Ey Leute! This seems as good a time as any other for introductions, and thus I appear. Having glimpsed this thread now and then, and eventually grown interested enough to crawl my way through most of the IC (I will admit, heavily relying on the summaries, at least for the moment), I found it to be something I in which would greatly enjoy participating, and now come to ask if there may still be some place for my humble self in here.
That said, I have just now become most inopportunely busy. While I am still very much active (and thus not just pointlessly cluttering the thread with this), my first contributions here, if they are to come anytime soon, may be somewhat slow. I realise this note makes this a rather ungainly first post, but hopefully it is not so bad as to call for too terrible a punishment (or is it?).
As he passed by the guardsmen and into the building, Ulor threw a sinister glance at the captain, briefly reshaping his lingering illusion into three pairs of hovering, eye-like spheres of darkness and green flame which gazed malignantly at him before fading. This tiresome man had proved a nuisance for long enough, and it was much to his good fortune that the primal invoker had stepped forth with a credible document. His unsubtle attempt at soliciting bribery, irritatingly pointless as it was, would have yielded him something very different from gold. But, at last, his power to provide an obstacle had ceased, and he could be consigned to the inchoate abyss of oblivion. The path was clear, and the transterrene quest beckoned.
Having followed the vexingly enthusiastic gnome and stepped into the chamber within, he rapidly appraised his surroundings with an indifferent sweeping look, briefly fixating on the General's figure and the surface of the desk before reverting to his usual vacuous stare as he stood leaning upon his staff. He appeared oblivious to the greetings, as though having sunken into a new chasm of darkling meditation. However, he abruptly returned to animation as soon as he noticed the teacups being filled, deftly lifting one of them and withdrawing with it. As though divining his thoughts, the octopus contracted its tentacles, then stretched them out to its full length, propelling itself up from Ulor's shoulder. Strikingly, however, it did not arce downwards and collapse to the floor in a viscid mound, but remained preternaturally suspended in the air, slightly waving its limbs, akin to one of its mollusc kin afloat in the oceanic waters. It careened over forwards, bringing itself into a horizontal position, and writhed forth a few steps, seemingly swimming through the air as though it were liquid.
Transferring the hold on the cup to two of the fingers otherwise clutched around the staff, Ulor reached out with his now free hand and, seizing a hold of his familiar's globular body, gently turned it over at a sharp angle, in such a manner as to place it with its head downwards, its tentacles still oscillating with their tips towards the ceiling. Then, holding the cup over the creature, he carefully poured its contents into the latter's beak. The octopus seemed to swell as it drew in the tea, though that could just as well have been an illusion caused by its vibrating motions; then, once the transferral was complete, it redressed itself and floated upwards, to the higher end of one of the walls, where it attached itself to the stone surface and remained watching the room from its newfound vantage position.
After having thus employed the time other members of the party had spent questioning the General, Ulor turned to the official himself, speaking out in a harsh half-whisper.
"Pillars that whisper appear from the night unending. Strange forces are at work, and they must be sounded. But first... What divine orders do there reside in this city?" As he awaited the General's reply, he prepared to delve into his memory, evoking the remembrance of his days as an acolyte of the god and the knowledge on religious sects he had learned in the gloomy halls and libraries of his youth. It might have been they could prove useful to him presently, after all.
The vision Ulor had conjured had performed well in putting most of those present to flight. Their haste stood testament to how little they knew of the world they knew beyond the minute luminous circles if their lives. They were insignificant islands - no, they all were on a single island, surrounded by the dark ocean of unguessed revelations, where dwelt those things of which the illusion was but the palest shadow. Evidently, even that was too much for them to bear. All the better they should be gone; that parade of their had already gruellingly wasted enough time already. Yet, he noted with some irritation, those whom the image was intended to frighten did not appreciate the urgency of his omen well enough. Their leader had somehow been able to see through the enchantment, and, for some reason, assumed that this invalidated what Ulor had said before. The obtuseness of this man seemed proportionate to the sharpness of his eyes. Sweeping his hand as though to wave aside the guardsman's sword, tugging at the threads of the image with his mental grip to cause it to fade, he began in an impatient tone:
"I do not threaten, I foretell. I said that if we do not speak with your-"
At that point, however, the feline acrobat thought well to interpose herself between him and the obstinate armiger, seemingly attempting some sort of trickery to dismiss his impression of hostility and make him vacate the doorway at last. While he appreciated any attempt to hasten the tedious procedure, he was slightly taken aback when she motioned for him to produce a document to persuade their obstacle. This improvisation seemed to him mighty improbable; however, far be it from him to decline any stratagem to finally enter that building.
Thrusting his hand into the folds of his cloak as though to reach for something he had stored in there, Ulor deftly snatched up the weave of the illusion, which, though no longer visible, had not yet completely dissipated. Swiftly drawing it into his grip, he hastily wove it, his mind scurrying and snapping like a spider, into the likeness of a parchment, somewhat weathered and frayed at the edges, covered in cramped handwriting (all the better, since greater clarity would likely have immediately revealed it to be complete gibberish) and bearing a bright, but oddly indistinct seal. Drawing forth his hand, he deftly held forth the insubstantial document, skilfully following the motions he invisibly directed. Or, at least, he attempted to do so. The result was likely not something any conjurer would have been proud of.
Irrespective of the renewed illusion's efficacy, Ulor would not declare himself defeated just yet. "Here is that safe-conduct. Now, do not tarry further. Your superior will be growing impatient to see us, and the looming calamities that menace us are not about to make themselves disappear."
Ulor reshapes the Silent Image into the form of a supposed document.
As it could have been foreseen, the green tiefling had not accomplished anything useful in conversing with the dragonborn, in spite of his advice, and it was only when the paladin - Talionis, was it not? - arrived to unsubtly threaten the orator that something was finally achieved. As he glanced over the parchment that the doom-crier had proffered, Ulor slowly nodded in satisfaction. The indication that some sort of ritual, presumably connected with the goals he was pursuing, was to be held in a cathedral promised much - after all, who knew better than himself what secrets a religious order might conceal, knowingly or not? Once already he had been set upon the path of wisdom by partaking in what was to be a holy rite; it could very well be this might occur again. Noticing that the octopus was vacuously peering at the manuscript, likely incapable of deciphering it, he let the awareness of what he had learned flow through the aether-suspended river of thoughts and into the creature's consciousness, the information nebulously coalescing into indistinct visions within its awareness, until he felt that it knew. For now, they could let the matter rest - the ceremony, whatever it was, would not be held anytime soon in the day, and presently they could devote themselves to finding this general they had been directed to converse with.
It so happened that this errand was more easily accomplished than Ulor might have thought, if only in a literal sense. Anon, the group had reached the path of the parade, and a military commander, matching the description of their contact they had been given, came riding at the head of his resplendent troops and the exultant populace. He was, however, unattainable, being separated from the group by the thick of the festivities. And what festivities these were. Blades flashing, arrows flying, mages squandering their art - or the favour of their divine masters, no less - on conjuring tricks, townsfolk cheering, and all manner of other nuisances. Wincing and grinding his teeth together, Ulor brought a half-clenched hand to his forehead, as though afflicted by a headache. And he might as well have been. The dusty winds of insubstantial revelry, celebrating fleeting constructions of temporal insubstantiality, were howling and screeching around him, at him. The wrath! What were they celebrating, after all? Their independence - no, the independence of their forebears - from wizards? How could they believe this had any consequence? They were the blind spark of infinitesimal conflagrations.
He felt the octopus tighten its grip upon his shoulder and lightly sway upon it, as though to warn him of something. Recovering his bearings, Ulor saw that the feline creature was holding out towards him one of the parchment-bound arrows. He nodded absently at her as he took it, and, briefly running his eyes through its contents - "Splendid Sundries"? What was that even supposed to be? - slid it into his backpack, arrow and all. Perhaps it, as well, might have been a sign of some sort, and these sundries might have been worth searching. But that would come later. The clouds were dispersing; more and more of the townsfolk disappeared. However, so did the general, who withdrew into some building and inconveniently left part of his retinue to prevent the curious from following him.
As he stood, at some distance, considering how to bypass the sentinels, Ulor noticed the singing imp oddly walking - swaying? - before the rest of the party. Frowning, he exchanged a perplexed gaze with the octopus (who seemed unconcerned by the display). Who was that directed at, now? Yet such idle questions vanished from his mind when he saw that the guards' attention had been drawn to the tiefling as a result of her performance. Inane though they might have been, her motions gave him a perfect opportunity for action. Now the time was right.
Crossing the gap between himself an the guards in a few strides, Ulor reached into a fold of his cloak, fingering some scraps of loose fleece. Words of a language lost to the cold oblivion of infinity came to his mouth as his fingers twisted in ritual gestures of secret potency. N'uraith vuul iyhh... The air behind him seemed to warp and twist in unearthly spasms, then darkened as a horrid sight took shape from emptiness. Over his shoulders there rose to a height of a good ten feet what seemed to be a nimbus of swirling motes of viscous darkness, undulating oozingly as dripping tendrils lashed and grasped blindly all across its surface. Crimson stains that might have been eyes flowed from one shape to another as animated quicksilver, successively engulfed by the shadows yet emerging again and again. All the while, not a sound came from the towering horror.
Now standing before the guards, the hideous vision looming behind his back, Ulor spoke in low accents, laden with crawling menace:
"Step aside, and let us to your master. We come bearing tidings he will wish to hear, and if you delay us..."
He gestured abruptly and uttered a single, almost inhuman sound, and the reverberations of distant thunder could be heard from somewhere behind the dark shape.
"...then dire things may come to pass."
Ulor casts Silent Image to conjure a frightening illusion, and Prestidigitation to evoke the sound of thunder.
Lest I disappear without warning, I will unfortunately be unable to post from now till the twentieth of the month. If action is required on Old N's part, do move him about as necessary (or unnecessary, if you prefer).
Is it possible to create a variant race of an already existing one?
As far as I am aware, it is possible indeed, and we even have a precedent. Though I would recommend discussing it with the original species' player beforehand.
Recovering from his impact against the wall, Old N briefly shook his body by rattling his libs against the nearest surfaces he could reach, causing the floor underneath him to creak in an alarming fashion. Truth be told, he only needed to shake his head, but not having a neck rendered that sort of acrobatics necessary for even the simplest things these carapace-less gnats took for granted. Speaking of carapace-less gnats... Having mostly regained his bearings, the demon observed that the rest of the group was either rushing or being ushered out of the vehicle, presumably to confront whatever it was that had struck it in the side and caused it to stop. Or was it the other way around? Did it make sense at all? Probably not, but that was only an unnecessary load upon his attention, and rapidly slid off from its slippery surface. He contemplated whether he should crawl outside himself. He could remain still there, and sleep through the resolution of the problem; however, considering just how capable the others were, there would likely be no resolution, and his slumber would eventually be interrupted by some marauder or the other. Thus, there was little alternative to venturing forth once again.
The way out was just as laborious as the way in ad been, but at least this time he had to clamber down, not up, at the vehicle's entrance. Only once he had issued from the corridors did it occur to Old N just how more free the outside was. Here, he was not cramped amid narrow walls, not at risk to be trapped in a doorway... All of which was very well, but he did not care much for movement. Now that he thought of it, the interior of the vehicle had probably been better. Still, stretching his pincers would not do him any bad. The demon cast an uninterested glance at what seemed to be a new arrival, as well as the body which had struck against the vehicle, and, not finding her any more interesting than the other lizard demon, focused once again on his pincers. Still painfully broken and unusable, but- Wait, did he have a...? Of course! Having rapidly searched his sack, Old N produced from it two cylindrical red tubers, a few odd-smelling purple berries and a single blue mushroom, and proceeded to munch them into an unpleasant-looking paste which he applied, by the means of his mandibles, to his mutilated appendages. For good measure, he spat out some leftover Magic Mixture which he had somehow still not swallowed. If those were what he believed them to be, the healing process should have proceeded a great deal faster, perhaps with some interesting side effects. Satisfied with the result, the demon shambled towards the rest of the group. Maybe some of them had some idea of what they were supposed to do. Then again, the longer they spent figuring it out, the better.
Light, noise, dust, clamouring throngs. Ulor had never been fond of large, bustling settlements as this one. In truth, he had not been fond of smaller ones, either, and most certainly was not now, but for vast cities he reserved a more intense distaste than he bore for any other collection of inhabited buildings. That they should exist at all did not concern him in the slightest; however, the fact that passing through them seemed to be a constant necessity was positively aggravating. Yet this was not, after all, the worst part of what his quest had brought him into. Cities could, perhaps, not be avoided, but they only had to spend a few days at a time in any of them. No, what placed an even greater strain upon his patience was the necessity of having an entire band travel alongside them, especially that vile green imp who, it seemed, was determined to visit the affliction that was her voice upon anything and everything in the environs. Pleasant as it would have been to clobber her into silence, though, he could not deny that it would have been unwise to diminish this makeshift cohort they had stumbled upon, especially considering what had transpired in Fellmire.
As he went through his morning rituals after a brief night of dim, inchoate visions, Ulor's thoughts returned to the decaying town and the dreams which had guided them there. The voices of sleep had directed them to that place, yet, at the time they had spoken of it, the creature that had cast its curious spell - it would have been worth investigating further, had there been time - over it had been no more remarkable than any other sea hag. For days, the rationale behind the voices' actions had eluded him, until, finally, he had understood. They had known that only if Ulor and the familiar entity, and presumably the others, would have reached the town, the hag would have called upon its shadowy and hidden ally, and that force would have acted in such a manner as to reveal itself. That was an inevitability, and it had to be so. It followed that this being was something the voices knew to be conducive to finding the secret. That was the sense of things, and what would happen would happen.
Squinting as he issued from the inn and into the daylight, Ulor clutched his staff in irritation as the din of the city grew louder about him. The people were clouds of dust, swirling chaotically along the street, brushing and mingling with each other, the sonorous wind blowing through them. There was a celebration of some sort, he had heard. Ululations of inane breezes in mouths of sand. He blinked a few times, his eyes growing accustomed to the luminosity, and exchanged a glance with the familiar, which was perched upon, or rather wrapped around, his shoulder. The creature residing in the form of a pale, almost spectre-like octopus responded with the hollow gaze of its vitreous orbs and a slight undulation of its bloated body. The voices had been silent for some time, and it had nothing to say. For now, at least.
As he moved to follow the rest of the party to their next destination - a temporal ruler of some sort, yet again distasteful, but necessary if he was to make any progress - his attention was drawn by the loud and rather wild words of a nearby dragonborn, whose speech verged on oddly familiar subjects. An "end of the world" was nothing new; but this one seemed to know something of the being they were seeking. How or why was circumstantial; what Ulor found most intriguing was what was the truth behind his words, and whither it could lead. This was an occasion not to be disregarded. Eager to gaze through the dragonborn's thoughts with the eye of living dreams, he began to reach for his orb of incantation, but then stopped short. No, this would not do; the wisdom he wielded was not one to be invoked in the glare of day, amidst the storm of vacuity. Another approach would have rendered itself necessary - and see, the vociferous sprite had approached the speaker, and was whispering something to him. It might have been she were rendering herself useful for once. Not enough to offset her tiresome nature, but it was something to begin with. Nonetheless, it would have been better to ensure she performed adequately.
Evoking the mouth of distorted thoughts, Ulor reached out for the tiefling's mind and spoke within it, the swirling patterns of his psychic touch manifesting to her as his usual whispering voice:
"We require the knowledge he holds. Draw it from him or lead him into a place where I may do it, and we shall all gain from it."
Ulor uses Awakened Mind to convey a brief telepathic message to Daisy.
