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| Darkness and Blight; open (1-3) | |
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| Topic Started: Jul 28 2017, 06:04 PM (364 Views) | |
| Nispa | Jul 28 2017, 06:04 PM Post #1 |
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The stars were out. While some paid them no mind, others marveled at their beauty, waxing poetic with mystic descriptions of the heavenly landmarks. Nispa was not such a one. She was glad for their light, but beyond that, they held as much meaning to her as the rocks she walked over. She swooped down and picked up a small pebble, her stride unbroken. She tossed it into one of her other hands. If she'd known how to juggle, she would have bent down to pick up three or so more, but she lacked the necessary coordination to keep the rocks from hitting delicate things such as her head, specifically. Instead, she ran her thumb over the rough pebble. "Not a lot out here, huh?" she asked it. She didn't expect a reply; pebbles were notoriously bad conversationalists. That was alright. She was always talking to something, be it animal, vegetable, or, in this case, mineral. She reared her arm back and whipped it forwards. The pebble whizzed out of her hand and clattered amongst its brethren, skipping along the road several times before coming to a reluctant rest. That was the most excitement that pebble had experienced in quite some time, Nispa was sure of it. "It's not like anything else is gonna happen out here." Nispa was fairly certain that she hadn't reached Ashoka, not in that little time that she'd been walking the Kaadian Way. She could still see the mountains to the north. That left little explanation for why her surroundings had otherwise shifted. The ground had become barren over the past league, devoid of life. The mountains themselves were grey, stripped of all vegetation until all that remained was rocky bone. A slight breeze rustled her hair and clothes. With nothing to stop it, it soon grew into a fierce gale, whipping up stray tendrils of sand where the rocky ground permitted. Nispa's monochrome eyes alighted upon her pebble, blown to her feet by the relentless gusts. She picked it up, deemed it lucky, and pressed on. Her eyes scanned the landscape for a respite from the windstorm. Perhaps she would find a place to sleep. The starts were out, after all. That was as good of a reason as any for it to be nighttime. Her searching gaze halted on a large building resting atop a steep rocky incline. It was quite grand, in size as well as design. She squinted up at it and saw stained-glass windows and a copse of dead trees. Perhaps it was a church? "If anyone lives out here, they'd need a holy place. I don't think I'd be able to manage in such a waste." She opened her hand and looked down at her pebble. "How do you do it, George?" The rock offered no reply. "You and me both," she said, closing her hand and picking her way over to the cliff. The church loomed above her, its silhouette blocking out the stars behind it. She climbed up the rocks with practiced ease, humming all the while, ignoring the weather-worn steps in favour of the rougher terrain. The church at the top was even bigger than it looked from the bottom. She realized that it was also quite abandoned. The oaken doors hung ajar on rusted hinges. The stones on the outside had been scorched in the sunlight until they were nearly black. The interior appeared as if a storm had run through. Several probably had. The pews were still standing, although not for long, by the way they sagged in the middle. The stone altar at the far end still stood proudly, despite the fact that part of it had been broken off and lay on the ground in several pieces. She approached it carefully. "George," she said to her pebble, "I don't think anyone comes here anymore." Sometimes, Nispa liked sad things. They reminded her of thought. Tonight, she didn't want to think too hard about things. She'd been thinking all day, alone as she was on the road. The quiet made her tremble. She went outside and pulled down some branches from the dead trees and brought them inside. The torch sconces were empty, but the branches fit well enough, and before too long the cathedral was well-lit with the warm fires' glow. It was a bright beacon in the otherwise desolate landscape, glowing radiantly in the blackness of night. Nispa admired her handiwork. The stained glass windows were her favourites; their colours wove themselves into stories forgotten by time. She ran a hand over the cracked surface of one and regretted its loss. A rhythmic clicking sounded from somewhere deeper within the cathedral. The sound echoed through the cavernous space, but it had originated from one of two doorways that led deeper into the church. Nispa spun around to face the doors, the wooden floor beneath her feet creaking at the sudden movement. She looked suddenly down at the floor. It hadn't occurred to her that there might be anything beneath it. She stomped one foot, and the sound was hollow. Something stomped back. Nispa leapt back with a squeal. She drew her daggers, prepared for anything. Something was alive down there. She tried to focus on the future, but her mind was too scattered. Instead, she settled into a panic and tried to listen for movements, from any direction. Whatever it was, it could be anywhere. |
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| Arete Fabella | Jul 29 2017, 08:23 PM Post #2 |
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"As centuries crumble the whispers of ancients/ Last longer in stories, last longer in stories than stone." -- Ada Palmer, "Longer in Stories than Stone"
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Arete shivered as the nighttime breeze blew through their hair. It was growing late, and they needed to find somewhere to stay for the night. They had seen an abandoned farmhouse a few miles back, but if they doubled back it would be well into the night by the time they reached it. Better to press onward and hope for some sort of shelter later on the path. If they had to, they could try to build something temporary out of sticks. They briefly pondered teleporting farther down the road, but in unknown terrain they would risk landing in the middle of a swamp. Arete sighed. At the rate they had been progressing, it would be a long time before they reached home. So much could have happened in that time. The breathless messenger who had brought the news of the end of the war in Soto hadn't been able to tell them anything else, even about the major cities. A tiny family farm was so far beneath the messenger's notice that even if someone had mentioned it to her, she likely would have forgotten it by the time she made it this far north. The temperature was falling rapidly now. It was almost unnaturally cold for a summer night. Arete wrapped their cloak tightly around the body and summoned an orb of flame to float next to them. It provided some warmth, but not enough to chase away the chill that had burrowed into Arete's bones. As Arete rounded a bend in the road, they caught sight of a church. They dimly remembered seeing it before, when they had come north, but they hadn't stopped to investigate. Now, it seemed the best chance they had of finding somewhere warm to stay the night, especially if there were any clergy members willing to welcome a stranger. As Arete approached the church, they noticed its enormous, rose-shaped window and fragile arches. It had clearly been beautiful once, but now ivy grew over the window and decay marred the once-elaborate carvings of the arches. Even so, it would give them a roof over their head, and there might be some sort of candle they could light for warmth while they slept; As they approached, they heard from within the church an echoing, thunder-like noise and a terrified shriek. Their eyes opened wide and they dashed into the church. If someone was being attacked, they needed to help. For a moment, they flashed back to the rumors they had heard while the war raged. They had fled Soto, and left so many braver citizens to fall on the battlefield in service to their country. They had no right to claim a need to help anyone, not when they had given up a chance to help so many more people... Well, perhaps they could begin to atone for that now. They sprinted through the church doors and looked around for the source of the noise. In the center of the church, they caught sight of a russet-haired woman with two pairs of arms and a torso that didn't curve quite naturally. Her eyes darted around the church as she clutched a set of daggers with two of her hands. Arete looked for an attacker, or even a victim, but couldn't see anyone. Perhaps they could lure it out of its hiding space. They set their eyes on the furthest corner of the church and carefully cast an illusory sound, the voice of a young child shouting for his parents.They hoped desperately that whatever was targeting the multi-armed woman would fall for the ruse. Meanwhile, they tried to make eye contact with the woman to signal that it was just an illusion. |
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| Nispa | Jul 31 2017, 10:11 PM Post #3 |
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The floorboards shifted, creaking slightly. Nispa's eyes scanned the aged floor of the cathedral, alert for the slightest movement; her ears were peeled for the faintest sounds. Everything was still. She could hear noises, almost: faint echoes of sourceless footsteps. She couldn't tell what they were, or where they were coming from. Her panic slowly grew. A child's scream echoed from the depths of the cathedral. She immediately snapped around to face it, but both arches were empty. If a child was in the church...she didn't want to think about the implications, but her mind played out at least three gruesome demises before she was able to distract herself. A small footfall, almost lost in the echoes of the child's voice, caught her attention. She glanced back at the doorway, bringing her upper arms up to cross before her face in preemptive defence. Instead of a monster, or demon, or whatever else she was expecting, her black eyes came to rest upon a rather young and unassuming elf. At least, she assumed he was an elf. She also assumed he was a he. It was rather difficult to be certain, however. The elf was stood in the door to the sanctuary, dressed in a faded cloak that concealed most of their person. They had braided black hair that extended past their shoulders and out of sight. Their sudden appearance brought more questions swirling through Nispa's mind: who was this? Was it their child, or sibling, in the cathedral? They were staring at her. Was this a...resident of the church? Did they live here? Did they know what was below? Her panicked mind scrambled to fit the pieces into something coherent. The child...were they working together? They were blocking the exit. She kept her eyes firmly planted on the stranger, taking a few tentative steps back and away from them. One of the nearby windows had shattered long ago; maybe I could escape through there, if I could reach it... The floorboards groaned again as she passed her weight over them. She readjusted her grip on her daggers. She narrowed her eyes at the elf, trying to decide whether to attack or run. Eventually she reached a compromise, of sorts, and asked the elf bluntly: "What do you want?" Her voice echoed back to her in the huge space. She had a unique chance to hear her own voice, and she was slightly disappointed that the trepidation she felt was so thinly veiled by her weak demand. Walking alone all day had left her feeling somewhat scattered, and the eerie church did nothing but put her on edge. The wind was howling through the stones of the church, clattering the dead branches outside, making the makeshift torches flicker and stutter. Her nerves were frayed. Her logic was gone. She tried again to collect her scattered wits, but they sat just beyond her reach in much the same way that a cat does when you're leaning over the side of the couch and trying to pet it. If there was a proper way to handle the situation, it completely escaped her frazzled mind. |
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| Melden | Aug 2 2017, 07:32 AM Post #4 |
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((c/w: contains mention of adultery)) The skies looked dreadful. Dark cumulonimbus stretched over the grey canvas. Two men trudged the dried leaves, dusted and rained over with wet mud in between, but otherwise crackling with the heavy boots. Officer Lansky – Junior – looked alert as ever; the young lad. His delicately lidded eyes scanned the vegetation, or lack thereof, and cut samples where something caught his attention, procedurally placing them in burlap bags. Back of the boy’s head faced the Detective, who noted with his beetle black eyes the boy’s short blond hair. It was sleeked to a singular point on the back, rather like an acorn. His son would have fancied him, Melden thought idly. Shame Lansky’s married. Not Melden’s loss. He had sent Junior on errands and would, telepathically, communicate his intent to Junior’s woman at their home. Don’t even put those panties on. “Sir,” reported Lansky, pausing in his step, turning to face his mentor. Two sets of feet came to a standstill. Melden’s trench coat fluttered in cold winds. “We have searched most of the eastern side of area now. There don’t seem to be any vegetation up for growing in these parts, Sir. The aridness is unnatural, Sir.” Farmers had already prospected the Kaadian Way for possible agricultural value, or perhaps animal husbandry. Manure had been dumped. Water poured. But, there simply had been no eking life out of the long barren lands. That didn’t stop the money guys from trying. Melden adjusted his fedora. His wrist pulled slightly skewing his hat forward. A raspy chuckle floated in between the two. “The folks ain’t looking for the confirmation, Junior,” sung the older man airily, spelling every word as it was to the new recruit, breaking down the farce. “They are looking to get their money’s worth on taxes they paid that, some of the parts I must add, goes into funding police resources. The investigation’s a farce. Our mission, Officer, is to clean up whatever, or whoever, is creating this ah … inconvenience, so the money guys could plant their crops, eat up the competition, cut the small family businesses out of the equation.” Junior’s gormless face stayed frozen for a moment, then light hit it. The young officer looked tormented, his neat brows furrowed on his delicate face. The detective stood poised at Junior’s quiet brouhaha; that old righteous dictum. Obeisance to his job dictated a strait-laced avengement the needy, who could scarce fend off thieves and robbers pecking at the scant food in their dilapidated dwellings. But, here he stood, fattening the wallets of the fabulously wealthy, distracted – quod erat demonstrandum – from his honourable duty. The detective released a guffaw, its ragged mockery roiling with the gale. He gave a dramatic sigh. “My dear boy,” he told the stricken officer. “Take the bags, shove it. Run back to the inn. Get your flares, your petards, the bits of fire nitty-gritty; you have your gun. Then come back here. I’ll meet you at the church.” The ground was withered; it was nothing new. Melden held a kerosene lantern on his left hand, his right grasped his revolver. Specks of stars have emerged. Junior lugged a burlap sack worth of equipment, bumping noisily up those weathered steps, then over the rock and sand. His brow sheened in sweat from the exertion, reflecting the pale lantern light like a ghostly skull. Not broken in spirit yet, thought the detective, a raillery well done my boy. They reached the church, door presently flung open. No bishop reciting the Athanasian creed in this cathedral, no. A figure, back turned to them, stood before the lawmen. Melden made out a battered woollen cloak. “What have we here,” he announced as much as questioned. Strides took him past the cloaked figure, down what used to be an aisle. The benches did not survive the looting. They hadn’t bothered to rip the paintings off what would resemble the Sistine Chapel but most of the statues were stolen. He spotted a second figure stood opposite the cloaked one. Four arms. Dressed in a skirt. A redhead who gave a rather spidery impression. Lansky trailed in, closing the distance between his supervisor and himself. He was exhausted, but nonetheless, held himself together in what could be a confrontation, though the spider woman looked to be trying to alleviate friction. He reached behind his belt, pulling out the weapon, then nocked the hand crossbow. As his shoulder brushed Melden’s, he fixed the crossbow, slightly raised, at the Elf, as Melden held his revolver against the spidery woman. He held his badge up. “This is Detective Ellis from the PD and with me is Officer Lansky. Stand down. Put your weapons, your illusions away. Then, speak your names out loud and clear.” |
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| Arete Fabella | Aug 3 2017, 09:52 PM Post #5 |
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"As centuries crumble the whispers of ancients/ Last longer in stories, last longer in stories than stone." -- Ada Palmer, "Longer in Stories than Stone"
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The stranger stared at them and stepped backwards. She narrowed her eyes at Arete. Was she upset? Had Arete done something wrong? "What do you want?" she asked with a shaking voice. Fear, then. Arete assumed that she wasn't just asking to be polite. They held out their palms in a demonstration of peaceful intentions. Honesty was probably safest. "I heard your shout," they said. "I wanted to be sure everyone was safe." The woman seemed to shift her stance slightly, but Arete couldn't tell whether it was offensive, defensive, or neither. Perhaps it was a trick of the shadows. "What have we here," said a commanding voice. Arete looked around. Two people had just entered. A blond boy was aiming a crossbow at their chest. Arete swallowed. The other figure sauntered past towards the woman with four arms and lifted something towards her. Arete's heart skipped a beat. They had never seen a real gun before,only pictures, and now the man was holding one against the stranger. If he decided to shoot her, there were only two other people he might shoot next, and Arete strongly doubted he was going to murder what appeared to be his friend, or at minimum his ally. It was extremely tempting to teleport away. They would be safe, and even if they landed in a marsh, at least they wouldn't be in the same room as a gun. But -- but if they did that, then they abandoned this woman to die. There was a fable Arete had heard from someone in a Sotoan tavern about two twin sisters who had wound up in a fight with an elderly man while crossing a bridge late at night. One of them had tried to flee and drowned in the river; the other had been slain by the stranger, who then revealed himself to be a god, come to test the bonds of their loyalty, who had found them to be lacking. The moral of the story was supposed to be that you should stay true to others, though Arete thought privately that it worked just as well to say that the moral was "don't pick fights with gods." Still, if Arete was trying to be courageous, fleeing the moment a situation became dangerous was a terrible way to start. The man with the gun pulled out a shining piece of metal that reflected off of the light of his lantern. Presumably a badge, but Arete was too far away to read the inscription. “This is Detective Ellis from the PD and with me is Officer Lansky," he said. "Stand down. Put your weapons, your illusions away. Then, speak your names out loud and clear.” Put your weapons away, he had said. Arete wasn't holding any weapons, but there was a dagger in the pocket of their cloak. If they didn't reveal it, they might end up in more trouble later,but drawing it would almost certainly be read as a threat. Time stopped. Arete pulled their dagger from the hidden pocket in their cloak and released it from their hand. Time started again. The dagger clattered to the floor. "Don't shoot her!" said Arete. "I mean, that's not my name, my name is Arete, but please don't shoot her. Or me." They bit down on their lip before they made the situation even worse. |
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| Nispa | Aug 4 2017, 02:54 AM Post #6 |
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The beginning semblances of a conversation helped to direct Nispa's thoughts. "I heard your shout. I wanted to be sure everyone was safe. Of course. The paranoid scenario that Nispa had been constructing toppled apart and shifted into something that made much more sense. She hadn't exactly been quiet about her exploration, after all. She felt George, still in one of her fists, and remembered exactly how not quiet she'd been. "I'm fine. Just..." She tried to calm herself down, slowly easing the tension out of her shoulders. She glanced back at the arches, wondering about the child. They were still inside. She turned back to the elf to ask them for help, but she noticed with renewed alarm that the two of them were no longer alone in the church. "What have we here?" the newcomer asked, not so much concerned as he seemed to be...boredly interested. Nispa watched the man walk down the aisle of the sanctuary, his long coat billowing slightly at the movement. He kept his hands in his pockets, although Nispa could tell by the way he held himself that he was gripping a weapon in one of them. Not a moment later, a second rushed in. He was noticeably harried, and he quickly made his way to the first man's side. Almost in unison, they drew their weapons. A gun?! Nispa thought, finding herself on the business end of the barrel. She felt herself tremble. He had an air of authority about him, although she couldn't tell if he was a policeman or an evil commander. Following her blunder with the innocent elf, she wasn't too quick to try to guess. Her question answered itself when he pulled out an official-looking badge. Its polished surface glinted in the firelight. "This is Detective Ellis from the PD and with me is Officer Lansky. Stand down. Put your weapons, your illusions away. Then, speak your names out loud and clear." Illusions? It took longer than her pride cared to admit for her to realize what he was talking about. The child. Of course. She felt foolish for succumbing to such a simple ruse. Either way, she slowly bent down to put the daggers carefully on the floor. The elf was much hastier--perhaps more easily intimidated?--than she was. Their dagger clattered unceremoniously to the floor, although Nispa had not seen them draw one, and they quickly stammered, "Don't shoot her!" There was a moment of silence as they fully processed the detective's demand, then amended, "I mean, that's not my name, my name is Arete, but please don't shoot her. Or me." "Why don't we just, not shoot anyone," she added stupidly. Think, Nispa, you're smarter than this! She looked down at the rock in her hand and thanked it for its advice. She looked back up at the detective and tried to steady her voice. Her thoughts were still spinning, but she wasn't so blindly terrified anymore. "I'm Nispa," she announced. She declined to introduce George to them. They likely wouldn't see him the way she did. "What are you doing out here?" she asked them, all of them. The cathedral seemed like such a lonely place. There was nothing alive for leagues around. Yet somehow, that seemed right, and it felt as though the four of them were trespassing on its solidarity. She was already forming more questions in her mind, but she was also acutely aware that she was not the one with the gun. The kerosene lantern, having been placed on the ground for the detective to retrieve his badge, gave a dangerous flicker. The flame struggled briefly in an unfelt draft before going out completely. The cathedral was plunged into near-darkness; the stars and rising moon filtered in brightly through the broken and cracked windows, providing enough light to see shapes and little else, though she knew her eyes would adjust, given the time. Nispa held completely still. If this was another illusion or more magic, then she wouldn't want to be accused of it. |
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| Melden | Aug 4 2017, 06:55 AM Post #7 |
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Officer Lansky blinked. His crossbow was trained on the elf in the distance. He could have sworn a dagger materialized out of their empty hand, before it clattered to the floor. Arete, they had named themselves. Not a name to ring a bell. He shook his acorn head. Nor a name indicative of gender. Nispa, she named herself. Daggers clattered to the floor. Shoot anyone? He had not intended to do that, certainly. Detective Ellis, on the other hand, probably would fire his revolver for the fun of it, if he could get away with it, though most likely only at people’s feet. If he did, he could, of course, also get away from paperwork by delegating them to an underling. That would be some poor junior officer, and most likely Daniel Lansky – himself. The young officer sighed. “What they were doing here?” she had asked. To help the poor? No, they were not doing that. An honest part of himself wanted to say: to assist the rich in screwing poor folks over even more than they already are.” Though the right answer escaped those recreant lips. “Police business. Top secret.” How dreary. Oh, Melden felt almost awful. Visible light had, most notably, gone out of that kerosene lantern. He cast the useless brass metal a withering look, and raised his black eyes to glance at the duo. The skin on his face bubbled, mottled, around where his eyes were located, then smoothened again, leaving lamp-like cat slits to take the place of the black beetles. The bright yellow platelets reflected the scant lights from distant places. He could see and hear Junior fumbling to relight the lantern. Junior, seen in all clarity as if daylight hit him, and Melden could see much else besides with his partially shifted cat’s eyes. The Detective gave no sign of anxiety if he felt any. Out his foetid cigarette breathing lips escaped a heave. “Nailah give me strength … Do not bother! You, my dear boy, can see in the dark!” Officer Lansky startled, as if suddenly remembering. He kindled his eyes, which glowed red with the tell-tale signs of having shifted into the infrared spectrum. Now he stood perceiving living heat emitters, or most specifically their warm organs, by their pulsating heat signatures, though the cold areas showed up as blue. He looked to the Detective, in heavy trepidation, and licked his lips. “Go, my dear. Collect their weapons,” drawled Melden. “You, the two of you, step closer. Come to me. And do tell me, dearies, what brought you here. I need not remind you I am armed.” To his side, Junior stumbled in his somnambulistic gait towards the altar area. He would get the elf’s fallen weapons first, before heading to the doorway to do the same to the spidery woman’s daggers. He recalled police procedure, and recalled his superior would probably search the clothes of the – civilians? – further for concealed weaponry. |
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| Arete Fabella | Aug 5 2017, 10:21 PM Post #8 |
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"As centuries crumble the whispers of ancients/ Last longer in stories, last longer in stories than stone." -- Ada Palmer, "Longer in Stories than Stone"
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"Why don't we just, not shoot anyone?" asked the woman. That sounded like a wonderful idea, one that Arete would fully endorse. "I'm Nispa, she added. "What are you doing out here?" Arete wasn't certain if that was directed at them or the officers, but they didn't want to risk running afoul of the pair. They kept silent and waited to see if either of them responded. A gust of wind extinguished the lantern, the sole light in the dingy cathedral. Arete blinked repeatedly and squinted, but could barely make out the outlines of the other three figures in the space. "Police business. Top secret," said what Arete assumed was the blond. Though Arete couldn't see him to tell for certain who had spoken, his voice was reedier than the older man's had been. Arete heard some scuffling from the direction of the officers. The older one said,"Nailah give me strength … Do not bother! You, my dear boy, can see in the dark!” A pair of red eyes began to glow, though not enough to help Arete make out more than silhouettes. The boy might be able to see in the dark, but that didn't mean the rest of them could. “Go, my dear. Collect their weapons,” said the older one. “You, the two of you, step closer. Come to me. And do tell me, dearies, what brought you here. I need not remind you I am armed.” Arete squinted in the darkness. Coming forward would be easier if there were light, and just because the blond could apparently see in the dark didn't mean they could. They took a tentative step forward and nearly fell on their face before narrowly regaining their balance. Arete bit their lip. They didn't want to demonstrate to this police officer that threats would be effective, but his gun made an awfully compelling argument. "I was cold, and I haven't passed any other buildings in miles," said Arete. "I thought I would stop here for the --" A stomping sound resounded through the cathedral. The floorboards shook more violently than a willow tree in a hailstorm. Arete tried to keep their balance, but they fell to the floor. After a moment, the quaking stopped. Arete tried to look around to see what had happened to the others, but the trembling had loosened centuries of dust, which swirled through the air and, combined with the darkness, made it nearly impossible to see. Arete heard an insect-like clicking sound, starting far away but getting closer. They pulled themself to their feet and prepared to move if necessary. Arete doubted that the source of the noise was friendly. |
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| Nispa | Aug 6 2017, 05:00 PM Post #9 |
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So they were going to be coy about it. "Police business. Top secret." That was it, then. She felt a pang of resentment at the slippery answer. Her panic was fading, almost gone now, being replaced with a sort of wary calm. She felt her anger rising at the cops' careless insolence, but she forced it back down. Squabbling won't get you anything but dead, she reminded herself. The elf declined to give her an answer. They had come in to check on her scream, after all, so that was alright with her. She turned her attention back to the cops just as the light went out. The cathedral fell into inky blackness, for a second; her eyes were stamped with the silhouette of the detective while they adjusted to the dim moonlight. She heard the detective grumbling to his partner, "Nailah give me strength... Do not bother! You, my dear boy, can see in the dark!" See in the dark?! That wasn't fair. She squinted in their direction, trying not to look a fool as she did so. After several long moments she could make them out, faint in the streaming moonlight. The tall one--Ellis?--was still watching her and Arete as if nothing had happened. Lansky straightened, his eyes glowing the faintest shade of red. "Go, my dear. Collect their weapons," the detective ordered. "You, the two of you, step closer. Come to me. And do tell me, dearies, what brought you here. I need not remind you I am armed." Arete was the first to reply. Nispa almost didn't spot them in the darkness, what with their dark cloak, but the motion of them stepping forward helped her out. "I was cold, and I haven't passed any other buildings in miles. I thought I would stop here for the --" A stomp from below rattled the cathedral and cut off whatever Arete was about to say. Nispa had nearly forgotten about it. The mess that was unfolding between them had distracted her. Whatever it was, it had the force to shake the stones of the church and set clouds of dust to billowing. She heard Arete fall to the floor. Her four legs provided some additional stability, so she managed to keep her footing, but she then heard the floorboards crack nearer to the altar. Her head spun around, though visibility was right terrible and she couldn't see a thing. The next few seconds were filled with a deadly silence. From the quiet came faint insectoid footsteps that weren't her own. They sounded from the depths of the cathedral, echoing up through the arches and slowly getting closer. Nispa ignored the previous command of the detective and picked her daggers back up. She hardened the skin of her outer forearms until a glistening bug-like shell encased them like gauntlets. By the time she was done, the sounds of the bugs had entered the sanctuary. The monster below let out a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through the building like a bass. It stomped into the structure one final time. Something in the support splintered and the central floor began to cave in. The centre collapsed first, then the pews began to fall, then the rest of the floor sank lower and lower until the beams split and fell into the darkness below. There wasn't time; the door, even the walls, were too far. Within seconds, nearly the entire sanctuary had lost its floor and all four of them had gone down several levels on Elenlond's first and shittiest elevator. Dust rose as they fell, and when they landed, it was among broken planks of wood and crumbled stone and all sorts of things. Nispa lay on the floor for several moments. She was surprised that she hadn't lost both of her daggers, but one was lost in the rubble. She still held her lucky pebble. Guess its luck paid off...I'm still alive... She slowly pushed herself upright and listened carefully for signs of the others or whatever monster had caused this. She could see the vaulted ceiling of the cathedral above her, faintly, blearily. She wanted to call out for the others, but she was afraid of what might happen if the monster found her first. She laid her head back down and tried to get it to stop pounding. It hurt; everything hurt. Nothing felt broken, but a thin bead of blood ran down her cheek. She gingerly wiped it away. She noticed that one of her carapaces had been cracked. She would shed it within the hour, but she was glad to have it now. She blinked into the future, just a little, just enough to give her a half-second heads up should the entity come for her. Deeming it as close to safe as she could get she asked the silence, "Is anyone alright?" |
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| Arete Fabella | Aug 6 2017, 10:53 PM Post #10 |
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"As centuries crumble the whispers of ancients/ Last longer in stories, last longer in stories than stone." -- Ada Palmer, "Longer in Stories than Stone"
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A thunderous stomp rang out through the sanctuary. Arete felt the floor crumble below them, and then they were falling. They looked up, towards the door they had entered through, and focused as best they could. In a moment, they had teleported to the doorway. They watched as the floor of the cathedral fell down, farther than they would have imagined the church to extend. As best as they could tell, the other three were still in the rubble, though the darkness made it difficult to tell for sure. Miraculously, the roof was still upright, though this was a mixed blessing -- it wasn't falling down on their heads, but it wasn't letting starlight in either. Arete looked down at their arms. They were badly scratched up from the fall, and their left arm was bleeding heavily. They ripped a strip of fabric from the bottom of their cloak and tied around the wound. Hopefully, it would hold until they found a healer. "Is anyone alright?" called a voice -- Nispa's -- from the pit. It echoed through the room. Arete briefly pondered whether or not to answer -- whatever was attacking them definitely didn't seem friendly, and they didn't want to draw attention. They decided to use an illusory sound to answer, and hope it wouldn't draw the monsters towards anyone else. "I am!" shouted their voice, a few stories below its actual location. "I'm at the cathedral entrance. Are you hurt? Can you tell me what's down there? Should I come down there?" Arete's eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, but they still couldn't make anything out in the cavern below. Nearby, they spotted a candle in an ornamental ram's-head candlestick affixed to the wall, a relic of the bygone time when this cathedral had been used for worship. They tugged at it gently and it came off, the bindings worn through by the passage of the centuries. They started to light the candle with an orb of their flame, then paused. Light would definitely call attention to them, and they could always light it later if they needed to see. For now, they could probably rely on the report from below. Another tremble ran through the floor of the cathedral, and Arete fell to their knees. A gargoyle fell from the gate partitioning off the choir loft above and landed in the pit with a crunching sound. Arete peered down, but they still couldn't see anything more than a few indistinct shapes. Some of the shapes were moving. It didn't look like any sort of human motion, nor did the indistinct outlines form the shape of human, or even humanoid, figures. Worse, the shapes seemed to be congregating on a single area, though who or what was in it was unclear. |
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| Melden | Aug 7 2017, 07:09 AM Post #11 |
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Clack, clack, clack! ’ The sound of too many feet converged around the two men, closing in slowly. Melden signalled Lansky with a hand, enhancing it with a telepathic voice: ’Get the supplies and go that way.’ Lansky wanted to protest. How spineless would he be to leave his superior to fend for himself against – against this horde of monsters! Ellis began speaking, out loud, and his voice slithered over the rapid clacks. The giant arachnids turned their attention from Lansky himself, scuttling, zeroing in on the sound of prey speech; human speech. “Tell me, if you found a magic wand, what would you do?” ‘BANG!’ Ellis had fired his revolver at the nearest arachnid in his proximity, the shot resounding in the cavernous hollowed out space. He sounded unperturbed. The officer’s blue eyes widened. Ellis had not moved either, apart from his arm reeling from his revolver’s recoil. What was this older guy talking about? Melden continued. “Do you have any siblings? What were they like?” ‘BANG!’ What game …? ‘BANG!’ “Do you have a wife?” ‘BANG!’ Lansky thought. If he died, right in this godforsaken cathedral, what would become of his sweet Hilda? The children they had planned to have together? Their house, their dreams? Tears streamed down his face, but he wiped them away. I WILL come back, with help! And those wretchedly recreant legs staggered away from the Detective, towards the entrance, what would be below the entrance, now that the floor caved. He headed to where the Elf civilian was, the place Ellis had gestured, lugging his bag of supplies. He turned his head once to glance at his superior. The last he saw was Melden Ellis swallowed by the clustering spiders. ‘BANG! BANG! BANG!’ He reached Arete. Like Ellis called him: ‘Junior’, thought the young man bitterly. A new guy in the force. He had been untested in deep waters and now had delusions of grandeur ripped from his mind the second time that day. “I have supplies right here. Take what you need. If you needed anything. Rope to escape. Flares, petards, daggers, a crossbow. We must … “ Snot dribbled freely down his lips. What was he going to do? He had no plan of escape, or rescue. If he had been certain before, he did not know now. His understudy under the Detective had been brief, and now, he was not here anymore. Seeing his protégé depart, Melden disappeared into the spiders. And a single set of legs was added to the voluminous clacking. Edited by Melden, Aug 9 2017, 07:51 AM.
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| Nispa | Aug 8 2017, 09:53 AM Post #12 |
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"What...was that...?" Nispa asked weakly. She hadn't been able to see much, thank the gods, but she wasn't stupid, and she knew what had happened to the poor detective. She heard Lansky moving away. Seven gunshots. Arachnid legs on stone floor. He had hardly felled three; their shells were thick enough. What happened to him, gods only knew, but she doubted that they'd keep him alive for long. When they were through with him... Escape. Rope? No, that wouldn't do much good. They were already at the bottom. They had to get up. She shifted her focus to the walls as he continued speaking. They had fallen through several levels of the cathedral. She could see openings in the walls where the other levels were, three in total. There was enough rubble on the floor for them to reach the first one up. After that, they'd have to navigate the rest of the cathedral. She took a few steps towards the wall, looking back at the officer. "We must..." "We can't. There's too many. This way--you coming?" The question was genuine. Would he come? She didn't know the relationship between the two; she didn't know Lansky himself, or what he would do, or what he was capable of. Still, one death was enough for today. She turned back to the wall and started climbing through the ruins of the floor. Arete was still at the top. Bless 'em, curse 'em, but they had escaped the fall. Come down here? "No, don't come down! We have to get back up. See if you can find some stairs or a way through the back of the church." If she and Lansky were going up, and Arete was going down, then they'd meet up somewhere. She didn't know the layout of the church; that would mean that at least one of them know the way out. From there... She supposed that would be up to Lansky. She wasn't keen on fighting the spiders, or whatever else might be down here, but she wouldn't leave him to fight them alone if that's what he decided to do. Maybe they could lure them out one at a time. She was already formulating a plan, using Arete's illusions and her foresight and Lansky's crossbow. She had to shake her thoughts back to present reality. She reached up and caught the broken edge of the floor and pulled herself up onto it, then looked back down at the officer and offered a hand. |
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| Arete Fabella | Oct 19 2017, 08:59 PM Post #13 |
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"As centuries crumble the whispers of ancients/ Last longer in stories, last longer in stories than stone." -- Ada Palmer, "Longer in Stories than Stone"
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Three gunshots rang out within the cathedral. Arete gasped and stumbled forward, narrowly avoiding falling from the ledge in shock. Had the officer finally shot Nispa? Or was something else going on? Gunshots couldn't mean anything good. Guns were like war. If your goal was to kill a lot of people, they could help you, but if that was your goal, your justification needed to be excellent. Four more shots rang out. That made seven. Arete didn't know very much about guns, but seven shots seemed like more than enough to kill anything remotely human, so Nispa was probably safe. But Nispa hadn't been the only one down below... "No, don't come down! We have to get back up. See if you can find some stairs or a way through the back of the church." Nispa's shout brought Arete back to the present, reminding them that there was more to worry about than figuring out precisely whom the shots had been aimed at. See if you can find some stairs or a way through the back of the church, she had said. That would take light. Arete swallowed, and then lit the candle they had retrieved earlier with an orb of flame. They held its the vessel it was contained in out, trying to find anything that could be used to help the other three up. The cathedral had been nearly destroyed in the fall, and most of the support systems had vanished into rubble. Arete couldn't see any stairs, at least not any on this level, but they did notice the remnants of some sort of basin. It looked as if it had been lavishly ornamented once, but now the gold leaf around the edges was flaking off and several indentations marked that someone had pried out jewels from it. Still, it was sturdy enough that they could potentially anchor a rope to it, if they had any. They knelt towards the edge. "Do any of you have a --" they started. The dancing flicker of their candle fell onto the center of the floor below. It was still to dark to make out anything clearly, but they could see two human-looking figures. The third had disappeared. A few paces from where the pair was standing, Arete could see a mass of wriggling creatures, and there were indistinct crunching sounds coming from their direction. Their hands, wrapped around the candle, started to shake, and they nearly dropped it. Arete swallowed. Whatever had happened was obviously tragic, but they needed to focus on getting the others out. "Do any of you have a rope?" they called. "I found somewhere to tie it." One person dead because you teleported away. Arete shook their head. This isn't my fault. But if I hadn't abandoned them... An elderly fisherwoman on the path they had taken to get here had told them a story of an enchanter so powerful that none could defeat him. Five siblings had set out to defeat him, and one by one been slain by his magic. Finally, the last had fled, but she had been so guilt-ridden at the thought that she had abandoned her siblings to die that she had become unable to handle even the most basic spells. In the end she had been slain, not by the enchanter, but by the spirits of her dead siblings, returned to haunt her. As Arete crouched at the top of the cathedral, they realized that they had never truly understood that story until now. |
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