Lugubrious

.::Legend of Zelda :: Whispers in the Night::.

The 42nd Gecko said
I imagine Vei will be immensely annoying to all the stealthers, thanks to picking the powers of perception.

I didn't notice any sort of perception among her skills/talents.

Your comment does make me realize that there are more than a few characters among us with an affinity for stealth, including Roruuk, both of our Sheikah, my own Cain, and to a lesser degree Takuma and Mila. Gotta say though, I think Cain has the edge up in that department with the whole shadow business.

.::Legend of Zelda :: Whispers in the Night::.

If I wasn't clear enough IC: Frore isn't on top of the windmill. He's sitting on the ground next to its base, which just so happens to be near a cliff facing the village.

...yes I did get all that from the picture of the Kakariko wiki.

.::Legend of Zelda :: Whispers in the Night::.

Curses, gecko! I came up with the idea of using the windmill first, I swear! I just took so much longer writing my post (reading the Zelda Wiki didn't help me make good time) that you finished first! I did go back and edit my post, though, to include a bit of relation to yours.

.::Legend of Zelda :: Whispers in the Night::.

A few hundred feet from the hustle and bustle of the village proper loomed Kakariko's windmill, situated on the top of a small cliff. Between the stony edge and the bricks of the structure sat a cloaked figure, legs hanging over the precipice. The slowly revolving blades of the structure hid this individual from the spiteful gaze of the Gerudo child above—clearly, whether they knew it or not, outcasts thought alike. From this shrouded position the Chilfos watched the proceedings, taking in the sea of lively, grinning faces sailing a sea of green cloth. The ceremonies of Hylians were an alien concept to Frore; in fact, the notion of celebration at all escaped him. Despite this total lack of understanding, however, the icy warrior felt oddly drawn to the festival preparations. It was more than the voice whispering in his head over the course of the last few days, which his companion had assured wasn't his voice. Perhaps it was simply the joy omnipresent in the sacred day's activities, bright enough to warm even Frore's frozen heart. Naturally he couldn't walk among men without causing a fuss, though, so on the edge of the cliff by the windmill he sat.

The shadow cast behind Frore by the cheery late morning sun watched the villagers as well. No ordinary umbra, this spot of darkness was home to the Chilfos' trusted companion. Few in this world of light had ever seen the being within that shadow, and of them only one had the privilage of knowing Cain. The Hero of Time festival reminded Cain bitterly of similar joyful events back within the Twilight Realm. For months now memory of his home had been steadily slipping away, like water in a cupped hand, but several weeks ago a voice had pleaded with him in the depths of night to attend this very festival. Cain had experienced stranger things in his day, but even this was new to him. The incessant, nightly nature of the pleas had made them hard to ignore. Having been in Lake Hylia at the time, working as a mercenary for a few Zoras seeking to exterminate a sudden mass hatching of Gohma larvae, Kakariko had been quite far away. Neither Frore nor Cain had even originally known about the festival's existence, but luckily their Zora employers had been able to fill them in. Well, they did the best they could. Communicating was a tricky process for the pair; Cain had a voice but was bodiless, while Frore had a body and couldn't talk. Unable to ignore the pleas any longer, and faced with an increasingly consternation Chilfos, Cain had decided to steer his host toward Kakariko Village in hopes of finding out who -or what- was messing with their minds.

And now they were here. Here were the morning rays, gleeful villagers, the fateful day, and a brooding spy from another world hiding in the shadow of a monster endowed with sentience. Neither belonged in this place, and yet they were here. Frore candidly watched the people, satisfied enough to observe them going about their chores and business, but Cain, not so easily entertained, grew restless. After the windmill broke the general peace of the moment with an especially loud creak, Cain decided to find something else to occupy him. “Stay around here; keep a low profile,” he murmured to his partner in his signature lilting, ethereal accent. “I am going to browse the markets.” Slowly, not really paying attention, Frore inclined his Y-shaped head in what passed for a nod. If a shadow could roll its eyes, Cain did so, and he leaped from the shadow of Frore into that of the windmill's, from which he could reach the village itself.

Dungeon Keepers

After some frenzied pounding the inn door gave way, with the farmer at the front of the jostling, panicked crowd falling flat on his face. Despite their fear and desperation, the gathering fell silent after surging into the building, all expectantly looking at the man sitting at the table, enjoying a lunch of pork sausage and -despite the early hour- ale. At first glance, two things became apparent; firstly, this man was a fire priest of Caldor, just as the stories had said. His deep red garments were proof enough of that. Secondly, though, he did not appear at all pious. His long, spiky red hair, sideburns, and goatee would have been scoffed at by any of his brethren, and his characteristic red robe was torn in places and interspersed with other gear for function and comfort rather than to maintain appearances. Beneath the cloth, his impressive size and physique were not hard to guess. This appearance gave the tall man a dual look of power and disdain, more of a fighter than a preacher—just the sort of man that might be the farmers' savior. After a few tense moments, the fire priest turned to look at those who had intruded so suddenly upon his meal. Screams, as well as a demented lowing, could be heard not more than a hundred feet away. “What do you require?” the man boomed.

A minute later the pyromancer strode from the clustered buildings toward the fields, followed by a posse of farmers eager to watch and reluctant but willing to help. It did not take long for him to find the source of the village's troubles; death stalked the fields and pastures. Skeletal cattle, with raging black points of flame in their empty eye sockets, accompanied by other animals and a few people recently killed and risen again. One Walker nearby sighted him and lowered its broad skull to charge. In response, the fire priest upturned a palm to the heavens, and an orb of flame appeared above it. The orb quickly expanded into the shape of a bow, with blazing white for material and intense blue for string. As the Walker charged for him, a fiery spike manifested on the bow that the fire priest notched and then nonchalantly fired when only a few feet separated him and his dead foe. The arrow melted a path halfway through the cursed creature and lodged in its spine, igniting the marrow. Still 'alive' and now aflame, the Walker reeled momentarily before homing in on the priest once more. Before it reached him, the fire spike detonated, immolating it almost instantly. The farmers cheered and the pyromancers sauntered forth across the smoldering ground, magical bow at his side and a triumphant smile on his face.

With the fire mage leading the charge, the farmers pushed back the undead forces. By quickly learning to incinerate any fallen man or livestock, the pyromancer kept the Walkers' numbers from growing, and under his purging fire they were falling fast.

Compendium Entry

Famine – the Herald of Despair and the Third Horseman of the Apocalypse. Also called Moros. Taking the form of a pale, emaciated, red-haired northerner from Altearx, he wields the ability to drain the strength of others into himself in his quest to reunite the Horsemen. Carries an urn, which, after an infusion of his power, contains grains of rice that can become weak, skeletal minions called The Host.

.::Legend of Zelda :: Whispers in the Night::.

I think he wants to send us PMs before we begin.

.::Legend of Zelda :: Whispers in the Night::.

Kal-El said This about to overtake a whole page. lolz

And it's entertaining too.

Living Reflection: A Psychological Alter Egos RP

Bagged takeout in hand, Greg was in the process of retracing his steps back to his family's apartment. About a third of the way through, he chanced to look up at the sky. Though of course his ability to judge the time wasn't perfect (anything, though, was better than his ability to judge the age of others), he was fairly sure that it was about five-thirty. The sun was just starting to hide behind the city buildings, playing a game of peek-a-boo with him as he walked past the obstructing structures. While some families preferred eating at this earlier hour, he knew that his father would want some to to himself to catch up on daily events after work. Dinner usually occurred anywhere from six to half past six, so Greg gauged himself to be a little early. With this in mind, he decided to take the longer way home; the food would have to be reheated anyway after the walk, so there was no harm in it.

Fifteen minutes later he was strolling by a lengthy brown fence when he heard voices on the other side, one male and one female, obviously not trying to remain quiet. Usually this playground was deserted this time of day, and Greg guessed by the others' disregard for secrecy that they knew it too. Though normally not one to pry, he judged the voices to belong to adults, and couldn't help but wonder if anything unusual was taking place, so he sidled up to the edge of the fence.

Wrong again. Not adults, but a boy and girl about his age; actually he recognized them from school. “What a coincidence,” he breathed. Aiko and...Ken-something. If he interfered he'd have to avoid addressing him. As he watched discretely, it appeared that Aiko was about to do something, if her warm-ups were any indication. He wondered exactly what, but decided he had better show himself before they discovered him—he wasn't the most covert at the moment, and it was perfectly reasonable for a couple who thought themselves alone to be very upset at someone spying on them. He rounded the corner of the fence and gave a short wave with his free hand. “Hey there! Am I interrupting something?”

-=-=-

A minute passed before any noise at all could be heard beyond the huge, heavy doors. Rough, metallic footsteps resounded from within, growing in intensity as they approached the entrance. The door shifted somewhat as it was gripped from the other side, was silent for a brief moment, and then uttered a protesting creak as it was wrenched open with great force.

Inside, a dozen feet from Fantasy Sky Breaker, stood Quicksilver Seraph. Cast from behind by torchlight and illuminated in front by the afternoon sunlight, she herself radiated beauty and serenity. She was unarmed, with fingers clasped across her waist. Though her bow was nowhere to be seen, her eyes shone with the same sort of azure energy that had characterized the corkscrew arrow that discombobulated the negative. She seemed regal, which was appropriate for the fortress she inhabited. Smiling warmly, she gestured for Sonata and Breaker to come inside.

Once they had crossed the threshold, Ironclad released the door and sauntered, clanking with each step, to Seraph's side. As the door slammed shut thunderously, it became obvious that despite the enormous contrast between Ironclad and Seraph -friendly warmth versus disdainful cold, flesh versus metal, blue and purple versus black and orange- the two were rather close. The metal warrior wiped a trace of molten fluid from his cheek and began brusquely, “You really need us to tell you which way northeast is?”

Seraph sighed and weighed in. “What my colleague is trying to say is, how can we help you? I don't believe we've met. My name is Quicksilver Seraph, and this is Ironclad. You may know him.” A few hundred feet behind them and to the right, Midwinter's Envoy suddenly emerged from an alcove, flask in hand. He watched from afar.

Dungeon Keepers

The crimson rays of noon fell upon the King Tree as Clotho's reconstruction of her chosen Myrmidon was complete. Invicta, as she would be called, had few physiological distinctions from her ordinary kin, but had a substantial edge over any of them in terms of strength and intelligence. It had been a while before Clotho had developed a chief method of augmenting the warrior without greatly altering her appearance, but at last she had discovered that with enough organic manipulation, the various tissues within the Construct's body could be folded and packed together to vastly increase overall surface area without necessitating greater volume. As a result, Invicta enjoyed a mental capacity more than twice the average, and was capable of remarkable feats of strength, particularly when it came to the Vices.

Modeled after the mandibles of Trapjaw Ants, the Vices were situated on either of Invicta's arms. These large pincers were crammed with the special condensed muscles Clotho had masterminded, and as such mimicked the incredible abilities of the ants themselves. By pulling back these pincers, effectively folding them against her arms, Invicta could store incredible potential energy. When released, the Vices would slam together with unbelievable speed and force, enough to shatter stone and saw through metal. The laws of physics dictated, however, that equal recoil would be applied to Invicta; luckily, with practice, this recoil could be put to her advantage. Clotho envisioned a Myrmidon capable of flinging herself dozens of feet into the air simply by striking the ground, escaping from any engagement by sending both herself and her foe flying in opposite directions, et cetera.

At this moment, however, Invicta was still weak from the transformation. After such extensive modification to her internal structures, it was likely she wouldn't be able to move for hours. When she could, she would serve as the brutal, fearless field commander Clotho wanted. Finding the alchemist was a blessing, indeed; without the need to specifically designate a minion for brewing, Clotho had been able to concentrate solely on military matters. And with those out of the way, the conquest of Virens could continue.

Two of its food sources were out of the way. Undoubtedly tensions were beginning to run high in the city; already several Macula had been hunted down and killed, perhaps rightfully marked as omens of ill fortune. A precision strike or two was necessary to ensure that Virens was unarmed as well as hungry. Doubtlessly the Biomancers and city guard were too spread throughout the city for a blow against their bases to have immediate ramifications, but with the head killed the body could only ever follow suit.

Clotho descended to the forest floor, winging her way through ever more dense labyrinths of vine, wood, web, and hive to reach the leaf litter below. Antlions emerged from their underground colony when she called them, the very picture of loyalty—or at least subservient, unshakable instinct, which was a far more reliable substitute. “Join your brothers and sisters beneath Virens. Undermine the barracks and the Biomancer's Guild and reduce them to rubble. Try to remain undetected; if found, flee instead of fighting.” To make sure the near-braindead creatures were kept on target, she picked out a few nearby imps scrounging in the bushes for fungi to supervise the endeavor. “I hope that imps won't disappoint me for once. It's not even a combat mission, just subterfuge. Nice and cowardly and satisfying. You three have fun.”

-=-=-

In the streets of Paterdomus there were countless people. Though filled with myriad flora and fauna, the natural world of Elysium had no sway here; here, mankind dominated. This was their bastion against the world, home to their gods of fire and water as well as themselves, a haven of humanity in an inhospitable realm. Certainly there had been worrisome rumors of late, barbarians and a necromancer and blazing equestrian skeleton, most of them unaccounted for -allegedly due to lack of survivors- but none doubted the security and sanctity of their city for long.

And yet, within the streets of Paterdomus there wandered a phantom, the very reflection of the alien and unknown that the city stood against. With no purpose and no direction, it could do naught but drift around from day to day, invisible and intangible, learning about the world and those who inhabited it. Today, though, the revenant sensed something new on the wind. Like a familiar call from far away, this something beckoned it. The ghost wracked its mind for clues, finding only confusion darkness for a time, but finally figured out exactly what this distant beacon might be. A new idea gripped its ethereal fancy: unity. Its brothers and sisters were searching for it, and if they still lived, the cause did as well. The Paterdoman streets echoed with a faint cackle as the spirit began its southward journey.

Status

Myrmidon Construct 3/3
Location: Dungeon
Dungeon: Jungle north of Saploya River, N16°W12° An nearly complete, vast hive spanning the length, width, and height of a massive, ancient tree in the jungle. The hive itself is constructed of a magically-created liquid that expands and hardens into a stiff, paperlike substance upon exposure to air. The main body of the hive is suspended by countless support struts that reach for hundreds of feet in every direction. The Dungeon Heart is situated at the very top of the tree. Bugs called Macula infest it, functioning as living security cameras and alarms. Currently has: Dungeon Heart, Myrmidon Spawner. Living Foundry, Apothecary, Macula infestation, Compound of Eyes
Forces: 30 Drone Imps, 95 Myrmidons, Myrmidon Construct Invicta, 38 Antlions, Adjunct Baudrii, alchemist Rammel Vitreus, alchemical assistant Kayla Oakhurst

Compendium Entry
Death – the Fate of Creation and the Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse. Also called Escre. Little more than a shade at the moment, drawn to the life force of its kin.

Invicta - second construct and replacement for Scutra. A female Myrmidon augmented chiefly by packing both cerebral and muscular tissue more closely together to increase surface area (and therefore functionality) without necessitating increased volume. As such, a lot of strength and noteworthy intelligence in an ordinary body. Wields two Vices, huge pincers modeled after the mandibles of Trapjaw Ants, situated on her arms. Can strike with incredible force, though equal kinetic force in recoil is dealt to Invicta.

Living Reflection: A Psychological Alter Egos RP

Rather sad that we're down to four or five players from nine.