Mokley

Lantern

Bump! Summoning new characters!

STONES

A Story of a Tree

---

Kettle watched, with easing tension and slowing breaths, the exchange of introductions among Lila, Clav, and -- who was that? -- a young lady, valiantly trying not to be so frightened of the two most frightening-looking people Kettle had ever met. Kettle stood in the doorway awhile, her brows knitted while she mentally read through the list of letters she had sent, knowing this young lady had not been among them. But her face! Her face was so familiar.

And then, like the switch of a light, Kettle's eyes brightened in recognition. Len's son! This young woman looked very much like Junior, who had grabbed at Kettle's robes and had listened, gawping, to her stories of adventures across the world. Kettle wracked her brain, but as far as she knew, Junior didn't have a sister. Who was this, then, responding alone to a letter that had been addressed to Len and his wife?

She might have spoken, but the mysterious young woman had slowly begun to trust Clav in the midst of long conversation, and Kettle wouldn't have interrupted their new friendship for the world. There would be time in the future for questions.

Instead, Kettle slipped back into the cafe to find that her chosen companions had become boisterous and quick friends. Tea was poured, food was eaten, stories were told, even a couple admissions of admiration. She watched and listened to all of it with a profound sense of joy.

6:00 pm

---

The sun behind the fog was setting on the mountains, and the lamps within the room were brightened with a twist of a knob. The noise and laughter was just as strong as it had been an hour ago, and it was clear those gathered could go on all night as long as the food and the tea kept coming.

Kettle touched Harry on the shoulder. "Will you tell everyone outside to come in, please?" she asked kindly, with a twinge of nerves beginning to twist in her stomach. She moved quietly to the front of the room, where she scanned all of them for a moment and ingrained their faces in her memory.

She grinned suddenly, curled her fingers to her lips, and whistled high and piercing for their attention.

"Thank you all for coming," she announced, quelling the last of the conversational murmurs. "I am truly, deeply honored that you all traveled so far with so little information. I am humbled by your trust, your friendship, your generosity, and your profound and adventurous curiosity." She wasn't going to cry, she told herself. The fact that so many surrounded her now was the happiest feeling in the world. She took a deep breath.

"We're all here because of a discovery." How should she phrase it? She hadn't quite thought of what she would say when the time came -- and now they were all looking at her, expectant.

"There is a myth that I'm sure many of you know." When in doubt, tell a story. Kettle hopped up and sat on a table, facing them all, her hands curled around the edge. "That in the beginning of all things, the world was empty, volcanic, filled with dust and fire and darkness -- until a star fell down from the sky and buried deep under the stones. And then, out of the rock and ash of that tumultuous world, a Tree took shape." She illustrated with a gesture of her hands, like pulling the form of a tree out of a wasteland. "Over millennia the Tree grew and curled its roots around the world, embracing volcanic wastes and seas of acid. Slowly the chaos calmed. The sky cleared for the first time since the planet's birth, and the Tree's branches filled with the first green the world had ever known. Grass grew out of ashes, forests rose out of dead volcanoes, the seas turned blue and the rivers ran fresh. The Tree bore fruit, then: the fish of the seas, the beasts of the ground and the birds of the sky. Then, our ancestors. People. All are children of the Tree; all are brothers and sisters of the same origin." Kettle included every race and species in the world and represented in that room when she spoke of people.

An expression of worry crossed Kettle's face. Even now, she was unsure whether they would believe her.

"I believe that just beyond the mountains to the north -- in the heart of the unnamed woods -- are the ruins of the City of Ro." She waited a moment for this information to sink in -- for those who knew the legends to realize the gravity of this discovery. "According to legend, Ro was built on the site where the Tree first grew. The city's sole purpose was to worship and protect the last remaining Seed." She scanned each of their faces. Surely, they thought she was mad.

"If I'm right -- and I am very sure I am -- just north of where we stand lies a Seed of the Tree of creation."

STONES

I know there are one, maybe two collab posts in the works right now, but for the sake of pushing forward I'll start working on that new post. Don't be discouraged from continuing those conversations! :)

Edit: And done! I hope nobody's put off by the slightly religious aspect of our dingus. To most characters this should be a very old, mostly preposterous myth -- it's like telling someone today that they've found the road to Valhalla -- completely bonkers. ;)

Just your average tavern thread (where the tavern's burning and being besieged by zombies)

Bump! Chaos has quieted down at the tavern. Any character is welcome to walk in at any time. Check out the latest mod post for a picture of the scene at present, and jump in. :)

Candlewick (a fantastical seafaring RP)

Still open!

Candlewick [CLOSED]

He let out a fearful shout and found himself a corner to curl up in. He remembered that fearsome noise from just before he blacked out. He remembered the terror that thing produced. He shuddered uncontrollably, repeating. "No... No... No..."

Suichiro

The sounds under the floor faded to a small scuffle, a few clinks and shuffles, the hushing sound of vines being torn away from the machines. Then, there was quiet.

The gray fox padded up to Suichiro, snuffled his ear and licked his face, its bushy tail swishing empathetically.

Above, thunder crashed. Light flashed through the cracks in the ceiling. The ship tossed and rocked and crashed on the waves. The gray fox skittered, crouched, and crawled close again to Suichiro, whining.

Hell even the small table had legs. Curiously it moved and swayed to counter the rocking of the boat. Curiosity wasn't completely gone as he saw a valve off to one side. So far everything had caused one event or another so he degan to turn it.

Near his feet something moved. They looked like large spider legs. Whether they were or not didn't matter because when they sprung out it caused Chris to jump and stumble over the parts strewn everywhere. Coming down with a crash one of the models was crushed under his arm. A dark fluid leaked out onto his arm, oil maybe. Looking up he tried to find what surprised him. Maybe he was just on edge but he swore that he felt something move on his arm but there was only the oil.

Chris

Indeed, those hinged machines that littered the workshop -- strewn throughout the room by years of being flung about in storms and waves -- appeared to be moving in the corner of Chris' eye.

Turning the valve did nothing, at first. But as the minutes went on, the pipe it was connected to would slowly heat up, and a dim hiss of steam would flow through it freely.

The boilers in the engine room had been filled and set alight.

The oil on Chris' arm didn't behave like usual oil -- it clung to his arm, more like a leech than a liquid, and occasionally it shifted as if the oil itself were alive. Simply brushing it off would send it to the floor, where it would seep into the cracks between the floorboards.

"WHO'S THERE!"

A gravelly voice shouted from the pile of wreckage behind Chris, and the gears and spider-legs began to shift and move. The inventions seemed as if they might be coming to life, their springs and hinges extended to capture Chris and devour him into their metal chaos --

Instead, a very human old man pushed his way out from behind them, grunting and grumbling and huffing with the effort of untangling himself from a set of hanging spider legs. He was a slightly rotund, red-faced, bushy-bearded old man who had possibly never smiled a day in his life, and he squinted through foggy spectacles at Chris.

"WHO ARE YOU?" he shouted, throwing his big hands in the air. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?" He grabbed Chris' arm where the oil had spilled, and yanked it close so he could see the stain closer. "WHAT DID YOU TOUCH?"

His voice boomed throughout the ship, followed by a crack of lightning outside.

In the Mess, the gray fox perked its ears and stared with interest in the direction of the workshop.

Candlewick [CLOSED]

Double-post for attention! :D

@t2wave@drewccapp Looks like it's just us three. Thank you for your persistence and patience. We'll move on under the assumption that no one else will be posting. Which is fine -- more plot importance for you. :)

The Bawdy Dog

There was nothing left for a bard to do but play and sing- and so he did.

Ealdwine

The needles that landed on her body were absorbed into the aura, as if melted almost. As the savager landed on her and made moves to stab her in the head, her 7 tails snaked around the body of the savager and grabbed his arms and legs. Slamming it into the ground, she turned and used her clawed hands, picked him up and slammed into the ground once more. It bouncing off the ground from the force that Seloria threw it down with, she used her arms and hammer punched it dead the face, not knowing that it could possible kill the thing, but with enough force that it could break anything and everything under the masked face.

Seloria jumped back and was low to the ground, waiting to react if the Savager got up from the devastating blows to the head and body.

Seloria

While Ealdwine's music filled the room, violet brightness burst throughout the tavern, and the Salvager's limp body was flung and crashed and crushed by whipping energy.

All around the tavern, the walls shook and the beams cracked. Everything left standing toppled over; the floor was a mess of sticky foam and shards of wood; The mounted troll's head had fallen into the hearth, burning and scattering fiery wood pieces; the air was filled with smoke and dust and a potent stench of burning flesh, rotten intestines, spilled beer and vomit.

The Salvager lay twitching in a puddle of ale on the floor. Its mask had been crushed like an egg, and dark foul goop seeped out from beneath it. The Salvager's ale-soaked fingers scrabbled against the floor, and its legs shifted and feet spasmed every few moments like a crushed spider, but it would not stand up again.

The Needle Salvager is Crushed

She swung her solo hammer round, smashing a stool or two, before lunging forward and thoughtlessly wrapping her strong jaw round it's throat, ripping away cloth and deteriorating flesh along with a handful of spine.

It took her a few seconds for the taste to sink in. Vile. Just vile. Ew. Ew. EWW!!!!! Gagging violently, her stomach rebelled, causing her to spew out a spray of rotten, saliva-slathered, hunks of stinky flesh.

Fate

The Scimitar Salvager rocked on its feet, unsteady and dripping dark rotten slime from the gaping muzzle-shaped hole in its neck. Its faceless masked head, with nothing left to support it, flopped and twisted grotesquely behind its shoulder. And yet it did not fall.

The Salvager raised the scimitar and slashed mechanically at the gagging werewolf, but the blade was only caught in the thick fur. Its fingers flexed and shuddered, and it wavered uselessly while black goop soaked its once-pristine robes.

It dropped Milo to the floor with a thump. Soon afterward, the Salvager collapsed in a heap at the base of the smoking hearth; its scimitar clattered to the floor. Even afterward, the Salvager's wrecked body continued to shift and struggle and gurgle in a puddle of ale and its own rotten flesh.

The Scimitar Salvager Has Been Decommissioned

Dirion his hand on Wink's shoulder and whispered to her, "Stay down" He stood up from the glass covered floor and began to inspect the man. He was paler than Dirion had ever seen him, and there was that same dead, grey fog in his eyes. Normally Busker had some sort of expression on his face, whether it was a scowl at some argument or a grin at the idea of profit, but now the muscles in his face just sat slack, emotionless.

Dirion

Dr. Vickers wasn't sure of what to make of the scene inside, apparently some sort of ruckus was going on. Deciding not to worry too much, he skirted around the room, along the walls, only occasionally asking someone to move out of the way.

"Excuse me. Pardon me, miss. Ah, no sir, this is my pig, you cannot play with him."

He made his way to where he could get a drink.

"One Ale and one slop for my friend, thank you."

Henri

"no... No nonono no no. No! Hey! Hey~ buddy, look at me. Can you hear me? Can you hear-can you see your daughter, Wink over there? What's wrong? Eh? Well, whatever it is, we'll fix it ok? We'll get you patched up and running the tavern again in no time. Just sit down here and rest up ok? Leave things to your old pal Gharly...c..."

"Busker. Where are you going?"

Gharlyc

It was quite the scene that Henri had walked into.

A seven-foot werewolf stood heaving and gagging by the hearth, next to the twitching, rotten remains of two white-robed figures and the small mummy-wrapped form of a child.

The walls were vibrating and the air was swirling around the glowing violet energy of a many-tailed fox, which stood over another crushed rotten corpse.

There was a gaping hole in the wall beside the bar, letting in the cool night air; the wall was beginning to buckle, and the beams in the ceiling were creaking with strain.

Several foreign objects had fallen into the hearth and were letting off thick black smoke; burning pieces of wood were scattered on the floor and surrounding splintered tables and chairs. Not a single piece of furniture was left unbroken.

The entire room reeked of rotten meat, burning flesh, sick and vinegar and spilled putrid ale, and a romping song was played and sung by the bard sitting injured on the sticky floor.

But the doctor and his pig managed to find the only stool left standing at the bar, and with a pleasant voice raised over Ealdwine's song, requested the attention of the barkeep.

Busker shifted on his feet. His eyes were gray and dead, and his clothes and the side of his face were soaked and shining with blood. With shuffling feet, the owner of the Bawdy Dog walked along behind the bar, stepping over Pallas and Edward. With a pale hand, Busker grabbed a tankard from the bar, the same one that Dirion had been drinking from previously before Edward's weapon had shot holes into it. Mechanically, he filled the tankard at the ale barrel and set it down with a wet splash in front of Henri. The ale leaked quickly out of the tankard and pooled on the bar.

Busker stood quietly staring into nothingness, the blood drying on his clothes.

Wink, meanwhile, took in a shaking breath and stood, holding onto Dirion for support. She, too, was covered in ale and her father's blood; the breeze from the hole in the wall dried the tears on her face, and she was no longer crying.

Although, as he pouted at his misfortune, the heat from his filthy palm was allowed to coax the tiny residue from the bottle's sides and a single drop was able to form in the bottom rim. Immediately, his attention was back on the bar and so was a new grin--a wicked, toothy, and crooked grin full of elation with a dangerous game playing in his mind. Without another thought, the insane demon threw the bottle into his mouth and shattered the thing in one mighty chomp--the bitter sting of the potion and blood exciting his tongue and body.

Goodbye, Jargo the Luck Demon and, hello, Jargo the Flesh Eater.

Jargo

The elixir -- at such a low dosage to someone who was not at all on the brink of death -- had a very different effect on Jargo than it had on Busker and Milo.

The Luck Demon's eyes turned a shade of gray, and his bloody mouth stretched into a red wolfish grin. Whatever humanity had been in him before was gone, replaced with something altogether dangerous and wicked.

Jargo -- or, rather, the thing that had once been Jargo -- sprang off the table and launched off the bar with an animal hiss and wide-jawed breath. He dashed out of the hole in the wall and into the night, off to track down his new master.

An Eerie Quiet Returns to the Bawdy Dog

The Bawdy Dog

Ok doin' this postin' thing now.

Edit: Just noticed that when the screen is downsized, the site now reverts to a more mobile-friendly version. Dunno how long it's been doing that, but so helpful. x3

Back to writing!

Edit 2: Done! The story is once again in your hands, everyone -- make of it what you will!

Candlewick (a fantastical seafaring RP)

Lookin for new victims! :)