- M******* : Sexual deviance, an obviously extensive demonic taint
…
Was pleasantly surprised. Made me chuckle.
readlog ithaqua
2014/1/05 02:20:06 - Alienbaby was incitizened in the introduction.
This felt strangely relevant. Whether this is your deep-cover chelp reading alt, or simply a result of "extensive demonic taint"... Well, I'm not sure it matters.
- M******* : Sexual deviance, an obviously extensive demonic taint
…
Was pleasantly surprised. Made me chuckle.
readlog ithaqua
2014/1/05 02:20:06 - Alienbaby was incitizened in the introduction.
This felt strangely relevant. Whether this is your deep-cover chelp reading alt, or simply a result of "extensive demonic taint"... Well, I'm not sure it matters.
I'm mostly AFK during a shardfall and I see Iniar mention Septus attacking him. I says to myself, 'Bathan, time to be the hero!'. I track in, start fighting Septus who, predictably, does not care that I am hitting him. And then this happens:
Iniar points a wand shaped like Cadmus' tongue at Septus.
Iniar concentrates briefly and a terrifying visage of Danaeus, the Demon Storm
appears briefly in front of Septus, wreathed in flames.
The visage snaps its fingers and Septus is suddenly flung high into the air,
surrounded by an icy storm blocking his descent.
Thought: Septus is a bad dude, he will definitely come back to fight both of us. What is the solution? I know, start a cleave!
You raise a stehl claymore of inky hues over your head and begin to swing it in
a wide circle, gaining speed as you go.
Balance Taken: 2.20s
Septus descends from above.
Septus's aura of weapons rebounding disappears.
With a lightning-quick motion, Septus slashes Iniar with a blackened steel
sabre.
Septus's attack causes Iniar to glow a vibrant violet, and a lash of energy
whips back at Septus.
Septus viciously slashes Iniar with a blackened steel sabre.
Septus's attack causes Iniar to glow a vibrant violet, and a lash of energy
whips back at Septus.
You begin to bear down on Septus, preparing to destroy him.
SEPTUS KNOWS SOMETHING IS NOT RIGHT.
As Septus attempts to leave, white light envelops Iniar and Septus is yanked
back by an invisible force. <----
Screaming out a warcry of pure strength, you bring your claymore crashing
straight down on Septus's head. With a power that seems to come from on high,
you cleave asunder his entire body, from head to groin, splitting him in two
and killing him instantly.
Septus backs away and eases off.
I MIGHT NOT BE GOOD, BUT I AM OLD AND KNOW HOW TO BE TRICKSY.
\o/
(being a sore sport, he came back and murdered myself and Iniar with some henchman while I was posting this log, but don't worry. We got him back. >:()
‘Least I won’t have to carry it no more. You see how bloody heavy it is?’
‘Every sword’s a weight to carry. Men don’t see that when they pick ’em up. But they get heavier with time.”
*********************************[ Noctusari ]********************************* Member Guild Title Profession Info ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ellarynth The Singularity Summoner Guildmaster Iniar a Master Summoner Summoner Novice Aide Kyris a Dark Ember Summoner Morgoth an Initiate Summoner Suki an Initiate Defiler Khizan an Initiate Summoner Ike an Initiate Deathknight *******************************************************************************
(Ring): Bathan say, "So Iniar, who am I sending this inventory bill to?"
(Ring): Bathan says, ">:(."
You reach out and hastily scrawl the Mark of Cadmus and the Mark of Arctar on Bathan.
(Ring): You say, "Me."
(Ring): Bathan says, "Haha, go for it dude, I'm just being a jerk."
swiftcurse Bathan numbness inhibit; flare kena at Bathan
Not here.
Not here.
ql
Monarch Square before a pair of ancient trees.
A smattering of clouds fills the sky, lacing it with spiderwebs of grey. A small silvery stone is here, surrounded in haze. A shadowveil is here, focusing moonlight. A wheeled cannon rests here. An ornery camel stands here, looking ready to spit. A shaggy grey mustang roams warily nearby. The effects of this location have been twisted under a demonic influence.
You see exits leading north, east, south, west, and in.
A scowling fire-blackened treant starts releasing a strangely smelling substance and cuts you lightly, causing it to seep into your pores. The birch seed inside you suddenly erupts into life before withering away.
The expanding seed releases a poisonous substance, causing you to feel nauseous.
Damage Taken: 28 poison (raw damage: 52)
You are afflicted with nausea.
A scowling fire-blackened treant starts releasing a strangely smelling substance and cuts you lightly, causing it to seep into your pores. The elder seed inside you suddenly erupts into life before withering away.
The expanding seed releases a dark substance, poisoning your open wounds.
Damage Taken: 189 poison (raw damage: 347)
At Verexa's command, a scowling fire-blackened treant cuts you lightly, releasing a small shockwave that causes the blackthorn seed in your body to start stirring.
Verexa's a scowling fire-blackened treant attacking you.
Okay, so. Posting this log. Here's the backstory. Bathan joined Khandava, Aleutia convinced him to quit moping around, he swore her blade to her. He's still not huge on Khandava and Aleutia's aware of it, and is trying to get him more firmly rooted (I'll see myself out) to the Council. Bathan's been incredibly resistant to the idea over the past RL couple of weeks, and this was sort of the incident that broke things open. I thought I'd share because it was a lot of fun to be a part of. Much hearts to Loosh:
Aleutia emits a low noise, her footfall soft upon the ground as she moves
towards the tomb. Lightly, her fingertips caress the deathmask of Lyria, her
gaze distracted. "What do you find so abhorrent in love?" She asks plaintively.
"Does your birthplace deserve no less?"
Aleutia scolds in a motherly timbre, "You wish nothing of the sort." Her gaze
lifts to flash you fleeting smile. "You are afraid," she continues plaintively.
"As any young love is. It's quite terrifying to give yourself over, isn't it?
Wholly. Completely. Your soul begging for solace. You must love this place
before you serve it. You must."
You have emoted: Bathan shakes his head ardently. "A Knight need not love
something to serve it. You've spoken of this place, and what it stands for, and
what it means to you," he responds. "I respect that, and your devotion gives me
purpose, but I will never love this place as you do. The blight is a constant
reminder of of what your people suffered to retain sovereignty." His tone
changes with the last bit, becoming noticeably sadder.
Aleutia slowly tilts her head to the side as she observes you, her expression
venomous. "Where were you when the Tree rose?" She hisses lowly. "Where were
you when my guildhall fell to its roots? When my uncle was consumed by a
passion I have never seen within him?" The elf treads closer with each word,
her slight frame drown to its full height as she rounds upon you. "That you
cannot accept change is your failing. And you will continue to fail. Each, and
every passing moment you resist." She sneers up to you, her hand curling around
the neck of your armour as she yanks you closer to her features. "You will
suffer. You will love this wood with your very being when I am done. If you
wish to make this harder upon yourself, so be it." She releases you just as
quickly as she came upon you, her gaze livid.
You have emoted: Bathan frowns deeply, shaking his head as you cease gripping
his armor. "I stood at the Ithaquan gate for six days straight, all that stood
between my Council and certain doom. I have won hundreds of battles, claiming
thousands of lives. I lost my pride, and you returned to me. I owe you my blade
for that, but not my soul, I think." He rises to his full height, sword hand
flexing. "I swore an oath and I will not break it. I am your retainer, and I
will defend all that you love. I will not, however, become some mercurial
fanatic, swearing my being to an accursed tree. Lionas was a fool and deserved
his fate," he says, spitting on the ground of the tomb.
Aleutia stills eerily as she looks upwards to you, her timbre calm as she
recites, "I was Prophetess before the Blight, and now after. I was the last
High Priestess of Nature. I, the last Sacred Fury. I, the inherited hand of
Wrath. I stood doubly long at my gates. Alone. With friend. With naught but
hope. I am the Hammer of the Gods. I am Sol'Anlumaire. I am more than you shall
ever pray to be, boy. I without stooped back. You, on bended knee." She halts
her soft speech, stepping closer to you. Without warning, she backhands hard
with her sword-arm, a soft scream of rage escaping her with the action. She
sneers at you afterwards, her breathing heavy though she soon calms it.
Straightening the jewelry ornamenting her head, the elf lightly clears her
throat, her expression evening once more as she asks in a gentle timbre, "Do
you dance, Bathan."
You have emoted: Bathan flinches, clearly surprised by the blow. His sword hand
flies back to the blade of his claymore and grips it, eyes wide in a plain
rage. His mouth opens, but he says nothing, showing his teeth as if some sort
of predatory beast. "I do not," he finally states as he slowly draws the blade
from its scabbard. He awkwardly flicks out his tongue, gaze never leaving you.
"That's a shame," Aleutia muses as she looks over you without care. She steps
into a first rigid waltz, and then fluid. Moving with an ethereal grace, she
scolds you as her eyes close, "Such a beastly thing, to not dance." A little
laugh escapes her as her eyes crack open, her gaze upon you until she spins. "I
know that look," she whispers hauntingly, the spores rising from the loam with
each step she takes. "I knew it well. I was Her Rage. Her Fury. The question
is.." Her voice trails off as she dips herself with an impressive control of
her form, "What do you do now, little savage boy? With his stick and shield?"
You have emoted: Bathan seethes, taking stock of the tomb as you dance. "I know
that I could cut you into pieces long before the guards arrive, 'Prophetess',"
He replies contemptuously. "You'd be little more than a stain on your precious
tomb." He swings the blade in an arc in front of him, a good distance from
Aleutia. "You'd not dance so well while missing a head, or your legs. Although,
considering you're so MANY things, maybe I'm wrong."
Aleutia chirps out a laugh at your response, her expression positively
mirthful. "Threats, threats, threats!" She scolds as she yet moves around the
tomb, her feet moving to a syncopation of their own before falling once more
into rhythm. "You're an angry little boy, nothing more," whispers the elf, the
spore beginning to rise heavily upon the air. "You think yourself of such
importance in this world. We are but a speck. We crave out what we must.." She
positively giggles at that, spinning once more. "What good does it do to kill
me? Nothing, I should say.." Her voice trails off, her hands rising for a
moment. The spore swirl upon the air, choking your vision heavily as they dance
around the tomb - many coalesce into a vaguely humanoid form before the
Prophetess, acting as a makeshift partner as she begins a lively two-step. "Why
are you so angry?" Her voice whispers upon the edge of your hearing.
You have emoted: Bathan snarls as the spores impair his vision, sinking back
into a more bestial stance. He swats at them with his blade, squinting. "I
should've never returned to this wretched place!" he says, almost shrieking.
"Hastati promised to unite the world with me, but all she did was make excuses
for her failures. She was nothing, and now she's dead! And I've nothing, now! I
was supposed to be the hero!" he rails, enraged shouts filling the chamber.
"Damn her, and damn you, woman!"
Aleutia laughs out at your response, the form before her stepping blithely in
time. "My little boys behave better than you've!" She cries out with another
laugh. Her hand lifts, dark roots piercing the ceiling in response to writhe
ominously overhead. "We are not wretched," she drones lowly, her voice barely
audible. "Close your eyes. Pretend it all a dream. That's what you shall do,
when I leave. The anger ebbs away, simmering beneath the surface..." The voice
trails away and you find Aleutia unexpectedly at your side, her hand lifting to
lightly trace your jawline before she steps away in a waltz again. "Let it out,
little boy. Scream and rage. I'll be here when you're done. So shall the
Deadwood. We can wait."
You have emoted: Bathan slashes again as you depart, his rage beginning to
subside. His blade falls a couple more times, but the power behind them is
diminished. "I was supposed to be the hero," he repeats, his voice low this
time as his eyes fall away from you. "I couldn't save my family. I couldn't
save my race. I couldn't save Vahin.. because I was never meant to protect
anyone." He looks down the length of the claymore. "Shields protect people. Not
swords. Swords take lives, no more, no less. They never fret for their
purpose." Again, he looks over his blade. "Is that what I am, then? I'm no
better than any of them. I murder. Justice has nothing to do with it." His
voice trails off as he stares.
Aleutia smiles gently as she spins into a stop, the spores dispersing before
her, though linger heavily upon the air. Treading lightly to stand before you,
she offers her gilt-limned hands to you, palms held upwards. "What are you,
indeed?" She asks in a kind voice. "Open your eyes. We all murder. All of our
hands stained in blood." The elf takes a step nearer to you, her timbre kind.
"That you spill blood is no shame. That you've no purpose is the tragedy. Let
me give you one. Let the forest. Close your eyes and feel its pulse. Let it
consume you. Love it, as I know you can." Gently, she insists, "Let me help
you, Bathan."
You have emoted: Bathan fails to register your presence. He continues to stare
at the blade, his eyes vacant. He mumbles quietly, "I did not save Ithaqua ..
look at it now, ruined. I washed myself in the blood of my foes. I murdered the
demons because it brought me joy." He pauses. "I must've saved someone. There
has to be someone I protected." The Norrjin continues rambling to himself, but
the word blur together. His sword hand opens, the blade falling upon the ground
below.
Aleutia exhales lowly as she observes you, her gaze tender. Boldly, the elf
steps nearer, her hands resting upon either of your forearms as she whispers,
"Bathan, Bathan, Bathan.." Drawing you closer, her hand lifts to cup your
cheek. "I will give you purpose. Your blade will shake no more. You will find
joy. I will give you joy, and laughter. You will protect this forest. Your
home. Does that not spark something within you?" Her head tilts to the side as
she observes you, her hand withdrawing from your face.
You have emoted: Bathan looks to you, eyes remaining blank. He stares for an
uncomfortable amount of time. Minutes pass, and finally he nods. "If you once
more return my title, I will allow you to control my destiny," he says,
quietly.
Aleutia's face breaks into a radiant smile, her timbre tender as she answers,
"I shall give you that, and more. You shall be whole." Slowly, the elf
withdraws from you, stooping to pick up the discarded claymore. Testing the
blade's weight in her hands, she soon turns it, presenting the sword's pommel
to you. "What a knight you shall be," she whispers lowly. The roots above cease
their writhing, their eldritch forms quivering in anticipation above. Slowly,
the spore fall once more to the ground as the elf awaits you to take the
weapon.
You have emoted: Bathan gives a slow nod, wordlessly taking the blade from your
hands. Hesitantly, he slides the claymore into its scabbard. He once more rises
to his full height, expression empty.
Aleutia emits a low chuckle at the action, the roots above once more whipping
into a frenzy. For a moment, your sight darkens, the caress of the roots
insufferably oppressive before the vision departs in a flash of light. There,
the Prophetess stands, the last of the spores settling upon the ground and the
ceiling above as mundane as it ever was. "Sometimes," Aleutia advises in a
patient voice, "We must find ourselves reborn in the hellish fires of trial and
tribulation before we may be whole again. Find Sathorne. Complete his quest,
and consider what you learn from it. I shall be in touch. Should you falter..."
Her voice trails off, her verdant eyes bright. "I shall catch you, dear
Bathan."
‘Least I won’t have to carry it no more. You see how bloody heavy it is?’
‘Every sword’s a weight to carry. Men don’t see that when they pick ’em up. But they get heavier with time.”
You should see her make requests for Khandava. I try my hardest to be fast enough, because I'm worried she'll steal all my cookies from Kanthari if I don't Evil lady at heart.
You should see her make requests for Khandava. I try my hardest to be fast enough, because I'm worried she'll steal all my cookies from Kanthari if I don't Evil lady at heart.
I could try to sneak you some, but she might cut off my hands
You have emoted: Kanthari walks over toward Bathan with his hands at his sides, looking up at him for a moment with a calm expression. "Bathan," he intones lowly, nodding once in acknowledgement of the other. Without pausing, he hurls a handful of glittering bonedust directly into Bathan's eyes. His other arm swinging back swiftly as he takes advantage of the momentary distraction, Kanthari slams the knuckles of the opposite hand into the norrjin's face.
Bathan flinches, clearly stunned by the blow as he shakes off the effects of the dust. His free hand flies up to his nose, wiping at it. He quirks a brow at the crimson substance covering the skin between his pointer finger and thumb. "Your wife hits harder," he rasps, an unsettling laugh escaping his mouth. Steadying himself, he hefts his massive blade up above his head, preparing for combat.
Screaming out a warcry of pure strength, Bathan brings his claymore crashing straight down on your head. Blackness fills your vision and the screams of pain exploding in your head find no outlet as your entire body is clove asunder.
You have been slain by Bathan.
A few minutes and a Charon boat-ride later.
Aleutia tilts her head curiously at you.
You have emoted: Kanthari lifts his shoulders faintly, not appearing overly concerned as he intones, "I hit Bathan in the face." He shakes his hand as if to regain a touch of feeling in it, wrinkling his nose as he surveys his bruised knuckles. Prodding at them with the fingers of the other hand, he observes with an odd expression, "I think I broke my hand."
Comments
readlog ithaqua
2014/1/05 02:20:06 - Alienbaby was incitizened in the introduction.
This felt strangely relevant. Whether this is your deep-cover chelp reading alt, or simply a result of "extensive demonic taint"... Well, I'm not sure it matters.
The howling of a great pack of jackals reaches a deafening volume as Nyrohi, the Undying, emerges from her crypt.
‘Every sword’s a weight to carry. Men don’t see that when they pick ’em up. But they get heavier with time.”
I feel this explains a surprising amount of things about @Iniar.
(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
Member Guild Title Profession Info
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ellarynth The Singularity Summoner Guildmaster
Iniar a Master Summoner Summoner Novice Aide
Kyris a Dark Ember Summoner
Morgoth an Initiate Summoner
Suki an Initiate Defiler
Khizan an Initiate Summoner
Ike an Initiate Deathknight
*******************************************************************************
‘Every sword’s a weight to carry. Men don’t see that when they pick ’em up. But they get heavier with time.”
‘Every sword’s a weight to carry. Men don’t see that when they pick ’em up. But they get heavier with time.”
(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
‘Every sword’s a weight to carry. Men don’t see that when they pick ’em up. But they get heavier with time.”
Kanthari vs. Bathan.
Round One: Fight!
You have emoted: Kanthari walks over toward Bathan with his hands at his sides, looking up at him for a moment with a calm expression. "Bathan," he intones lowly, nodding once in acknowledgement of the other. Without pausing, he hurls a handful of glittering bonedust directly into Bathan's eyes. His other arm swinging back swiftly as he takes advantage of the momentary distraction, Kanthari slams the knuckles of the opposite hand into the norrjin's face.
Bathan flinches, clearly stunned by the blow as he shakes off the effects of the dust. His free hand flies up to his nose, wiping at it. He quirks a brow at the crimson substance covering the skin between his pointer finger and thumb. "Your wife hits harder," he rasps, an unsettling laugh escaping his mouth. Steadying himself, he hefts his massive blade up above his head, preparing for combat.
Screaming out a warcry of pure strength, Bathan brings his claymore crashing straight down on your head. Blackness fills your vision and the screams of pain exploding in your head find no outlet as your entire body is clove asunder.
You have been slain by Bathan.
A few minutes and a Charon boat-ride later.
Aleutia tilts her head curiously at you.
You have emoted: Kanthari lifts his shoulders faintly, not appearing overly concerned as he intones, "I hit Bathan in the face." He shakes his hand as if to regain a touch of feeling in it, wrinkling his nose as he surveys his bruised knuckles. Prodding at them with the fingers of the other hand, he observes with an odd expression, "I think I broke my hand."
(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
‘Every sword’s a weight to carry. Men don’t see that when they pick ’em up. But they get heavier with time.”
‘Every sword’s a weight to carry. Men don’t see that when they pick ’em up. But they get heavier with time.”