Lord Zee
Vec
JFK
Fetzen
Thayr
BingTheWing
Within the black tunnels that snaked below the plains, Balon pressed on. His massive body pushing the water created a current of his own, and the occasional sound of his bronze sabatons scraping the rock floor echoed through the reticent depths. Of course, as the giant followed the winding tunnel closer to where he sensed the source of the malevolent aura, he soon caught the attention of some guardians. They things shot through the dark water with both grace and deadly speed. Accustomed to the black depths of his underwater prison, Balon was able to see them clearly enough in the dark. They resembled the eels and tapeworms that had been his only companions for a few centuries, down in the trench that had been his kingdom. Then, the dead eye fell upon them. Their flesh festered and oozed, and soon enough any resemblance was gone.
Another creature, quicker and smarter than the last, managed to dart through the waters without catching the old king's glare. Its tail lashed at one of the giant's feet, only to be deflected by one of the thick slabs of bronze that armored the giant. It was a futile and altogether laughable attempt. However, at the same time, the creature's head found a small gap in the armor of Balon's other root. The runner's blade-like teeth dug into the giant's flesh, soft from years of degenerating in the dark depths of the sea. Virulent blood gushed out of the giant's body, still carrying some of the ancient plague that had been death incarnate. Balon let out a cry of pain that more resembled a deafening roar. Spinning around, the old king attempted to drive his shield, a huge slab of enameled bronze, into the pitiful creature that bit at his heels. The water might cushion the initial blow, but would do nothing to stop the runner being slammed into the side of the tunnel and crushed between the shield and the wall if the runner didn't move fast enough.
As he turned, Balon caught a fleeting glance of what appeared as a woman, suspended in the inky waters. That brief look would be enough to cause searing pain to course through the veins of any normal human, and perhaps even tighten the muscles or cause paralysis. Regardless, Balon thrust the spear he held in his other hand straight towards the abdomen of Enly'air. She too would have to move quickly or face certain death, and the gargantuan spear had a tip large enough to bisect a man, rather than impale him.
Cyclone
Member
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
Back when dinosaurs ruled the Earth, I got started with writing online on the Spore forums. Man, those were the days. We're talking like 12 years ago 2010-ish!
I've been here on and off for almost as long, and have GM'd a bunch of different things to varying success.
I've been here on and off for almost as long, and have GM'd a bunch of different things to varying success.
Word of my splendor:
Most Recent Posts
Credits go to BBeast for writing the first half of my recent post. Zadok is his character and the Ripper is mine, we just decided to combine their entries into one post for better synchronization.
High in the sky, somewhere over Erimos, a being materialised in a shimmer of light. As the being fell, it woke. As consciousness was granted the being had to take a few moments to reorient itself after the soul-wrenching trip through the portal between dimensions. First, it remembered that his name was Zadok. He saw the landscape stretch out beneath him getting closer and felt the air rushing past, so the second thing he remembered was that he could fly. Stretching out his brilliant white wings he slowed down his rapid fall, slowing down just enough so that when he reached the ground his bare feet landed gently on the hot sand.
Now firmly on the ground, Zadok was able to fully recollect his memories. He had been an Anti-Keeper of Outremar, a heavenly being tasked with defending that world from the Devouror's scourge. Needless to say, he failed, as now Outremar is in ruins as he stands on this strange new world. Zadok's body was that of an angel, standing tall, with strong muscles, tanned skin, feathery wings, clothed from the waist down in white and glowing with a holy aura. Zadok looked down at his hands, seeing the brown-pink skin, and was confused. Before his body had been made of shimmering neutronium with stars and space visible with-in. This body was new, but he rationalised that he could not possibly have enough power to maintain his old body after such an arduous journey.
With a swift burst of movement, Zadok took to the sky and hovered above the land, his keen eyesight allowing him to see the land for many, many kilometres around. The land was mostly desolate, with no people in sight. That was not to say it was lifeless- far from it. His eyes could see hardy plants and hardy creatures which eat such plants in the sand and rocks which filled this harsh desert landscape, but the desert ecosystem was not of concern to him. He was about to fly off when he spotted a disturbance.
-=-=-
Slowly but surely, the Ripper moved. Like a worm eating an eye, the being was boring his way through the very fabric of the universe itself, attempting to escape into a different one. The Apocalypse on Outremar had resulted in a wormhole of sorts. The tunnel had already been there, but traversing it was difficult. An entity comprised purely of destructive, magical energy, it was a struggle to maintain a cohesive form and not get torn asunder in this rift between worlds. The Ripper's own body and energy accelerated entropy by their very nature; and so the tunnel behind and all around the Ripper was collapsing.
At long last, after what would have seemed like an eternity to mortals, a light appeared at the end of the twisting tunnel. So fast was the Ripper moving that its mind had hardly processed that information before the end came. At last, it was free from the confines of that tunnel! The Ripper, appearing as a phantasmagorical ball of cackling, red energy, burst forth from the portal's exit. Air, dust, and soil alike were disintegrated and wiped from very existence upon being bathed by the being's malevolent aura. A mere moment after the Ripper clambered out of the tunnel, the wormhole collapsed behind it, releasing a great deal of raw magical energy in the form of an explosion. When the cloud of dust was gone, the Ripper was able to contemplate its surroundings. A vast, barren, and sandy expanse stretched for as far as the eye could see. Only the occasional cacti or sand dune existed to break up the monotonous terrain.
Despite having had plenty of time in the tunnel to decide upon what its first course of action would be, the being had no plans. It had been difficult trying to plan ahead while holding its very essence together against its own will, and crawling through a collapsing tunnel as fast it could. Also, it hardly helped that the Ripper's mind was a fragmented, chaotic, cacophony of voices bickering with each other and vying for control- the result of the once wise and divine Weaver being corrupted and transformed into the husk that was the Ripper. Regardless, it hardly took a minute for the being to decide what to do. The being sensed that this world was a haven; extremely rich in magic and life. However, it was like the light of a torch compared to that of the sun. There was more power than the Ripper had ever felt before, radiating from the grand gas giant that dominated this world's sky. The celestial being hurtled through space towards the Source.
Compendium Info:
The Ripper- An entity that takes the form of a great, writhing ball of crimson light. His form is composed purely of destructive magic, and being in its presence is enough for matter to crumble and fall apart. Things that touch the Ripper aren't broken down, but rather wiped from existence. It destroys things compulsively and naturally, with a brazen disregard for life.
Now firmly on the ground, Zadok was able to fully recollect his memories. He had been an Anti-Keeper of Outremar, a heavenly being tasked with defending that world from the Devouror's scourge. Needless to say, he failed, as now Outremar is in ruins as he stands on this strange new world. Zadok's body was that of an angel, standing tall, with strong muscles, tanned skin, feathery wings, clothed from the waist down in white and glowing with a holy aura. Zadok looked down at his hands, seeing the brown-pink skin, and was confused. Before his body had been made of shimmering neutronium with stars and space visible with-in. This body was new, but he rationalised that he could not possibly have enough power to maintain his old body after such an arduous journey.
With a swift burst of movement, Zadok took to the sky and hovered above the land, his keen eyesight allowing him to see the land for many, many kilometres around. The land was mostly desolate, with no people in sight. That was not to say it was lifeless- far from it. His eyes could see hardy plants and hardy creatures which eat such plants in the sand and rocks which filled this harsh desert landscape, but the desert ecosystem was not of concern to him. He was about to fly off when he spotted a disturbance.
-=-=-
Slowly but surely, the Ripper moved. Like a worm eating an eye, the being was boring his way through the very fabric of the universe itself, attempting to escape into a different one. The Apocalypse on Outremar had resulted in a wormhole of sorts. The tunnel had already been there, but traversing it was difficult. An entity comprised purely of destructive, magical energy, it was a struggle to maintain a cohesive form and not get torn asunder in this rift between worlds. The Ripper's own body and energy accelerated entropy by their very nature; and so the tunnel behind and all around the Ripper was collapsing.
At long last, after what would have seemed like an eternity to mortals, a light appeared at the end of the twisting tunnel. So fast was the Ripper moving that its mind had hardly processed that information before the end came. At last, it was free from the confines of that tunnel! The Ripper, appearing as a phantasmagorical ball of cackling, red energy, burst forth from the portal's exit. Air, dust, and soil alike were disintegrated and wiped from very existence upon being bathed by the being's malevolent aura. A mere moment after the Ripper clambered out of the tunnel, the wormhole collapsed behind it, releasing a great deal of raw magical energy in the form of an explosion. When the cloud of dust was gone, the Ripper was able to contemplate its surroundings. A vast, barren, and sandy expanse stretched for as far as the eye could see. Only the occasional cacti or sand dune existed to break up the monotonous terrain.
Despite having had plenty of time in the tunnel to decide upon what its first course of action would be, the being had no plans. It had been difficult trying to plan ahead while holding its very essence together against its own will, and crawling through a collapsing tunnel as fast it could. Also, it hardly helped that the Ripper's mind was a fragmented, chaotic, cacophony of voices bickering with each other and vying for control- the result of the once wise and divine Weaver being corrupted and transformed into the husk that was the Ripper. Regardless, it hardly took a minute for the being to decide what to do. The being sensed that this world was a haven; extremely rich in magic and life. However, it was like the light of a torch compared to that of the sun. There was more power than the Ripper had ever felt before, radiating from the grand gas giant that dominated this world's sky. The celestial being hurtled through space towards the Source.
Compendium Info:
The Ripper- An entity that takes the form of a great, writhing ball of crimson light. His form is composed purely of destructive magic, and being in its presence is enough for matter to crumble and fall apart. Things that touch the Ripper aren't broken down, but rather wiped from existence. It destroys things compulsively and naturally, with a brazen disregard for life.
Well, I finally wrote that monster of a post that I never quite got around to finishing yesterday. Hopefully it isn't too much of a disaster; I didn't have time to go back and clean up the errors.
Yes, the roleplay is beginning to slow down, but fear not. Soon some events will be set in motion, and there will be a lot more stuff going on.
Yes, the roleplay is beginning to slow down, but fear not. Soon some events will be set in motion, and there will be a lot more stuff going on.
In the gloom of the cavernous dungeon, Shaige's imps made preparations. They honed their carving knives and felling axes, and called the wandering pain elementals. Soran chanted to the vial atop the altar in the middle of the room, working some sort of dark ritual with his master's heart. After some time, the blood within the vile began to boil and congeal. Foul vapors of green, black, and purple seeped through the cork. They filled the chamber with a noxious smell and the foreboding feelings that always came alongside black magic.
At last, Soran uncorked the vial. He walked to the center of the chamber, muttered a final dark word, and upturned the flask. The enchanted gems that had floated in the blood remained suspended in the empty bottle; without such foci the heart's magic would be depleted, and with it all of the black lord's powers. Slowly, like molasses, the thickened sludge that had once been blood poured down onto the floor. Where the fluid spilled, the stone writhed and trembled. At last the floor gave way to a great gaping pit that appeared, a strange light emanating from not far below.
Standing behind the construct there were nine other imps, backed by fifty pain elementals at most. They would be facing nearly half a thousand seasoned knights and fire wizards, men who fought with a crazed fervor for their deity Caldor. Shaige, however, was unconcerned. What were a few hundred flies before his power? His minions were ready, and they would have the element of surprise. The crusaders no doubt thought that this battle would be done in an hour, but they were wrong. It would be over the moment it began. Soran stepped through the portal, followed by the rest of Shaige's devotees.
Fangir stood in hiding, his muscles rigid with anticipation and his brow covered with sweat. He was as vigilant now as he had been four hours ago, when he and the other druids had walked out onto the trail leading up to the secret entrance. Though the remaining druids were all experienced, they guarded a treacherous uphill path, and they had concealed themselves with more illusion magic, it was hard to remain confident. The army of knights and sorcerers outnumbered the thirty or so druids by more than ten to one. When Fangir told them of the spirit that had visited in the night, many were incredulous. Most of the doubters thought that he was only desperate to improve morale, but there were a few who thought their chieftain had gone mad.
Hours passed by. Scouts returned from the forest to warn the defenders that the fire god's army approached. The land was silent as a grave; there was no wind to whisper into your ear, no birds or insects chirped, and no animals were in sight. Dusk fell, and the air quickly chilled until the druids were shivering. Fangir saw dark clouds roll in, silently killing what little light there had been in the night sky. The rocky hill was now cloaked by a mantle of darkness as oppressing as the dim caves below. Every druid standing watch thought they saw something. For some it was a dark silhouette moving in the forest below, whilst others caught glimpses of strange, fiery lights. Fangir at one point thought he heard an agonized wailing from within the woods, but he dismissed it as his mind playing tricks.
At last, the time came. Every druid knew it would; they had spent hours waiting for it, but they were still startled. A dozen torches, crowned by orange blazes, broke through the treeline. Close behind were robed priests and rank after rank of knights. They waved their proud banners of gold and carmine above their heads and advanced at a quick pace, seeing no enemies but wary of ambush nonetheless. It would seem that the shadow had been a dream, the workings of Fangir's tired mind. Still, the stubborn chieftain remained unbroken. He would never balk from this final battle. The crusaders would bleed for every step they advanced.
A priest garbed in silk robes ten times as ornate as any of the others led the way atop a black horse. He resembled a great inferno feasting on the last remnants of life within a blackening log, or perhaps feasting on what would remain of the Mutig tribe. Fangir scowled at the thought. He jumped forward, breaking the spell that had hidden him, and barked out an order to attack. The mounted priest below answered, "Slay them in Caldor's name!"
The druids and the fire priests both began flailing their arms like drowning men as they conjured their lethal projectiles. The knights let out war cries, raised their shields, and surged forward. Then, there was a thunderous boom from the clouds above. Men fell down as the earth. From everywhere at once there was an incessant, inhuman cackling. Monstrous roars erupted from amidst the Crusaders' ranks. The torches, now fallen onto the ground, illuminated massive beasts of shadow and smoke. Great claws of swirling smoke grabbed at one fire priest and tore the screaming man in twain. A horrifying creature with a gaping maw of teeth pounced upon another priest and swallowed him whole. Then, a gale of frigid wind extinguished the torches. The druids no longer saw what was happening, but the shadow beasts' inhuman noises and the screams of the priests seemed only realer.
The mounted priest managed to cast a protective ward around himself in time, but the turmoil around him was terrifying. The leader of the army now sought only to slay the druids up on the ledges, the wretched filth that had summoned these horrifying demonic creatures into the world. For a brief moment the mounted priest was visible as he conjured a fireball the size of a bear. Then, he hurled the thing at the druids. The fireball soared above its target, smashing into the cliff face above Fangir and melting stone. For the briefest of moments the fire cast a shadow beneath Fangir, but that was long enough. The chieftain watched as the mysterious shade that had appeared the night before now stood by his shoulder. "I stood at your side from the moment dusk fell and I was able to manifest myself. You only had to look and open your eyes to the truth," Shaige whispered, his soft but cutting voice audible even over the sounds of battle.
The mounted priest came into sight again as he prepared another fireball, his steed panicking from the flames and the shadow beasts that they revealed. The shadow standing before Fangir pointed at the sorcerer, and cursed him with the burden of time. The man's fiery red hair turned white and fell off, his skin grew pale and wrinkled, his flesh vanished, and his skeleton crumbled to dust within the span of a few moments. Shaige's manifestation began to dissipate. He left Fangir with the parting words, "Do not doubt me again."
With the death of that final priest, the shadow beasts abruptly vanished. As soon as they did, the air seemed to brighten a hundred times. Though it was still dark, there was now enough light to vaguely see by. The druids began bombarding the knights using telekinesis, summoning roots and thorns to bind and kill their enemies, and generally wreaking havoc to their broken enemy. Though their priests and leaders had all been brutally slain and they themselves were now sustaining heavy losses, their resolve was so absolute that they continued to charge forward with crazed zeal. Then, the entire side of the cliff was lit by an eery glow.
From below piles of leafs and inside squirrel holes there poured of dozens of orange balls of light. The pain elementals, out of their hiding spots, transformed into their wailing, humanoid forms and attacked the crusaders. Dozens succumbed to the pain wrought by the ghosts before the mass of knights even began to retaliate. Two or three pain elementals were surrounded and hacked at until they began to fade out of existence, but before that happened they exploded in great novas of anguish and fire, each one taking down half a dozen crusaders with them. The pain elementals' very presence in the area being enough to inflict pain, their ruthless attacks killing knights everywhere, combined with the druids' projectiles raining down from the cliff was enough to break the crusaders. All at once, the semi-organized charge degraded into a frenzied retreat. The routing men were killed by the dozens, pain elementals amidst them and magical bolts striking them in the backs.
By the time the knights even made it back a few hundred yards into the relative safety of the trees, their army now numbered only a quarter of what it had minutes ago, and all their leadership was gone. Wailing spirits darted between the trees, preying upon the helpless knights. Most were now dropping their weapons and shields, already encumbered enough by their heavy armor. Out of the trees burst forth Soran. Three ragged knights, amongst the last of the survivors, charged at him. One pulled out a knife from his belt, no doubt planning to plunge it into the creature before him and then continue running. Soran waved his staff, and one of the men was suddenly drenched. Seeping through the pores of his skin was not sweat, but red droplets. Blood cascaded out of the knight's nose, eyes, and cuts, the spell causing him to rapidly bleed until he fell unconscious and eventually died.
The one with the knife prepared to force it into the construct's body, but fell to the ground a foot short. The robed imp had swung a sword made out of pure, writhing shadows. It was so dark that the knight didn't even see the blade coming. The imp stooped down to snatch up the decapitated head and hold it up for the remaining man to see. The last knight came to a stop, dumbstruck. He looked around and saw that he was the last survivor, corpses strewn behind him. He didn't see the other imps until they knocked him to the ground and tore at his exposed throat with their demonic claws.
As the crusaders were chased off, Fangir and the druids had stayed still for a few moments. Then, they had ran off in pursuit, eager to hunt down the monsters that had burned their village and slain their kinsmen. They followed the trails of blood and other tracks left behind, but each one only led to a few corpses, all of which were horribly mutilated in some fashion. There were no signs of the wailing spirits or whatever else had caused the knights' demise. The people that had stayed inside the caves now came to the surface as well, to look at the carnage. There was a great cheering and everyone praised the nameless spirit that had saved their tribe. The starving mob gathered food from the surrounding area now that it was finally safe to do so, and held a feast in celebration.
The other druids joined in and raucously celebrated their victory, but Fangir only walked through the woods to look at the dead. The grimaces and looks of agony that decorated every dead face were enough to drain the archdruid of his appetite and cheer. He retreated back to his chambers in the caves below. His belly grumbled as it had done for weeks, but his mind could only wonder what he had done. His tribe now worshiped their savior spirit, and there was already talk amongst the druids of erecting a shrine. Fangir had to wonder what would happen to his tribe if they followed the being that had only hours ago doomed five hundred crusaders to painful deaths. Still, the chieftain felt tired, and now he finally had time to rest. He fell asleep telling himself that he did what he had to do, and that his people were safe for now.
Shaige came late into the night, only to find Fangir asleep. It was no matter. The shade leaned over the sleeping man, disturbing the air ever so slightly. The archdruid shifted in his sleep, but didn't awake to see the glowing, purple eyes that hovered inches above his face. There was no need to wake up the chieftain, if he was too tired to do so on his own. Shaige whispered into the man's ear as he slept, and then vanished. When Fangir woke up a day or two later, he could remember that in the background of his dream, he heard the shade's all too familiar voice. The spirit had warned that he would disappear for a time, but would return soon enough. He knew better than to believe that his mind had simply been able to imagine that hypnotizing whisper, and recreate it in a dream.
Shaige's Stuff:
Minions: Soran the imp construct, 9 imps, 50 pain elementals, Fangir the archdruid, 27 druids, ~300 Mutig Tribesmen
Resources: Several hundred corpses out in the woods. A few bags of tools for the imps. Food is starting to run low, so the imps have resorted to trapping some small animals to help stretch their supplies. The Mutig cave has some weapons and supplies, and is starting to stockpile food now that the surface is safe.
Infrastructure: A dungeon heart, the imps' makeshift altar, some small animal traps outside. The inside of Shaige's dungeon is being expanded, and the outside is now fortified with wooden abatises and concealed with magic. Shaige also claims ownership of the Mutig tribe and their cave-city, although his domain has not yet expanded to cover it.
At last, Soran uncorked the vial. He walked to the center of the chamber, muttered a final dark word, and upturned the flask. The enchanted gems that had floated in the blood remained suspended in the empty bottle; without such foci the heart's magic would be depleted, and with it all of the black lord's powers. Slowly, like molasses, the thickened sludge that had once been blood poured down onto the floor. Where the fluid spilled, the stone writhed and trembled. At last the floor gave way to a great gaping pit that appeared, a strange light emanating from not far below.
Standing behind the construct there were nine other imps, backed by fifty pain elementals at most. They would be facing nearly half a thousand seasoned knights and fire wizards, men who fought with a crazed fervor for their deity Caldor. Shaige, however, was unconcerned. What were a few hundred flies before his power? His minions were ready, and they would have the element of surprise. The crusaders no doubt thought that this battle would be done in an hour, but they were wrong. It would be over the moment it began. Soran stepped through the portal, followed by the rest of Shaige's devotees.
Fangir stood in hiding, his muscles rigid with anticipation and his brow covered with sweat. He was as vigilant now as he had been four hours ago, when he and the other druids had walked out onto the trail leading up to the secret entrance. Though the remaining druids were all experienced, they guarded a treacherous uphill path, and they had concealed themselves with more illusion magic, it was hard to remain confident. The army of knights and sorcerers outnumbered the thirty or so druids by more than ten to one. When Fangir told them of the spirit that had visited in the night, many were incredulous. Most of the doubters thought that he was only desperate to improve morale, but there were a few who thought their chieftain had gone mad.
Hours passed by. Scouts returned from the forest to warn the defenders that the fire god's army approached. The land was silent as a grave; there was no wind to whisper into your ear, no birds or insects chirped, and no animals were in sight. Dusk fell, and the air quickly chilled until the druids were shivering. Fangir saw dark clouds roll in, silently killing what little light there had been in the night sky. The rocky hill was now cloaked by a mantle of darkness as oppressing as the dim caves below. Every druid standing watch thought they saw something. For some it was a dark silhouette moving in the forest below, whilst others caught glimpses of strange, fiery lights. Fangir at one point thought he heard an agonized wailing from within the woods, but he dismissed it as his mind playing tricks.
At last, the time came. Every druid knew it would; they had spent hours waiting for it, but they were still startled. A dozen torches, crowned by orange blazes, broke through the treeline. Close behind were robed priests and rank after rank of knights. They waved their proud banners of gold and carmine above their heads and advanced at a quick pace, seeing no enemies but wary of ambush nonetheless. It would seem that the shadow had been a dream, the workings of Fangir's tired mind. Still, the stubborn chieftain remained unbroken. He would never balk from this final battle. The crusaders would bleed for every step they advanced.
A priest garbed in silk robes ten times as ornate as any of the others led the way atop a black horse. He resembled a great inferno feasting on the last remnants of life within a blackening log, or perhaps feasting on what would remain of the Mutig tribe. Fangir scowled at the thought. He jumped forward, breaking the spell that had hidden him, and barked out an order to attack. The mounted priest below answered, "Slay them in Caldor's name!"
The druids and the fire priests both began flailing their arms like drowning men as they conjured their lethal projectiles. The knights let out war cries, raised their shields, and surged forward. Then, there was a thunderous boom from the clouds above. Men fell down as the earth. From everywhere at once there was an incessant, inhuman cackling. Monstrous roars erupted from amidst the Crusaders' ranks. The torches, now fallen onto the ground, illuminated massive beasts of shadow and smoke. Great claws of swirling smoke grabbed at one fire priest and tore the screaming man in twain. A horrifying creature with a gaping maw of teeth pounced upon another priest and swallowed him whole. Then, a gale of frigid wind extinguished the torches. The druids no longer saw what was happening, but the shadow beasts' inhuman noises and the screams of the priests seemed only realer.
The mounted priest managed to cast a protective ward around himself in time, but the turmoil around him was terrifying. The leader of the army now sought only to slay the druids up on the ledges, the wretched filth that had summoned these horrifying demonic creatures into the world. For a brief moment the mounted priest was visible as he conjured a fireball the size of a bear. Then, he hurled the thing at the druids. The fireball soared above its target, smashing into the cliff face above Fangir and melting stone. For the briefest of moments the fire cast a shadow beneath Fangir, but that was long enough. The chieftain watched as the mysterious shade that had appeared the night before now stood by his shoulder. "I stood at your side from the moment dusk fell and I was able to manifest myself. You only had to look and open your eyes to the truth," Shaige whispered, his soft but cutting voice audible even over the sounds of battle.
The mounted priest came into sight again as he prepared another fireball, his steed panicking from the flames and the shadow beasts that they revealed. The shadow standing before Fangir pointed at the sorcerer, and cursed him with the burden of time. The man's fiery red hair turned white and fell off, his skin grew pale and wrinkled, his flesh vanished, and his skeleton crumbled to dust within the span of a few moments. Shaige's manifestation began to dissipate. He left Fangir with the parting words, "Do not doubt me again."
With the death of that final priest, the shadow beasts abruptly vanished. As soon as they did, the air seemed to brighten a hundred times. Though it was still dark, there was now enough light to vaguely see by. The druids began bombarding the knights using telekinesis, summoning roots and thorns to bind and kill their enemies, and generally wreaking havoc to their broken enemy. Though their priests and leaders had all been brutally slain and they themselves were now sustaining heavy losses, their resolve was so absolute that they continued to charge forward with crazed zeal. Then, the entire side of the cliff was lit by an eery glow.
From below piles of leafs and inside squirrel holes there poured of dozens of orange balls of light. The pain elementals, out of their hiding spots, transformed into their wailing, humanoid forms and attacked the crusaders. Dozens succumbed to the pain wrought by the ghosts before the mass of knights even began to retaliate. Two or three pain elementals were surrounded and hacked at until they began to fade out of existence, but before that happened they exploded in great novas of anguish and fire, each one taking down half a dozen crusaders with them. The pain elementals' very presence in the area being enough to inflict pain, their ruthless attacks killing knights everywhere, combined with the druids' projectiles raining down from the cliff was enough to break the crusaders. All at once, the semi-organized charge degraded into a frenzied retreat. The routing men were killed by the dozens, pain elementals amidst them and magical bolts striking them in the backs.
By the time the knights even made it back a few hundred yards into the relative safety of the trees, their army now numbered only a quarter of what it had minutes ago, and all their leadership was gone. Wailing spirits darted between the trees, preying upon the helpless knights. Most were now dropping their weapons and shields, already encumbered enough by their heavy armor. Out of the trees burst forth Soran. Three ragged knights, amongst the last of the survivors, charged at him. One pulled out a knife from his belt, no doubt planning to plunge it into the creature before him and then continue running. Soran waved his staff, and one of the men was suddenly drenched. Seeping through the pores of his skin was not sweat, but red droplets. Blood cascaded out of the knight's nose, eyes, and cuts, the spell causing him to rapidly bleed until he fell unconscious and eventually died.
The one with the knife prepared to force it into the construct's body, but fell to the ground a foot short. The robed imp had swung a sword made out of pure, writhing shadows. It was so dark that the knight didn't even see the blade coming. The imp stooped down to snatch up the decapitated head and hold it up for the remaining man to see. The last knight came to a stop, dumbstruck. He looked around and saw that he was the last survivor, corpses strewn behind him. He didn't see the other imps until they knocked him to the ground and tore at his exposed throat with their demonic claws.
As the crusaders were chased off, Fangir and the druids had stayed still for a few moments. Then, they had ran off in pursuit, eager to hunt down the monsters that had burned their village and slain their kinsmen. They followed the trails of blood and other tracks left behind, but each one only led to a few corpses, all of which were horribly mutilated in some fashion. There were no signs of the wailing spirits or whatever else had caused the knights' demise. The people that had stayed inside the caves now came to the surface as well, to look at the carnage. There was a great cheering and everyone praised the nameless spirit that had saved their tribe. The starving mob gathered food from the surrounding area now that it was finally safe to do so, and held a feast in celebration.
The other druids joined in and raucously celebrated their victory, but Fangir only walked through the woods to look at the dead. The grimaces and looks of agony that decorated every dead face were enough to drain the archdruid of his appetite and cheer. He retreated back to his chambers in the caves below. His belly grumbled as it had done for weeks, but his mind could only wonder what he had done. His tribe now worshiped their savior spirit, and there was already talk amongst the druids of erecting a shrine. Fangir had to wonder what would happen to his tribe if they followed the being that had only hours ago doomed five hundred crusaders to painful deaths. Still, the chieftain felt tired, and now he finally had time to rest. He fell asleep telling himself that he did what he had to do, and that his people were safe for now.
Shaige came late into the night, only to find Fangir asleep. It was no matter. The shade leaned over the sleeping man, disturbing the air ever so slightly. The archdruid shifted in his sleep, but didn't awake to see the glowing, purple eyes that hovered inches above his face. There was no need to wake up the chieftain, if he was too tired to do so on his own. Shaige whispered into the man's ear as he slept, and then vanished. When Fangir woke up a day or two later, he could remember that in the background of his dream, he heard the shade's all too familiar voice. The spirit had warned that he would disappear for a time, but would return soon enough. He knew better than to believe that his mind had simply been able to imagine that hypnotizing whisper, and recreate it in a dream.
Shaige's Stuff:
Minions: Soran the imp construct, 9 imps, 50 pain elementals, Fangir the archdruid, 27 druids, ~300 Mutig Tribesmen
Resources: Several hundred corpses out in the woods. A few bags of tools for the imps. Food is starting to run low, so the imps have resorted to trapping some small animals to help stretch their supplies. The Mutig cave has some weapons and supplies, and is starting to stockpile food now that the surface is safe.
Infrastructure: A dungeon heart, the imps' makeshift altar, some small animal traps outside. The inside of Shaige's dungeon is being expanded, and the outside is now fortified with wooden abatises and concealed with magic. Shaige also claims ownership of the Mutig tribe and their cave-city, although his domain has not yet expanded to cover it.
Purple would be fitting for Shaige. Mysterious and eldritch, without being overtly threatening.
Edit: The OOC now has 100 posts
Edit: The OOC now has 100 posts
Well, that post took longer to write than I expected, and upon realizing that I'd have to write another twenty or thirty paragraphs to get Shaige over to Paterdomus and describe the place, I just decided to forget it. I'll try my best to write at least this much tomorrow, even if that means double posting. Sorry for taking so long. 
Below a hundred feet of earth, a small chamber in the underground city was privy to an elegiac gathering of a few men. The archdruid stayed long after the others left, studying maps and scout reports. A noble effort, to be sure, but a futile one. There could be no great tricks or strokes of luck to spare these people from the war's toll; half the foraging parties they sent out were ambushed and killed. It would only be a matter of time before they either starved cowering in the darkness or were found and massacred, like the kinsmen in their village.
Shaige had found their village after some searching. He had only needed to follow the dreary wisps of smoke; what buildings the crusaders hadn't spared were still smoldering and sizzling. The wooden beams and supports within the building were nigh instantly seared to charcoal by fire magic, and as the sad mounds of ashes scattered to the wind, the coals beneath could breathe and give birth to new flames. The cycle had continued for weeks, in some of the larger buildings. What buildings weren't burned were crowded with soldiers. The Knights of the Flame, as the crusaders called themselves, shined their gilded armor. The fire priests sent from their cathedral in Paterdomus to lead the crusade gave sermon after sermon. Every knight was blessed in the name of Caldor, their patron god of warmth and purity. The dead crusaders were honored and sent to Caldor in great pyres, while the impious denizens of this village were left by their conquerors to decompose in great mounds of rotting corpses.
To the surviving tribesmen, the ones who fled underground with the druids, Shaige was their only hope. So when he came to Fangir, the solemn archdruid and chieftain, after some time the men accepted the Keeper's offer of help.
Late into the night, though the cave looked no different, Fangir was beginning to fall asleep. He did not extinguish the magical orb of light in the corner of his room. To dispel it would be to invite complete darkness. Insanity, cold, and death. Nonetheless, the orb's light began to sputter. It grew and warped, its light flickering, until there stood a black silhouette of a humanoid creature, the deep violet glow of its eyes the only thing illuminating the room. For a moment, the thing stood silent and unmoving, and then a voice rasped from deep within the shade, "What do your people call themssselves?" The being's serpentine, lisping voice was hypnotic in a way, but cold and foreboding in all others.
Shaige expected the archdruid to be mortified and stammer something incomprehensible. However, the chieftain's chestnut hair, bright eyes, tanned skin, an brawny form concealed his age and experience well. The man boomed, "We are the Mutig, and we possess no fear of your kind, snake! Begone now, lest I banish you back to the demonic realm from whence you were spawned."
With a patient and unfazed tone, the Keeper replied, "Sssoon enough you would be the dead, your namesss and tribesss and facesss long forgotten after the mere blink of an eye. I know that you do not fear me or the shadowsss that are my home, and that is why I shall aid your lossst tribe. I am no sssnake demon; only a shadow. You see the shapes of a shadow and envision whatever you want to see; I utter some words and you hear them in the voice that you expect to hear."
"Then what do you want?" Fangir hissed, still suspicious.
"For now? I require nothing from you. I am not a demon, so I do not require any promises or pacts or riches from you. I will rid your land of the egregious 'crusaders' that burned your village and slew your clansmen, and make sure that they do not return. You will have nothing to fear from the other tribes, either. They are cowards and scavengers, trying to seize land that they have no claim over and didn't even bleed to take. They are not worthy of this land, and so I will not allow them to have it," the shadow spoke, his form growing and shrinking as the magical light flickered like a candle. After a pregnant pause he went on, "I would hope that once I have saved you, I will have your trust and you will support me as your tribe's salvation and divine-"
"So there it is- you too would have us as slaves, and force us to abandon our ancient guardian spirits! I see that you are a de-" Fangir interrupted, until he looked closely and saw the figure of a kindly old man rather than the menacing silhouette of a monster. He also realized that in his anger, he hadn't even noticed the snake-like lisp gradually transition into a deep, calming one. Fangir calmed himself, and thought for some time. Shaige was as silent as when he first appeared, waiting for what he knew Fangir would respond with.
"What must I do?"
Go with your druids to the hidden entrance of this cavern, up in the cliffs above, and wait. The red priests and their knights already know that you are here; I witnessed them preparing for battle. Tomorrow night they will come by the hundreds. With my warning you will be prepared, but you and your druids would be slain quickly and mercilessly, once the charge begins. So I will come at about midnight, and bring death's cold clasp unto every priest garbed in red. I shall summon my servants as well. They shall fall upon the fleeing ranks of knights, and cut down every last crusader. The ground shall be stained crimson, the color of their false god of fire."
Shaige had found their village after some searching. He had only needed to follow the dreary wisps of smoke; what buildings the crusaders hadn't spared were still smoldering and sizzling. The wooden beams and supports within the building were nigh instantly seared to charcoal by fire magic, and as the sad mounds of ashes scattered to the wind, the coals beneath could breathe and give birth to new flames. The cycle had continued for weeks, in some of the larger buildings. What buildings weren't burned were crowded with soldiers. The Knights of the Flame, as the crusaders called themselves, shined their gilded armor. The fire priests sent from their cathedral in Paterdomus to lead the crusade gave sermon after sermon. Every knight was blessed in the name of Caldor, their patron god of warmth and purity. The dead crusaders were honored and sent to Caldor in great pyres, while the impious denizens of this village were left by their conquerors to decompose in great mounds of rotting corpses.
To the surviving tribesmen, the ones who fled underground with the druids, Shaige was their only hope. So when he came to Fangir, the solemn archdruid and chieftain, after some time the men accepted the Keeper's offer of help.
Late into the night, though the cave looked no different, Fangir was beginning to fall asleep. He did not extinguish the magical orb of light in the corner of his room. To dispel it would be to invite complete darkness. Insanity, cold, and death. Nonetheless, the orb's light began to sputter. It grew and warped, its light flickering, until there stood a black silhouette of a humanoid creature, the deep violet glow of its eyes the only thing illuminating the room. For a moment, the thing stood silent and unmoving, and then a voice rasped from deep within the shade, "What do your people call themssselves?" The being's serpentine, lisping voice was hypnotic in a way, but cold and foreboding in all others.
Shaige expected the archdruid to be mortified and stammer something incomprehensible. However, the chieftain's chestnut hair, bright eyes, tanned skin, an brawny form concealed his age and experience well. The man boomed, "We are the Mutig, and we possess no fear of your kind, snake! Begone now, lest I banish you back to the demonic realm from whence you were spawned."
With a patient and unfazed tone, the Keeper replied, "Sssoon enough you would be the dead, your namesss and tribesss and facesss long forgotten after the mere blink of an eye. I know that you do not fear me or the shadowsss that are my home, and that is why I shall aid your lossst tribe. I am no sssnake demon; only a shadow. You see the shapes of a shadow and envision whatever you want to see; I utter some words and you hear them in the voice that you expect to hear."
"Then what do you want?" Fangir hissed, still suspicious.
"For now? I require nothing from you. I am not a demon, so I do not require any promises or pacts or riches from you. I will rid your land of the egregious 'crusaders' that burned your village and slew your clansmen, and make sure that they do not return. You will have nothing to fear from the other tribes, either. They are cowards and scavengers, trying to seize land that they have no claim over and didn't even bleed to take. They are not worthy of this land, and so I will not allow them to have it," the shadow spoke, his form growing and shrinking as the magical light flickered like a candle. After a pregnant pause he went on, "I would hope that once I have saved you, I will have your trust and you will support me as your tribe's salvation and divine-"
"So there it is- you too would have us as slaves, and force us to abandon our ancient guardian spirits! I see that you are a de-" Fangir interrupted, until he looked closely and saw the figure of a kindly old man rather than the menacing silhouette of a monster. He also realized that in his anger, he hadn't even noticed the snake-like lisp gradually transition into a deep, calming one. Fangir calmed himself, and thought for some time. Shaige was as silent as when he first appeared, waiting for what he knew Fangir would respond with.
"What must I do?"
Go with your druids to the hidden entrance of this cavern, up in the cliffs above, and wait. The red priests and their knights already know that you are here; I witnessed them preparing for battle. Tomorrow night they will come by the hundreds. With my warning you will be prepared, but you and your druids would be slain quickly and mercilessly, once the charge begins. So I will come at about midnight, and bring death's cold clasp unto every priest garbed in red. I shall summon my servants as well. They shall fall upon the fleeing ranks of knights, and cut down every last crusader. The ground shall be stained crimson, the color of their false god of fire."
DR_TRAPEZOID said
I wouldn't mind a bright orange color on the map, if its not too much trouble.In response to your question, DA, I would have to say I'm at least a good... 1,500-ish miles away from you? Supposing I still have rudimentary map-reading skills...Hmmm... I'll try to get in another post soon-ish with Ifrit, but I'd rather leave it for a moment, so that Cyclone can mould Paterdomus as he sees fit...
Hmm, alright. I was wanting to wait for Jay to respond to Balon, but later today I'll try to post as Shaige. It might end up being a monster of a post.
I would say Calvartem is about 900-1,000 miles away from you, with Shaige being maybe another few hundred farther than that. Of course, the nice coastline south of Paterdomus is probably one of the most densely populated places on the continent, so there are a lot of humans between us all to serve as barriers.
© 2007-2026