Game Thread Round 3 (ekidnu, HellsingsRaziel, HenryLockwood, JustSomeGuy, Wishkamon, Yoshimi) - Page 3 - RPG Crossing
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  #31  
Old Aug 7th, 2021, 03:42 AM
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BecomingTime seemed to stretch, like it did on a scorching summer's day by the riverbank, with a glass of wine. It ran like quicksilver as the world carried on, rocks falling like a few lazy leaves on the stream. A pane of glass shattered like thistledown, pieces exploding silently in all directions. Aegaras watched it with a still mind, calm and centered; he knew that nothing bad could happen on a day like this. There was no pain, no fear, nothing to worry about: despite the darkness and the danger of the night, Aegaras was serene.

Perhaps courage was nothing but a form of freedom: a knowledge that this will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well. Whether now, or in future: it would be well. In the night, surrounded, almost alone, Aegaras had found what he needed.

He dodged, stepping out of the chapel's doorway, seeing everything before it happened. That stone would fall there, and this one... here. With perfect clarity, Aegaras was where the stones were not. The heavy ones that struck him, hard, did not hinder him, did not harm him: for he had found his courage and his serenity; he had found what it was to be a hero.

There was time, and there was no time; time enough to move, and act; no time to think, to feel: be it pride or fear, be it hope, dismay, or even the simple glee of a well-planned misdirection. Aegaras had let go of what he did not need, the false selves and outer layers he wrapped himself in.


BeingThe guards moved as slowly as the falling rocks. Aegaras was unfettered by time, by reality; he danced from one guard to another, saying the right words to each.

"A little to the right."

"Pause. Turn left. Then run."

"Help is coming. Wait for the ice. All will be well."


He could see Sorbo working, frantically painting in the air, moving heat with the rhythm of rime, a slow crackling as the frost began to draw in. It would be enough, he knew. It could not help but be enough.

There! A guard on her knees, having given up: she had let go of the wrong things, the hope and wilful belief that she would live. Aegaras was there in a flash, choosing his words and his tone.

"Pray for thanks, after your deliverance; pray no more now, for safety is here."

From guard to guard, from danger to peril, Aegaras ran. Each step was where it was meant to be; each turn, each twist of his body as a falling stone passed by. For once, Aegaras was dancing to a deeper tune, to the choreography of time; for once, he had found serenity. The melody was one only he could hear; heavy and shimmering and mercurial. He had found serenity, and become it.

Aegaras was serene.


Mechanics
Dice Dodging rocks, using Boots: 2d6 rolling low:
2d6sml4 4 ✘, 4 ✘ (0/2) Total = 8

Really glad of that buff last round!
Dice Using Boots to be in the right place, and Charming Narrative to say the right words, to enable the guards to save themselves:
3d6smh3 4 ✔, 3 ✔, 6 ✔ (3/3) Total = 13
Four successes! Flee, little guards, and live happy!


Statblock
Aegaras 'The Drunk', Half-elf CN3
Current Wounds: 0
Signature Moves:
Charming Narrative: Aegaras can talk the hind leg off a donkey. More usefully, since meeting angry donkeys has not been a key aspect of any of his varied adventures, he can generally charm, convince, influence, and - if all else fails - outright beg people to see things his way. Some might view this as a leadership trait, but Aegaras is not enough of a planner to be a great leader.
Known Spells (2):
I have an armour of words: buff; language-dependent. Aegaras tells a story of heroic survival against the odds; the magic prevents the first Wound a character suffers. More successes on the casting roll means this affects more characters.
Befuddled by the light: debuff; language-dependent. A barrage of words, some relevant, some not, quickly confuse an enemy, conveying a Debuff and reducing the likelihood they'll dodge Aegaras' allies' attacks. Mechanically, this usually works as a Buff (+1d6) to allies' attack rolls.

Adventuring Gear:
Coin Purse: Aegaras has no head for figures, and is never entirely sure how much money he has to spend. When he attempts to purchase something, bribe someone, or similar, his Coin Purse may or may not contain enough for what he needs.
Well-laced Boots: Aegaras always makes sure his boots are comfortable, waterproof, well-soled, and above all else well-laced. This helps if he's out for a comfortable stroll, crossing a rough surface, or running away from overwhelming odds.
His Father's Sword (Spell Focus): Aegaras has still not realised that the sword isn't actually very good quality, or that he's not very good at using it. He can parry a blow, or make an attack of his own, but it's not as a sword that he really uses it. No: when you're going into battle, you feel a lot more confident with a sword, and Aegaras' father was wise enough to know that his son was not a swordsman and never would be. He handed over his third-best sword, told the young man it was a mighty blade, and watched Aegaras' face beam with pride and new confidence. This item does not count as a weapon for Adventuring Gear purposes and conveys no +1d6 on combat rolls.
__________________
Back from holiday, but work remains really busy. Will post when I can.
Outplay 2021 second place - and with that competition, I was happy just to reach the final! Dramatic readings on RPGX Radio: https://www.rpgcrossing.com/cmps_ind...?page=podcasts
Maps for Wrath
Pronouns: he/him/his, etc.

Last edited by HenryLockwood; Aug 7th, 2021 at 03:45 AM.
  #32  
Old Aug 7th, 2021, 08:58 AM
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Swan Scream
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The evil magic-user's eyes roll back in his head and he slumps in the elegant treant's grasp, starting to froth at the mouth. The cheery flame in the pearly tree woman's right eye flickers, and Sorbo gets the impression that she has just winked at him. With that, she vanishes, and the mage flops to the ground like a sack of laundry. Unfortunately, the jolt rouses him just enough to release his last spell, before he blacks out for good.

Sorbo hisses and throws his hands futilely up to his ears, as his mind is assaulted by a sensation like fingernails being dragged across the chalkboard of the Universe. Only his innate buoyancy and firm sense of self enable him to stave off the initial psychic shock, but the reverberations still rattle him from all sides.

Sinking to his knees, he scrabbles in his pack with shaking hands and pulls out a set of pigments and a narrow brush. He hurriedly mixes Titanium White, a little Pthalo Blue, and the smallest hint of Bright Red, just enough to tint the mixture with an appealing lavender hue without overwhelming it. Attempting to bolster the optimism that forms the core of his willpower, he begins to brush images of friendly, puffy clouds onto the flagstones while chanting over and over, "Remember how free clouds are. They just lay around in the sky all day long. Remember how free clouds are. They just lay around in the sky all day long."

At last the grating shriek dissipates, and Sorbo's breathing eases. Shoving his painting supplies into his pack, he leaps to his feet just as an ominous rumble emanates from the direction of the cathedral. He whips his head around, and nearly succumbs to shock after all when he sees Jeremy under a teetering wall of stone.




Therapy
"Are you ready to start, lad?" The painter's deep, calm voice seemed even more reassuring than usual, here in the comforting environs of the Guild library.

Jeremy looked up from an imposing black volume. He rather suspected that Sorbo's model ship building session was really another lesson on "being present in the moment." He realized that he needed the discipline, if he was going to contribute safely to team missions. But he didn't mind that there was an ulterior motive to the afternoon's activity. Having the kindly druid share this time with him was meaningful in a way very few people could ever understand. " Yes, sir. I eagerly anticipate the experience."

The dwarf placed a sizeable wooden box on the polished surface of the library table. He pulled a clear glass bottle from the box, one side of which contained a blue waxy substance, and stood it carefully off to one side. As he began laying out the delicate pieces of the ship, he caught sight of the embossed letters on the spine of Jeremy's book. "Eh? Advances in Psycho-analysis. Never heard of it." Putting it out of his mind, Sorbo whistled lightly and unpacked some thin wooden planks with steel eyelets embedded at odd intervals, and a handful of long black threads.

The youth smiled thinly and started organizing the model pieces into small piles based on material and size. Sorbo wouldn't actually be interested in the subject matter, but he might be impressed at Jeremy's scholarliness. He explained,"It provides insight into the ontogeny of emotions and patterns of behavior. Practitioners use it to guide breakthrough psychological revelations, to the great benefit of their subjects."

Sorbo placed a small pot of glue and a thin brush between the two of them and replied absently, "You don't say."

Jeremy jumped at the imagined opening. "The clues are quite plain, once you know them. Everything reveals something about a person's tendencies and motivations. Even something simple. Like…like the length of your sling staff."

The druid stopped rummaging and suddenly pinned the boy to the back of his chair with his stare. "What about the length of my sling staff?"

Jeremy didn't register the temperature drop in his mentor's tone, but he suddenly realized that he was on ground that was much too unfamiliar to tread any further - although there had been some very fascinating woodcuts once that he surmised were relevant to this subject. He changed tacks. "A lot of it is about fulfilling lost opportunities and replacing qualities perceived to be missing or insufficient. Your regular painting demonstrations, for example. You may be teaching to sublimate unsatisfied paternal urges."

Sorbo's mouth fell open. He said as gently as he could, "I think that's enough, lad."

But if he sensed he'd struck a nerve, Jeremy gave no sign as he forged eagerly ahead, looking for some sign of approval. "Well just think of it! If you could discover other ways you've been holding back - if your suppressed fear of being a warrior is limiting your…"

Anxious to halt the increasingly distressing conversation in the best way he knew how, Sorbo reflexively began to cast his butterfly cantrip. He drew his hand across his body in an arcane gesture. Jeremy recoiled, falling silent instantly and raising his own arm defensively as a cloud of red, blue, and purple butterflies materialized. The psychoanalysis book rocketed off the table toward the far wall, forcing Sorbo to duck and knocking the glass bottle to the floor with a clatter.

As the dwarf stood back up, he beheld the boy, curled in on himself and paler than normal. He said softly, "Now there, it's all going to be all right, Jeremy. I'm sorry, I should have considered…Look…" He bent down and retrieved the bottle, placing it back on the table. "It's not broken. Nothing has been broken here, today."

Sorbo sank into his chair. "Let's see, now, I'll start assembling the hull, and I'll just leave the masts there for you. When you're ready." In the peaceful stillness of the library, he began to assemble the boat.


A Moment Frozen in Time
The first chunks of masonry tumble around Jeremy's location. Everything else around the dwarf is muted by the sound of his own pulse in is ears and he tears across the churchyard toward his young charge. The boy is there, looking up at him, but Sorbo can't tell if he's hurt.

The dwarf bellows, "Jeremy, are you all right my boy! I have been worried sick. Let me look at you."

The meme "Teenager Is Mortified by Parental Figure in Front of the Guys" had not gone viral yet in this corner of the multiverse. But odds were that it would as soon as Jeremy wrote his next book. For the moment, the youth wordlessly points behind Sorbo. The painter pivots, and sees that the majority of the wall is about to collapse across the city watchmen, while a small contingent of gray guards has just clambered over their own fallen nets and were headed toward his position.

The image of a stern golden-eyed Rhun forms in Sorbo's conscience, and barks gruffly, "Idiot!"

With one last apologetic glance at Jeremy, he dashes toward the falling wall while brandishing his wand, as Aegaras zips in a blur from guard to guard around him, moving them to safety, and Magna and Eleath advance on the raving Sir Ether. He had to give the half-elf and the fleeing city guards more time, or innocent lives would be lost.
But as his mind races, reality sets in. None of his magic was designed to stop a building from falling.

Fragments of a long ago conversation replay in his mind. "Well just think of it. If you could discover other ways you've been holding back" A sad smile plays across Sorbo's lips. He had just gotten defensive at the time, but mentors who are good listeners usually learn a thing or two.

The boy had continued, something like, "your suppressed fear of being a warrior is limiting you." He needed to make a decision. A memory from earlier in the evening arises, of gray guards turned into frozen statues by his magical sleet storm. "Now, I didn't know I could do that, did I?"

Fear of being a warrior. Fear of getting loved ones hurt. Let go of the fear, and embrace who you are. Forty feet above the tip of Sorbo's wand, moisture condenses around tiny dust particles in the air and forms icy mist that spreads in a cloud shadowing the side of the chapel, and the dwarf himself.

Freezing rain starts to fall, as chunks of rubble large and small cascade down from the collapsing building, sending dust into the night sky. The wall, the druid's clothes and hair, and the ground behind him become white with a thin layer of frost. "Don't hold back." The image of his lost Grethir's grinning face coalesces in his mind's eye, shaking her head at his foibles. "To win, you have to believe in what you're fighting for." Her face dissolves into the lopsided but strangely alluring visage of Hazeal, then behind her the unicorn-adorned countenance of Jyl, both possibly languishing somewhere far below him in a cell. Through chattering teeth, Sorbo mutters, "I believe in the Crossing Companions."

The storm clouds darken and thicken, and the rains starts to fall more heavily. Sheets of water drip from stone to stone, the rivulets forming into long stalactites of ice that impede the inexorable fall of the wall, and the accumulation grows heavy on his shoulders and limbs, but he draws on his strength to keep the wand aloft.

Despite lips grown numb, he calls more loudly, "I believe in Rhun's sacrifice and Jeremy's resilience." He barely notices as the oncoming Grey Guards lose their footing behind him on the slick ground and go careening past him to thud into the wall. Now a hissing cone of sparkling mist emanates from the wand tip itself, dousing the wall and hardening into reinforcing layers of ice.

Barely able to see or move now, the finishing words of Sorbo's spell whisper through the small hole in his prison, created by his warm breath. "You can have anything you want in the world, once you help everyone around you get what they want."

The storm cloud releases one last torrent of frigid water and dissipates. The stones have stopped falling. Beneath a creaking white tower of rock and frozen water, the motionless form of Sorbo gleams in the moonlight.



 
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Last edited by Yoshimi; Aug 7th, 2021 at 09:00 AM.
  #33  
Old Aug 7th, 2021, 01:53 PM
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Magna Harper-Gravelmane
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When accused by cadets with dislocated ankles, Magna would often deny claims that she was a sadist. However, there was no contesting the feeling of sick satisfaction that she experienced as she jabbed the grey cloak in the neck with a fist full of fish spikes.

To her right there was a reliable flash of silver as Eleath moved with silent, flawless swiftness towards his foe. She did not worry this time. He had given his word that he could endure the unknowable assault on his soul, and he had never broken his word to her.

Although in all fairness, there were very few who would dare.

Something brushed against her hand and then tapped her firmly on the arm. The shifting formation of sand could mean only one thing- 'Rocky!' She found Maggie gently deposited into her hand and quickly popped the mechanical marvel into her hip pouch.

That was when the grizzled grimace of concentration on her face twisted into a fierce grin.

It was all coming together, trap or not. It wasn't the first time they'd walked into one, and realistically, it wasn't likely to be the last, but the next part was always consistent- make sure that the person who'd had the audacity to lay it, got what they deserved.

If Rocky was here, then Magna suspected Jeremy and his occult passenger would not be far behind, and sure enough, he went sliding past on a chariot of gravelly sand. The pair were escorted by the confident flash of Aegaras' father's blade, taking a bold front line position for once.

'Good lad.'

It was all in order. There was still a struggle to overcome, but such was the wild balter of life; struggle, and overcome. With experience, trust, and friendship, they could overcome it all.



On the terrace below them, plumes of oily smoke streamed into the sky. There was a hectic buzzing of movement as the recruits rushed between boulders and patches of oversized vines, shouting frantically to each other.

Someone, somewhere, was sobbing.

"HURRY UP AEGARAS! What use are ya gonna' be back there?! GLASS! SAL! Stay focused, damn it!"

The witch shook her head and looked back at Jeremy, who was concentrating ferociously on the scene below.

"They need to build up trust before they can be a good team. No better way to do that than with a bit of good ol' fashioned mortal peril." Magna casually waved her staff as she spoke, summoning a cloud of nauseating gas on the field, "No stronger bonds than those forged under great pressure. Ah ha- you see what Rammariel did wrong there?"

"He wasn't paying attention. It looks like he and Jiaze were trying to formulate a plan, but they couldn't agree on what to do..."

She smiled. "That's right. It's important not to mince words on the battlefield, you ain't got the time, an' more words mean more ways to misunderstand. -RED SQUAD, If this was a real battle you'd all be dead!- It's best if one person takes command, and everyone else listens to 'em, but for that, they need...?"

"Trust."

"Exactly."

Jeremy had the makings of a fine tactician, which was why the two of them were sitting in safety, sharing a pot of tea while everyone else ran about like a flock of headless cockatrice.

Magna had been apprehensive when Sir Ethan had bought the young writer to her, but it had quickly become clear that Jeremy had a keen eye for detail and a mind as sharp as a manticore's tail. The Companions were not just brawlers, after all, and a good detective could forgo the work of a whole team of skilled warriors.

And then there was Occam. There was a ruthless sea of power under that frail facade, which more than compensated for Jeremy's lackluster physical abilities. And he was a good laugh, too.

"Magna. I think Hazeal might be unconscious..." the boy pointed out sheepishly.

"Well, serves 'er right. -MOVE IT lOOSERS! Let's see some hustle! What hurts you today makes you stronger tomorrow!- Jeremy, be a dear and start up a couple more of those clockwork spiders, would ya'?"



"Ah, I love a good challenge!" The mustachioed menace chirped as his blade made the first, clattering contact with Eleath's terrible weapon.

Magna laughed a single harsh note. He had no idea what he was in for.

At the same time, the Grey Guard struggling against the gentle hug of the giant tree spirit finally succumbed to the toxins in the Furgill spines. His eyes bulged grotesquely as he lost consciousness.

Magna sensed the forming of a high-pitched whine disturbing the arcana, and recognised that the Grey Guard was making one last bid to do them harm. She pulsed her protective shield, deflecting his effort with practiced ease.

Then the ground shook with a muted explosion and an unsettling rumble. The chapel was begging to crumble.

Magna made a breakneck survey of the situation. Sorbo and Aegaras had already leapt into action to protect the guards, and Eleath surely had Sir Ethan bested, providing the remaining Grey Guard did not dare interfere. That would be her job then.

Magna stormed forward to put herself between the Grey Guard and the violent sparring session, but the action was interrupted by a brief moment of angered spite. She turned round like a whirlwind, lifted her staff, and tried to smack it as hard as she could across the back of Sir Either's shins. Tragically the fool was moving so fast trying to evade Eleath's blows, that the strike amounted to nothing.

"Stupid bastard!"

That out of the way, the fierce swamp witch planted her feet and scowled menacingly at the approaching guards.

"Right, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, lads and lasses, but I'm afraid you joined the wrong guild." Her staff glowed with arcane power, and the ground beneath her feet began to tremble, "Now, I'd start running if I were you, an' I'll give you a three-second head start. One... Two..."


Stat Block
 

OOC
What a wild ride! Thanks everyone, it's been a pleasure and a privilage!

 

Last edited by Wishkamon; Aug 7th, 2021 at 02:16 PM.
  #34  
Old Aug 7th, 2021, 08:33 PM
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Round 3, Day 5

Listening
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Some things are never meant to be. Rammariel has run out of products again. His hair and beard connect around his kind face, turning him into a beautiful auburn lion. The precise mithril tunic, always worn so tightly, sculpts his torso in liquid silver. The dwarf is doing laps, again. Always reticent to be physical, he prefers the arts. There is always a song waiting on those full lips. Noticing Jeremy as he passed, he gifts the boy with a broad and honest smile. Rammariel has never been afraid of him. The bard genuinely enjoys his company and the two of them have spent many late nights just laughing and talking. Sometimes, Jeremy wants to swim in the honeyed pools of those brown eyes. He imagines being held by a strength that will never turn on him in fear or anger, sweet songs sang just for him. It would be glorious, but some things are never meant to be. Jeremy can hear his thoughts, lingering on pretty girls and lavish weddings.

Jyllaina is secretly kind. She looks beyond the horizon and wistfully wonders if her brother yet lives. She punches Jeremy in the arm, laughs with him, and treats him like an actual person. Sometimes, the dark-eyed girl cries in her sleep. Being a Halfling has cursed her to look like a child forever, bereft of respect and victim to some of life's creepier circumstances. Tortured by choices no child should make and the realities that she embraced before they overwhelmed her, her mind places her tears away before she rises in the morning. She slides black leather over a naturally small frame further stunted by hunger and sheathes knives that drew blood for food. She wonders if today will be the day they find her. She wonders how many days she will have left. She wonders if she is only pretending to be a good person. When she passes her Companions, she stays silent. Jeremy can still hear the pain that she hides from even herself.

Some secrets are meant to stay secret. Some thoughts should be kept in darkness. Everyone has had a stray dark impulse, a regrettable desire, or harsh judgment. Good people swarm with vile urges and contemptuous reprobations. Saints dream of being sinners. Civilization keeps those things away from the light and choosing the proper path. Relationships rely on tiny omissions. Dark little whispers in the back of every mind live and die in silence and obscurity where no one can hear them. Jeremy can hear them. Jeremy can hear all of them. Right now, as the Cathedral crumbles around him, he still hears them. Outside, there is bravery and newfound peace. Grim determination stands against sudden concern. A beacon of peace lets go of fear. Righteous vengeance holds its ground. Below, panic and self-loathing struggle against cowardice to find the proper path through the darkness.
SpeakingJeremy boldly presents himself in the cathedral, demanding to see the Bishop, and the cathedral itself quakes in response. Large stones fall from the ceiling, and Jeremy waves an arm, throwing them to the side. A pile of debris forming around him, he looks down beneath his feet. Down there, somewhere, are his friends. Rocky may be able to find them, but who would find Rocky? "Occam! Go with Rocky. He... he'll need to find his way home," he instructs the spirit. Looking out at the field around them, he smiles. The tide is turning. However, the battle is not over yet. The Bishop remains unfound. Questions remain unanswered. He pulls off his bloodstained coat, throwing it to the cathedral floor, and once again raises his voice.

"BISHOP BARTHOLOMEW! Your Hands are Unclean! Show Yourself, for Now is the Time for Justice!"

Deep below them, Occam glides unseen amongst a thousand grains of sand. Together, they will find the Crossing Companions. Occam's ethereal lifeline will bring them home. The spirit sends a soothing song made of the melodies of crystals with an ocean's inexorable rhythm and a volcano's rumble. "You are not alone." it says to the terran. "We will do this, together."
OOC
 
__________________
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Active Characters: Ace Harlan - Cade 'Sunspot' Taproot - Cain Swap
Retired Characters: Jeremy Winthorpe

Last edited by JustSomeGuy; Aug 7th, 2021 at 09:13 PM.
  #35  
Old Aug 7th, 2021, 08:43 PM
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Eleath, former Scythe of the Harvest Queen.
On step closer
Quote:
Originally Posted by Sir Ether
"Ah, I love a good challenge!"
The words rang hollow in Eleath's ears, boastful but not bold. This mirror double of Sir Ethan was an adept fighter, his blade at the right place mostly at the right time, preventing grievous injury. What he wasn't, though, was a soldier. He knew how to fight because he had been taught, very well, but none of his movements were born of experience. Having led countless battles, struck down countless threats, and having defended the Harvest Queen on many occasion, Eleath had surpassed his original training long ago and knew how to move differently.

As Sir Ether began to his attempt of offense, a sudden pain overcame Eleath's head, like a migraine of ungodly proportions. The was not coming from the Dark Prince. It felt desperate and full of bitterness. Unbeknownst to him, the Grey Guard mage that had been taken out of commission by Sorbo and Magna had launched this one last attempt at hurting the Companions. He had partly succeeded. Wincing noticeably from the psychic attack, Eleath footsteps became momentarily uncoordinated, blood slowly dripping down one of his ears. Taking the opportunity, his opponent took these few seconds of respite to jab at the major predicament unfolding just to the left of them.

Quote:
Originally Posted by Sir Ether
"Watch out for those poisonous rocks. One drop of them will kill you!"
The chapel had been another trap. As the others broke through the door, the entire edifice began to crack and crumble. Massive chunks of stone came crashing to the down with resounding thuds from their ground shaking impacts. The others were scrambling to save the rest of the Companions trapped somewhere in the chapel, the guards left inside along with everyone in the immediate surroundings who could easily be crushed by the building as it fell to pieces. As much as he wished to help his fellow Companions, Eleath had to focus on the man responsible, their nemesis. He could not be allowed to get away, no matter what.


From freedom to ServiceThe morning air rustling through the Golden Fields was brisk, giving him chills that made him feel alive. They spread out like a sea of glittering gold as far as the eye could see and Eleath enjoyed walking on their edges. Today would be different though. Today he would be taking the mantle of Scythe. His family had been ecstatic at the idea of one of their own becoming the bulwark of the elvendom's collective soul. He himself had been overjoyed when his mentor Corvain had dismissed the last of the contenders of the threshing leaving only him. He remembered being bloody, one of his hands broken, barely breathing, writhing in pain on the threshing floor.

"When you get up, you will no longer be on of them. he said standing tall besides his soon to be replacement. You will be the blade that cuts down their fears and the armor that shields them from their nightmares. No one else will be at your side, but everyone will be in your heart." he continued looking far away on the horizon.

It had taken a day or perhaps more before Eleath was able to stand up and stumble back to the Autumn Court's healer. In the days that followed, his family had been at his side, cheering for him during his magically conditioned recovery. The warmth and love he felt for all of them was such that he had cried on many occasions, not from pain, but from joy. This chance that was given to him was unlike any other in the whole world. He would be Scythe of the Harvest Queen, the most revered figure in the all the Courts. His vigil was to begin soon, and when it did, he would take on the burden of keeping the haunting shadow of violence away from his kin. He was ready, Corvain had made sure he was.

On the last night before his oath, he could smell apple tree flowers before he saw even saw her. Laisal came into the room in total silence, as if she was gliding on the air. Her bright purple eyes and deep red hair had ensnared Eleath instantly when they had first met. "How are you feeling my love?" she asked, grabbing Eleath by the waist. Unable to hide his smile, he kissed her gently, running his fingers along her shoulders. There was not a second he felt more happy than when she held him close to her. I am well my beautiful night flower." he replied in a soft voice. Standing in silence for some time, they swayed like young trees in the wind, simply holding each other. "Your final night." she said suggestively. Staring deep into each other's eyes they couldn't hep but giggle like young children until they burst out laughing. With a passionate kiss they immediately ran outside and into the Golden Fields as far as their breath took them.

The next morning came too quickly and Eleath had to prepare himself. Tying his hair and donning the Star Plate he had been given as his new armor took most of his time. He was far too nervous to eat anything. Leaving for the palace of the Autumn Court he was soon met by Corvain. Already prepared to leave the court forever, he seemed as relieved as he was anxious. The ceremony had never been a pompous event. Both the Scythe and his replacement stood side by side in front of the Harvest Queen and waited their turn. Presenting a newly forged Reaping Blade to Eleath, she spoke. "As you hold this blade for the first time, recite your oath and take your rightful place." Eleath found it difficult not to show his boundless joy as he took the blade from his queen. Turning around to face the crowd gathered there he spoke the words that would forever change him.

"By the great covenant I swear
For all time never to err
To Surrender myself to death's beckoning shoals
For my brothers and sisters' souls
To Keep them safe, wherever they lay
From the darkness, see them away
To Strike the taint, near and at large
To never falter from my charge
And guard them from the fall
Until last winter's call."


And with this it was done. With great acclamation from everyone gathered he took his place on the right of the Harvest Queen's throne. As the noise died down, Corvain looked at him with approval. He received the Ring of the Last winter in silence, and with a bow he left the court to a mournful crowd watching his every step. From now until his own last winter, Eleath would serve. Looking at his family, standing at the front his love for them suddenly felt less intense. He could no longer spend time with them as once did. His eyes became tearful as they dragged to the right and landed on Laisal. They would never be together again, he would never feel her touch on his skin or the smell of her hair as she walked past him. The Scythe was a necessary evil to prevent elvenkind from falling to the Dark Prince, a symbol of defiance against the darkness. As such, the Scythe remained alone for its entire service to prevent the gloom hanging over them from infecting their brothers and sisters.

Eleath was proud to serve...but he did so heartbroken.


What price may be paid in the end"...until last winter's call." muttered Eleath. With a deep breath he planted his feet on the cobblestone and with a pirouette to the left, changed his angle of attack, now forging ahead with the intent of stopping Sir Ether in his tracks. The man's blade would be met not by parries but by counter blows aimed straight back at him. With a flick of his wrists here, a wide swing there, a windmill of steel spun incessantly. While the Red Harvest had a basic foundation, it was more of a philosophy of combat then an actual series of strikes and parries. Never twice the same, but always effective, it was a complex and spectacular display of martial prowess.

With a glimmering storm of blows, Eleath was aiming to wind, disable or outright cripple Sir Ether. Avoiding his head, for obvious reasons, he struck with excessive force still using the blunt edge of his Reaping blade. Everything he had learned and practiced for a century had been for the sole purpose of killing. Cuts of this strength made with a sharpened edge was like cutting into soft cheese, or slicing reeds with a razor. None felt it long enough to suffer. Now, using the same force with a blunt edge felt almost cruel. Sir Ether's face had let a few pained expressions slip has Eleath had struck him moments earlier. From the corner of his eye, Eleath could see Magna trying to strike at the legs of Sir Ether. His assault on the doppelganger meant he was always trying to move out of the way, making it almost impossible for the wise one to land a blow. Undeterred, the grim guardian pressed on with flurry after flurry of constricting strikes, boxing Sir Ether in, Eleath did all he could to break down his opponent without killing him. Broken bones could be healed in time, but they would ensure he would stay right here where the Companions needed him to be.


 
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Last edited by HellsingsRaziel; Aug 7th, 2021 at 08:45 PM.
  #36  
Old Aug 8th, 2021, 01:38 PM
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Battle At the Chapel
Deep underground, Rocky found something useful he could do, besides flee the current danger. Locate the other Crossing Companions, who had been held in reserve, or were arrested earlier at the busted birthday party for the now deceased Governor Brick. Were they in terrible danger? Perhaps being tortured? Then, something gave away their potential location. It was the sound of a soft dud made by a dart hitting a target. Honing in on that, he could locate exactly where they were being held. It was a building, underground, just across the street from the Chapel. It must have had an entrance from one of the nearby buildings. As he listened closer, he tried to get an idea of what horrors could be happening there.... It sure sounded like they were playing darts, filling out surveys, and... taking orders from somebody's girlfriend?

Back on the surface, several of the Companions were dealing with the falling chapel. Aegaras may have not avoided all of the falling debris himself, but his charming narrative was enough to help some of the city's soldiers avoid being crushed by the tumbling building. Sorbo used a different tactic. He ignored the Grey Guard moving in on him, and instead conjured up the freezing rain that had earlier frozen a few of the fanatics in ice. This time, however, it was used to freeze the falling stones of the chapel, before they could hit the ground. It was enough to keep a section of the building's wall from completely topping over, and again a few more soldiers were able to escape the deadly situation. Jeremy was also nearly crushed by the stones, and then sent Occum out to try and help Rocky locate the other Crossing Companions. It ended up being a moot point though, Rocky was already on the right path.

The duel between Eleath and Sir Ether was heating up. Magna had brief thoughts of helping out in the fray, and tried to whack Sir Ether with her 'whacking' stick, but quickly realized that this particular battle was completely out of her element. No regrets though. Instead, she turned to focus on the Grey Guard members still about, with the intent of keeping them from interfering. Eleath's furry was not without control, and instead of slicing Sir Ether, he used the rear side of his scythe to bludgeon him. Blow after blow landed, Sir Ether blocking, and dodging them the best he could, but they kept adding up. One particularly painful blow caused a cracking sound in his left leg, and Sir Ether toppled down to one knee. Realizing he had lost, Sir Ether called out to one of his men, "Call Bartholomew! We haven't lost juet ye.." CRACK! Before Sir Ether could finish his sentence, another blow landed on the backside of his head, knocking out Sir Ethan's evil twin.

But, as had been foreshowed in his last awaken moments, the battle was not over just yet. The ground started to violently shake...


OOGM
@JustSomeGuy - You did the same thing I mentioned here to Wishkamon last round, namely using magic (which always rolls high), to try and do something that requires rolling low. You can certainly use Occam to help, but not with a spell, meaning that only 2d6 should have been rolled. Ignoring the last die, the 2nd one crit though, so was enough to avoid taking a wound. You got a point for the help action roll itself succeeding, but since the added roll did not give Rocky any additional successes, I am not awarding a bonus point for helping to locate where the Crossing Companions were being held.

@Wishkamon - I loved the bold move there... too bad it didn't get at least 1 success! As such, I cannot, unfortunately, award any mechanical pints this round.

Mechanical Success Tracker:
1 point per day possible for making an Outplay Roll that either aids an ally, or helps move the plot forward, had has at least 1 success
1 Point for making an Outplay roll that used a piece of adventuring gear, but not a signature move during the week (Aegaras, Eleath, Rocky, Magna, Jeremy, Sorbo)
1 Point for avoiding being arrested during the week (Everyone)
1 Point for discovering the true plot of the Grey Gaurd (Sorbo) {Eliminate the Crossing Companinos}
1 Point for discovering where the arrested Crossing Companions are being taken (Magna, Jeremy, Rocky)
1 Point for Escaping all Pursuers/Make it to the Safehouse (Aegaras, Sorbo, Eleath, Magna)
1 Point for discovering that the Grey Guard and City Guard have a short term contract, but are on rocky terms (Jeremy, Rocky)
1 Point for Stopping Sir Ether (knocking him out, or otherwise disabling him) (Eleath)
1 Point for helping City Guard get out of the way of the falling debris from the Chapel (Aegaras, Sorbo)
1 Point for locating discovering where the Fantastical Underground Boarding Arrest Rooms (Where all the other Crossing Companion are being held) (Rocky)
Note: For Plot Points, everyone who discovers it during the same round will get credit.

Mechanical Score
PlayerCharacterMondayTuesdayWednesdayThursdayFridayTotal
HenryLockwoodAegaras221139
YoshimiSorbo2212310
HellsingsRazielEleath221139
WishkamonMagna221218
JustSomeGuyJeremy122139
ekidnuRocky1231310
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Last edited by Bhelogan; Aug 9th, 2021 at 10:15 AM.
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