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The Quest for the Lost God; Chapter One: The Heroes of All World
Topic Started: Jul 20 2011, 03:36 PM (2,467 Views)
Half Tooth
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Painter
The Tunnel had not been a plesant experience. As long as she kept her eyes shut and followed the shuffling of footsteps she was just about ok.
Upon leaving the tunnel Scylliria peered out through one eye before opening both with certainty and her gaze snapped to a hooded figure at the edge of the room. A huge stone circle took up most of the floor space, she let her eyes trace the pattern as an ominous voice came from benieth the hood.

"The price..."

The Paladin spoke next,

"What exactly is the Patriach? And, perhaps more importantly, what's this price he's demanded of you?"

Scylliria glanced at Garnier, Too curious, and too vocal about it. She thought briefly before turning back to the King and the hooded Patriach.

"They have travelled far to reach Sunkeep, they do not know of our customs. Our Patriarch is a devoted servant of Her will, and one of the highest members of the Church. They devote themselves so completely to filling others with the Light, they forgo its touch themselves. The common people live every day in the warmth of the Goddess, unappreciative. As some men abstain from food or women for their faith, our most pious Patriarch fasts from sunlight itself."

She supressed a smile, the human method of worship was so... demanding. They had been granted a life yet they chose to give it up completely, as though living soley for the thing that gave them the life in the first place. Their short lives wasted on an entity who didn't require the respect of humans to be what she was.

"And as for the price of your passage, rest assured it has nothing to do with you, or your quest," Richard clipped off dismissively, brooking no debate. "Now, if you will all please mount the Folding Stone..."

As Scylliria started to move a sudden wave of unease washed over her. Something was wrong.

"Almighty Goddess, Mother of the world, grant Your Light to these unworthy children. Wrap them in Your embrace, take them far from here, to the Castle of Wellay. Lady of Creation, grant us-"

Had she not been so on edge, the flowing words of his spell would have entranced her, but she was waiting.... waiting.... the darkness of the room almost convinced her she was back in the dpeths of the ocean.

"NO!"

She whipped her head round to face the source of the voice. It was... Gerald?

"YOU SHALL GO NOWHERE!"

"The Dark One!" She exclaimed in her native tongue.

"SHE IS GONE, AND THE OTHER WILL NOT SAVE YOU! YOU WILL NOT STOP ME! THE CYCLE WILL BE COMPLETED!"

She watched in absolute horror as Gerald's body tore itself apart, throwing revolting insides and black blood everywhere. But no.. it was not blood, it was... no they were soldiers? Shadowy soldiers? They worked for the Dark One.
Her anger and misery for her lost ancestors filled her like a current as she pulled her glaive from her back and swung it menicingly.
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Ambrose51
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The Resident Horror Enthusiast

"NO!"

Matthew watched, slightly awed and very terrified, as Gerald's face contorted in inhuman anger.

"YOU SHALL GO NOWHERE!"

"He's been possessed," the mage muttered to himself, stepping back slightly and moving his hand to the cap on the flask at his waist.

"SHE IS GONE, AND THE OTHER WILL NOT SAVE YOU! YOU WILL NOT STOP ME!"

Matthew tore off the cap to the flask, and moved his other hand to his temple. The headache was coming back full force, and was almost blinding in the amount of pain it caused.

"THE CYCLE WILL BE COMPLETED!"

Matthew watched, stilling his emotions, as Gerald's body tore itself apart. His eyes narrowed, and he watched the shadows closely. He paid no attention to the blood and gore, because he already knew what was about to happen. He had seen such rituals before, and they all inevitably led to something similar, and something very unwelcome.

Sure enough, several knights of shadow emerged from the blood, and the King was quickly struck down, as Matthew looked on. He was already beyond caring for the King, however. The moment this had occurred, he had already written the man off as a loss. His persona as a mage of Atlas quickly took complete control, and he assessed the scene as best he could, calculating the chance of victory with their current situation. Not that it would help much, since he had idea of the full capabilities of his allies. For the moment however, he would put priority on protecting the Patriarch, as much as the idea offended him. He was the key to their departure, after all, and their quest would end very quickly if they couldn't even manage to leave.

He began a chant, and though the headache was making him wince with every word, he finished it quickly enough. The words passed from his mouth almost too quickly to be comprehended. The point was not in the words themselves, but in the meaning behind the words, after all. He was not a priest, praying to a divine entity. He was calling on magic from within himself.

"I strive beyond limits, and reach beyond grasp. Unaware of regret, nor caring of price. I make haste to all's departure."

Fluid shot out from his flask, surrounding him completely. It had a metallic tint, and shined strangely in the light of the Folding Stone. This was his Avalon, the one spell he could say that he personally created. The liquid settled down after its initial burst, slowly circling around his feet. If necessary, he could use it to encircle everyone present, but that would slow down the reaction time of the liquid, and besides, he wanted to conserve his abilities if possible. The headache was slowly becoming worse, and if he exerted himself too much, he would be running the chance of losing control of the spell. That would be... Unpleasant.
But mostly? The assorted plans at play here would be going very, very wrong due to the actions of a no-name, no-count, utterly talentless Magus by the name of Shirou Emiya. He had no magic worth mentioning, no combat experience of note, and no plan for or knowledge of the War he was about to enter. He did, however, have one trait that had derailed a countless number of such grand, far-reaching schemes throughout history.

You see, he really, really wanted to be a hero. -(Best description of the start of a Fate novel ever.)
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Crimson Paladin
Novice
OOC: Half-Tooth, Garnier didn't ask about the Patriarch, James (the character) did; my guy only was listening carefully to the question. Sorry if it looked like it was him asking it.

IC:

As they prepared to be teleported, Garnier heard a man scream.

"NO!"

The paladin turned towards the source; it was Gerald.

"YOU SHALL GO NOWHERE!"

"SHE IS GONE, AND THE OTHER WILL NOT SAVE YOU! YOU WILL NOT STOP ME!"

"THE CYCLE WILL BE COMPLETED!"

There was no question as to what was happening; the man was possessed. At best it resulted in a difficult life of learning to deal with another cohabiting one's body. At worst it was something best not thought too hard about. As the man's body was torn apart, there was no doubt that this case was one of the worse ones. Garnier had seen many unnatural injuries, and many methods by which men and women died, but this was more terrible than anything he had witnessed.

The Patriarch began to speak, but was cut off by the sight of the man's fluids formed several shadowy knights. As the Sun Knight prepared for the attack, one of them thrust its black blade into the king. Garnier attempted to come to the man's aid but was forced onto the defensive by one of the other shadowy warriors. He quickly drew his sword and parried the foe's blow, before grabbing its sword arm by the wrist with his free hand and slashing at it with his blessed weapon. As quickly as it had materialized it seemingly dissipated, his left hand closing as the arm it held turned incorporeal. He did not know exactly what happened, but his priorities were saving the king.

The paladin rushed to the king's side, slashing at the man's attacker. This one managed to block with its own shadowy weapon, but only held for a few seconds before Garnier's own sword seared through it, continuing its course towards the foe and forcing it to dissipate. His foes momentarily stopped, he took his shield from behind him while quietly chanting a healing spell. He bent down and touched the king's wound, hopefully stabilizing him, but before he could do any more, he found himself beset upon by the first shadowy warrior, apparently unharmed by, or simply recovered from, the knight's attacks.

This wasn't going to be an easy fight.
The stone cannot know why the chisel cleaves it;
the iron cannot know why the fire scorches it.
When thy life is cleft and scorched, when death and despair leap at thee,
beat not thy breast and curse thy evil fate,
but thank the Builder for the trials that shape thee.

-The Hammer Book of Tenets
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Colonel Mustard
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Lord of Facial Hair
OOC: The Disolthremic that Duhos speaks is basically Hungarian, and while I don't know any I just typed it into Google translator, so I can't guarantee it to be syntaxically perfect.



IC: "NO! YOU SHALL GO NOWHERE!”

Duhos cast around for the source of the voice as the Patriarch began his chanting. He saw the king’s Steward, Gerald, step forward from the shadows, face contorted in a mask of inhuman hatred. He growled quietly, the sound coming out as a bass rumble. Possession.

“SHE IS GONE, AND THE OTHER WILL NOT SAVE YOU! YOU WILL NOT STOP ME!”

Gerald began to float upwards, tendrils of shadow flowing from his form. Duhos could feel dark power building, scratching against his clay like coarse cloth against skin.

“THE CYCLE WILL BE COMPLETED!"

Gerald burst, gobbets of shadowstuff splattering against the floor. Guided by some malign intellect, they coalesced into forms, armoured knights clad in onyx plate and holding swords and shields formed of that same unholy matter. Duhos gave a roar of anger; the Urgoren, the shadowknights of the Dark One. He had encountered these creatures in the streets of Disolthrem before it had fallen, and their fell efforts had more than contributed to the end of his beloved city.

One of them stabbed its dark blade into the chest of the king, and the man fell back, gasping in pain and shock. The Paladin rushed to the man’s side immediately, realising his priorities, gathering some sort of healing magic and pressing it into the king’s wound. Another shadowy warrior set upon him, and Duhos knew that the king’s safety was what was important; he would have to be protected.

“Bár én jár sötétségben, teszek rá fény!” he bellowed in the ancient tongue of Disolthrem, drawing his glaive and advancing on the foe. Though I walk in darkness, I bear her light.

“Bár én vagyok körülvéve a félelem, van bátorsága!” he continued, thundering towards the enemy. Though I am surrounded by fear, I have courage.

“A Régi Lány és a Fiatal Banya velem vannak, és én nem nem!” he finished, swinging against the shadowy warrior with his massive glaive. The foul stuff that made it up roiled around the blade like oil, driving it away for the moment. For the Old Maiden and the Young Crone are with me, and I shall not fail.

Duhos set his feet into the ground and bellowed a challenge to all in the room, raising his glaive into a guarding stance. He was the First of the Oregember, and he would not be felled of the likes of these creatures. Let them come; all of them would fall.
Edited by Colonel Mustard, Sep 18 2011, 01:57 PM.
"Pillage, then burn."-Rule 1 of Habits of Highly Effective Pirates
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quirk
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Apprentice
James came forth behind Duhos, quickly drawing his sword and glancing around in the darkness. He hadn't expected to run into some sort of confrontation here, in the very heart of Sunkeep. If such danger was possible here, what would happen on their journey?

Shaking such thoughts away for later, he moved onto a side of the king, attempting to control his breathing and be ready for when one of the monstrous dark creatures might come out. "How do we kill them?" He asked, glancing about for a quick moment at the others. "Keeping the king alive is going to be a bit more difficult if we can't manage that." Remember your training, know when to weave in, weave out, he thought to himself.

His greatest worry was if they had some other form of combat aside from the skill set of the average warrior. His experience was in dealing with human opponents, and he had never encountered such things as these.
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Darkom
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Philosophizer

Teleporter Room; Noon, March 1st, 1066 AL

"How do we kill them?" one of the heroes asked, raising his sword just as the other heroes settled into their own stances. "Keeping the king alive is going to be a bit more difficult if we can't manage that."

The Patriarch faced off against his own dark foe, his hands aglow and raised before him. His eyes still burned fiercely beneath his hood, two orbs of white defying the darkness all around. "They are soldiers of the Dark," the priest answered, clasping his hands together before him, "Their only weakness is the Light!" The glow surrounding the Patriarch grew brighter as he spoke. The shadow creatures paused, wary, at the edge of the light. One stepped forward, out of the shadow's umbra, his sword raised at the Patriarch.

"Return to your master, Shadowspawn!" The priest's hands shot out, a ball of shimmering light lancing towards the creature. The orb exploded as it struck the knight's armor, illuminating the room like a lightning strike before the darkness crept back. The knight was gone. But its companions still remained, their swords bristling.

The shadow knights wasted no more time; before the Patriarch could summon another spell, the creatures charged towards them. The pitch black swords made no sound as they slashed through the air, the demonic soldiers were silent as the grave. Each one singled out a hero, lashing out with their infernal weapons with superhuman speed. The Patriarch barely held his own opponent at bay, his glowing hands stopping the midnight blade with precise blocks, but he was being pushed back.

The heroes had to do something, and soon.



OOC: Fight as you will, control the shadow knights as you see fit. Rush to someone elses aid or fight on your own, it's your choice, but it's going to be a few posts until we are done with these guys. And remember, have fun. ;)
Don't say the old lady screamed. Bring her on and let her scream. ~Mark Twain
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Half Tooth
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Painter
OOC: I'm so sorry for that error. I shall Fix it.

IC: Scylliria looked around as her glaive twirled in her hands. She blocked a few incoming sword swipes this way but knew she could not hold out for long. Not so far from the water, and not against beings such as these.
The huge black demon thrust his sword at her, breaking her block and causing her to dive out of the way, dropping her glaive in the process. Swift as the river, she snatched up her glaive and swung it low to hit the beasts ankles. It stumbled briefly but seemed unfazed.

"How do we kill them!?" She heard someone shout. Not expecting a reply she stood to face the soldier, staring directly where eyes should have been and prepared herself to attack or be attacked.

"They are soldiers of the Dark," the Patriach spoke "Their only weakness is the Light!"

"Sicsh!" Scylliria swore, Light? How can I use light? I can't use light? ... I need a moment to think.
The dark soldier wordless moved forwards, swinging his sword almost faster than she could handle. Every time he took a step forwards, she took a step back. Buying herself more time and time to think.

I can't use light, I am not trained that way, but light does come from above. Perhaps a hole in the ceiling if we are high enough.
"How deep underground are we?" She shouted, realising she would have to change strategies before she backed into a wall.
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Colonel Mustard
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Lord of Facial Hair
Duhos growled as he swung at another of the shadowy knights, cursing it in Disolthremic as he attacked. It darted under that attack and jabbed forwards, its blade glancing off the clay of his chest before Duhos' fist countered with a backhanded strike that sent it withering away, reforming a moment later in a roiling black cloud a few feet away.

Another stabbed at him from behind, and he span to face it before it dodged away, giving its third fellow a chance attack his flank, a blow which glanced off his shoulder. Duhos swung at the one that threatened the king, ignoring the jab at his side, sending its form flowing around his blade like oil before he turned to his final enemy, and stabbed it. It tried to block, but his weapon had too much mass and momentum behind to be stopped and it slid out of sight for a moment.

For all their attacks, they were doing little against the Golem, his clay all but impervious to bladed weapons. As his three foes emerged from the shadows to face him once more, weapons held before them perhaps slightly warily, Duhos laughed.

"You will have to do better than that," he challenged.

Instead of attacking once more, the three shadow-knights instead stepped together. Shadows flowed into one another, two creatures merging into the central one. It grew, pulsing and welling with hideous dark power, before a huge, armoured figure became distinct. The blades it held, two in one hand, slid together into a massive maul, and it raised it in threat.

Duhos cursed.
"Pillage, then burn."-Rule 1 of Habits of Highly Effective Pirates
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Crimson Paladin
Novice
Garnier pondered the Patriarch's words. Their only weakness is the light. No wonder my sword seemed to sear right through them. Even so, they just reform when beaten. He blocked another one of their blows and thrust his sword into its chest. This time, however, it seemed to hit something, something almost solid. The Knight reeled back and dissolved, and Garnier readied himself for it to reform and retaliate. But it didn't. Garnier looked around him, a bit bewildered that it hadn't attempted to flank him. Did I kill it?

He turned to the rest of the group, in particular the golem, which was fending off several of the shadow knights at once. Incredible, that construct. I'm glad it's on our side. Awe turned to horror when a trio of its shadowy foes merged into one, much large. That's not good. Perhaps I could help even the odds. The paladin spoke a divine incantation, and a soft white light surrounded the golem's weapon.

"Hope that helps," he spoke to the construct. He had no time to say anything more, as another of the beings charged at him, forcing him back into the melee.

OOC: Garnier cast his Sun Blade spell on the Duhos' weapon, which should allow it to much more effectively harm the shadow beings.
The stone cannot know why the chisel cleaves it;
the iron cannot know why the fire scorches it.
When thy life is cleft and scorched, when death and despair leap at thee,
beat not thy breast and curse thy evil fate,
but thank the Builder for the trials that shape thee.

-The Hammer Book of Tenets
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Ambrose51
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The Resident Horror Enthusiast

Matthew took a few steps to the side, trying to get the best view of the situation as possible. One of the shadow warriors had singled him out, but was simply hanging back, waiting. Presumably, the creature had noticed the liquid that Matthew had cast, and was waiting warily. He wondered briefly if the things could feel pain, and if they were 'alive' for any meaning of the word, or merely puppets. It didn't really matter, he supposed, but it would be something to think about during his next bout of insomnia.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the shadow warriors harassing the Patriarch, and frowned as another pulse of pain flashed through his head. Even just having Avalon out was growing strenuous. While unfortunate, he couldn't do anything about his illness at the moment.

"Skewer, Avalon."

A slight gesture of his hand, and the words of activation for his enchanted weapon were all that were needed to send a thin strip of liquid mercury lashing out at the shadow attacking the Patriarch. It impaled the creature from behind, freezing it in place, and a split second later, dozens of needles of liquid mercury burst from the thing's chest. It dissolved into black mist in an instant, returning to the shadow to reform. Matthew scoffed in scorn. The creatures weren't that powerful, they were merely tedious. Even so, that tediousness could make them just as deadly.

The one that had been waiting for a chance came at him before he could turn, slicing at the strand that had impaled its fellow. The shadow-sword cut through the liquid mercury easily, and the part separate from the main body of liquid fell to the floor with a plop. The shadow warrior continued, readying a strike at Matthew's side, but as the shadow-sword cut through the air, Avalon reacted instantly, shooting up and forming a membrane-like wall. The shadow-sword clanged off of the new barrier, so the creature tried to swing again.

"Skewer."

Dozens of tendrils like the one that had killed the first shadow warrior impaled the attacker, and each exploded into dozens more super-thin spikes, dissolving the thing instantly.

Well, it appeared that the defensive mode of his Avalon still reacted just as quickly. That was good. With his condition getting steadily worse, he was afraid his powers might have decreased even further. As it was, it was all he could do to silently command the separated bit of liquid the second shadow warrior had cut off to reform into the greater mass. The liquid slid across the ground, rejoining the flow of liquid mercury that had gone back to lazily circling his feet. At the same time, both of the shadow warriors he had 'killed' walked back out of the shadow, reformed once more.

Clutching his head with one hand as the headache grew even worse, Matthew muttered a quiet curse.
But mostly? The assorted plans at play here would be going very, very wrong due to the actions of a no-name, no-count, utterly talentless Magus by the name of Shirou Emiya. He had no magic worth mentioning, no combat experience of note, and no plan for or knowledge of the War he was about to enter. He did, however, have one trait that had derailed a countless number of such grand, far-reaching schemes throughout history.

You see, he really, really wanted to be a hero. -(Best description of the start of a Fate novel ever.)
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Colonel Mustard
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Lord of Facial Hair
The immense hammer swung down towards Duhos and the golem raised his glaive in two hands. The hafts of the weapons caught against each other, the shock of the impact sending a wave of force shuddering along his arms. With swiftness suprising for its size, the shadowy goliath span its mace in its hands for another assault. Duhos blocked it, but the blow glanced off his shoulder, sending hairline cracks snaking across the clay. He growled a curse; that was goign to need repairing.

He pushed at the weapon, knocking his opponent off balance, and stabbed at its heart with the point of his glaive, but the dark armour the abomination wore was too thing, the blade slicing off its breastplate. He slammed his other shoulder into its chest, knocking it away and giving him a few precious moments to size his new enemy up.

It was easily of equal height to Duhos, and there was thick armour around the heart of the thing, no doubt where the core of unnatural power that held together was held. It held its own massive maul in two hands, and Duhos knew that that would be more than enough to shatter his clay and cast him to pieces.

He heard a calling behind him, words of power, and light suddenly shimmered around the haft and blade of his weapon.

"Hope that helps!" he heard Garnier shout, and Duhos' face warped itself into the closest thing he could make to a smile.

"That it should," he called back. "Now try and keep alive, Paladin; this light's probably the only thing that can stop this particular fiend!"
"Pillage, then burn."-Rule 1 of Habits of Highly Effective Pirates
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Darkom
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Philosophizer

Teleporter Room; Noon, March 1st, 1066 AL

The dark knight swung once more, its pitch black sword rebounding off the Patriarch's magically enforced hands mere inches away from his head. The priest, even in his rejuvinated state, was breathing heavily. The shadowy warrior was stronger and faster than he, and unlike him it apparently did not feel fatigue. If he did not do something- and soon- they all would undoubtably perish. 'And if we die,' he thought, blocking another of the creature's attacks, 'The Dark Lord has won. Humanity is at an end.'

The Patriarch blocked another thrust from the shadow knight, stepping backwards once more. This time, however, his retreating foot slipped on the smooth stone floor, tangled in his bulky robes, and sent him tumbling studdenly backwards. He fell heavily, his teeth jarring in his skull as shockwaves of pain rippled through his body. Before he could even cry out, the monster facing him leaped, no hesitation in its coldly efficient movements. 'No!'

Just as it was swinging its midnight sword for the killing blow, however, the shadow knight stopped. A split second later, dozens of tiny needles seemed to puncture the creature from the inside, evaporating it before the Patriarch's wide eyes. Before he knew what was happening, another of the creatures lunged forwards, slicing through a mettalic ribbon in the air before stepping towards one of the heroes. The man, obviously a sorceror, was saved by a wall of the liquid metal, before countering with another thrust of the magical liquid.

The Patriarch scrambled to his feet, nodding at the man who had saved him. Before he could thank him, however, another of the heroes, the Tsydrian, cried out. "How deep underground are we?"

With the shadow knights held temporarily at bay by the golem, paladin, and sorceror, the Patriarch had time to gasp a reply. "Too far," he raised his glowing hands in defense, alert for the next wave of monsters to emerge from the darkness. "We cannot break these walls, no matter how hard we try. The only way out is through the Folding Stone, but I can't send you with these things attacking."

The priest looked at the heroes, trying desperately to think of a solution. He had to do something, before the creatures struck again. "I will hold them at bay," one of the heroes, the floating woman, said solemnly. She had held her own against the Dark Lord's minions, using obviously powerful psychic techniques not unfamiliar to the old priest. "If I can keep them busy, can you teleport us out of here?"

The Patriarch looked at the woman, wondering at her intentions, and her powers. If she believed she could do it though... "Very well," he said, "I will begin the incantation anew. But beware, those things will attack even more ferociously once I do."

The woman merely nodded.


OOC: My sincere apologies for the wait, I had homecoming yesterday and I spent most of the week preparing for midterms. We should be ready to move on in the next few posts, so be ready for that. Since the Duke has decided to leave us, I have taken liberties with Victoria. If he decides to return soon, he can have her back, but for the time being she is under my control. The same goes for Evil and James, though they might have to be left behind. Meanwhile, I'll see if I can get a few fresh faces into the RP, hopefully liven things up a little once we get out of Sunkeep. I know I for one do not want to see this thing go down so easily; I can only hope you all are willing to join me. Thank you very much; I look forward to continuing this RP with you. ;)
Don't say the old lady screamed. Bring her on and let her scream. ~Mark Twain
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Crimson Paladin
Novice
It seemed that their foes were slowly learning. The shadow knight seemed to reform its sword into a mace, so it could better transmit its blows through the paladin's shield and armor. This isn't good, even if we manage to keep them guessing, I fear there's too many of them, thought Garnier as he slashed the creature's weapon arm, causing it to dissipate and reform behind him. Garnier felt it slam its mace against his back, sending him several steps forward. He turned around and slashed the creature across its torso, causing it to dissipate again. He did not see it reform, although whether it had retreated or was destroyed, he did not know. What he did know was that they may win through sheer attrition.

The knight heard the Patriarch speak. "We cannot break these walls, no matter how hard we try. The only way out is through the Folding Stone, but I can't send you with these things attacking." The floating woman gave a reply. "If I can keep them busy, can you teleport us out of here?"

Brave woman, to volunteer to hold them off. The paladin moved in closer to the center, to help defend the king and patriarch.

"Everyone get to the teleporter!" Hopefully nobody else will be left behind; these shadow knights were difficult adversaries even for those imbued with the power of light.
The stone cannot know why the chisel cleaves it;
the iron cannot know why the fire scorches it.
When thy life is cleft and scorched, when death and despair leap at thee,
beat not thy breast and curse thy evil fate,
but thank the Builder for the trials that shape thee.

-The Hammer Book of Tenets
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Colonel Mustard
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Lord of Facial Hair
"We cannot break these walls, no matter how hard we try. The only way out is through the Folding Stone, but I can't send you with these things attacking."

They were going to run. Goddess, Duhos hated running.

He snarled a curse as the immense maul of his enemy smashed against his glaive, the impact causing a ringing to sound across the small battlefield. He pushed with his weight behind the glowing weapon, stumbling his enemy and he swept his armament towards his giant foe. Thrown off balance, it barely managed to parry it and he jabbed the butt of it into its chest to drive it off.

"If I can keep them busy, can you teleport us out of here?"

This was the Kriem girl; a brave thing to volunteer, especially for one of the psy-kin. They were not beings known for their valour, after all.

"Everyone get to the teleporter!" he heard Garnier yell, and Duhos stepped back while he had an opening as the Paladin drew back to the defence of the king and the Patriarch, presenting a wall of thick clay between the two vulnerable parties and the shadow knights. There was no way he would be able to defeat them all, especially with their giant kin, but with the aid of the others, he could certainly hold them.

"We have you guarded!" Duhos called. "Get us out of here!"

The mace swung down against him, and he blocked it, but the impact was enough to send the clay in his already damaged arm cracking even further. The weapon pushed at him, but he set his feet with a growl and pushed back. For a moment, a battle of pure strength reigned, the two massive combatants locked in stalemate, pushing against one another. He could hear a creaking noise of abused clay, even as the light imbuing the haft of his glaive began to eat away at the haft of the mace like acid, and he knew that he was going to need some aid if he wanted to beat this creature and buy the others the time they needed.
Edited by Colonel Mustard, Oct 17 2011, 05:32 AM.
"Pillage, then burn."-Rule 1 of Habits of Highly Effective Pirates
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Half Tooth
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Painter
Scylliria felt defeated, utterly defeated. If there was no way to get light from above what were they to do? She tumbled sideways so that she was no longer backing into a wall.
A flash of light suddenly caught her attention, the golems weapon was glowing! It seemed the Paladain cast some sort of enchantment on his weapon.
As Victoria volunteered herself to fend off as many of the shadow knghts as possible, Scylliria shouted to Garnier:
"May I have some of the light for my glaive?" She spun it in her hands, making it move so fast it almost looked like a solid circular object which in turn would form a huge shield if it were imbuned with light.

She looked briefly at the patriach who had begun casting his spell again. Please get us out of here. she thought to herself.
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Crimson Paladin
Novice
The golem seemed to be holding off the giant shadow being, giving Garnier a chance to rest his breath. But as he managed to catch his breach, possibly prepare to strike at the golem's foe, he heard the sea elf.

"May I have some of the light for my glaive?"

He had enough mana to cast the spell once again, and it seemed to be a reasonable request. "Very well, I'll do what I can." Chanting the spell under his breath, he rushed towards the sea elf. As he drew closer to the Tsydra he finished the chant and the woman's spinning glaive was engulfed in light, creating a brilliant disc of light.

"There you go." That out of the way, Garnier turned his attentionback to the center of the room, where the golem, the wounded king, and the Patriarch were. "Looks like they need our help," he spoke as he began to fight his way through the shadow knights to get back to the center. His mana was getting low and he was still feeling the pain from the knights' last blow.
The stone cannot know why the chisel cleaves it;
the iron cannot know why the fire scorches it.
When thy life is cleft and scorched, when death and despair leap at thee,
beat not thy breast and curse thy evil fate,
but thank the Builder for the trials that shape thee.

-The Hammer Book of Tenets
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Ambrose51
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The Resident Horror Enthusiast

OOC: Woo... Long post ahoy.

IC: Matthew backed up to his original position by the folding stone at the Patriarch's words, his Avalon following him lazily. He was disappointed to see their numbers cut down so early in the fight, but still... Everything for the greater good, as some might say.

Several more of the shadow knights had moved to try and circle him since he had dispatched the first two, and they were obviously much smarter than he had originally given them credit for, as they seemed to be waiting for an opportunity to attack him simultaneously. To have figured out the weakness of his Avalon so quickly... Or perhaps it was merely a stroke of good luck on their part. Either way, this was going to become troublesome very quickly.

"Let the heavens stir with power once more."

A wind swept through the corridor, and Matthew smiled slightly even as his headache began pounding so badly that it practically blocked out all other noise.

"Let this descending wind be as a wall."

The black knights, perhaps sensing their chance was about to escape, charged.

"Crash down."

Matthew extended a hand towards the front, where only two of the shadow knights were, now only a few feet away. A great gust of wind blew out from the area in front of his hand, sending both of them tumbling back into the shadows. Had they been regular people, they would have been killed simply from the impact on the stone floor once they landed. As they were not, however, they simply got back up, albeit slowly.

Matthew moved his hand to his right, leaving his palm directly in front of the third shadow warrior, that was almost within striking distance.

"Crash down."

Another gust of wind, but a weaker one, shot out from nowhere, impacting the black knight in the chest and sending him flying back into the crowd of fighters in the chamber. Matthew paid no further attention to that one, simply turning all the way around even as a dark blade descended towards his neck. As soon as his eye caught the weapon, however, his Avalon jumped up and took the blow, bending inwards only slightly as Matthew struggled to keep his concentration. He could already feel a trickle of blood coming from his nose. Casting magic like this would normally do nothing to him, but while also using Avalon... He would have to refrain from using it in the future except in the most dire situations.

Matthew moved his hand one more time, and a hole opened in Avalon's defensive barrier with no direction from him.

"Crash down."

The fourth and final shadow warrior attacking him blew back as well, and Matthew paid no attention to where it went. He was too busy falling to one knee as the pain in his head became nearly overwhelming. Why was his headache this bad? He could only think it was caused by their location. Gritting his teeth, he stood back up on shaky legs, and cast one final spell.

"Rescind, Avalon."

The liquid metal withdrew back into its container with a plop, and Matthew wasted no time fixing the cap back on. He felt his headache recede slightly as the drain on his mana faded away. Nearly slumping in relief, he decided to simply use his regular spells from here out. Using Avalon in that fashion was far too much of a strain.
But mostly? The assorted plans at play here would be going very, very wrong due to the actions of a no-name, no-count, utterly talentless Magus by the name of Shirou Emiya. He had no magic worth mentioning, no combat experience of note, and no plan for or knowledge of the War he was about to enter. He did, however, have one trait that had derailed a countless number of such grand, far-reaching schemes throughout history.

You see, he really, really wanted to be a hero. -(Best description of the start of a Fate novel ever.)
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Darkom
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Philosophizer

Teleporter Room; Noon, March 1st, 1066 AL

"Everyone get to the teleporter!" One of the heroes, the paladin, shouted, drawing back onto the Folding Stone. The others quickly followed suit, with the immense golem guarding them all from the massed Shadow Knights. Their demonic foes pressed forwards, but the clay guardian held them off, with the help of the paladin's slashing sword and the Tsydrian's now glowing polearm.

'It will not be enough,' the Patriarch thought desparately, even while he began the opening motions of the incantation. Then, with a sudden fury, the mage stepped forwards, wielding the wind itself against the spectral warriors, sending several crashing back into the darkness. The Patriarch, a practiced mage himself, knew better than to suspect the youth's powers would save them, however. Even as he watched, the sorceror fell on one knee, clutching his head as he brought his liquid metal back into its container. 'These few are powerful indeed.'

With the second lull in the Shadow Knight's attack, the Patriarch began his chanting once more, the elder language rolling from his tongue like the deep rumble of distant thunder. The priest clasped his renewed hands together, the light from them glowing brighter as he continued weaving his spell around the group of heroes. Even as the light grew stronger, however, the darkness seemed to close in more and more; the shifting outlines of the etheral warriors leaped angrily at the edge of the umber, waiting for their chance to strike. The heroes still held ready, but even the Patriarch could see they may not hold off this renewed attack.

The chamber grew silent save for the Patriarch's echoing incantation. The silent Shadow Knights had ceased their movement; the darkness beyond the Folding Stone was preternaturally still. Then, without warning, the evil things sprung forward as one, their weapons lashing out viciously, seeking the flesh of the mortals within the priest's glow. The heroes braced themselves, and though his incantation remained steady, even the Patriarch winced. The deadly black swords, however, never came. All of the Shadow Knights had been stopped, as if by a wall, mere feet away from the party of heroes.

'The girl.' The Patriarch turned towards the psychic woman, and marvelled at the glowing purple lines etched across her body. Her eyes glowed from beneath their lids, not white like his, but a deep veridian. From beyond the invisible wall, the shadowy creatures danced, brandishing their swords, howling in silent fury. They beat against the mana field, each blow rebounding off uselessly, but with each passing moment the woman seemed more and more troubled. Sweat had already begun to bead down her skin, and her small face had contorted into a combination of pain and determination. She would not be able to hold the wall for long.

The Patriarch continued his bellowing chant, wishing desparately he could speed the magic's process. The girl would be forced to relent her spell soon, and if they had not travelled through the folding stone by then...



OOC: Stopping here for length's sake. We should be able to teleport away within the next post or two, as soon as I figure out what to do with Victoria. And after that we'll finally be able to begin the RP proper; hopefully I'll have gotten some new talent for it by then as well. ;)
Don't say the old lady screamed. Bring her on and let her scream. ~Mark Twain
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Colonel Mustard
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Lord of Facial Hair
Duhos grunted, pushing against the hammer of his massive opponent. The two of them were locked in a stalemate, wrestling against one another, and he could feel pain in his fractured arm as the clay began to crack and split further.

Behind him, he could hear someone begin to chant, an incantion in the elder language, a tongue older than even Disolthrem, and he guessed it was the Patriarch, no doubt. He was not going to be left behind, not at this first stage, and he gave a roar, pushing against the haft of his enemy's weapon before spinning his glaive and brinigng the glowing blade chopping down into its neck. Hammer knocked away from it, it had no way to block the attack before the glaive sliced between its head and neck. It faded into nothing, the blazing light surrounding the weapon eating through the shadowstuff that made it up, and Duhos stepped back to the keystone as the Shadowknights circled the circle of light that the Patriarch's magic had summoned into existence.

Silence fell, the Patriach's chant the only noise that broke it, and there was a sudden lull before the shadow knights rushed forwards once more, only to hit a barrier. He glanced up, seeing the Kriem girl holding some kind of shield erect, and gave wordless bellow of approval as the Patriarch continued his chanting. That would hold the foe back for a while.

And then they were going to run. Goddess, did he hate running.
"Pillage, then burn."-Rule 1 of Habits of Highly Effective Pirates
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Crimson Paladin
Novice
OOC: I really need to post more promptly.

The paladin looked back to see the barrier having been formed behind him. I wouldn't want to be on the other side of it, he thought as he saw the Shadow Knights relentlessly attack the shield. As he took a moment to catch his breath from the fighting, the pain from the blow to his back returned. As it seemed nothing was broken, he fought the urge to heal himself; he could not afford to waste any more mana.

There was little he could do at this point: it looked like their survival would depend on whether or not they could get out of there. The feeling of helplessness that he felt when he was wounded by orcs came flooding back. Once again his life was in the hands of others.

I hope he can get us out of here in time...
The stone cannot know why the chisel cleaves it;
the iron cannot know why the fire scorches it.
When thy life is cleft and scorched, when death and despair leap at thee,
beat not thy breast and curse thy evil fate,
but thank the Builder for the trials that shape thee.

-The Hammer Book of Tenets
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