Key Quest i wanna give you back the open sky
Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
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#1
Amalia
she was afraid of heights
Dawn, and she stands at the Spire's base, staring up at the shattered monolith while trying to suppress a shiver. She hates this place: it stings in her memory like a thousand tiny barbs, painful reminders of past mistakes lashing on her skin. Always a fixture in her mind, to see it broken and laid open makes the girl uncomfortable in ways she cannot explain. It wasn't meant to be like this, and yet she has taken the freedom greedily, entrenched herself in the outside world at the first opportunity to arise.

Is she so faithless, so feckless, to abandon her principals at the first sight of the horizon?

Amalia sighs, another shiver pushing over her despite the warm morning, the rising sun. Her staff is clutched in one hand; a bag hangs over her shoulder, containing food and small supplies. Breeches and a spun tunic make for simple ware, the ensemble complete by a long red scarf which she intends to tie around her face, in case the venomous spores remain. She had brought four extras, and she offers it to each of the arrivals in turn, just in case they forget.

When her team has assembled Amalia turns around, black eyes glittering with determination, a plan set in her veins. "The tulmhainar was in the basement, so we're going to go down. Keep your scarves handy, in case there's still gas. And be careful." So saying, Amalia inhales deeply, her hand white knuckled as she takes the first step, staff bathing the staircase in crimson light.


This is a closed PQ to explore the Spire's basement and try to rescue the tulmhainar inside.
No post order!
but she was much more afraid
of never flying
Delah Tàirneanach
the Greatwood Guardian
War Chief

Age: 108 | Height: 4' | Race: Fae | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Greatwood
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#2
i'll trade you this body if you set my soul free
Delah and her warriors have been waiting. Like stones in their stillness, they break from their mossy hovels and appear as the sun's rays first break over the treeline. Their eyes see those Amalia has brought. They judge, but they say nothing. Already Amalia has done all that Delah thinks she is reasonably able to do, in sharing this information. The warchief permits her presence here only because she has no jurisdication to do otherwise. If she has led her friends into danger, Delahs hands will not be stained by the blood. The leopard has been warned.

With a silent scowl and raised brow, masks of earth appear over the fae's mouths and noses. Their eyes are hardened and emotionless as the mud and the bacteria within hardens into a casing. Small circles are cut to let them breathe.

"Too much time has been wasted already. If indeed a tulmhainar is below, if it was alive, every moment reduces the likelihood that it is still."
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
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#3
The bard was not the first to arrive, but that was unsurprising given the length of his goodbyes that morning. He came as well-prepared as he could be, however, knowing what they needed to do. His pack held food and water, his first aid kit, and efas herb salve. Gloves for shifting rock and earth were tucked into his belt, and his clothing was both sturdy and serviceable, worn close rather than flowing so as not to catch on anything, and covering almost every inch of his skin.. White hair was braided tightly back by his partner’s deft fingers, and he had brought a length of triply-folded plain cotton to wrap around his face again. The torn sleeve he had used in his last descent had helped, and if they were going to face the poisoned air again, he thought it would be useful to have something a bit thicker this time. Still, he accepted Amalia’s offered scarf with a smile, squeezing her hand gratefully as he took it and wrapped it loosely around his throat and head for additional protection.

Delah’s people came even more prepared, and Jigano winced at her accusing words, but nodded agreement. ”And not just a tulmhainar,” he added quietly. ”There was a giant serpent beyond the chamber that held the great tortoise, a snake pale as moonlight and with skin like living stone. It guarded the portal…” He hesitated, bowing his head in regret at the memory of being unable to save the noble creature. ”It spoke to me, in my mind. It had lived beneath the Spire for as long as the barrier existed, I think, guarding the portal from use by the Voice’s children. If the tulmhainar is still alive, perhaps it is, too.”
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
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#4
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
It was as if he’d learned nothing: straight back into potential danger and ruin. The last time they’d all been here, together, the world had erupted and blistered, torn open lines and drawn them bloody, monsters rising and falling, people screaming and dying. Then it was over, and there’d been a sensation of freedom, of burdening, scathing curiosity, leading them down rabbit holes and warrens with canopies. So now they went back.

He’d stocked his bag of supplies more readily this time, hoping preparation would be the key (perhaps calculating endeavors this time, instead of racing headlong into screams, into landslides, into chasms of the unknown). He’d grabbed a roll of plain bandages (since he’d been the injury prone, designated target of tentacles, rocks, and any other walk of life), and various digging tools, some smaller, more compact in hopes they’d be collapsible and could fit inside his satchel easier. The beast supposed he could create tools and weaponry if need be – because he didn’t know what was down there – but wanted to have some machinations and munitions already in place; a bow and quiver on his back, several daggers lodged along his belt for either himself or compatriots. Food was a necessity, as well as a canteen of water, some gloves already placed on his hands (and a few extras lying in the pack too). His clothing was plain, but sturdy, utilized frequently when training, fitted close enough to his form in hopes it wouldn’t catch or snag on anything lurking.

It turned out he was last today. Amalia, Delah, and Jigano were already there – the warrior Fae hustling them onward, forward, without delay. He arched a brow but said naught, turning to the baker to accept her proffered scarf, tying it around his neck, ready to pull up and over his mouth in case of fumes. The warrior’s face was grim, lined only in nonchalance, chest rumbling in the consternation and apprehension of what was to come; his experiences in the cavern had not been comforting, and there was no Remi, no Isla, to save him this time. So he was silent again, hastened back into reticence and detachment, listening as Jigano spoke of serpents alongside tortoises. He inhaled sharply, conditioned himself straight into battlefield ethics, pursuits, and calamities – he couldn’t afford anymore broken hymns and dirges rising again – ready to venture, ready to succeed, ready to fight.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
Ronin Taliesin
the Supernova


Age: 34 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 14 - Strg: 58 - Dext: 70 - Endr: 58 - Luck: 79 - Int: 3
SUGAR - Mythical - Dragon (Ice Breath)
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#5
everything has its wonders
Ronin was late. Fashionably late, he told himself, but in reality circumstances had thrown themselves together in such a way that he couldn't be anything else. He arrived at a slow jog, Sugar coiled about his neck with her icy eyes fixed upon the gathered party.

A bow and a quiver of arrows was slung across his back, but unfortunately the armour he'd been wearing at the time of his fight with the Spire Demon was long gone, so he was left in his usual attire.

"Thanks for waiting," he said, accepting the scarf (Sugar grumbled her irritation as she was caught up in it as he wrapped it about his face). "Are we all here?"
even darkness and silence


Coding base by Sky!
Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
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#6
Amalia
she was afraid of heights
They all come: Delah, curt as always, a contingent of Fae at her back; Jigano, offering advice and information, pointing to more potential life beneath the earth; Deimos, silent, stoic, unreadable, making her stomach lurch a little with anxiety and concern; and Ronin, fashionably late but agreeable as always, a welcome addition to the group. "Yes," she answers his question, reaching back to tie her own scarf around her face. From within her voice is muffled, but the determination in her eyes speaks of a steeled, ready tone. "Let's go."

So they begin, descending down into the earth, her staff casting crimson light, the starwhale lingering anxiously behind. The stairwell is a mess, half-covered in rubble, and Amalia pushes some away to clear a narrow path. There's gas, too: she can feel it through her scarf, pushing and burning against her nose, her mouth, her eyes. She should have asked Remi to make her something to block it out. She should have told her friends to stay behind, not to endanger themselves on this mission. She should have done it weeks ago.

She should have done a lot of things.

"Delah," she calls back back quietly to the fae, "Could you and your warriors make masks like that for us, too?"
but she was much more afraid
of never flying
Delah Tàirneanach
the Greatwood Guardian
War Chief

Age: 108 | Height: 4' | Race: Fae | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Greatwood
Level: 5 - Strg: 11 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 25 - Luck: 28 - Int:
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#7
i'll trade you this body if you set my soul free
"I told you to come prepared." Delah said through clenched teeth and an unimpressed scowl. Glancing at the trio Amalia had brought, the warchief seems to consider for a moment before nodding. They are better to her alive than dead, and this is a small act of magic that she has time for. In her hands earth suddenly appears; clay forms the structure, mosses to help capture particles, and then a thick and silvery sort of metallic dust all held together by wet mud.

"Here." She says gruffly, handing four masks to Amalia to distribute as she will. For a moment Delah's eyes land on Deimos—the only candidate who seems properly helpful—before turning back.

Rather than walking, the fae glide to the bottom, easily avoiding the rubble.
Ronin Taliesin
the Supernova


Age: 34 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 14 - Strg: 58 - Dext: 70 - Endr: 58 - Luck: 79 - Int: 3
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#8
everything has its wonders
Ronin had descended a few steps - enough to feel the gas start to sting at his eyes, when Amalia and Delah exchanged words that would result in four earthen masks, seemingly capable of filtering the bad air. Accepting one from Amalia with a nod of gratitude towards the Fae, Ronin would call Sugar from his shoulders. "Wait at the top," he told the young dragon. "If it is safe, I'll call you down."

With a quiet trill to the group, Sugar flew from Ronin's shoulders and back up to the entrance to stand sentinel. The hunter slipped his mask on after that point, then followed the others down beneath the Spire.
even darkness and silence


Coding base by Sky!
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
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#9
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
The Reaper was already accustomed to the chaos foreboding in ridges along his spine, devil’s backbone, lingering in the facets of his countenance. He shared a glance with Amalia but said naught – wouldn’t have known what to say anyway, how to share his consternation without revealing how ridiculous, inept, and ineffectual he was, the depths of his piercing eyes all the more unattainable in the moment, as he dove back down into glaciers, ramparts, and unreachable walls. Ronin arrived, and the mood shifted. They began their descent, and the timing was off, the instant gone, his stupid, stoic enterprise and intervals locked in place, in accordance with all the other monotonous, irreverent things that make him whole. The instant they maneuvered downward, his senses could tell something was off; he hadn’t experienced the smothering oxygen, the callous, warped ways in which breathing could kill and demolish, wither and decay, and lifted the mask over his mouth and nose immediately.

In the midst and middle of the crowd, he could hear Amalia ask Delah for the same masks as her Fae brethren, the hiss of irritation rippling through; he lifted his eyes to watch and wait for further reactions, for the disapproval to cut them off, but they’re apparently worth more to her alive than dead, and earth became a tangible object in her hands. His brows lifted in impressed accord, then regained their rigid, stoic components when Amalia handed them to each, fingers briefly reaching for hers, brushing over as moss and earth shifted, a connection, quiet and hushed, in the dark-laden dust, a wayward sensation perhaps both of them needed. Then he took the mask, allowed it to slip over his features, to render his breathing capable and distinct, instead of contorted in poison and decay. “Thank you,” he spoke to both Fae and baker, and then began to pick his way over the rubble, over the ruin, cast in the crimson light of Amalia’s staff.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
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#10
He nodded to Deimos when the big man appeared, offering a ghost of a smile for the warrior who was becoming a friend in spite of their rocky beginnings. Ronin, too, was welcomed with a nod and a flicker of his fingers for Sugar. Isuma was not along on this venture, given what he knew of the gas and the fear that it had lingered with nowhere to go.

Jigano was as ready as he could be, and as soon as they reached the first few whiffs of gas - he remembered it, remembered open sores and weeping eyes, blood and pus and poison in his veins - he poured water over his masking fabric and wrapped it around his head. It was not perfect, and he would have suffered stoically as long as he could have, but Amalia's plea fell on ears more sympathetic than he had expected. Gruff though she was, reluctant though she seemed, Delah still created masks for him, and he accepted his from Amalia with a smile for his sister before he put it on - and a deep bow for the Fae warchief.

He did not have a Fae's wings, but he was nimble as he stepped lightly over and around the rubble, poised and better balanced now that he was able to breathe more easily. If it looked as though any of the others was struggling or needed a hand for balance he would offer it, but otherwise he followed in the Fae's footsteps, anxiety trembling deep in his chest at what they would find below.


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#11
key quest

This is now a KQ! Congratulations Amalia on pushing the plot to a point where it becomes DANGEROUS :D

If you want to pull out, now is the time. You've been warned.



The gas is an insidious vapor that seems to have a mind of its own. It defies the laws of physics, moving against the displaced air and gathering around the earthen masks like a cloud of flies. Delah's masks are indeed a good defense...but no defense is perfect.

You start to taste it. Metallic. Warm.

As the group descends loose rocks beneath Ronin's feet suddenly give way. They pitch and tumble causing the ex-captain to do precisely the same. Down he goes, luckily not taking anyone with him, but giving himself quite the jostle.

At the bottom of the stairway the door once opened by the group stands broken and crumbled. However remnants from the quake the rocked the room within have left their traces in the form of broken pillars and columns, rubble and ruin that prevents the way. Even the fae would have trouble slipping through the cracks.

How will you proceed?




You have 48 hours to reply. Posting order (randomly decided) is: Jigano, Deimos, Delah, Ronin, Amalia

Ending HP

Amalia: 91
Jigano: 206
Deimos: 72
Ronin: 22
Delah: 71

Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
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Posts: 3,914 | Total: 7,219
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#12
He had raced down these steps the last time he had been here, following the scent of blood and the sounds of mayhem until the gas had given him pause to wrap a makeshift mask around his face. This time the descent was much slower, each foot needing careful placement, but he had a proper mask in place thanks to Delah and Amalia. It wasn't perfect though, and soon enough his eyes began to water once more, snot clogging his throat as the effects of the gas worked their insidious way within.

He had not meant to go last; he should have gone first, he realized too late, when Ronin slipped and fell and the bard was too far back to reach him. Nimble and light-footed he hurried down as carefully as he could to reach the demigod, offering a hand to help his friend up and cocking his head to the side in concern. "Far be it from me to suggest you don't put yourself in danger..." he murmured wryly to his training partner. "But it occurs to me that if we get in trouble down here, there's not many people to know and come looking for us in time. If you head back up to the top, do you think you could send your... your shadow-self down to keep an eye on us and scout ahead through... that?" he nodded towards the tangle of fallen stonework with a faint grimace. "It might be good practice, if nothing else."

But until then, they couldn't simply sit in the gas and wait. Jigano eyed the tumble of stone warily, looking from the Fae to the rest of his friends before coming to a swift decision. "For now, I'll go ahead and see if it opens up any further on." He cleared his throat self-consciously, stepping off to the side and behind a large chunk of fallen stone to hide his shifting body. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs as best he could through the mask before it faded with the rest of his clothing and gear into the long, serpentine shape of a reticulated python. His snake form could hold its breath for a great deal longer than any of his mammal forms, and he touched his nose briefly to Amalia's calf before sliding towards the rubble, attempting to slip through it as delicately as possible and scouting ahead to see how far the mess went.



Jigano turns into a big snake and scouts ahead through the rubble!
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
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#13
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
The poison grasped and toyed at his senses, simmered along his mouth like blood; he clenched his jaw and slowed his inhales, hoping to prevent some clustered, imminent demise from the sultry air. They maneuvered down, down, down, perhaps damned to be the smoothest part of their foreboding adventure, except Ronin slipped; Jigano was there before him, but Deimos had come to the captain’s other side, proffering an arm as the bard spoke, teased. The Reaper had lost his humor somewhere between the cavern, and here, set his features back into a grim line behind the mask.

He hadn’t seen the door before: his first time down into these enigmatic ramparts, but was not surprised to find it barred by rubble, by ruin, by columns, by debris. His eyes roamed along the corridors, small and tiny, flicking to Jigano as he morphed into another form (a snake; not an asp, but a python), curling and contorting his way, scouting on ahead.

However, he wasn’t simply going to stand there, amidst the group, slowly cloaked and choked in miasma.

The warrior’s study continued – noting pedestals, columns, and beams jutting out at all angles. He was not an engineer by trade, but could follow the stoic figures, where they’d fallen into heaps, where one leaned on another, where one might collapse if given too much pressure or force. After his pause and examination, he lowered his satchel, obtaining all the gloves he’d brought within reach, proffering them to anyone who yearned to protect their hands, before pulling out the rope gathered at the bottom.

It was the same that had liberated Adam from the pit, but he made no mention of its prior deliverance skills.

Efficiently, he roamed closer to a series of stacked columns. They were all shapes and sizes, some crisscrossed and desperate for one another; carefully, he began to maneuver pieces, hoping to create a supportive reckoning below each one, so when he eventually began to move other portions, everything wouldn’t come tumbling down upon them. Every so often he stopped and took a step back, scrutinizing the balancing acts, before reapplying more support, more debris, beneath a pillar that looked a little wary. Eventually, he thought he might’ve created some established dominion of safety and reinforcement, so the beast could then craft and devise an opening.

With one last examination, he looped and tied his rope to the edge of a chosen beam, intending to manifest a larger hole for everyone to safely glide within, and continue onwards. Depending on Jigano’s luck, it might’ve only instigated a dead end, but it was worth a shot. Very slowly, he pulled, attempting to ensure it only snagged a little bit at a time, measuring his power, strength, and brawn into the pursuit.

--

Deimos offers gloves to anyone who wants one. Then he chooses an area to clear a path around, reinforcing some beams and support, before attempting to pull one out and create some sort of hole for them to go through.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
Delah Tàirneanach
the Greatwood Guardian
War Chief

Age: 108 | Height: 4' | Race: Fae | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Greatwood
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#14
i'll trade you this body if you set my soul free
Without a word or a glance for what the others were doing, Delah and her kin begin to link arms together, their heads bowed. A hum rises up from their throats, but it does not sound as though it is being made by vocal chords and lips, but instead by branches and spring breezes. Slowly some of the larger stones begin to move. Rising with precision and utmost care, they are deposited in a neat stack behind the group. Over and over the fae repeat this, their brows becoming moist with effort, and yet their expressions are serene and calm.



Delah and Co use earthen magic to move some of the larger stones.


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