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Force and Fury Member

Actually kind of mellow

STATUS: Shilling a good medieval fantasy: roleplayerguild.com/topics/… 2 yrs ago
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2 yrs ago
Current Shilling a good medieval fantasy: roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
2 yrs ago
Don't mind me. Just shilling a thread: roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
2 yrs ago
So worried right now. My brother just got admitted to the hospital after swallowing six toy horses. Doctors say he's in stable condtion.
8 likes
2 yrs ago
Nice to meet you, Bored. I'm interested!
7 likes
2 yrs ago
Ugh. Someone literally stole the wheels off of my car. Gonna have to work tirelessly for justice.
4 likes

Bio

Oh gee! An age and a gender and interests and things. Yeah, I have those. Ain't no way I'm about to trigger an existential crisis by typing them all out, though. You can find out what a nerd I am on discord, okay?

Stay awesome, people.

Most Recent Posts

In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

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Art by acidlullaby
🙨 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🙨 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🕱 ☊☋☊ ❀ ☋☊☋ 🙨

Nobody would've seen her from where they were. Marceline was behind her. The camel's head blocked the others. They would not have seen the fear that slipped through Jocasta's mask of very real exhaustion. They would not have noticed her pawing at her lower midsection with a sort of resigned desperation. She was, though. Another piece of myself, she thought dully, lost for good. The numbness had risen, another centimeter or so past her hips, and more of Jocasta or Consuela or whoever she'd been before that was gone. Why had she done it? She'd overdrawn - the worst possible thing for a Tethered - to save people she hadn't even known twenty-five hours ago. She'd taken months off of her already-shortened life for them. Yet... a lot could change in a day. She knew it better than most. People who'd meant everything to you could become part of the past. People you'd never even met could become part of your future.

Yet, now, Bitch was stealing hooded glances back at her and whispering in the ear of Ayla, foolishly unaware that a trained assassin would notice and that it was second nature for Jocasta to play harmless in whatever form was open to her. You, I should've let be froabas food, she thought darkly. Zarina would always be an implacable enemy, she decided then and there. One out of five wouldn't be too bad, would it? Yalen, too, had said not a word, but he'd been looking. Inwardly, the Tethered shook her head. One day, it had been. She'd gotten carried away. These were not friends, and they never would be. Some were good people, she allowed, and would help in this undertaking so long as they did not truly know her, but only a fool gives of herself for others: only a fool, unless there is something in it for her. There was not. This had all merely been some diverting attempt to play-act at being a 'normal' teenager.

Jocasta took a handful of deep, steadying breaths and Marceline twisted to look at her concernedly. "Sister?" she asked in a quiet voice. "Sister," the older girl responded.

"Are you alright?"

"I was not," Jocasta admitted. "Now, I am."

"That sounds... anomynous."

"Ominous, Marci."

"Ominous."

"And it isn't," the Dorvalishwoman assured her. "Most of these aren't bad people. I think they'll even help us. They're..." she trailed off for a moment. "Just not friends: not people we trust with our deepest secrets, alright?"

There was a bit too long of a pause. Jocasta had been deadening the air to sound, subtly enough that it would be difficult to even sense. "Sister, you haven't said anything about Father, right?"

"Never, on my life!"

"Shhhh, Marci."

"Sorry, Sister."

"It's alright. I'm glad I have you." Jocasta leaned forward, hesitant for a moment, wondering how much she would feel the loss of a bit of core strength. She rested her chin on the teenager's shoulder and smiled. "Besides, they heard nothing."



The remainder of the ride back was uneventful: silent and filled with anxiety. The Wyrm had swallowed the aberration and everybody knew, at least in broad strokes, what that meant. People rationed words and water alike, the sun glared at them in hues of orangish-pink, and froabases started to circle overhead as it pulled itself under a blanket of sand.

In the event, the animals did not attack. If they had, perhaps Jocasta would've seen to the tragic loss of a tall Virangish girl. Not truly, though, she told herself, for it would hurt the others, and that was no longer something that she could bring herself to do. She sat up and made a show of rolling her neck back and forth as they neared the Refuge. Its lights burned, yellowed orange, into the burgeoning twilight: a beacon of light and warmth to those who didn't understand the poison that flowed through its halls.

The gates creaked open and men with torches and wary eyes ushered them in. The crowd was smaller than the night previous, made up less of curious children - though there were still many - than of teens and young adults 'on three' or 'on two'. There was an anxiousness. They had either sensed it or Marci had sent them a message. "Did you find it?" they shouted. "Is it headed here?" one pleaded. "Did you stop it?" another begged. Yes, yes, and no, Jocasta thought, as further entreaties poured in. And you had the gall to tell us that these people knew nothing, she thought at Warden Ortega, wherever he was.

The guards ushered the crowd away much more aggressively than before and it was an effort not to say something. It was an effort, too, when they did not place her wheeled-chair beside the camel. The others dismounted easily enough, even Yalen managing after a fashion. Jocasta shot him a concerned look and a little push of Kinetic energy to free his foot brace from the stirrup as it became momentarily caught. She flashed a shy smile and, when a couple of guards approached to help her down, the twenty-year-old heaved herself to the side, gathered the gravity from her fall, and hovered in place, floating over the wheeled-chair and settling into it.

Everyone else stood around for a moment, Ysilla looking... less than right. They had spoken so little to each other and, for some reason, that set off alarm bells in Jocasta's mind. Kaspar, who had suffered the whole way through, appeared relieved. Yalen was adjusting his braces, and Zarina hovered momentarily close to Ayla. Marci was leaning against a camel, retrieving her crutches. Escarra was solemn, like he usually was. A cardinal showed up and handed him a message. "Don Escarra," she said, "Don Ortega requests your immediate presence." But not ours, Jocasta mused. With a nod and a scowl, the head ranger brushed past and stalked down the hallway, saving a brief look back for his companions.

A trio of magpies were there too, as pigeons saw their animals off. "As the hour grows late," said the most senior of the three, "We would like to offer you a belated supper if you are hungry." He bowed his head. "It can be delivered to your rooms, if you would like, where a warm bath is being prepared presently."

Jocasta bowed her head in return. "That would be greatly app-appreciated, caretaker. Should the warden need anything of us, l-let him know that we eagerly await his call."

"The warden wishes you nothing but a sound sleep. Matters of import will be discussed on the morrow, over breakfast. Now," the man in the monastic cut robe concluded, clapping his hands together in a manner reminiscent of the warden, "if you would be so kind as to follow us..." He trailed off, gesturing in the direction of his fellow magpies.

"Caretaker Herrera," Marceline offered, "I don't mind leading them. I'm sure you have many more pressing matters to attend to."

"Thank you, Marcelina," said the caretaker in a kindly, patient voice, "but these orders come from the warden himself. He also wishes you an early and sound sleep."

The look was so quick that perhaps some among the group of young people may have missed it, but Jocasta noticed. Essentially, it said, 'obey... for now.'

So, that was what Jocasta did, good obedient girl that she was. She returned to her room, removed the soporifics from her dinner with a bit of Chemical magic, and did the same for her peers, however secretly. The food was almost always drugged. She ate and took her bath, using the Gift to speed things up and dry her hair. Forty minutes had passed by the time that she rolled silently out into the colonnade and closed her door behind herself with a soft 'click'. She was not alone. Kaspar was there and their eyes met. They gathered the others and then Jocasta put hands to wheels and led the way almost wordlessly to the Red Tower. "Guards," she said, partway through their journey, ducking around a corner and pulling on the tendrils of light around her to fade into the night. She let the cardinals pass before reappearing. Up ahead, from the shadow of a pillar, emerged Marceline. Smaller and less certain than the older teens, she glanced their way as if for reassurance.

The eldest of the group stopped in front of her, eyes darting around warily. "You got away clean, chiquita?"

Marci nodded. "I checked. Don't worry."

"Not even for a second." Jocasta smiled. Backing up a push, she took in the others. "We can get there slowly," she whispered, "through locked gates and doors, or quickly." She reached out again for the threads of time and space, hands of energy raveling and unraveling them. Hundreds of boys and girls flashed by in time's memory: a young Amanda, a little Marceline, and a nine-year-old version of herself, but many more that she did not know. The great orange tree shifted between sapling and elder. Staff changed. She gained visions of the stables, the pool, the secret training grounds, and the Warden's office. Ortega was there with Escarra. The two men looked tense. Then, her mind's eye was in the Torre de la Soledad. It flipped through a dozen dying souls and found Amanda. A tear in spacetime - not so grand and stable as the paradigm's, but just as functional - opened, and Jocasta let out a breath that she didn't realize she'd been holding. "'W-will you walk into my parlour?' said the s-spider to the fly," she asked, rolling through with a teasing smile and a glance back.

There on her bed, leaning cross-legged against a corner, was the slender figure of Amanda. Her room was lit by an oil lantern and a candle. Moonlight streamed in through a small window. As Jocasta entered, a large smile creased the older woman's lips. The palms of her hands, which lay open on her lap, lit up with an arcane glow. "Hello... Jocasta," she said softly, her eyes going to the others, "I take it you're the friends that she mentioned."

Jocasta nodded, coming to a stop. "I see your powers of deduction remain strong."

Amanda smiled and let out a little snort. "Ah!" she chirped, "and Marci!"

"And Marci."

"I'm not a friend?" the girl protested.

"You're much better than a friend, mija. Come here and sit beside me."

Marci more or less threw herself onto the bed, snuggling delicately into Amanda's side, for just a moment so utterly unlike the precocious girl they'd gotten to know to this point. "Mom," she said softly, laying her head on the older woman's shoulder. She grinned. "Hey, isn't it past your bedtime?" Amanda planted a small kiss on the top of it. "Isn't it past yours, precious little pumpkin?"

"You're laying it on really thick," Marci whined, but her mother was already looking out at the others. "The expedition was a proper disaster, I trust?" She raised her eyebrows expectantly. "We have a giant, angry dragon headed our way?" She tilted her head to the side momentarily.

Marceline, beside her, nodded glumly. A limp-wristed hand reached up to stroke her hair. "Don't worry, little pumpkin." The girl flashed her a stink-eye, but Amanda was looking at the others. "There is much to worry about, of course, for all of us, but I think I know how we can overcome this and, dare I say, a great many other problems." She pursed her lips, and the glow in her palms lit her face from below with a certain dramatic flare as her expression morphed into an enigmatic grin. "First, though, I imagine you've questions and ideas of your own and you've received precious few answers in this place. I have lived here thirty-one years and I'm an open book."

Leaning back on an ancient desk in the old Tourrare style, elbows propped against it, Jocasta pushed off. She tipped forward and her front wheels hit the round with a light 'clunk.' "For what it's worth," she offered, "so am I, and I used to live here too."


Art by Anastasia Ovchinnikova
_ __M a n u e l E s c a r r a__ _

The expedition had been a disaster. This, Manuel knew. The aberration had gone into a wyrm and it would attack the Refuge, sooner or later. If not, it would attack the town of Hosta.

He did not need Ortega's men to lead him to the Warden's chambers, but he said nothing and let them do their job. For some people, there was only duty. They left him at the door and he nodded his thanks.

"Manuel!" came a voice. "Come in!"

"Ortega," responded the ranger, pushing the door open and standing inside of it.

The warden's eyes went to the gap and Manuel quietly closed it behind himself. "I take it there were complications," he stated flatly.

"Froabasses," the ranger replied. "Stirred up by a wyrm trapped in the Devil's Throat."

"And that wyrm: it ate the aberration, no?"

Manuel nodded. Tavio knew these things, of course, so if he was asking for them anyhow, it was not good.

The warden nodded slowly, as if processing it. "And you lost two rangers and six camels."

"We did," the ranger confirmed. "Eshiran have mercy."

"Half of my camels, Escarra, and two of my rangers," the warden said tensely.

There it was. Escarra merely nodded. "We did what we could with what we had."

"And now a crazed beast is out in the wastes, headed here."

"Or for the town."

"You were supposed to get rid of the aberration, cabron! Get the kids to absorb it. Dios mio! You had one job!"

Manuel would risk his life - that was his job - but he would not risk those of children, even if they were almost grown. He shook his head. "I judged it was too much for them. They would've gone mad."

"A tragedy, to be certain, but the sacrifice of a few for the survival of many..." The warden's mouth was making sounds that Manuel Escarra did not like. "Surely, even you can see the necessity in that."

"And if they go mad, are they not a danger?"

"If they glow with that much energy, the wyrm will eat them."

Simple, thought Escarra. The wyrm will eat them. His expression showed only a hint of his disdain. "I did not come here to kill children, Tavio."

The warden waved his hand dismissively, stepping around his desk. "Oh, don't act so holy, Manuel, you know what we do here. You know what the duke would find if he sent his people to the Refuge to save us. Besides, we both know the only reason you're here, and that will be gone in a year, two at most."

A hot surge of anger threatened to spill past the ranger's steely surface. Amanda: my lucky Clover. She was all that he had left of Armida, and she was near the end. It pained him, these days, to see her as she was. Yet, this gilipollas didn't know about Marceline and the girl herself didn't know that Manuel knew. He sidestepped the barb. "Why not call the king?" he advised simply.

"And have us be a bother?" The warden shook his head. "We are allowed to operate only so long as we are a benefit and not a drawback for his majesty, and you may not know his misgivings like I do, but they are a growing problem. We'd best stay out of sight and mind."

The Torraro, who had long ago taken this land from Manuel's people, who had made his family change their names and forget their mother tongue, were unscrupulous people, but very few more so than Tavio Ortega. Escarra scowled. "So then we teach our people how to fight back," he said hopefully. "They can handle it from much further than any of us."

The warden merely looked at him incredulously. "Have you truly lost your wits, man?" Eyes narrowed in reproach, he shook his head. "I know you have a sweet spot for that girl of yours, but do you have no regard for your life? For that of anyone here?"

"We teach some already."

"Handpicked! Biddable, desperate, obedient!"

Manuel already knew these things. He had worked here thirty-one years. Nonetheless, disgust welled up inside of him hearing them spoken aloud. "We teach other children who are not Tethered. All temperaments."

"Eejit!" the warden snarled. "Truly, you are not here because of your smarts, but do you hear yourself!?" Ortega shook his head. "Those children cannot kill you in your sleep, undetectably, from miles away."

Escarra blinked. "Why would a child wish to kill you in your sleep unless you have harmed her?"

"We do what is necessary," Ortega hissed. He stabbed the air with his pointer, skewering the ranger. "And you do too. Remember Joaquin? How you kept your mouth shut? And the many, many others!?"

"I did what I was told."

"Not by me. I try to make these poor lost souls' lives comfortable! Sometimes, that requires sacrifices. Sometimes, it isn't beautiful and the less that they know, the better!"

"Dami, Tavio!" Escarra let it boil forth now. "They could be people! They could have lives to live! Do you know how sad their existence is here?"

"That is a choice their families make. I only do what I can with the cards I am given."

"Well, you don't have enough cards for the wyrm now, do you?"

Ortega nodded tightly, jaw clenched, and there was a glimmer in his eye that Escarra did not like. "The students: how many froabasses did they take on?" he prodded. "I know the Devil's Throat. When they come, they come by the dozen. Those kids are strong. Use them, add a few of our Afortunados... we have a chance."

Manuel shook his head. "Precious little."

"If they die, it is sad, but then the school will send a few Zenos or even an Arch if we are lucky. They are being paid, after all."

"A devil's bargain," the ranger spat, "And an unnecessary sacrifice."

"So long as I am warden, I will be the judge of that."

"A fancy hat does not make you Dami in your judgement." They were standing face to face now, no more than a couple of feet apart.

"You know," said Ortega, "You are forgetting awful quickly all that I do for you, morisco. I wonder what might happen to your Amanda if you did not work for me." He loomed over the shorter man, but Manuel did not flinch. "And her Marceline." He paused. "Marcelina."

It hit the ranger like a bucket of ice water.

"Oh, come on. You think I didn't notice how much you favour her?" Ortega shook his head. "I didn't wonder why you pushed so hard for her to be chosen as Afortunado?" His voice dripped with disdain: the sort that people like him had always held for people like Manuel. "This is why I do the thinking, Escarra. It is why I am Ipte, Shune, Oraff, Eshiran, and fucking Dami here. Comprende?"

"You are not wiser, Ortega. You are a bastard, sending these kids to their deaths so you may hide your filthy secrets and continue to pad your pockets."

"Oh, no no. The money is nice, Manuel, but that is not why I do this. I am protecting these kids from the world out there and, more importantly, I am protecting the world from them. You have to crack some eggs to make an omelette."

The ranger stood there, glaring unflinchingly. He had never cared much for Ortega, even back before the man had become warden, when he was just a spoiled baron's son. He had not expected their meeting to go this badly, however. Amanda was in danger, and not only her. So was Marci.

"What are you going to do, huh?" the noble mocked. "The answer is nothing, dog. Now go. Run along to you little kennel. I will call you tomorrow, when I need you."

Escarra bit his tongue, willing himself to say nothing. He began to turn.

"Oh, and if you even think of doing anything to betray me," Ortega added. "I want you to consider your family first, hmm?"

The ranger's hand settled on the hilt of his sword. In one smooth motion, he drew it, whirled, and sunk it into Tavio Ortega's chest. The warden's eyes widened, flicking in pain and disbelief from Manuel's to the sword and back. Escarra had never had much of the Gift, but he had enough to sense the Kinetic shove coming and brace himself. Weak and desperate, it sent him sprawling across the floor, but he landed as if he were a man twenty years younger. Ortega fell to his knees, opening his mouth to scream, and Manuel scrambled to stop him, clasping a hand over the lower half of the man's face and holding it there while he struggled ineffectually. The ranger's head pounded and his vision blurred and he knew it for Chemical magic, but then it eased off and the warden ceased struggling.

Manuel's pulse thundered in his eardrums. This was not something that could be undone. He had killed Tavio Ortega. He had done it because he judged the threat to his family, the people of this Refuge, and a half-dozen near-strangers too great had the warden remained alive.

Gods forgive me, he thought, pulling the sword from his master's body. Already, the blood was spreading. He rushed to a linen cabinet for the servants and tossed the extra tablecloths on the floor to soak everything up. The body, he dragged from the office to the dressing room and then through to the bedchamber, where he dumped it unceremoniously. Checking himself in the mirror, Manuel rolled up his sleeves to cover the bloodstains. He dabbed at the blood, stuffed a thick kerchief where it had stained his shirt, and adjusted his jacket so that it would not show.

This was it, then. It was now or never for the crazy idea that Amanda had put to him. Manuel composed himself and stepped out of the warden's office. He strode down the hall, like he had a hundred times before, stopping before the stairs where a servant waited. "Don Ortega has retired to his chambers for the night," he advised, "and does not wish to be disturbed until he calls for someone."

The servant - Zavada - nodded and bowed slightly. "As you command, Don Escarra."

Manuel nodded in return, already making haste down the stairs and the hallway. He burst out into the cool night air, accompanied by the chirp of crickets and the ping and pop of crane flies diving at torches and oil lamps. His eyes seized upon a distinctive red-walled tower and his feet carried him in that direction.


In Code Vein (Closed) → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Location: The Crows' Nest // Date: February 25, 2057 // Time: 8:16 // Interactions: Everybbody and nobody

The sun hit her across the face and Lys barely stirred. Willing herself back asleep, she managed another indeterminate amount of time lost to its embrace. Then, Erik happened.

She'd been running and jumping from concrete slab to slab in her dream, down by the old collapsed Bank of America tower. Then, a voice had invaded her dreamscape so loudly that it hadn't even gently pulled her out. Lysandra was awake, lying on her back, hating herself. She remained there for what could've been a moment or minutes, unready to sit up or even look down at her legs, which were probably tangled in the covers. Others were stirring, though: getting dressed, opening doors, walking. Fuck off, she thought. Just fuck off. Cerise wouldn't be there. She wouldn't be there because of Lys: because she'd given in to Ajax instead of... What? Standing up for myself?

There were some people who came and went, but Cerise wasn't supposed to be one of them. She was one of the originals: a bedrock and foundation. It was... surreal that she was gone. Even more so that Lysandra had played a role in that. Some part of her mind rejected it - simply would not comprehend or acknowledge it.

She was lying on her back, she realized. She'd forgotten to wake up and turn herself over. Lys let out a groan and pushed herself up, scooting backwards. Her stupid legs were all tangled in the blankets. She'd need to untangle them, sitting here and dwelling on things she'd rather not dwell upon. She'd need to check for pressure sores too because of the way she'd slept. That filled the next few minutes. She let herself be numb to anything deeper, but it was still there, hovering just out of sight but known and dangerous, like a crocodile under her bed.

If she hadn't brought that stupid vestige back, none of this would've happened. Yet, Lysandra hadn't been able to help herself. She'd told herself that it would eventually be good for Cerise to know, helpful even. Lys had assumed that, because she was the most educated person here, it also made her the smartest. She'd made a decision on someone else's behalf and the consequences had been disastrous. To be sure, she blamed Ajax too but, as much as he always tried to act cool, she knew that he was also hurting, deep down. He'd honestly thought that he was helping, like she had. He'd thought that he knew better, like she had. She wasn't going to beat up on him not only because it would make her an awful hypocrite, but because she knew that, beneath his suave surface, he was already doing just that.

The Lysandra that closed her door behind herself and rolled down the hall towards the Telescope Room was a muted one, with none of the sass, goofiness, or assertiveness that she was known for. If there was a mission, she would not impose her deadweight on it. She would bury herself in her actual jobs at the Crows' Nest: building and repairing useful things, caring for the ill and injured, and researching the mistle. She had a live one now. She had no excuses for going off and playing crippled adventurer.

She entered the room and wordlessly took a spot leaning back against a wall some ways from the others, arms crossed protectively, feet and front wheels up off the ground. She waited.
In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
B L A C K F L A G


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Wvysen is dead. It should've taken Penny like a gut punch. To some degree, it still struck her. Wvysen was the most inoffensive person she'd ever met: just a normal girl from a normal family who'd wanted to spend a normal year at school. And I just left her, too. That also wasn't strictly true, however. She'd tried to convince her now-deceased classmate that it was a bad idea, but her entreaty had fallen upon deaf ears. Wvysen had made her own poor decision.

The larger truth was just that death didn't affect Penny as much these days as it once had. She had watched dozens die during the attack on her father, some at her own hands. Anesin had died defending King Horik. The Perrenchwoman had fought for her life against abductors. She'd had her brain poisoned by chemical magic, her bones broken, and her skin burnt. She had killed to survive: at first out of pure defense and then much as she imagined a soldier would. Kill them before they kill you. The girl that she had been a month ago - kind, weak, and sheltered - would've recoiled at the actions of Penny Pellegrin but, had she remained that girl, she would've died. "I am... sorry that Wvysen is no longer with us," she said quietly. "I tried to convince her to follow me." That was all that she had to say. It was all that she could say.

Trypano continued, at length by her standards, and her Perrench counterpart heard a great many things. She became struck by the pointlessness of it all. One person or another sits on a throne and, either way, other people who don't sit on that throne fight and die. Why should she risk her life for them? On a purely selfish level, what in the five hells was in it for anyone who wasn't directly affected?

The problem was that, while there was little to nothing to gain for Penny Pellegrin, printer's daughter, there was a great deal at stake for Penelope of Perrence, fifth in line - by letter of law - for her nation's throne. Prospero Malatesta was a sworn enemy of Perrence. He had hounded and humiliated her father. His agents had worked diligently in the shadows to spread rumours of her family's 'curse' and those rumours had so influenced her parents that they had rejected her strange body and kept her hidden from the world for her first seventeen years of life. To strike a blow against such a man was to lessen the unrelenting threat that he posed to her well-being.

Then, everything happened at once. Trypano had taken the lamp and was testing it in some manner, finding it to be surprisingly mundane in nature. Ingrid and Desmond were on their way, landing ungracefully. Amelea arrived with considerably less disruption and Onarr... the distinct crackle of Temporal magic was fading from the air, he had disappeared completely, and there was a note tucked into her belt. It was all too much. She took out the note and read it.

Dear compatriots,

I’m afraid that duty has compelled me to return back to my homelands. Trouble has come onto my doorstep and I must confront what I tried to leave behind in my past. I wish you all fortune in your quest and may you become great mages.

May happenstance favor us to meet again in good tidings.

Onarr Yidlob.

Just like that, Penny's hardened shell cracked. Onarr... he'd been one of the first people she'd met, one of the first who'd impressed her and maybe even been impressed by her. They'd shared laughter and drinks and a sense of camaraderie and now... Why didn't you say anything? she wondered. I would've listened. I would've helped! Yet, Penny had only been helping herself as of late: conducting herself in a manner wholly unbefitting of the royalty that she was. She had been petulant, reckless, and self-centered, leaving her allies to die. Without consciously meaning to, she staggered a couple of steps back and sat on the gunwale. You didn't make a real effort to convince Wvysen. You saw her as a burden you didn't want to carry, so you left her alone with potentially hostile pirates. You didn't head back to the others immediately because you were too preoccupied with proving yourself. People died for your inferiority complex.

She realized that, of her original group of four, Anesin was dead, Onarr was gone, and Linah had been all-but pointedly avoiding her. Do I poison everything that I touch? Am I truly cursed to be beloved of Echeran? Penny could feel tears welling up in her eyes. No! she railed at them. Stupid weak girl!

Amelea was looking at her strangely and the Perrenchwoman did not have the energy for it. Dully, she remembered that they had met, as children: Penny, all of seven years old, during that brief period where Papa had come out from under Mama's thumb and tried to introduce her to the world; Amelia a thirteen-year-old exile from her home country, future uncertain, staying as a guest of the Perrench monarchy. "Your highness." The Segonese princess bowed her head slightly to the Perrench one, unknowingly outing Penny in front of her classmates. Something inside of her chest snapped and she responded as an automaton or puppet might, the invisible strings that had controlled her since her childhood returning. "Your highness." The secret, which had remained only among her closest friends - Yvette, Madeleine, and Carmille - to this point, was out and there was no sealing it back in.

If Penny Pellegrin was to give way to Penelope of Perrence, then the latter had best make her presence here meaningful. Further self-concern would not do. "I am who she says: Penelope of Perrence, daughter of King Rouis." Penny paused, and her eyes quickly took in the others. "It is in my best interest to strike a blow against Malatesta, for he has ever sought the ruin of my family and humiliation of my people. I have a clear motivation to support my fellow royal, but I would also pose her the question: what do each of the rest of us have to gain from siding with you? How would this benefit us beyond simple 'riches if we win' - riches that many of us possess or that can be readily manufactured at the Academy. I will risk my life for my own reasons, but I believe that our initiatives, as the ruling class, should burnish our people's quality of life, else they are just selfish and antithetical to our sacred duty. So, in short, I exhort you to be a better sort of royal - the sort that I haven't been but hope to be." She paused, regathering her thoughts. "I ask what you can offer my fellow students beyond an emotional and moral entreaty that is ultimately subjective."

Ismette had quietly appeared aboard during the intervening moments and now turned to Amelea expectantly. The princess took a step back, her eyes darting about the group. They flashed challengingly in Penny's direction. She flipped some hair over her shoulder. "I can promise that Segona will forever be a safe harbour for you and yours," she began. "I can promise to share whatever spoils are ours fairly." Amelea shrugged. "Beyond that, I promise nothing and, instead, ask you a pair of questions. First: why is it that something subjective - a thing that makes people think and feel as opposed to simply answering with a 'fact' - less valuable? It is feelings and opinions that move us to do what we do, not only the facts that they are linked to. Second, and in that vein: why are you here? Unless Ersand'Enise has changed greatly from what I've heard, I doubt that any of you were forced to come. You all volunteered at some point, either for the sake of some personal gain - which you shall receive - or, perhaps, because you wanted to have a positive impact on the world." She was pacing now. "Some agency," she concluded, nodding. "Well, you can make life better for a great many people in Segona because I am a better person to sit that throne than Prospero Malatesta. I am of those people: born and raised among them, and I know their voices and their concerns in a way that some foreign despot who visits twice per year cannot. the Doge views Segona and those who live there as simply another jewel on his crown, another resource to be used in pursuit of some grand design." She turned to them, eyes pained. "To lead my country, my people, is all that I was raised with. To see them thrive is my most sacred duty, by Dami, I swear it. I beg of you to help me set the world right - at least, the one small part of it that is my prerogative - to stop a tyrant from encroaching further, from imposing his will upon more people." She was quite worked up, it seemed. Her chest heaved as she came down from it. "That is all I can say. You are swayed or you are not."

Penny regarded her fellow royal - albeit one who was actually queen uncrowned - and felt something stir inside of her chest. She had come across as cynical, perhaps. She wasn't certain, but she found herself nodding towards the end. "I was perhaps too harsh with you, Amelea," she admitted, remembering the decency that the elder princess had treated her with some ten years prior. "and for that, I apologize, but we've little time to discuss." She pivoted to take in the others. "The Nera was having her hull cleaned in the sea cavern, but I was unable to damage her and she will surely be underway by now and headed our direction. Between our three vessels, we have the flexibility and firepower to overwhelm her. Those of us who are joining the fight had best confer with Captain Falzon and set sail. Ideas are very welcome." Indeed, he was headed over for just such a purpose at present, his skiff drawing close. "Those of you who are not-" Penny cocked her head to one side. "-Kindly remove yourselves and only yourselves from the deck of my ship."

In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Manfred Hohenfelter von Meckelin-Thandau

The entire thing was an illusion. Manfred was no master of that particular art, but he was practiced enough that, when combined with situational factors, he was able to figure it out. Carmillia, apparently, wasn't. That may have brought him some satisfaction. It may not have.

Unfortunately, it didn't much matter whether the ship's arcanists understood what was going on or not. Leon had revealed his hand as a... liberator of the Lyre of Ipte-Zept and they were in pursuit. Violence: Manfred would have to resort to it again. At least they're Rednitz scum, he told himself, hating every bit of his flimsy justification even as he thought it. Perhaps they were just distracted. Maybe they hadn't yet registered that allies of Leon Solaire were no longer their allies.

Whatever the reason, Manfred did not hesitate to act. "Leave her defenseless again," he said simply to Zarra, "you will die." He stalked up behind the closer of the two arcanists, reached out with The Gift, and slammed the heavy metal cap that had fallen from a chandelier into a human head. Escheran willing, merely unconscious, he told himself, muffling the noise of his action. Striding forward in pursuit of his ally, the enemy, and Carmillia, he shot a brief, concerned glance back at Dorothea and drew a pair of loaded flintlock pistols.
In O R I F L A M M E → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Act One: The Defense of Relouse____ __ _ _

Chapter Two: Cometh the Southmen_________ __ __ _ _

𝅘𝅥𝅮
It was well into the Hours of Echeran when it began. The sun sat low in the sky, not quite setting, though it would soon begin its final plunge. The people of Relouse - those who remained - huddled in their homes, their cellars and the great redoubt of the keep, deep in prayer. Ringing out across the fields and the deep rolling waters of the Baie de Relouse, came the bells of Notre-Dame du Cap. Footsteps thundered on the wooden stairs as monks hurried up the belltower of the church of Dami, Père Sage. Finally, those of Saint. Defrois cathedral itself sounded the alarm, and the knights, soldiers, and magicians of the Grande Armée knew that the time was nigh. They said their final prayers and prepared themselves for battle. The Eskandr had come.

A mile and a half off of Cape Redame, the leading ships of the Great Heathen Army crested the horizon: over a thousand of their striped and patterned sails silhouettes in the light of the dying sun. The waves of the Parrench Sea roiled and snapped at their dragon-headed longships, spitting spray and fury in their faces. It was as if even the very waters of this place were fighting them, the strange gods of the Pentad protecting their peoples.

Clad in the great dark cloak for which he was named, stood Hrothgar the Black, king of Eskandr kings. The deck below his feet pitched and rolled in the heavy seas, but his was the Gift as few others possessed, and he remained steady and planted with a preternatural ease. Yet, this was not some mere show of strength, for on the deck with him were twenty-four of the greatest shamans, magicians, and holy men that his nation could muster. All of them were straining to their very limits in the throes of a duty that they had been training and preparing for months ahead of time. Anyone watching from the cliffs of Cape Redame would not see his ship. They would not see the colossal spell that their enemy had planned, or... rather, they would. Amid the immense strain of the Arcane, the king of kings managed a small, toothy smile. These greenlanders would not know what had hit them.

Yet, up on the cliffs by the monastery, there were some who knew all too well what was coming. Yet they stood unafraid as the enemy fleet drew nearer. They had all lived enough to be skeptical every time they were told that a 'great army' of Eskandr was headed their way. Yet, some glanced nervously amongst themselves. Others made the Sign of the Pentad. The longships just kept coming. The Parrench had expected to have a numbers advantage, as they often did, but there were not hundreds of ships. Not even so few as a thousand. A chill traveled up more than one spine. Were they to believe their eyes, the enemy fleet seemed virtually endless.

The battle was joined some three hundred yards from the grey cliffs. The longships were strung out in a great line, stretching well past the horizon. There were simply too many of them to land all at once. Nonetheless, as the leading edge of the fleet came within range, the catapults and ballistas opened fire, their projectiles empowered by the magic of Chune and Echeran. These rained death upon the Eskandr and their own magical defenses were at a full stretch to deflect or absorb as much of the determined Parrench barrage as possible. A half-dozen of the dragon-headed ships exploded into flames or splinters, masts toppling, people screaming, steam rising as they were consumed by the waves.

Yet, there were so many more, and they unleashed a withering return fire. Fireballs, lightning bolts, and telekinetic slams hammered the dogged defenders, and many were forced to take cover. Hundreds of arrows took flight, many dropping short but many more finding their mark. Great chunks were carved from the cliffs. Rock gave way and hit the seas with an erupting splash. The very ground collapsed from under a catapult and the soldiers and monks manning it fell to their deaths. A fireball struck one of the towers of the old Avincian era church, and it collapsed in a shower of boulders and dust, bells letting out one last discordant cry. Chunks shot out in every direction, spraying the defenders, and the king's banner that had flown atop it disappeared from view. This was far more than they had expected - far more than the defenders closer to the city might be ready for. More than one rider suggested sending word before it was too late and the armies had met.

Meanwhile, the Eskandr had filled the fleeting gaps in their line with ruthless efficiency, each ship's decks loaded with warriors shouting and beating their chests, rabid with the bloodlust of the coming battle and the chance to carve their names into the history books. For those who didn't live to ask in the glory awaited the Visitor's great table at Grønhalle: a fine consolation. Finally, from out among their great many number began to spread a mist: an unnatural one that left them room to maneuver close to shore but that obscured the next waves of the attack.

The small advance party at the Cape found itself significantly outgunned. In particular, there must've been a Thunder Warlock*1 of extreme power. Lighting flashed down from the heavens with stunning power and precision, striking ballistas, catapults, and towers. It cooked knights in their armour and melted spears to slag. Yet, as the mighty attacks from the sky became more frequent, others began to tail off. A final few ships trickled out from the mists, which lingered, yet to dissipate, and the fleet that had so terrorized the Parrench now occupied the Bay of Relouse in its entirety. Though perhaps not quite so large as the defenders had feared in their initial anxiousness, it was nonetheless an enormous force, far outstripping that of any conventional raid.

Racing back already from the first, indecisive engagement, some hoping to hit the landing enemies from an unexpected direction, came the surviving members of the force from Cape Redame. They watched as the very first of the enemies leapt from their longships in the shallows, struggling to make landfall in a land that was not their own.


Meanwhile, quite a ways distant, by Bridal Veil Falls and hidden amongst the swamps of the Witch Woods, a rear guard comprised mainly of yasoi and Drudgunzean allies waited, ready to defend the camp against a flanking maneuver or diversionary landing or even to be called to shore up any gaps in the line should they be needed. That the main landing was taking place some ways down the beach was evident. Already, those not too deep in the foliage could hear the sounds of battle and see the flashes of fire, lightning, and other magics being employed. For many of these people, the war being fought was not theirs, but they recognized - variously - the danger that the Eskandr posed to all should they succeed here, the opportunity for profit, or the word of Lady Talit'yrash'osmax, the fifth wheel dervish who would someday likely inherit the title of Baroness of Loriindton.

So, imagine their surprise when, from around the point of the Île Contrefort and the little cabin perched on the rocky islet there, rolled a great, all-consuming mist at an unnatural pace. From it emerged longship after longship, hurtling with immense speed toward the cliffs. The Force magic expended was palpable. Grappling hooks shot out by the hundreds and other warriors - those skilled enough in the Gift - leapt the hundred-plus feet and landed on Parrench ground. The final sliver of sun perched on the sea, its light shrouded and diffused by the mists. Then, an enormous warrior, clad from head to toe in black armour crafted from dragonscale, landed in a crouch, a spiderweb of cracks in the ground spreading out from where he now stood. There were some who did not know who he was, but he nonetheless cut a fearsome figure. Those who did, however, would recognize Kol, the Death's Hand: King of Sturmreef.

Clinging to the tallest tree that she could find with one hand and the heel-spur of her climbing boot, Lady Talit scanned the emergin force. This was it, then: the Eskandr gambit. They would draw off defenders by sending a small force under Death's Hand around the back. Attack the camps, harry the Market Gate, make people panic and commit too many troops to stopping them. Reaching out with a fifth wheel's Blood Magic, she grabbed hold of hundreds of branches within a three hundred yard radius, twisting them into a series of signals:

Fight. Here. No. Backup. Avoid. Enemy. King.

She knew who she had. None of them could match a monster like that, not with four moons in the fast-darkening sky. Better to frustrate him with movement and illusion, pick off his forces, and grind down their will. One did not face yasoi in the trees and survive. She would take out as many as she could. Then, she would deal with their king. Still, she thought, as she pushed off of the tree and latched on with her grappling chains to the next, they keep coming. This was... very large for a diversionary force.


Sir Rodric Danneman of Lindermetz had come ostensibly to make up for his shame in not besting that pagan woman mercenary in single combat. Indeed, there was still the remnants of a bruise near his temple, nearly faded, to act as a reminder.

Yet, he'd have found a way to be here regardless. His mother was Parrench. The Parrench were a civilized people. The Eskandr were not. Most of all, though, he just enjoyed putting his skills to use.

The first wave landed amid a hail of magic, projectiles, and traps, yet they were not stupid. They began with fire: great cleansing coordinated blasts of it that burned away wooden obstacles, sent defenders reeling, and even dried out much of the ground itself. Eschiran! That's some serious Arcane power! the knight thought. Yet, for all of their flash, they were still ruthlessly mauled. Mostly older men and some women, hair greying, strength fading, sons and daughters well raised, Rodric knew what they were: the sacrificial vanguard, fighting solely to die bravely and take their place in Groan-Hall or whatever it was these heathens called it. So be it, decided the Linderman. He would send many on their way.

Like a hot knife through lard, he scythed through these Eskandr, the power of illusion allowing him to step past one's guard and the next. They died screaming the names of their bloodthirsty gods, some crying tears of both fear and joy and Rodric found himself disgusted. All around him, the first line of the Parrench king's forces were engaged with the Southmen, and the line was holding. The Drudgunzean knight reached out then, with the Gift, to search for what was next. So chaotic was the battlefield that he did not trust his more mundane senses. It was hard not to feel confident. There were many more Eskandr to come, but they were being effectively funneled and had not yet gotten past so much as the beach itself.

Then, Sir Rodric blinked. He redoubled his efforts, blinking again in confusion. He cast about and, already the clamour of battle seemed to be fading. People normally had energy: essence, force, and arcane most simply, and he had sensed a great deal of generalized energy from the onrushing ships as they had approached, but he sensed none from their direction now. A cold, icy ball congealed in the pit of his stomach just as a distinct pattern of lightning strikes flashed in his far right peripheral, up near Bridal Veil Falls and the Witch Wood. We've been taken, the knight realized, as the first of the ghost ships hit shore and dissipated. Just like Vitroux: Hook, line, and sinker.


In the lee of a series of great boulders, both ancient and recently carved from the cliffs off of Cape Redame, Hrothgar the Black smiled between his gritted teeth. The first of his ghost fleet had reached shore and the hardest part was over. They'd released the miasma of heat and essences they'd conjured in the water to fool those looking for energy among the nonexistent ships. The king took a moment to let his eyes dart about. Two of the warlocks had collapsed. A shaman was throwing up over the side of the boat. It had worked, though. He breathed a bit, still focused on reaching out and bending the light. Let the illusion continue. Let them grow accustomed to it. Let it make them uneasy and afraid to commit. Kol would've landed about now, and many of the outstanding warriors his old brother in arms had drawn to himself, like the Twice-Born and that huntress of Ulven, would be with him. That his other old comrade from the days of Mørkt Fjell were here, he did not know. Things were more complicated with the Drudgunzeans these days as their kings turned sour and they fought internal struggles for the soul of their nations.

What was not as complicated, however, was what would come next. Soon, the illusion could be dispelled. The landing would be complete and he would join the battle. That Parrench boy-king with his disgusting beardless face that looked like a young girl's would be met with Hrothgar's sword. This, he swore to Brother, that the Parrench kingdom might be destroyed and his people left to live the way that they always had.





1) Sweyn Thunderspear is one of King Hrothgar's ten elite warriors: the Æresvaktr. A fifth wheel thunderchild warlock, he specializes in thunder magic, with secondary abilities in blood and force.
In SANDSTRIDERS: A Lost Land → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Azar was normally... a light sleeper. She'd learned to be over the past few years. So, when her door reeled open and the guards marched inside, she was already leaping to her feet. The good things didn't last. They never did. She stood there, robe gathered about her and fists clenched as she listened to the Imit's - or rather, his servant's - accusation. You stupid, lying maggot, she thought, but her eyes turned not to Mamuno, but rather to the servant girl. Her temperature rose. Flames quietly licked and writhed along her skin.

For a moment, Azar was about to angrily protest her innocence in the traditional way. She had not done the deed, of course, even though she'd briefly considered it. Yet - Damn it! - she knew a setup for what it was. She knew it because... in other capacities, she had done nearly the same thing. She glared unflinchingly at the servant through a gap between two of the guards' heads and her rage built. She let out a quick, angry snort from her nostrils and her gaze flicked Mamuno's way. "Your worship," she admitted, struggling to keep her tone composed and just about succeeding, "If you have your men check this room right now, you will almost certainly find jewellery stolen from this household." Her chest heaved with anger and anxiety. Her fists clenched so tightly that they hurt. Lying bitch! screamed a voice within her. Burn her to ash! Make her suffer! Some of that anger even leaked over onto the Imit himself, but she had enough of a primary target that she could deflect it - hide it. "I cannot say where: maybe even under the pillow, if this thief or her accomplices were stupid. Unless they are merely trying to frame me out of personal vendetta, there will be more that they do not find."

Azar took a couple of steps forward, but no more. If she could get around the guards... if she could, her mind's eye visualized what she would do, how she would burn this lying wretch alive, how the girl would scream and beg for mercy and regret her ploy in her final moments. The ayiralite's hands trembled with fury. She unclenched and clenched them again. "I say this because I have done it. I am ashamed to admit that I have not always followed the Gods well, may they offer me mercy, but I would not abuse the generosity of a gracious and - more importantly - powerful host." Azar shook her head. "It is the oldest trick in the book, your worship, and a man of your wisdom should well know it." It killed her, grovelling like this, but something within her burned with a desire to be exonerated, to see the one who deserved it and not herself be punished. Then, everything else could rot, for all she cared. She spread her hands. "You sssteeeaal something," she hissed, eyes locked on the cowering servant girl. "When you find a guest who looks... conveniently untrustworthy." Her voice slithered and snapped like a snake's. She paused and her tone changed for a moment as she glanced toward the Imit. "And let's be honest: I look like a thieving wretch; I well know it. Then," Azar concluded, raising a pointer in the air, a lick of flame flaring from its tip, "you blame that innocent person for what you or your accomplices did. Profit!" she snarled.

She began to draw, then, from the plane, fire and fury filling her veins. "I am not your enemy," she began evenly, "Truly, and I make no claims to whatever you may find in this room, but should anyone seek to harm my person, the ayiralite warned, her eyes flashing at the guards like those of a very dangerous, very cornered animal, "I will return his violence thousandfold!"
In O R I F L A M M E → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
_ __ ____Battle Map of Relouse____ __ _


Full Interactive Battle Map of Relouse and the Surrounding Environs
In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
D E S E R T E D
♪

They saddled up at the gatehouse and it was telling that the animals the small convoy mounted were camels and not horses. Lingering in some minds as they gazed out across the desolate terrain may have been the Warden's response to Ysilla's strange question from a few hours earlier. "Everyday," he had said, narrowing his flinty eyes, "I have nightmares of this place being consumed: swallowed by the shifting sands of los Páramos Sin Fin."*1 He had shaken his head and his voice had lowered. "You do not know it like I do, girl. I pray you never will." He had moved on quickly.

It was near to midday as they set off, canopies above their heads, a couple of supply animals loaded down mostly with water. A distant breeze undulated across the shallow dunes, ghostly waves of sand writhing in its embrace. When it reached the group of ten - for Marceline, two guards, and a quiet, leathery-skinned ranger named Escarra were with them - it did not provide any relief. Hot air blasted them and they were forced to shield their eyes and clasp their lips shut until Jocasta drew from the desert and forced its winds to swirl around rather than through them.

As they ventured further into the desert, the midday sun beat down on them and Escarra stopped to check his map more than once, consulting with the guards or Marceline. The latter smiled and nodding, pointing this way or that, clearly happy to be out of the Refuge or perhaps to be in his company. The ranger, for his part, said few things once he had finished teaching some who had never ridden a camel before how to do it. He perched upon his camel like a lizard on a rock: barely moving at all but seeming to see everything. Occasionally, he would call out with a word or a hand gesture to marshal them to stay close. Given his taciturn nature, understated competence, and what they had already seen of this place, there was little argument.

The swirling sands gave way to something rockier, as outcroppings rose into the burning sun. Sips from flasks were stolen at increasing opportunity and animals were spotted here and there in the distance, particularly halassa. Marceline explained with great enthusiasm that windier days like this one were idea for them, as many smaller animals preferred to shelter or spent time shoring up their burrows and nests. It was easy hunting should they seek meet and there were more roots exposed should they have favoured that.

It wasn't long before the group's first encounter, and it was a harrowing one. As a set of low cliffs and hoodoos rose up around them, a pack of five halassa started to come uncomfortably close. These were driven off twice by Escarra and once by one of the guards. Then, one made a grab for one of the baggage camels and the crack of a rifle echoed through the dry air. Spooked, the giant tortoises backed off, only to begin doubling back some thirty seconds later. There were five of them and it would not be a pleasant fight. "Be ready," Marceline warned the others, and a few of them started to gather their magic. Escarra held a hand out in a placating gesture, however, and they saw him pull out his rifle. To his lips, he brought the whistle hanging from a colourful string around his neck.

The halassa came closer and he blew a strange, deep note on it. Frozen for a second, the lead beast took a bullet perhaps an inch above one of its eyes. It grunted and snorted, flinching belatedy, and the entire pack scampered off into the desert. "Missed your shot, old man," teased one of the guards: a young guy with a large nose and a resting smirk.

Escarra shook his head and spat. "I didn't." They continued into the heart of los Páramos Sin Fin and the winds picked up further. The grizzled ranger pointed in the direction of some shallow cliffs and the convoy turned to follow his lead. "Hey Manuel!" called Marceline, "Are we gonna stop up there?"

Escarra nodded.

Taking that as a cue, the guard who'd teased him spurred his mount on and took the lead. "Exploraré por delante."*2 The senior ranger clucked his tongue and those closest to him could see his face tighten, but he said nothing.

Moments later, the lead guard and his camel went still. From around a small rise came a great angry snort. They had mere seconds to react before a Rhinodon came charging out. The foolish young guard who'd drawn its ire at least managed to save himself, but the angry herbivore continued its charge, forcing people to dodge or dive away. Even Zarina's attempts to calm it did nothing, and it skidded to a stop, turned, and began lining itself up for another charge.

It didn't follow through, however. Sniffing the air, it flicked its ears and its tail back and forth, before trotting briskly away. "The hoodoos!" shouted Escarra, "now!" and he coaxed his camel into a gallop. In the distance, what had seemed a large hazy ridge revealed itself as the leading edge of a sizable sandstorm. It gained on them with frightening speed, but they had enough of a lead that they reached the hoodoos, slipped in through a small gap, and were able to hunker down and ride out what ended up being a rather brief storm.

Interestingly, the winds had revealed ruins among the cliffs, built right into them and it was in the shade of these that they took an early afternoon meal - not deep inside, though, Escarra had warned, for there were a great many animals that liked to live in places such as that, and it was their domain now.

Some people talked as they ate, and Marceline joined them belatedy, unable to walk without assistance and the Gift in the deep sand. The two guards played a card game, and Jocasta disappeared into a darkened room for a few minutes before returning and joining her peers. Escarra, meanwhile, sat off to the side, separate from the others but not entirely inaccessible to them. He spent most of his time cleaning his rifle and checking his equipment. His eyes scanned the area twice every minute and he ate mostly without chewing.

"We ride two and a half more hours," the ranger said as they remounted their camels. "If we don't find it, it's not in this direction." The sun was now no longer directly overhead. It was towards the latter half of Oraff's hours and the sand, where it was not cloaked in shadow, positively boiled. Wrapped in desert whites, they could feel the heat rising from below. Those whose feet yet lived found it leeching up through their shoes.

They had been on the move again for scarcely more than five minutes when Jocasta and Marceline exchanged a look. The former rode towards the back of the group in a modified saddle, useless legs strapped to her animal, and the latter paced her. The two women looked to Yalen, who could yet ride normally, but all three tethered seemed to have a moment of agreement. "I can feel it," announced the youngest of the trio, moving up closer to the head of the pack. She pointed further down the canyon. "Not sure exactly how far." She glanced back towards Jocasta and the older girl took a moment to catch up. "About...uh... eight miles away," she decided, and Escarra scowled, brow furrowed in momentary thought. "Then we go," he announced. "On the return, no dinner." Suiting words to action, he coaxed some more speed out of his camel, and the group pressed forward.

The ruins faded from view and their world became the blue sky above, the greyish-gold sand below, and the steady rhythmic rocking of their mounts. To either side stretched increasingly imposing canyon walls and, occasionally, they would sight some animal scampering about. Most unnerving by far were the froabasses that roosted along the top. They had thus far managed to avoid any unpleasant encounters with the beasts, but the twenty to thirty foot dragons were known to be voracious predators. "Into Ejiran's throat we go," murmured the older of the guards as a pair of them circled on the thermals overhead. He made the Sign of the Pentad.

Yet it was not the froabasses that troubled them. Two more hours and one quick water break passed in uneasy anticipation and they drew ever nearer to the aberration that was their goal. Once again, the Tethered were first to feel something and Jocasta leaned in towards their guide. "There is a wyrm," she told Escarra quietly, eyes sliding over to the others.

He nodded, unpanicked. "How far?"

"About a mile," she warned. "It was inert before. It has awoken."

"The storm," he replied, "has stirred up the animals. It hunts."

Marceline appeared beside them. "Uhhh, there's a sand wyrm," she warned. Jocasta twisted and nodded. "We know. It isn't headed toward us yet. Go tell the others."

Escarra's eyes peered out through folds of white cloth, searching for something. He twisted in his saddle. then, after a moment, he raised his arm and pointed to an area some two to three hundred yards ahead where the cliffs tumbled down into the sand and there was ample rocky ground. The group began making their way and the progress was good. Everyone had gotten to be at last competent in riding by this point, and none questioned the instructions that had kept them alive to this juncture.

Then the sand moved.

Everybody froze for a moment, and the ranger held up a fist, demanding complete stillness. Necks craned hesitantly, waiting to see if it would come their way, but fate's dice refused to take their part today and, with a great tremor the sands of la Garganta del Ejiran*3 quivered. One of the camels in the baggage train panicked and began to gallop off in a different direction. "Go!" shouted Escarra, "Go now!"

A wave of sand built behind them and they set their camels on a gallop, the beasts' instincts doing most of the work. The wave gained but Zarina was not with them. Reaching out with words and, perhaps, the Gift, she brought the stray camel back down from its panic and hurried to catch up with the others. One by one, they reached the safety of the rocks, some with perhaps only a couple tens of yards to spare. The Sand Wyrm barely slowed at the lost opportunity, plowing forward in the shallow sand, and carving a great furrow behind it. It was lost upon nobody that the aberration was less than a mile distant and the enormous sand dragon was headed straight for it.

"Don Escarra!" shouted the younger guard, "We have to stop it!"

"If it takes in the aberración," added the other, "Who knows what-"

"Shut up!" the ranger snapped, and it was jarring to hear him speak that way, so calm and steady had he been up to now. He gave the signal for complete quiet. His eyes were looking up.

Already, six or seven froabasses were in the sky, and more were joining them every moment, clacking and circling overhead. As the group watched, a pod of hibernating Sand Cows, their burrow revealed by the wyrm's path, began to stir. One of the froabases came streaking in like a comet and plowed into the sand not ten yards from the sheltering convoy. A great cloud was kicked up in the struggle and there were flashes of the dragon thrashing its prey about.

Then, came the chittering screech of a dozen more of the beasts and they hit the sand like meteors, roaring, snapping, and feeding in a blood-crazed frenzy.

It was too much for the camels. In the immediate presence of a nearby predator, they panicked and bolted, an instinct to hug the cliff walls (where the froabasses could not swoop down on them) and run taking over. Only Escarra and Zarina managed to control theirs. Everyone else was exposed, and the results were grisly. First it was the older guard, ripped from his mount, struggling and screaming, and then the younger. He cried out for his mother and was torn in two as a second froabas came. The camels fared better, but not by much. One from the baggage train and one of the guards' met bloody ends, and it was chaos: all chaos. People attacked with what they could of the Gift. A couple were thrown by their mounts. Kaspar's was snatched out from under him and the Helbahnishman avoided death by perhaps inches, slamming it with a barrier and hurling himself into the sand.

All around, the dragons flapped and swarmed. There must've been more than two dozen. Magic speared more than one from the sky, or hammered them on the ground, but the beasts were durable, quick, and had some mana of their own, making many of the tactics that the students had employed the previous evening against the mad halassa unusable.

Zarina hit on something else, though. As Escarra was controlling his camel, galloping about in a spiral pattern meant to distract the froabasses and shooting at them, one took notice and hurtled directly at him. Then, it pulled back. The closest half-dozen of the beasts did the same, tearing meat away from dead sand cows, camels, humans, and their own kin, satisfied with their meals. For a moment, it looked like the Virangishwoman had saved them.

Then, the rest of the flock sensed weakness. Plunging down from every direction they came: nearly twenty of the beasts. Escarra kept firing, praying loudly in an unknown language as he went, but even his pinpoint accuracy did little. It seemed time for the students to make peace with their gods.

The froabases went still: frozen unnaturally in place. Sound deadened and one could not even hear his own breath. The very sky itself seemed to grow darker for a moment. Then, they saw it: Jocasta. The tethered girl rose into the air, hair writhing around her like golden snakes. Energy flooded into her small body like water spiraling down a drain. Escarra collapsed into the sand, wretching. Marceline staggered and fell. The pressure was immense! So much energy! It built in people's heads. It hammered their stomachs and organs: ungodly, unnatural!

Their schoolmate trembled, drawing still more. Beads of sweat stained her skin and clothes. Her eyes grew bloodshot. Then, the energy changed. It was... more like what they had felt in the Paradigm's tower: a strange, forbidden magic. They blinked, or perhaps they did not, and the froabases were gone: gone as if they had never even been there.

A cool breeze swept the sands and whistled along the cliffs. Jocasta dropped to the ground, limp, with a light a thud. The sun burned in the sky with all of its usual vigour.

Marceline struggled to her knees, hurrying over with the assistance of the Gift. Jocasta lay partially face down, crumpled in something like the fetal position, but she was breathing. Croucching in the lengthening shadows, the others turned her over. "I tried to get the wyrm," she rasped, "but I couldn't. The froabasses are... nine miles from here, with their food. They won't be bothering us anymore." She blinked a couple of times, clearly woozy, and tried to sit up, but she needed help to do it. With a quick, brusque thanks, she brushed the hands away. "We need to stop the wyrm. It's headed for the aberration. If it gets there..." She paused. A dark look had crossed Marceline's face. Kneeling in the sand, she knit and unknit her fingers and shook her head tightly. "I cannot sense the aberration anymore," she squeaked, looking to Yalen for confirmation. "I fear we are too late."




In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

As Penny witnessed the strange girl's approach, her heart started crawling up her throat for a moment. You made a hole in my ship! she screamed inwardly, stalking towards the stairs where Tyrpano emerged. But then the hole was sealed and she knew, as a Binder herself, that it had been a fairly easy thing to do. What irked her was the tone, the entitled body language - the lording of her height - and the near-glare. It reminded Penny of the way that her mother had always addressed her and spawned an instant and intense reactionary dislike.

"Oh, hello to you too," the Perrenchwoman shot back. "You want a summary?" She tilted her head to one side, the tricorn hat nearly sliding loose. She had to keep this professional. Besides, people had been looking down on her for entire life. This one wasn't any different. She sighed. "It's a dynastic struggle. Just... played out through piracy. Amelia owns the Nera and she's using it to hit back at the Doge." She shrugged. "I avoided the Doge's Breeches because-"that's just nasty. Who'd wanna go into a Doge's breeches? She sensed that her teammate was a being bereft of humour, however, and skipped the joke. "A pair of Perrenchwomen walking into a Revidian stronghold and asking questions about attacks on Revidian ships when the two countries are on the brink of war is just daft." Penny waved dismissively. "Tried to convince Wvysen and only got silence. She's a big girl and can make her own poor decisions. I saw tracks along the shore, went to check them out, and got kidnapped." she continued. "Long story short, I broke out and did some snooping along the way. Killed a few pirates before they could kill me and stole a couple ships in my escape. Not sure how I'm not dead. Just kept going and here I am." She hobbled to the side and plucked the journal off of a stool. "Got her journal: just sitting out there to be had. It's an awful read." She arched an eyebrow. "But a very convenient piece of evidence." Penny plunked it back down and motioned with her chin beneath the stool. "There was that lantern too. I thought it could be Chune-Sept's, since I know that we were briefed on an artifact. It's probably just an old lantern or a decoy at best, but it didn't hurt to grab, just in case." She tilted her head again. "That's my side. What's yours? Long version. They're taking their sweet time ashore anyway."
In The Hourglass Order → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
B L A C K F L A G


♪

Amelia could sense the noose tightening. She had neither the time nor the energy for it. These people were a threat in their own right. Ingrid, whose life she'd saved, was eyeing her the way a dog eyed a steak on the table. Desmond's hand upon her was... far more threatening than comforting. He was trying to hide some kind of signal behind his back. She'd almost missed it, but she'd grown up around hidden meanings and whispered messages. She shrugged him off and backed away. Her eyes darted warily about. "You're all about to turn on me, aren't you?" she said defiantly, backing away. "But you're... not Prospero's people," she thought aloud, eyes wide and brow furrowed. She glanced about at the corpses and then back at the threatening group. "...They were." She stood there for a moment, haunted. "...How?" she practically mouthed. Amelia paced tightly then, a few steps each way before remembering that she was not among friends. "Tell me, honestly," she demanded, whirling to look at Desmond. "Were you truly sent to rescue me, and by whom?"

"We are from Ersand'Enise. We were sent here by Paradigm Hunghorasz to do three things-" Desmond stepped forward with a cold expression, losing all trace of emotion, much more like a mask as he spoke in a calm and commanding tone, seeming to hide a growing sense of anger, "-rescue Princes Amelea of Segona, retrieve the possible artifact the Maria Nera has, and kill the Captain."

As he stepped forward he looked down on her, only his eyes breaking his mask-like expression, as they seemed to relay every emotion he felt. He continued, "We lost one of our people, another one is confirmed dead, and I have not trusted you since the moment I met you. So you tell me how I would react?"

"Goddammit, now's not the time! she shouted, rubbing at her temples and half turning. "I mean: yes. Yes, I lied. I thought you were lying. I know my uncle - Prospero, that throne-stealing slimy eel - has friends at the school. At first, I thought you were just some useful idiot who might be an ally, but once you said you were from there and it was too late to just run, and I thought you were working for him, for sure. I was going to lose you in the city - fake my own death. I had... people who were going to distract you." She pulled her hands back from her face nervously, opening and clasping them, as if she didn't quite know what to do. "Oh Gods, oh Dami, oh Eshiran!" She pivoted to take them all in. "I have been less than forthright. I apologize. Truly, I'm sorry, but there is still a chance to salvage the situation," she continued desperately. She took a deep quick breath and exhaled. "My uncle, Prospero Malatesta, was to be my regent after my father and brother died. I was ten. You know the rest. He took over. He rules Segona like it's an extension of his realm: another source of people and plunder for his war machine."

Her face was flushed. Anybody who reached out to sense her energy could plainly feel the heightened pulse within her. "Maybe you have heard that I'm called 'The Ghost' by some. It is because I lived the past fourteen years under house arrest, except for when I was to be trotted out for the odd function. Godsdammit!" she cursed. "I escaped a few months ago. I came here because it was beyond the reach of the law, beyond the reach of his many, many friends... or so I thought." She shook her head, as Onarr was healed behind them and cleanup efforts continued. "My goal was to recruit loyal Segonese - we're good sailors - and to start building a resistance. It was to free myself, win back my throne, and free my people." She shook her head tightly, wrapping arms around her small figure.

"But the bastard knew, or he found out." She sighed shakily. "When he couldn't find me, thanks to my friends here, he decided to use my name." Her fists clenched open and closed. "The Maria Nera is not my ship," she hissed. "But that she were: what I could do with her!" She breathed a bit more calmly. "She is a fabrication of the Doge: a false flag creweed by his own people meant to make me an outlaw and a danger so that he can justify eliminating me without being named kinslayer." She laughed bitterly. "Ever question why the Nera sinks all the ships that she catches? Why nobody but the most loyal Revidians have ever seen her? Why every. single. target. is Revidian?" Her face scrunched up and she half-turned towards the waterfront, off in the direction of The Main. "Ask the Dorvalish, if you don't believe me." she begged, "Ask them about the registry of the ships that went missing: all Prospero's ships and his friends' ships. Ask them about the prices of goods that soared from the thefts, about who stocked up on those right before the ships were 'plundered' and 'sunk'."

Dazed, she sat on a curb. "Gods, we've been played. All of us: you, me, my allies." She exhaled, shaking her head in disbelief. "Hugo Hunghorasz and the Doge are friend, or else they pretend to be, at arm's length, for the sake of mutual interest." She chewed on her lower lip nervously. "You were sent to retrieve me so that I would poke my head out of hiding. He had his people ready to pounce. News travels very quickly here." She gestured at the carnage around them, silhouetted against the backdrop of a slowly lightening sky. "Then we have this fight and the evil rotten crew of the 'Nera' - myself and you - lay waste to the town and prove that I need to be stopped. We were supposed to have lost to those Black Rezaindians Prospero sent, I imagine: those men and women of faith, sent to bring me to justice." She looked up at the others. "We're patsies, she said simply. "He outplayed us, and now I'm sure the Nera will be coming, loaded with whatever Black Rezaindians, pirates, and mercenary mages his money can muster."

Amelia of Segona rose and dusted herself off. "I am going to fight them, one way or another, with or without you. She backed away once more, fishing a whistle from the folds of her dress and blowing it in a distinct high-pitched pattern. The sound reverberated through the air, enhanced by liberal use of sonic magic. "But I will die," the princess concluded, "by my own hand if need be - for I will not let anymore shed blood for me unless they offer it freely. I will die before I let you take me."

They shuffled into the plaza by the waterfront, then: first a handful, then ten, then dozens. Some had already been there, among the growing crowd, among the rescuers and accusers. They began to gather around their rightful queen. "But there is another way," she offered. "I know I've no right to ask you, but I can promise rich reward should we win the day." She smirked. "The Nera's winnings are substantial indeed, and whatever does not go to fund our war effort would be yours to do whatever you wished with."

It was Ismette who spoke first. "Say we do trust you," she said. "And get involved in your war." She glanced between Amelia and her fellow students. "How is this not a suicide mission? Why not run? Cut your losses, get safe, and live to fight another day? I mean..." She glanced around and tilted her head to one side, not entirely unsympathetic. "You don't even have a ship."

"That's... not strictly true," said a particularly greasy-looking pirate, stepping through the crowd. It was Xavier Falzon, the Dorvalish pirate from The Main. He crossed his arms, eyes flicking over to Ingrid and Onarr. "Sorry for rippin' yeh off before. Thought you was against the Princess here." He cleared his throat as a few more of his crew came up behind him. "I'd have preferred not to, but the Nera's market manipluation's gotta stop. Plus, I gave Lady Amelia my word and Xavier Falzon is a man who... usually keeps that." He removed his hat and bowed his head slightly. St. Elmo's Fyre is at your service, my lady."


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