The Grey Dust

Table of Monsters

"Actually, I am slightly inclined to side with the absent-minded human female on this one. If I may be so didactic to say that the representative kobold for this town should improve on his rhetoric skills. While using the inclusive term 'brethern' may have been a botched attempt to generalize the varied populace found within his domain, a more appropriate word to use would have been 'townspeople' or 'citizens' for 'brethren in it of itself denotes the exclusivity of the male gender of a similar order or sect. Hence the female members of such society would be left out of the populace entirely, unless of course they identified themselves as male, to which... Regardless my point remains, in a similar case, are we moving the mountains over to a more eastern position? Or are we relocating ourselves to the east while traveling upon the mountain? The case is rather ambiguous as I highly doubt we can move a mountain without a few years of civil engineering and proper construction? Also, technically we cannot possibly surround the safety of the civilians from a number of significant harm factors, I can list about forty-seven cases wherein even with an entourage of elite guards, several S'Augwin high scientists have been unexpected killed upon terrestrial travel. A majority of them involve improper distribution of supplies and other logistics...

All that being said, What exactly does guarding a group of townspeople do to help recover my tablets? Certainly a large mass migration would be uncessary given the average lifespan of kobold and the incidence of human-directed fatalities. Seeing that one or more may have come through here, within the last few days, I wager that most of these citizens are doomed regardless of where we arrive at. De facto I would wager that given the amount of human activity within this localized area, we should almost expect a full adventuring party of humans to have recently trounced the dragon within the stronghold and will be more than pleased to raid the newly established village. Henceforth I project that at least 30% of the population will die should such an encounter occur, and if not, then 40% shall be tithed to the dragon which has yet to be slain and overlooks the stronghold. Or maybe if we do not move, a wandering risk of roughly 50 to 75% of an adventuring party appearing and wiping out 80% of the populace were we are currently after the initial 90% has been culled by the strange dust we observed earlier."

At long last, R'lyeh chipped in his piece.

Table of Monsters

I will attempt to post later this evening.

The chronic coughing occurs every now and then. I've already decided to restrict my activity on these forums due to workload and illness.

Blood Compact: Vampire Genocide

Some Music to Accompany

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=up0t2ZDfX7E

A familiar friend, and foe.
Each stroke and thrust,
all too well known.
Predictable in fury,
and they both knew the outcome.

Blade being drawn, and a body moving forward. Within the darkness another rose, as they faded with Adam in the backdrop of this scene. Calmly, without a suggestion of surprise was the teacup set on the table, and then the table kicked forward as Bedivere slid back in his chair across the marble floors. With such a slash was the wood so easily parted, designer decorum, but not quite a solid construct, kids these days have no sense of art being immortal, but perhaps fleeting. No such canvas could withhold the beauty of art, or so they say, although Bedivere painted several lovely portraits in the past, all in red. Flashing Mithias a grin in return, saying nothing quite yet as he rose up from his seat, unfolding himself and dusted off his shoulders. His inconspicuous umbrella hanging by its hook between the crook of where is left arm met forarm, as he adjusted his cuffs unreasonably dodging the attacks sent his way in an almost comedic contrast. Wherein Mithias was, a sight to behold as his fury was laid down, Bedivere was the foiling jester who wove his way through the atrium with a quick step every bit faster than Mithias' blades. Defensive footwork, not quite a retreat, but certainly enough to make Mithias look foolish in attempting to strike that which he could not touch, merely inches away but for an inch Mithias would beg Bedivere for that last inch. And this brought a curiosity to Bedivere's face which had not appeared in the last decade: A Smile.

"Concierge, I request some music to accompany me in demonstrating the error in my brother's judgment whilst we engage in our duel. Verdi's Requiem: Dies Irae should be fitting per this situation." The poor concierge just gave Bedivere a confused look, pitiful indeed but not enough to make Bedivere consider retracting his demand. "Did I not make my request clear? Do hurry, before I draw my own bow and be my own minstrel and your screams as I cut your body apart, my tune." At which, the man quickly decided to find such a piece on an popular music and video uploading website online and proceed to feed the music into the hotel lobby. "Perfect."

But enough of this. While he enjoyed watching Mithias attempt with all his heart to kill him, a response so human in nature perhaps to seek the vengeance long withheld, it was almost disappointing all the same that Mithias was indeed acting too human. One of the weaknesses humans had, their frail concept of eternity, attributed to their own mortality, ten years was but a week in the centuries to come. All this concern over the time lost? Certainly not, a vampire as old as he should understand that those who bear the gift would not crumble like the fragile humans beneath them. Now then, it was time to get serious and remind Mithias who it was between them which held the sword. A seeping darkness flowed as the forte of the hidden blade was exposed, barely an inch, but enough to deal with parrying the emotionally-attached attacks. Kept barely open from its umbrella scabbard, Caliburn the Darkest Blade unsheathed to counter the twin blades of Mithias. Casting off the swordstrokes with a dispelling parry, a strong force to glance off the twins to the sides as Bedivere's began his counter assault, moving forward to meet Mithias' dancing blades. Parting the pair of edges like the seas one to each side to keep his advance steady as they came in from his sides. Horizontal met vertical, and vertical met horizontal, the first blade blocked by the second, manipulated in its path by the third. It was not the number of swords one carried, but how effective one was at using them. To which in a sense, using the leverage he had with one of Mithas' weapon allowed him to defer the second blade with the first. A tap with the tip of the umbrella against the flat of the blade, enough to disrupt the path and jerk the tip to just miss: Beautiful.

And he finished it, the show was to be over when Bedivere determined Mithias had given the spectators enough of a show. With an flick of his wrist, taking the angle upon the fulcrum did the elder disarm the younger, the first blade flying from its cradle into a vase of flowers serving as a centerpiece which shattered as the result. Fragile, as Bedivere noted earlier. The second was retained but now brought down upon Bedivere as the old knight stepped to the side and took the boy's wrist by the hook of his umbrella-blade's handle. The sudden tug pulled Mithias back, by his arm, all the way down as Bedivere impaled the marble floor with his ancient blade, cracking the solid rock itself as the swiftness of his actions fueled by the void of darkness gave it a strobe-light effect.

"Into stone, Caliburn I sheathe." Bedivere rose as Mithias fell, tethered by his wrist with a mere umbrella hook. Enough of a moment to give pause and find the tip of a familiar umbrella touching Mithias' chest. A wooden=tipped umbrella, capped in pointed metal, effectively a stake. Though it met something hard, not flesh nor bone as it lightly applied pressure upon the boy. "I see you still keep the silver Crucifix I gave you. Ten years, at your side." Kept close to the heart, Bedivere had never left him. He chuckled as he reached to pull the sword out from the stone, and sheathe his blade back into its umbrella disguise. "Good to see you again brother."

Starfire

I might have to bow out. I am uncertain if I am about to continue for the time being, and may limit myself to only 2 rps :I

The Silent Watch [Ebonfort]

This was unexpected. It was not everyday that Gregory received summons, work orders perhaps, but certainly not summons. More so was the suggestion of who had summoned him, and why now. Most perplexing, if Gregory was a more politically apt man he would further question the shroud of secrecy and veil around this encounter. Fortunately, he was not such a person to think deeply about the machinations of the inner nature of the universe. He found comfort in beating the living daylights out of a piece of glowing metal, tempering it to his will and letting the steady beat of his hammer bash it to a cold lifeless grey. A brutal artist, in the sense of the word, although his swords came out less ornate than what may be called a true piece of mastery, in practicality it was Gregory's blades which had the distinction of having saved a few hides of the Ebons before. Not that they'd ever admit that such a blade was folded thrice-dozen times working the bar in a laborious effort to create a striated banding across the edges from the resulting in infinitesimal constructs of the blade being bound together. While it would eventually wear and break in a few generations, the week-long process of creating such a blade was well worth the effort. But then again Gregory did have the unfair advantage of being the only Smith around these parts...

"The Wingbeat behind yours." The complimentary response to the question posed. An answer which in of itself indicated that Krigar should provide the place of private conversation, rather than Gregory open his residence as a place for them to speak in private as that would require the phrase 'The Winds with Us."

Regardless of the nature of this sudden appearance, Gregory did take wing with a spread of his span, stretching out the leathery wings of stone before the Vegarra and Krigar. Gregory had wings but hardly used them throughout the day, perhaps only to fly up into his home above the shop, it was strange for those with the ability to fly to disregard it. But those who were grounded longed for the skies, and those who had the skies, longed for the open peaks, not the wooden cages which were imposing to navigate through these woodlands. Powerful back muscles flapping down, providing the prodigious amount of lift required to propel the massive Gregory from the cool earth below. Delving in the physics of things would suggest gargoyles were definitely hollow on the inside, but their bones were generally hollow matrixes and instead relied on muscles to create weight and bulk for integrity's sake. Even those horns atop Gregory were hollow, merely for decorum as it would be, but definitely hard and study.

"Mountains speak when mined." another phrase used by their race, spoken out of earshot from the Ebons while they were taking wing to whence forth they were headed. Colourful expressions used, analogies and metaphors to compliment the rather laconic expressionism of their kind. In short, asking for a debriefing on what information is held by the appropriate party. The appropriate answer would be to begin with the complimentary expression 'The Stones whisper:'

Blood Compact: Vampire Genocide

Adam
Insolent Boy.
A child without,
either knowledge or wisdom.
How dare he offend me?

"There is a fine line between flattery and stooping down to lick my arse boy. But I doubt you will know the difference from your current position and limited view." The old knight's voice was firm, yet surprisingly fatherly. "I can see why now your Business retains barely over three quarters of the industry market. Your business acumen attempts to sell what is already mine to me, make no mistake O'Neal, while you have managed to build yourself an empire, it shall not last longer than the scant years countable against the inexorable downfall marked by the weakness I find in you.

As such, I have not failed to remember your little escapade with the Count's Son, but it was hardly worth recalling as one wonders if you had failed to end him in the first place. Yes see, we would like to think that you have, done your best job and, were competent enough to ensure Alucard does not return until the council was ready to deal with his failures. In asking for the keys, well you suggest you were not at all competent. But never mind that, perhaps it did slip my mind in my old age that you were worthy to do the task. If you open the sepulcher and find him still capable, then you have brought upon more shame and dishonor upon yourself and your bloodline. If not, then your little quest is all but moot is it not? So think carefully O'Neal if you have something to prove, under the belt maybe? In the meantime, I would suggest dealing with the Old C-"

Well, speak of the devil. Metaphorically of course, Gabriel was about as much a devil as Bedivere was a sock-puppet. It was odd to see the old Coder on the Tele, which had been all but buzzing away in the background about the daily trades or whatever humans find important. But to call gather once again by the coward was strange, he had once mocked the council, but it too appears that a cornered rat will bite. There was certainly a bit what resembled a spine in him after, maybe even a notochord. Although it was all to convenient that he was here as well. Perhaps Merlin was right.

"Once you secure his key, then return to me, as I fear his call to council shall be met with, remorsefully only a handful of us elder left. Lady Natasha from what I have gathered has been missing from Transylvania. She had inquired yearly of returning Carfax abbey to the Draculian line, however she had yet to send me her formal request as of the last three years. I fear that she may have been hunted and her key lost..."

Of course there were no three keys. Only one, or rather two keys were a lie and the third a reality. Possession of the Key was indeed with Bedivere, as decided by the council to give the old knight the key as he held within his collection an item to ensure that no vampire could take the key without incurring death. A human would be required to fetch the key, as for slid right under the door to Camelot's chapel, any vampire setting foot within such the holy sanctum would be reduced to ash by the Grail. So was the keeper of the key named Bedivere. The lie however was the descion to announce the creation of not one but three keys though the last two were never finished. There was little need to inform Adam of this small lie however, he would figure it out on his own.

But who was this now who descend upon them like an owl in the night? With silent wings, stalking prey, while his sire in the background laid down his heavy rap? Armed with another man at his side, the grandson if such a term could befit someone like Gabriel. Someone from a decade ago, lost in the bath of blood and fratricide of those nightly escapades. Someone who he spared affiliation with for should they find Bedivere guilty of his massacures against the council and charge him with the grounds of treason. Someone who he distanced away from for the sake of keeping the boy in the darkest darkness in the coming tide. Someone who, had their own child to raise and baptize in the blood of the weak. Someone who he had unfortunately left alone to soar as Bedivere sank deeper into the font of treachery.

"Well, I should have expected to see you here with the Old Coot running around. Brother Mithias. Fledgling Hank. It has been too long, far too long, dear boy. Come, sit for a natter if you would, and catch up on the state of affairs before this horrid tea gets cold? O'Neal here has a proposition for me, and I could use your council on such matters. And do come to Camelot every now and then, although you know you have to leave the kid behind Brother, he's not sworn in yet."

Blood Compact: Vampire Genocide

The agony of the leaves.
They writhe and explode.
The lemon and the rind.
Spit it out or swallow.

Having sipped his tea in seeming contemplation, he scoffed at Adam in bemusement. In a way, both the tea and the man before him were rather similar. Both failed to meet expectations, and left a bad taste in your mouth, hardly worthy to be in Bedivere's presence nor attention. That being said the tea was unimaginably horrid, far worse than the company of Adam, to which Bedivere merely pretended to down the foul brew before setting it aside.

"The council is shrinking. Few of the old keepers remain, and the underworld is in turmoil. Everyone is losing their grip on things. Even parts of my Isles are being lost with the new progression. And you believe that the Dark Dragon's Eldest needs to wake up? You are more foolish than the Dossier I skimmed over suggested. But let us entertain the absurdity of waking up a relic of the first war: One who failed and was Sealed by the first council where my Lady presided before bequeathing such honor to me. Were you even there when the decision was made to entomb him?

Regardless, before I chastise you further, for the sake of the hypothetical scenario: in the event that such a key you require exist, and should such a key exist and be found within my possession, why would I surrender such leverage to a lesser lord as yourself such that you may serve as Alucard's lapdog while he watches the echoes of his failure? That being said, perhaps you are misinformed of there not being one key, but three keys. The first went to Lady Natasha, Dracula's daughter and sister of Alucard, who was to bear the key was a token of her failure and never release him until the council had been victorious. The second was given to a rather powerful Sire, knowing that he would always survive longer than the rest with his abilities and personality, though in the event the council required the key, he would never give it up without some sort of fiendish machination. And the third... Well shall we say it is indeed in my collection.

Now then, what exactly can you offer me to gain from assisting a dimwit in unleashing a failure upon the world?"

Blood Compact: Vampire Genocide

Something about when humanity faces their darkest hour, they will need a savior who will not be a saint who preaches the gospel of hope and peace, but the destroyer who will bring down the hammer upon them and their enemies.

Blood Compact: Vampire Genocide

Tag

@Legion-114

Yes, the powers of instantaneous travel, to slip in and out of continents by simply vanishing into the waterways. Seas, lakes, mall fountains, a vessel which held water was a portal to Bedivere. While in the days of yore, he would have used a horse, a stalwart steed, they no longer could keep up with the technological advances of the eras. Carriages overtook horses, which gave way the ironclds and then the automobiles came in droves, flanked on either side by motorcycle. Finally flight was obtained and the skies were no longer safe for the birds as metal flew to touch the realm of the old Gods. What was left but the stars themselves to which man has gaze upon in wanting? These colonists after all did step upon the lunar surface, something which Bedivere had barely believed possible for a vampire as old as he was still a man of wonder and magic. But they preferred science over magic, to explain everything, down to the very fundamental laws of the universe. Yet they seemed to defy the most obvious of them all, that the strong shall dominate the weak, but still these fleshbags think they have right to rule.

With narry a brow raised, the elder vampire greeted Adam not with such curtsies or bow, but simply with a look crossed between disdain and bothered. "Quell the formalities O'Neal, you had failed to answer my summons per the last council. And now you have the gall to request an audience with your senior? While I will overlook your obvious mockery of the order, at least sit before me and dispel whatever false pleasantries you thought would charm me for I shall tell you some advice to be branded into your forehead whilst you engage in our te-a-te a pretty face is about as useful as the fresh-cut flowers set in the atrium yonder. Pretty to look at, but fruitless and will wither in a week's time."

And with that, Bedivere took the tea offered to him by the passing hotel attendant without turning his sunglass'd stare from Adam. "What business do you have to discuss? We have until I finish my tea, or if the proposal is worth my notice, until it goes cold." Polite, but impolite at the same time. Polite because he had yet to rip Adam's throat out, despite the seeping darkness falling like cascading fog to the floor beneath Bedivere, which if Adam tried anything would most likely remind the boy that even in this well lit hotel, the vampires can learn to fear the dark. And impolite because he was rather blunt about calling Adam the prodigal son.

Blood Compact: Vampire Genocide

Just got back from a west coast meeting. Sorry I've been away. A bit of a sudden call really, made earlier this week but not finalized until last few days. Japan wanted to meet halfway so we settled in California for the weekend. Also, id you could have Adam actually begin speaking the terms in which he reasoned he gets to call Bedivere that'd save me the trouble of doing a throwaway post about sitting down and waiting for Adam to explain his request for audience.