Avatar of The Grey Dust

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1 day ago
Current When using character creators sliders I just follow the immortal wisdom of the Cha Cha Slide... Slide to the left, Slide to the right, Criscross, Criscross, Cha Cha Real Smooth...
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2 days ago
Bad Racist Joke: Chinese food is great! When you order General Tso's Chicken and it tastes really good only to later find out it's a cat... You expected a delicious cock, but you instead ate a pussy.
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6 days ago
Life in plastic... It's fantastic...
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8 days ago
When you crash on your bed on a Friday night and don't wake up until the afternoon Saturday, sleep is for the week.
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9 days ago
A homeless man snuck into a church service and prayed to God for money, and behold when they were done praying they were passing around a golden plate full of money...
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Oh dear.

Well Thomas is now Lord Voldemort.

His nose burned off.

Edit

I'll try and post tomorrow.
@Lady Amalthea

May I request an arcana roll to see/sense magical effects near the tower?
Thomas Richard Harrison

Location: The Tavern/Avengers HQ.
Interacting with: The group


Well, forgive Thomas for being some what sentimental to his animals. But Femnal or whatever the dwarf's name was (Nor was its?) didn't have to be so rude about it. Keeping them in the dark may have worn out their bioilluminsence, given that they aren't particularly being fed anything. Hence the point of keeping them in a lit area where they need not tax such glands to signal distress or confusion after their friends had been harvest so publicly. And the young sorcerer's reply was a rather indignant 'hrmph' who was some weak-stomached innkeeper to call him out? And this dwarf? A hairdresser that obviously only sees hair and heads, not people being so objectively driven to eschew comfort for livings things. All business, a barber who's earned his red stripe proper probably. Well at least there was Satilla of whom Thomas was happy to have her company, following the woodland witch with satchel in side. Thomas considered grabbing his makesift staff-walkingstick that was prepared by Ntaj, but seeing how he'll be riding sideseat its was probably unnecessary given Satilla's weapons and Thomas' lack of weapon training.

"Alright, coming!." Oh what an adventure this could be, hopefully one that would be fruitful. A good experience nevertheless assuming you didn't get yourself killed. Something to write home about maybe, the wonderful adventure of the dark tower. Of course such foolish youth was champing at the bit, threading forward with bold strides towards possible impending doom. He'd have to stick close to Satilla who had their shared light source. Reagents capped off and quickly placed in the hanging satchel, a stuffed bag carrying all of Thomas's usually effects. Maybe they'd find some interesting items in the tower, something to carry back and examine more thoroughly.

Leave no stone unturned and what not right?
Light.

See how it dances across the surface of the waves, glittering and glistening like shimmering magic over the seafoam's froth. By the shore the crystal waters of paradise ran clear as the sunshine sparkled over the rolling tides. And so too by night would the great sea mirror the stars and moon above as a map of the cosmos above charted below. This was the light by which the sailors relied, the certain stars and their movements across the sky kept to the rhythms of the heavens. Each celestial sphere giving the course and direction of which way and which when. Was it not also light that steered the weary captain away from the danger of the rocky cliffs? A blazing beacon of burning brazier from a high tower, which like a bright and wary eye scanned treacherous path? Was it not by the same principle that a traveler would light a lantern in the dark woods for fear of death around the corner? Or a even wander with a waning waxen candle in one's own house? A home of which ought to be familiar, a place of comfort and dominion for the lord or lady of the domus. So small wonder why he or she would bother with such a dim and lulling light. And yet the answer in all three cases was not out of fear of death perhaps, but something far greater, something which gave death such fear proper. There the answer lurked beneath the frolicking waves, under the forest canopy, and infesting one's very home.

Darkness.

Darkness, unknowing darkness. A black blindness that conceals and steals from the sense of sight. The abyss which gapes open like the emptiness of the skull which whispers memento mori or the pitiless gaze of the reaper who cloaks the body in the uttered shroud. Death is the promise of morality, a fear all mortals bear in the harrowing of their life. But it is darkness, ancient and foreboding that symbolizes the veil that even the immortals fear to cross. It is nothing, a void of existence, and yet it exists as a paradox of itself, as something made out of what is not. It is the never-was, always-is and yet-to-be. It was the mystery of a mystery, the boundary between the known and unknown. The darkness formed the very edges of reality, and the limits of fantasy where no god or writer could continue threading past. Where the mind ended and cannot comprehend, that is the truth and heart of darkness. For this reason the light must guide, however dim a glimmer it may be. And yet, while the great philosophers may delve and delve deep into the concept of the concrete nothingness and all of its abstractions for all the nihilism's worth, fewer still threw themselves into it. It was those souls who stared into the abyss and found the abyss staring back with its hollowed eyes.

Fire.

His eyes watched her. Burning beneath the shadowy cowl which masked his visage, tracking the movements made across the inn. Wading through the lake of tables, her movements slinking about to lure his eyes as the tavernmaster took them in. Who was she? So far and few who bore the torch of the heavens still, and she came not alone for the rest followed thereafter. And with the innocence of another patron giving the new arrivals a look over, he looked back down to cast those fiery embers away. What was she doing here? An agent of Varda? One who had come to bring him back into the service of the uncaring celestials? Or was she just another tourist in a tourist town? One that decorated itself not by the scales of the merfolk but by the coins that clinked within the pouches of visitors. The gold and silver chain that tethered them all, a weave interconnecting the exchange that binds them. And as he lowered his amber-bright gaze to glance upon his hand in this friendly game of chance played with the mer hunter across the table, he could feel them still, the astral collar around his neck like a proverbial albatross. It was from upon this chain that he hung, strangled like a puppet in suspension as his body cast a long shadow. They still tugged him so, even as the hands reached out from the fell to claim him. Strung now in every direction as each pulled his pale body asunder. And the pain was evermore delectable to a dead man. After all, to endure pain meant you still lived, even as they branded your flesh an outcast. And to soothe those burns, it was too easy to fall for an inviting drink even if no amount of mortal distractions could ever erase the strangle upon his tainted soul.

Water.

And how does one order a drink in a tavern underwater? What ways would the beerfroth flow in the currents and tows? Life underneath the waves was curious, a city of coral and thus so aptly named. A city far flung into the depths of the plane of water, carved into the reef as beautiful as it was sharp. A thousand and one cloisters tucked away with each wayward cave of living crystal, bastions of culture within the vastness of the wettest desert. What could be found was no question, but rather what was missing, for all pleasures from simple to the extraordinary. Weathered driftwood aged well from years of wave and waters erected themselves before each cave, spiraling and fanning shells became doors that opened and closed. And around each portcullis a frieze or placard depicting scenes of what could be found in exotic underwater artworks. Thus without language each visitor could know which were houses of ill repute and which such places were holy temples. Although often it was difficult to ascertain given the nature of being underwater made the locals seem so scantily clad by terrestrial standards. With their piscine graces and aquatic features, their forms were well adapted to the life in water eternal just as the warlock was attuned to life in the shadows. The umbral essences coalesced around his otherwise naked form, constituting themselves as an impressive armor set which fading wispy strands of inky blackness. Twas his cloak that concealed much of his shadowy manipulations and peppered white hair, keeping all within the edges of the ray's wraps. And twas also only the cloak he carried that allowed him to reside without drowning.

Air.

Without the cloak he must surface, breaching like the cetaceans to take the air, but first traverse the winding corridors of the coral maze. Higher and higher, following the luminous markings to the left to ascend the labyrinth network of undersea shops and coral buildings. It was a small irony that even in the depths so many miles down that such bioilluminescent light would exist in this abyss. Thus still even in the airless city, light still sought to cast out the dark and perhaps that for all their differences, even the mer and sea creatures still feared the primordial darkness that the umbral one could penetrate through with those infernal eyes. True he had come to rest and recuperate at the tavern, but he was here on business rather than pleasure. and despite his fall for vices and pleasures of flesh, the stalker had found his quarry. It was his game, his trade, finding that which needed to be found, and imprisoning them as required. The target was gullible for a wizard, convinced to cast a myriad of spells which rendered him powerless before a supposed impressed aspirant. A few words of flattery and encouragement was all that was needed for the arrogant fool to waste it all in a spectacular display of arcane powers. And to finish the show, the ecstatic wizard was goaded into doing the impossible: eschew the protection of his enchanted necklace and cast a spell of water breathing to prove his speed of spellcasting. Of course the very moment he attempted to do so, the smiling warlock dropped his false pretenses and evoked a counter. And thus alas, thrown to the mercy of the suffocating waters the wizard was forced to cut the dimensional anchor that tethered him to the plane of water, and there was instantly regrounded upon the prime material plane he could pose no threat to the warlock's employer any longer.

Earth.

Thus were the high and mighty humbled by a lowly shadow. Such was the might of words, the magicless magic from which so many sealed their fates with. Though it creeps low across the ground, the shadow was powerful. Few were blessed with its secrets, but those who knew its intimate arts could find themselves an eternal ally that shall follow them loyally. Thus come the sunless morning, from the ground his shadow rose and split off as it took form, darkness folding upon itself like a black sheet of origami. A muzzle, ears, legs, a tail, like shifting squid ink though invisible to all without a form of truesight as the shadow hound rose to the summons of its master and partner. Shaking the shadow mass that composed it like a canine would before sense the warlock's will and desire to watch her more. The Other Aasimar, before they left the public tavern for whatever and wherever it was they would venture. Slink into her shadow, and lurk there, let her feel the chill of fear, the dread of being hunted. What business did they have here? A fellow stalker visiting on assignment wondered the same thing thinking such a group had something to do with the fallen aasimar's arrival. Their card game interrupted the other night by such considerations, and they played for a greater wealth than coin. And with that knowledge won, there was something overheard in hushed towns about their former lord Marid. Ah a network of assassins, hunters and rogues, throughout all the planes, see how the shadows tempt so many?

Redemption.

Now with the silent bidding of his shadow hound, the umbramancer took his chances with this group with a keen interest in the young aasimar girl. Perhaps he sought to corrupt her too and turn her soul over to the shadows by dark seduction. Or perhaps he cared to warn her about straying from the path? Whatever the intent conspiring in his blackened soul was swallowed swiftly with a batting blink. Could she save him? Could he restore his inner light by following her? Orange eyes watched his shadow hound slink away and fade into her shadow as she left.

Farewell faithful friend.
For where once you followed me,
Now I follow you.

Would Varda tell her?

Thomas Richard Harrison

Location: The Tavern/Avengers HQ.
Interacting with: Femnal, Satilla, the Group


"About fifty grams of the pure salts. I think half a gallon of brine if not?" Thomas replied back. The recipe did call for fifty grams of purified saltpeter, meaning any impurities found in common niter would have be driven out by fire and flame. Otherwise, a nitrogenous brine salt solution would have to be evaporated and the salts recovered, like wise for any preserved meats and such re-hydrated to extract the nitres and from there the salt-water boiled out. Alchemy was one part chemistry, one part magic, one part cooking. "Hrm, I guess I could skip on the alchemy part since we are in a hurry. It'll take at least thirty minutes to prepare everything so, I suppose it won't do good for us in a pinch for time."

A few beetles later, and a mess of hemolymph on Thomas's hands and table soaking in rather nicely, they had extracted the six glands from the three beetles and their carapaces were sitting in Thomas's mortar to be ground to bits. There was no reason to grind them now, not with the rest of the group ready to go evidently. So they'd have to remain there awhile, assuming Femnal was okay with that and having a few living fire beetles crawling around. "Femnal, if you could please watch the beetles until we return? I don't want to lock them up, they might get a bit stressed if I keep them in the dark." Given that three were just murdered, it was ironic that Thomas should really care for the well being of the creatures.

"I've got some pure alcohol if you wanted to wash Satilla." As if almost on cue to Satilla's complaint, Thomas retrieved his silver flask of aqua vitae. Not that Thomas thought it would be useful to go around smacking undead with a silver flask, but rather offering it up for Satilla to clean herself with. "Careful though, it's pretty hard on your skin... And if you try drinking it... Well it's nearly two hundred proof." And with that, the sorcerer looked at his own hands with some moderate bug juices and considered cleaning them down with alcohol for a moment. There really wasn't anything wrong with having bug juice on your hands, as long as it wasn't puritic or corrosive. So Thomas held off for now and spared his hands the alcohol.

"Alright everyone, I guess pick up a fire beetle gland and we can head out. I'll be sticking close to Satilla due to my spells, so I think our Six glands here should be plenty for each of us. I'll try and do some alchemy later when we get back."

Well, if it was settled, it was time to head on out, bug parts in hand.
@Lady Amalthea@rivaan

I think I'll wait for Satilla's actions.
Thomas Richard Harrison

Location: The Road from the Apothecary towards the Tavern, the Tavern.
Interacting with: Satilla, the Group, Femnal


With a nod to Kyra and Sana, who decided it was better to hurry than the dwaddle the daylight gone, the cosmic sorcerer acknowledge the fading light. Ah once more the romanticism of keeping these beetles alive slipped way with the lamenting of the western sun.
Would they even know they were being harvested for their special glands? The illuminating organ so preciously held that was its defense,
now became its down fall. To which Thomas sadly had to wave goodbye to one of his new pets, and with a solemn sadness tilted his reach into their imprison to carefully avoid getting bitten by a startled bunch of bugs. And yet also careful enough not to release all of them when only one could be dealt with at a time. Slowly, ever so gently, sneaking up on the insects before grasping one by the thorax and pulling away from the rest. The flashing distress of ember-like glow before its eyes signaling its anger. Squirming to escape, mandibles clicking and clacking away in a fierce demonstration against the predators strange. "I'm sorry buddy..." How quaint, an apology as Thomas forced the wriggling beetle against the table, hands pressing against the surface for Satilla to extract the precious glands near the frightened creature's eyes. Thomas could hold, if Satilla could cut. Or if Satilla prefered to hold while Thomas cut, the question was how may days would each gland last?

"How many more do we need to uh... Extract from?" Thomas wondered aloud, "I think we can spare a few if we can get two good glands out of each one." With his free hand digging around for his pestle and mortar to grind up the remains after Satilla was done. "Yeah, he didn't seem to have any Saltpeter, it's a pretty common alchemical reagent, I mean its used in quite a few processes and even... Wait a minute..." Thomas seemed to have a stroke, or a stroke of brilliance. Maybe it was the feeling of the life fading away from beneath his palm, or the twitching of legs still fighting him despite all that happened. "Uh, Mister Femnal Sir, you don't happen to have any niter do you? Any charcuterie or brining salts in the back room there?"

And either way, they had to cut up whatever amount of beetles were suggested. Though Thomas was rather protective of anyone but himself and Satilla handling them. In a twisted parental way...
Thomas Richard Harrison

Location: The Road from the Apothecary towards the Tavern, the Tavern.
Interacting with: Satilla, Kyra & Sana


"Sounds like a plan." Thomas' reply as he caught the cat running back. Still a slight aversion to the kitty, but old habits die hard. Sort of like necromancers who turned themselves into liches. But Satilla was right they had everything they had required more or less, these bugs should be more then adequate for providing light. All that was left to do was to wait and see if the others finished up their shopping sprees too. And maybe tomorrow he'd find a bit more in the rather barren apothecary's store. Or maybe if they were lucky, they'd find an knickknack or two in the old tower to try and sell for some decent coin or alternatively store credit? But there was a nagging thought in Thomas' mind that the old timer might be keeping too many secrets from prying eyes.

The walk back to the tavern was rather uneventful. No one had stopped to accost them or their beetles. Maybe a pin would puncture them nicely, assuming the illuminating glands were avoided. Or Keystone could cut their heads off with a knife maybe? Thomas could too but he was rapidly becoming attached to the little guys. Or girls, Thomas had no training in sexing beetles. Hopefully the tavern owner Femnal would be fine with having a few ingredients short of gunpowder under his roof and incendiary insects as Thomas walked into the tavern looking for the others. He had his hands full, but spotted Sana and Kyra sitting yonder by a table, having all the silverwork done it seemed, as the day was wearing thin. They still had to prepare a thing or two, but as the daylight slips, they'd best head into that tower before nightfall. With the excitement of a schoolboy presenting show and tell, the sorcerer aptly set the glass vessel down on the table for the women to see. "We've got some Firebeetles. We should able to use their light-emitting glands for a good light source, and uh, if we extract them carefully enough, I might be able to grind their shells down for that potion for later use."

"How did the silvering go?"
Thomas Richard Harrison

Location: The Apothecary.
Interacting with: Satilla, The Merchant of Penance (shopkeeper).


"Yeah, it'll be educational I'm sure." Thomas' somewhat sheepish reply to Satilla who was perfectly oblivious, or perhaps focused on other things than the awkwardness that had just passed over. It was a rather short but fruitful trip, searching out for potions but instead returning with these lovely fire beetles. Shame they'd have to die somehow for their organs to be extracted. Maybe it was possible to drown them? Invert a jars in a large pitcher or something, fill it with water, and then slowly tip the jar slightly to allow the water to escape? something to preserve their hard carapace to be ground down. Maybe Keystone had some experience in gutting things open delicately? Somehow these beauties would have to die, hopefully they lived out good lives. "Okay then, let's head out um, we should meet the others and see if they are ready to explore, or maybe we could go visit a tailor or leather worker for a needle or awl and some string or cord if we wanted to make these into necklaces?"

"Thank you Sir, I'll have to peruse your wares another day, we've got some fire beetles to uh... Well you know." With the last remarks and a wave, Thomas picked up the cage of beetles delicately, careful not to agitate the doomed buggers. Hopefully Satilla could take the box, the materials shouldn't be that difficult to manage, although why the old timer sorted out his own vials instead of using Thomas' was beyond him. The boy had placed his tubes back in his satchel already as his sunny eyes watched the beetles crawling around. There was a strange fondness the sorcerer had for animals, probably from being a farm boy and having a menagerie of them around him, bar cats. Cats weren't a favourite with Thomas, but for the sake of Satilla, he'd put up with Skittles, who... Speaking of where was the familiar feline? "So, anywhere else you'd like to go Satilla? Or should we deal with these beetles first? Not sure if we should prepare them now on or wait for the night?"
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