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[Private] Esoteric Arts and Crafts; "Whatever that means..."
Topic Started: Jul 3 2016, 08:17 AM (728 Views)
ajimeister
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^ Mood.

Upon the very far corner of the group that had started their futile attempts to form a 'pot' out of dirt, the young man, drenched in sweat, began to focus upon his work. Just a few moments before, Ruslan had not a clue as to what exactly to do; all that he could process was that there was a relatively simple looking potter's wheel in front of his hole, though as to what exactly was the purpose of such a contraption in the absence of clay, the knight knew not. With that, he craned his neck left and right in an attempt to discern what exactly was going on.

"Um-m-m-m," he mooed helplessly.

Seated just adjacent to the young man was a rather portly fellow, garbed in a simple tunic and trousers, in addition to a broad leather belt. His face, flush in frustration, clearly illustrated the futility of the next task that had been issued by the guru. That being, the apparent crafting of a piece of pottery out of what had been in essence the dirt that had been the byproduct of their hours of toiling underneath the merciless sun.

If anything, the dark-haired adolescent had been quite surprised by the intriguing development, upon witnessing what his neighbor had been attempting to craft firsthand. Make a pot out of dirt? Ridiculous. What was next? Tilling and growing crops in a field comprised entirely out of clay? Yet, as he noticed the other participants continue in vain at pottery throwing utilizing clods of soil and mud, the Seveni decided to follow, haphazardly slapping on dirt and mud onto the center of the wheel with nary a thought. And so he had remained in that particular state, for it was apparent that, with no natural proclivity pertaining to the throwing of pottery, he had merely been able to accomplish...nothing in particular. Dirt still rested upon the wheel, and no matter what sort of technique was attempted, the end result was still the same: A mound of dirt.

With a complexion that betrayed his consternation, Ruslan decided to give up on the prospect, focusing instead on mimicking his colleagues around him. Thankfully, he hadn't been noticed yet; one of the assistants appeared to be conversing with the crimson-eyed fellow, while the others overlooked the rest of the participants, watching them practice their craft from a distance. Clucking his tongue, the knight stretched his arms, before 'returning to work'.

It was during that time when it happened. A low rumbling, followed by quite a great deal of abdominal pain. Could it have been the food that he had eaten beforehand? It was more than likely that it had been the case. Perhaps, nay, it had been wrong for him to had attempted to make homemade steak tartare. Wincing in agony, he clutched his stomach and groaned, promptly faltering from his work. Ignoring the puzzled faces that swiveled to discern the commotion that he had started making, the man plodded over to a nearby assistant, before beseeching him for assistance.

"Pardon me sir, but I-I really need to go. Might there be anywhere where I can-erm...relieve myself?"
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Kirklin
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D-Class
Kirklin is thegirl who wishes to become a knight, it is the reason that she had set thyself on a journey to Chrysanthemum. It is said that if she had gone there she might be able to train and become a knight. It will take her time but she is eager enough to prove that she wants the dream of her to come true.She knows not of the struggles of a knight boot camp, to experience the hard training itself is different from just knowing it. She very excited for this, since she really wants to become a knight of justice.

Had the original plan of hers gone smoothly then maybe Kirklin would have been in the location where knights are, this had not happened for the stranger she had asked for direction had given her the wrong one. It is the reason why she had winded up in the forest, she is not familiar with the place and she had felt loss because of this. Carrying a bag of weapons and being alone in the forest is not the safest of choice to be, she is however thankful for having found a group of people that seem to be having an excavation?

There are a couple of men that had dug under the ground, the motive of theirs is unknown. For Kirklin to escape the Forrest she must ask for directions, she had asked a random man and they had given her a unfortunate use. They were not able to help her, however the had pointed at another person who maybe able to help Kirk. The man had gladly offered help, and have said that he has a map that is hidden on the back of his. The map had not been found it may perhaps had been dropped? The man who is said to be the Guru is of calm state of personality it had not charmed Kirklin but it had made her feel comfortable, they seem kind it is why she only hesitated slowly as she sat down and put the bag of weapons of her down. Everyone in the location had followed the instruction that are given to them, it is to make a mud sculpture? the reason is unknown.
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heiner777
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"Sapientia Sola Libertas Est"
In the midst of playing around with his mud sculpture that, as he had expected, could not get any kind of form by reason of it being totally the wrong material to use in such an endeavor, the scholar failed to notice the ominous bubbling that emanated from inside. The sloppiness concealed the deception as magic and mud mixed and mashed with every touch of the young man’s hand; more and more coming into shape until such a time that – finally – it seemed that Vento had managed to get a solid form out of it, although what exactly ‘that’ was can be up for debate.

The figure that finally emerged from the raven-haired researcher’s half-hearted efforts looked more like an upright log of fecal matter than anything, but still, that it help up was already a feat he thought impossible. It should not have been, and yet it was, and he knew that it should not have been because the opaque liquid they used to sculpt with did not do much prior to this. Was it a delayed effect? A ploy? A feat of magic? He could not tell; the only thing he was sure of was that he was genuinely astonished.

Before Vento could continue with his act, his zeal renewed, an arm shot out of the mud ‘tower’ and clocked the unprepared teen squarely on the chin. He knew he was fast and he could have seen it had he been on alert; however, being a man who was not gifted with the impeccable eye for detail required to spot the minute differences in the medium (at least 61 Accuracy), Vento had no warning nor space to act when his face was literally just inches away from the thing when it happened.

After being laid unconscious by his own handiwork, the rest of the sculptures of the other twenty-eight participants came to life and slowly began to form out of the mud. At first it rose into a grotesque effigy of a human, but the mud slowly shed its brown hue for a perfect likeness of its sculptor, save the ability to think and feel; subservient only to one order alone. At this point, the Guru and his minions saw that as their cue to drop their stoic facades and uniformly cast a sleeping spell to render everyone – including Kirklin – asleep, secretly delivering them to the outskirts of Poinsettia city as patsies for their plan.

“Good, good,” the Guru spoke after finishing their sleeping spell, pleased, “I hope this teaches them a lesson – enlightenment cannot be found in others, but in oneself; otherwise, they will be completely fooled.”

He turned back to his accomplices then at the now-standing army of physically-perfect replicas, save for Kirklin, having not participated. They were all mindless drones that were loyal to him and only to him, and right now, it was time to put into effect their plan to get away with the perfect crime: a series of robberies of Poinsettia’s myriad jewelry stores.

“Go, my disciples! Gather us the ‘donations’ we need to further our cause!”

[Exit to Poinsettia]
For Kirklin

Edited by heiner777, Sep 16 2016, 12:06 AM.
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ajimeister
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^ Mood.

Perceiving the event that had just taken place relative to his location, the private widened his eyes as he noted people left and right beside him dropping to the ground for some inexplicable reason. Looking at the 'assistant' in horror, the knight blubbered in an attempt to express his shock at the situation unfolding before him.

"Y-y-y-y-you bastar-"

Yet, his words were promptly cut off by a simple wave of the subordinate's hand, in which Ruslan promptly keeled over, his eyes growing ever the more droopier by that infernal means of magic. Struggling in vain to stay awake, the man turned on his side and discerned a single clay figure that had started to form right next to the self-proclaimed 'pundit' and his lackeys: An adolescent man, clad in a military-style tailcoat and breeches, hand extended in the form of a salute. It was a near exact copy of him. But...but he hadn't worn it at all during his deployment on the mission: The knight had toiled away in nothing but a sweat stained t-shirt and worn trousers, not in his uniform. Just how....was it a coincidence? His thoughts were answered by the wry smiles upon the instructors' faces.


They knew...all along.

Reluctantly closing his eyes, the private could only hope that someone would be able find out just what had happened here. Somebody had to stop these horrible fiends, before whatever dastardly plans they seemed to be invested in committing could be carried out. Utilizing the last of his strength to reach into his pocket, Ruslan slowly traced the edge of a miniaturized emergency comms lachryma, before depressing a button, no doubt to send that message that he had recorded beforehand to a certain...colleague of his. The man's other, standard-issue vox-caster was still somewhere within that supply cache that had been missing; contacting HQ was out of the question, if not near impossible. With that, the knight fell unconscious, still clinging to the hopes that...Cypher...would pull through.




Many apologies for the sub-par quality of this post.
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