Torus' Insight is a 12.
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Tanto Monta
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Sanity is not statistical.
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Sword and words boomed thunder, bellowing in concert from bard and paladin, swarming the fretful raven with a tornado of missed blows, sadly full of testimonial setback. Stem and stamen curbed lesser enthusiasm towards the Celestial, while the pirate, as a garnish, seared merely but a few plumes with his musical detonation. The prostrated vale received their rumbling sacrilege, only offering hints of threshed dew to honor their magical heresy. Likewise, the bird was none too pleased. These worshiped woods had continuously endured as its domain, unadulterated and ancient, now spoiled by these young trespassers.
The ever smiling Tabaxi, however, was slightly more serendipitous; seeking swift disassembly, she constructed an unroofed hurricane of malignant strikes, imploding one of the mythic trio into small stone.
Curious.
Its flinty template shared similarities with her master’s broken gem. The cleric’s gaze of the glimmer expired as paws rushed the treasure into cryptic branches; the great feline now laid in wait for the avian’s next choreography. Meanwhile, the heroic pirate recited freedom from the pounce of his predator, simultaneously declaring inspiration to the roosting Cheshire.
“Give them a taste of their own medicine!”
To the former librarian, the angle of each of the feathered beast’ shoulders telegraphed that flight was imminent. Theodore attempted liberation, to no avail, aborting his crossbow to birth two blades from their scabbards. Time cried short, no longer allowing the Templar to reap any further adoption. With the flaps of charcoal wings, both of the aeronautical expeditions were off.
One with trepidation. Another with its sport.
The warlock spun, in place, once more, weaving momentum to feed an orb of radiance. She discerned that the cultist’s heritage would likely protect him of the impending brightness. Yet, his resultant fall evolved as a rationed consequence. With one last pivot, Wick surgically flung the brilliant sphere at the monster slayer and his grappler, consuming both in the propelled glare. After the luminary dissipated, the grotesque buzzard remained aloft with its game, angrily squawking and crowing below the hidden monk.
The diviner possessed one final ploy in her arsenal. Concentrating further, her embedded curse still survived with little repercussion against the fluttering of ornithological limbs.
Again, no release.
Annoyed, her pure gums contrived verbal scurvy, desperately issuing syllables of names and commands as she rushed after the other retreating vulture.
“Haemar! Katia! Combine your efforts! Tame their departures. Lest all suffer loss.”
@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Zverda
The ever smiling Tabaxi, however, was slightly more serendipitous; seeking swift disassembly, she constructed an unroofed hurricane of malignant strikes, imploding one of the mythic trio into small stone.
Curious.
Its flinty template shared similarities with her master’s broken gem. The cleric’s gaze of the glimmer expired as paws rushed the treasure into cryptic branches; the great feline now laid in wait for the avian’s next choreography. Meanwhile, the heroic pirate recited freedom from the pounce of his predator, simultaneously declaring inspiration to the roosting Cheshire.
“Give them a taste of their own medicine!”
To the former librarian, the angle of each of the feathered beast’ shoulders telegraphed that flight was imminent. Theodore attempted liberation, to no avail, aborting his crossbow to birth two blades from their scabbards. Time cried short, no longer allowing the Templar to reap any further adoption. With the flaps of charcoal wings, both of the aeronautical expeditions were off.
One with trepidation. Another with its sport.
The warlock spun, in place, once more, weaving momentum to feed an orb of radiance. She discerned that the cultist’s heritage would likely protect him of the impending brightness. Yet, his resultant fall evolved as a rationed consequence. With one last pivot, Wick surgically flung the brilliant sphere at the monster slayer and his grappler, consuming both in the propelled glare. After the luminary dissipated, the grotesque buzzard remained aloft with its game, angrily squawking and crowing below the hidden monk.
The diviner possessed one final ploy in her arsenal. Concentrating further, her embedded curse still survived with little repercussion against the fluttering of ornithological limbs.
Again, no release.
Annoyed, her pure gums contrived verbal scurvy, desperately issuing syllables of names and commands as she rushed after the other retreating vulture.
“Haemar! Katia! Combine your efforts! Tame their departures. Lest all suffer loss.”
@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Zverda
Myths bore seeds of truth after all.
The pirate quickly interjected into the obliviousness that mingled amongst the breaths of this zealot’s captors. His robes paced behind the shackled fanatic, in order to garner attention for the subsequent omen. Torus knew spectators required a visual vault for their eyes and hearts, to command the registration that quivered prophecies through the ages. Clearing his parched throat, the druid’s lips divorced to preach of an eternal sin, that plagued the realms’ ancestry.
“This forgotten royalty of whom she babbles, reigned before the Dragonfall War, 'ere our races were even forged. Her brother, Bahamut, battled with his sister for six millennia. Their evil brands stretched as far as nightmares. Archdevil… Dark Lady... The Avaricious... Undying Queen... Her name is Tiamat, and with it alone inked doom upon the pages of history. Sages debated whether she actually existed as an avatar, a goddess, or a fable, personifying evil to which only a fugue could attest.”
The sphere slowly disjointed its mold, into a quintet of cephalization, depicting a pair of aviating limbs and a stinger. Each apex beheld faint, additional black, blanche, azure, and jade hues flanking the central crimson crowned mouth. A chromatic miniature soon developed, hovering with its skulls darting to and fro, mimicking the mannerisms of a tangled knot of cobras, excitingly contorting and hissing, without sound, at the enthroned quarry below.
“Five heads. Two wings. A wyvern’s tail. No fear. All greed. The very mother, who spawned the blue colossus that torched Greenest and its children. Bards teach us that a hellish prison now binds her influence in check. However, the suggestive existence of a hoard renders to her unfettered authority.”
Staring into the collage of colors, he angrily whispered a Draconic expression to the seated cultist’s ear.
“Wux geou ti ultrinninan. Lae vi hofiba vucotic thric wintek, vi seian wurken’ thric drukt."
Herding many inside out the door, the elder then stomped his staff, releasing the reptilian bubble on their hostage, dowsing her attire with the icy tones of an absent rainbow.
Addressing the governor finally, the elder communicated in Common once more. “The mastermind, in that purple garb, must heed to a higher reality. His ceded counsel will substantiate this madness. If our paths cross, we must yield a confession.”
@Hekazu @The Harbinger of Ferocity@Norschtalen @Ryonara@Lucius Cypher
The pirate quickly interjected into the obliviousness that mingled amongst the breaths of this zealot’s captors. His robes paced behind the shackled fanatic, in order to garner attention for the subsequent omen. Torus knew spectators required a visual vault for their eyes and hearts, to command the registration that quivered prophecies through the ages. Clearing his parched throat, the druid’s lips divorced to preach of an eternal sin, that plagued the realms’ ancestry.
“This forgotten royalty of whom she babbles, reigned before the Dragonfall War, 'ere our races were even forged. Her brother, Bahamut, battled with his sister for six millennia. Their evil brands stretched as far as nightmares. Archdevil… Dark Lady... The Avaricious... Undying Queen... Her name is Tiamat, and with it alone inked doom upon the pages of history. Sages debated whether she actually existed as an avatar, a goddess, or a fable, personifying evil to which only a fugue could attest.”
The sphere slowly disjointed its mold, into a quintet of cephalization, depicting a pair of aviating limbs and a stinger. Each apex beheld faint, additional black, blanche, azure, and jade hues flanking the central crimson crowned mouth. A chromatic miniature soon developed, hovering with its skulls darting to and fro, mimicking the mannerisms of a tangled knot of cobras, excitingly contorting and hissing, without sound, at the enthroned quarry below.
“Five heads. Two wings. A wyvern’s tail. No fear. All greed. The very mother, who spawned the blue colossus that torched Greenest and its children. Bards teach us that a hellish prison now binds her influence in check. However, the suggestive existence of a hoard renders to her unfettered authority.”
Staring into the collage of colors, he angrily whispered a Draconic expression to the seated cultist’s ear.
“Wux geou ti ultrinninan. Lae vi hofiba vucotic thric wintek, vi seian wurken’ thric drukt."
Herding many inside out the door, the elder then stomped his staff, releasing the reptilian bubble on their hostage, dowsing her attire with the icy tones of an absent rainbow.
Addressing the governor finally, the elder communicated in Common once more. “The mastermind, in that purple garb, must heed to a higher reality. His ceded counsel will substantiate this madness. If our paths cross, we must yield a confession.”
@Hekazu @The Harbinger of Ferocity@Norschtalen @Ryonara@Lucius Cypher
No worries, @Ryonara. Thanks for addressing that pesky lexical quirk.
Once all the auto-corrections of Torag are expelled, it should be smooth sailing, with Torus, here on out.
Once all the auto-corrections of Torag are expelled, it should be smooth sailing, with Torus, here on out.
@Ryonara, nice collab!
Would it be too much to ask to correct Torag to Torus in y'all's post? And henceforth? Gotta have respect for one's elders. :)
Would it be too much to ask to correct Torag to Torus in y'all's post? And henceforth? Gotta have respect for one's elders. :)
I'm currently working on a short collab with Norshtalen between Kyra and Parum. Hopefully we'll have it done by today.
Fantastic! I wait in deliberated excitement upon your developments. Pray our prisoner does not resist, for Torus fears @The Harbinger of Ferocity's paladin may not tolerate our breach of nature's valor, much longer.
@Hekazu, of course! Apologies for apprehending that literary liberty. Will correct and edit this post once complete.
EDIT: Done. Thanks. Sorry again.
EDIT: Done. Thanks. Sorry again.
Daybreak had not yet reared its threatening face upon the unlikely cast of adventurers, hibernating while creeping envious beams of moonlight still haunted over the horizon’s landscape. That jealous, pale eye in the sky caressed the countryside, scrutinizing across the smoky mill to a citadel’s most eastward fortifications, bearing witness and judgement to the morning brawl. Cuckoos and owls juxtaposed their melodies, demarcating the chorus of another potential bright but bleak day, whose radiance would beget within a few hours. Bee hives and their drones rummaged, in anticipation, valiantly along dandelions and lilies, hunting golden ambrosia for the stockpile before the dance of their queen’s throne. The faint perfume of honey permeated the pirate’s olfactory intellect, balancing the sweet scent of the forest, with the bouquet of corpses collected before them. Smell surviving as the most powerful psychic to memories banished, euphoria intertwined with slaughter, triggering his evicted inner bard, to revel in the massacre. Innately, the druid’s tongue ring licked the perspiration beading upon his striped whiskers, recalling a peculiar, reminiscent nightmare.
The phylogenic jury abruptly halted its lurid gala, as blade and vivacity collapsed from the last brigand, under the swift swipes of a green barbarian and a ferine knight harboring a silver medallion. Gore stained through their boots. His minotaur hide callously soaked another soul’s blood. His regard rose from damp topsoil, to survey the littered cadavers upon the battlefield. Like discarded toys on the floor of a child’s room, the mercenaries’ remains were strewn about as brightness above publicized the mess the heroes had bred.
"Let us see ourselves in. Take the bodies."
The voice beckoned an obvious charge as an orc championed a couplet, while the elder dragged their last fallen foe into the tunnel, wedging and heaving his staff under both of the assailant’s armpits. The insipid stream quickly saturated the cumbersome weight with moisture, spawning further exertion from the swashbuckler. Straining to the guarded portal, the old man spouted grunts mingled with heavy huffs. Three knocks later, once inside and sealed, the sentries soon appropriated his role, freeing the senior from his hunched position. Posturing against his liberated walking stick, he popped his lower vertebrae, conducting a jolt through his beard, as if thick bark had been viciously ripped from a mighty oak. He quietly sneered at the mocked limitations of his current form, but stopped snickering once the cleric motioned them to a higher task.
"If you'd like, I could use your help getting some answers from her."
Her no longer blameless ire cried for a semblance of justice, even if it issued bile or wrath. The sailor knew of the spiritual consequence after having eroding many a mutiny, with torture, decades before.
“Are you equipped for this, priestess? When seeking vengeance, one must be prepared to dig two graves.”
Satisfied with her silence, he realized the Chauntean acolyte remained indignantly resolute. It was difficult to discern if she was not capable to fathom nature’s indifference to her civilization’s plight. An apathy that fosters survival over mercy. Her scurrying off with the prisoner cemented that righteous blindness, becoming more valuable than the wild’s lethargic ennui. To be useful to her desired endeavor, Torus required more than just his water skin to garner the necessitated intel. He approached the guarded entry once more. Waving his Tethyrian fang, he summoned several gallons over half a minute from under the door’s crevice, eventually sculpting the aquatic force into a large sphere. Slowly, the buccaneer magically maneuvered the saline bubble into the interrogation room, high above the unhooded captive; the briny clock overhead ticked away its existence upon the sedate skull of their malefactor. Crimson droplets continued to plummet upon the convict’s forehead, jarring her eventually to consciousness. The woman, alert now to her chains, was overtly drenched from the slumber she had succumbed to, shivering, the temperature frigid, with intermittent frosty marbles diving and sliding off the detainee’s ears and nose.
“Awake? Finally. The reason… Tell me. Why are you here? Why Greenest?” Sniffing vicariously in front of the female inmate, he delivered a warning. “Either you can drown us with words. Or.” He paused to dispense a nodding signal to Kyra, Brannor, Parum and Orchid.
“We bury you with water and steel!”
@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Norschtalen
The phylogenic jury abruptly halted its lurid gala, as blade and vivacity collapsed from the last brigand, under the swift swipes of a green barbarian and a ferine knight harboring a silver medallion. Gore stained through their boots. His minotaur hide callously soaked another soul’s blood. His regard rose from damp topsoil, to survey the littered cadavers upon the battlefield. Like discarded toys on the floor of a child’s room, the mercenaries’ remains were strewn about as brightness above publicized the mess the heroes had bred.
"Let us see ourselves in. Take the bodies."
The voice beckoned an obvious charge as an orc championed a couplet, while the elder dragged their last fallen foe into the tunnel, wedging and heaving his staff under both of the assailant’s armpits. The insipid stream quickly saturated the cumbersome weight with moisture, spawning further exertion from the swashbuckler. Straining to the guarded portal, the old man spouted grunts mingled with heavy huffs. Three knocks later, once inside and sealed, the sentries soon appropriated his role, freeing the senior from his hunched position. Posturing against his liberated walking stick, he popped his lower vertebrae, conducting a jolt through his beard, as if thick bark had been viciously ripped from a mighty oak. He quietly sneered at the mocked limitations of his current form, but stopped snickering once the cleric motioned them to a higher task.
"If you'd like, I could use your help getting some answers from her."
Her no longer blameless ire cried for a semblance of justice, even if it issued bile or wrath. The sailor knew of the spiritual consequence after having eroding many a mutiny, with torture, decades before.
“Are you equipped for this, priestess? When seeking vengeance, one must be prepared to dig two graves.”
Satisfied with her silence, he realized the Chauntean acolyte remained indignantly resolute. It was difficult to discern if she was not capable to fathom nature’s indifference to her civilization’s plight. An apathy that fosters survival over mercy. Her scurrying off with the prisoner cemented that righteous blindness, becoming more valuable than the wild’s lethargic ennui. To be useful to her desired endeavor, Torus required more than just his water skin to garner the necessitated intel. He approached the guarded entry once more. Waving his Tethyrian fang, he summoned several gallons over half a minute from under the door’s crevice, eventually sculpting the aquatic force into a large sphere. Slowly, the buccaneer magically maneuvered the saline bubble into the interrogation room, high above the unhooded captive; the briny clock overhead ticked away its existence upon the sedate skull of their malefactor. Crimson droplets continued to plummet upon the convict’s forehead, jarring her eventually to consciousness. The woman, alert now to her chains, was overtly drenched from the slumber she had succumbed to, shivering, the temperature frigid, with intermittent frosty marbles diving and sliding off the detainee’s ears and nose.
“Awake? Finally. The reason… Tell me. Why are you here? Why Greenest?” Sniffing vicariously in front of the female inmate, he delivered a warning. “Either you can drown us with words. Or.” He paused to dispense a nodding signal to Kyra, Brannor, Parum and Orchid.
“We bury you with water and steel!”
@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Norschtalen
The cartilage skinned clown reveled in the sight of the boggy bazaar.
"It's a portal!"
A spherical penitentiary encapsulated the Thuellia, courtesy of Eliza, rock gnome extraordinaire. Shivs finally aroused from his vampiric hibernation from all the wails above deck. Yawning for salt and blood, shurikens soon filled the spaces between his readied, pallid phalanges. Harpoons followed, hurled from the black dragonborne, coupled with curses only a totem barbarian could fathom, while osteichthyes drizzled, from above, upon ship and ally, drowning Garnesh with a bony feast of scaly discomfort. The satiric bard, like her compatriots, braced herself, riveting her ashen body to her post, as the bow oscillated from the fishy force.
The murder pageant did not cease there.
What???
The athletics of the saber Tabaxi rivaled the jester’s very own gymnastics, demanding an audience and a fee from the Crow’s Nest, as her flintlock spewed forth lightning against the Svent-bent serpents. The ocular and appendage blessed sailor, tacked on magical noir tentacles against the side of the hull, but ultimately botched in restraining the elusive devils. Calico quickly joined positional advantage with Nemiea, procured aim, and discharged two shots against the babbling fools, in customary fashion.
Koan was mesmerized.
So…
Much…
Action…
Then, a howl broke the glacial haze.
The wintry wolf’s holler pierced her ear drums; lunacy drilled into any cerebral sanctuary privileged to savor its audible prison break, endeavoring a mantle of psychosis to befall the crew, with two comrades seemingly already heeding its momentary insanity.
Noting the wisdom fall from the feline's mismatching irises, the jester cried to her friend in need, “Twerk it, girl! Give ‘em a show!” Swiveling her attention to the adjacent pirate, she rebutted, “I’ll deliver; don't you fret, matey.” The smile widened, licking her grey lips.
“Walking the plank is my specialty.”
Now, noting the muttering drakes, the scantily clad joker, likewise, murmured subtle hisses and moans; a discordant frequency that fringed upon the same maddening resonance that overcame ninja and sorcerer, moments earlier. Compounding insult with injury polished the prankster’s modus operandi. She delighted in psychic turmoil to those who threatened their festivities.
Suddenly recalling the lore master wizard’s words, she quickly slid down onto the deck, clumsily skating towards the ship's wheel, with utmost icy inconvenience. Nuisance and toil conquered, she stood behind the Lady Slipper’s steering gear. She grabbed the felloe with one glove and the other binding the ten o’clock handle, spindled clockwise its spokes and barrel, upon the axle. She had observed Jill operating her boat, many a juncture, whilst singing vulgar ballads together. Mechanically, the craft’s tiller, tugged by pulleys and sheaves, would angle port-side, forcing the rudder and, hence, the helm starboard, navigating away from the menacing waterspout and hopefully smashing into the dangling stragglers, if they had not fled.
Glancing at her captain, she jokingly jeered.
“Look at me, Jill. I’m the queen of this hussy, now!”
@JBRam2002@Ms Ravenwinter@Lauder@Hekazu@Big Dread@Zverda@Cu Chulainn
"It's a portal!"
A spherical penitentiary encapsulated the Thuellia, courtesy of Eliza, rock gnome extraordinaire. Shivs finally aroused from his vampiric hibernation from all the wails above deck. Yawning for salt and blood, shurikens soon filled the spaces between his readied, pallid phalanges. Harpoons followed, hurled from the black dragonborne, coupled with curses only a totem barbarian could fathom, while osteichthyes drizzled, from above, upon ship and ally, drowning Garnesh with a bony feast of scaly discomfort. The satiric bard, like her compatriots, braced herself, riveting her ashen body to her post, as the bow oscillated from the fishy force.
The murder pageant did not cease there.
"Happy Birthday!"
What???
The athletics of the saber Tabaxi rivaled the jester’s very own gymnastics, demanding an audience and a fee from the Crow’s Nest, as her flintlock spewed forth lightning against the Svent-bent serpents. The ocular and appendage blessed sailor, tacked on magical noir tentacles against the side of the hull, but ultimately botched in restraining the elusive devils. Calico quickly joined positional advantage with Nemiea, procured aim, and discharged two shots against the babbling fools, in customary fashion.
Koan was mesmerized.
So…
Much…
Action…
Then, a howl broke the glacial haze.
The wintry wolf’s holler pierced her ear drums; lunacy drilled into any cerebral sanctuary privileged to savor its audible prison break, endeavoring a mantle of psychosis to befall the crew, with two comrades seemingly already heeding its momentary insanity.
Noting the wisdom fall from the feline's mismatching irises, the jester cried to her friend in need, “Twerk it, girl! Give ‘em a show!” Swiveling her attention to the adjacent pirate, she rebutted, “I’ll deliver; don't you fret, matey.” The smile widened, licking her grey lips.
“Walking the plank is my specialty.”
Now, noting the muttering drakes, the scantily clad joker, likewise, murmured subtle hisses and moans; a discordant frequency that fringed upon the same maddening resonance that overcame ninja and sorcerer, moments earlier. Compounding insult with injury polished the prankster’s modus operandi. She delighted in psychic turmoil to those who threatened their festivities.
Suddenly recalling the lore master wizard’s words, she quickly slid down onto the deck, clumsily skating towards the ship's wheel, with utmost icy inconvenience. Nuisance and toil conquered, she stood behind the Lady Slipper’s steering gear. She grabbed the felloe with one glove and the other binding the ten o’clock handle, spindled clockwise its spokes and barrel, upon the axle. She had observed Jill operating her boat, many a juncture, whilst singing vulgar ballads together. Mechanically, the craft’s tiller, tugged by pulleys and sheaves, would angle port-side, forcing the rudder and, hence, the helm starboard, navigating away from the menacing waterspout and hopefully smashing into the dangling stragglers, if they had not fled.
Glancing at her captain, she jokingly jeered.
“Look at me, Jill. I’m the queen of this hussy, now!”
@JBRam2002@Ms Ravenwinter@Lauder@Hekazu@Big Dread@Zverda@Cu Chulainn
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