Lugubrious

Phoenix Wing (A Fairy Tail RP-Always Open, Open)

<Snipped quote by YipeeXD>

Yes

But it's the next day so I can just post as Sasha

@lugubriouscan you do me a favor and tell me what's actually happening in the recent posts? I can't for he life of me figure it out. My brain is toasted

@Caits

Sure. Frenzy Plant went to Belka. They set up camp near the town, and in the morning sent some people to say hi. This was accomplished, with no trace of anything suspicious, and it was determined that everyone's going inside.

Phoenix Wing (A Fairy Tail RP-Always Open, Open)

Frenzy Plant – Inquest at Belka

@liferusher @Caits @oblivion666 @raijinslayer @lunarlors34@zarkun@hatakekuro

The General of Frenzy Plant nodded, his white hair rolling like wheat in the brisk mountain breeze. ”No offense taken, Mr. Gerard. Your father is a wise man, and in any other case, his advice should be followed. However, towns are more unpredictable, and more heavily populated with spying eyes, than an open territory. That is why I have disagreed.” A quick look around confirmed that most of the soldiers were ready to move out, though some of the wagons remained less than fully loaded. Damian’s next question returned his attention to the loaned Blade. ”Iguunale? One of Frenzy Plant’s ‘branches’ relayed the information to us. You might not know: this guild maintains close connections with several nonmagical fighting forces across Fiore. They are not a part of the guild proper, but we coordinate often, including choice information. The Rune Knights and the Magic Council watch over the wizards of Fiore; the martial tree of which Frenzy Plant is a pivotal part works at other matters. I believe that the Dust Clavigers relayed the information. They are also the ones responsible for the quarantine, and any potential failure to maintain it.”

Having gone off a little, Sanders inclined his head abruptly in a gesture of dismissal, signaling that the time for conversation was at its end. He hurried over the rough, yellow-grassed ground to walk at the head of the procession leading from the clifftop campsite toward Belka. With only a few hundred meters of ground to cover, the war guild soon found itself at the gates of the wind-battered town. Upon entrance several features of the town became immediately obvious. An abundance of fire pits and braziers littered the place, evidence of a populace accustomed to light-obscuring clouds and chilly, biting gusts of wind. Houses, which looked like wooden boxes crammed and stacked together, did not appear to be very large at all, and in some cases stood elevated on tree trunk columns to provide more room for farmland. Gardens seemed ubiquitous as well, along with their equipment. Most of all, there seemed to be no color in the place outside of the blazing fires; only dull greens, dull browns, and grays could be seen.

More interestingly, a group of townsfolk were currently passing by. All appeared haggard beneath their ragged work clothes, but these looked especially grim. Two of them cooperated to lug a huge pot of gray powder toward Belka’s southern end where an allotment of gravestones lay, and the other three marched along with them. One held a little book, and another a little bell. The portly cleric who some minutes before had gone out to greet the envoys of Frenzy Plant stood by and watched, leaning on his spiked club. His compatriots could not be glimpsed anywhere. From his manner, and the morose aura surrounding the southbound group, it could be inferred that these Belka denizens comprised a funeral procession--and that kiln-fired urn the sarcophagus of the immolated deceased.

Phoenix Wing (A Fairy Tail RP-Always Open, Open)

@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.

Phoenix Wing (A Fairy Tail RP-Always Open, Open)

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.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

@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.

@Double Capybara

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.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

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.

@Double Capybara

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.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

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.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

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.

Summary

~Slough lies unburied and unmarked at the heart of a blighted town in the Forsaken Cragland, where the delta of the Mahd river used to be
~Her resting place, the Deadwood Sepulcher, is a sort of holy site, and echoes with the tainted life power of the goddess. Those who begin a journey or seek purpose without a specific goal in mind feel a tug toward this place, and those who finish their journey to the Sepulcher are granted undeath at the cost of a suppressed soul, and remain in the Cragland
~The seeping curse inside her caused a season of undeath, the Aimless Time, to befall the world. To practically all beings, however, it never happened; those capable of remembering it are those who exist outside the span of normal time, and the effects of the defiled season faded as it did, leaving no traces behind outside of the Cragland
~In the Cragland there are numerous tombs with special souls stashed inside. A visitor to the Cragland who opens one will be sapped to give the souls a proper body

Might Summary:
-0 MP for the Aimless Time, caused by Slough's inherent powers.
-10 MP for the 'holy site', Deadwood Sepulcher
-1 FP to recall a proud soul of a chaos-drenched lord
-1 FP to recall a proud soul of a crystalline dragon
-1 MP to recall a brave soul of a skybound sympathizer
-1 MP to recall a brave soul of a malevolent maiden
-1 MP to recall a brave soul of a charismatic warhound
-1 MP to recall a vast soul of the knowledgeable youth
-1 MP to recall a vast soul of the starlight scientist

5 MP remain

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

So uh

What's up guys

@Kaithas

Who unearthed this corpse? I demand an explanation. And a shovel.

Phoenix Wing (A Fairy Tail RP-Always Open, Open)

Cormorant Sanders – Clifftop Bastion

@Zarkun

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.