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Post by Harrier Wren on Feb 8, 2017 1:56:56 GMT
What else was Therien to do but celebrate? The undead armies of Vaundsburg had been driven back to their vampiric masters. Orcs had torched and looted towns, but the core of Therien had stood firm with the aid of foreign friends. So what if those friends had their own intentions, their own priorities? So what if those burned towns couldn't live up to their commitments to provide the land of Therien with food and wine? For now, Therien was safe and the wine could flow in celebration. A festival had been declared, the kind of high-spirited, even debauched event that Therien did best.
Somewhere along the line, Harrier had cleaned up and maintained her disguise. Throughout the Vaundsburger invasion of Therien, she'd played the role of a minor courtier; now she could do that in earnest. The festival grounds weren't far from Steward Harmon's fortified palace. Maybe, just maybe, she'd find the right opportunity to get into his archives.
Assuming she didn't get drunk, laid, or fleeced at cards along the way. Freaking Therien.
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Post by Braemara on Feb 9, 2017 0:57:31 GMT
Where was the best place to find a blood mage?
In the remains of massive bloodshed, of course.
While the denizens of Therien and their guests celebrated the breaking of the vampire host, Braemara and her attendant earthborne were busy. There had been a good amount of cleanup since the battle for Therien, but the aura of death, violence, and bloodshed still permeated every surface.
"A circle bled, battle blood shed, and I invoke the power..." she incanted in a slow rhythm as she focused on drawing the essence of the blood shed into a large chalice she held in her hands. The language was one that woul grate on the ears of mortals, and be difficult for a less nimble tongue to speak. "...for chaotic intent, a lovely blood scent, let us darken this hour."
Slowly, as Braemara continued to chant, blood welled up from floorboards and walls of the ruined house she was in. It was not the first such house she had visited this day, for she had a terribly fun idea, and the setup for it would be immense. The presence of so much moving water inhibited her from dropping all of Therien into a hellish portal, so she would have to suffice with dropping a large piece of the land outside their gates.
As the blood traveled towards her, up the sides of the chalice, and pool into the cup, she focused and chanted. The room darkened perceptibly as she focused and magnified the power of the death and bloodshed that had happened here. Orc and Undead were great for such things, and there had been both at this battle. Any who happened near this room, or the half dozen others like it in the villages around Therien, would feel their heart speed up and become paranoid.
Such was only a side effect, however, as she planned to use these centers of power for a great opening.
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Post by The Dark One on Feb 9, 2017 21:38:30 GMT
Blood rituals were something that was rarely meddled with outside of those who wished harm done upon the world. Outlawed by all since the Elven Empires of history and feared by those who consorted the magical ways equally as those who had little understanding. The effect these rituals had on reality seemed coincidentally minor to those who had attempted throughout the years, a fire there, a loose spirit there. However it was clear to those who studied and tried to avoid such fates that magic of all sorts came at a cost, a bargained price would it be. For magic was not of the world, it was from places beyond the levels of reality, different areas of existence that all flowed into the known world through spaces linking them all together be it by stones of power or natural existence. Blood magic however that created these places for it to be fed through and the powers at hand that sought these artificial chances were not the kind you wanted around your feast table. Even as the blood travelled along the floor towards her intent Braemara would begin to hear the words on the air, foul filled speech that was neither there nor absent, like words of her mind that if she truly tried to hear them would only cause a further feeling of their non-existance. A pact was being made. A pact of blood, pain, and death.
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Post by Kareena on Feb 10, 2017 3:20:09 GMT
A festival, it had been a long time since she could walk through the decorated streets of any city and celebrate. What were they celebrating? She asked trying not to be too shy in asking, and yet not too aggressive either. Kareena was in control of herself just not her environment.
Rumors of a great library nearby brought Kareena from her home, her green eyes swept across the path laid out before her. Colorful flags, and smells of every variety, and yet that is every variety swirled around her. Some would do well with a bath and clean clothes.
Phewww it assaulted her nose like a nest of stink bugs.
Kareena wanted to go into the Library to look at the archivists records. Somewhere in there she looked for mention of the history of her people. What had started the distrust and could it be repaired.
The Hellion within had not been unleashed since the last full moon and longed for release but a festival was not a place for it. Unless of course some how she got into a fight.
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Post by Harrier Wren on Feb 10, 2017 19:20:01 GMT
Braemara The Dark One KareenaShe'd been looped into a whirling communal dance, a half-full goblet in hand. There was an art to dancing like this without spill or splash. She lost all related artistry as a deep bell rang in the back of her mind. Wine sloshed over her knuckles and dotted her skirts. She lost the time of the dance and ducked out shakily. There was black magic and then there was black magic. Her own sorceries weren't the most ethically sound -- she'd tied more than one unwilling spirit to a physical anchor, defiled innumerable graves -- but she wouldn't have called her magic malevolent. Not on average, anyway. Even her most dubious moments, though, paled in comparison to the raw, dark energy that someone serious was conjuring, not just here but far away, in multiple locations. A web, maybe. A working on a serious scale. She set her half-full goblet aside and wiped wine off her hand, then ducked into a small tent nearby. Lovers used these, or people in search of a little privacy for other reasons. She found it empty. Working quickly, she unpacked one of her belt pouches: a palm-sized soapstone tray, a stick of ink, a square of parchment, and a jade fountain pen with a brass nib. She bit the inside of her cheek, spat blood into the tray, and used it to mix a little ink. In short order, the pen was writing of its own accord. Fear thrills in their blood
Spurred by slaughter of their kin and kind
As she drinks sweet, all shall drink bitter
The goblet fills and soon shall overflowThe pen fell over: al-Kaateb had said what he wanted to say. Harrier hissed a curse and repacked everything, then went to find a basin. Enough water or wine in a big enough bowl, and she could use a certain cantrip to get a sense of the working's direction.
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Post by Prince Ineirin on Feb 12, 2017 21:51:21 GMT
Ineirin and his honor-guard were staying in the Steward's palace, as honored guests who had braved passing by the very lines of the invaders to ensure his safety, and as also befitting his station as the heir of a sovereign kingdom. The steward owed them now, and while the festival was not the right time for it. Instead, they behaved themselves as guests.
Dressed in fine traveling clothes, Ineirin and Gwythion made their way into the celebrations, where music and dancing flooded the streets. His other members were amusing themselves as they saw fit, while two guarded the entrances to their chambers.
Ineirin hefted a goblet of wine and hung against the edges of the dancing crowd, watching them idly. The battle had been won, with the invaluable assistance of Tyre and its countess. Aerlion would have to thank them properly in some way. Perhaps the countess would appreciate an Aerlion ship. Tyre was a maritime power of significant strength. He didn't think they weer quite at Aerlion's level, but close.
He let the thoughts drift away from that and focus on the festivities around them. He could smell food roasting, and it was quite tempting. He gestured with his head in the direction the smells wafted from. The two picked they way through the crowd, dodging the dancers as they spun and swayed.
Ineirin handed a coin to the food-vendor, who hurriedly dished out some of the roasted meat-pies. It was delicious and the day was beautiful, but something felt off. There was an itch in his veins that meant the Sea-Blood was stirring, but he could see no reason why. A frown shadowed his face as he made his way around, other hand resting lightly on his sword-hilt.
What could be occurring that could make it happen? Nothing that he could see. That perhaps was the most disconcerting, however. A danger you couldn't see was the one most likely to injure you.
"Gwythion," he said after a moment, "Rouse the men. Do you feel the blood?"
"Aye," the lad answered after a swallow, "More of an itch. What does it mean?"
Ineirin shrugged tiredly and finished the pastry, a grim expression settling over his face. "I cannot say, although I fear we may have missed some of our Vaundsburg foes and they yet endanger us."
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Post by Harrier Wren on Feb 13, 2017 20:10:42 GMT
In a snoring baron's tent, Harrier poured expensive wine into a washing-bowl. The red wine was clear, well-filtered. As she muttered her cantrip, the kind of thing the Foard of Maesters taught apprentices, she used tricks of thought and gesture to add certain partial spells for an enhanced effect. In short order, the edge of the bowl began to grow cloudy at a dozen points: magic and magicians near and far, great and small. One point in particular emanated thick opacity. She took that bearing and drew a line on the dirt floor to mark it, then took the bowl to the door of the tent for a better look. Lining up her eyes, the bowl's centre, the cloudiest point, and the festival grounds beyond, she noted what lay along that line. She picked three points of reference: a nearby tree, a more distant steeple, and a far-off hilltop. Somewhere along that line lay the epicentre of the ritual she'd sensed. She handed off the bowl of wine to a willing and undiscriminating drinker, then set off to find the dark magician.
As she wound her way through the festival ground, Harrier took stock of her options. Within easy access, she had two undead servants, both incorporeal spirits bound to objects: al-Kaateb the scribe in the jade pen, and Mathquil the scout in her ring. Neither was much use in a physical or magical fight. She rubbed the ring with her thumb and it grew cold. "Scout ahead for the source of the ritual," she breathed. "Be very careful."
The shade slunk away, barely visible as a flicker of mist or pipe-smoke or some such.
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Post by The Dark One on Feb 13, 2017 23:13:07 GMT
Far beyond the boundaries of the world of reality lay the impossible domain of magic and darkness. This nightmarescape of desire, hatred, terror and death twisted the reality of Ardell and copied it into a dark place, where no physical laws apply save for those enforced by those who hold domain within. This is the Realm of Darkness, where the Dark Gods were banished in the foundations of the world, where they jealously look upon the living light with want and lust. At the very centre of this realm, a great tower towers over all over things. Like the rest of the Realm of Darkness none could say how long the tower had endured, for time had little hold on it and it’s damnable kingdom. It could be that it is as old as history itself, the Realm formed even before the stars themselves. It was within this tower that the Dark One, a formidable armoured brute of mind-boggling proportions stood. At his feet were scattered numerous beasts and creatures, some armoured like he others in various shapes akin to the nightmares of man. They were all bowed, crouched on the floor with arms outreached; all circled towards the one being who had promised them their desire, their lust and the ability to feed their hunger and thirst for living souls. For them the last raid into reality felt like both an hour ago and a million years between, such was their curse. Yet to the plains of reality it had been millennia since it last felt their presence, a wait that was slowly being shortened with every death and drop of blood that was spilt in emotion. For the Darkness was the hopes and fears of all living creatures made manifest, it’s creatures ready to enact upon what the terrors within the minds of all. All they needed was someone to lead them forth, to promise them salvation. The Dark One was that beacon to the creatures of the Dark, he gave his all to assuring that those who thirst for souls would be given the chance to do as such. He had played all his parts well and the pieces were set on his side, all that it needed now was a willing party on the land of reality. Or unwilling, either would do nicely. A strange braying chant had started to circle the group, dark spells cast to weaken the boundaries between their Realm and the next. Add to this the Dark Ones words of evil and even now the fabrics began to intwine. There was something there. From before the Dark One a faded shadow appeared, a shade but not. Part of the Realm of Reality and forcefully duplicated in the Realm of Darkness. What it saw on one side it would see on the other and as with all magic it worked the same way in reverse. “Ukhade.” The Dark One spoke suddenly as the mist of a partly fragmented magical scout fought at the constraints it was placed beneath. “Whaav do lat ukee?” His armoured gauntlet reached out and in an act of magical dominance took hold of the creature, ripping hard at it. “Show alnej mausan deukire!” The shades whipped through several colours, all half not there like a fading cloud. It screamed in the magical forces around them, the spell stuck between two realities like it never was supposed to be. Through the wisp the image of a city in festivities appeared, like a misty memory it moved in slow motion, but the sheer sight of it seemed to whip the creatures into a blind frenzy, a want to lash out and take their primal rage and instincts out. “Hap allow uuk avo paukuk avhrough lat.” The misty impression began to become more solid, more capable of allowing passage. The shade however was bound to another, to someone not part of this world, yet with ability owed by it. They would not be allowed there passage through it, not yet. He was loosing his hold over the creature through sheer fabrics of reality not ability. He would use it though, he had that power. “Ukend ij warnaumn. Deaavh comeuk. For jiak ride par gijak.” With that he released the shade and the mist departed, the Dark One full well knowing that whoever held it bound would hear his voice and perhaps just like he had seen their realm, they would see his. He returned to the blood ritual, his time was coming soon. Soon he would ride on death. Harrier Wren
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Post by Alexandra Feanor on Feb 14, 2017 21:13:48 GMT
Alexandra had remained in Brecken for a long while after the battle, as her soldiers had been through far too much to be forced to march back to Gyn so soon or to give chase to the orcs or to the Undead. The former of which had come into direct confrontation with her own and because of such had caused a great number of casualties in the foolish charge of her lines. They had done a great deal of damage, and even now the remains of her force were still licking their wounds alongside the town they had protected.
Which left her looking over her soldiers as a relief force had arrived alongside some priests from Gyn's Moonlit Pantheon. Brecken and any other towns that could be saved would be protected if they did not have those from the south or Therien's castle protecting it and most importantly the heir was still being protected by her force. Alexandra's protection of Brecken was for more than one reason and that second was to figure out how the situation of the rebels and the loyalists would be dealt with in a way that did not cost more dead. With that in mind the earthen works, her magical constructs, and those soldiers who were not wounded had been set up in defensive network incase something found the town easy pickings.
What did this mean for the festival occurring, well that was simple.
Brecken would be celebrating too, not having to worry about raids or people striking out towards the town. Even with the damage done, it had gathered people from the many villages to the town and as such had created a group which needed to relax and take in the moment. The roads to the larger festival grounds near the palace was in no way left unguarded either. Alexandra's soldiers had set up posts along the road and created a small fort near the forces of the Stewards with a clear statement saying they were not leaving yet and there was more to happen here.
It was here in this fort where she was at this moment, looking at the none too far off festival while her hands worked at the silver dress which hugged her beneath the equally silver cloak that hid her body from the world around her, only her head visible as it poked out of the top. She had not kept in contact with the man from Breconhall or the one from Therien itself, but she had allowed them to remain and even to take up residence in the fort or to remain in the camps around Brecken Town. She would not tell them what to do, nor control where they went unless they threatened her men.
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Post by Kareena on Feb 15, 2017 3:40:57 GMT
This festival woke up her soul. So long had it been quiet and without incident that she couldn't help but feel the excitement of everyone around her. It showed in their smiles, it radiated warmth from all the colored banners that hung from the poles and tents.
She was infected with it. She handed over the coin needed to buy a treat. It shimmered under the sun the expensive sugar that would be gone in a single bite. But oh the joy of the single bite how it melted in the mouth dancing over the tongue and then delighting her stomach. Having such a decadent thing was enough to make her laugh.
They would not approve back in the City. The old ones with their long frowns, and graying tresses. They would wiggle a long skinny bone finger at her and scold her for being so frivolous. BUT that's what festivals were for to be light to be well frivolous.
Kareena still holding her treat looked around half expecting someone from home to be there watching. Which she would admit if they were watching they would see her defiance as she bit into the sugar coated cake. OH my god it was heaven it was everything she dreamed of and more. Ambrosia for certain. Too much ambrosia though and she'd be a very fluffy Kareena.
She walked along smiling and laughing as the cake slowly disappeared till nothing but the smudges remained on her fingers.
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Post by Braemara on Feb 15, 2017 13:19:15 GMT
Braemara slipped up to her feet with a small smile on her face. Her earthborne lifted the large chalice from the floor, letting the large spherical blood crystal slide onto the floor before straightening. The room of the ruined house seemed far darker, with the center of that darkness swirling on the blood crystal, a roughly softball sized crystal of dancing eddies of blood.
Stepping up to the door, Braemara looked up into the sky, judging the time. She could feel the attention of many people focusing upon her work. She didn't know if they were allies, enemies, or other, but she knew she didn't have a lot more time to complete her work before she was likely interupted.
"Come, slave. We have to finish our work." She said to her silent, unliving companion. They moved towards the opposite end of the time. Blood dripped form the claws that extended from Braemara's finger tips, making a trail from the last blood crystal to where she intended to create the next one.
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Post by Harrier Wren on Feb 16, 2017 12:40:15 GMT
Magic, the serious kind, blared in the back of her mind. She caught a glimpse of a hellscape, a congregation, and a figure in grotesque plate. That figure, or some associated force, interfered with the connection between Mathquil and her ring; it grew painfully hot. She jerked it from her finger and tucked it away in a belt pouch, where it warmed her hip through the leather. The choice seemed straightforward enough: lose Mathquil, a long-standing and useful servant, or do what she was loathe to do. User magic overtly enough to be detected. "Screw it," she said while pushing through a crowd, and that garnered some odd looks. She ignored them. She'd been a Maester of the Foard of Elbion and an associate of the Synod of Shatterhold. Nothing and nobody would take what was hers. She called on her magic profoundly and the sunlight dimmed. Shadows deepened around her. Therien had plenty of fresh ghosts, and now she and others could see them as vague outlines participating in the festivities. Shouts and screams and scattering ensued. Standing in a desolate dancing ground, beneath a colorful tent, Harrier got a firm grip on her ring's connection to Mathquil. And then, abruptly, the other force released him. The ring cooled against her hip and she put it back on. Try as she might, though, she couldn't get the shade to come out and tell her what he'd seen. Therien had battlemages, very good ones. Lingering would be a bad idea. Jaw knotted, Harrier pressed on. Just outside the festivities stood a number of houses. One in particular seemed a little run-down, and when she did her tracking cantrip in a puddle of spilled wine, the cloudiness pointed there. She knocked on the door. Braemara
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Post by Darrik Eckhardt on Feb 16, 2017 16:52:06 GMT
Night gathers and so my hunt begins. The Afternoon sun was fading, which meant nothing to the festival goers as it would likely continue with people staying until dawn, drinking, eating and general merrymaking. But what it meant for Ser Darrik of the House of Eckhart miles away was a night of darkness and evils. The Young Knight had hoped to return home in time for the festival and see old friends and colleges once more, perhaps check on his Estate and his former bride to be, but Fate had other ideas. The Full Moon already hung in the afternoon sky, looming over him like a demon playing with the strings that connected him to reality. He had stopped and camped almost a half a day's ride from the festival and just recently sent off his destrier with his things. The beast was well trained and loyal, it would know where to go and wouldn't let just anyone near it. Some stable hands had said the creature was ornery and mean, prone to kicking and biting if people got to close. The horse carried his colors and armor, along with all of his things as he sent it on its way. The young man stopped at a spot beneath a large oak tree to kneel. This had been where he had attempted to end his curse for the last time. The ground here was depressed as though there had once been a hole dug in it, but grass had overtaken and claimed the area again. A single grave had been dug and a silver dagger jabbed into his chest. Yet several weeks later he had awoken in a field near the southern river with blood smeared across his face and hands, images of villagers screaming in horror rattling in his mind. Only a few memories of the creature staring into water or a mirror came to the surface of his thoughts now. How many friends had he slain before he left Therien? How many more would be slain tonight? It didn't matter, he told himself. The Wolf would do what it would regardless of how much he tormented himself over it, yet it brought him little comfort. The only solace he had found in the past eight years was that recently he didn't know who he had slain or known anything of them. At least with strangers the pain didn't cut him as deeply, he could lie to himself and tell himself perhaps they were bandits or evil men this night, even if that didn't make his dreams any less vile or cruel, did not wash the pain from his soul. The Kneeling knight lowered his head and reflected on all he had done for, and to, Therien in his life as the hour of his Change approached. Braemara Harrier Wren Kareena The Dark One
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Post by Kareena on Feb 17, 2017 3:55:37 GMT
There was this humming suddenly not that anyone else could hear it only Kareena could hear it, and feel that singular sensation as it slithered over her skin. Something dark, something not wholly human either had passed her. Her head turned abruptly as she looked nothing seemed amiss.
Nothing seemed wrong. She couldn't help but frown then who was it what was it. The larger much bigger question was friend or enemy. The last remnants of frivolity were licked clean from her fingers as she exhaled slowly.
Turning on a heel she headed in the direction she started out this time more aware of her surroundings and mindful of each one who passed her. Just in case. One never knew.
She stopped again as she stared ahead the citadel of knowledge stood against the blue sky. So impressive was its height that it made seekers feel inferior to approach. Part of the ploy Kareena guessed if they can scare you away you won't come knocking. Eh, they had not met her yet.
She walked on having to pause to look around again or so it would appear. She stopped and stepped off the path. "yes I remember what I am looking for. No I didn't forget"
UGH she could have screamed the voices in her head telling her what to do, damn the life of a Hellion. "yes yes I got it. OH LORD it was one piece"
Scowling she stepped back out and trudged toward the Citadel.
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Post by Harrier Wren on Feb 28, 2017 4:34:07 GMT
Nobody answered the door. Harrier peeked between slatted windowshades but saw no sign of movement inside. Her cantrip's directionality had been, of necessity, inexact. There was every possibility she'd picked the wrong house, or the epicentre of the growing spell might be beyond it. That spell's effect was building in the back of her mind. She had the feeling it would start manifesting soon enough.
At the side of a festival-choked street, not far from the Citadel, she stopped and paid real attention. The revelry was growing frenetic, almost panicked, as if the Therienese were desperately seeking some kind of refuge from a swelling fear. She could feel that unnatural fear herself, though her mind had certain defenses and layers of insulation to protect it. Clearly, someone wanted terror to erupt, maybe to spur a larger working.
She glimpsed a Therienese war-wizard, a grizzled man in mail and livery. Far down the street, he was raising a staff and chanting, and revelers kept their distance. They didn't understand that he was probably shielding them from whatever this influence might be.
A non-negligible part of Harrier wanted to interrupt his technique and see what happened. See what this monstrous ritual was actually intended to do. Instead, she kept heading for the Citadel and its archival wing.
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