"Missus Frain, Shakka can no learn to write fancy symbols!" The orc looked so distraught, but Frain needed her to succeed at this.
" Yes you can Shakka! Remember how you used to only know how to use elemental magic, and then you learned to heal?!" There was a look of recognition and a slight grunt escaped her lips. " Well then! Of course you can learn this, if you need more help, you can always see the Mister." Shakka nodded, gathered the scrolls and inks and left her Mistress.
The door to the room at the Inn in Brill burst open. Her husband stood there.....with a horrid look on his face. But at seeing her sitting by the fire, his features softened.
"Ah, my darling wife, so good to see you safe here still. There is a ......plague that is spreading, making zombies...again....I must insist that you stay inside here, with all of our servants, and do not go outside! "
Frain burst out laughing, " You are joking with me ? You know I love this time of year, Hallow's End is my favorite holiday, and I will not sit here and hide like some baby! " She put her hands on her hips defiantly. Necrosis swiftly was in front of her, grabbing her hard, a look of desperation in his usually stoic features. "You do not understand, I can not lose you again....you must do as I say Frain !" Frain felt him intrude upon her thoughts, she yielded...... at least he thought she did. She had been working on a new way to fool him. Satisfied he had won this battle , Necrosis kissed her forehead and left.
Frain frowned, she would not stay inside during Hallow's End! She understood why he fretted so , she had died this way before. But that was just an accident, and she was so strong now. She would explore , and perhaps find more answers.
She slipped out the back door of the inn, as she saw Necrosis had put the orc Greld on watch at the front already.
Day of the Dead ((Open))
-
Thrysta
Re: Day of the Dead ((Open))
The girl.
Once again, the girl.
The wyvern carrying Thrysta soared low over the trees of the Swamp of Sorrows, heading for
Stonard. Swooping around in a banking arc, the beast descended as the encampment came
into view.
Thrysta smirked as she saw the chaos below...
The Scourge ran amok, tearing into the inhabitants of Stonard with savage, animalistic abandon.
Thrysta's wyvern, oblivious to the carnage below, dove toward the roost it instinctively knew as its
destination. Before the beast had even touched to the ground, Thrysta leapt from its back, hissing
words of shielding as she hit the ground running.
Thrysta barreled headlong into the first of the ravening Scourge, srceeching words of Pain and Plague.
Flesh sloughed and melted from the creature as the Forsaken woman's magics assaulted it.
The talons of her thumbs finding the creature's eyes, Thrysta screamed the word of Death.
Sickly black bolts of power drove into the Scourge, blowing apart most of its head and shoulders
apart in a welter of gore.
Turning from the limp corpse, Thrysta met the next Scourge as it crashed into her, taking her to the
ground under it. Its talons and teeth tore into the Forsaken woman, shredding vestments, ripping
dessicated flesh, breaking bone. She screamed and giggled with abandon, gasping words
of summoning.
Thrysta's Shadowfiend tore into the back of the Scourge, burrowing into its torso. Feeling the
direct restoration of her energies as her minon greedily absorbed the flesh of the creature,
Thrysta screamed a catechism of damage, blasting the rudimentary mind of the Scourge.
The creature's brain cooked from the inside-out, and it collapsed off the ravaged Forsaken
woman in a heap.
Rising unsteadily, Thrysta coughed blood, gasping words of binding and healing. With wet pops
and sickening grinding, her body slowly began to mend...
...just as another undead creature fell upon her.
Thrysta focused, supressing the pain and agony the creature inflicted as it raked her with its talons.
Laughing, blooding spraying from her mouth with each word, Thrysta spat words of death and damage,
blood and pain, mending and tearing.
Within moments, the creature lay in pieces at her feet.
Looking around the encampment, Thrysta saw the surviving Orcish guards dealing with the last
of the Scourge creatures. Stonard was again safe, though this meant little to the Forsaken woman.
Coughing wetly, Thrysta giggled, agony coursing through her from the wounds covering her flesh.
She could feel it inside her...
...Feel it taking hold...
...the contagion.
Laughing wildly, exhaling a bloody mist, Thrysta left her wounds unmended by her own magics.
She savored the corruption...the sickness, as it took hold.
Oh, how she wished the girl were here to share it.
With a last wet cough, Thrysta murmured words of abolishment, purging the contagion from her
already ruined flesh.
Summoning her war wolf, Thrysta set off, bloody and broken...as always.
She would find the girl.
Once again, the girl.
The wyvern carrying Thrysta soared low over the trees of the Swamp of Sorrows, heading for
Stonard. Swooping around in a banking arc, the beast descended as the encampment came
into view.
Thrysta smirked as she saw the chaos below...
The Scourge ran amok, tearing into the inhabitants of Stonard with savage, animalistic abandon.
Thrysta's wyvern, oblivious to the carnage below, dove toward the roost it instinctively knew as its
destination. Before the beast had even touched to the ground, Thrysta leapt from its back, hissing
words of shielding as she hit the ground running.
Thrysta barreled headlong into the first of the ravening Scourge, srceeching words of Pain and Plague.
Flesh sloughed and melted from the creature as the Forsaken woman's magics assaulted it.
The talons of her thumbs finding the creature's eyes, Thrysta screamed the word of Death.
Sickly black bolts of power drove into the Scourge, blowing apart most of its head and shoulders
apart in a welter of gore.
Turning from the limp corpse, Thrysta met the next Scourge as it crashed into her, taking her to the
ground under it. Its talons and teeth tore into the Forsaken woman, shredding vestments, ripping
dessicated flesh, breaking bone. She screamed and giggled with abandon, gasping words
of summoning.
Thrysta's Shadowfiend tore into the back of the Scourge, burrowing into its torso. Feeling the
direct restoration of her energies as her minon greedily absorbed the flesh of the creature,
Thrysta screamed a catechism of damage, blasting the rudimentary mind of the Scourge.
The creature's brain cooked from the inside-out, and it collapsed off the ravaged Forsaken
woman in a heap.
Rising unsteadily, Thrysta coughed blood, gasping words of binding and healing. With wet pops
and sickening grinding, her body slowly began to mend...
...just as another undead creature fell upon her.
Thrysta focused, supressing the pain and agony the creature inflicted as it raked her with its talons.
Laughing, blooding spraying from her mouth with each word, Thrysta spat words of death and damage,
blood and pain, mending and tearing.
Within moments, the creature lay in pieces at her feet.
Looking around the encampment, Thrysta saw the surviving Orcish guards dealing with the last
of the Scourge creatures. Stonard was again safe, though this meant little to the Forsaken woman.
Coughing wetly, Thrysta giggled, agony coursing through her from the wounds covering her flesh.
She could feel it inside her...
...Feel it taking hold...
...the contagion.
Laughing wildly, exhaling a bloody mist, Thrysta left her wounds unmended by her own magics.
She savored the corruption...the sickness, as it took hold.
Oh, how she wished the girl were here to share it.
With a last wet cough, Thrysta murmured words of abolishment, purging the contagion from her
already ruined flesh.
Summoning her war wolf, Thrysta set off, bloody and broken...as always.
She would find the girl.
-
Alphaeus
Re: Day of the Dead ((Open))
The light could cleanse the taint.
The light could cure the disease...
That didn't seem right at all. The old plague... was different. Was this a mutation? He paced the floor, arms crossed over his chest while the Forsaken girl perched on his counter toyed with a beaker.
"Ridia... tell me what you can remember from the old plague." He requested suddenly, halting in his step to turn expectantly towards her. Those bright golden eyes blinked, almost as if surprised he addressed her.
"Huh..." a long, slender, bony finger tapped against comparatively full, dry lips. "I can't remember much." She admitted, the doctor giving a frustrated sigh at her words, "I was insane at the time, mister!" She scoffed defensively, flinging the beaker his way.
Fumbling, he caught it, glaring daggers at the warlock as he set it down on clean, expensive marble. "Gods above... why this? Why now?"
"You're the priest." She shrugged disinterestedly, elbows resting on her knees, head propped on fisted hands. "And the doctor, too. So.. fix it. You fixed me," she paused, head tilting to show off her almost flawless face, her full hair. Not a patch of flesh remained missing or maimed on that undead form. "Unless this is... beyond your abilities." She added, a low, throaty chuckle accompanying the words.
"The Shadow is my specialty, m'am. And I specialize in wounds. Not diseases. Not germs. Not.. this sort of infection." He spread his hands almost helplessly. "I'm starting to feel a little lost here."
Humming to herself, the Forsaken leaned back, a hand straying to the imp at her side, stroking the annoyed creature down its back. "Well, you mentioned this earlier." She said, pointing to Al's sketchbook, the opened page. "Circle..." she traced the symbol with a finger, "slash.... dots. It could be leaves. It could be wheat. It could be a lot of things... Who's is it? You said those crates were suspect..."
Raking a hand through his hair, he returned to the sketchbook, stared down the drawing. "Have I seen this somewhere before? Or is it just.. generic enough that I think I have?"
"Red herring?"
He scoffed.
"I've got... so many things I need to do..." slowly, he sank down into a chair, hands cupping his head. "Searches... more than one. Answers. Truth. Sources. Resources. Trouble..."
"Can take care of himself!"
"As if you've ever met him."
"No, but I've heard enough."
He let his breath out slowly, shakily. "I'll find the answers." His voice was soft, hushed. The warlock was leaning in to listen close. "I'll find the answers. When I do, I'll act... appropriately." He rose from his chair, exhaustion setting in. Hours gone... He'd lost track of time. "I'm going home."
---
Striding across the lawn, she pet the imp she held cuddled in her arms. "That was anti-climactic." The Forsaken remarked.
The light could cure the disease...
That didn't seem right at all. The old plague... was different. Was this a mutation? He paced the floor, arms crossed over his chest while the Forsaken girl perched on his counter toyed with a beaker.
"Ridia... tell me what you can remember from the old plague." He requested suddenly, halting in his step to turn expectantly towards her. Those bright golden eyes blinked, almost as if surprised he addressed her.
"Huh..." a long, slender, bony finger tapped against comparatively full, dry lips. "I can't remember much." She admitted, the doctor giving a frustrated sigh at her words, "I was insane at the time, mister!" She scoffed defensively, flinging the beaker his way.
Fumbling, he caught it, glaring daggers at the warlock as he set it down on clean, expensive marble. "Gods above... why this? Why now?"
"You're the priest." She shrugged disinterestedly, elbows resting on her knees, head propped on fisted hands. "And the doctor, too. So.. fix it. You fixed me," she paused, head tilting to show off her almost flawless face, her full hair. Not a patch of flesh remained missing or maimed on that undead form. "Unless this is... beyond your abilities." She added, a low, throaty chuckle accompanying the words.
"The Shadow is my specialty, m'am. And I specialize in wounds. Not diseases. Not germs. Not.. this sort of infection." He spread his hands almost helplessly. "I'm starting to feel a little lost here."
Humming to herself, the Forsaken leaned back, a hand straying to the imp at her side, stroking the annoyed creature down its back. "Well, you mentioned this earlier." She said, pointing to Al's sketchbook, the opened page. "Circle..." she traced the symbol with a finger, "slash.... dots. It could be leaves. It could be wheat. It could be a lot of things... Who's is it? You said those crates were suspect..."
Raking a hand through his hair, he returned to the sketchbook, stared down the drawing. "Have I seen this somewhere before? Or is it just.. generic enough that I think I have?"
"Red herring?"
He scoffed.
"I've got... so many things I need to do..." slowly, he sank down into a chair, hands cupping his head. "Searches... more than one. Answers. Truth. Sources. Resources. Trouble..."
"Can take care of himself!"
"As if you've ever met him."
"No, but I've heard enough."
He let his breath out slowly, shakily. "I'll find the answers." His voice was soft, hushed. The warlock was leaning in to listen close. "I'll find the answers. When I do, I'll act... appropriately." He rose from his chair, exhaustion setting in. Hours gone... He'd lost track of time. "I'm going home."
---
Striding across the lawn, she pet the imp she held cuddled in her arms. "That was anti-climactic." The Forsaken remarked.