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Entry tags:
closed.
WHO: Bastien, Byerly, Darras, Edgard, Ellie, Gwenaëlle, Julius, Loxley, Yseult, & Special NPC Guest Stars
WHAT: THE FATE OF THE FOX
WHEN: Shortly post-mod plot
WHERE: Arlathan Forest
NOTES: OOC post! Use TWs in your subject lines as required.
WHAT: THE FATE OF THE FOX
WHEN: Shortly post-mod plot
WHERE: Arlathan Forest
NOTES: OOC post! Use TWs in your subject lines as required.
It's a long shot. Bastien returns to the campsite they've all been sharing with only a silver, black-corroded medallion held carefully in his palm. With the dirt washed off, there's no question that the angular, geometric face stamped onto the front of it is a fox's.
"It's dwarven," he explains, more than once. "It's, look, 8:84, that is Ansgar Aeducan's reign. That is around when the Black Fox met Bolek. He came to the surface with them to help with—well, there four or five different things they are supposed to have been helping with. Most commonly it is bringing back the king's wayward daughter without letting anyone find out she had been exposed to the sky. This was over near one of those tower—cliff—cave-things, that way. There might be more."
Again, it's a long shot. But it's not nothing. Even if the medallion is all there is, it's not nothing.
And—for those who notice and care about the subtle differences between his sometimes-artificial chipperness and his stiller, quieter happiness—this is the best mood Bastien has been in since the sacrifices, the longest he's gone without tapping or tugging at his newly deafened ear. By the end of his brief, earnest-eyed it's not far, we could go look while there's still daylight and be back in plenty of time campaign, with no real protest from anyone, he's practically glowing.
The tower-cliff-cave-thing in question is one of the elven structures half-swallowed by earth, accessible through what was once a balcony door, now framed by vines and tree roots climbing in and out of the opening. They have to climb a root-threaded mound of dirt and rock to reach it, but they're rewarded almost instantly by the remnants of a 50-year-old campsite, a pair of leather boots that have only mostly rotten away to nothing in the humidity, and a change in the air (veil? vibe?) as they descend the uneven stone steps (or drop more impatiently through a nearby hole) to reach the next floor.
It's not good, the air-change. It's also not the energy-sapping miasma of shades or the tension of some nearby malevolence. It's the kind of not-good that makes one want to look. When they do, they see the skeletons first—five of them, half-jumbled, partially dressed in what metal and leather has survived the decades—and only for a second, before the thing waiting behind them in the dark reaches out to make them see something else.
OOC | Reply with your character's heroic dream as a new top-level! We're tagging them all at once. No tag orders. Don't boomerang so quickly that people get left completely behind because they're busy/asleep for a day but also skip people as needed—all nine of us don't need to tag every single round. Aim for brief threads!
NPC CAST: DESIRE: Charlie / REMI: Cass / KAROLIS: Brooklyn / SERVANA: Libby / BOLEK: MJ / CLEMENTIS: Ammmy
"It's dwarven," he explains, more than once. "It's, look, 8:84, that is Ansgar Aeducan's reign. That is around when the Black Fox met Bolek. He came to the surface with them to help with—well, there four or five different things they are supposed to have been helping with. Most commonly it is bringing back the king's wayward daughter without letting anyone find out she had been exposed to the sky. This was over near one of those tower—cliff—cave-things, that way. There might be more."
Again, it's a long shot. But it's not nothing. Even if the medallion is all there is, it's not nothing.
And—for those who notice and care about the subtle differences between his sometimes-artificial chipperness and his stiller, quieter happiness—this is the best mood Bastien has been in since the sacrifices, the longest he's gone without tapping or tugging at his newly deafened ear. By the end of his brief, earnest-eyed it's not far, we could go look while there's still daylight and be back in plenty of time campaign, with no real protest from anyone, he's practically glowing.
The tower-cliff-cave-thing in question is one of the elven structures half-swallowed by earth, accessible through what was once a balcony door, now framed by vines and tree roots climbing in and out of the opening. They have to climb a root-threaded mound of dirt and rock to reach it, but they're rewarded almost instantly by the remnants of a 50-year-old campsite, a pair of leather boots that have only mostly rotten away to nothing in the humidity, and a change in the air (veil? vibe?) as they descend the uneven stone steps (or drop more impatiently through a nearby hole) to reach the next floor.
It's not good, the air-change. It's also not the energy-sapping miasma of shades or the tension of some nearby malevolence. It's the kind of not-good that makes one want to look. When they do, they see the skeletons first—five of them, half-jumbled, partially dressed in what metal and leather has survived the decades—and only for a second, before the thing waiting behind them in the dark reaches out to make them see something else.
OOC | Reply with your character's heroic dream as a new top-level! We're tagging them all at once. No tag orders. Don't boomerang so quickly that people get left completely behind because they're busy/asleep for a day but also skip people as needed—all nine of us don't need to tag every single round. Aim for brief threads!
NPC CAST: DESIRE: Charlie / REMI: Cass / KAROLIS: Brooklyn / SERVANA: Libby / BOLEK: MJ / CLEMENTIS: Ammmy
no subject
And so he turns his attention to the beasts threatening Gwenaëlle. One is coming around for an attack, snarling and fierce, and even though he knows logically that what he should do is throw himself before her to take the blow, he acts instinctually instead. He calls out to the creature, "What nasty little teeth you have, you ugly thing," and somehow the beast is so ashamed of itself that it fumbles the blow and misses her entirely.
By casts a baffled look at Bastien, but continues running alongside him. This is - weird.
no subject
Her tail, long, ending in a wickedly curving bladed bone, lashes out towards the princess in the moment Ellie calls out. A flicker of cape, and Loxley spins into its path, raised blade catching it midstrike and slicing through where boney tip connects to muscle. Burning blood spatters as the archdevil whips her tail backwards, half-severed at the end. With another unholy shriek, the archdevil brings her wing around, its claws sharp enough to tear flesh from bone.
So of course he catches it in his offhand, and as she rears back either to yank herself free or fling him aside, her feet leaving the ground as she hauls her wing upwards, Loxley holds on, springing upwards along with her. Arcing around, and up, sword raised high with the tip of its blade pointed down to her back so that when he drops on her, he lands steel first. As the blade sinks in, the archdevil crashes down from the air, landing on her knees.
She reaches back, snagging where Loxley landed and is braced on her back, grabs a fistful of cape in her claws, and flings him aside. He lands with an audible thump, sending him and his sword, now loose, skidding across the marble.
All the while, the hell hounds are relentless, far more determined to get at their prey than any ordinary dog should be. As one of them goes skidding under the effects of its compulsive laughter, another leaps, feet landing on its fallen packmate's flank and springing itself up towards Bastien and Byerly.
And it catches in the wall of magical blades, barely corporeal steel tearing through fur and muscle, near-black blood spattering on marble and smoking on contact. The hell hound staggers as it lands on the other side, turning its snarling maw towards the group and opening its jaws wide. Flame, bright and terrible, floods out from between its fangs, streaming out and fanning wide in a rush of hellfire and smoke, threatens to burn all who aren't fast enough to dodge.
Some of his brethren struggle and bleed themselves to death in the wall of blades; others stubbornly tear through, snarling and snapping in hot pursuit.