Game Thread Meseriel's Game (Part 1) - RPG Crossing
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Old Jan 1st, 2015, 12:41 AM
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Meseriel's Game (Part 1)

Fiends, Fire and Brimstone: Turning what is sacred into profane. Ara'Miera, a once beautiful grove of ancient life, a place of beauty and respite, now nothing but a shell of its former self. A field of fallen trees and corpses, lines wreathing fire and the heavy scent of sulfur in the air. Small barbed and horned forms, huddle over the corpses of an assortment or races. Clawed hands and savage maws shredding and devouring their remain. The actions of these lesser devils, were completely ignored by the one who lead the massacre, this assault on sacred grounds, his plan finally coming to fruition. A deep and booming voice echoes across the scene, it's hatred and pleasure apparent in it's voice.

"It is as I have said! The blood of celestials will quench our thirst for days! Breathe in the scent of our slaughter, and know that I, Raknuthash, have delivered!" An enormous devil with four horns and large leathery wings, a Balor knight of the fourth layer of hell, servant only to Belial himself, towers above his horde. In one hand he holds a struggling form of a large eagle by it's legs. It weakly tries to fight, but it's charred and battered body is losing it's strength quickly. "What we have proven today, is that those that call themselves Gods and those that choose to side with these paltry deities..." The Balor swings the eagle up into his free hand, grabs it by the neck and twists. "...are weeeeeak!" A cracking symbolizes the life that fades from the eagle, as the body is discarded the ground. A host of other more prominent devils, lesser balor's, veteran bone devils and other unique creatures, chitter and laugh in excitement of their masters words.

 

A muffled scream of fury and sadness comes from the ground at the devils feet. Raknutash, lifts his clawed foot up from the body, uncovering the mangled form of a celestial elf, clad in what were once elegant clothes of natural colors. It was the body of a lesser deity, one by the name of Ketephys, The Hunter. To his side lay the severed head of a massive wolf-hound, one that obviously died fighting to defend it's friend. A maniacal laughter bellows out, coming deep from the pit of the devils lungs and he speaks. "Oh yes, I had almost forgot about you, Ketephys. Would you have it I ended your existence now? Your home is in ash, your closest friends are soon to be food for MY devils." He takes a step away from the body, kneels down and places it's wicked face up close to the fading life. His toxic hot breath, sending the scent of hell to fill Ketephys's final moments. When he continues speaking, he emphasizes all of the words, speaking slowly and clearly. "I will not stop with your realm Ketephys. All your brothers, sisters and kin that you have held dear... your priests, your acolytes and all that worship your name. Know as you fade, that they will all meet the same fate. And in time, the entire pantheon of your kind, you disgusting divine beings... will be eradicated! Snuffed from existence as you are now. I will take your divine essence, and I will corrupt it. Your power will feed my strength. Your weakness in falling to me, will ensure the death of so many more."

Ruknutash slowly sticks his clawed hand into the chest of the elven deity, tearing flesh and bone away from his heart. The tears run down the fallen deities cheeks, it wants to protest but it's lungs can draw no air. The gloss from his eyes began to fade, as the Balor crushed his heart between it's fingers. "Now I take your power deity, I will corrupt what was once sacred. Your strength, your essence and your soul is mine!" Ruknutash shouts out.

Then something unexpected happened, something that Ruknutash was unsure of at first. As the life faded from the fallen deity, a radiant light started to illuminate from its body. The light extended up devil's arm, and quickly covered his entire body. For a moment he could feel it, he could feel true power. He stands up to his full height, over twenty feet tall, looking over his body curiously. Then he starts to laugh. "Ahahah. It's happening, as I predicted... I am ascending. Haha.. or is it descending? Ah, it is irrelevant, the power I've sought for so long, is finally going to be mine. Belial, your throne will be mine." Suddenly, Ruknutash's body began to convulse, the light grew brighter and then it was to late. He was so distracted on receiving this power, that he'd completely missed what was really happening.

"A summons...!? no!" He could see his plans falling apart before his eyes. All his years of meticulous planning, for this assault and all of his future endeavors. He had so much more to do. It was all collapsing in front of him. He could picture the possibilities of who was summoning him. It could be that Belial had found him out or that a higher divine being had decided to intervene. Both possibilities meant certain doom for him, that he was certain of.

"Noooooo...!" The light grew brighter and Ruknatash let out one final howl in protest, before he vanished form sight. Perhaps he would've taken it lighter, had he known who was really summoning him. Had he known that with this, he would eventually have a chance to recover. Mortal's after all, are far easier to manipulate than gods and devil lords. This would only be a set back, a major set-back, but a set back nonetheless.


Meseriel's Will.Memories can be funny sometimes, in that they are more fragile than they seem. A severe trauma in one's life, in a physical and or mental sense, can cause one to forget things. Now this can range from short term memory loss, to full blown amnesia. It is surprisingly more common than one would think. Meseriel however, would be so lucky if it were just trauma that caused her memory loss, but hers were lost from a far more nefarious reason. It had been sometime now, that she had shared her body and mind with another, the exact passage of time unknown to her. It was her tribe that tried summon Ketephys all that fate filled night and brought with them an unwanted guest. Luckily for the elves, the divine magic they had used to summon, created a sacred circle that kept the devil bound. It would not last long, that they were certain of, so they devised a plan on the spot. While there was still confusion in the monsters eyes, the elves were able to trap and bind the devil, Ruknutash, within Meseriel's body.

Unfortunately for Meseriel, she does not recall the events that brought the devil inside her. She does not know if she chose to bare this burden, or if it was forced upon her. Perhaps she does not even truly know what burden she bears, certainly not the severity of the creature inside her. What she does know, is her natural instincts, the need to continue living is innate in all creatures, once brought down to the very roots of their being. Living off the land as time passed by in a most surreal way, Meseriel survived.



Deep clouds line the skies, their shades of grey daunting to any travelers that would bare the storm. The rain had not let up for nearly a week. The same shelter had been used for the better part of winter, Meseriel and her guest, staying in a small and abandoned cave in mountain outskirts of a human territory by the name of Davinport. Davinport is a small coastal city north of Tul'cadre. They obviously had some form of trade, via ship and caravans from the south and occasionally north. She had seen the activities from afar, still unwilling to venture into the civilization. Why was it that each time that venturing into the human settlement was thought of, it flashed danger in her eyes. Each day is a battle of will, a battle to see who stays in control, and to what level of control was had. The beast inside is relentless, that is known. Today the beast is silent, today Meseriel is in control. At the base of the cave, leaning against the winds but covered from the rain, Meseriel looks out over the tree lined mountainside, contemplating on what the day will hold for her.


 
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Old Jan 3rd, 2015, 08:37 PM
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As Meseriel surveyed the city, she felt her gaze harden with anger. She would not submit to this monster, nor her fear of the enemy. She needed supplies and shelter, and this cave was no longer good enough. More than any of that, she needed to find out exactly what she was dealing with, here.
Gathering her things, including the slew of weapons and armor she'd managed to scrap together, Meseriel departed down the rocky hillside, bound for the city. She must have looked like quite a sight, as her armor concealed not only her race but her gender as well. Despite the tightness in her chest and hips, her arms fit well, and it was good to feel the pull of a sword at her hip again.
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Old Jan 3rd, 2015, 10:45 PM
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Old Jan 5th, 2015, 12:40 PM
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OOCSweet! That's awesome! Not to mention useful. Do I lose my 1st level feat as well, though?
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Old Jan 5th, 2015, 11:32 PM
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oocYou do not lose your first level feat.


The Land of MenWith intentions of heading to the Davinport, Meseriel marches from her temporary shelter and braves the weather. The wind was not quite to the point where leaning against it was necessary, but the gusts were significantly strong. The rain was only bothersome from the start, until she made the tree line and gained at least partial shelter. Luckily for her, the armor she wore kept a good portion of her body dry, leaving the wet spots mostly where the armor had joints. On the unfortunate side, it was still a severe hour hike to the city and the clouds did not look as if they'd be letting up anytime soon.

The start of the trek was rough, but she was familiar with the climb and made little work of it. Once down among the trees, it takes her a half an hour until she finds her way to the main road coming from the east. Stopping before stepping out into the open, Meseriel see's a form approaching. A cloaked figure pulling a mule loaded with sacks of what looks to be grain, poorly covered by a water-resistant tarp, walks alone along the path, heading away from the city. He is making no effort to be quiet, in fact he is openly grumbling, most likely about the weather. After watching for a moment, she can see under his cowl and notes the poorly trimmed beard and pointed nose of a human male. This is the closest she has ever seen a human, standing no more than forty feet apart.



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Old Jan 6th, 2015, 04:52 AM
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Swallowing hard, she stops, holding herself in a dignified, though certainly tense, posture. Her right hand finds the hilt of her shortsword while her left raises as a method of identifying, though she's also very conscious of the shield on her back.
He doesn't look particularly dangerous, but mother always told me never to trust humans, so I must remain weary.
"Hello..." She calls out in her most masculine voice.
OOCHey, I just need to get something straight real quick... do I speak common? The elven racial traits, as with all others, state that I do, but I didn't know if that actually made sense... If I do speak common, then I say the previous in that tongue, but if not, I guess I just say it in elven.
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Old Jan 6th, 2015, 08:04 PM
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Oh no, an ambush!The man pulling the mule stops abruptly, nearly jumping out of his boots by the surprising call from seemingly nowhere. His hood falls off and reveals that he's an aging man, grey hair and an abundance of wrinkles. He looks around with a panicked expression on his face, eyes glancing back at the mule and then into the woods from where the voice came. His hand goes to his belt, drawing a shoddily made dagger out as he does so. "I don't have anything of value, just be on your way there's no need for trouble! I'm armed and know how to use this." He holds his other hand up to his brow, squinting as he looks off to see the armored form stepping out into the path.

An audible sigh of relief crosses the mans face, and he lowers his hand down to his side."Oh.. heck, I could of sworn you were a bandits, thought my time had come... wait, you're not are you? Don't see many hooligans wearing such fancy armor, you must from one of them noble houses to the south eh?" He seems to have relaxed a bit, but his eyes still dart to the tree line on occasion. Perhaps he's decided that should Meseriel be an enemy, there was nothing his little pig-sticker was going to do against one so heavily armed.


ooc: You speak common. There are still some elf groups that communicate with humans, but there are also other races that use the common tongue to communicate between each other.
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Old Jan 7th, 2015, 05:37 AM
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Meseriel allows her hand to slide from the hilt of her blade. He seemed harmless enough.
"If I'd wanted your things, it wouldn't have been hard to simply shoot you from afar. You should try to remain more alert."
She approaches and sticks out a hand. "I'm Me... Marian Longblade, and I'm actually from much further away than... whatever's south of here. Anything I should know before approaching the city?"
Dice Bluff Check:
1d20+3 (15)+3 Total = 18
(18)
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Old Jan 7th, 2015, 07:45 AM
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Old mans wisdom.The human crinkles his nose as the woman speaks, seeming to not like the idea of being shot from afar, but after she continues he dons a smile. "Oh yeah, these eyes aren't as sharp as they used to be... would you believe that I was a fine hunter back in my day, one of the best of Red Canyon. Anyways, thanks for the words of caution, and a pleasure to make your acquaintance Marian Longblade. My name is Jack Tully, been running small shipments from Red Canyon Outlook with Betsy here for the last few years, keeping food on the table and all that kind of business." He raises an eyebrow at the armored elf, but doesn't seem to doubt she is who she says.

"A heavy day to be wearing such armor, though I suppose it's best to be prepared... can't predict the unpredictable eh?" He thinks on her question a moment, petting Betsy's forehead as he does so. "Well, besides an elevated bandit activity of late, there's the whole new power presence in town, that scoundrel of a pirate, Terious Snipe. Ever since he and his crew, The Red Water, sailed into Davinport, the inner city crime has dropped, but the taxes in the city have raised... I think it has to do something with the stalemate between the constable of the city and the lack of aid from Tul'cadre. I heard that he had a meeting with one of the houses, nearly killed the poor lass that came in to negotiate. Least that's what I heard over the last few days in town, best tread lightly should you be making your way there." He looks as if he's gonna say more, but then thinks better of it and starts to feed Betsy some apple slices from one of his pockets.



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Old Jan 7th, 2015, 03:04 PM
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Could the man see through her helmet, he'd see the blackest look that had ever crossed her face. As it was, her voice dripped with venom when she said, "I see. Thank you for the information, I must be going now."
Pirates? Crime? Are there no paladins of law here?
She continued on, trying to stifle the distaste in her mouth. One man's word was not enough to condemn a city, after all. Still, she had fears about humanity. Reservations. And he'd only worked to confirm them.
She kept an eye out for a gate of some kind and thought to herself, I may actually need written documents to enter the town, for they may doubt that I am who I say I am. Perhaps a change of identity is in order.
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Old Jan 7th, 2015, 09:11 PM
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Parting WaysThe older man gives the mule another apple slice, then moves to one of his packs on the side of the mule. He pulls out a small bundle wrapped in cloth, then walks over to Meseriel and holds it out. "Not a problem. Glad I could help, here take some bread, my daughter makes the best buttermilk rolls in all the land, I swear it. Should you ever find yourself in Red Canyon, ask for me and somebody will direct you my way. Take care now."

And with that the old man and his mule were off, heading down the road and to whatever future awaited them. Perhaps Meseriel would meet him again, perhaps she would not.

The weather still did not let up, but the path was mostly sheltered from the overhead canopy. No others passed Meseriel on the road for sometime, making the rest of the morning rather dull. Around noon, the smell of the ocean was thick in the air and she knew that her destination was close. Another half an hour walk at most.


 
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Old Jan 7th, 2015, 11:33 PM
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Meseriel accepts the roll with a smile before realizing he can't see her face.
Thank you. She says with genuine warmth, taking the rolls and putting them in her pack.
OOC
Dice Perception:
1d20 12
(12)
Oh god, I'm dead.
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Old Jan 7th, 2015, 11:49 PM
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Why does everything bad happen at the crossroads? Meseriel comes upon a crossroads, a wooden sign post stands upright off the side of the road. The wood has been worn down by the weather, but it seems to still be sturdily held in place. It reads...

-West-
Davinport
-South- Tul'cadré ..... Whitewall -North-
Red Canyon
-East-

As the elf stops to examine the sign, she hears a commotion in the near distance along the northern pass, what sounds like somebody crying. At this distance it's hard to tell if it's a male or female, though a shout and laugh come shortly after, as an obviously deep male voice says something. The sound of things breaking follows shortly after, as the crying stops. Nothing is able to be seen from this vantage point, but judging by the way the sound carried, Meseriel knows this commotion is just around the bend along the path.



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Old Jan 8th, 2015, 12:20 AM
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She draws her shield and shortsword and makes her approach, taking no care whatsoever in the sound she makes.
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Old Jan 8th, 2015, 12:32 AM
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Rounding the cornerAs Meseriel heads north along the pass, the sounds all become clearer. She knows there's rougher men berating another mane with a somewhat feminine voice, before she even draws them into sight. With shield and sword at hand, she moves around the corner of the path and see's a man with long blonde hair, laying on his side, clutching his stomach. Two men in casual clothes and leather, one with actual leather armor and the other with a shoddy tunic stand around laughing at the others misfortune. All strewn across the ground are pieces of wood, which are remnants of what appears to have been birdhouses. The armored thug holds a still complete birdhouse in his hand, tossing it in the air and catching it over and over.

"Really? This is al you've got... a few coppers and some damn birdhouses, ridiculous. We should slit your throat for wasting our time." He says with a scornful look on his face, tossing the item on the ground and giving it a kick across the clearing. The whimpering man pleads for mercy, asking them to just leave him be. The other thug is rummaging through every pocket and pouch from a backpack that most assuredly is not his.

"Hey Kev, there's nothing here... lets find a better mark and leave this one to "her" mess." They both laugh, the larger one moving to deliver another kick to the already injured man's abdomen. He has some force behind his kick, which sends the man troubling over sideways to get away.

"Wasting our time... should've brought more coin, might've saved you some pain." The other man holds a club in his hand and starts walking over to the last in tact birdhouse, looking as if he's going to smash it to pieces like the rest. The armored man just continues to assault the man on the ground, not even bothering to keep his hand on his swords hilt.


 
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