Yay, posts!
Now to go look at my character sheet.
Now to go look at my character sheet.
Abstract Proxy Member
- Last Seen: 1 yr ago
- Joined: 4 yrs ago
- Posts: 432 (0.28 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- Abstract Proxy 4 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Mole,
Ravion the Red,
shylarah,
Bork,
Starlance
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
Sariel
Opening her eyes, Sariel registered speech around her, and words that she could understand. A faint smile danced across her lips. The Warden had broken the world that had been. The Maw was gone. There were no walls. There was no floor. There was no longer a ceiling looming above them. The warden had shattered reality. And then reshaped it. An example of the High Art, shrouded in darkness. Sariel shuddered, giddy with fresh discovery. Magic filled her senses. Powerful magic she couldn’t claim. Not yet. She would have to understand. She wanted to.
Standing in the named wilderness, she shifted her robe, unhappy with the unrestrained wind that touched her. The sunlight, not yet faded, set her skin alight with half-forgotten warmth. It was all too pleasant for her tastes. She preferred thick walls and heavy doors. Her thoughts were interrupted by fresh warnings. She did not bother with her name. She offered no title. Such pleasantries could wait. She would not waste her breath. She could hear riders. She could see them. There were wyverns in the sky. Wyverns with ironclad riders.
Sariel had no desire to fight. Certainly not without time to prepare. However, fresh materials for her magic would be welcome. Flesh and bones untouched by the slow decay of time were easiest to work with. Such spirits clung to their old lives and slept lightly. She needed servants. She would need many servants. She might need an army. She might need several armies of undead. To find the lost agents of the king, three souls disappeared in hostile lands, was no small task. To kill a living god defended by uncountable faithful seemed harder still.
She sensed the knife resting against her throat. Choice marked by a thin line of blood painted over her throat. The Warden's spell lingered, the geas she had cast wordlessly remained. Sariel could see only one path forward, but she chose it gladly. She needed no escape. There was much to learn. There was much to understand. She would study. She would serve. She would aid the Warden. And she would fight.
Muttering a fell incantation, Sariel studied her new compatriots, her unwilling colleagues, and the strangers who now shared her fate.
A well-dressed dandy rising from the dirt, full of wit and smiles. A dwarf bristling with armor, arms, and louder words. A half-orc dressed for the wild setting, notably unarmed. An ethereal woman, taller than any creature Sariel had ever encountered, that spoke poetry in a mournful voice that sang to her with old magic. A half-dressed girl, still dripping with water. And the armored goliath swimming in an uncertain current of eldritch power.
She found herself disbelieving the final wretch that the Warden had summoned. Sir Brandon of Brainbridge. The man she remembered reminded her little of the sorry creature that had quickly claimed his name. He had been a brave man with a sharp blade, a knight of the sort vanished from the world and heard of only in ancient stories. She suspected deception, the cheap tricks of a conjurer, she would discover the truth later. Simple magics could always be dispelled.
As the two forces drew closer, battle seemed unavoidable. Sariel doubted the Easterlings would welcome uninvited strangers found sneaking across their lands. She held no hope that the Sulfreyans were arriving to peacefully greet these very same guests. And the self-proclaimed King of the Hills and High Places did not seem to be a man overly fond of diplomacy.
"I don't suppose you want to try talking to them first?" Sariel said, resting her right hand on top of her grimoire.
Zohra
Dutifully remaining on the west flank, keeping a constant tab on her radar. Zohra knew that recon was not enough. She could hear the sounds of fighting unfolding to the east of her and she did not miss the comms darting between her lancemates. Every BattleMech, every ton of armor, and every weapon counted. She had no intention of being a distant observer. She was in range and chose to act, to do something useful.
Picking an unengaged target, a slippery enemy that could easily cause great damage if left unattended, Zohra targeted the fresh pirate LCT-1E that was barreling towards her lance and without knowing it straight at her. She hoped to at least distract the pirate pilot. Lining up a shot as she kept her RVN-2X moving, Zohra pulled the trigger watching as the enemy Locust spoiled what would have been a hit with a sudden juke to the left. If it was intentional, it had been expertly timed, but she doubted the enemy Locust was paying much attention to her. Matching the enemy BattleMech's direction of movement and speed as well as she could, Zohra selected her medium lasers and drew a deep breath as she gently squeezed the trigger on her joystick.
Scarlet beams cut through the air, burning ozone and then metal as they cut into the right leg of the locust, leaving slags of metal as the armor was melted off. Puffs of black smoke appeared over the leg as internal parts were reduced to ash in a shower of sparks. Seeing her weapons hit to good effect, Zohra resisted the urge to shout with joy, deeming it highly unprofessional, and instead let loose with her missile rack. The range was long, but not impossible, and she had no interest in letting the moment or Locust escape her. The missiles leaped from their launchers with a sudden whoosh, leaving white smoke that faded almost as quickly as it had appeared. The trajectory looked good, the loft seemed adequate, and Zohra smiled to herself as the missiles slammed into the Locust in a burst of explosions.
The nimble, but lightly armored Locust shuddered from the damage, taking a desperate stumbling step as it attempted to right itself, and then crashing into the ground, the gyro proving unable to compensate for the impacts rattled the diminutive BattleMech.
"Heavy damage inflicted on previously unengaged LCT-1E, no new contacts on West flank," Zohra said quickly over the comms, keeping a careful scan on her radar and the horizon as she kept her BattleMech moving.
I'm having a rather though time due to some circumstances in my life. Currently very busy with clearing out a house that needs to be empty by the 3rd. I'm swamped in work until then. After the 3rd things will have quieted down for me.
No worries!
Also back from traveling so I should be more sanely regular with posting again.
Sorry for the slow posting, finally back from my travels, will drop a post tomorrow.
Will have a post up asap, just traveling a bit this week.
How's it going for you guys? Looking forward to continuing the story!
Traveling a bit, but I'll try to have a post up within the next three days (random date pick, lol).
[tosses molotov peacefully]
And first post is done! Once yours is up @Abstract Proxy I'll edit mine to incorporate Vilhelm's impression of Dylis :)
Thanks, posted!
Dylis
Perched expertly on the wobbly chair left for her, comfortably warm beneath the handwoven poncho she wore, Dylis listened attentively to Swift Hand’s pitch. She had never cared much about history. It didn’t matter much when it came to thievery. More to the point, she had always thought the stories of Hadrian’s gold to be nothing more than a fanciful myth. To hear otherwise was no small surprise. Pausing in thought, Dylis sipped contently on the glass of wine that she was nursing, relishing the gentle warmth as it coursed through her. If it was real, hunting down the lost gold would involve great risk, certainly. However, the reward that was being dangled in front of them was tantalizing. A treasure, a real treasure, two million five hundred thousand gold Imperial gold coins split six ways was still a fortune, enough to retire on, enough to live comfortably for the rest of her life. Enough to start again, somewhere nice. Somewhere fancy. Somewhere where she didn't need to carry a gun to be safe. Maybe she could be a proper lady. She liked the idea of that.
Dylis sighed, she was who she was. A thief, a free agent, caught between jobs. The small tasks quietly whispered to the quick fingered had dried up for the moment. The fences had grown fat off of her recent capers. Too fat. Her wallet was heavy enough, but Dylis couldn’t help but want some more cash to tide her over. Some of the others looked like they could use the money. The Shifter certainly looked rough, Dylis thought. He seemed to be the capable sort, and looked as if he had wandered in straight from the desert.
She felt the hairs on her neck rise up at the mention of danger and she resisted the familiar urge to bolt. Taking risks was not the way to enjoy a long career as a thief. Still, walking away seemed equally unlikely to be good for her health. She didn't trust Swift Hands to not resort to violence. She could see it in her eyes. There were serious faces gathered around the table and Dylis had noted no small number of weapons. Although, given the reputation of the Wild Stallion perhaps it was best that way. The presence of the glaive carrying woman had ensured that the other patrons kept their distance. Guns were one thing, but glaives taller than most people were another. Not that the well-dressed gentleman was much smaller, at least to her eyes.
Questions regarding the authenticity of the diary made sense. The other half-elf who had spoken first was right. He spoke bluntly, maybe too bluntly, and Dylis hoped Swift Hands wouldn't get mad. She knew nothing of the women, save her reputation. Dylis felt out of her depth already. She was a burglar, not a historian. She didn’t have much to say when it came to the lost diaries of some long dead emperor, and so she shrugged, "A very...um-mm...a very generous offer. However, I defer to the opinion of my esteemed colleagues. This sounds like a very fortuitous discovery. Too fortuitous perhaps..."
"However, if it's real. Then well- I would of course offer my services," she added with a slight stammer of nervousness and apologetic smile directed at Swift Hands.
© 2007-2026