Rtron — Roleplayer Guild

"Greetings, gathered councilors. I've come back from my journey of all the Rovaick holdings. Most of my report can be read in the writings I gave you, so my speech here shall be brief. The Oath and word of Toun are spreading wildly throughout the closer Rovaick settlements. Writing is slowly being set up, along with the word of Toun. The tedar have begun to develop a magic of their own, called taming. It's current applications are useless, but with time they may become extremely potent. There has been a new rash of wildlife forming in the Mountains, from fungus to various four legged creatures. Research on them I recommend be started as soon as possible. 

In the outlying settlements, things are a different story. There is a strong criminal element called the 'Illumi'. They seek to create these 'Seven Sins'. I curbed them as much I could, but lacked political power to do serious damage. I recommend curbing their activities before they grow out of hand.

On a side note, my powers of reading thoughts and minorly influencing minds has been increasing as time goes on. A sign of the gifts given to us long ago. 

With that, members of the Council-" His report was cut off as a Realta burst into the room and started laying about with plasma and death.

-Sularn has telepathic powers that are growing

-The tedar are growing in magic, able to start mildly taming beasts

-The Tounic following is growing

Sularn and Majus Tea Time

Sularn stood on the stairs to the ruined council building, a map of the city of Rulanah in front of him, giving orders and direction. He was burned across the chest, covered in pieces of dust and rubble, blood streaming down the side of his head, and numerous other small injuries were about him. He ignored them all. A fire burned in his eyes. A fire for vengeance, for making sure that the Rovaick were never so  weak again. “You, tedar. Gather as many of your compatriots as you can and start clearing rubble. Any survivors you find take here.” He pointed towards a spot in the eastern part of the city. “The dead, pull out into the street but otherwise leave them. We need to give our attention to those we can save.”

He pointed to Gruik. “Gather as many of your compatriots as you can, and start sealing every tunnel except the main ones to the city. I don’t trust those fools who prayed to Vestec for help.” Gruik opened his mouth to protest, stopping as Sularn held up a hand. “I’ll send Conata to you as soon as I can. She is needed elsewhere.” Reluctantly, the goblin nodded and ran off, Teknall’s hammer bouncing on his chest.

“Razish.” Sularn gestured to an azibo nearby.

He hurriedly strode forward. “Yes, Prophet?”

Sularn resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead focusing on the task at hand. “Bring me the Ogru.” Razish’s eyes widened in surprise and fear. “The Ogru? Here? Are you certain Prophet? Perhaps you should rest. You did take a nasty blow to the head….” 

Sularn looked up at him, pinning him with his gaze. “I am in full control of my thoughts, Raz. To defend this city from any further attacks from either the invaders or those fools to the north, I wish to have all possible assets at my disposal.” He smiled. “Trust me, old friend. I know what I’m doing.” 

Razish’s shoulders slumped in defeat and he moved away. “Of course. At once Prophet. I will gather the necessary people.” 

As Raz left, Sularn turned his attention to another azibo. “Gather the rest of the azibo, ascertain our strength. We’ve war ahead of us.”

Harsh ceramic stomps increased in volume, heralding the glossy armoured shape of Majus, red circles emblazoned on its chest. It strode with brisk urgency, but did not sacrifice the dignity in its posture. “Azibo Sularn.” It halted by the map.

It took him a few moments to notice that Majus has arrived, caught up in organization as he was, setting up refugee camps and sending help where it was needed. 

As soon as he noticed the avatar, however, he bowed before him, wincing in pain. “Perfect one! Forgive me, I did not notice you, caught up in dealing with the aftermath as I am. You have our eternal thanks for coming to our aid in our time of need.”

“The moments count for your life. On your feet, Sularn.” Majus’ deep, resonant order held the familiar condescending hint that Toun possessed, seemingly lashing in its inflections. However, it was much more clear and direct, not shuddering like Toun’s voice. The avatar was clearly speaking of its own accord. “I, Majus, greater servant of Toun, am here to see to the protection of you and your followers until further notice. Plans have changed.” Majus angled its featureless face forward. “So shall you.”

Leaving its last remark unexplained for now, Majus slowly scraped its head in a turn to face the map. “The porcelain sire has been listening to your progress. I would hear what has happened since the last time you sent prayers. Tell me of your people’s progress, the spreading of the oath, and of Teknall’s Toolsmith Gift.”

Sularn nodded, gathering his thoughts. “Since my last prayers the Oath has continued spread like wildfire throughout the Rovaick. Hundreds more of us have taken the Oath, though I cannot say for certain how many have broken it since I left. Gruik has spread the Gift just as quickly. The goblins are quickly experimenting and improving the methods of forging, though I must admit I suspect it is at a great cost of life to them. Farming and animal husbandry are on the rise and the trolls and tedar are both constantly seeking to improve on what the Perfect One has given us. In the case of the tedar, they have begun to develop their own magic. Taming, they call it. It’s decades from anything actually useful, but the possible applications are astounding and seemingly endless.”

Sularn looked back over at the map and his lip curled in disgust. “As you know, the settlements closest to the city of Xerxes had alarming amounts of this ‘Illumi’ amongst them. A criminal organization, seemingly dedicated to the furthering of these ‘Seven Sins’ and Amartia. I did what I could to curb their influence, but I lacked the political weight myself to deal with that. I’ve received reports that every settlement the Rovaick have has been attacked, many destroyed,. Refugees are constantly pouring in and those settlements that haven’t been destroyed are only spared through selling themselves out to Vestec. There are garbled reports of summoning monsters and Violence incarnate protecting them. I know little else other than this; If we survive, they will all be killed.”

Sularn sighed, running a hand along his head, wincing in pain. “I had just returned to the Council to give my report when we were attacked. You and Conata saved us, but the Council itself was destroyed. I am currently the only Rovaick respected enough to give orders, and trying to gather our scattered, pathetic strength. We’re at war, Perfect One, and we are not ready.”

The head of Majus scraped its gaze back to Sularn and stared with deep, silent scrutiny. “You are not receiving war, you are receiving a cull,” Majus answered. “You are only at war if you can fight back. You would know this if you had seen these creatures for yourself.” Majus extended a clenched fist over the map without breaking its stare and opened its hand. A grey lump fell from its fingers and hit the table with a dull clack, bouncing once. The lump was patterned with charred sparkles and gently smoked with heat that Sularn could feel from where he stood. The stony lump had the shape of half a placid set of lips on one of its facets. 

“A cull is still known as a war, even if only by one side. Let us refer to it as a war. It gives us what little hope we can scrape together.” Sularn gave a mirthless chuckle. “I have seen these creatures, Perfect One. I watched them destroy the Council.”

As Majus lowered its arm, there was no indication that its impression had been altered. “Your enemies are realta, the stars of Logos, god of order. He has returned after eons to bathe Galbar in a blinding purge. His goals are not of mortal concern, but he will lay waste to every rovaick that walks if you do not learn to adapt. Bronze maces will not suffice.”

Sularn smiled grimly at the knowledge of who the enemy was, before chuckling with actual humor. “You don’t say, Perfect one. I thought bronze maces were our sure way of besting them.”

The humour was not reciprocated by the towering avatar. Majus hesitated, its featureless face hiding the exact reason. Moving on, its face turned to look at the Tounic characters that dotted items in the room, both mastered and bastardised. “Your people’s Astartian magic, Sularn, how has it progressed for uses in combat? And your understanding of my master’s scriptures, what have you discovered that will help you?”

“I can’t say for certain how many Azibo’s Astartian magic has developed into combat, or even at all beyond the physical applications. Elementalism has been studied far more by my people, and is more likely to have been experimented enough for war.” Sularn hesitated, then shrugged. “It may have been lost in the bulk of my reports, but I’ve begun developing the ability to dominate the minds of creatures. I used it to dispense justice, and tried it against these realta...but their minds were just so alien…” he trailed off, before shaking himself back to the present.

“I’ve ordered our remaining Ogru to be brought so I can dominate and control them against the next attack, if there is one.”

“As for scriptures….Nothing. I am the most well versed rovaick in all of the world, and I can only properly write half of the letters, and almost properly write a third of them. I can perhaps create words that would aid us, but I suspect I do not have the luxury of time to write them or learn the others to make them work. As I said, Perfect One. We are not ready.”

Majus held its head back slightly. The helmet appeared to be gazing over Sularn’s head, but unseen eyes left an impression of disdain. “Your progress has been insufficient. If not for your importance and your potential, you would perish like those around you to the fires of Order. My master wishes that you do better. As such, you shall be made ready. Ready to meet the armies of gods. Step forward.”

Sularn bit back a small surge of anger at the disdain. It was not the fault of the Rovaick that this cataclysm came before they were ready. Regardless, he listened to Majus, stepping forward. It was not lightly, he knew, that Toun suddenly made him ready to battle the armies of his foes. 

With Sularn in reach, Majus extended a clenched gauntlet and sprung out its fingers in a wide splay. Red ink beaded from the pointed tips of its fingers like the nibs of sharp styluses. “My master has deemed you receive his blessing. Use it to drive your enemies before you if they hold such arrogance as to refuse your oath. Use it to show Toun’s power. Use it to see the potential in your people and have them aspire to achieve it. You will survive, you will strengthen, you will be an instrument of Toun’s will. This is your mission.”

Sularn gazed at the digits with both hope and wariness. “As you say, Perfect On-”

Without warning, Majus’ hand stretched forward to clasp onto Sularn’s forehead. The sharp fingertips dug into his skull with a similar numbness to his original oath, but the power that flowed forth caused another, unnatural pain. Ink ran down from the newly created holes in his head, plugged by Majus’ large porcelain digits. They mixed with his blood in a domineering swirl. Before a second had passed, a circular red emblem of Toun burned in his mind’s eye. The symbol rushed into his vision, pulling him towards its leftmost points.

The tapering points never touched despite looking closer and closer at them. The previously curved points became so close that they appeared to straighten. That was when Sularn realised what they were made from.

Sularn’s body stiffened with agony, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as visions filled his mind. The Tounic symbols flashed by him, frustrating his attempts to remember them, or even recognize them. Given no other recourse, Sularn simply let himself be tugged along for the ride, trying to control the agony and power raging through him.

Like the ceiling and floor of a tall, endless hallway, the points were sealed with planes of Tounic calligraphy. It rushed by faster and faster without apparent end. Sularn flew through the hallway until the symbols turned into a blur. As the points at the end of the hallway drew closer and closer, Sularn was shunted to a stop. 

It was not a real physical stop. Sularn realised, when his eyes refocussed, that he had not shifted from his standing position in the room around him. Majus stood just as tall. The fingers that had grabbed Sularn were by Majus’ side, dripping with blood. It was far too dark to be more of that red ink.

Sularn stumbled as he came back to the real world. The sudden solidness around him caught him unexpectedly, but he picked himself up quickly, staring at Majus. “What...” His voice was ragged. “What have you given me, Perfect One?”

The words came out of Sularn’s mouth as fluently as a morning greeting. He didn’t realise what he had said until he realised the feeling of his tongue making foreign movements. They were not of the local language of the rovaick community that he had lived in for years. It was the tongue of the gods. Such things had not been heard in his ears since Teknall brought his daughters to his home. He still knew his own language, and he could still speak it, but it was as if it was no longer his first language. No. Not precisely his first language. He knew both languages perfectly. Two complete lexicons in his memory. All of it was written in Tounic calligraphy in his mind. Perhaps more.

Majus answered in Sularn’s native tongue all the same. “Your gifts are self-evident. Look within yourself. Look at your body.”

Sularn lifted a hand to wipe the blood from his face, only to stop in surprise at the porcelain that covered his arms, looking around, he saw that it covered most of his body, excluding the parts of his body that needed to bend smoothly. He could feel the power flowing through him, the sudden burst of energy. “Am I...” He trailed off, realizing he was still speaking in the language of gods. Shaking his head irritably, he focused and forced the words out in his native language. “Am I to be Toun’s prophet for the Rovaick then?”

Before Majus could answer, it turned its head to look to the entrance. A roar shook through the cavern. “Prophet! The smells of death and blood have driven them mad!” Razish screamed out. Three Ogru charged up the stairs.

Sularn turned around. With barely a thought, his new porcelain carapace extended to a flexible light armor over his joints, the other porcelain thickening and hooding over his face in a pure white helmet. Power surged through him and he entered their mad, fury filled, minds, quickly gaining control. Sularn almost smiled, it was pathetically easy. They had no defense, no intelligence, simply fury. “Stop.” The Ogru stopped, waiting. “You will obey Razish, and you will do nothing he does not command you to.” He turned his gaze to Razish. “Have them help clear the rubble.” The other azibo bowed. “As you say, Prophet.”

He returned his attention to Majus, the armor receding as the Ogru were taken away by Razish. “Anything else Perfect One?”

Majus ground its faceless head back to facing Sularn. “Everything you saw when you were given power is now at your disposal. Every symbol and every detail. Now that you have felt the power it has brought to your person, use it to continue bettering yourself and your people.” Majus lifted its weapon off the ground and turned it to hold it in both of its gauntleted hands. “I shall stand vigil over this community for exactly thirty days, sufficient time to weather the blinding purge. Use this time to integrate those who come seeking shelter, use it to train a force to fight the enemies of your oath.” Majus lowered its head in a single slow nod. “You been Toun’s prophet to the rovaick since he first spoke to you, Azibo Prophet Sularn.”

Majus took a lumbering step to one side and strode in a straight line out of the map room. Its ceramic footsteps resumed their ominous echoing rhythm throughout the caverns.

-Sularn was organizing the remaining Rovaick after the Realta attacks, sending out rescue teams and preparing the city for war.

-Majus showed up and started telling Sularn he needs to change and getting reports from Sularn. 

-Sularn reports that a few Rovaick settlements still standing, having sold themselves to Vestec and are under his protection and wielding new magics. (-1 might to create Demon Summoning.) There are garbled reports of a Hain destroying things with a gesture (Vestec's Avatar of Violence is still kicking)

-Sularn has been made a Hero of Toun(-1 might), and now knows a huge swath of Tounic calligraphy, but not all of it. He can learn and write it faster, he can speak the language of the Gods, manipulate porcelain (after some experimentation), he now has porcelain plates on his body that can be created into battle armor should danger arise around him, and he has the standard boost in power and abilities every hero has.

-Majus tells Sularn he has thirty days to train the Rovaick into a fighting force and convert any refugees that arrive.

Sansar, Yarosmere

Yolin turned around, smiling genially at Darius. "They can be as sympathetic as they'd like. But if they interfere in Yarosmerian politics for the wrong side, they will be rebels and will be treated as such. Oh! Our guards. Right on time." He turned around, walking away and humming happily to himself. Aramir exchanged concerned glances with the remaining members of the group. "Well..here's to hoping he doesn't think we're siding with the rebels." With no other choice left to them, as the squad of ten guards fell into step behind and around them, they followed Yolin farther into the city. 

A dull roar could be heard in the distance as they approached the center of the city. Slowly the dull roar became distinguishable. "Khalitan Cah! Khalitan Cah! Khalitan Cah!" They rounded the corner, and a massive arena came into view. It soared into the sky, the only building free of any damage. The crowd was deafening, their chant unending. "Perfect! We're just in time for the main event!" Yolin cried, gesturing for them to hurry. They were ushered through the wide entrance hall, empty pedestals and shattered statues rushing by them. Yolin and his guards muscled a position through the crowd, getting the College students a full view of the sand covered arena floor. Two dozen bodies covered the ground, in various states of dismemberment. Five men and two women stood in the center of the arena, covered in blood and breathing heavily, each wielding two blades.

"The last of the Sand Cobras, that didn't escape, are going to be executed by Khalitan Cah, The Immortal One. He hasn't lost a single battle, not in all his years of fighting in the arena." Yolin explained, gesturing to the Cobras in the arena. A gate at the far side opened up, causing the crowd to howl in excitement and bloodlust. The Cobras in the arena tensed in fear, warily getting closer together. 

Slowly, Khalitan Cah made his way into the arena.

Unknown Location, Yarosmere

Sahra shook her head as she viewed the College students. "Allow me to repeat myself. There will be no fighting here. If you have issues, deal with them after we've saved your friends." She looked at E'nasha. "It'll be faster if we just got Sarn. You're going to be there for a while, and I don't trust your friends to not tear each other's throats out in the mean time." She turned her attention to the group as a whole. "The portal was a simple power of any practicioner of Nox shadow magic. As for what happened, perhaps I should start with explaining fully what we are. We're what remains of free Yarosmere. The resistance. Everyone else is a slave to this 'Prophet.' Her lip curled in disgust. "We made deals with the Wild, from the stories, and that kept us from having our minds dominated as well. Unfortunately, that still leaves us outnumbered and without the power to truly fight back."

"That's where you come in." A new voice called, a man pushing his way through the ranks. 

"The College can free Yarosmere from the grasp of the Prophet, and restore Order to the kingdom. Otherwise, this new Yarosmere will attack you."

Althalus

"I know your name. You just need to be aware how monumentally stupid your actions were." Althalus replied, somewhat absentmindly. He was examining the creature above them and mentally feeling out this...instinct he had. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch. He'd deal with it later. Right now, there was a horrifying monster to address. He took his crossbow out, preparing to toss it to Helena, when the floor started shaking. "Oh, what now." He complained, struggling to keep his footing as the floor rumbled and shook. He fell to the ground, climbing to his feet as walls began shooting around the place. 

More importantly, a wall began shooting towards him. "Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit!" Althalus scrambled out of the way of the wall, rolling as he barely escaped being crushed like a bug. "I hate this place already." He declared, sitting on the ground and throwing his hands wide. "Why can't we ever go to a mission to an inn? Or a restaurant? Taste test their food or something. But noooo, we have to do all the ridiculously dangerous things because the world hates us."

He continued to complain, making his way over to where Helena and Annabeth. "No idea where Colette went. I think she was launched behind a wall. In other news, we need to head that way." Althalus pointed in a seemingly random direction. "It'll lead us out. Eventually. If we live. And after we find Colette." As if on cue, he heard the vampire's familiar voice, arguing with another, coming nearby. "Well. That was convenient. Helena, here's some throwing knives. Whoever's best with the crossbow, take it because I certainly can't use it." Althalus tossed said knives and crossbow to the duo in front of him before turning to the sound of Colette. "Colette, glad you're alive. Who is your friend?"

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