The Masque of The Red Death

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The Masque of The Red Death
Topic Started: Jan 14 2008, 05:02 PM (887 Views)
~RipTheJacker~	Feb 19 2008, 03:10 PM Post #11
Darthanis's official secretary Posts: 985 Group: Roleplayer Member #12 Joined: Jan 8, 2008	Aerynne found herself barricaded in a small house, hiding from the growing intelligence of the hoard of undead. She found herself cornered in a windowless room, with one door. One door that was being cracked and hammered by gods knew what. She threw herself frantically against the wall, hoping to break through, knowing it would never happen. She pulled her sword back, ramming the blade into the wall and wrenching it to the side. A wall panel ripped back, pulling the outside plaster into the room with a poof of grey powder. She stood back in amazement before repeating the process. Now she had an exit. The door creaked once, followed by a foul screech at the other side of the door. A choir of screeches answered from the other side of Aerynne’s exit. She pulled the sword from the wall with a gulp, readying herself for a flood of undead. She waited, eyes peeled wide open, she continued to wait. Nothing happened. The silence began to scratch away at her composure. Just like with children, something was terribly wrong when it was silent. Her hands shook with fear, her jaw chattered in dread. She clamped her eyes shut, dropping the sword and clutching her head. She cried out in horror as her mind shattered itself. Was she going insane? One could only take so many zombie fights. Another screech sounded outside the door, before the clamoring sounds of running echoed through the broken building. Were they running away? Aerynne still clutched her head, falling to her knees and listening carefully. There was someone out there, someone aside from escaping undead. Someone they were afraid of. Someone who was laughing to themselves. Letting go of her head, she pulled herself to a crawling position. She crept across the floor to the hole in the wall. All seemed silent and empty, save for one soul in the streets. Aerynne peered out at it curiously, if the zombies were afraid of it, there was no reason she shouldn’t be either. She was entranced by this red figure, standing alone in the streets filled with death. Their eyes met for a moment. The figure let out a hideous grin, blood pooled down her face as she cackled loudly. With a gasp, Aerynne tucked back into the building to hide. She scrambled for her sword before peering out the hole again. The lady was gone. She leaned against the wall, sliding to the floor with her sword positioned limply across her lap. She stared intently at the door, waiting for the women to come through, with her red eyes and bloodied face. Aerynne was slowly coming to grips with it; she was about to die. She heard footsteps through the house, with each one; her heart would skip a beat. Her stomach tied in knots as the surreal feeling of hysteria grew. The split door groaned as it fell the floor, filling the room with dust. A pair of yellow eyes peered from the dust before leaping into the room. Aerynne jumped in surprise as the cat sat down next to her. A child poked her head around the doorway and smiled. “Hi!” She exclaimed cheerfully. Aarynne gasped for words, waving her hands frantically. “Get in here, she’s coming!” The girl simply leaned against the doorway and giggled as she slid to the floor. “You’re funny!” Her cat continued to stare ominously up at Aerynne, making her feel uneasy. “Wanna’ play with me?” The girl questioned. She pulled her feet up and grabbed at them, twisting her head to an almost upside down position. Aerynne grabbed the hilt of her sword and stood. “I need to find someone, his name is Darthanis.” The girl’s face showed small recognition to the name, but she changed the topic immediately. “Are you afraid of me?” Aerynne shook her head “You’re a child.” “Then why are your hands shaking?” Aerynne opened her mouth to speak, but found no words. She closed it again slowly and sighed. “Play with me!” the girl giggled. “If you win, I’ll show you Darthanis.” Aerynne’s heart beat faster, if it were any louder the girl might have heard it. Something about her frightened her, more so then the lady in the street. “I don’t have time to play.” Aerynne snapped, snatching her bag from a nearby table and pushing through the doorway. “Yes you do!” The girl giggled, jumping after her and holding onto Aerynne’s hand. Cocking her head to the side, she smiled before continuing. “If you want to see Darthanis you do.” Aerynne chewed at her lip. “Fine. What are we playing?” she groaned. The girl swung her hand back and forth. “Catch me if you can!” her high voice rung in Aerynne’s ears, causing her to cringe. She felt her cold hands let go of hers before pattering out of the house. Aerynne looked down at the cat, watching it carefully. “I know how you feel.” Aerynne took a few steps back, staring at the cat in amazement. The voice had sounded in her head. She felt a chill run up her spine as the cat seemed to grin at her wryly. “Go, before you lose her!” it scolded. Aerynne shook her head and snatched up the cat. “You’re coming.” She held the sword up and darted down the streets after the girl.
	／l、ﾞ（ﾟ､｡７ OMFG 　l、ﾞ ~ヽ KAWAIII-NE! 　じしf_, )ノ


~Darthanis Galbraith~	Feb 24 2008, 03:48 PM Post #12
JBHZI81U812 Posts: 866 Group: Codeghost Member #5 Joined: Dec 25, 2007	A robed figure wandered the streets lost in a trance. To many passers by the man was almost invisible. So at peace was he with nature that he almost seemed as negligible as just another feature of the Kingdom's scape. The well bronzed man broke his stare and his link with the carrion crow that had been circling the area. He was looking for a living being, and he had indeed found one. -------- Rodin sat cross legged in his chambers, deep in a Reverie. He was absently drifting over bits and pieces of information he had gathered during his stay so far. In this state, his body slept and his mind was in a very relaxed state allowing him to freely "dream" Of the last few days in Dangelor. Despite his room being in the cold, damp castle, the druid seemed not to care. In fact, whenever he had time to himself, he often freed himself from his troublesome clothing. He floated through his memories, unable to draw any further conclusions and was about to retire to bed when he felt the earth cry out. Something pulled at his being like claws of a wraith. Wide awake now the druid slung on his pouch and grabbed his staff and with a quick prayer to Silvanus for guidance the druid sprinted down the castle hallways and past the astonished guards. Whatever this vile call was, it ripped at the order of nature itself. Many of the beasts fled the heavily populated areas of the kingdom for the farms and the fields. All around him he heard screams mix into a foul chorus that sent chills up and down his spine. --------- Whoever this survivor was looked better equipped for combat himself. Figuring his chances were better wit someone with a sword, Rodin set off to catch the lone figure. His nerves screamed much like the protest one feels when looking down on a dizzying height and three creatures sprinted from the dirty alley to his left. They expected an easy kill based on the simplicity of the foe. But they were sadly mistaken. What was a simple staff to many was a holy weapon to these abominations. A druid's Shillelagh is rather effective against things that break the order of the natural and in this case, it was fast restoring order. The first creature came in straight for the unarmored druid and met a well placed strike to the shins from a quarterstaff. The blow broke the shins of the puppet and threw it violently to the ground. The other two leapt back in caution realizing what the weapon was. The druid kept the motion from the previous swing and stepping deep he closed the remaining distance to the second undead. winding his torso like a spring he thrust his staff like a spear catching the thing in the chest , collapsing its ribcage and sending it to the ground. But a crushed ribcage did little to an unfeeling automation and it rolled with the blow and back to its feet. The third creature attacked just as the druid committed to the attack, Plowing in with a unnaturally strong arm. Rodin was no novice to combat as many of the boys at the Monastery often spent much time sparing and squabbling. A quick step brought him behind his staff and he raised the trailing end in a shallow block. The improvised parry earned him a large welt and cost him his footing as the staff crashed into his left shoulder. Making use of his agility he leapt to hs feat from his back. Keeping his distance, he called out to his god who gladly lent him the power of the brewing storm. A bolt of energy streaked from the heavens and blasted one of the creatures to the ground. ---------- The mask was suddenly aware of a holy entity. If there was anything it particularly despised, it was meddling devouts. The last thing the mask wanted was to be immersed in a bowl of holy water and expelled. Regardless if there was anything to be done to destroy it, the mask did not care to test it's limits. ---------- More bloody visages peered from the alleys and the streets and began to circle round the druid. Some were promptly blasted by a bolt of lightning, others stayed safely in between houses and let their numbers build. Rodin had not the strength to call on bolts of lightning all day and he had a survivor to contact. Resorting to his powers of shape shifting, the druid used the slow in zombies to his advantage. Bone cracked and patches of black hair began to grow allover the man's body, shedding his robes the druid continued to transform. A tail grew and his ears moved to the top of his head. The fur filled out and his eyes began to slit and the iris brighten to a yellow. The druid let our a snarl of discomfort as the transformation finished. Where a human once stood, there was now a black, well muscled Panther. Picking up his staff in his jaws the now transformed druid put his newfound abilities to good use. Four furry feet were faster than two bald ones and the druid took off at a full run. With a great leap, the great cat settled on the roof of a nearby building and ran along the rooftops. He fast closed on his survivor and landed with.. Well, the grace of a cat right in the path of the sword toting woman. Then It hit him, There was a slight language barrier between him and a human. Laying down flat on his stomach, he tried to feel as un-threatening as possible. He could transform back, But that took time and most people did not like the sight of a naked druid. How he wished the talking beasts he had spotted earlier were here.



+CEMP+	Feb 24 2008, 07:22 PM Post #13
SUPER SHELL BATTLE MODE 3! Posts: 2,703 Group: Admins Member #14 Joined: Jan 8, 2008	The elven guards behind her and her companion laughed in mirth, apparently having a nice conversation. They had never made any remarks about her, but she had a good feelings they made comments about her behind her back. Many of the younger elves seemed to be like that, though the elder ones were much kinder to her. These two were fairly. In fact, they probably didn't even know who she really was or what she had inside. But it was how they talked about their relation to nature, magic, or their commune with the forests. The mention of the subjects seem to aggravate her from the inside, although she didn't show it. They reached the border that meant the rest of the trip would be just her and her friend. She waved goodbye as the two guards left, glad they were now alone, but still feeling frustration burning inside of her. "I hear a hint of jealous in you dear Teffra," came the hoarse voice of her friend. Grehaun was an odd, eccentric creature whose race was unknown to her or the elven race. Despite this, he was wise and pleasant enough for the elven civilization to tolerate his presence, although there were times when he seemed to act rather...strange. He was humanoid, but he was mostly hunched backed, his neck elongated in a horizontal fashion. He had no hair what so ever; instead, he had this rather weird, beige, caparapace-esque skin. He had a regular eyes and mouth, but he had two slits, like a snakes, as his nose, and his ears were simple, miniature, distorted craters - it looked as though a worm had borrowed through the sides of his skull. He was the only one that seemed rather accepting of her ability to hear 'different' sounds, and even believed her. "You're just hearing things," she lied. "Bah, my ears are just as unique as yours, my dear," he replied, swishing his hands in some unrelated manner. "I do not doubt your hearing, and you should not mine. Now what is it that seems to be bothering you? It's as if everyone's presence here save for mine is irritating." Teffra looked away from his for a minute, and then turned, "You know what it is." "Your heart?" Grehaun replied incredulously, "I thought we went over this before, and you seemed rather swayed by what I said." "Yes, yes I was, but..." "But what." Tears of frustration began to well from her eyes, "It's just...it's seem so unfair. I know what you said, that I couldn't do anything about it, and that I shouldn't dwell on the problem, but it's this feeling. An unsettling sensation - a memory that was there when I was born - of the fate that has surrounded me; of that fact that I may never be able to reach what I want when everyone can." "And it's not just with elves. It's with normal people, too. Through the music of their voices, I can tell many are well on the way to find what makes them happy. They have something that I just can’t get.” The tears began to screen down her face. She wished this subject had never been brought up. “Ahhhh, Teffra, you life is still green; you just need to explore it more. Do not hang onto one to one desire when there can alternative opportunities for you to enjoy your life. Now please, let us be on our way, the sun does not wait for us.” Although she still hurt inside, and she was not quite able to make out what Gehaun’s words actually meant, she better having cried her emotions out. ____________________________________________________________ Teffra's feeling felt like they were being split by an axe. On side, there was a lot of seething anger, and yet, on the other, there was this strange empathy for Aysla in her. She felt torn and confused all of a sudden, and it momentarily showed in her face; but the mention of zombies attacking the place was enough to keep her focused. She let go of Aysla. "Fine, but just don't call him a paperweight. He's a person; like you, like me. Not an object. Then she just turned around and ran. She picked up a sword and bow, and ran to help everyone else defend the barracks. She doubted he'd actually return. _________________________________________________ (OOC: Darthy, I hope you don't mind what I'm about to do here.) Groken was in the safer part of the barracks, away from the fight. It was safe, and yet, he felt kind of useless. He was here to help with a plague, and this was the plague they were fighting. All except for him. But he knew he'd probably be more of a burden. Oh well, he sighed, not everyone could fight. He'd be able to contribute with the fact that he was immune to disease, and could probably aid in research with the plague. Unfortunately, some of these zombies hadn't been entirely blunt and stupid. And the safer part of the barracks hadn't been so safe after all. he couldn't recall what happened exactly, and he wasn't sure how they got in. Maybe they took some secret entrance or smashed through a window. All that he knew was that he was being chased by a group of four zombies, all which had weapons on them. He was yelping and screaming for help, but it would be too late before anyone could respond. He ran, and he was beginning to feel fatigue; even melogs became tired. And there was the matter that he had been cornered. This is going to hurt a lot, he thought, bracing himself. It was only a few seconds after the undead had leapt on him, that there was almost beastly roar from the corner. Rotten flesh, organs and blood were all over the walls. Edited by CEMP, Feb 24 2008, 10:11 PM.
	"To look for a shipwreck is at best a crapshoot, and to launch and fund a search, it helps to be the headmaster of the village idiot school or else the kind of stubborn lunatic who tries walk through walls simply because they're in the way. I probably fall in the latter group." - Clive Cussler, The Sea Hunters II


~RipTheJacker~	Feb 25 2008, 11:19 PM Post #14
Darthanis's official secretary Posts: 985 Group: Roleplayer Member #12 Joined: Jan 8, 2008	She scribe stopped dead in her tracks, frozen with horror at the beast before her; panthers weren’t from this area. Aerynne held her sword up and stepped back slowly, trying to back away carefully. She examined it as she crept to an alleyway, its posture didn’t seem that of a beast ready to eat her. ”Crocodile tears…” she thought to herself. Rodin lay on the ground and ran through numerous "I’m a cat and friendly" routines. From purring to blinking he went making a fool out of himself and whishing the person who stood before him had a bit more cat savvy. The druid decided that the person probably had a better idea of druidic orders than of gigantic hungry cats and decided to push his staff in the direction of the woman. He stopped pushing and situated the staff holy symbol up, the silver oak leaf of Silvanus catching the bolts of lightning. The great cat turned and took up a sitting position well out of range of the staff. Aerynne stared blankly at the panther, she felt almost idiotic for not thinking of a druid. To think she might have forced it into embarrassing itself for her. She smirk to herself and stuck the tip of the sword in the dirt, propping herself up on the hilt. “Aye?” she questioned, cocking her head to the side. “You might want to make it fast, I’ve got a job to do. In fact, have you seen a little girl in a pink dress running around, she’s about this tall.” she held her hand out to show her height. “In fact, I have her cat right,” She twisted to look behind her, but the cat had seemingly disappeared. “Here…” she continued quietly. She looked back at the panther and shrugged. The druid was rather relieved that he was finally recognized for what he was and did not have to put on a show. People tended to react poorly to what was natural. In fact, he had put a few travelers coming to visit his sect with his "Trips about the woods." But the woman mentioned something about a little girl and her cat. He snarled a lip and sniffed the air and being able to detect neither, cocked his head inquisitively. Rodin was not a hero and naturally would not run off to save small children and their cats. But things like Undead did not fall into the area of "Negligible" and he never liked the idea of small children coming to harm. The cat picked up his staff again and once again sniffed the air, closing the gap to the sword welding woman. Perhaps it was time for him to borrow some robes and revert back to his human form. If they were to be able to co-ordinate at all, they needed to be able to communicate. Rodin found an empty house and let himself in through a broken window and began to hunt for clothing. Aerynne pulled her sword from the dust and rested the flat over her shoulder. She peered into the house quizzically, watching for the panther. She knew druids could change form, but she had never actually seen it before. She made her way to the broken window, flicking the glass shards out as she searched for her words. “What’re you doing here?” she questioned, poking her head inside the window. “Were you invited for the ball as well?” She took advantage of the fact that the panther couldn’t respond and began to talk. “In all honesty, I think balls are rather funny, but I’ve never been to one as a guest. I was a jester for some time, and it was quite odd the things you could learn while being one. Once there was this lady that had the me-” she stopped and fell silent. Something out there had moved. The druid began to rummage about the room as she talked, sniffing drawers and putting paws through closet doors. Rodin was only able to find a pair of trousers a tad to big for him and a man's cloak. Deciding to make do with what he had he proceeded to revert back to his human form. It was almost as if someone re-wound his earlier transformation. Everything was backwards save for the horrid bone cracking sounds. A few moments later there stood one wet, half dressed druid. Raising his voice he answered the woman's question. "Ball? Nobody told me about that. I was told there was some sort of formal meeting but nothing of that sort. I have never attended anything like that." He was about to introduce himself when he realized the woman had cut off short. "What is it?" He asked reaching for his staff. The scribe waved a hand in his direction to silence him before disappearing into the dust of the alley. There was the bare silence of a dead city, save for the howling empty winds that swept across the street. The roads seemed to grow darker, the silent unnoticed sounds of creaking houses moaned through the streets. Then everything grew frighteningly still. A shrieked sounded, followed by shouting and smashing. It echoed through the streets like the confusion after a terrible murder. The shouts grew louder before the small girl ran past the broken window followed by the enraged scribe. The porch in front of the house creaked under the weight and force of the chase. The scribe grabbed a hold of the girl’s skirt and pulled her off her feet. “I’ve got you!” she shouted, wrapping her arms around the child and bracing her on the porch. Rodin stepped out the low window and onto the porch. "Was this the girl you were looking for?" He asked in a puzzled tone. The sight of a sword toting woman tackling a child while being observed by a half-dressed man was probably a sight that would even steal the wind from walking dead. The druid pulled his borrowed cloak tighter and shifted it around. Cloak was never comfortable on naked shoulders. Aerynne looked up at the half dressed druid in amazement, forgetting the child entirely. It was the oddest thing to her. “You would think a man who had the intelligence turn himself into an animal would have more stylish attire.” She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head. “You’re gunna’ die fighting the undead in your skivvies. I knew a man once that had a de-” The girl drove an elbow into the woman’s face and squirmed out from under her. She tried to run, but tripped over a broken pot at the end of the porch. “You cheated!” she shouted. Aerynne gripped her jaw and stared in amazement. There was no way a child her age should be able to hit that hard. “I did not!” she retorted. “You started it anyways!” The girl kicked a rock at Aerynne’s face and shrieked. “I did not! You grabbed me!” Aerynne’s face twisted into sheer aggravation and irritation. The rock had hit her square on the nose. The druid lifted his upper lip in a snarl, forgetting he was no longer a panther and that human snarl was worse than panther snarl. "In case you did not notice, I was stark naked not two moments ago!" Rodin would have continued but it seemed the woman had a short attention span. He watched as the girl proceeded to beat on the ink stained woman. It occurred to him he had no idea who any of these people's names were. Or why they were beating each other up. The druid shook his head and chuckled. The stood up and grunted, grabbing the child’s hand and lifting her feet. She rolled her eyes at the druid and turned to the girl. “Now, where is he?” she girl smiled innocently. “I don’t know!” The scribe stared blankly at the bouncing girl. She looked at the druid, then back at the girl. There were so many things she wanted to say, but she couldn’t think of any one of them. “Oh I give up.” The scribe turned and sulked down the street. The druid looked at the child with a furrowed brow. "Is it customary for you to be held aloft and shaken? And do you even know this woman?" Rodin watched the strange woman walk off down the street. "Never the smartest thing to do with monsters about" the man mused. But he had more pressing involving terrors from the grave. Turning back to the girl he asked "Do you have a safe place to go? If so, I recommend going there." He looked at the departing woman and sighed. "Well, im off to find the source of the nasties. " The druid placed his hands togeather with his fingers interlaced at the nuckles and bowed slightly before turning off and heading down the soggy street. The girl wrapped a hand around his arm and tugged. “Can I come with you?” She almost sung the words up at him. “I lost my kitty again.” Rodin knew the value of an animal companion and almost agreed. Turning back to the child he asked "won't your family worry?" The girl’s eyes filled with tears. She leapt forward, wrapping her arms around his knees. She cried into them loudly, whipping her tears and snot across the old pants. The druid raised an eyebrow and looked down at the child. While some of his brothers were unlucky and had to watch the sect's youth from time to time, he had never had that experience. Now he stood there with no idea how to handle the child. "I still know not if your family will mind." The girl simply wailed louder and pulled tighter around his knees. “What are you doing to the child?” the scribe glowered behind the druid. “Every undead in the city’s going to hear her!” She held a hand up and struck the druid lightly in the back of the head. “Just grab her and go, she’s not going to shut up.” "If I scoop her up, she will only holler more." The druid placed a hand on the child's head "Come along then. We will keep an eye out for your cat." He looked back to the woman who had apparently seen fit to come back and Introduced himself with his customary bow. He turned to the child yet again. "Do not worry, I am able to speak with animals. We should be able to find your lost cat. Where did you see her last?" The girl sniffed and wiped a tear away. “It’s a he.” She hissed. Aerynne placed a hand on the druid’s shoulder to get his attention. “We need to move. There’s something far worse out here then undead.” She warned. Rodin turned and asked "What is worse than undead?" A look of disbelief and confusion clouded his features. He turned and started walking in whatever direction the 'un-natural' came from. "I did not catch your name..." The druid said attempting to get the woman to introguce herself yet again. “Aerynne,” she bowed slightly. “Aeryne Boyd, I’m a scribe sir.” She held out her hand for the girl to take. “And anything the undead run from, I’d want to run from too.” Undead run? He had heard stories of clerics with the ability to send undead fleeing. "It might have just been a Cleric, If so, It might be prudent to find such a person." The sounds of battle caught the druid's ears. "I hear battle and the sound of casting. Perhaps it would be best to meet up with the group from the barracks." Rodin motioned the two onward. Aerynne nodded, getting her sword ready again. “We need to find this Darthanis fellow.” Aerynne snatched the girl’s hand and glared down at her. “No running off again.” She scolded. “I don’t feel like explaining to your parents why you’re dead.” The girl sniffled and nodded.
	／l、ﾞ（ﾟ､｡７ OMFG 　l、ﾞ ~ヽ KAWAIII-NE! 　じしf_, )ノ


~Twilight~	Mar 2 2008, 08:55 PM Post #15
Ing Freak Posts: 693 Group: Roleplayer Member #10 Joined: Jan 8, 2008	OOC: I had a almost finished post then you posted and made more than half of it invalid Darth xD Oh well guess thats what happens when your being lazy. It had begun, a battle between the soldiers of this petty kingdom and the undead, with the leader of the forces of Dangelore ironically being a lich. Everius had to wonder if the cause of the red death could possibly be a living being, that would certainly make the irony of the situation complete. The Soul Cursed sighed as he grabbed the hilt of his large bastardsword and dragged it from its scabbard, from what he could see of these undead they were nothing special, merely critters, how could this pose a threat? With the sword in his right hand Everius calmly walked towards the battle, his sword making a long scratch on the ground as he dragged it behind him, the tip touching the ground. As the first of the miserable undead came within reach of him Everius shifted his sword around so the edge pointed upwards, and just as it stepped with its feet over the sword Everius lifted the sword, and with little effort cleaves the zombie in two, only moments later slashing through yet another of the undead. For such a large sword he seemed to swing it around with ease, although he still obeyed the laws of physics, and as such he had to recover slightly after every slash, which made him vulnerable as a zombie tried to sneak up on him from the side, unfortunately for it Everius nearly never let his guard down in a battle, and before the zombie could reach him to do whatever it intended Everius thrust his left arm forward, grasping the zombies face before lifting it up above him and slamming it down to the ground on his other side, breaking its neck and cracking its skull. 'rrgh... I'm tired of this, they are all pathetic' Everius thought as he crouched down low on the ground as he focused a small bit of soul essence to his legs, then pushing off, using the temporary strength boost he leapt high into the air, and only a second later he came crashing down in the middle of the zombie horde, crushing the one he landed on and cutting a wide path in those ahead of him. However he had not been idly waiting to land after he leapt, he had been focusing soul essence for one of his "spells", and just as he finished his horizontal sweep he let go off his sword, letting it fly freely as it impaled another of the undead. As the zombies around him came closer Everius crossed his arms around his chest as he let out the gathered essence into his arms, and just as the horde was about to overrun him he struck outwards with his arms, sending the closest zombies flying, only to be cut in two a second later as a shockwave of pure power was unleashes from Everius, cutting anything in its path in two. To those with heightened senses the nova of tainted soul essence would shine like a beacon, the corruption and foulness in it rivaling that of the mask's call. It was the sign of a Soul Cursed, one of the most unattural creatures to walk any plane, a creature that was outside the weave of fate itself, and had the power to unravel it. OOC: tired... neeeeed sleeeeeep



~beflexor~	Mar 19 2008, 10:43 AM Post #16
I just _____ in the _____. Posts: 2,881 Group: Moderators Member #18 Joined: Jan 8, 2008	(OOC: Oi! Can't forget this RP peoples! ^^) Aysla waited until Teffra left before he whispered to himself. “I’m not a person.” Indeed, Groken was far close to being a ‘person’ than Aysla was. The Tenebrous brushed his fingers across the stone wall and thought briefly about climbing it, like a rat suddenly finding itself in a flooded basement. Instead of water though, he was drowning in indignation and jealousy, in self-hatred…and Teffra. He felt indecision sink its teeth into his mind despite feeling the need to leave, to get away. Unlike his brothers, he had a sense of honesty and duty, as much as he struggled with it time and again. Still, he was a Tenebrous, through and through. So, with a sigh, Aysla’s fingers slid from the wall. This wasn’t his world, no one would understand, and be understood in turn. He had been sent only to observe, nothing more. And he was done. Aysla would leave, but not by means of deception, if he was lucky, perhaps a guard would spot him heading back out into town and tell the half-elf. As much as he didn’t want to fight, the Aysla found a shuffling abomination. He kicked upward, sinking his heel an inch into its forehead whilst slipping his hand into his boot and drawing a knife, flicking it at the other one that came around the corner. It had apparently been only the plug in the flow of undead that made its way forward however. “Weren’t there supposed to be guards in this area?” Aysla muttered, spinning another of his daggers around so he could use the hilt for bludgeoning. “Once again humanity’s incompetence manages to surprise m-“ His sentence was cut off as he felt the distinct grasp of teeth on his shoulder. The sharp smell of his own blood hit his heightened senses and caused him to falter. More undead quickly began to advance on him, using their black, decrepit fingernails when nothing else could reach. The rain around them began to fall faster, suddenly becoming ice. It fell down from the sky like needles of frozen ice, slicing through flesh, muscle, and bone. The wet ground, the rain causing pools by now, began to harden into a solid sheet of ice. As the undead shuffled across it, they too began to succumb to Aysla’s power, the moisture of their rotting bodies freezing and expanding, their brains icing over and squirting out down the open end of their skull like a tube of slushy toothpaste. A bloodied hand managed to reach out and grasp a doorway, pulling the rest of the body out of the fray, now locked in a frigid scene of horror. Aysla looked back at his handwork and managed to crack a smile of self-admiration. Then a frown quickly followed. While undead were mostly wandering creatures, they weren’t as stupid as people gave them credit for. While they often didn’t give a thought as to who or what they were attacking, if something gave them enough grief though, they would know to move on to a more desirable target. It was instinct, pack mentality. Judging from the number, whatever it was spooked them good. As he made his way forward carefully, supposedly this had been the safe part of the barracks. So much for that idea Aysla thought to himself, holding onto one of his many wounds. Thank God he was immune. With or without a brain, even the most humdrum of zombieism required a body, a shell in which to place the necronomic magics. Just as Aysla had told Teffra, he was different. There were too many things wrong with him that just made necromancy too difficult to work. Still, he didn’t want to think about what would happen if something powerful enough managed to take hold. A smell, a strong one, began to make itself apparent and he hesitated a moment. There was the scent of blood in the air, but it was sour and dull, like old human’s. Not like his own fresh sharp kind that oozed half-frozenly out of various wounds. There was also a distinctive exotic tang of various metals and the slight, flowery aura of Teffra if she lingered somewhere too long. Or with someone. “Groken?” Aysla said, stepping out and into the room.
	Ceiling Cat is watching you...


~Darthanis Galbraith~	Mar 23 2008, 01:08 AM Post #17
JBHZI81U812 Posts: 866 Group: Codeghost Member #5 Joined: Dec 25, 2007	(I'm posting later.... But just you ya'all know, These zombies were not all supposed to be stupid. Granted there were a bunch of rotted ones, But the ones that just died are rather witty. Think of it more along the lines of being possessed than turning into a mindless nincompoop. Don't worry, I'll just say you were all fighting the nincompoops. ^.^ Speaking of poop...) The lich's dance was interrupted by a shambling mound of sand. He stopped and maneuvered away from the front line to look for the source of the flying undead and the rhythmatic ground pounding that shook the small square. He was rather surprised to see an elemental. As far as he knew none of the battle mages dabbled elemental summoning. As the dripping pile of sand blundered closer, Darthanis realized that the elemental had two turds perched on the creatures face in place of eyes. He shook his head and started to turn back to the combat when he heard a second source of heavy footfalls and a primal roar. The large muscular head of the king’s guest rounded one of the street’s leading from the castle. A second figure, smaller by leaps and bounds ran behind the giant. He wore an elegant coat and in his hand he carried a Scottish Basket hilt Backsword. He shouted to nobody in particular as the two cut a swath through the red death. “ Guid day! me an' Mr. Hyde haur thooght ye micht be needin' a hain.“ The man flashed a smile as he pointed to Mr hyde who stood at least two feet taller than him. “Allen Breck at yer service! Whaur dae ye want me an' mah sword?” He asked deftly sidestepping the reaching rolling pin. Allen lunged out , catching the Ex-baker under the chin with the tip of his blade, driving the blade home and dropping the abomination instantly. Darthanis looked at the large newcomer with interest. He had heard many rumors of Dr. Jeckyl and with his experiments concerning the demons in every man. He had even read some of the man’s notes. Back where he came from, there was no magic and apparently the man had managed to isolate what was paranormal with the normal. Now the doctor’s claims stood before him in a literal sense, blowing away any doubt he had. The lich’s attention was brought back to the hordes of undead. There seemed to be a sudden shift in the appearance and feel of the undead. With the onset of fresh corpses, the Mask was able to more potently work it’s magic. Showering the minds of his puppets with it’s own experiences and prowess it once possessed as a mortal, the fresh corpses began to make an impact on the soldiers of Dangelor. By now they had begun to tire adding to the already fast tipping scale. With the onset of the intelligent and armed foe, the soldiers began to fall. (With not a whole lot to do as Darthanis and no time for interaction during battle, I bring my post to a close. Kies, you mentioned going back to the castle, perhaps you could bring a timely set of re-enforcements on horseback to lend a hand. Eventually, I need to snag Rip for joint postage after a few more people post)



+CEMP+	Apr 17 2008, 01:35 PM Post #18
SUPER SHELL BATTLE MODE 3! Posts: 2,703 Group: Admins Member #14 Joined: Jan 8, 2008	(OOC: JP between me and B. 'flex, if you want to add something to end, which i don't is necessary but still your choice, give me a shout.) There was blood and guts everywhere. Some of it seemed like it had gotten pasted or smashed against the brick walls of the hallway. Over all, the entire place was bloody mess. This included the entity floating in the middle of the zombie massacre. He bore some uncanny resemblance to Groken. The one glaring difference is that he had no legs; he was just simply a floating upper body. His body appeared slightly bulkier than Groken's, but for all one knew, it could have been an illusion with how bright the strange, blue, electrical, rhythmic pulsing energy was. He seemed quite capable of floating like a genie and smash like ox. He also seemed quite angry as one. He growled when he heard Aysla and turned in his direction. However, he did not seem to show any form of hostility, just irritation. "I'm assuming with by the way you speak," he said, pointing to Aysla in a voice that was similar to Groken's, but gruffer, “that you're not in league with one of those rotten flesh bags that interrupted my beauty sleep." While Aysla could clearly tell it wasn’t Groken, the creature still had a similar smell to it. He tried to pinpoint whatever else there was, but the smells of everything else were like a strong odor barrier against the more subtle ones. Aysla’s foot slid slightly as he took a step forward. “No, I’m in my own league.” He hissed, his wounds, as well as the creature’s attitude, making him snarky in return. “From the looks of you though, you could use a hell of a lot more sleep. I hear there’s great lodging in moldy caves, why don’t you spend a few millennia in one of those instead of hanging around here?” Aysla looked him up and down. “In the most literal sense of hanging around as possible, mind you.” A breeze came through the doorway just behind him and he managed to pick it up. It was the same smell on the undead before, but stronger this time. The first wave had just been the meat shields, to wear everyone down, the second wave was going to be tougher it seemed. “Look” Aysla snapped, “I don’t have time for this. I don’t know if you’re Groken or not, but Teffra was obviously wrong about you. Get you’re floating metal ass out there and pound some more failed mortician jobs or I’m going to have to paste you on these walls because, frankly, I’m not impressed with the décor at the moment.” The odd 'Groken' eyed Aysla's movements, as if studying his character before he spoke up. He then growled more after Aysla's little slur, as if in a deep contemplation of hate. He moved (Or floated) slowly towards, the irritation in his voice slowly building up as he spoke. "A pale 'ghost' with an unusual knack for witty insults and slurs, an air of rowdiness and possible defiance, most likely towards the view points defined in this reality; and perhaps very little redeeming qualities." The irritation, at least what could be made in his face and voice, suddenly disappeared replaced by a tone of temporary intrigue. "I like that," and as quickly as it had happened, the same affliction returned, but not as great as before. "And yet, I cannot put a metallic, hollow finger on what it is about your demeanor that so greatly shuffles the waves of my energy. Such ambiguity and the source itself both vex me." When Aysla spoke about him doing squashing more rotten flesh, a small plate on one of the corners of his rose - an equivalent of him raising an eye brow. "Eh, I don't know this Groken you speak of; I prefer the alias Obsidious, thank you very much. Nor do I have any idea of this Teffra you speak, although her name seems to ring a bell. And there's the fact that I don't know you're name either, but for some reason you seem familiar." He then glared at Aysla, his eyes turning into a glowing slit, "And why are you so insistent on me going out there into a battle field that I have no knowledge of what's going on. Like I said, I was given a rather rude awakening, and I must kindly ask without raising my fist, if you seem to care for the situation so much and think it's so grave, why aren't you out there where a seconds of your strength may turn a tide, hmmmm. We don't even know each other." Aysla was taken aback by the ghost comment, but then quickly realized that the construct had only meant it as a sort of insult, and managed to restrain himself before doing something that he would regret later. He began to study ‘Obsidious’s’ movements, realizing that perhaps he was telling the truth. Maybe he really wasn’t Groken, and didn’t know who the other construct was. Everything about Obsidious was different, his voice, his demeanor and, most importantly, the way he moved; an air of confidence and perhaps even a hint of superiority. “Never mind about the names then” Aysla waved a dismissing hand. “During those first few seconds I had mistaken you for someone else, Obsidious.” As much as he wanted to make fun of the name, he knew it would be a bad idea. From the way Obsidious spoke, the Tenebrous had already made a suitable first impression, to ruin it now by going overboard wouldn’t be in his best interests. He was strong, and would probably last against the construct longer than most even in his current condition, but even he couldn’t bounce back from being plastered on a wall. Still, he was easily to rile. “Because you’re a two-ton hulking mash up of jagged metal that could just roll itself into the fray and come out decimating half the army. It’s easy to spot the enemy, they’re supposed to be dead!” Aysla leaned against one of the very few gore-free spots in the room. “I’m not fighting because…” his whole body went tense. How could he really explain it without making himself look suspicious? Or crazy? Then again Obsidious seemed like a different kind of person, more like someone from Aysla’s world. He took a deep breath and answered. “Because they’re too much like me. I can’t fight them because the smarter ones, this next wave I can smell coming, they’re just too close to my kind. The Tenebrous are almost like a polar opposite of yourself. I can hear the call of the Red Death, it’s faint in my ears, but very powerful, it’s causing me to be clumsy, distracted, and unable to focus.” He looked at Obsidious and managed to crack a grin despite the situation. “We may not know each other, but that doesn’t mean we’re not allies.” Obsidious eyed Aysla with a curious but cautious gaze, listening to him attentively. And then, he laughed laughter of maniacal glee. "Hahaha, what a nice, poetic comment. I'll admit your explanation is a bit vague," he said in a more regular, polite tone, shaking his hand in the air as if it didn't matter, "I cannot quite see the similarity between you and them, but I have to see the smarter ones. However, I do hear this kind of 'buzzing' in my ears, and I can't help but relate it to those rotting piles of flesh for some reason." "Indeed, I see no reason why we can't be allies, or any reason why I shouldn't stretch my 'muscles.' Although I dislike the idea of being a walking ballista, I can only tell these things will eventually bother me. And," he said, raising a finger in the air, "before I go, perhaps I can temporarily aleave of that irritating call, at least in this small part of the hall." Obsidious hands brightened and he clapped them together, creating a small flash and a bizarre, distorted metallic noise. Within moments, every single sound and command, from telepathic and telepathic like, to the shouts of battle, that came from outside became...undefined. It was as if everything had just become regular background noise with no meaning or form of power. What was even more, what ever sound they made in the hall would come 'out' the same way, and no one would be able to understand them. Aysla relaxed visibly. It was as though a rope binding his entire being had just been cut. “Thank you” he breathed, unable to keep the relief from his voice. “I’ll accompany you I suppose. Your sudden-“ change… “-appearance, might cause some surprise. I could explain the situation, should things call for it.” He ran his fingers through his hair, noticing it had begun to thaw into its usual fair, supple strands of midnight, and he wondered if he would have to explain Obsidious to Teffra. After all, it was her fault he was having to deal with the current situation. The thought of her made him both angry and hesitant. Still, he looked back at the construct, and decided that there was no other direction to go. “Into battle then” he said before stepping out. “Seems understandable,” replied Obsidious. His brightened a bit, a light but eerie hum like that of a finger rubbing against the wet rim of a half filled wine glass. “Very, we shall go. Bear in mind I did not do anything permanents about that distracting ‘noise.’ I merely created a ‘bubble’ around, although I can generate an aura around me that will do the same. Keep close if you want, but be warned that not everything in the battle will ‘sound’ the same.” And with that, he flew off with Aysla into battle.
	"To look for a shipwreck is at best a crapshoot, and to launch and fund a search, it helps to be the headmaster of the village idiot school or else the kind of stubborn lunatic who tries walk through walls simply because they're in the way. I probably fall in the latter group." - Clive Cussler, The Sea Hunters II


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