything or godmod a character. People get antsy about that.)
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Crazy cultists weren’t supposed to be this clever.
These were the people that signed the book. The ones that stabbed themselves with a needle and wrote their name in blood because some yellow-toothed hermit said it would be a good idea. These were the folks that found some old dusty tome that said do not chant this one thing in particular, and they got a whole choral group together for the event.
Evirea sat cross-legged in front of the menki locked against the wall. She alternated between glaring at him and glaring at the notes in her hands. They were equally reprehensible. The menki was breaking his mold, he was clever and crazy. That was a terrible combination. She already had Rigwyn to deal with, she didn’t need another one, let alone one that was so “at peace” with the earth around himself he could drop a mountain on someone at will.
Sighing heavily, Evirea ran a shaking hand along her head-fin. She glanced at the bed nearby and couldn’t help but send a brief scowl at Mariana. She was sleeping now, having taken her turn at watching. It wasn’t her fault, not really, but she’d sprung the trap prematurely. She hadn’t consulted others, and she and that Wulfar fellow might have buggered up the entire operation. Sure, they had him in custody, but for how long? And did he really even know anything? What would happen if they found out he had nothing at all? Now they’d shown their hand and alerted the whole damned grapevine.
“I really dislike you,” she grumbled, glaring up at Mahkana.
The unconscious menki didn’t reply, which for some strange reason made her angrier.
“Why do you have to come into this city and stir up shit? Why? Why do you have to think that you can do good by summoning Laanx? Even if it is ever-so-high and mighty, that god in particular? I mean, seriously? You can’t tell me you don’t see a problem in trying to pull some obscure entity back from the Labyrinth. Gee, it’s not like bloodthirsty monsters pour out of it on a regular basis or anything. Oh, wait.”
Standing, the klyros began to pace, taking her wrath out on the sleeping man, yelling at him.
“As if I didn’t have enough to deal with, with the demons. Do you know how long it took me to get fucking Baazel out of Allena? A CYCLE. A cycle, you daft idiot. And I don’t even know if the job’s done yet, or if she’ll even survive. If she’ll even…even wake up. I might have killed her for good. And I recruited a lot of people to help me do it; that’ll hang on them. On Prreta…”
Her hands formed fists, and she took a swing at the menki – she checked the blow, smacking knuckles against the fur behind him.
“You want to try to summon a god? After it devours whatever vessel it latches onto, what then? You can’t control it. Whatever you end up with, Laanx or no, it’ll have you for desert and then just keep storming ahead. It’s not mortal. It doesn’t feel gratitude. You’re a cockroach, you’re a termite. You are nothing to it and all it wants is to roll right over you as it passes on by.”
Still Mahkana gave her no answer. Clenching her jaw, Evirea turned and walked to the sleeping akkaio, checking her breathing. It was fine enough. His fancy little dust spell didn’t seem to have left any scarring in her lungs. Mariana should probably be more concerned about a broken heart. It would appear her former lover was somehow tangled up behind events. He could be an unwitting accomplice, the clues indicated as such, but that could be a plant too. At least Wulfar had agreed to let them question him. It was a step in the right direction, even if it was a small one.
What was the next step? The next move? Could she trust her accomplice in all of this? Sure, he’d seemed cooperative enough, he’d fed her information and she’d done the same for him. Without him she probably wouldn’t have a clue as to what was happening, or at least it would have taken her a lot longer to put it all together. But he had ulterior motives. He had to. She had no way of figuring them out, any more than she had a good way to figure out who the ringleader was in this mad ritual.
“Worse comes to worse I just end up between an eight-foot-tall tactical genius and an angry goddess who hates klyrans,” she muttered. “No pressure.”
Turning around again, Evirea regarded the man on the wall. Would he have done it? Would he have killed Mariana as brutally as he’d threatened to? Shredded her lungs from the inside out, maybe even done something so horrible Dakkru herself couldn’t put her back together?
Some would say it didn’t matter, but it mattered to her. After all, she knew one person had already been tricked into the ritual by having their dead loved ones used against them. At least, if she wasn't some clever plant with a sob story. Evirea'd lost loved ones before. She could put herself in Lyelora’s shoes because she had a matching set. If some powerful mage had approached her with such a promise then, a promise of bringing them back, she would have jumped at it. She wasn’t so high and mighty and arrogant as to deny it.
So what about Mahkana? What about Lurch, this brown way master with a gimp? What about this man who had managed to collect blood with such minimal violence that those bled were unwitting? Did he have a stake in all of this? A loved one to bring back, perhaps? Or maybe he’d seen so much shit in the world, so much hurt and pain, that he thought the only way to resolve it was to call the Goddess of Order back from wandering alone in the darkness.
Do you believe that society can rise above this lawlessness? That was what he’d asked her. At the time it had seemed like casual conversation and nothing more. He’d talked about balance, about the need for good and evil, and she’d thought he was just some Xiosian nut harping on the whole two-sides-of-a-coin trope. Was there more to it, though? To him? And if he wasn’t the ringleader, if he was being strung along by his ears by some ghost in the shadows, was he a villain? Or a victim?
“Luckily for you, dear Mahkana, ‘tis I, Evirea, the honorary idealist at your service. Mock as you will, I’m probably the only thing that’ll keep your furry ass out of blatant torture in the days to come.”
Bowing sardonically, the klyros drew in a deep breath and headed out of the tunnel they’d locked him in, aiming to wake the next person up for their watch.
[Loving this RP so much. Thanks a bundle for including me!]
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(Don't worry darlings, I'm going to update this post with all relevant info from the past week or so. It's a lot, Masked and I will take turns. In the meantime, read Evi's post above.)
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[Garris and I have agreed to bring it up to speed. Thank you to all who are participating at this point, and yes, even though we've done quite a bit already....There's still even more! It is our combined hope as a team, all of us involved, that as many people as possible can join. We understand that this means we won't get everybody, but even if you're a part for 3 seconds or less, or in passing, we hope you enjoy it. So now, to give my fingers blisters:]
Part 1: Six Vials
Gently, he put them in the chest, lovingly laying them side by side. They glistened, it seemed, although it was probably just a trick of the light. Blood, such a powerful weapon. Used to control, if needed. Used to summon demons, if wanted.
In this case, used for neither. Shame that some citizens took it upon themselves. They would have never known.
But now they would.
Pt. 2: Advance Queen....
The things of life are never as easy as I want them to be. They're never handed to me on a platter, and if they are, the platter is yanked from me just as soon as I reach my hand out for it. Only then does the hand holding it open the lid, revealing what's beneath. What I once thought was good is revealed as lies, and my stomach turns. The things I wanted first? Perhaps they would've killed me.
Lyelora's thoughts ran through her head like a hailstorm, the pitter-patter of each individual feeling and emotion denting her will to continue on. Her bed was warm and soft, and the covers created a cocoon for her to lay in, like some sort of ugly worm waiting it's turn to become a butterfly. Perhaps, she thought, that was what she was. When this was all over, she could emerge for the better, this whole fiasco behind her.
She pulled the covers tighter around her neck, a small sob escaping her lips as she thought over the events of the past week or so.
It had all began so easily. The figure in black came to her, impossible to see. It wasn't so much that she couldn't see him, but rather that he couldn't be pinned down. As if by trying to focus on him, he simply /moved/ to a different location, just enough that her eyes betrayed her brain into believing him indistinguishable. A man, yes. That was all she could tell, from the richness of his voice and the masculinity he radiated. It almost made her shiver, being in his presence, and not necessarily from fear. She had been praying, in the Temple of Laanx, and he had ghosted in behind her. The offer was simple, He'd said. No tria, no cost. She would simply point out targets, and when the required 6 mages had been bled, they would meet and revive her parents. Of course she'd given it second thoughts! What kind of person wouldn't? But grief and rage had overwhelmed judgment, and in the end she had accepted readily.
Especially when He had shown her the miracles. Touched her head, and become a part of her as easily as breathing. In there, He had seemed a god himself, showing her the wonders and miracles that Laanx could perform, if only she should agree.
Easy sell. Grieving woman, with no loved ones.
She grimaced at that. What a pitiable fool she had been, so eager to jump at some pithy magic tricks and the promise of her parents restored to her. How little she had known, believing that her ma and dad were the only family she could receive. What a foolish, foolish girl.
The thoughts made her rip her covers off, now, and she stood to her feet, quietly tip toeing so as not to wake the other occupants. It was a chore, to be sure.
Sleeping in the fortress made of pillows was little Ed, and Evirea's girl, Callim. Two of the most darling children she had ever met, and within less than a month she had met them. If that wasn't friendship, then she didn't know what was. They seemed to adore her, and she adored them right back!
She could stay here forever. She would stay here forever! No sense in dabbling around. When whoever was responsible for this was caught and if the gods were good, crystalled, she would put it all behind her.
She would give her parents a proper burial. Adorn their bodies what the needed, and send them down the Wells, to rest forever. The final sleep. They deserved that, for all they had done for her. And she could finally breathe again. Perhaps....
Perhaps pursue family. If not her own, she would content herself with Evirea's beautiful 'children'. She wasn't even sure what she would do with her own kids. A part of her feared that perhaps she would be a terrible mother. A part feared that her kids would grow up in this Dome, and as the cycles wore, would become a fatality to the madness that seemed to seethe at the edges around everyone here.
Perhaps children were really out of the question. Ah, well.
As she finished her quiet walk around the outer edge of the guildhouse, more thoughts began formulating in her mind.
A kiss, yes. She'd enjoyed that one, for sure. The tall man made her feel safe, although she had more than a feeling that there was quite a bit to him. No one had the tools he had at his disposal, and perhaps she was dipping her toes where the hungry fish were swimming again. But no matter. He was on her side, he'd said so. He'd protect her, and make sure nothing happened.
As for the rest, it was a mystery to her. She'd heard of the vials of blood, and some fear rose in her throat as she remembered Evirea's words, "They must have all of them, by now...". That, coupled with the intentions of whomever was behind this to use her as some sort of sacrifice, or vessel, had her shivering where she stood. In fact, it took her a few moments to calm down to where she could walk again, a determined set on her face.
She would not be a husk for some creature to use. She would not become something thrown away, to be pressed to the side and discarded when no longer useful.
Lyelora Kulesara had not been raised that way. She had been raised with knowledge far deeper than the twit she had acted after her parent's death.
If she could wait long enough, wait until this blew over, then she could live again. Perhaps just a few more days until she could open that door and walk out.
But for now?
A long breath....and exhale.
[I also did want to note that I will be posting some of the other views after this also, as well as Garris.]
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[Reserved]
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Dance With the Devil, pt. 1
Mahkana hung there, bound at the hands and feet, like some common criminal. His body was limp, wrists aching for a chance to be free, and bones screaming for the exertion placed upon the joints stretched beyond what was needed.
This was not torture, though. If anything, this was opportunity. For if it were not, he would simply be adjourning at the meeting point sooner than originally planned.
The night before, they had tried to lure him, to gain information. The fenki, Mariana was her name, came to him asking for a ''favor". They'd thought him dimwitted, perhaps, easily led. Her and Wulfar both, trading glances between each other and whispering amongst themselves. It was enough to drive him mad with anticipation, because the trap they were springing was not for him. No, it was going better than planned!
And so it was worth it to hang there, waiting for the Klyros to come on shift again. First, a nap. And as he tried to nap, the events came to his mind, like a whirlwind.
The first letter was hand delivered by a scrawny girl, just entering her awkward stages. He thought her inconsequential, just some street urchin hired to deliver the scrap of parchment. Without a second thought he'd sent her on her way with a few tria as a tip. It paid well to have friends wherever one went, and perhaps karma would serve as an ally this time as well. Nonetheless her face seemed quite inconsequential.
"My dear Lurch," The letter began, "I have a new job for you. One that will require some delicacy, as it involves blood magic. I know that you have no sort of specialty in this field, but we believe you will serve best for this job. Consider it an act of good faith that we will pay you an advance for this:
6 Vials of blood, each vial containing the blood of a Way user of some power. The blood must either be heavily enchanted with the way, or directly drawn from someone with a moderate amount of power. At least three of the vials musts be Master leveled, and there are specifications on how they must be drawn. We'll be sending those to you in the next letter, should you accept. And we're quite sure you will.
Last but not least, you will not be working alone. The young girl who delivered this, and her partner, will also assist you. I will also assist you at some point during this, as well as one other. Be aware, my friend - not everyone takes well to blood magics. The quieter we keep this, the better. Should word get out, I will devise a way to handle it. We will take care of details.
Simply be ready for the next letter, my friend."
That had been the first, and the second one had vested him entirely. The promise was simply too great, the implications unheard of. Never before had such a clear path been laid out before him, or such promise of fulfillment offered. Laanx was the focal point, the tipping point for all of it. He would do it, oh yes, he would do it.
Flash forward to his next memory, and things had fasttracked. Sulaika's blood was his, a simple trick he had learned growing up alongside his "Uncle" and the deadly group he had called friends. His own blood was willingly given, and Wulfar's was a simple draw. Mariana's, while not his target, had been easier than expected also. The old Man had done his job as well, and as for the Azure blood? Easier than the rest, even. So this memory found him opening another letter with shaking hands: "Well done, servant. I am quite pleased with the progress, and we simply wait your arrival where the light is darkest. Do not delay, save for good reason. All of our pieces are falling into place, save the girl. It would be in our best interests that you or some other find her.
All this will be paid and made right.
~M.
Lurch had almost shivered with the glee of it, looking the paper over again and even upside down to make sure that it read correctly. What a promise was held in such simple words!
And so he hung there, because the promise was simply worth it. The fools had no idea of what was coming, what would happen when Laanx arrived. And the Man had come to him, setting a vow on his tongue so that he could not tell. It was not the first such vow that he had sworn, but it was equal in power to those that came before it.
When Evirea finally arrived, Lurch smiled at her. It didn't seem like it infuriated the Klyros, which brought at least a measure of disappointment to the man. After all, he did try his hardest to aggravate his captors. He could tell he got to Asmo at least a little bit, and a devilish thought began tickling his mind; He knows where She is.. Was it going to be that easy? Ah, who knew. If he couldn't escape through civility, than his work here was done anyhow.
And so it began.
"I don't know whether or not you would've killed Mariana, or done something even worse. Whatever you're into, we need to know, and it needs to stop;" The Klyros said, her tone firm and even. Lurch simply smiled back at her, the knowledge rising in his gorge that she would be one of the first to go should the plan come to fruition. Certain deities and winged beasties didn't get along well, especially if this deity happened to be grateful for at least a little bit.
"Tell me where Lyla is. You already know what you need to know - just stay out of the way. This doesn't concern you, never has. No one needs to get hurt." Lurch replied. It was an obvious lie. He already knew where Lyelora was, or at least to an extent. Amdeneir was the city, somewhere in the quadrant near the Pterosaur. Part of the gambit he had played was to simply help narrow it down for the others to go pick her up without event. He now had more than an educated guess that either Asmo or Evirea were aiding the girl, perhaps hiding her themselves.
A few tremors in the area should send her scurrying for cover. With the right eyes, she'd be easy enough to spot. It wasn't like there were any Diaboli around, anyways. Let alone one quite like her.
And so the banter continued: "What makes you think that is any sort of a good idea?" The Klyros questioned him, frank disbelief all over her face. The question was double sided, forged to shame the menki into confession and get an answer from him. It was a tactic that was used from when you were learning up until the day you died if you wanted something, and Lurch knew it full well. She wouldn't like the answer, and his oath forfeited him from telling the entire reason as it was.
She would have to believe power was the reason. She would have to believe that yes, he wanted power. The truth ached in his brain, though, germinating there and sending out roots deep into the crevasses of his mind. More than power, this would be, should it all come too. Although the rewards would be so great that those in Lurch's group would live like Octarchs for the rest of their lives. Or at least he hoped they would. There was always the opportunity that they would earn a trip to the death realm and a nasty surprise on the way out. But that was the pessimistic viewpoint, really. He didn't believe in thinking like that.
Lurch's wrists began to tire, and he began to tire of the monotonous questions. Asmo would butt in occasionally, bringing up an observation or comment, and Evirea would look to him for approval at times.
By the end of it, they believed him a pawn. Used, by this "M" character.
They even drugged him to tell the truth. He already was.....
To an extent. The greatest of his physical abilities, Lurch was telling the truth.
It seemed like it would serve as an interesting puzzle for his captors to solve.
And at the end of the questioning, Lurch knew it was time. The walls here were thick, powerful. It would've been pie to simply pull them down and bury the lot. But that was not how he worked, and the task might've made him an invalid for weeks without his glyphs. No, his magic would be simple and fulfilling.
A small pebble span in the air, a point filing on it. He thought Evirea noticed, perhaps, but did nothing to stop it. Gova, the Klyros, simply watched. Asmo didn't see it.
And with a sigh, Lurch killed himself. Mission fulfilled, to the next step.
Where the light is darkest, Mahkana Ruuka sat, studying the multi-faceted Crystal in front of him. Here he would wait, until M arrived. Until Lyelora was chained here, and the blood magic raised.
Until the girl became greater than he, and they returned to the land of the living, to the Iron Temple of Laanx.
Victorious would be his arrival home. Greater still would be what was to come.
[I'm sorry, I don't save logs. I would love it if Evi, Asmo, or Gova were to post an edited version :)]
[Postscript: Thank you to Wulfar, Mariana, Gova, Celroc, Prreta, Evirea, Asmo, and more for this small section! Hooray for ALL planeshifters!]
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(Soo much of this is happening and it's hard to type up all of it! If your characters have a perspective, please don't hesitate to post below! There's still a week of backlogged material that Garr or I need to go over and post, and even these posts have been quite abridged I feel like! *Lyla smiles* But we also have our secret friend, who at the end of this, gets to make a big post and stuff! Teehee! So, we all might get some answers from that. But we're looking forward to mostly how the community gets involved and how their characters have a good time. Ultimately - we hope you are, whether we're doing ok or not. Thank you! /end post.)
(This section reserved.)
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A Hunt Through the Darkness.
He feels the thrumming in his veins, that soothing feeling that's always there when he's in Her Realm. On his feet before his eyes are even fully open as he finishes coming through. He looks around, smiling as he recognises this particular area "Where the light is darkest." he says, as he starts to walk off, heading towards the chamber of the crystal. "Don't worry Lyla... I'll find you, and if not... I'll wait for them to bring you to me." he says as he starts checking what's left of the supplies in his satchel, formulating a plan as he does.
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[Got a cool PM from Prreta, I hope she doesn't mind if I share at least a few tidbits and an apology related to it: :-[]
[Basically, she asked if we would do a bit more to include some of the players on the fringe of the action, such as scheduling and stuff.
I wholeheartedly agree! Were it up to me, scheduling would be tantamount. The gist of my reply was that I can't dungeon master at all, and that I have on-call work.
Truthfully it's the on-call work that makes it impossible to schedule, which is just out of my control.
So to end with my apology: I am sorry that some people got to miss the ritual. Good news? That's not nearly the end. This isn't a set RP with an end per se. It goes until it's either stopped or...etc. So there will be tons of chances for an entirely different group of guys and gals to get involved, still, and on a very deep level! Thanks Prreta for bringing this up.
So many thanks to those who have put time into this. We're looking forward to even more time with all of you, wherever we meet you and wherever we end up together! Happy playing, PlaneShift.]
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[I'll try very hard to summarize this all as best I can, up to current events. Many thanks to Celroc, Prreta, Evirea, Mariana, Sacho, Anysu, Allena, Sulaika, Asmo, Mishka, and many, many more that have come through recently....]
As soon as the dagger hit his neck, darkness enclosed him. Wulfar knew that he wasn't dead yet, not quite, but his mind quieted, almost accepting the imminent fate. Pondering why it was happening this way wasn't an option, no, he knew that it was time. Why it was time wasn't even an issue. What it was time for was a mystery in and of itself. Something in his mind, however, knew that it was time to die, and the message delivered by the unknown thrower of the dagger made it quite clear. So as the Klyros rushed up to him, and consciousness left the Clamod's body, there was almost a sense of peace. And as the last breath shuddered from his white, bloodless lips, and the pool of red matted his fur, Wulfar accepted his fate.
Death, but with purpose. What sort of purpose was his aim to find.
Soon, he awoke. Or the shell of the Enki awoke, swathed in black. The mind of the man itself was trapped, a raging figure set in an endless castle of which there seemed to be no escape. Control had been given to some other being, some other set of commands that were hardwired into his brain by cycles of torture and Azure Way magic. Insidiously, his feet moved, one in front of the other, taking him all the way to the Dark Crystal, wherein he knew he would find something or someone.
Unwilling was the man, but the control of him was too great to resist. And although the actions were not his own, still he carried them out. Dutifully, without anything but feeble mental resistance, Wulfar began the ceremony.
The Diaboli was first chained to the Crystal, not without struggle. Heavy chains had been wrought by the Brown Way master, heavy enough to contain any otherworldly creature should the ceremony go wrong. Certainly heavy enough to hold the waif of the Diaboli that they held, as clueless as she was of the whole ordeal. The other robed Enkidukai assisted in the chaining of the woman, and only until she was securely fastened did they awake her. It was tantamount, apparently, that she be awake for the ceremony. The blood must seek the victim, must have resistance for there to be any effect.
And so the mind of the Menki watched, watched as his own paws drew the circle of blood, carefully measuring and pouring a part of each vial together and drawing the lines of magic. It raged against the stentorian bars of confinement as those selfsame paws finished and fell to his side, and as the beginnings of Dark Way enchantments were ripped from the back of the Clamod, the mind felt the pain, but the body felt nothing. Numb were the puppet's actions, but on fire was the encaged mind.
And from the entrance to the room, the Lemur seemed to be merely watching.
Wulfar's mind again noted the blur of Akkaian fenki, and the monster of a Ynnwyn man as they entered the room. Hope sprung to it as first the Lemur fell, receiving a saber to the face that ended that shriveled creature's life. Hope was quickly squashed, though, as the Ynnwyn was brutally smashed by a summoned rock from the other robed figure, and the ceremony continued to seemingly drain the very life from Wulfar's back. Finally, a hint of hope was given to the caged prisoner as a fiery fist first shot through, and then scorched the very blood of the other robed occultist, leaving only Wulfar and the Akkaian fenki standing.
But perhaps it had been too late. As the last dregs of Dark Way energy left Wulfar's body, the Diaboli girl slumped in her chains against the Crystal. All of the blood had been absorbed into her body, and Wulfar had been left completely drained, with no idea of what the proceedings had even been about.
It was then that the Akkaian fenki came to Wulfar. Surely she couldn't recognize him, his mind thought, desperately. Surely she would end this misery. His body, or whomever controlled it, seemed to have other ideas.
Frustration, sheer frustration and fury welled in the Clamod Enkidukai as his own paw, not under his own control, lifted the wicked-looking bone hilted dagger, completely prepared to dismember his opponent.
Something stirred at that moment, the small figure of the mind throwing itself against the bars of imprisonment, expending all of his mental energy in any attempt to cease this! Stop it at once, this is not what you are to be doing!
Perhaps it got through, for as the saber of the fenki came slashing in at him, the paw did nothing to defend the body. Death came quickly, and mercifully, and the mind of the Clamod was once again blank.
[I will try and post a bit more here in a little....]
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The Diaboli's head swam, flecks of black dancing over her pupils and her thoughts beginning to blur. This wasn't supposed to be happening. She had been promised that she was going to be safe. Asmo had told her, Evirea had told her. It wasn't supposed to end like this.
Tired steps drug Lyla to the door, tired hands and heavy arms lifted the bolt. Looking out into the hallowed streets of Amdeneir was like looking into a child's kaleidoscope: Buildings were inverted, the cobblestone a parody of the physical item. The street to the right looked a mile long, and to the left it was infinitesimal. She wasn't supposed to be outside. She wasn't supposed to answer the door. But no knock had come on the guildhouse door, no, she was doing this with her own strength, under the bidding of some unseen force that compelled her.
When one sense is removed, another awakens. And as Lyla's vision was blurred, her hearing perked up, spurred by the desperation of her brain, which fought the dark magic as if it were heading to a certain death. And perhaps it was. Perhaps this would be the end of the young Diaboli, brought to Hydlaa under pretense of a resurrection that had been promised but not yet delivered. This might be the final stroke of a madman, some cowled genius with no regard for the life of the young woman whom he held in the palm of his hand. So the sounds of the streets, of the others around her, of the life thrumming through the Dome kept her sane as her tired body marched on the strings of a puppetmaster.
It was peaceful in Amdeneir. The streets were mostly vacant, but if one was listening, they could hear the inhabitants of the town going about their daily business. There was the bar nearby, the gruff owner occasionally barking out an upcoming order or demanding a customer's recompense. Birds were quite the artists here, as the Klyran design gave flight to both song and winged creature alike.
Their chirps were a mockery to her ears, as in their freedom they taunted her in flight and song alike.
The thud of her dull steps echoed in the bastion of Klyr-dom, and as she approached the Pterosaur and flight attendant alike, she was all too aware of the clink and jangle of tria, her own tria, as she spent it preparing for her doom.
Some sort of devilish sleep overtook her midflight, either a great weariness as her mind succumbed to the enchantment, or simply a method of her body giving up, and giving in, although it was unlike her to give in. Very unlike her. Her parents had taught her that giving in was never an option, and that when confronted with tragedy, oppression, or any sort of fight, that it was paramount to be the champion, to overcome.
Her eyes opened with complete clarity, perhaps too much clarity. She was dead. Somehow, they had killed her, and she was dead. Looking down, she saw chains on her feet. To both sides revealed them cinched tightly around her wrists, and it didn't take much to tell where she was. In the room of the great Dark Crystal, in the Death Realm itself. In fact, strapped to the crystal. What an ignominious end, dying as a pawn in some madman's scheme. This was not how Lyelora Kulesara had intended to die. A quick test revealed that no amount of wiggling or fighting would break her free of this.
It didn't take very long after she awoke that those who would doom her appeared. A cursory glance revealed the two cloaked figures, one of which was the man she had first encountered: A blur, hard to pin down. This would be the leader then, she figured, the one who would cast whatever dark spells that would do her in. The other simply stood here, masked and hooded.
It was this one that scared her more, the featureless mask like some sort of skeletal visage peering from the depths of an unknown hell. It was impossible to pin down any features, even, or even tell the color of the creature's eyes. That it stood there, uncaring and with no compassion whatsoever unnerved her. There was no hope here, no hope in either of these two.
And unawares to her, the third figure watched.
By blood wrought, by blood sealed. No blood shed in vain, no blood to be shed in vain. The circle is drawn, the line has been set. By strength untold, we shall have a return.
And so the Diaboli's eyes closed, unaware of her rescuers to be, her captors actions, or anything of the sort.
Blissfully, serenely the blood began to flow. Not hers, no. The blood of both victim and ally, friend and foe alike were warped by the power of the Way and the Dark Crystal's flood, seeking the pores of the Diaboli woman. Like a constrictor wrapping around its prey, the red liquid undulated around Lyelora, slowly and lethargically being called into a new host by an unseen master. Red found the black skin, like a deathly mist seeping into the very bones of the hostess. From the vials arranged around the circle, more of the liquid crept upwards in defiance of the very laws of nature itself, roiling with power and purpose.
Black stars exploded in Lyla's vision, though her eyes were closed. Her body felt full, full to bursting with something unseen as the blood poured IN to her.
Finally, the blood in the urns was dry, gone. Eyes fluttering open, Lyla saw that one of her assailants was lying nearly dead on the ground near her, a gaping scorch wound opening him up completely through his stomach. The other assailant was standing several feet in front of her to her right, a dagger in his hand. And Asmo was trying to free her, his sword swinging in at the chains that bound her.
Asmo's sword bit into her arm, leaving a horrid red gash mark as a stone nearly flattened the large Ynnwyn from behind. Lyla stifled a gasp, but the pain seemed to never come, and the blood simply recycled into her body like the rest.
And with a swing of a saber, the ordeal was over. Mariana, the Akkaian fenki, had completely leveled her other captor. Like the first few bodies, the aggressors faded into a semblance of nothingness, and freedom was hers.....
For now....
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Two Diaries
The menki sits in his cell, the cramped confines of the simple metal creation bearing down on him from all sides. In front of him is a table, with a small assortment of chairs, haphazardly scattered. There is a notepad on the table, with neat scribbles - the notes of a guardsman, listening to the latest accuser to come forwards. The guardsman is no longer there, and the accuser is long gone.
To his left are two other cells, much more spacious than his. His is solitary, alone. Small, desolate, and unfurnished. Should he wish to sleep, he sleeps with his back up against the wall, his feet propped up against the bars in front of him. The left his clothes, tattered and torn as they are. His glyphs are gone, his weapons gone as well. The one thing remaining to him are his books, which were deemed unimportant.
The captive can have books. Books never killed anyone. They're just words, words on a page. There has never been a time in history when words were catalysts for events, have there? So in between marred bouts of sleep and the occasional jeering catcalls of another accuser, the menki reads. And in his head, he writes as well: a parallel diary, memories to consider.
Because it could be a short trip for him. There may be nothing left but memories, sooner or later. Men paid dearly for things like this. He could only hope that in his desperation, it had paid off.
So in his hands he holds the worn pages, hundreds of cycles old. Bound in ratty leather and filmed with dust, he carefully, ever so carefully cups it in his paws and turns the pages as if caressing a lover. This has been his gospel, his modus operandi. And in whatever time he has left in this stalactite, he will read them once more.
The Writings of Isan Goldeneyed
The book seems to be written like a diary, with multiple entries. Some are dated, but most are not. They do seem to follow a sequential order, however. The handwriting of the author is neat, but slanted and heavily lined in and strong.
Entry 1: I begin to wonder if this is a mockery. I swore service, only to hear nothing. I expected it to be a matter of days before the first task would come, but it has been weeks, perhaps months.
I am afraid. Perhaps it means they have found me unworthy. Perhaps, somehow, I have let my tongue be loose. I ought not to be even writing this. Great is the risk if they find it in my possession. Greater still if it is in someone else's.
I am the greatest fool. This is no way to live, this uncertainty.
Is it worth it? The promises, the whispers, the lies?
It is too late to ask this question. I should've asked it, debated it long ago. I should've spent my nights in the tavern agonizing over it, until each possibility was laid bare and every piece of this equation had been set in an order. Than I could have solved it. And my soul would be my own, not sold for a whisper.
Gods be damned.
I may not live to see morning.
Entry 2:
There has been a current, a slight sound. My ears strain to hear it, but the inexorable waft of air moves on. I have been....given an opportunity. I do not know why, I will not even chance to guess. I can't ask questions, can I? No. There are too many risks. Faceless I will remain.
Entry 3:
She walks among the flowers like a wraith, this woman. I thought I had known beauty, but she - she is like a goddess. Were Laanx to see her, her jealousy would burn hot enough to scorch this level ten times over. Why would they ask this of me? Isn't it enough, to sow what we have already sown?
I will not be a reaper of death. Such a thing shouldn't be removed from this place, lest we all wither from the loss.
She didn't even see me, today. I am indeed Faceless.
I tracked her from the outskirts of town, where she gathered the flowers, all the way to her stall where she sells them. It's rather crafty of her, really, the way she preserves them. It must be a trick of the Blue Way, because as the customers stop and look at them, they always remark on the beads of dew still on the colored petals.
I know what else she does, though. Flowers aren't her only ware. If a customer asks enough, there's something else she'll sell, a different sort of thing that grows. Hope. Perhaps that is why they want her. But...I am not sure I can justify this.
It feels like my soul tears at the thought.
Entry 4:
I have bidden my time for nigh on 2 cycles since my last writing. She still suspects nothing. Several times I have bought flowers from her, went home, and sat in anguish. Several times I have sent out for advice, and received only one word: wait. How long must I wait? If I wait any longer, I will not be able to do this deed. Even now, when I smile at her, my gut wrenches at the thought of what must happen. And when she smiles back, I must turn away - there would be no other way to hide what I truly feel.
My own room in this dilapidated house is filled with withering flowers. The petals are strewn about the floor, some rotten, some withered altogether. Every time I open the door, I feel like I ought to clean it.
But if I clean it, I may not be able to wait any more. There may be a message that comes back that I do not wish to read.
There will be no more flowers. And I will have cleansed my memories, and blackened my soul completely.
Entry 5:
I had a visitor today. Not a man I recognized. I was given more tria, told to wait just a while longer.
I am afraid. I think he spotted this.
No.
I would be dead, had he. There would be no forgiveness.
Entry 6:
The air is thick, today. Fog has settled on the city, and the cobbles in the street are moist with it. Every breath seems to add to the cloud, and the quiet is unnatural.
She has even closed her stall today. There were no trips outside the walls, and no smiles for her customers. Nor one for me.
I have received nothing for several days.
This fog affects my mood. I.....miss her. She knows not who I am, probably not even my name, but the sight of her brings forth feelings I thought had been sacrificed and removed from my heart.
I begin to question this endeavour. Perhaps it is all a sham? Perhaps the strength that I thought was there is nothing but a façade. Perhaps I am one menki creating evil where evil does not exist. It is said the Crystal will shine brightly tomorrow. I will visit her than.
Entry 7:
Her stall was open today, and gods, the bouquets of flowers she provided were matched only by her own beauty.
I will always remember the dull thudding of my heart as I approached her. I laid the tria out on the counter, and asked for her very best.
She remembered my name. I don't know if she was supposed to. Have I gone too far? Am I found out?
It is no matter. It will not be a matter. I am convinced that they have forgotten me, and my task is no longer needed. I will consider her a fortuitous outcome, and be on with my life.
Entry 8:
I took her to the Inn today, and what a feast we had! Perhaps my only regret is eating too much, because I felt like quite the slug afterwards. Weeks in, and I still can't believe she agreed to start seeing this menki. I never really considered myself handsome, but she says my eyes are what drew her in. Hmm, well I'm not complaining, but I always thought they'd be more of a put-off than anything, being purely golden and all. My dad says it was a curse from the gods, but mother would always correct him and turn it into a blessing.
I figured it was just what it was. I can see, that's all I need, right?
And she loves them. So they must be a blessing, I suppose.
I will not write any longer, she sees the book and is coming here. Ah, well, I'm not abject to a kiss or two...
Entry 9:
This is the first morning I have awoken to see her beside me.
I am not sure I have words to describe the feeling. My eyes, fluttering open to the sight of her shoulders, our (our?) shift barely covering the corners of them. The smell of her hair, haphazardly down her back and on the bed. The smell of her, flowers, perfume, and some other scent. I cannot place it, but were I to give it a word, it would be bliss. She is still sleeping, and I have moved to my desk to write. Sometimes, I look over, and shake myself. It must be a dream, right?
Entry 10:
She asked if I had plans for the day, today. I don't, so we're off to see the meadows. I've packed a lunch, and we'll be back before crystallight has dimmed. She's closed her shop for the day, and it's no matter.
Entry 11:
What a marvelous day, yesterday! I feel....a bit embarrassed to write it, perhaps, but how could I not? I've felt love, I've made love, and the crystal is witness! All gods be damned, I need to marry this woman.
I can only hope that she is as happy as I am. She seems to be, but sometimes she's hard to read. I really try not to pay it any matter, because she's busy. It must be hard, running a business and putting up with me.
I'm almost out of tria....but I'm to be her new partner at the stall, anyways. We'll move, this house is not for me anymore.
Entry 12:
It has been months since my last writing. I often wonder why I wrote in the first place, I feel like I was missing out on life itself! It must've been something that I did, to pass time.
Now, time is hard to come by! We're married, happily, and we've moved to the upper levels of the town, closer to our favorite Inn. She told me she has a surprise for me this evening, and I can't wait. If it's like most of her surprises, it'll either be something I cannot write about, or another dream come true. Frankly, I don't mind either one.
Entry 13:
There is a boy on the way! I'm to have a son.
We'll call him Idris, Idris Ruuka. A fine name, for the son of the Goldeneyed and his wife!
Today, I feel like there is no weight on my shoulders.
The past is gone.
I am complete.
Entry 14:
The air here is different. She has been home all day, doing something. I've just come back from the fields, but I think something is wrong.
The door to her room is locked, and there's a strange smell coming from it.
I found a note, the contents of it strange. I do not think it was meant for me. But what is it time for?
There is a strange odor. Like boiling blood. It's here in this house.
She's in one of her moods. She won't let me in.
Entry 15:
It's been two days since she first came out.
It does not look like anything has changed. She says our child is fine. She should be due soon.
She has not been sleeping well. Several times I've woken up to find her sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing.
Entry 16:
If anyone finds this book, please destroy it. She will find me soon. I cannot leave the house. I am here, in the room. The door is locked, but I can sense traces of her magic building on the other side.
I can hear whispers.
Entry 17:
[The writing is changed. It is a beautiful, flowing style. Very feminine.]
My dear child, and to your children as well:
One day, you shall find this. I have made it so that you will, but only when one of you possessing the courage and cunning to do so is born.
It may not be you, my dearest Idris. But the line has been started, and the blood magic has been wrought.
Stitched to the cover, you have already found the talisman. Believe me when I say that you do not want your blood to touch this piece. I would even go so far as to ensure you do not touch it with bare skin.
For years, I have worked on this, this one, powerful magic. And I will tell you about it, so that you may know what to do when these two things fall into your possession:
Four cycles ago, your father was marked. If you have this journal, you already know why.
There is a plan, and the Faceless believe that when the time is ripe, your father will be allowed to return to this plane of existence.
The flowers were the first phase. From the moment I knew that he had been chosen, I began to wrought enchantments on the ones he would purchase. They blurred his mind, altered his thoughts. Very faint Azure magics gave me a slight ability to suggest things to him, and in turn, he would be much more likely to follow through with these suggestions. It was a painstaking process, and the requirements on my own health, time, and wellness were extreme. For four cycles, I have been someone else. I have walked in someone else's shoes.
But that is a story that none need hear.
The child was the second phase. I have not been given the entire plan, but there needed to be a lineage. Someone to carry this plan to fruition, to allow the vine time to ripen and the full fruits be plucked at the right opportunity.
The blood magic was the third, and hardest phase. For the entirety of the four cycles, I collected blood - anyone's blood. Some people would prick their hands on the thorns, and that was enough. Some would be hurt in the tent, as as the town's herbalist, I would be called on. That was enough.
The blood of the people will bring about the destruction of the people.
The last six vials of blood you must replicate when the time is due. Blood containing the magic of six different ways of magic were gathered, and not just from ordinary mages.
Masters each, these mages were. Some had to be duped, tricked, or injured. Some...I sacrificed myself for. Some were simple, as tria motivated them greater than lust. But each were gathered, and at a cost. The writings of the Faceless, of which you must have access to by now, will reveal this in greater depth.
Into this coin has gone the blood magic. The last six are the seal, the binding.
You must release your own blood, the father of your line. The poor, unwitting soul has been in torment for the last cycle, and finally his soul is with Dakkru.
But it is not just a simple soul we are sending her. He has been tempered, refined.....re-made.
I have no regrets about what we have done to him. He is simply a tool now, simply a man refined in fires from the depths.
He will come for those around him. But his own blood, he will recognize. This is all I offer you. There will be no solace in him, no comfort. No peace will rest in that gnarled soul. What purpose he serves I have not been granted to know. But my part is done.
When you read this, you are to release him. Gather the blood of six mages, and a conduit through which you can channel the energy of the Realm, the Dark Way. You must also have a body waiting for your great-father, for souls cannot inhabit thin air. Through the blood of the mages his soul will be released, but it will be weak. Give it time to fester, to find a foothold. And when the time is right, you must bring the talisman to your father, to the vessel he holds, and give it to him. The simple blood-magic of the people will energize his spirit, and give it the strength it needs to shed and re-make the body into his own.
One note, about the vessel: It must hold particular import to your father. Something that can conjure a memory for him, evoking emotion. No ordinary citizen will do.
I trust that you will know how to go about this. You were clever enough to find this.
And as the last piece, my blood too shall bind this talisman.
The blood of a Diaboli.
with love,
Mother.
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[As a side note: We aren't in the business of summoning faceless monsters or immortal entities. We often find that doing so results in a disinterested, overwhelmed player base. There are very few people who can do the whole Apocalyptic thing well (we're looking at you, Joss Whedon), and this team decided it would be in our best interests to keep it local. Or at least local enough.....]