@liferusher @Caits @oblivion666 @raijinslayer @lunarlors34, my mentions are all working, right? I apologize if I will be further burdening your no-doubt upcoming posts regarding Frenzy Plant, but I am going to begin the next event.
Lugubrious
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Bio
Current GM of World of Light. When it comes to writing, there's nothing I love more than imagination, engagement, and commitment. I'm always open to talk, suggestion, criticism, and collaboration. While I try to be as obliging, helpful, and courteous as possible, I have very little sympathy for ghosts, and anyone who'd like to string me along. Straightforwardness is all I ask for.
Looking for more personal details? I'm just some dude from the American south; software development is my job but games, writing, and trying to help others enjoy life are my passions. Been RPing for over a decade, starting waaaay back with humble beginnings on the Spore forum, so I know a thing or two, though I won't pretend to be an expert. If you're down for some fun, let's make something spectacular together.
Looking for more personal details? I'm just some dude from the American south; software development is my job but games, writing, and trying to help others enjoy life are my passions. Been RPing for over a decade, starting waaaay back with humble beginnings on the Spore forum, so I know a thing or two, though I won't pretend to be an expert. If you're down for some fun, let's make something spectacular together.
Most Recent Posts
So you know, @hatakekuro, the presence of gold is enough to weaken Dullahans, like being poisoned, and it doesn't just vanish if the gold disappears. I don't expect that Enma knows this, but I thought I'd tell you.
@Lugubrious
>Eons
Like, a century at worst. Probably just 5 years or less. Between the time in which lif and ally went up to the citadel and lif left for the adventures.
If it were Eons Allure would be dead and gone.
But whatever, your character, your story.
And it gave me a good plotline for Ilunabar either way, especially regarding the reactions of the dork squad.
Allure is mortal in the sense that he can die, mind you, but he is ageless. If he is not killed by an adversary, starved to death, dead of thirst, drowned, etc, then he can live forever.
I have half a mind to say he's no longer in the citadel. It would not be a stretch to say that he would have gotten bored of all the inaction and being ignored, not to mention fed up with the idea of creation, and that he abandoned the construction project before it even started. I've been waiting to be told what to do in regards to the collab for some time, but I'm still in the dark. If you want to hear more, just go to the collab.
Anyway, it's been established that time is pretty much irrelevant for gods.
I thought Slough was getting better...
I swear there was a post after a level up saying she was slowly winning against the rotting.
This was all so out of left field.
Perhaps when she was finding fulfillment in creation and a journey she was getting better, but she is cursed afterall, so after nobody thinks about her and/or helps her after eons, of course things would have gotten bad.
There. I figured I would do my own thing. It doesn't have to be set 'right now' as in, during the current conflict, but it happened.
The sky itself danced with mad colors, rippling and reverberating through the eyes and souls of man and god. Beneath the steady, portentous tread of bedeviled thousands, the earth shook and the grass became juicy pulp like so many squeezed tears. Through the aging atmosphere the wind howled and howled, a sonorous clamor of chaos, and little maelstroms of chaos danced across a cultivated world. New abominations, loathsome brainchildren of the diseased consciousness, sought out the little chaoses as their spirits beat to their own tunes, and sucked from them their very existence til even the littlest breath held more power. Above the particulate expanse hovered the bastion of change, keeping captive within its winding halls the arbiter of beauty, a triad of talents, and an empathetic lord. Mutative poisons lashed from the gullet of the titan of the Venomweald; colossi of the sea drifted, flailing, into the abyssal leviathan's jaw. Magic bled from stone into the floor of a forest buried alive, bones and ice conspired to stave off a damnable defeat, and perfection stood as the adversity of nicety. Some of the old gods stirred in their self-made graves, like the reclusive warmonger, while the names of others vanished from the memory of even their kin. Occupation consumed the world, and it left it stripped to the bone.
And so it was that in one year the season changed, not a fall to winter, but a fall to famine. Robbed of substantiation, every living thing wilted. Trees shriveled up and dropped their leaves, their branches reaching like bones toward an uncharitable sky. Across Galbar the green grass became a carpet of rotting brown, while the opulent fronds of the Gilt Savannah lost their luster and took on a mantle of ash. Creatures, be they of thinking minds or not, starved, but they did not die. For an entire season there was no death—and no life. Every being dwindled to a husk, a corpse not yet robbed of its movement and not susceptible to decay. Even unnatural life fell still, as if caught in a trance. In this season of profound stagnation, death lost meaning, time went unmeasured by mortal mind, dreams dwindled like dying fires, no mouth sang, no brain thought, no hand rose to gave thanks for light, no craftsman crafted, no warrior warred, and only ill winds, devoid of tiding, blew.
Of course, to a god or demigod, what was a season? When spring came, the spell passed, and existence resumed as if nothing had happened. No mortal, from peasant to warlord, remembered a thing. Perhaps it was merely all a bad dream. It sank away just as quickly.
Only on one corner of Galbar was the Aimless Time remembered. At the mouth of the Mahd river, where it splintered through a great delta into the Fractal Sea, there lay a broken land. It was a drab, deary, and temperate country of canyons, cliffs, bluffs, plateaus, mountains, fjords, and gulches, most hundreds of feet above sea level and the nearby desert, rising like misshapen giants above a web of fog created by the rivers far below. On the tops of these structures stood little forests and towns, a blend of farming, fishing, and logging villages of the decadent backwoods variety. In this place lived the wanderers, the explorers, the seekers, the pilgrims, and the lost. Somehow, all of their journeys led them here—here, where the Aimless Time went unrivaled by any other conception of reality. Every one of them, be they hain, human, angel, troll, tedar, goblin, seemed hollow. They seldom spoke, and moved slowly, as if they had all the time in the world. Even for this place, however, one settlement in particular stood out as strange. At some point evidently a ring of houses and towers around a great pit in the ground, but the entire place had been suffused by enormous roots, vines, and branches. The naked eye could not discern plant from bone still lined with dusty, clinging flesh, but still the plants lived and grew. They grew through the bodies of the town's inhabitants, either pinning them in place for eternity or turning them into walking foliage of their own. Nothing bloomed; there was no green. At the bottom of the pit, this Deadwood Sepulcher lay the root-mangled corpse of a deer. Strips of flesh hung on to its bones, but nothing else remained save a bog of putrefied biomatter staining it and the ground around it and an accursed soul.
In this very spot, long ago, life had been laid to rest, and by mortal and god alike she had been forgotten. Though her tortured body cried out for the aid of any being, only her custodian remained by her side, mournful but powerless to help her. He eventually went mad, his caring soul turned raving insane by the eyes on the inside, and he left her to die. So many years went by that the earth changed around her, twisted, raised, lowered, and raised again into the broken country that now resided there. When Slough's second death finally did come, a trace amount of the vast, unnamable curse within her eked out to bestow upon the forgetful world a semblance of death all its own, forever changing the Forsaken Cragland in the process.
Her curse had rotted the land, every man, woman, child, beast, bird, flower, and tree. No life remained. Vacant beings wandered the heights, tending to the land, the homes, and the tombs. Graves littered these crags, their stones outnumbering the crows, and within some of these graves lay dimly shining souls in worthless and transitory cadavers, recalled through accursed undeath and never given a proper home.
Much in this profaned land was still, yet at the base of the Deadwood Sepulcher, the Rottenbone shivered and wished she could weep.
And so it was that in one year the season changed, not a fall to winter, but a fall to famine. Robbed of substantiation, every living thing wilted. Trees shriveled up and dropped their leaves, their branches reaching like bones toward an uncharitable sky. Across Galbar the green grass became a carpet of rotting brown, while the opulent fronds of the Gilt Savannah lost their luster and took on a mantle of ash. Creatures, be they of thinking minds or not, starved, but they did not die. For an entire season there was no death—and no life. Every being dwindled to a husk, a corpse not yet robbed of its movement and not susceptible to decay. Even unnatural life fell still, as if caught in a trance. In this season of profound stagnation, death lost meaning, time went unmeasured by mortal mind, dreams dwindled like dying fires, no mouth sang, no brain thought, no hand rose to gave thanks for light, no craftsman crafted, no warrior warred, and only ill winds, devoid of tiding, blew.
Of course, to a god or demigod, what was a season? When spring came, the spell passed, and existence resumed as if nothing had happened. No mortal, from peasant to warlord, remembered a thing. Perhaps it was merely all a bad dream. It sank away just as quickly.
Only on one corner of Galbar was the Aimless Time remembered. At the mouth of the Mahd river, where it splintered through a great delta into the Fractal Sea, there lay a broken land. It was a drab, deary, and temperate country of canyons, cliffs, bluffs, plateaus, mountains, fjords, and gulches, most hundreds of feet above sea level and the nearby desert, rising like misshapen giants above a web of fog created by the rivers far below. On the tops of these structures stood little forests and towns, a blend of farming, fishing, and logging villages of the decadent backwoods variety. In this place lived the wanderers, the explorers, the seekers, the pilgrims, and the lost. Somehow, all of their journeys led them here—here, where the Aimless Time went unrivaled by any other conception of reality. Every one of them, be they hain, human, angel, troll, tedar, goblin, seemed hollow. They seldom spoke, and moved slowly, as if they had all the time in the world. Even for this place, however, one settlement in particular stood out as strange. At some point evidently a ring of houses and towers around a great pit in the ground, but the entire place had been suffused by enormous roots, vines, and branches. The naked eye could not discern plant from bone still lined with dusty, clinging flesh, but still the plants lived and grew. They grew through the bodies of the town's inhabitants, either pinning them in place for eternity or turning them into walking foliage of their own. Nothing bloomed; there was no green. At the bottom of the pit, this Deadwood Sepulcher lay the root-mangled corpse of a deer. Strips of flesh hung on to its bones, but nothing else remained save a bog of putrefied biomatter staining it and the ground around it and an accursed soul.
In this very spot, long ago, life had been laid to rest, and by mortal and god alike she had been forgotten. Though her tortured body cried out for the aid of any being, only her custodian remained by her side, mournful but powerless to help her. He eventually went mad, his caring soul turned raving insane by the eyes on the inside, and he left her to die. So many years went by that the earth changed around her, twisted, raised, lowered, and raised again into the broken country that now resided there. When Slough's second death finally did come, a trace amount of the vast, unnamable curse within her eked out to bestow upon the forgetful world a semblance of death all its own, forever changing the Forsaken Cragland in the process.
Her curse had rotted the land, every man, woman, child, beast, bird, flower, and tree. No life remained. Vacant beings wandered the heights, tending to the land, the homes, and the tombs. Graves littered these crags, their stones outnumbering the crows, and within some of these graves lay dimly shining souls in worthless and transitory cadavers, recalled through accursed undeath and never given a proper home.
Much in this profaned land was still, yet at the base of the Deadwood Sepulcher, the Rottenbone shivered and wished she could weep.
So uh
What's up guys
Who unearthed this corpse? I demand an explanation. And a shovel.
An eyebrow slid minutely up the General's forehead when the outsider answered first. His first instinct when it came to insubordination -to get cross- wouldn't fly here, and as such he maintained a level tone when he replied. ”I hope you are making a bad joke, Mr. Gerard. Because we are potentially dealing with a hidden threat, we must take care not to be suspicious in the least. I told the emissary that we were a mercenary company seeking shelter for a day in order to set up a guise. We will not be sending out any lone operatives to skulk about until we are more aware of the town layout and habits. If you wanted to forgo stealth, remember that everyone in remote towns like this knows everyone else backwards and forewards, and few villagers trust outsiders. A lone outsider would be even more odd. As a complete group, so as not to arouse suspicion, we will accept the invitation provided to us and enter Belka. To do otherwise would be exceedingly rash.”
He leaned on his walking stick. ”This is a military operation, Mr. Gerard, and we will carry it out with military precision. I'm well aware that you are not part of the guild, and you may not think yourself subject to my judgments. That is true, if foolhardy. If there's a real threat here and you jeopardize the safety of any of my soldiers, or of the people of Fiore, I would be unhappy.” An ominous inflection hung in the air following the last word, but it quickly vanished. ”Besides, you're here because you wanted to be with Frenzy Plant, correct? To run off as a lone wolf would defeat that purpose.” The eyes of the warrior guild's general twinkled ever so slightly.
Looking down at the lacrima in Damian's hand, he furrowed his brow. ”Mr. Gerard, your crystal ball seems to be defective.” One look at the lacrima confirmed it. A moment ago the magic-infused gem might have been functional, but now it only shone dully in the filtered sunlight, devoid of power, and it could not accomplish its purpose. Any other lacrimas of the same kind Damian might have just so happened to have packed beforehand shared the same fate. ”Convenience always fails us at the worst times, doesn't it?” A glance at nearby idle soldiers kicked off a wave of activity. The soldiers began to take down their tents and pack the wagons, preparing to move into Belka.
Frenzy Plant – Portentous Road
@caits@raijinslayer@hatakekuro@liferusher@lunarlors34@oblivion666@Zarkun
Very abruptly, the column of soldiers descended into disarray. Gabriel's sudden reunion with the ground, and his subsequent feat of knocking himself out on a dirt road, nearly pushed over his comrade in front of him, and his thrown-out arms intruded into the space of those on either side having failed to stop his tumble. The unexpected disruption passed speedily, however, with the soldiers steadying themselves and parting to walk around the fallen boy, with various looks of mirth, annoyance, or concern on their face. When the wagon rolled up, its driver -Rune- carefully slid from his saddle to pick Gabriel up and plop him in the back; evidently his confident decline of the invitation to ride was all for naught.
Following that interruption, the war guild made tracks. Sustained despite the hot sun and many miles by the cooling and invigorating magics of Joakim and Tsubano, the soldiers left Crocus and its level, unassuming hinterlands far behind. As they progressed northeast, the terrain steadily lost its evenness, and the weather slightly more temperate. Overhead, a light cover of clouds suffused the sky, turning the sun from a burgeoning presence to a seldom-seen specter. Several small settlements passed Frenzy Plant by, with no dialogue exchanged. Once another disruption broke out in the ranks with the sudden arrival of an unfamiliar being. Leo's appearance warranted an instant outcry of “intruder!” from Rune, and the nearest half-dozen soldiers immediately spread out to surround him. Though brandishing arms and magic, they did not act, and after an explanation by Gabriel warily consented to the spirit's presence.
Surprisingly little conversation went on otherwise, but Harper Saxum consented to respond to Argus when he asked about the day's events. She cast a glance at Enma before giving her own version. ”What are you, the president of his fan club? Aren't you a little too male for that? Here's what really happened, Argus: two hot shot Phoenix Wing swordsman wanted a piece of Zander and Xyster. One of 'em was a joke—he waited around, not doing anything until the General was in a bad spot, and then threatening both him and his horse. The moment he actually tried fighting, Zander destroyed him. The other one was Nolan, and sure, he's a Slayer, so of course he's got a stupid amount of power. Still, he could hardly keep up with the both of them together. He would have gone down if he hadn't summoned a gold sword and weakened poor Xyster with its presence. She went Night Terror with Ereshkigal. If we get back, I hope we get to take Phoenix Wing down another notch.” She glanced at Damian, who walked away from and behind the column of troops, knowing he was too far away to possible hear her, especially given the ambient noise of walking soldiers.
With night falling, the warrior guild came to a halt in labyrinthine, drably stony canyon country. Camp was made atop a plateau, where the wind whistled ominously but a single path of entry granted excellent defensibility against raiders. Eliza informed the general that Belka lay just ahead, and plans were made to advance into the town the next day.
-=-=-
The break of dawn galvanized the camp into action. Soldiers moved hither and thither, readying themselves but not doing away with the tents, as part of the plan to establish a base of operations outside city limits should things go south.
Belka lay on its own great spire of rock reaching up from a misty abyss far below, and a colossal stone bridge spanned the canyon to connect land and crag. General Sanders, Corporal Putcher, Lieutenant Brass, Lieutenant Kilo, Private Graham, and Damian descended from the plateau to traverse the short road before the great bridge. All others could watch clearly from the precipice. Before long the envoy stood before the gate of Belka.
Five minutes passed by of perfect, agonizing silence. No watchman spotted the envoys and called to them, no horns or sirens resounded from within the town, and the gates didn't move an inch. At Sanders' urging, Chester Graham blew a signal horn. A few more seconds passed with only the whispering of the wind across sheer cliffs to break the monotony. Then the portcullis began to rise.
At a comfortable, leisurely pace it ground upward, creaking and wobbling. Through the open gate strode three figures. All were thin, and arrayed in order of increasing height from the left. One, a fat man in a cleric's dark green robe and a huge-brimmed hat, used an enormous iron mace with spikes like a walking stick, but the others carried nothing. In the middle stood a scrawny woman with ragged, waist-length hair under a farmer's cowl, her expression vacant and her blouse black, dirty, and held together by rope. On her other side stood a thin man who must have been seven feet tall, with a long, pointy beard, a brimmed pointy hat tied beneath his chin, large spectacles, glistening white teeth, and rustic nobleman's wear obviously tailored for his ludicrous frame, ruffled collar and all. When the three drew near, it was he who spoke. ”Good morning, good morning! Forgive our lateness. It is rare that we here in Belka, famed as we our for our medicine, get visitors, particularly such early risers! How can we be of service?”
Sanders responded immediately, with all the officiousness that could be expected from him. ”Good morning. I am the commander of a small mercenary company, currently passing through this region. Its cliffs and gorges are most unforgiving, and we have nearly gotten lost. If you please, we would like to rest here for a day and provision ourselves for the coming march. There are fewer than forty of us, and I guarantee we will not be a burden.”
The nobleman's brilliant, toothy smile reflected what little sun eked through the yellow-gray clouds. ”We are always supportive of the armed forces, and would like nothing better. The only provision is that you think of the hospitality of little Belka in the cragland when your war is over. Our gate is open to you!” He tittered and gave a slight bow, making the point of his hat flop about. When he straightened up again, a stray mote of light permitted the soldiers to glimpse the gauntness and paleness of his face. No doubt a poor harvest in such unpleasant country meant hunger for all, from the peasant to the lord. He turned around, tittering still, and alongside the farmer and the cleric strode back through the threshold.
The soldiers, meanwhile, turned about and made a beeline back for camp. Sanders frowned at Eliza. ”I hope your active imagination hasn't gotten away with you, miss. They aren't your everyday folk, but such eccentricity is the defining feature of remote rural settlements. They can hardly be called animalistic savages.” Eliza opened her mouth to protest, but Sanders' smooth tones continued after a beat. ”If it turns out you have drawn our guild on a wild goose chase, miss, you will be sorely punished, but I am not yet ready to assume all things well. Bear with me.”
At the camp, he addressed the whole guild. ”We have made contact with denizens of the town. They do not appear to be diseased or afflicted in accordance with the tales. Something does, however, feel off. Frenzy Plant will be moving into the city to set up camp, and we will keep a sharp eye out for any abnormalities. While we are here, do not flaunt your magic, and do not take any food or water from the locals. Sup on only what we have brought with us, or what our own hunting parties recover.” He turned to look at the town, and to listen to the cries of the crows that flocked about the place. ”If there is something amiss in Belka, we will be sure to find out what.”
<Snipped quote by Lugubrious>
Lost as is not knowing what's gong on? Or lost as in not knowing what to have Slough do next?
That first one.
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