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The Magic Reality Show (TMRS) – Now playing 
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Corsair
Corsair
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Joined: Fri Mar 14, 2008 10:00 pm
Posts: 8713
Location: Hag Graef
The Magic Reality Show (TMRS) – Now playing

Introduction.

Some speculations about who would win a total war between Druchii and Lizarmen (see: fluff fight ) reached Morathi’s attentive ears.
She charged Kaleth Silverjaw, her military advisor, to determine the relative strengths of all kind of Magic Lores and magic-like powers.
He will have to test rookie Mage Candidates, because low level Mages would be abundant in armies, and because they can disappear with little fuss.

Milady,
The recruiting process is now finished.
We have now on Walrus Island
eight arcane apprentices, able to drag on the powers
of Aqshy, Ghur, Chamon, Ghyran, Ulgu, Shyish and Dhar.
No worthy apprentice was found
able to wield the energies from Hysh or Azyr,
so we replaced them with an acolyte, adept of Khaine.
The selection process will start tomorrow.
May Hekarti assist me.
Bless be thy Name and the Name of Your Son.
Signed: Kaleth Silverjaw



The Island.

A small island off the Dark Pillar, east of Har Ganeth, hosts the Show.
Windy, icy, often rainy. Most of the island consists in cliffs and bare rocks. A glacier reaches the sea on the East.

Sea birds inhabit the cliffs, only threatened by occasional flocks of harpies.
The sea must be very productive, given the gigantic size of carnivorous fishes’ fins lurking around. Gigantic algae grow close to the surface.

South of the island, a single narrow plain is the only lowland. Mostly flat with a few low irregular rocky risings, it is shaped like a crescent, between mountain and beach. A few creeks come from the mountains.
A day would suffice to walk its length, despite being slowed down by peat bogs and slippery soil.
Contrary to the mountains, the plain shows some vegetation. It is mostly humid moss, lichen and short grass. In a few places relatively sheltered from the winds, some low bushes manage to grow, no higher than three meters.
Close to the mountain, burrowing rodents are the largest land animal to be seen. A few seals rest on beaches, with an occasional walrus. All the animals seem to fear the presence of Elves.

The only signs of civilization are a small jetty, a deserted fishermen’s village and a large and sinister tower, located in the centre of the plain next to a creek’s mouth.

_________________
Winds never stop blowing, Oceans are borderless. Get a ship and a crew, so the World will be ours! Today the World, tomorrow Nagg! {--|oBrotherhood of the Coast!o|--}


Last edited by Calisson on Fri Oct 28, 2011 6:56 pm, edited 1 time in total.



Fri Oct 28, 2011 4:11 pm
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Corsair
Corsair
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Joined: Fri Mar 14, 2008 10:00 pm
Posts: 8713
Location: Hag Graef
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The Candidates.
- Magic Lores represented:
Aqshy (Fire pyromaniac smith): Marcelus Lycanius (smiler666)
Chamon (Metal goldsmith alchemist): Vanatyr (Syjahel)
Ghur (Beast wolverine shade outcast): Kairus (Kinslayer)
Ghyran (Life naked wolf woman): Artemii (Drainial)
Ulgu (Shadows Covens sorceress): Vaelreth Velkyn (Dalamar)
Dhar (Dark corsair's Ark sorceress): Kaladeth (Khel)
Shyish (Death thug assassin): Arhast Kynthan (Malus99)
Khaine’s cult (priest of blood): Metarchis Avax (Red...)
Hysh (Light): NONE
Azyr (Heavens): NONE


• Name: Marcelus Lycanius
• Sex: Male • Age: 147 • Height: 6'6" • Weight: 13 stone
• Appearance: Powerfully built for a druchii, his face and ears are also less angular than most druchii's, reflecting his mixed parentage. He is fierce looking, partly due to his abnormal build, but also because of the ruddy, brazen tone of his skin and his hair which is long, unkempt, and often singed at the ends. Marcelus wears unadorned red and orange robes in the style of the imperial college mages, while still remaining suitable druchii by keeping the pomp and ceremony to a minimum. Over these robes he often wears a large, thick leather apron covered in pockets full of various explosives and their components, both magic and mundane.
• Character Class: Mage

• Character Statistics: WS4 - S4 - T3 - D2 - I5
• Starting Equipment: Staff, Shortbow
• Starting Skills: Power of Aqshy (1), Alchemy

• Character Background: Marcelus was born the half breed son of a travelling druchii alchemist and a human forgemaster's assistant, and was left a bastard after his father returned to naggaroth before Marcelus was born. Growing up he was an outcast, ostracised for his abnormal features and the part-true rumours of his parentage, this mistrust and hatred was the beginning of Marcelus's obsession with self improvement. He apprenticed hisself to his mother's master as soon as he was old enough to hold a hammer, and was fascinated by the fires of the forge he worked near-constantly at and the flames seemed to respond to his interest. It wasn't long until the college of mages noticed Marcelus's unusual talent, he was whisked away to the Bright College and instructed in the ways of the lore of Aqshy and in his instruction he excelled. However even among the mages Marcelus was an outcast, as the elder wizards feared his heritage and what might happen if he gained too much power, but Marcelus had developed a taste for the ability to control fire, and more exactly explosions, so left the empire and bartered passage to Naggaroth from a very drunk captain with a chip on his shoulder. The voyage was far from uneventful, and ended with the ship being sunk off the shore of the lands of chill, but Marcelus survived and during the hunt for his father he came across something called the Magic Reality Show and decided it would be a fine opportunity to prove hisself as he hadn't managed to to those fools in the old world.
• Character Ambitions: In the short term, make/barter/steal/buy/win a blackpowder weapon, and make stuff go boom; overarchingly, to prove hisself as more than just a half-breed, advance his own and his lore's magic, and make to stuff go boom

• Inauspicious Day: Monday
• Dedicated Day: Thursday
• Consecrated place: magically suspended above the mouth of an active volcanoe, or if none are available then anywhere open and sandy/savannah-y where the winds of magic blow strong
• Starting Components: 4 fireflies trapped in small vials, a nugget of raw amber, a nugget of raw topaz (both minerals are my 'precious' ingredients, so's you know), and a spark of living flame



• Name: Vanatyr
• Sex: Male • Age: 130 • Height: 6’6”, slim build • Weight: see above, I have no idea about this sorry
• Appearance: Vanatyr is a somewhat classic Druchii male with long black hair down past his waist. Not one to spend too much time out of doors he is paler than average, with oddly light grey eyes, as if all the colour in him had gone into his locks. He is notably quick on his feet with agile and dextrous hands, traits that might have served him well had he applied himself to a martial career beyond the usual military service. He has a thin smile and a face that is expressive when he allows his interest to show, otherwise something of an intellectual mask. Vanatyr has a small cheek scar that some might take to be a duelling mark, but is in fact what happens when you make your first mistake with an alchemical crucible. He dresses in dark robes and often a functional leather apron, boots, and gloves, as hot metal he now knows is detrimental to the skin. He also has a nightmask with crystal eye pieces that he uses to protect his face – it’s not a helm, only a face mask to stop acid splashes, metal shards etc when working. It’s only worn for work; he’s too vain to hide his face all the time. NB His clothes and protective facemask (if he has them) won't serve as armour.
• Character Class: Mage.

• Character Statistics: WS 3 – S 3 – T 2 – D 5 – I 5
• Starting Equipment: Staff, metal-bound and shod ironwood with delicate filigree work inlaid into the wood. Dagger, a fancy blade that is beautifully etched with acid to bring out the swirling patterns created during the forging process.
• Starting Skills: Power of Chamon (Metal) (1), Alchemy (1)

• Character Background: As a child of a good family, Vanatyr was educated and given the chance to choose himself a respectable career, like the military or perhaps the priesthood of Khaine. That he had an aptitude for alchemy was regarded as a bit of a nuisance by his merchant parents, who saw this as a rich man’s hobby and not a terribly useful one at that. However, because he has three competent older siblings (two sisters and a brother), he was allowed to carry on. When his oldest sister became head of the family due to a ‘tragic hunting accident’ she allowed her little brother to keep on playing with his metal toys so long as he kept his ambitions away from statecraft and kept her in suitable diplomatic gifts – after all, there are many ways to deploy a blade in politics, not just through the heart.
This Vanatyr has been pleased to do. He has made a career out of being a extremely talented metalworker, preferring delicate jewellery and artisan stilettoes to heavy metalwork, horsehoes, swords and the like. In fact he thought he had hidden the fact that he has an unnatural aptitude for working metal – it just seems to flow under his hands – from everyone, having convinced them that he is just very, very good at smithcraft.
Obviously this is not the case.
It was late at night when Vanatyr was roused from sleep by the Black Guard who had come to escort him to the Witch King, or so he’d assumed when he was rudely dragged from his cosy slumber. He’d briefly thought things were looking up when he heard that instead of ordering his impalement and execution for being a secret vauvalka, Morathi herself had taken an interest in him, after all one hears such tales ... But no, instead he’d been enlisted in some kind of magical tournament to test in public the skills he cannot admit to having in the first place. Isn’t life just one bloody thing after another.
• Character Ambitions: Widely reckoned to be as cold-hearted as the metals he sculpts, this is in fact not true. Vanatyr is extremely interested in people. In fact, so much so he would love the chance to take one apart, component by component, just to see how they fit together ... perhaps one day he can replicate the Druchii form in metal. But until then, he enjoys constructing things with tiny metal moving parts. Not necessarily anything other than decorative, pretty things; society always has a market for intricate jewellery, though he would like to break into the hidden blades and poison rings market.

• Inauspicious Day: Monday - Dedicated Day: Saturday. (+1 to cast on dedicated day, -1 on inauspicious day).
• Consecrated place: When the time comes, dowsing for metal-bearing rocks with a small brass pendulum, Vanatyr will construct an altar out of these and mark it with the runic sign for Metal in his own blood. For the iron, you know. And the attractive colour.
• Starting Components: 4 Mundane: 1 small brass pendulum, plain, on a fine iron chain; finely powdered iron filings; some pure bloodthorn charcoal for forging at high temperature; flux (for aiding soldering) - 2 Precious: 1 glass vial of Hydra’s stomach acid; one small pure iron meteorite - 1 Unnatural: a tiny piece of the metal once rumoured to have been used to make the gates between worlds the Old Ones created (not a piece of an actual gate, that’s too powerful O_o).



• Name: Kairus
• Sex: Male • Age: 222 • Height: 6ft 8'' • Weight: 10st
• Appearance: Kairus has amber coloured eyes and long, wild black hair, some of which is braided. Grey feathers are tied into these braids, the same style of feathers which also adorn his cloak and the haft of his hunting bow. His face is weathered and criss crossed with old scars, the most notable of which is the slit in his left ear where a creature once tried to take his head. He is fairly tall even for a Druchii, and has a strong build. His staff is a gnarled oakroot with a small amber crystal at the top.

• Character Statistics: WS3 - S4 - T3 - D4 - I4.
• Starting Equipment: Staff, Short Bow
• Starting Skills: Power of Ghur (1) and Wilderness Lore

• Character Background: Kairus was born in the wild. His mother was formerly a member of one of the mountains' Shade clans, but was exiled after an encounter with a questing mercenary, a devout follower of Kurnous, saw her fall pregnant. His mother fled to the nearby forests, and there she built them a home deep in a cave, where she raised him for the first twenty years of his life. Even then, Kairus learned quickly and became a swift and proficient hunter. Soon after however, his mother went missing and did not return, and still a young boy Kairus had to fend for himself. It was in the years to come that the boy learned to talk to the beasts of the wood, and when he next encountered a Druchii he was an acomplished practitioner of the arcane art of Ghur. His mothers knowledge of the wild and his fathers belief of the hunting god combined, Kairus soon became a budding beastmaster ranger, helping those who needed it and would pay sufficiently through the woods unharmed. Recently, one such hooded rogue claimed to require safe passage to the other side, but after making camp with her the first night, Kairus awoke on the island...
• Character Ambitions: furthering Power of Ghur and Wilderness Lore.

• Inauspicious Day: Saturday - Dedicated Day: Monday.
• Consecrated Place: Standing in the tracks of a great beast.
• Starting Components: 4 raven feathers, 2 cold one claws and 1 hydras tooth.



• Name: Artemii
• Sex: female • Age: unknown, probably about 120 • Height: 6,1" • Weight: stones, 11 stone
• Appearance: Artemii might be pretty, it is difficult to tell. Her hair is cut raggedly short (kept that way by her own dagger) and would be white if it were clean which it very rarely is usually leaving it grey. The first thing anyone would notice about Artemii would be her clothes, or rather lack of them. Unlike more civilised sorceresses this disregard for proper attire is not in any way sexual but rather stems from the fact that she lives outside all normal society. In extreme temperatures she might throw on a bear skin cloak but for the most part she goes nude.
Her body is lithe and almost painfully thin with a very small bust and hips narrow enough to make a midwife wince with sympathy, not that she is ever likely to have children. Artemii is often but not always dirty, she washes when a steam is handy but is otherwise largely unconcerned with such social norms. Occasionally she will decorate her body with dyes taken from various plants and animals, usually for magical effect; these swirling designs cover much of her body but are for the most part faded.
She carries a staff about four feet long of sung wood from an iron pine. Her dagger is made from a shard of petrified wood with a hilt of sung wood.
• Character Class: Mage

• Character Statistics: WS3 - S3 - T3 - D 4 - I5
• Starting Equipment: Staff, dagger (is it possible to make it so that these can be combined to make a rudimentary spear?)
• Starting Skills: Power of Ghyran, wilderness lore

• Character Background: Everyone knows of the barbarism of the shades, everyone knows how they leave their new born infants to fend for themselves, helpless and alone, on the night they come screaming into the world. It is a source of great pride for the shade clans to know that each and every one of them had the strength and good fortune to live through that ordeal and a source of superiority to know that all those unworthy to be shades die before so much as a single drop of milk is wasted on them. What very few even amongst the shades know however is that not all of those who disappear on the night of their birth perish.
# Artemii was not named such by her parents, they left her outside of the camp on the night of her birth as custom demands and if they had picked out a suitable nomenclature she has no idea what it was. When the proud parents returned in the morning they were saddened to see that where their new born baby had been left was nothing but scuffed bloodied earth and a few broken twigs.
# The truth of the story, which Artemii barely knows herself, is that she was never destined to survive that night. A fox was on the prowl, hardly a terrifying hunter but more than strong enough to feast on a helpless newborn scarce three hours out of the womb. Naturally terrified of this strange new beast the baby screamed and the very plants responded, shuddering and sighing with distress. As the fox grew closer the babe’s cries grew more desperate and in a miraculous act a nearby tree branch swept down and crushed the offending vixen to a paste. Giggling now the baby that would become Artemii grasped hold of the branch and was pulled up to safety in the tree tops where she slept soundly.
# The tale of how an infant survived in the forest is a long one but survive she did through the use of latent magic that burned strong within her. Feasting on the milk of deer, then fruit, berries and grubs the infant grew into a child and the child into an adult who was ready to hunt larger prey, and hunt she did.
#It was not until about her fiftieth year that Artemii saw another living elf, a shade band moving though her part of the forest. Terrified and yet intrigued the girl kept her distance, but they were not to be the only elves she saw. Every now and again parties would cross through, mostly shades but occasionally merchants or mercenaries. It was from these that Artemii first got the idea of using tools and weapons, fashioning her own staff and dagger though magical means. Her magic was now more practiced though unlearned. If she had had the benefit of teaching she may have been a truly powerful figure, as it was her mere survival thanks to her magic was testament enough of her potential.
#In time the girl found the courage to actually interact with one of the smaller parties, the meeting didn't go well with the elves first trying to capture her and then trying to kill her but she persevered and has since had some small measure of contact with the outside world. A shade band passing through from far afield was content to allow her a place by their fires in return for knowledge about the local area and it was from them that she first was given a name. She has little regard for it but it does for when one is required. In the dialect of that Autarii clan Artemii means crazed spirit of the wood.
#It was not this band but another that Artemii was speaking with, supposedly in good faith, when one of the young shades clubbed her round the back of the head. Waking up inside some kind of wooden tent Artemii is far from happy and more than a little confused.
• Character Ambitions: To go home, although finding a mate who has no desire to control or civilise her is also a longstanding ambition.

• Inauspicious Day - Tuesday: dedicated day - Thursday
• Consecrated place: throne of vines
• Starting Components: 4 seedlings (throttling vine, Venus bird trap, iron wood pine, black rose bush), Pegasus egg, hippogryph egg, a sapling of a tree from the Petrified Forest (living stone)



• Name: Vaelreth Velkyn
• Sex: Female • Age: 121 • Height: 5'9" • Weight: 120lb
• Appearance: Vaelreth bears a strange appearance among the Druchii, her magic has changed her, turning her skin inky black. Her eyes, orbs of dark blue peer out, examining everything cautiously. She wears her hair long, below her waist and dyed in strands of purple and black.
Similarly her robes bear the same colors, at least in the parts where there are actual robes as her garb is revealing even for a sorceress of the Druchii, thick shadows clinging to her body where cloth fails to cover more intimate areas.
She bears a staff made from pure black iron, slightly longer than she is tall. The implement is topped with a dark purple crystal which seems to absorb light. Hidden under her belt is a short blowpipe for those rare occasions when use of magic is not required to deal with a problem.

• Character Class: Mage.
• Character Statistics: WS - 2, S - 3, T - 3, D - 5, I - 5
• Starting Equipment: Staff, Blowpipe
• Starting Skills: Power of Ulgu, Basic Stealth

• Character Background: Vaelreth came to this world in a Druchii merchant family, her gift in controlling the winds of magic was discovered at a young age and she was forcefully taken from her parents and inducted into one of the Covens of Sorceresses.
As the years passed, she has shown great promise in manipulating and channeling the power of Ulgu, which combined with her natural affinity for being unseen allowed her to enter places and witness things she weren't meant to be at or see.
One fateful night she stumbled upon chambers of a Mistress and heard incantations coming from within. She snuck inside and witnessed her Mistress attempting to summon an Incarnate Elemental of Death. Vaelreth knew what success meant, the Mistress would obtain unimagined power and would easily rule the entire Coven. Her Druchii instincts awakening, she summoned her skills in controlling the shadows and sent them skittering and leaping across the chamber's walls. Their sudden appearace was enough to distract the Mistress, one skipped syllable and the powerful spell collapsed unto itself, hurling the Supreme Sorceress against a wall, breaking her back instantly.
Vaelreth was caught in the blast as well unfortunately, but her fate was yet to be determined for when she woke up, she was in a tent, all her belongings with her and some sort of tournament about to start with her as a contestant.
She looked among her opponents and smirked slightly, confident that with enough trickery and shadows she would be able to best them easily.
• Character Ambition: Mastery of the Power of Ulgu so she might one day become one with the shadows, going where she will, seen and stopped by none, seeing all she wishes.

• Inauspicious Day: Sunday - Dedicated Day: Wednesday
• Consecrated Place: Where the shadows are thickest.
• Starting Components: 4 clumps of shadowcat fur, 2 powdered dark pegasus horns and 1 essence of the deepest shadows.



Name: Kaladeth - Sex: Female - Age: 160 - Height: 6’5 - Weight: 75Kg
Appearance: Silver white hair, a messed tangle that goes half way down her back and it usually free and allowed to whip across her face. Her eyes are large and dark green, inviting others to gaze upon her beauty but once they do they see the vivid strangeness of her face. Her face is angular with high cheekbones and a large forehead that is usually covered with her hair that falls across her face and makes her look slightly “wild” in appearance. Her only blemish is a faint scar that runs from the corner of her mouth to her right cheek. She received the scar from a magical backlash many years ago when she attempted to further her understanding of the Power of Dhar magic. She is robed in simple attire, dark blue robes that cover her torso but exposing her thighs at the same time. Pale white skin accompanies her hair, shocking most people at the strangeness of the colour combination, making her look like she is chilled to the bone almost.
Character Class: Mage

Character Statistics: WS3 – S3 – T3 – D4 – I5
Starting Equipment: Staff, Dagger
Starting Skills: Power of Dhar (1) and Wilderness Lore

Character Background: Born to a failing merchant, Kala was not destined for much in life. Her father, a once handsome, budding slave trader had fallen on hard times in his last century, losing almost all of his livestock to the storm ravaged sea’s of the dreaded straits of the Sea of Malice. Living in poverty for a good number of years, her father was the only person she knew and loved. Kaladeth’s mother and her father’s wife was rumoured to be one of the sorceress’s of the convents, but this was never proven or talked about between Kala and her father for a good number of years. In truth, her mother was a sorceress of one of the convents, having taking in many male playthings and concubines over the years, one just so happening to be called Yorl, Kaladeth’s father. Unfortunately, Kaledeth was the result of the brief romance and they were hurriedly whisked away to Har Graef and away from the prying eyes of anyone who might wish to link them together. While Yorl and his Kala were forced to stay together in the first few months of her birth, her mother bided her time and waited until they were both assail the one ship. Conjuring up her magic’s, she visited a foul storm upon Yorl’s ship, sinking most of his other ships in the process. Luckily, they were saved by Yorl’s fine captaining skill’s which led them out of the storm but at the cost of leaving most of the other ships behind. Thinking the storm natural, Yorl and Kaladeth settled down in Har Graef and attempted to rebuild their lives, thinking none the less of the sorceress who had just attempted to kill them both. Years have passed and Yorl is still trying to pick up the pieces of his business but is slowly starting to see that it is a fruitless venture. Kaladeth on the other hand, has stuck close with her father and has attempted to help run his business. Unsuccessful in all regards, save for the occasional moment where they have fended off minor families attempts to muscle in on their market by some strange source of unknown power, Yorl has succumbed to the bottle and is now a ruined drunkard. Still only a child at the age of sixty, Kaladeth is informed that her father has fallen ill and she goes into his room to check upon him. In a fit of high fever and drunkenness, Yorl revealed her mother’s name as well as her position in society. For Kaladeth, this is was a surprise out of the blue, yet it did start to explain her strange affinity with the Power of Dhar.
# Yorl eventually recovered from his fever but it left him a nervous wreck. Now he was reduced to a scheming recluse, forever shut up in his room, planning and calculating his next move. Decades passed and Kaladeth furthered her research and understanding of the Power of Dhar, receiving her first and only scar when she attempted to cast a spell upon a tree out in the surrounding forests of Har Graef. She spent a lot of her time out in the wilderness, looking for sprites and entities of magic. She learned to walk the dangerous roads of the forest in relative safety and grew to understand the Naggarothi wildlife and local fauna. One night she had returned to her father’s side after a day of studying malicious spirits by an ancient gravesite. Yorl had left his room for a drink and Kaladeth was given the rare opportunity to ask her father about her mother. Looking at his daughter, Yorl paused momentarily as he studied her features and within his disease racked mind a plan began to form. A cruel smile spread across his face before he sat down with Kaladeth and told her everything he knew about her mother. He told her where to find her, what she looked like, what she and himself had done in the past, any detail he could remember he laid upon Kaladeth. At the end of all this, Kaladeth was shocked with what she had learnt but she kept this to herself, rather than channelling any anger towards her mother, she bottled it up.
# After that night’s conversation’s, Yorl had begun to have horrific nightmares of unknown terrors of chaos visited upon him. While most people claimed it was the booze and his poor state of mind, Yorl continued to scream Kaladeth’s mothers name over and over. It had taken him years of living with the diseases but he finally figured out what was causing all his miseries. Cursing her name, Yorl awoke from a bout of terrible fits and chaotic visions of death and despair and ran out into the street, Kaladeth following him in an attempt to calm him and return her father back to bed. The chase lasted only a few minutes, Yorl running straight down to the Har Graef dockyards which they lived relatively close by to. Before Kaladeth could stop him, Yorl had hurled himself into a Hydra cage and was quickly and assuredly ripped limb from limb before Kaladeth’s very eyes. Her father’s madness had boggled her for many years, but it was only when she witnessed Yorl being ripped to pieces by a Hydra, screaming her mother’s name as he did so, that she finally understood her predicament. Cursing her mother’s name and mourning her father’s death, Kaladeth enrolled with a local corsair group, lending her skills with magic and her knowledge of the surrounding wilderness to their party. It is now many years on and she had earned enough money and made enough contacts through her corsair friends to allow her to get under the radar tutelage from a male sorcerer who worked out of the Har Graef dockyards. It is here she had developed her skills to what she is today and now she thirsts for her mother’s revenge.
Character Ambitions: Furthering her study of the Power of Dhar so she may become a renowned sorceress of considerable power and knowledge so she can avenge her father.

Inauspicious Day: Saturday (It was a Saturday when her father died)
Dedicated Day: Tuesday (the night of the storm where she and her father survived)
Consecrated Place: A place where there is a gathering of sprites and spirits at a secluded monument that entices the winds of the warp.
Starting Components: 4 phials of elven blood, 2 lumps of her father’s flesh, 1 bottled sacrificial sprite



• Name: Arhast Kynthan
• Sex: Male • Age: 83 • Height: 5’6” • Weight: 106 lb
• Appearance: Arhast is a diminutive young Druchii with skin the colour of a corpse left out in the snow. Short and thin, he wears body-hugging garments for economy of movement that further exaggerate his small form. His clothes are a swirling mix of deep purples, midnight blues and charcoal blacks. His staff is a jagged-edged spear of metal three-quarters his height which he can use to great effect in combat, which has often come as a nasty surprise to those who think wizards are no good up-close and personal. Arhast’s face is ferrety in appearance, with gaunt, angular cheekbones and a chin sharper than some swords. His brief shock of hair is a dirty brown (which may originally have been black) and his eyes are a dull, listless blue. When he has cause to smile Arhast reveals a maw like a shark’s, full of teeth filed to razor points, and the fingernails attached to the end of long, spiderlike fingers are likewise honed to needle-points.
• Character Class: Mage

• Character Statistics: WS5, S2, T1, D5, I5
• Starting Equipment: Staff, Set of 4 Throwing daggers
• Starting Skills: Power of Shyish (1) Basic Stealth
• Inauspicious Day: Sunday
Dedicated Day: Saturday
• Consecrated place: Shade haunt (a hidey hole in a cave somewhere that is filled with the shades of lost spirits bound to the location with chains of midnight. It is very hard to find, very dark, and also quite peaceful, once you get used to the ceaseless whisperings and muted wails of despair.)
• Starting Components:
- 4 shrunken heads (shrinking them makes them much easier to carry around.)
- 2 bottles of spirits (spirits as in the souls of people Arhast has killed. Obviously.)
- 1 shard of Nightsteel (A fragment of steel shattered and then melded with the souls of captives freshly slaughtered, before being forged anew into a splinter of Night and quenched in the heart-blood of an elven maid, giving physical form to the darkness in a painstaking ritual that took many months and culminated during the last great eclipse, to date it is Arhast’s greatest work.)

• Character Background: Arhast was the lowborn son of a guard and a female corsair, conceived when his mother was on shore leave in a seedy pleasure den where his parents decided to spend the night deriving pleasure from pleasure, as opposed to pleasure from torture (they were a strange couple). His mother, displaying all the maternal skills of a particularly negligent anaconda, gave birth to him, then promptly stuffed the baby into his father’s arms and set sail on the next ship out of port. His father did what he could to raise him over the next few years, and whilst he was pleased by his son's penchant for the malicious and cruel torture of everything more tiny than himself, he was concerned by how small and weak the child was. On Arhast’s 10th birthday his father was moved to a new posting in another city, and decided not to take his son with him.
Soon afterwards Arhast fell in with a group of like-minded young orphans who collectively managed to steal enough to keep themselves alive, Arhast proved a valuable addition to the group thanks to his small size and natural agility, and he soon turned into an expert thief.
The band of orphans grew up together, a bond of friendship growing between them over time, of course this didn’t stop them betraying and killing each other when the opportunity arose, but they did hold a healthy respect for each other’s abilities and had enough good sense to know there is safety in numbers. It was at this time that Arhast’s magical abilities first began to appear, they grew slowly, almost without him noticing, but over time they gained strength until one day one of his fellows attempted to murder him in a back alley and ended up dead himself. Whilst the death did not particularly trouble Arhast, he had seen plenty in his time, his companions weren’t quite so happy about hanging around with an elf that could kill with a touch and wasn’t entirely in control of his own powers, so Arhast struck out on his own before someone got up the nerve to try and dispose of him.
Since then Arhast has turned his talents for stealth and being quick with a knife from simple thievery to assassination, hiring out his talents to those without enough coin to hire a professional. This gave him adequate opportunity to practice his abilities with the wind of Shyish, and his incomes from his day (or should that be night?) job are nicely supplemented with the odd burglary or mugging so that he can live fairly comfortably, or as comfortably as anyone can live when they have to go to sleep with an entire armoury’s worth of knives under their pillow ‘just in case’.
• Character Ambitions: To improve his assassination abilities, through magic as well as more conventional means.



• Name: Metarchis Avax
• Sex: Male • Age: 129 • Height: 6'2 • Weight: 150 lbs.
• Appearance: Cropped black hair, with streaks of light grey. Long thin body. Callous narrow face that is usually set in a slight sneer and hardly ever smiles. A slight scar is etched into his left cheek. Hazel brown eyes, with small flecks of blood visible in the whites around his pupils. Wearing a pair of loose grey breeches and a dark grey cowl, with the hood pulled back, as well as a pair of Black boots. He is slightly pasty looking and weak, with a slight stoop in his walk, which looks unusual for an elf of his young age.
• Character Class: Mage

• Character Statistics: WS4, S2, T3, D4, I5
• Starting Equipment: Mace, Dagger
• Starting Skills: Power of Khaine (1). Basic Stealth (1)

• Inauspicious Day: Monday (the day of the Moon - Khaine doesn't like the moon)
• Dedicated Day: Thursday (the Day of Thor)
• Consecrated place: Cauldron of Blood
• Starting Components: 4 slave's skulls (mundane), 2 Skins of sacrificed cold one lizard (precious), 1 eye of ritually sacrificed dragon (unnatural)

• Character Background: As a member of a noble order of Naggaryth, Metarchis should have been born into a life of immense power, glory and butchery. However, soon after emerging from his mother's womb, it became clear that he lacked the strength and stamina that an elf of his age and lineage ought to have gained. As the years passed, his failure to grow stronger led his parents to become increasingly embarrased. They tried to have him taught the noble skills of sword fighting and lizard riding, but he never took to it. His efforts when fighting were clumsy and awkward, and suited more to clumsier and less elite weapons, such as maces and daggers, both of which he learned to use in secret. Finally, after being bested in swordsplay by a slave inside a public setting, his parents decided to deal with the problem once and for all. Calling in a favour from the Cult of Khaine, they secured a place in their ranks for their child, and cut him out of their life. Metarchis was sent off to the blood stained halls of the bloody goddess, to learn how to become an acolyte or die trying.
During his years in the Cult of Khaine, Metarchis discovered that what he lacked in brawn and toughness, he possessed in quick wit and intelligence. He used these traits to secure himself jobs that involved less swordplay and fighting and more ceremonial duties, such as cutting the hearts out of recently sacrificed animals, humans and other victims. As he worked, he realised that he was able to interact with the bodies in ways that he had never imagined before: causing their hearts to wither in his hands, without even closing his fist, or causing their limbs to twist and tighten just by gazing at them intently. At first his powers only worked on the dead or dying victims on whom he worked, but he has increasingly noticed that he has the ability to touch and affect healthy creatures too. So far he has contented himself with experimenting on animals and slaves, dragging them off into the shadows and then teasing and torturing them with his mind. Soon, he may try more.
Metarchis is suprised that his burgeoning shadowy magical powers have attracted the attention of Nagaryth's elite. But he intends to use this opportunity to rise to the top and achieve his goals.
• Character Ambitions: Metarchis has never forgotten the shame that he felt as a child and the way that his parents saw him as a weakling, something to be embarrased by. His driving goal in life is to make something of himself, show his parents how worthwhile he has become, make them proud of him, and then wreak his revenge on them for sending him away in disgust. He views the current magical contest as an ideal way to further rise up the ladder of power and draw him closer to this objective. Metarchis is a callous and selfish indivdual, who lacks morals and will do anything necessary to secure this future. In terms of skill gains, Metarchis would like to increase his shadowy magical powers further, as he views this newfound ability as the best way to secure power, infamy and revenge ...

_________________
Winds never stop blowing, Oceans are borderless. Get a ship and a crew, so the World will be ours! Today the World, tomorrow Nagg! {--|oBrotherhood of the Coast!o|--}


Last edited by Calisson on Sun Oct 30, 2011 6:24 am, edited 5 times in total.



Fri Oct 28, 2011 4:16 pm
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The Magic Reality Show (TMRS) – Arrival

A long horn’s blow ended the night’s silence.
Each of the Candidates woke up alone in a cold fishermen’s shack, made of rocks topped with planks, leaving few gaps for daylight.
A door with no lock filled the only opening. A third of the floor was covered by a straw mattress with a rough blanket. Scarce branches were piled up next to a fire lighter. A small pot rested on its cold hearth. The only furniture was a stool, on which a loaf of black bread was visible.
The Candidate's meager belongings were lying on the floor.

A voice from outside soon urged them to get out and to gather in front of the tower.
There, they met with the other seven Candidates for the first time. All of them seemed to be Druchii Mages. None of them knew where they were or what happened since they were enlisted.

A tall, haughty nobleman, dressed in a sophisticated armor, went out from the tower. Four guards, heavily armed, escorted him.
As he approached, his eyes were showing a merciless authority. The whole bottom of his face was covered with white metal.
He spoke a loud, authoritative voice, as sharp as the cold morning wind. No one dared to interrupt his speech.

I am Kaleth Silverjaw.
I know who you are.

You have been selected, because of your outstanding affinity with unnatural powers.
Magic winds are blowing strong here. Natural winds too. Life is harsh on this island.
You will do well, because all of you are true Druchii. Even better, you are gifted Druchii.

During this week, you will confront your powers to each other.
That is the reason for your presence.

In the process, your mastery of your arcane knowledge will grow, quickly.
This is your chance! Take it.

But beware: the challenge of the week is not for the weak.
Is your Magic better than the other Candidates’?
We shall see.


Kaleth explained that he would propose a challenge every morning. Usually to be completed alone.

Each Candidate must find a way to fulfill the challenge, using his arcane powers in the most suitable way.
It is not forbidden to wait for other Candidates to start, in order to observe, imitate and surpass them. But speed is valued like quality, so there will be a bonus for quickness to takes the initiative.

At dusk, the Candidates would be evaluated.
The three weakest challengers (poorest or slowest) would get another chance to prove their worth.
They would be sent into a pit leading to a cavern. Only two of them would emerge the next morning.

At the end of the week, there would be a winner.
He would have proved that the arcane powers he represents are the most powerful.


Kaleth adds threateningly.
There are safety rules.
Never tease me or my guards. Don’t touch the tower. Don’t go at sea. Beware of harpies.

_________________
Winds never stop blowing, Oceans are borderless. Get a ship and a crew, so the World will be ours! Today the World, tomorrow Nagg! {--|oBrotherhood of the Coast!o|--}


Fri Oct 28, 2011 4:19 pm
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<OOC: Now I start writing in my favourite colour, and no more colour changes. You can remain in white.> IC

The Magic Reality Show (TMRS) – First challenge

As he would do every morning, Kaleth provided the challenge of the day.

Today is Monday.
Before dusk, each of you must have gotten an appropriate place dedicated to his arcane powers.
A place where your powers will be stronger!
Your place.

Carry on!


As they left in the obstinate drizzle, the Candidates gradually found out that they were spied by hooded figures, more or less discreetly. Furthermore, an arcane feeling came to their minds, that they were observed from behind, although they knew in their souls that there was no living being to be seen.


<OOC: Too bad there is no music to provide the distressing atmosphere.

Monday is inauspicious for Marcelus Lycanius, Metarchis Avax and Vanatyr.
Monday is dedicated for Kairus.

Don't forget to consecrate your dedicated place with a spell, using the Magic system described in The Magic Reality Show (aka TMRS), OOC.
The place must be “magic” until midnight at least.
If the spell’s effects last longer than a day, you may be able to use that place throughout the week, depending on the challenges.
Otherwise, you might need to consecrate it anew each time you wish to use it – if any.


Post only when you’re ready.
During the day’s challenge, only one post per Candidate is allowed. No editing is permitted (sanction: the pit!).

In your post, you may wish to include “what if”:
- Your spell may fail. Will you try it again?
- Which component are you going to consume if there is a second try?
- When you’re done, do you intend to do anything else that day?

Again, only one post and no edit.


When everyone has posted, or at latest in 48 hours Sunday evening), the Mod (me! :D ) will determine the results of the spells.
It will be indicated in a closing post, along with the results of whatever the Challengers have tried.

The next step will follow immediately: the evaluation.
That will be made by a poll, open to everyone.
There is no criterion for the evaluation, but a fluffy use of the appropriate wind of magic, and efficiency of the result, are likely to be considered.
A bonus will be granted for the Challengers who posted early.

If you have questions, if you must state a hypothesis before acting with your character, don’t post here. Use the OOC thread or PM me.

Have fun!
>IC

_________________
Winds never stop blowing, Oceans are borderless. Get a ship and a crew, so the World will be ours! Today the World, tomorrow Nagg! {--|oBrotherhood of the Coast!o|--}


Last edited by Calisson on Fri Oct 28, 2011 9:05 pm, edited 1 time in total.



Fri Oct 28, 2011 4:21 pm
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Metarchis listens carefully to the words of Kaleth Silverjaw, his mind working quickly to assimilate the influx of information. He recognises that it is of utmost importance and that, indeed, his very future could hang in the balance. Success means power, failure means humiliation and possibly worse...

Metarchis returns quickly to the makeshift lodging and itinerises the meagre selection of items that are located there. Spying the small pot and twigs, he smiles, realising that here reside the very items which he needs to create his place of power. Gathering up the small pot, twigs, firelighter and loaf of break - as well as his collection of components - Metarchis goes back outside and surveys the landscape around him. Spying the selection of small bushes, located in relatively sheltered areas of the plains, he sets off towards this comparatively pleasant locale, with a spring in his step.

After a short walk, Metarchis arrives at the bushes. Here, he hollows out a small hole in the ground; using his mace to break open the moist soil and then using his hands to pull it out around him. Once a shallow pit has been created, he uses his dagger to cut off some of the branches from the bushes, and combines them with the twigs to create a small pile of flammable wood, which he heaps into the shallow hole. He then pushes the soil that he earlier removed back around the edges of the shallow pit, helping to further embed the pile and create a low barrier against the wind around it. He then strikes the firelighter against one of the sturdier pieces of wood, hitting it repeatedly until it breaks into flame. He uses it to light the kinderling.

OOC: If the kinderling fails to light (due to the obstinate drizzle or other factors), Metarchis will continue with the below elements anyway. The fire is not necessary for casting his upcoming spell, it just seems like a positive way of aiding the process.

IC:

With the fire now prepared, Metarchis next turns his attention to the pot itself, which he places on the ground. After examining it's surface, he spends roughly five minutes preparing his mind. He then takes the knife and, slowly but deliberately, engraves the Rune of Khaine into its side. As he cuts into the bowl, he starts to chant loudly:

"I devote this Cauldron to you,
Khaela Mensha Khaine.
Lord of Murder,
Bloody-Handed and Thousand Faced."

Taking his knife, Metarchis makes a small, but noticeable incision in his forearm, which begins to bleed. He then moves his arm over the pot, so that the blood dribbles freely into the vessel below. He continues to chant:

"Accept this gift of blood,
Oh Sacred God of Murder.
Consecrate this Cauldron with your blessing,
So that I may fill it with the blood of thousands more".

Quickly pulling off a piece of fabric from his cowl, Metarchis binds the wound tightly and staunches the flow of blood. He then pulls out the skull of a human slave and drops it into the blood soaked pot below. He begins to dance now, waving his arms wildly in the air and screaming now, like a demon possed:

"Accept this gift of bone, my Lord,
And favour this cauldron with your blessing.
Imbue it with the power and strength I need,
To overcome our enemies and murder in your name!"

Mid way through dancing, Metarchis picks up the pot and places it firmly on top of the now roaring fire. He continues to dance for several minutes more, before collapsing down onto the ground, exhausted. As he lies there, he watches the pot to see what happens.

Spellcasting: Rune of Khaine
Target: Pot
Intended outcome: Convert the pot into a Cauldron of Blood for 7 days.


If the spell fails, Metarchis will try again, using another Slave's Skull, but this time merely shouting and waving arms, rather than dancing and chanting (he may be a bit tired after the first attempt).

If and when the spell is successful, Metarchis will cook the bread inside the cauldron and eat it. Metarchis has formed a sacred body with Khaine and will now share and consume the very same blood and bone that his God devours.

_________________
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Fri Oct 28, 2011 7:31 pm
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Kairus awoke with a start. That call, that was not of a beast of the woods! A horn... my camp must be jeopardized. Did this seer I escort bring danger with her? I should have expected as much. What denzines now stalk us through the trees... Beastmen? Druchii? Or worse?

It was only then that he realised his surroundings had changed. He recoiled in shock, rising up from the straw matress and hitting the top of his head on the low wooden ceiling of the hut due to his height and considerable jump into the air in shock. What devilry is this, she-witch? He took a moment to steel his nerves and then took a closer look at the interior of the new hut. My staff and bow... at least I am not so cursed as to have lost my hunting gear... he though, gathering them up with haste before looking at the rest of the hut. There was a small pot on a heath beside the unlit fire, and a stack of firewood propped against the wall. But where is the witch? And... more to the point... where in Kurnous name am I!

The horn blast was followed a moment later by the shouting of a Druchii voice, one filled with authority and power. The voice was calling him out, and hungry for answers Kairus pushed open the wooden door and went to investigate.

What he found, however, was seven other Mages and a cold hearted Druchii overlord. Confused, Kairus listened intently as all was explained to them.

A game? How splendid... But why? To prove Ghur is the dominant power? Well, on an island of life and beast and not much else, I think I have the upper hand already!

And... Monday you say? Why, I always feel the power of Ghur more strongly on a Monday, ever since I first talked to that raven thirteen days after my mother vanished... A good omen indeed!"

As their gathering was concluded and the Mages retreated to their huts to work on their spells, Kairus remained in the clearing and took a wider look around at his new surroundings. They were on an island, a meadow of weak grass stretching from the beach to the distant mountain, and a number of seals and birds, not to mention the occasional swooping harpy, lingered near the waters edge. The sun was just past the horizon, meaning they had all day to create their consecrated place should they so wish. And just as well... for even in a place as natural as this, I can't simply draw Ghur energy out of the ground!

... Unless... That's it! There is nothing more consecrated than the footprint of one of the great beasts... the question is where to find one?

He took another look at the birds, the harpies, the seals, and even spied a fat walrus a little way further down the beach. No... these animals will not do. These are beasts aye, but not the great beasts I require.

Well, if there isn't one about to leave a track for me to consecrate, I will just have to make sure one gets here by nightfall!

Now how in Kurnous name am I going to manage that...




Several long minutes later, Kairus had an idea. He thought back to some of the talk he had become fond of in the wood, when listening to the conversations of the birds and the trees. There was once a Druchii Mage, a practitioner of the wind of Ghur just like himself, called Kadon. That Mage had been a powerful one indeed, for in time he had created a spell so complex that he could change himself entirely. The Transformation of Kadon, as the spell had since been referred to, could be used to transform oneself into a beast of immense proportions, making it an easy task to wreak havoc upon your foes on the battlefield.

Kairus had never attempted such a spell, but he knew of the general principals involved in doing so. He also knew he was not powerful enough to turn himself into a raging dragon.

At least... not all of myself... but what if I could transform just a part of my body, and only for a moment?

It's worth a try!

Oh Kurnous, Great Hunter... Give me strength!




Kairus spent the majority of the day preparing his mind, body and spirit for the transformation. He drew upon all the power he could muster, offered many prayers and oaths to Kurnous and Kadon, and even placed one of his precious cold ones teeth in a pot above the fire to seal his deal with the gods.

Just as night fell, still well before midnight, when the seals began to call to each other and retreat to the water, Kairus began to cast his spell.


It's Monday... Ghur is strong here... I offer a Nauglirs tooth... I have taken time to prepare... and I only target a small part of myself for a moment at most.

I say again, Kurnous... Great Hunter...
"GIVE ME STRENGTH!"



Spellcasting: Transformation of Kadon
Target: His Left Foot
Intended outcome: To turn his left foot into that of a "great beast" for long enough only to stamp once on the ground, creating a footprint consecrated to the Wind of Ghur!



OOC - Forgive me if I have got this completely wrong :lol:


Fri Oct 28, 2011 9:29 pm
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Marcelus woke groggily at the sound of a horn, he had spent too long sampling the pleasures that could be found in druchii life that the craven idiots in the empire did not have and waking up in a strange bed was not a new feeling. The bark of a nobleman's voice in the morning however was and it didn't sit well with a hangover, I swear to sigmar I'll never touch a drink again, now what the bloody hell have I done to deserve waking up to this ruckus?

He rolled off of the straw mattress he had spent the night on and found his effects on the floor by the door, how nice, and gathered them up before stepping outside to be greeted with the sight of seven druchii stood before a tower. Memories of the night before came flooding back, he had signed up for some kind of noble's game and celebrated by drinking hisself stupid in some flesh house, and the nice fellows found me and brought me here, such a kind, considerate, efficient, invasive and ruthless workforce. This is obviously being funded by someone powerful indeed.

Marcelus quietened his thoughts as their host called out the days task, which was apparently to find a little niche and consecrate in ready for the days ahead.

really? Find somewhere to consecrate to the lore of fire, on an island full of life, and therefore water? In the rain? And on a bleeding Monday to boot? a suspicious person might say things were being set up, lucky I'm not a suspicious person, eh? But the hows and the wherefores will take a difficult days working out, this'll take some pondering...

As the other mages scattered to do their arcane thang Marcelus returned to his cabin and gathered the logs and firelighter, thinking all the while on his dilemma.

Well it would obviously help if I were somewhere dry and hot, but the island is covered in flora and fauna which have a long-standing history of making an environment wet and regulating its temperature. I need somewhere where there is no life, and preferably a lot of sun or ground heat: up a mountain would work, but that would take all day to reach and I wouldn't have time to properly prepare; underground mebey, that has the same problem as the mountain plus it would add the problem of ground moisture; the shacks are warm and dry, but that would leave me with no place to sleep and I doubt any of the other candidates would be willing to share. Marcelus walked aimlessly as he considered until something caught his eye, the entire island was surrounded by sea - it was a major premiss of it being an island - and where there was sea there was beach, very little grows in sand, if I stay well enough above the tideline then the sea shouldn't a problem, and sand is very good at holding the sun's warmth.

Marcelus set off at pace to the nearest edge of the island and stopped after going a few paces onto sand and fished about in the many pockets of his great apron, finally returning with chunk of rough-hewn topaz which he promptly dropped onto the sand, letting it be buried slightly by the grains it disturbed. Quickly continuing his preparations he stacked the wood into a small bonfire over the uncut gemstone and struck his flint and steel over the kindling at the base of the fire, giving the flames a little nudge with his mind to get going.

Marcelus then sat before the fire for most of the day with his staff across his lap, concentrating on the little stone at the heart of the fire, helping it soak up the energy of the flames and the breezes of Aqshy that were drawn to the warmth and the flickering, readying for the highly experimental spell he had conjured up in his head - probably the imperial engineer in him.

As the sun fell and darkness spread across the island, making the light of the fire more prominent and it's draw on the magical winds more potent, Marcelus stood and began pacing around the fire,

"druchii and men mandate your light,
the Colleges and the Covens demand your heat,
soulfire and witchfire fuel you onward,
in the name of Khaine and Sigmar you will burn"


As he chanted in a garbled mixture of druhir and the tongue of men he moved faster, waving his arms in emphasis of the words,

"fuel will be consumed in fury,
but spark and flame shall not fade,
cast off the shackles of physical law,
and spread anew by my demand!"


After several hours of incantation Marcelus thrust his hands triumphantly into the fire, wincing but keeping them there long enough to make sure all the energy built up by the spell was properly transferred.

spell cast: erm... it might just about class as flame storm or mebey flame cage at a push, but none really.
Target: The small bonfire
Intended outcome: Hopefully the fire should form into a kind of altar of solid, fuelless flame... this is so going to be a -2 *sigh*

OOC: If the spell fails then Marcelus will use the last few hours before midnight to try again without the aid of an artifact.

_________________
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Fri Oct 28, 2011 11:12 pm
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The light patter of rain through the roof of the flimsy shack awoke Kala, her body drenched from the downpour and leaving her soaking wet as she awoke. Not always the best of starts to the day. It took her a few moments to gather her surroundings, as well as her gear which lay mysteriously placed to her side in a neat fashion. Immediately grabbing her staff and her dagger from the ground, she brought herself to her feet quickly, her staff rose in a mock sign of aggression, yet she possessed nothing of the kind as she still had little to no idea where she was.

The sound of talking came from outside the shack which Kala had awoken in, calming her slightly as she never wished to awake alone. Stepping out into the rain which drizzled down from the heavens in a slow but unrelenting spit, Kala immediately felt the presence of the magic winds at work around her. A tower stood a few meters from where they had gathered. It was foreboding yet only being a relatively small tower of a few meters height, it still maintained typical druchii architecture with appropriate spikes and inappropriate thinness at the middle. The door flung open suddenly at out strode an elf with a few other elves who fitted the critieria of guard to this arrogant noble.

Before her stood other elves who were undoubtedly mages of some kind, the sheer concentration of energy and magic affinity amidst the group of people was certainly registered with Kala. The only thing that stood out like a sore thumb was the tall noble who stood in front of them all. Kaleth Silverjaw was his name, or it could be anything else for all Kaladeth cared, he could simply use an alias and she would still not recognise him or even care for that matter.

He had proposed them a challenge, a great debate of whose magic was the strongest. A small smile had already twitched Kaladeth’s mouth as she listened to Kaleth. She was up for the challenge and so was everyone else, the other mages already eying everyone else off suspiciously as they broke from the meeting and began about their work.

A consecrated place eh? Well it’s a start, need a place to gather my mind anyway.

Stalking off from the rest of the group, Kala began walking off across the flat plain, her feet slipping and skidding through moss as she turned her eyes back over her shoulder, watching if anyone was following her. To her knowledge she was to stay away from the cliff’s, harpies being primarily found there and Kala had no use for a harpy, but they would have a singular use for her no doubt. She could feel the contents of her consecration method jostling about beneath her cloak, the elven vials of blood tinkering together with each step she took. She continued upon marching at a steady pace across the flat plain, ignoring the occasional puddle of mud or the slippery rock which dotted her path.

She had in her mind chosen a place high on the mountain that loomed in the distance, there she would feel safe, confident in her abilities with living in the wild. There would be fresh water from the creeks that ran from the mountain as well as hunting along the flat plains for rodents if she felt hungry. She had almost reached the foot of the mountain when she stopped to take a bite of the black bread she had snatched when she awoke within the hut. Taking a few moments to rest and swallow the tough doughy bread, Kaladeth looked up the mountain she was to climb.

It wasn’t the highest she had seen and she would certainly need to be careful, but all she needed was a rocky outcrop upon the mountain and there should certainly be one close to the ground somewhere. Whatever lived on this mountain she was not sure, the animals here maybe having departed long ago or perhaps rest beneath the mountain itself. Blinking off her agitation at the entire situation, Kaladeth began to climb, careful not misplace her footing as she only needed to climb a little way. A few minutes later she had made her way to what seemed to be a good spot to begin her work. She was alone (as far as she knew) and in a nice open space to gather the winds of magic to herself, as well as being in an elevated position she could see a bit better across the island.

She would begin by constructing a small alter to begin her work upon. Gathering a few rocks from around the place, she stopped at a particularly smooth part of the mountain face, dropping the rocks at the foot of the smooth surface. Drawing her dagger, Kaladeth began to scratch the different runes of summoning and incantation onto the rock face in an arching semi circle. She would use this as a guideline for when she wrote the runes in magically enchanted blood. Once she was done with marking out each rune (Nagaelythe, Kharaidon, Chroesh, Anchan-Rogar, Arnizpal) upon the rock face, she began constructing the other rocks and pebbles into a little pool around the semi circle of runes.

Luckily she was secluded as she would need time to concentrate these powers, Kaladeth sat down and crossed her legs, pushing her fingers to her temples as she concentrated with her staff laid across her lap, her dagger lying to her side. She would need to meditate for a good hour or two before starting the long train of enchantments. The wind passed over her numerous times, so many times that she eventually lost count as she was lost in deep meditation.
Reaching into her cloak, Kaladeth withdrew a single bottle of elven blood, uncorking it as she concentrated. Grapsing the raw energy of magic that hung throughout the air, Kaladeth curled her hand delicately through the air as her hand drew the runes of enchanting throughout the air, leaving trails of power where her hand flew. Channelling a small amount of raw energy, Kaladeth finished tracing the complex pattern through the air and brought her hand back down to the single vial of elven blood, allowing the magic to course through fingertips and into bottle of blood.

Spellcasting: Infusing magic into an object
Target: Phial of Elven Blood
Intended Outcome: To enchant the blood so she may begin her work at drawing the runes in blood upon the mountain face where she had carved them with her dagger. If she fails in enchanting the blood, she will simply try again, concentrating more on correctly tracing the patterns through the air.

Next, she took out a small leather bag from beneath her belt, the bag soaked at the bottom with old, festering blood. Taking out the bags contents, two lumps of her father’s flesh, she placed the grisly sacrificial offering in the centre of the rocks at the bottom of the runes upon the mountain face. Here, she would use these two things that were precious to her and her alone as an enticement of the wind of Dhar, alerting otherworldly entities of her summoning also. Now she picked up her staff, pointing the black crystal that sat atop the ancient piece of blood-oak that made up her staff at the lumps of flesh. Instead of complex patterns with her hands, Kaladeth needed to channel power through the power of word alone if she wanted to summon an otherworldly sacrificial fire. She clutched the staff calmly and assuredly words of ancient power running from her lips in the tongue of the Old Ones who studied the different powers of the warp back in their day.

Spellcasting: Summoning a sacrificial flame from nothing
Target: The lumps of her father’s flesh
Intended Outcome: To burn and sacrifice the lumps of flesh to begin enticing the winds of Dhar to her. If it fails to light, she will simply concentrate harder and try again.

Chanting words of ancient power, Kaladeth’s voice boomed with magically enhanced power.

”Lo! Heed my call ancient wind walkers and otherworldly beast
For I call upon thee with an offering of blood of my own kin
Which I humbly entrust you to devour!"



Standing up now, her staff raised high above her head and her eyes glowing with the power in which she attempted to ensorcelled.


"I have walked the depths of the deepest waste and traversed the realms of the fiery mountains where I envision greatness and seek your power! Grant me your strength and flock to my sides,
Oh power of Dhar
Accept this offering with no malice and I shall show no greed as
I summon and put forth your gracious power into these rocks
So we may flourish in despair and
REND OUR ENEMIES SOULS FROM THEIR GRASP!"



With these final words, Kaladeth slammed her staff down hard into the ground and screamed the name of the primary daemons which she called upon.
"NAGAELYTHE THE UTTERDARK!"


Reaching into her robes, she drew the last vials of elven blood and cast them into the awaiting pool of the altar before her. The bottled sprite came next, the glass shattering as she cast the spirit of another world into a sacrificial pit in which the power of Dhar would hopefully explode and flourish.

_________________
Saldrimek Xenan - WS6 / S4 / T3 / D5 / I3

Equipment: Executioners Axe (Rune of Beastslaying - Heroic Killing Blow), 2 Scimitars (Rune of Speed - Always Strike First), Dagger, Rune Branded Leather Armour, Executioner Helm, Fine Set of Throwing Knives (x4)
Inventory: Amulet of Darkness, Poison Vials x7, Deadly Poison Vials x8
Mount: Dark Steed
Gold: 163
Skills: Ambidexterity, Frenzy, Two Weapon Fighting, Ride
Class: Khainite


Sat Oct 29, 2011 12:39 am
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Prophet of Tzeentch
Prophet of Tzeentch
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Joined: Fri May 19, 2006 3:51 pm
Posts: 4641
Location: I am the voice inside your head
Post 
Artemii's eyes snapped open, there was something amiss. The ever wary Druchii was on her feet and in a crouch in a moment, hand groping for her dagger, it wasn't there. Heart pounding she looked around; she seemed to be in some sort of wooden tent, the sky was not to be seen, she didn’t like it. On the ground many things were scattered, leaping towards her beloved staff and knife the girl looped the dagger's leather strap around her neck to allow it to hand between her breasts as it always did. A good deal calmer now though still utterly confused and on her guard the elf examined the rest of the items.

They were not hers, or had not been hers, for her possessions were few and simple, but she recognized them. The seedlings in their little pots she knew by sight, smell and the pulse of their life energies, they were like old friends, or the children of old friends. The eggs were marvellous; picking them up Artemii stroked their glassy surfaces’ with glee. She had seen a Pegasus egg once, shown to her by the head of a shade band as he boasted of his hunting prowess, of the other she knew merely by gossip but the gold flecked red egg could only belong to the hippogryph. Finally she laid hands on the most precious of all, the short stick looked like a rather clumsy statue of a tree but to a life mage it pulsed with the power of immortality, a petrified tree was living stone and the closest thing Artemii knew to sacred.

Several minutes later Artemii's attention was drawn back to the larger situation, a strange voice was calling from outside the wooden tent. Curious though cautious she gathered all of these new things into a large leather sack that sat nearby and opened the door ajar. Instantly she slammed it shut again
'it's not real,' she thought 'there cannot be so much water in the wood!'

Mastering her confusion the elf opened the door again and stepped out, her curiosity winning over her fear as it always did in the end. Trembling she looked out over the endless roiling waves
'perhaps I have been shrunk,' she thought 'surely no lake can truly be this size,'

Looking round though she quickly discarded that idea for there were many others around, others dressed most strangely
'it is not just me, this place... it is not the wood.' this was a stupendous thought, in all her life Artemii had never been more than ten feet from the nearest tree
'it must have been the shades, worthless mercenary braggarts. For all their talk of highland honour they sell as cheap as puffing merchants.

Now though another strange thing was happening, the thing that approached was an elf but off no kind Artemii had ever seen. He seemed to be made mostly of metal, metal that moved and clinked. Clutching her dagger tightly she listened to him speak
'a challenge, a contest. Perhaps if I win I will get to go home.' she thought. That consideration gave her purpose and as the others separated off to do whatever it was they were going to do Artemii opened herself to the pulsing energy of the island. There was life here that much was certain but not the same kind as that of her home. Tearing her gaze from the sea and the huge stone tent Artemii made her way inland, mind already half lost in a haze of Ghyran as she prepared a spell of growth and binding.

Trekking inland for hours, mind still turning on her spell, Artemii sought out what little fertile land there was and in the lee of a jutting outcrop she fell to her knees and fished into the leather bag. Taking out one of the seedlings she set it on the ground and taking her dagger in hand began to dig a hole of appropriate size. When that mundane task was done Artemii took the throttle vine seedling and placed it in the ground, carefully filling in the soil and thanking the great mother for the gentle gift of rain.

Standing Artemii began to sway, silently at first but soon her movements became wilder and yet somehow more graceful. Opening her mouth the wild one began to sing; not in words, there were no words. It was a song of leaves rustling in a stiff wind, branches creaking with winter frost, the howl of the wolf and whickering of the deer. Legs stepping to the side Artemii continued to chant, now low, now high, as she brought her graceful arms into the dance. Gliding now round the outside of the circle Artemii began to weave the wind of Ghyran in earnest, her long preparations now being put into practice, though this too would take long.

Her song encompassed the turning of the seasons and the dying of the moon; the sadness of winter and the glorious bloom of spring. It was the song of life and life it would bring for as she danced the wild maiden pushed her gathering energies into the tiny seedling willing it to grow, to bloom and make this place its own. This place was not her home, but here as there she meant to have her throne of vines.


Spell cast Throne of Vines

Target vine seedling

Distance about a meter away

Time Prep 9 hours, casting three hours

Intended effect cause the seedling to grow very quickly to form a Throne of Vines which will last a year and a day.

OOC: I hope that is alright, I assume that since I am taking so long on one casting I probably don't have time for another on the same scale but if I do fail then she will try again with a much shorter casting time.

_________________
Moding a group of Druchii.net players is much like directing the musical 'Cats' using actual cats. Frustrating, difficult, chaotic but ultimatley satisfying and a great deal of fun.

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Sat Oct 29, 2011 12:51 am
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Dragon Lord
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Joined: Sat Sep 21, 2002 6:42 pm
Posts: 9675
Location: Designing new breeds of Dragons
Post 
Vaelreth shook her head as the feeling returned to her body. She has heard stories of wizards miscasting their spells and being sent screaming to the Chaos Wastes, but this certainly didn't look like a very chaotic landscape. She thought back to the moment of the explosion and realized with a sigh of relief that it also wasn't doing of the Supreme Sorceress she disturbed. The memory of chunks of flesh flying through the air assured her in that well enough. She knew she was caught in the vortex of wild magic though and lost consciousness for who knows how long. Now she was here, wherever here was, and all her belongings seemed to be here as well.

Just as she picked them up, a horn sounded in the distance. Lead by curiosity she left the ramshackle hut and followed the sound. Even though she was no tracker, it wasn't hard, for the sound came from a huge tower of Druchii construction, located in the middle of what looked to be an island. There she joined a group of other dark elves, and a noble with his guards who seemed to be explaining rules of some game. "Good" She thought, a chance to prove that Ulgu conquers all through deception.

She gauged her fellow contestants briefly, seeing the winds they favored clearly in their auras. She frowned, seeing as there was no apprentice of Hysh present, and Aqshy was far too unreliable for her needs. She resolved to complete this one task by herself. The day was bright, even if cloudy, and damp. Any shadows found under the overgrowth wouldn't last very long. She had to find a place permanently swathed in shadows. She looked back to where she came from, and thought of the hut she woke up in. Too many holes, sun and moonlight would come at unexpected angles and could ruin the best prepared spell. Her gaze turned towards the mountains looming on the opposite side of the island and smiled. She had a full day, just enough time to get there and prepare.

She set out in the direction opposite to the mountains, soon enough disappearing into the woods and using her abilities at remaining stealthy to hopefully lose any of the other contestants that could follow her. She wasn't too worried about the figures that seemed to watch all of them, realizing that they probably possessed some magic that allowed them to track and see everyone.

The sun was beyond its peak when she finally reached the mountain range. It wasn't as glorious as the peaks around Karond Kar, but it will have to suffice. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the ways in which the wind of Ulgu blew. It would lead her to where it was strongest if she just let it carry her. Suddenly her eyes snapped open and a smile crept onto her face. She started up the slope, using her hands to get purchase on the rocky slope and soon enough she stood in front of a big cave mouth, which in turn slanted down again, at just the right angle to let the sun and moonlight in for the most part of the day and night. This meant to her that she shadows would be deepest in the corners of the cave, for shadows gathered just beyond the reach of the light. She stepped down into the dimly lit cavern, her bare feet easily finding purchase. It was as if she was meant to find this place.

The tunnel was short and soon she stood in the middle of a cavern filled with sunlight and, just as she predicted, many natural alcoves drowned in the shadows. Her magical senses lead her to a large indent in the wall of the cave, a place where no light ever reached since the formation of this cavern and there she began her preparations.

She closed her eyes again, opening herself to the darkness and began her incantations in a monotonous rhythm. She had plenty of time, so her spell could be worked layer after layer at a slow pace. She uttered a quick prayer to Atharti so nobody would disturb her. She knew all too well what happens if a wizard is distracted in the middle of casting and even though her spell wasn't as powerful, it could still cost her dearly.

After many hours of meditation in the middle of the cavern, she produced the most powerful item in her possession from the folds of her robe. It seemed to have no pockets, but she knew very well that shadows excelled at hiding things. With the Essence of the Deepest Shadows in her hand she walked into the alcove as she was chanting slowly. As the shadows enveloped her, her whisper slithered along the walls. The Essence in her hands pulsed with its own dark energy as she planted it on the ground and began shaping it with her hands, never ceasing at her incantations.

The spell she used was quite simple even for an apprentice of the Shadow Magic, yet she added a twist to it, to create it more akin to her needs. In place of a winged creature that would carry her wherever she pleased, she formed the essence of shadows in shape of a large throne perfect for her to comfortably sit on and work her magic from there, amplified by the power of the artifact. She knew mistresses who owned such thrones permanently, but she was a mere apprentice still, and her creation would need a new surge of magic by the turn of the year, although in that time she hoped to be far away from the island.

Spell Cast: Modified Version of the Steed of Shadows. No wings and looks like a throne instead of a flying creature.
Target: The Essence of Deepest Shadows, touched and molded with both hands to form the desired shape.
Intended Outcome: A throne of shadows to channel her power through.

OOC: Vaelreth takes no failure for an answer in this case. The spell has to be cast, and she will keep molding the shadows until they either end with desired effect, or the accumulation of magic causes her to miscast. In other words, she will keep casting the spell until she gets it.

Spell Table:
A. Creation -1, B. Well Known +1, C. The Essence +1, D. Touched with both Hands +2, E. Year and a day -1.
F. Level1 -2, G. Normal +0, H. 9 Hours preparation, 3 hours to cast +1, I. Essence of Deepest Shadows consumed by the spell +1, J. Whispers and one hand -1.
K. Detrimental -1. Total +0.

_________________
7th edition army book:
Games Played: 213
Games Won: 114 (54%)
Games Drawn: 33 (15%)
Games Lost: 66 (31%)

8th Edition army book W/D/L:
Druchii: 36/4/16


Sat Oct 29, 2011 2:05 am
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Scourge
Scourge
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Joined: Mon Nov 01, 2010 9:05 am
Posts: 656
Location: A torture dungeon in Suffolk
Post 
Arhast tried to work the crick out of his neck as he listened to the noble ramble, his eyes drinking in the details of his surroundings, particularly his rivals. Seven of them, all mages, idly Arhast wondered what it would be like to sink one of his knives into the flesh of a fellow mage, would their blood sparkle with the tint of magic? Swirl like the winds of chaos that tainted them? He licked his lips hungrily, imagining the taste of their souls as he devoured them. This was going to be fun.
The noble eventually stopped talking. He talked far too much, all nobles do. The rest of the mages disappeared off, bar a tall wildling that looked like he’d spent the last year skinning pigeons to clothe himself. Arhast took a moment to favour the noble with a piercing once over, evaluating his build, manner and likely skill with a sword based on how he held himself, as well as checking over his style of armour to find the weaker points at joints and in creases. The noble returned the assassin’s searching gaze with a steely glare, and with a smirk Arhast turned and walked towards the tree line, in the direction of the mountains. After stopping off at the hut where he had been dumped the previous night Arhast strolled along nonchalantly, in no particular hurry to get where he was going, if there was one thing his profession had taught him it was patience. He was constantly aware of the Fetch that pursued him, keeping an eye on his whereabouts and doubtless reporting back to its master on his comings and goings. The assassin grimaced, being watched was not something he appreciated, but he soon learned to turn the things to his advantage, assuming each mage had been tagged as he had, he could track his competitor’s whereabouts through the disturbances the fetches left in the winds. Taking a moment to test his theory, Arhast closed his eyes and extended his senses, feeling his own fetch pausing behind him to observe, nearby he could feel another of the magical wisps, and with it was the faintest trace of Ulghu. Shadows. Arhast smiled, he would doubtless never find the shadow mage with his eyes, but even a cold one would have the intellect necessary to figure out the shadow mage would be heading for the dark undervaults of the mountains as he was, perhaps that would be fortuitous. One in eight was not great odds, and already he felt a kinship with this other stalker of the night.

Shaking his head, Arhast carried on, watching carefully as the dense forest thinned around him and the slope gradually turned upwards, he had finally reached the foothills of the mountain. He felt the shadow mage, or more accurately the shadow mage’s stalker, moving further up the mountain, searching for a place which would catch some of the light, but Arhast did the exact opposite, travelling around the base until he came across a cave network overshadowed by outcroppings of rock, facing North so that it would neither catch the rays of the rising or setting sun. the first two caves he discarded out of hand, one was too open and the other only held one entrance, Arhast had no desire to be trapped in a one-door rat hole. The third though was deep-set, with a narrow entrance that even the slight assassin had trouble worming his way into, and behind the main chamber several tunnels led off into other cave mouths leading back out onto other areas of the mountain leaving several avenues of escape. Perfect.

After exploring the series of tunnels Arhast navigated his way back to the main cavern and began his preparations. First he started inscribing glyphs around the floor in a flawless circle, starting with Arha, the rune of darkness, and moving through all the variations of Kar, Elthrai and Urith before carving Saro - the rune of eternity and synonymous with the scythe of death - at the head of the circle. Hours stretched past as he painstakingly etched the complex glyphs into the floor with millimetre-precision, every curve perfect, every jagged edge well-shaped, every line as straight as an arrow. After the circle was completed Arhast pressed straight on with the next series of runes, within the circle he inscribed three more signs, larger than those before them, the crescent moon of Sariour for Sorcery, Elu the rune of ending, and finally the clawed carving of murder: Khae, set directly below Saro. Finally, he inscribed one last rune in the centre of the configuration, larger than all the others, in bold strokes of his own blood as he thrust his knife into his side and dipped a finger in the welling tide of crimson. The serpent-like hooks of silence, loss and the utterdark. Kynth, the rune of Death.

With a shuddering gasp Arhast withdrew his finger from the cave floor as he finished shaping the last sinuous hook, a wave of pain hitting him as his mind finally broke from its concentration and took in for the first time the information that he had stabbed himself. Standing slowly, making certain not to scuff the edges of any of the runes or drip any of the blood flowing freely from the wound in his side onto the sigils, Arhast stepped back a pace to observe his work. The wide outer circle glittered coldly in the twilight of the cavern, the cycle of life and death that was the cornerstone of Shyish intertwined with marks of binding whose physical purpose was to retain the power generated within the circle’s boundaries as well as imprison the spirits he would release, but which also served as a reminder that we are all bound to the circle of death, even death itself. Within was the triad which made up Arhast’s own power, the cornerstones of his strength: his sorcery, his ability to murder with magic or with the mundane, and his ability to bring an ending in whatever form, which may at first seem contradictory when Death is perceived as a circle, without ending, until your eyes are opened to the truth that every ending leads to a new beginning, and every beginning entails an ending, this is Arhast’s gift.

Finally the assassin’s eyes were drawn to the final rune, it summed up his entire existence, it was his god and his mentor, his father and his friend, it was himself and his opposite. Reverentially he stepped forwards, and withdrew from around his neck a small waif of iron suspended from a simple length of black twine, stamped on the face of the pendant was another rune, Khadath. He placed the pendant over the heart of Kynth now that the blood was dry, and then sat down cross-legged, his hands folded in his lap, and he began to pray. His chant flowed in many tongues, manic Tzeentchian chitters, solemn intonations in the Reikspiell of the human lands, melodious snippets of Eltharin and sibilant whispers of Druchast. His prayer increased in volume as he fluidly moved into the lost language of old Nagarythe, twisting between ancient dialects and blending them together as the syllables echoed and bounced off the cavern walls in a rising crescendo that became a tidal wav of noise in a dozen different languages all rolled into a single voice, beseeching a single overlord, beseeching the god that all creatures of all faiths and races meet eventually, in one guise or another. Then, with a jarring suddenness, the chant ended, not only did Arhast stop praying, but even the echoes and reverberations that had been rolling around the chamber ceased to exist, as if something had reached in and stolen all sound from the chamber. Arhast began his final prayer. This one was not spoken in a language at all, it was a prayer to Khaine in his aspect of the Iron Panther, the Stalker of the Void, a prayer of silence. With eyes closed so that he could join himself with the darkness of the void, Arhast grasped one of the bottles he had brought with him from his hut, in complete silence he mouthed his last incantation, commanding the shades of the dead to attend upon him.
Then he dropped the bottle.
And the silence, shattered.



Spell cast: First stage of doom and darkness, binding the spirits trapped in the bottle to his will (and the consecrated place)

Target: Spirits in the bottle

Components used: One bottle of spirits (precious component)

Distance: Touching

Time Prep: About 9 hours in inscribing the runes and mental preparation and then 3 hours for the chanting/praying/final invocation, the rest of my day having been spent finding the damn place.

Intended effect: The spirits will be released and then howl about the chamber, if the spell is successful they will be contained within the chamber and bound to the glyphs for 7 days which will consecrate the place for that period, if not then they will escape and disappear off into the ether.

Spell roll modifiers:
A: -1 Command
B: 0/+1 Doom and darkness (can I have a +1 since it is only the first part of doom and darkness and D&D is a 10+ which is exactly 10X my level?)
C: 0 affects a room
D: +2 Touching with both hands
E: +0/-1 lasting 7 days? Which is not until midnight but not a year and a day
F: -2 for Lv1
G: +0 normal conditions
H: +1 12 hours total
I: +0 Precious component destroyed
J: +0/-1 intense concentration, loud praying until the final prayer (which for fluff reasons has to be in silence) Does magic necessitate you having to caper about like a fool to make it go off? I didn’t realise we had all turned into orc shamans ;)

Total before side-effects: somewhere between -3 and 1

So this is my best guess at what my spell’s modifiers would be, do we get any bonuses for self sacrifice or did I just stab myself for nothing? For a simple spell this looks like it will be bloody hard work.

_________________
Veni, Vidi, Voro!!!

All things perish, this is the law of existence, accept your suffering and your mortality, only by using this truth, can you transcend it.


Sat Oct 29, 2011 1:45 pm
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Malekith's Best Friend
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Location: UK
Post 
It was dark, and cold, and Vanatyr thought he had been mistaken. It must have been some kind of dream brought on by overwork, he assured himself virtuously. He had more dim memories forming, of a beautiful, imperious and queenly woman, her statuesque form inviting and commanding at the same time, clad in a filigree bustier of exquisite workmanship-

He swore, and buried his head in the pillow once more. Must be a Monday. Life, his mentor in the silversmithing arts had said, is a series of challenges punctuated by pain. Vanatyr was not in a position to argue as he stumbled outside, looking for some kind of clue as to what was going on.

It seemed the rest of his companion mages had largely been keen, early morning types. After a terse briefing from a noble-looking Druchii the orders were clear: make yourself some sacred space, and be quick about it. He considered appealing to the man as a fellow highborn, but in his current circumstances that probably wasn't wise.

There was a faint scent of the sea in the air even here and he knew that the corrosive power of the salt and damp would mark any iron-bearing strata with rust. The most sensible place to work would be away from prying eyes. After all as with his daily work, the less anyone knew about the how rather than the results of his labours, the better. Vanatyr gathered up his small bag of belongings and strode out away from the encampment, pausing to take his share of the rations allotted to them for the day. Once away from the main camp he checked what he'd been given and hissed in suprise as his agile fingers made contact with the fragment of gateore. Almost sentient it whispered to him, singing unheard songs of nightless stars and the empyrean firmament beyond the worlds ... Khaine be praised. Heartend by the familiar talisman he took stock of the rest of the goods and began to formulate a plan.

He could feel the eyes of the sentinels on him as he headed for the beach. The jeweller had no intention of breaking the rule of not entering the sea - he was not a strong swimmer, and the coldness of the waters would quench all life in a moment. But the cliffs were the best place to find exposed rock. Carefully, he began to scan the rocks, looing for the tell-tale rust stains the colour of old blood, or the pale green streaks of copper ore as it leached into the stones around.

Taking the small brass pendulum from the bag he held it in his hands for a moment, breathing deeply and closing his eyes, centering himself on the core of magic resting dormant within his spinning chakras. Aligning hmself with the direction of the northern gate-pole, like a lodestone, he brought up the pendulum to his face and then kissed it, much as a gambler will blow on the dice for luck.

Vanatyr will go to the beach and use the pendulum in dowsing for ores, and if successful he will take as many fist-sized lumps of them as he can, either iron or copper (or both) as these are probably the easiest to find and most common. After three hours of searchng he'll take the purest ores he can find (if any) and then return to closer to the camp, looking for a small cave or rocky alcove. Metals (if they don't fall from the sky) come from the earth so he feels closest to their source in this way. If he does not find any ore-bearing rock at all - and he is prepared to break up rocks if he needs to, using STR 3 and an iron-shod staff - then he will go ahead with what he has.

It was nearing midday when he at last found a small sheltered place to work. Taking off his gloves, Vanatyr shivered a little in anticipation. Reverently, he swept the low, flat rock with them and spread a thin cream over it from a small tin, flux intended to make the flow of metal smooth and even. Arranging such metal-bearing stones as he'd been able to find over the prepared surface, he laid them out in a pentacle, the point facing magnetic north. As he laid down the pendulum the chain snapped, the magic thickening in the air consuming the small dowsing aid in a shower of sparks.

There was a glow to the flat rock now, a faint shimmer of heat haze like the still air of the forge. He took the forging-mask and donned it, wishing he might wear the gloves but this was precision work. Nothing must come between him and the metal. He used his staff to form a channel around the rock, circling the pentacle clockwise, and drew his dagger. Taking a deep lungful of air he screamed the words to the heavens:

"Vaul, Maker of Chains! Hear me!

Vaul, whose fires burn at the heart of the world,
Who first took the rocks and made them bleed!
Worker in the blood of the Earth,
Armourer of the Gods,Vaul!
Forger of the Sword of Khaine, let me conquer!
With Your aid and the Power of Chamon let me prevail!"


Vanatyr took the point of his dagger and cut the back of his forearm, letting the cut drip onto the pentacle and the iron in his blood consecrate the sacred altar. Taking the precious sky-iron from his bag, he placed meteorite in the exact centre and traced a finger through seeping cut, marking it with a single sign; Chamon. Then he placed both his hands flat on the meteorite and beginning to draw down the raw power of magic, forging it and shaping it into a shallow bowl with a jagged edge, like the ragged brim of a crater or a fallen crown.


Vanatyr will channel the Winds of Magic down though the meteorite (possibly on its bed of metal-bearing rocks) until the sun sets, let us say making nine hours, three hours of searching plus six of preparaton and concentrating for the ritual, which has used up: mundane component, small brass pendulum on iron chain (broken and consumed in the subsequent forging); mundane component, flux; precious component, small pure iron meteorite. The aim is to make a bowl-shaped metal altar with an uneven edge, like a crater where a meteorite might fall. The better the results, the more pure the metal and the larger the bowl. The aim is to make something that will endure for eight days, that is just over a week, enough to last out the competition should he not fail before then ...



OOC: I hope by using two mundane components to help to offset the general Monday-ness of everything for him. This is also why I had it break IC, to represent the slightly unlucky vibe of a day like this for Vanatyr.

I have the old metal model of Morathi with the metal 'armour' and staff, which is why I pictured her in a metal brassiere. As you can see, it's the metalwork which catches Vanatyr's eye. Some would say Chamon-obsessed, he prefers the term focussed.

I have no idea how well this is going to work. Over to you, Calisson!

_________________
RIP Group 28
~ We Never Slept ~


Sat Oct 29, 2011 5:12 pm
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Corsair
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Joined: Fri Mar 14, 2008 10:00 pm
Posts: 8713
Location: Hag Graef
Post 
First day summary.

Eight Candidates woke up that morning.
A pyromaniac smith. The Michelangelo of goldsmiths.
A half wolverine shade outcast. A naked wolf woman.
A sorceress from the Covens. Another one from the Arks.
A thug assassin. A priest of blood.

They were given a challenge for the day.
Resolutely, they left the village in order to fulfill their quest.
The village was stuck between sea and mountain. Following the narrow plain along the coastline, three of them went towards the hazed rising sun. The other five departed in the opposite direction.

-=-=-=

The first to find the perfect spot was the smith.
Marcelus Lycanius followed the beach to the West. He found the perfect sandy alcove in a nicely sheltered cove, facing south, at one hour walking distance from the village.
In the sand, the Fire mage called upon the powers of Aqshy. No rain could prevent the orange-yellowish dancing flame to rise from the Topaz which gave them their brightness.
As the day was dimming, so did the flames. Marcelus took a broad breath and implored forcefully the advent of a kind of altar of solid, fuelless flame.
The flame faded out. He was not sure about the outcome.
Noooooo! Don’t go!. He tore off his hair in despair, and suddenly realized in the dim light that his hair had turned all white – and was falling by tufts.
The fire was extinguished.
However, the last light of the sun illuminated the ashes for a second. Frantically, Marcelus blew off the ashes. Beneath, the sand had melted with the topaz and turned to some kind of glass. The sculpture displayed the shape of a brownish, translucent fire. As he approached his hands, he started to feel the arcane heat, the wind of Aqshy were now blowing from the petrified fire.
Yessssss! I made it!
He did not dare to try to move the petrified fire, not wanting to risk breaking the invisible parts linking it to the sand.

<OOC: topaz consumed in the process.
Lost your hair, which will regrow after 10 years or if you buy me the super lotion of magic shampoo that I can get for a reasonable price. Facial hair remains but turned white.
As your colleagues had little time to make acquaintance, possibly nobody will notice. >IC

-=-=-=

His colleague goldsmith spent some time on the beautiful beach, too. But Vanatyr was not interested in the sea mammals. Rather, he took a small pendulum and started looking for hints in the color of the sand, which would indicate the presence of precious ore. Every creek mouth was thoroughly searched for what it would carry from upstream.
Talented as he was, he did find some ore. 3 lumps of iron and 1 of copper, of the fine quality he was looking for. Unfortunately, the last ore deposit was found under the decaying corpse of a seal. Vanatyr lost his pendulum there, along with his appetite and most of his last meal. He would certainly never be able to eat anything again. At least, during the next week, and with possibly the sole exception of bread.

Having found the raw material he was looking for, his next search was for a suitable place. Going back towards the village, he found a nice spot, the center of a horseshoe-shaped low hill at two hours walking distance west of the village. There, he forged on the flat rock an arcane pentacle, and crimped improbable components into it.
He called for Vaul to harness the winds of Chamon, and had the feeling that the God himself scrutinized to see what masterpiece the jeweler would manage to make.
And the result was beyond what he had done during his whole life. The winds of Chamon were blowing strong across the splendid pentacle, the happy goldsmith could feel them warm his face.
He stayed there for an hour, breathing the wind he contributed to canalize. It inspired him wonderful visions about what he could achieve with such power. Incredibly imaginative visions. Visions that he would never forget. Visions that would haunt him at all times. Dread visions.

<OOC: Lost meteorite, lost 1 pendulum and your appetite. Having used 1 iron & 1 copper, you gained 2 lumps of iron that you can add to your inventory, in addition to your visions. Be happy, the result is truly a masterpiece. >IC

-=-=-=

The Shade outcast trusted his beasty instincts more than his intelligence. Kairus waited for an idea inside the village and soon the vision came. A roaring, bestial vision.
In order to tune his mind along with the overwhelming inspiration, he started jogging in the same direction as the great day luminary. He went as far as four hour’s walking distance, although it took him half that time to run there, thanks to his lifetime outdoor training.

Starting to stampede, he turned progressively his vision into a shape. A large one. A dangerous one.
It worked! It worked so well that he grew not only one dragon leg, not only two legs, but the four dragon legs! He enlarged his body, wings were growing, his neck going scaly was pushing forwards his horny head, he was a dragon! In the excitement, he took off, made a looping, a whirl, and then things went wrong. His somersaults resulted into a tornado of Ghur winds, he lost his control, went into a deadly spiral and landed abruptly, thrusting his four legs into the humid soil.
Ouch!He fainted.
Minutes or hours later, back to his human shape, Kairus rested to recover. He felt that the pain made by the shock was deep in his body. He would never totally recover from such a crash. Flying was not natural for elves. He had been chastised for having chosen too powerful a shape.
In his sorrow, he realized that the tracks he made painfully were probably much better than anything he expected. Let’s not allow the rain to waste such marvelous tracks.

Offering the track to please Kurnous was the obvious follow-on. It was a consecrated day, the tracks were as noble as anything Kairus could hope for, Kairus had spent a part of him into their elaboration and offered one of his precious Nauglir’s claws to please the God.
He did not perceive any effect.
All these efforts could not be wasted! Perfect timing, perfect tracks, he needed the sacrifice to yield results.
With the sacrifice of his last cold one claw, no God could possibly refuse that!
This time, it worked!
With an intense relief, he felt the energies of Ghur irradiating from the four steps. They were solid, strong, he could see with his inner vision the shape of four immense arcane pine trees emerging from the soil.
He bawled in triumph his thanks to Kurnous.
<OOC: lost your two precious components, and your S is reduced to 3. >IC.

-=-=-=

The wolf woman in her lack of attire went on the opposite direction, eastwards.
The big lake near the village had a poisonous taste. Fat scale-less fishes lived out of the water on its sandy banks, and would dive only when she approached.
Disgusted, Artemii moved inshore. Climbing a low hill, she realized that this awkward place had not the slightest similarity with the beloved tall forests of her youth. Not a single tree worth that name. She felt depressed and homesick.
Resolutely, she decided to build a part of her familiar home in the lee of a jutting outcrop, at three hours walking distance of the village.
The seed was planted. Would it grow? It must, Artemii was so desperate.
She cried so much of her homesickness that the throttling vine seed grew to a bush, soon becoming a thicket, and finally a small wood of intricate vines.
The branches gave way to allow Artemii inside.
She enjoyed the becalming atmosphere.
Sadly, she had cried so much that her combat abilities would be reduced for a while. At the moment, it had not the slightest importance.

After an hour, she realized that she had to go back to the village, because only the hope of winning the contest would allow her to go back home.

<OOC: lost your vine seed and loss of one WS. >IC

-=-=-=

Parallel to the wolf woman’s eastern tracks, but edging the mountain, the Covens sorceress was looking for a cave. Vaelreth Velkyn found the desired spot at three hours walking distance from the village. Anyone else would have missed it as the cave entrance was hidden behind a peak, invisible from the low plain, but her instincts led her directly to it.
She started her preparations for a spell which would grant her a home place for further incantations.

In a last thought, however, she realized that the spell she was about to cast was a little bit too ambitious for her still modest powers. Her training in the Covens had been abruptly stopped so early!
She decided that casting for a small duration was the most reasonable. If ever she needed again the spot, it would be much easier to cast it again, just for the required duration.

The spell was cast very efficiently, despite using only a common shadowcat fur.
A comfortable shadow armchair was created. She enjoyed relaxing in her creation, the shadow energies providing a wonderful massage to her back.
She smiled. Now she knew how to ignite the powers of Ulgu again, at will.
Too soon, the spell faded and the throne ceased progressively to sustain her body.
She was ready to go back and win the contest.

<OOC: lost a shadowcat fur. That was enough. Well done!
However, if you want your nice armchair again, you’ll have to cast it again.> IC.

-=-=-=

The other sorceress chose to follow the edge of the mountain in the opposite direction, the dim sun heating her back. The low flat peak she chose, at three hours walking distance, provided her with a nice view on the plain below unto the sea. The mountain stood behind, letting a creek get out from a steep valley to a curve around her peak. The giant seabirds nesting on the peak took their lift and flew out of sight, never to be seen again that day.
Kaladeth gathered some flat stones and started building a nest of her own, much larger than the bird’s.

She was methodic. In order to have her nest become a recipient for the most powerful energies she knew, she needed a power boost. Could she boost herself twice, for a better chance of success?
Drawing runes, spending the content of bottles, she started to build her best creation with three steps.

The first step involved the use of one phial of elven blood. The runes created proved immediately efficient, Kaladeth could feel the magic boost in her brain.

The second step was going to be more powerful. She yummed in delight at the expectation.
However, that involved the loss of one of her beloved father’s scarce remains. A tear pearled.
There she was, invested with immense powers, now she was ready to cast the real thing.

This time, she sacrified her most precious item, the bottled sacrificial sprite.
Again, it worked, even though she felt that it was on the extreme edges of her powers. Not the slightest part of the power was unnecessary.

There it was. The spell was cast. She had made the first ceremonial stone circle in her life.
She burst into tears. She had to sacrifice a part of her own father, just to get this dedicated place on the unknown island where she intended to spend the least possible time. Visions of her father’s death invaded her mind. She knew that those visions would never leave her, as long as the sacred place she had made wielded any arcane power.

<OOC: lost one phial of elven blood, 1 lump of father’s flesh, 1 bottled sacrificial sprite. Gained visions.>IC

-=-=-=

The thug assassin was curious to see where the Shadow sorceress was going. But rather than following her, he took a perverse pleasure at following the sorceress’ follower, a hooded guard from the garrison. That was easy, the guard was not overly cautious. But when that guard he was following winked once at him, Arhast Kynthan decided that this game was not entertaining anymore. He started looking for a place where his own shadow would lose his track.

He founded one, at three hours walking distance east of the village. It was under a gentle hill. Which large animals once burrowed that maze, he could not tell, but they had abandoned it for ages, as the recent marmot feces here and there testified.
He lit a dim light from peat and herbs he had taken during the walk, in order to be able to work in the total darkness of the tunnels. He started to draw the calligraphy he had in his perverse mind.

Before starting to cast the hard part of the spell, he gave a last thought. Was he really willing to risk adverse consequences for a very long time, just because he had found a nice burrow in a near desert island? Actually, he could make a first try, for a short duration, and come back if ever the need aroused.
So he did. With the use of one of his favorite shrunken heads, he finished the spell but tuned it up for a very short duration.

The spell worked perfectly fine. So fine that he saw all the elaborate drawings penetrate the soil and engrave there forever. He could feel the energies of Shyish rising from his circle. However, with the energies came a very oppressing smell, which forced him to clear the cave at once.
When he came back, the energies were gone.
Never mind, the place was his, and now he knew how to cast the same spell another time.

<OOC: used one shrunken head.>IC

-=-=-=

The priest acolyte, of murder, suffering and death, did not care to go very far, as he was just looking for a cozy shelter from the thin rain. Metarchis Avax found a suitable place at an hour’s walk in the West, a low grove near a hill close to the mountain.
He took the pot he had brought along, wrote a silly doodle on its side, poured drops of his own blood inside and called upon the True Names of his God.
Nothing happened. Why, he couldn’t guess, the skull tasted all right. It taste even quite good, who knows what the fermentation process achieved inside the skull?
Feeling bloody visions invading his mind, he started again, with another skull.
That time, the bloodlust of Khaine irradiated from his skull with a huge blast. Well done!
Still, the commotion of the blast left Metarchis totally deaf for a few minutes, until he recovered progressively. His audition was impaired but anyway nobody would whisper to him so he did not care.
The pot was now nearly as heavy as a dead donkey, three Khainite would be necessary to move it. It stayed there.

<OOC: used two slave’s skulls. Lost 30 dB in audition and your pot. Gained nice visions of murder, very fluffy>IC.

-=-=-=

The night was already installed when the eight of them returned to the village. The clouds were scarce, the dim light of the stars and the moon let them avoid most of the peat traps, but their pace was slowed down anyway.

As they arrived to the village, one at a time, they were approached by two elves.
One was a mere hooded silhouette of which they could see nothing, but the other one was the opposite: a splendid sorceress, showing all the advantages of her surrealist beauty, enriched by the subtly ornamented jewelry which made up most of her clothing.

The high sorceress went to meet with each of the Candidates.
She raised her hands towards their tired face and stated with a clear, crystal voice:
Tell me the truth! Did you manage to get a dedicated place?
To their surprise, they felt that they could not help but telling the truth, despite any natural reluctance.
As they were all quite proud of the result, they did not resist the pleasure to state, sometimes defiantly, that they were up to this first challenge indeed.
Then you can rest. No other question was asked, to their relief.
They went to their hut. On their mattress, they could rehearse the day’s events. A new loaf of bread was set on their stool.

Having rested, some of them went out in the night in order to share a chat with one or the other of the Candidates.

<OOC:
During the early “night”, you can PM to each other if you like, for a mere – private – conversation. If you want to RP any action, use the present gaming thread, but please don’t strain my Mod’s time too much. No post required, several posts permitted, edit permitted.


Poll open for 24h.
The Magic Reality Show (TMRS) – Who goes into the pit? Day 1
>IC

_________________
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Sun Oct 30, 2011 2:57 pm
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Dragon Lord
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Vaelreth smiled as she got off the shadow throne, the spell was successful even though she would have to refresh it each day, but the throne she created remained, albeit without any magical energy. "Even better" she thought "Nobody will be drawn to this place by the magic emanations".

Back in the village, Vaelreth returned to the meager hut she was asigned and frowned. The place was much less comfortable than her cave, but were she to travel three hours each day to and from the tower, that would be time lost that she could use for practice. Nibbling slightly on the bread she was given, she thought on how to improve her sleeping space. An idea came to her mind and she tried to repeat her previous spell, simplifying it even more.

She placed both hands on the straw mat on the floor and speaking loudly, channelled the power of Ulgu into the bedding, shaping the shadows so they formed a comfortable cloud over the bed, much softer than the floor.

_________________
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Games Drawn: 33 (15%)
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Sun Oct 30, 2011 5:52 pm
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Eyes still brimming with visions of blood and his ears still ringing from the blast, Metarchis stumbled back towards the main village. He allowed himself a rare smile - the second of the day - at the knowledge that he had won the Bloody Handed God's blessing with his spell. Of course, he knew now why it had not worked on the first attempt: Khaine was always hungry for more, and must have known that further treats awaited him if he postponed his favour until the second attempt.

Arriving in the village, Metarchis walked haltingly over to his sparse looking hut and went inside. He sat down on the straw mat and waited.

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Sun Oct 30, 2011 6:11 pm
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The impromptu spell had gone well enough, if not exactly as expected, though a plate of magic glass was better than nothing. Marcelus stayed on the sands a while longer basking in the physical and magical glow that came from the topaz now embedded at the heart of the frozen flames, before leaving for the shack that would apparently be home for the foreseeable future. He was in sight of the shambling village when he casually reached up to run a hand through his hair and felt his naked scalp, obviously treading new magical territory was a job best left to the great and powerful.

When he reached his cabin he sat for a while, but the evening wasn't quite done yet and Marcelus had got used to late nights and good company in the time he had spent in Naggaroth, the assorted mages might not all be good company but it was better than sitting alone. He gathered up what remained of the firewood left for him and went outside, where he lit a small fire and ate his black bread waiting for the fire's glow to bring out whom it may.

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Sun Oct 30, 2011 9:02 pm
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Vanatyr strode back from the hills with a broad smile on his face. Mission accomplished. He was feeling bouyant, visions of the power to come sleeting through his brain like the eternal wind that blew across the little island, but wilder and more marvellous. The goldsmith turned the lumps of ore over in one hand idly. Good samples, metal in potential, fairly humming with possibilities. He was feeling energized, the touch of Vaul's Gift flitting about him like the scent of brazure and the cherry glow of the forge. He'd been refashioned in the crucible of the first challenge and the memory of the crown-like, ironclad basin was a secret source of pride to him that kept him warm against the chill of the falling night. A crown, perhaps that was a sign, maybe the time to come was -

He was doing so well until the scent of the fireside and someone's cooking hit him. Fighting nausea the apprentice mage fought to keep himself from doubling over, taking in shallow breaths until he had calmed his roilng stomach enough to proceed. He made his way to the small hut he'd been assigned as his quarters and lay down on the rough bed for a little while until he felt less nauseous.

Despite the se- the wate- that dreadful ocean-going mammal he could feel a growling within his disobedient stomach, and he was going to need fuel for his body as well as his mind. Taking a cautious sip of water from the pottery cup at his bedside the jeweller decided that he'd try a little something plain, and see how it went.

As long as he didn't think about the reeking beast, or that Khaine-forsaken beach, or the sea in general, bread stayed down all right. Vanatyr decided not to risk anything more fancy. He placed the ores - one of iron, one of copper - with the rest of his dwinding supplies and stood up. Wrapping himself up in his cloak he stepped outside, looking for any of his fellow contestants. It would be good to get the measure of them, perhaps some civilised conversation. After all, the likelihood was that they'd been coerced in the same way he had.

So long as no-one was eating a bacon sandwich, he'd be fine.

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Sun Oct 30, 2011 10:51 pm
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Prophet of Tzeentch
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The casting had left Artemii feeling weak, weaker than she had felt in a long time but it had been a success and for the first time since being dumped on this horrid little place she felt happy. Curled contentedly at the centre of her natural throne, vines wrapped tightly around her the life sorceress rested for several hours. Eventually though she knew she would have to return to the place with the little wooden tents.

Unwillingly she opened a path to the outside world with a pulse of thought and gathered together her things. The walk back to the camp was a long one but moving long distances was nothing new to Artemii, she rarely stayed in one place for more than a day.

On returning to the village new odd things happened, first she was interrogated by a glittery female who exuded enough power to cow the usually cock sure Artemii into submission. Fortunately she had nothing but success to report.

She seemed to be one of the last to arrive, others were all ready milling around; Artemii vaguely wondered what success they had had though she would certainly not ask. Some small fires dotted the camp but Artemii gave them a wide birth, fire was often necessary but it was dangerous and painful. Settling against a rock she tore open the loaf of bread with her teeth, the shades had given her some before so she knew that it was safe to eat. That did not stop her from wishing it were something tastier, a haunch of venison perhaps or a squirrel dripping with blood. The bread would do though and she had to keep strong if she was ever to make it back home.

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Sun Oct 30, 2011 10:55 pm
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Out on the meadow, several miles from the Druchii tower and small gathering of huts, Kairus prepared and performed his great spell. The transformation went without a hitch, and not only did his Wind invigourate him so much as to transform his entire body into that of a dragon, it also sent him spiralling powerdrunk into the air. For a moment the Beast Mage soared on reptilian wings, a gout of flame spewing from his great maw. In this vantage point, he saw one of the hooded guards watching him, trembling in his armoured boots. He lost his concentration, too late did he feel the Winds change and his body start to revert to its normal form. One wing sunk back to nothing, and Kairus fell back down to the floor with an almighty thud.

When he awoke it was already dark, and he found himself standing in the middle of an octagon. Four great footprints formed a square around him, and between each of them had grown an impressive pine tree. The bark of each tree was marked by a sigil of Kurnous at eye level, and Kairus knew then that his fall had not been in vain. He limped over to one of the trees, realising how drained of strength the transformation had left him, but glad that he had the blessing of his god and the power of Ghur now with him. A few minutes after waking up, the Beast Mage set off back towards the camp, slowly regaining his energy until he could once again run across the grassy plain, arriving last at the great gathering just as the Mages were questioned by their overlord. Kairus was only too happy to admit to his success, in spirit-thought if not out loud.

Next the Mages were called to vote, and Kairus took a good look around the others before deciding which of the Winds he mistrusted the most.

He offered name of the Mage to their captor in secret.


After voting, Kairus returned to his log cabin. Another loaf of black bread awaited him there and he took it up and filled his stomach with most of the loaf. Perhaps it was the short time his stomach had spent the size of his cabin that had made him so hungry? He took what was left of the bread outside and sprinkled it on the ground around his door, before sitting atop one of the log piles beside the door and commencing his watch. His amber tipped, gnarled oakroot staff lay flat across his lap, and his hunting bow was strung across his back. As the night progressed, two ravens came to feed from his offerings, and he conversed with them quietly throughout the night. He had befriended the ravens now, and he knew he would have use of them in the days to come. By morning, Kairus had contemplated a few possible ways to recover his lost strength, but for now that would have to wait..


Mon Oct 31, 2011 12:32 am
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The clouds rolled over head as Kaladeth looked over her altar to Dhar, the blood runes upon the rock glowing brightly as an unnatural, arcane wind fed the altar with a surge of power. She panted for a moment, catching her breath and gathering her items. Cracks of lighting snapped overhead, most likely due to the huge magical presence that must’ve popped up during the day as everyone created their consecrated place. She felt that she had picked a good spot, in fact, she was happy to even stay within these mountains for a good amount of time. She could find shelter if she needed, there was fresh water from the river at the bottom of the mountain and plenty of game to hunt across the flat plains which she had crossed to get to the mountain. But something told her she would have to leave this place for now, returning to the small decrepit village being a priority for one’s who valued their lives.

She felt the great sadness that had arisen with her altar, having used one of her most precious gifts to etch the winds of Dhar within the rock. She had used her bottled sprite, as well as a lump of her father’s flesh and even though the event had taken place a good number of years ago, the pain that accompanied the event still lingered in her mind. The magical fire still burnt within the middle of the rock pool she had crated, the smell of crisping flesh wafting to her nose and causing her stomach to rumble. Suddenly sickened with herself, she turned away from the altar and its brightly glowing runes. Kaladeth could still see the path she had taken to get this high into the mountain, but night was drawing over the mountains fast and she hoped to reach the camp within the first veils of darkness.

Out of the corner of her eye something moved. Spinning on the spot with her staff pointed at the target, Kaladeth found herself looking at a blank space of rocky outcrop. Then it hit her. The scene of her father being ripped to shreds by the raging hydra, blood splattering the pavement for a good solid meter, chunks of flesh raining down upon the handlers as well as Kaladeth. It felt so real to Kaladeth, as if it was happening again right in front of her. She screeched into the night air, tearing at her hair as she did so. The images left her in a wisp of smoke, falling away from her vision as if a strong breeze had blown through and saved her from the terrible hallucinations. Regathering herself, Kaladeth fled the mountain, not daring to look back as she ran across the flat plains towards the encampment in the distance, where she would sleep and rest with her terrible visions.

She spoke with no one as she entered the camp and when everyone was settling down she still kept to herself, her dagger clutched in a chilled hand beneath her robe in case anyone got any ideas. Another lump of bread was on the stool next to her. She eyed in menacingly but then grabbed it and ripped a chunk of bread off with her teeth, then stowing it beneath her cloak to eat at a later time.

_________________
Saldrimek Xenan - WS6 / S4 / T3 / D5 / I3

Equipment: Executioners Axe (Rune of Beastslaying - Heroic Killing Blow), 2 Scimitars (Rune of Speed - Always Strike First), Dagger, Rune Branded Leather Armour, Executioner Helm, Fine Set of Throwing Knives (x4)
Inventory: Amulet of Darkness, Poison Vials x7, Deadly Poison Vials x8
Mount: Dark Steed
Gold: 163
Skills: Ambidexterity, Frenzy, Two Weapon Fighting, Ride
Class: Khainite


Mon Oct 31, 2011 1:06 am
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Scourge
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Reluctantly, Arhast dragged himself from his reverie and left the cave, feeling a delicious shiver as he passed through the protective wards that kept the spirits bound to this place, he could feel the enchantments slowly unravelling as the cursed souls within fought to be released, the edges of the magic fraying and little seams of imperfection riddling the entire spell tearing open. Within a few minutes it would have fully decayed and the bound spirits could finally find some peace. Arhast was a little saddened by the thought.

Shrugging his shoulders, the assassin glided into the forest, it was almost as dark outside now as it had been in the cavern. He could feel fatigue gnawing at his strength but he refused to acknowledge the clutching hands that tried to drag him towards sleep, he still had some way to go before camp. With a start he felt an icy feeling crawling across his skin, glancing at his arms he noted that the painful welts and blisters that had been his penance for casting his spell were slowly fading, as the last one disappeared completely he could faintly hear a howl of relief from the mountains, and he could imagine the freed spirits streaking from their prison like arrows, believing themselves released, when in fact they had escaped their short stasis in limbo only to be crushed under fate’s wheels and thrown back into the cycle once more.

The camp was quiet and peaceful when the assassin returned, which was a shame, he would not sleep easy without the whispers and screams of the damned caressing his ears. With a sigh, Arhast made his way to his own little cabin, trying to make himself comfortable on the wretched straw mattress before giving up and sweeping it aside so that he could lay on the cold floor, after decades of sleeping rough in little boltholes throughout the city of his birth he couldn’t bring himself to revel in the comforts of other beings, his whole existence was repulsed by the thought. After all, everything he was revelled in stripping away the comforts other people clothed themselves in and smashing them over the head with a big hammer called reality. Even his own people were deluded with these stupid ideas about them being above death, beyond the reach of its cold grasp, every day Arhast worked to strip away this illusion and bring the hard truth to his people, one victim at a time.

With these comforting thoughts rolling about in his head (one of the few things that did give him comfort) Arhast gradually drifted off into a fitful sleep.

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Mon Oct 31, 2011 8:38 am
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First night in The Pit.

The night was well established when Quasim the Master Assassin, ten guards and two torch bearers went to get the three losers of the day from their shacks.

Vaelreth Velkyn, the Sorceress of Shadows, was the first to be taken away. You come with us. Don’t take anything.A rope tied solidly her arms to her body.

She was escorted to a rocky elevation not far from the village, close to the sea.
At the top of the rock, a circular, elf-made opening allowed the passage of one body.
Held by her rope, she was slowly taken down.
The pit quickly led into the top of a cavern, which edges she could not see, as not the faintest light reached the cavern.

After a minute, she reached the floor. The rope fell flat next to her.
The floor was plain rock, humid. The lapping of the sea could be heard, very close.
She stood up awkwardly in the dark. Her arms were still firmly tied to his body.
She did not dare to move more than a foot away, stepping with the greatest caution, in the fear of falling into the water that she could not see.

Arhast Kynthan, the Assassin of Death, followed in the same way, one minute later. He managed to stand up as he could.

Vanatyr, the Master of Metal, joined them soon, arms bound as well.
After the sea breeze, the bare pendulum movement was too much for his stomach. Fortunately, nobody stayed right below him. He hardly had eaten anything, anyway.

He had just the time to stand up, when a torch landed right in the middle of them three. Right into the puke.
<OOC: the torch will provide light for an hour, unless thrown into the sea. > IC



The light allowed them to evaluate the size of the cavern.

It was shaped roughly like a cone, with the pit at the top.
The diagonal of the cave was materialized by a flat rocky spur, on the middle of which they were standing.
The top of the spur was a platform 20 meters long and 2 meters wide, except at one end where it enlarged into a 4 meters wide circle.

On both sides of the spur were chasms filled with salty water. The cave was obviously directly linked with the sea through both chasms.
At the highest tides, half a meter would remain above the water. With the rather steep slope on both sides, the spur could be 6 meters wide at lowest tides.
Several uneasy accesses from the sea to the spur were available in case anyone fell into the water.
The platform where they were walking, making the top of the spur, was humid and slightly slippery. Especially a small stinking yellowish area in the center, around the torch.



<OOC: This is now a regular RPG: you can post several times, even edit, wait for the Mod to reply, post again and so on.
You entered the pit one hour before midnight.
The night will end when becomes obvious who will not get out of the pit.

-=-=-

Each of you has a rope entangling his hands and no equipment.
You can discuss freely. Not by PM, though.
You can walk normally if there is some light, with extraordinary precautions if there is no light.
You can try to get your hands free; it should take d6 – Dex + 5 minutes.
You can cast whatever spell you wish, before or after freeing your hands.
You can push each other into the water. However it is quite difficult to push a reluctant person lying on the floor. Especially if your hands are attached. Especially if you can’t see your victim.
You can strangle each other only if your hands are free.
You can do only one thing at a time. There is a single exception: you can try to free your hands and talk simultaneously, but it will slow you down by a minute unless you’re a girl.

You arrived at one minute interval. That’s your speed bonus for your first action.
What will you do first? Detach your arms? Cast a spell? Kick asses? Do anything with the torch?

-=-=-

I will moderate in priority what is going on in the pit.
The other Candidates can roleplay in the village, if they wish. The pit is guarded. >IC



Quasim shouted through the pit:
Tomorrow morning, we’ll take out two of you.
Whoever survived! Gniahahaha!

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Winds never stop blowing, Oceans are borderless. Get a ship and a crew, so the World will be ours! Today the World, tomorrow Nagg! {--|oBrotherhood of the Coast!o|--}


Mon Oct 31, 2011 5:34 pm
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Roleplaying Deity
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In the Village


Kairus watched the camp from his perch atop the log pile throughout the night, one of his ravens staying with him as the other returned to her nest. Several hours before dawn, a procession of armoured Druchii came from the tower, led by their tyranic overlord, and took three of the competitors. He watched them take the first, the Shadow Seer. Would they come for him next? He gripped his gnarled staff slightly tigher, but he knew any attempt to prevent them doing so would be futile. What was the destiny of those taken from the camp because of their weakness? To fight against one another? Torture? Simply death? He couldn't fathom what the Sorceress behind this sick game was thinking, and so he simply watched and waited. Fortunately for him, despite his ravens having heard several whispers of his name during the days voting, the Death Mage and Metal Mage were chosen next, not him.

Some time later, the sun crawled into the sky over the distant horizon. He watched as other members of their game started to move about the camp, perhaps getting ready to leave for their consecrated places or to converse with one another. Some of them would no doubt be more secretive and lonesome than others, and indeed he was usually one of those people himself. A long time spent alone in the wood with nothing but the beasts as company had made him untrustworthy of others, and he felt no desire to approach most of the other Mages. He did, however, move out into the middle of the campsite, and sit upon a rock there for a while, in case any of the other Mages wanted to come and talk to him.


Mon Oct 31, 2011 7:10 pm
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Scourge
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Location: A torture dungeon in Suffolk
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In the Pit

Arhast worked himself to his feet, carefully considering his situation. One of them wouldn’t be getting out alive, and whilst he was very well prepared to meet his master, he would rather he could bring the word to a few more creatures before he did so.

The prospects of a three-way duel did not appeal to Arhast’s tactical mind either, and so he resolved himself to forming an alliance with one of his fellow condemned, but which one?

“Mistress of shadows,” he called, “I have been given a choice. You, or the metalworker. Our winds have always been kin, for death has always gone hand-in-hand with the darkness, and so I shall turn to you for aid. Join me, and we will both come out of this alive, or do you fancy taking on an assassin in unarmed combat?”
Arhast chuckled drily, feeling the rush of adrenaline as he saw the full scope of the risk he took, by acting first, he had thrown himself into the void, trusting in this sorceress to pull him out, or else he would be lost for all eternity.
“I could slink off into the shadows of this chamber and hide, to let you and the smith tear each other apart. Instead, I put my faith in you.”
With a hiss, the assassin dashed across the chamber, ignoring his hands and instead trusting to his legs and this mysterious shadow woman to be his saviour.
“I seal our pact with a gift, the greatest gift I can give. I give you a choice, you may give the gift of death to whichever one of us you choose, I leave myself at your mercy.”
With an unnerving howl, The assassin bore down upon the wizard of metal, preparing himself to strike.
“Free your hands! I will keep this one occupied, then you can decide who you wish to kill. The choice, is yours.”

Arhast will ignore the ropes binding his hands and instead attack Vanatyr with a series of vicious kicks aimed primarily at the knees and stomach in an attempt to prevent the alchemist from freeing his hands, relying on his superior WS and his small, dextrous figure to evade the smith’s superior strength and try to knock him down giving Vaelreth enough time to free her own hands so that she can come to the assistance of one of the mages to kill the other. Arhast will attempt to stay on his feet, but if necessary he will forfeit his own balance in order to prevent Vanatyr from gaining the upper hand.


Over to you Dalamar :D

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All things perish, this is the law of existence, accept your suffering and your mortality, only by using this truth, can you transcend it.


Mon Oct 31, 2011 8:13 pm
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Location: The Colonies
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Village

It appeared that few of his fellow players were willing to come out and engage with him, so Marcelus decided he would go out and see if he couldn't start up the chatter hisself. His fellow smith, the shadow sorceress, and the assassin had been dragged off by some of the latter's kinsmen; the acolyte and the second sorceress had disappeared inside and Marcelus wasn't confident knocking on either of their doors - one hears such stories. That left the two wild-elves and out of the two Marcelus found the big elf sitting across from him in the middle of the camp less intimating than the girl who had avoided the company of them all and the company of clothing, life in the empire had given him a healthy respect for things fey and queer.

Gathering up his staff and bow he made his way over to the big elf and sat opposite him, "penny for your thoughts friend?"

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Mon Oct 31, 2011 8:40 pm
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