Personal Quest baker's dozen [seasonal event]
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,971
MP:
#1

Amalia
i'll light a fire in your new shoes

It is a beautiful day to start anew - or so the girl tells herself, sleeves rolled up and hair pulled back, as she opens the bakery door.

A deep inhale; it smells of musk and wheat, stone and ash, but that will all change soon. There is a vision in her mind: a roaring oven, a steaming hearth, a counter lined with bread and pastries, the smiles of strangers, a warmth in her heart. She sees this through the lens of memory and dream; reality, alas, looks rather more grim.

The bakery has stood empty for ten long years, since... ah, but it does no good to dwell on that now. In the interlude it has fallen into disrepair, become possession not of people but of mice and motes. Birds have nested in one of the ovens, and the cast iron pans are nowhere to be seen, though the girl remembers packing them away. The garden in the back is similarly feral, though the herbs seems to have flourished in her absence, growing wild and shrouding the once orderly beds in delightfully aromatic chaos. Perhaps too wild- the girl is certain she saw something moving back there, though it was difficult to tell for sure. She has not looked into the storerooms, and is rather afraid to do to - since her youth she has despaired of the decrepit larder, secretly fearing the demons she is certain must lurk in their depth.

The whole thing is both painfully foreign and shockingly familiar, and for a moment all the girl can do is breathe, her black eyes bright with bittersweet memory. Ghosts have lived here too long, as her grandmother would say. It is time to reclaim this place for the living, to fill it once more with sweet smells and warm smiles.

But oh, where to begin?

-------------------

Amalia is re-opening the bakery! There are 3 spots open for the PQ. Keep an eye out for killer pumpkin sneak attacks.

1. Deimos
2. Joresval
3.

image by tambako @ flickr.com
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,831
MP:
#2

Deimos the Reaper
You can't take back the cards you've dealt on this
long and lonely road to hell
the throne must be such a sad and lonely place

Without need for death and destruction, menace and mayhem, the Reaper had been forced to find other methods of entertainment and occupation. The latest diversions had been carpentry and assistance in assuring shops were rendered hospitable, noteworthy, and open for business. Part of this had been pure selfishness, methods and calculations meant to ensure he’d be able to acquire weapons, potions, and other necessities when required; a soldier’s life leant heavily on their alliances, skills, and the knives, daggers, and cutlasses they held. Cold-blooded machinations weren’t his only forte, but he bit into their meticulous scruples on a regular basis. Presently, his gaze was cast on the dilapidated bakery, mind whirling at the lack of goods and fine smells coming from its threshold. As a child, he’d snuck off with dozens upon dozens of rich sweets and divine, luscious pastries – eating them in the shades and shadows of hallways, parlors, or orchards, smug at the notion that his mother couldn’t catch him licking his fingers. His father would’ve laughed, hardy and massive, and Stone would’ve been the image of her namesake: raw disappointment and disapproval bristling across her features.

The memories blistered away though, one-by-one, and he was left with an open door beckoning for him to enter and proffer something. He wouldn’t be much for delicate craftwork or cleaning; too big, too broad, too likely to smash any remaining works of opulence. The burly warrior was suitable for devastation, ruin, and the occasional heavy-lifting; he’d somehow managed to wind his way into woodworking when Tristan and Remi needed it. His talents were also not fashioned into gardening, that had been more of – the thought drifted away and he swallowed, suddenly prying his gaze away from wild weeds and savage sprouts, making his way closer to the aperture.

When he poked his head in, he was surprised to see Amalia there – stare widening slightly in surprise before sinking back into his routine nonchalance, sliding his gaze over the rest of the ruins inside the once-mighty confectionary. Didn’t she also run the library? How did she find the necessary time to oversee both? Did she sprint from one to the other, or were either of them simply hobbies (the way he relished in hunting, in sparring, in training)? It likely wasn’t any of his business, so he remained silent on these wiles, standing on the threshold instead, offering what little talents he possessed (fire and brimstone, death and desecration, might and might and might) into the dusty hallows. “I can help.” With what would be the real evaluation; he had an inkling she didn’t demand taste-testers.


Photo and Table by Time
Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary
Jorseval Craik
Vagrant / Priest

Age: 26 | Height: 5' 10" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 0 - Strg: 8 - Dext: 10 - Endr: 8 - Luck: 9
Played by: Laine Offline
Change author:
Posts: 21
MP:
#3
Jorseval
You can dunk me in the river, gonna clean my sin
But you might as well dunk me in a bucket of gin

So buildings… Jory wasn’t super into them, as a concept, but they sometimes held two of the things he was quite keen on: a drink and warm place to stick his dick. Today, that was enough enticement to bring him out of the trees and into civilization. Well…. “civilization”

He’d found no one at the makeshift pub—to serve him alcohol or to get off with—presumably because it was still so early in the day. He’d never understand why people never seemed to think that those were activities appropriate to mornings. Jory could hardly think of a better way to start a day. Regardless, he was now in the middle of the Settlement so he might as well find something to make it worth his while. The librarian was poking around the old bakery, one he had definitely tried to filch from back as a ragamuffin kid. It hadn’t been in operation since he’d been a raggafuffin adult but he remembered the delightful smells that had seeped out of it in years prior.

Jory ambled in, pushing past the hulking man at the door and into the place like his usual whirlwind of twitchy energy. He vaulted up to perch on a high piece of rickety old furniture and sent a wide grin at Amalia. "Good morning, Chickadee, long time no see. Who’s grumpface over here? " He asked, jabbing a thumb towards the man at the door. He didn’t quite wait for a response before looking around the room again with a low hum. "Hmmmm, bit dusty in here. You know, this place used to have the best sweetbreads? I once tried to nab one of the little buns right off the counter here but the ol’ lady caught me. Gods, she gave me such a telling off I think my ears were sore for weeks. Not quite that nice anymore, what’re you doing poking around?" He didn’t so much as take a breath throughout the whole of it and only looks around at Amalia again once he’d finished.
Force and magic can be used against Jorseval without permission.
Unless explicitly stated, he will only ever use Jory and not his full name.
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
Explorer

Age: 40 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural
Level: 4 - Strg: 31 - Dext: 31 - Endr: 30 - Luck: 31
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
Played by: Astor Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,097
MP:
#4

In the ten long years the bakery’s stood empty, someone - not sure who - has created either a covered walkway or tunnels connecting various buildings. Wessex rarely rouses herself during the daytime anymore, but she’s secretly a little fond of Amalia (these afflictions are few and far between, best cherish them) , and when she hears the baker is looking for some muscle, the sour-faced woman obliges. She may not, personally, eat anymore, but others do - and who doesn’t like the smell of baking bread in the morning?

Covered in her usual cloak, hood drawn and appendages well protected by the usual edges, the fellow Natural moves slowly from shadow to shadow. It feels as if she’s got a bit of the old-fashioned flu coming on, minus the fever, but it makes the arrogant grump only grumpier. Others might think she’s hungover. Entering through a back door, she comes upon the group through the storeroom (and yes, it is painfully empty). Her movements are more like a mortal woman of 50 than a spry super-human, but the strength is likely still there - she’ll just be paying for it later.

Eyes dart from crow-shifter to Amalia, and then to the Outlander, where they narrow ever so slightly. Odd little party. “Morning,” she grunts to the three of them, before plopping down against a wall, well away from any stray beams of light.  


WESSEX
She whispered back, I am the storm
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,971
MP:
#5

Amalia
i'll light a fire in your new shoes

A minute ago the thought of reforging the bakery seemed impossible, a near insurmountable task. Where to begin? What would she do? The birds need managing, the garden tending, the storeroom is a mess. She may be tenacious, but she is still one girl in the end.

Though not forever - or even for long. Mysteriously, magically, a team begins to build itself, familiar faces gathering in the bakery as though summoned. The first, and perhaps most surprising, is Deimos, that behemoth from the library who dreamed of reincarnation. Amalia looks up as his large form fills the doorway, a surprised smile blossoming shyly across her sculpted face. "Hello," she greets, her deep voice warm, gentle, as though afraid he might vanish should she sharpen her tone.

The moment is quick to fall apart. Like a bolt of chaos Jorseval appears, the priest a whirlwind of activity and words. Amalia's face shifts to a faint scowl, disapproval deepening the lines of her brow - were it not for their shared allegiance to the Old Gods she might evict him on principal. As it is she listens to his ramblings about dust and sweetbreads and stealing from her grandmother, a mix between a smirk and a scowl picking at her lips. "I remember that," the girl says wryly. "She used to chase you out with a broom." The memories hurt in that bright, beautiful way, bittersweet and brilliant. She wants this place to shine like that again, to be beautiful and full of laughter. Part of her fears that is impossible.

Another part still wants to try.

The last to join their parts is perhaps the strangest. Amalia blinks in surprise as Wessex appears, emerging from the back entrance gowned in cloak and hood. As far as Ascended go, Wessex is not bad: Amalia takes grudging pleasure in the other Natural, despite her distrust of all things New Gods. "Hello, Wessex," the copper girl replies, her delicate brow arched as she inspects the clearly uncomfortable Ascended. "Strange to see you out at this hour." She does not add I appreciate it, but her expressive smile says enough. They have assembled a solid team.

Amalia has hope.

"I... I want to reopen the bakery," the girl begins, looking across her old and new friends with a blooming flush of passion. "But it needs a lot of work. If you wanted to help, though... I'd be happy to bake for you. I'm not as good as Nani - my grandmother - but I, well..." she trails off with a small laugh, shrugging ruefully. "It would really mean a lot,"

"Wessex, maybe you could check the basement? There should be some old barrels of flour stashed away down there, and some pans and wood for the oven. Maybe other things. Deimos, maybe you could help?" She looks between the two hopefully, not adding that she particularly does not want to do this job - she loathes the basement, the cold and dark. Should the pair take up the task they would indeed find a collection of firewood and some old barrels of flour, as well as a small caved-in area with a notable scraping sound coming from behind it. Something trapped, perhaps?

She turns to Jorseval next. "There's some birds in one of the chimneys. Maybe you can chase them away." Less a request than an order, but there is humor in her voice. On investigation Jory would in fact find not a simple nest of swallows but a very angry great horned owl had taken up residence in the flue, and did not appear willing to move any time soon.

Amalia herself directs her attention to the stove and counters, all of which are in need of a good scrub.


ooc \\ I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER ;~; no post order, and obviously no need to worry about gourds anymore...

image by tambako @ flickr.com
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,831
MP:
#6

Deimos the Reaper
You can't take back the cards you've dealt on this
long and lonely road to hell
the throne must be such a sad and lonely place

Deimos had little time or use for imps, the tricksters, the mischief-makers of the world. There was enough deceit and underhanded treachery with diplomats and sovereigns, he had no need to delve into duplicitous, mercurial vendettas – and the grumpface insult didn’t endeavor him towards the newcomer either. So he readily ignored the creature as it bumbled and fumbled around the bakery, eyes glancing over the remains of what must have been a sight to behold before it withered and crumbled. He gave a quick nod to Wessex, whom he could hold in a much higher regard, fellow warriors, devastation and chaos at their fingertips, in their movements, in their motions. The beast had more in common with comrades in arms.

Besides, his accord with others held little in the scheme of things: Amalia announced her intentions in restoring and opening the pastry shop. It was a noteworthy dream, better than his layers of abhorrence, ambitions towards violence, insurrection, and upheaval. He had every intention to assist in the motives, like he’d done for Remi and Tristan, using his bulk and strength to achieve further aims and enterprises. While the others had been for future weaponry and items, free baked goods would be enough.

The outline seemed simple, but he’d been through enough of these activities and inclinations to know, to comprehend, there would be more to than just lifting barrels of flour. A previous experience had frozen his face – dust flooding his sights until he’d felt entirely numb – he figured this would be no exception. Regardless, he affirmed his willingness to support the cause with another silent nod, then followed the line of sight towards the basement, walking down the rickety stairs, down into the denizens of darkness. The flour drums were where Amalia had said they’d be, not far from the stairwell, wood and pans clustered and cluttered together nearby. He made his way to the first container, but heard some rustling, tapping nearby – indicating something else was lurking within the outstretched, gloomy corridor.

The beast indicated a warning to Wessex, should she adhered to the same task, informing her with an indifferent, nonchalant tone, as if discussing the weather or something else completely trivial and mundane. “We are not alone down here,” and he shrugged, presuming there would be an opportunity to strike or discover, but using the time he had to shift the barrel closer to the stairs.


Photo and Table by Time
Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
Explorer

Age: 40 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural
Level: 4 - Strg: 31 - Dext: 31 - Endr: 30 - Luck: 31
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
Played by: Astor Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,097
MP:
#7

If Amalia had any suspicion Wessex has Ascended, she’s just voiced it. Her mouth quirks up a little at the quip, but doesn’t respond. She’s made an effort, that’s what matters. But then the older woman remembers when Amalia was born, and always liked the girl’s Nani - not only was she kind to Wessex, but her bread was to die for. The would-be baker may not remember it, but Wessex and her sister played babysitter from time to time for the girl’s mother. Their people were never short of caretakers, that’s for sure.

Anyway, she’s directed down to the basement with Deimos, and it’s the perfect assignment: cool and dark and with someone she can relate to. They can probably work in silence and good lord, that suits Wessex juuuuuust fine. Following Deimos down the stairs into the dark, dusty cellar, they find flour drums, wood, pans, and some other odds and ends. She grabs the first set of pans and immediately goes back upstairs, placing them down at the top, where she grimaces to herself.

Fuck this pervading sense of loyalty, she feels wretched right now, compared to her evening activities.

But Wessex does not complain, nor does she shirk what she signed up for. Call it a personal code, if you will, but the woman is reliable when friends or money are involved.

She ducks back downstairs, just in time to hear Deimos point out the scratching and rustling coming from behind a bunch of rocks, which seem to the the remnant of a wall dividing off a smaller room. She makes a face. Of course there’s something else down here. There’s no use wasting time; Wessex sighs softly and grabs a knife from the hilt at her waist, drawing it and walking towards the area. “Let’s have at it, then. Do you want to uncover or attack?”


WESSEX
She whispered back, I am the storm

Amalia
Jorseval
I'm sorry this took forever toooo
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,971
MP:
#8

Amalia
i'll light a fire in your new shoes

For a few minutes, everything is peaceful, and the world seems at ease. Jorseval is off, managing the feathered invaders with little apparent need for help. Deimos and Wessex, silent and stoic, have retreated to the basement to fetch supplies and investigate the long-abandoned larder. The rustling in the back has grown relatively calm. In comfortable quiet Amalia scrubs, a hummed tune punctuating her focused movements as she switches from stove to counter-top, cleaning and clearing a decade of debris. Each shimmering surface glistens with memory, bittersweet and saccharine, a million fingerprints of nostalgia prying at her mind. Here, she once burnt her forearm; there, a boy offered her flowers and a kiss in exchange for fresh rolls.

The bucket of water is empty now. Shaking her head, the girl sighs, glancing over at the stove where Jory has disappeared. Unsurprising. Amalia shrugs, grabbing the bucket and heading toward the door to fetch fresh water from the pump. On her way she pauses, eyeing with trepidation the open cellar door. Deimos and Wessex have disappeared below, and though she peers in she sees nothing but the flickering shadows of a distant light. From the darkness she hears scraping, and the soft sound of voices- reassuring, and she is about to turn and leave when a sudden thud! rips through the floor, causing the entire shop to vibrate.

Amalia gasps, her dark eyes wide. Scrambling to the basement stairs, she calls out to her companions. "Are you okay?!" A hundred scenarios cross her mind: the basement has caved in. An old barrel exploded. A swarm of humming bats has awoken. But no, the truth is somewhat worse.

From behind the caved-in corner of the cellar, a stone golem has appeared. Standing tall at seven feet, the beast is a crude facsimile of humans, with arms that scrape upon the ground and legs that are little more than stubby nobs. It creaks and groans as it rises, confused and angry with the disruption, and through strange stone eyes catches sight of Wessex. With a terrible cry of stone scraping stone the beast raises its too-long arms, the right one flying awkwardly toward Wessex as it lumbers toward the humans who dared disturb its long sleep.

image by tambako @ flickr.com
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,831
MP:
#9

Deimos the Reaper
You can't take back the cards you've dealt on this
long and lonely road to hell
the throne must be such a sad and lonely place

This is what he craved most of all: the unsung violence, the chaos before the storm, the bewitching, alluring boundaries of vehemence and brutality. It sang in his veins, singed along his flesh, clambered and coiled its way through his soul, and at once, he was back along the battlefield, whisked away to compatriots and crusades, blood and death, disorder and onslaught. It was so natural, so innate, a breath of fresh air to his savage lungs, a taste, a rush, of frenzy and bestial discord, and he only answered Wessex with a smirk, with a snicker, with the perfection of a warrior sculpted from sinister hymns and ferocious cries. “Attack.”

The darkness hid away the monster, but only for a few moments – they must’ve disturbed it, awakened it from the shadowy domicile. At first, he couldn’t tell what it was, narrowed his stare as his fists curled, as he brought his vicious enchantments to life (never quite buried; the necromancy seething below his skin, a flowing, blistering toxin, venom and death in spades). It shifted and maneuvered in the folds and veils, and he stepped forward, armed with only his own power, strength, and invocations, though he eyed a few rocks and rubble clustered on the ground.

He was only mildly surprised when the beast finally unraveled from its midst; all stone and gravel, manifested into some living, tangible being. The Reaper was used to pinnacles and shades of demons, of infidels, but most had existent flesh, muscle and fibers he could cut, slash, tear, and lacerate with a blade. He shifted sideways, watching it carefully, deliberating studying it at a swift, keen rate, pondering over the best way to extinguish the incoming tyrant – it kept growing, far larger than both of them, so suddenly they were Davids to its petulant Goliath. Deimos could hear Amalia in the distance, far up the stairs, asking if they were all right, but it was too soon to grant her much of an explanation; the golem gave forth a mighty roar, and its stare seemed pinpointed solely on Wessex.

The soldier knew the fellow patriot could take care of herself; she was hardy, she was mighty, she was strong. But he’d seen glimpses, tiny cracks in the mask she bore, and he wasn’t about to leave her to her own devices. It took only a moment for him to grab a rock nearby and hurl it at the golem’s head, hoping to distract and deter it for an instant, raise the alarm towards himself. His voice reverberated through the floors, a roar for Amalia to hear, because she might’ve had more information on a world filled with unfamiliar giants. “What is the best way to dispatch a stone creature?” He didn’t have any weaponry meant to cut into rock; no bombs, no machinations, except the glint of his own enchantments, and they’d have to do for the moment.

The seething rampage of his designs pulsed, pervaded, his existence – slithering and combing their way across the cellar floor, raw, malicious intent serpentining towards the voracious creature. It was death and damnation, meant to delay, meant to wither, meant to decay, meant to erode, meant to give them more time to contemplate and figure out the best way to counteract boulders and crag. Without the right munitions, they’d be stuck – and while he could endure, while he could persist, he wasn’t sure to what enduring lengths the other inhabitants contained.


Photo and Table by Time
Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
Explorer

Age: 40 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural
Level: 4 - Strg: 31 - Dext: 31 - Endr: 30 - Luck: 31
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
Played by: Astor Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,097
MP:
#10

Oh THANK THE NEW GODS he wants to attack. Wessex didn’t want to let on (nay, she refuses to let on) that she miiiiight be the weak link in this current team. Like, really weak. Should be in bed weak. Instead, she gathers her puny, daytime strength, and manages to clear a couple of medium sized rocks without betraying herself too much - the creature within the does the rest in its anger at being disturbed. Bursting forth from its little cave, the rock creature towers over the two of them - moreso Wessex than Deimos - but that’s neither here nor there, except that she was secretly hoping it would go for the bigger threat…

Ah, well. No such luck.

Wessex is in the same boat as Deimos - nothing she has on her person will cut through rock, but she has heard of children’s stories mentioning giant rock creatures. But what… was… their weakness? Wracking her head, she scrambles to move quickly enough to evade the golem. But alas, no such luck again. She flattens herself against the dusty floor, missing the first awkward arm, but as she’s hauling herself up, she’s caught by a second - or third - how many arms does it have?

And then she remembers. Something her Gran told her long, long ago. “Sunlight!” she yells at Deimos. “Make a hole!” she manages to get out, before being knocked sideways.

Let’s just hope that Wessex isn’t in the line of fire whenever they manage to let the light into the basement. Otherwise, she’ll be toast too.

WESSEX
She whispered back, I am the storm
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,971
MP:
#11

Amalia
i'll light a fire in your new shoes

They are not okay, and a deep pang of guilt pierces the girl at the knowledge that she sent these people - people who only wanted to help her! - into such a trap. Amalia has not seen many stone golems, but has always been cautioned of their danger. Clean out the basement, her mother would say, Or the golems will grow. And though she hated this chore more than any, it seems her mother was, in this case, correct. The basement had not been cleaned in nearly ten years.

And oh, the golem has grown. It groans and creaks as it rises to stand, dusty and dirty, its long arms rumbling by its side. It lunges at Wessex, bellowing in fury as its first blow misses and goes wide. She is not so fortunate the second time. A limb connects squarely with the Ascended's arm: it will bruise terribly and hurt like shit, but not for very long, given her healing factor. She's lucky, though she probably won't feel fortunate just now.

Fortunately for Wessex, the creature's attention shifts away before it can strike again. The rock Deimos chucks at it clonks firmly off its head (?) - and, in a surprising turn of events, a chunk of stone flies away, chipped off by the impact. Stunned, the creature stumbles back, and for a moment it seems it may be beat... but nothing is ever that easy. With a grumble like a landslide the golem turns to Deimos, lunging and lumbering toward the stalwart soldier, its arms pinwheeling furiously as it moves toward the man - and the door.

On the steps to the bakery, Amalia stands. Paralyzed with fear and guilt up to this point, it is Wessex's sharp voice that jolts the baker from her trance, reminding her abruptly that, oh yeah, something has to be done. "R- right!" she stammers, slipping and spinning and stumbling toward the door, ready to throw it open and let in a bolt of light. Storm doors, they fell shut with the rumble of the monster, and now the baker struggles and shoves to get them to release. "Try to lead it here!"

-------------------------------------------

ooc || one more round and the world's longest PQ will be overrrrr! Love you guys <3

image by tambako @ flickr.com
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,831
MP:
#12

Deimos the Reaper
You can't take back the cards you've dealt on this
long and lonely road to hell
the throne must be such a sad and lonely place

The battlefield was not the same: no, he relished on an open plain, on an enemy he could see between sword and shield, a balance of vehemence and fury. The dark, acrimonious unknown wasn’t his preference, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and any commander would’ve sunk their teeth into his callous sway. Think then, boy, they would’ve howled, always one bellow away from becoming wolves themselves, and the dull thud of the golem reaching for Wessex propelled him further (he didn’t ask if she was all right; he could hear her breathing in the dark, and it was enough for the seconds layered thereafter). He was more than a warrior, more than a soldier, in those moments thereafter; one more monster, fangs ivory in the shadows, in the darkness, untamed and ruthless – there was a reason he’d earned the title the Reaper, why adversaries’ eyes had widened in his presence, why more than one had cowered as he grew closer and closer.

It was a beautiful, blistering rage filling him, curling and coiling through his veins, along his muscles, his skin, his sinew. He was an immoral, iniquitous cretin, drinking, swallowing, and consuming the chaos, the bedlam, thriving on its ramparts, om its fortifications, on the gloom, on the intrepid, Stygian veils, how they tried to thread a death knell through the cellar dungeon, and how he refused to let them. You will not stop me seethed in his mind, a wicked, simmering fire, a bastion of embers contorted behind his tongue, the bestial march of life draining away, across his fingertips, along his boundaries, until his entity was simply execution and annihilation, a demonic promise, a bloodied conviction. The challenge fueled, incensed, kindled such a savage barbarity in his bones; his father would’ve been proud, his mother would’ve shook her head, and all his comrades, the ones he buried at the edge of the fields or the beasts he carried home, would’ve cheered, clamored, and rebelled beside their brother; a vicious, remorseless, ferocious revolution.

The first action was simple but necessary, hurling rocks in different directions; a massive one towards the door, intending to create a hole, for wood could be replaced, but Wessex couldn’t be. If Amalia required apologies he’d attempt them, but life was life, and he was only striving to save one at the moment – hands grabbing hold of the doors once, twice, tugging, clawing, so there could be some damned light to guide the stone to its death, so it could be shattered, so it could dissipate into ash and soot.

But it moved in the dark, and his invocations, his rage, had directed it; he saw his chance in the same way that many warriors had – ensuring victory no matter the cost. His piercing gaze caught the spiraling sway of its limbs, how it moved swiftly, quickly, despite its ridiculous size, but he wouldn’t be fast enough. This would be okay. He’d endure. He’d survive. Deimos had felt pain, agonizing, blunt, keen, and cruel a thousand times before, and he’d do it again; it’d been his chosen occupation.

The limb connected with his right shoulder and he couldn’t stop the growl, the hiss, or the reverberating anguish pervading from his flesh. It brought white spots to his eyes, a gasping, grating breath from his lungs, and he wasn’t sure, along the rubble and ruin, if he’d cried out. But at the same time, the rocky fist struck against the wooden frame, and for the briefest of moments, he thought he saw a glimmer, a shard, of light piercing through the door. Was there a crack? A splintering?

Deimos lowered his figure and willed himself to move, faster, faster, faster, hands struggling to grasp hold of the golem’s feet, to ensure it’d stay put, to pulse more and more nefarious enchantments into the beast’s form.


Photo and Table by Time
Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
Explorer

Age: 40 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural
Level: 4 - Strg: 31 - Dext: 31 - Endr: 30 - Luck: 31
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
Played by: Astor Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,097
MP:
#13

There’s not much she can do at this point; it’s daytime, she’s been hit by a golem, and soon there will be sunlight pouring into the basement. This has got to be one of the most stupid things she’s ever volunteered to do. Wessex lays against one of the side walls in a dusty heap, feeling aches and pains all over her body, cursing herself and Amalia and the stone creature all in one silent breath.

She’s able to turn her head and watch Deimos batter away at the door, then get hit by the monster. Amalia tries to get the storm doors open, but they seem to be stuck? In order to try and buy more time, if they need it, Wessex raises her voice and yells with all her feeble might, “HEY YOU DENSE STONE FUCKER, OVER HERE!”

And then she throws her cloak over her body, just in case that light runs rampant and she needs to try and scramble away.


WESSEX
She whispered back, I am the storm

This is shit and Im sorry, but feel free to say if the light hits her or not!
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,971
MP:
#14

Amalia
i'll light a fire in your new shoes

A stone whizzes past the baker's head, and spins to look in shock at it's source. Was the golem--? No. Deimos. Another rock hurls at the door and Amalia quickly ducks away. There is a satisfying thwick as it connects with the storm door's latch, chipping off a section of rotted timber and letting in a shaft of light. Below, the golem groans it's displeasure and struggles to evade the beam, but Deimos' grip is sure and the thing can only drag itself about a foot. Wessex's taunting enrage it further: with a fearsome growl it spins around, escaping Deimos' grasp to lunge toward the Ascended.

And dissolves.

Silhouetted by a window of light, Amalia stands, panting, defiant, the door behind her at last thrown open. It casts a wide rectangle of dim sunlight- not much, but enough to conquer their granite foe. But at what cost? Anxious and guilty, the young woman jumps into the basement she so deeply fears, running toward Wessex and extending a tentative hand toward the older woman. "I'm so sorry- are you alright?" Her dark gaze passes between Wessex and Deimos, concernn and guilt and appreciation written on her face. "Upstairs is almost done, maybe I can make you some tea? And, um, cookies? To thank you?"

If Wessex will let her she will help the woman up the ladder and back into the dark. There is no more preparation that needs be done today- the baker's foe is vanquished, and she can at last open shop.



We did it, team! I'll archive this in a week, feel free to post a wrap up (or not, whatevs)

image by tambako @ flickr.com


Forum Jump:


Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)


RPG-D