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knife effect Vice Captain
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 Posted: Sun Mar 27, 2011 9:42 pm
 xxＴＡＢＬＥ ＯＦ ＣＯＮＴＥＮＴＳ
13 ✦ THE COLLECTION OF CRIMSON SNOW ; meta
14 ✦ LACKLUSTER ; meta
15 ✦ RED RIBBON ; meta
16 ✦ A TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE TIDE ; meta
17 ✦ NO INCOGNITO ; meta
18 ✦ CHANGES, CHANGES, CHANGES ; meta
19 ✦ BLOOD LIKE INK ; meta
20 ✦ THE HANGMAN ; meta
21 ✦ THE ITCHING ; meta
22 ✦ THE GROUND THAT SWALLOWS ; meta
23 ✦ THE ESCAPIST ; meta
23 ✦ CERTAINLY, SURELY, DEFINITELY ; meta
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Posted: Sun Mar 27, 2011 9:44 pm
ＴＨＥ ＣＯＬＬＥＣＴＩＯＮ ＯＦ ＣＲＩＭＳＯＮ ＳＮＯＷ
✦ ✦ ✦ CHAPTER 13. ✦ ✦ ✦
??? ; ???; meta
Meta prompt - House.
The House of Obscuvos
Cultists, House converters, anarchists...
"Riot"
As of now, the House of Obscuvos has been acting in the shadows-- but now it's time to truly shine! Go to the provinces of Shyregoed and Imisus, dear follower, and help your brethren in replenishing the chaotic youth of the streets once more...
...Exemplify your love for the Glutton God by outshining your peers in the riots across the land.
Upper class
Churchmen, nobility, wealthy businessmen, royalty...
"Honor"
The upper class flourish with the vitality of the Royal Families and the Emperor. As of now the Royal Families and Emperor are just what the riots are after-- they are fighting and destroying every single foundation that has represented the upper class's wealth. They're demanding answers that none can possibly provide at the moment, but you soon come to realize that there must be a way to stop these riots. With the political power you have with your status and/ or wealth, find a way to quell some of the violence happening across Panymium. Do you use your influence in a peaceful way, or do you aim to resolve things violently?
Dorian Arelgren was quite the aggravated man. Lettie refused to talk to him after the episode with Linda, and she wouldn't explain why either. He disliked her sudden chill, and he was all the more uncomfortable on the carriage ride to west Shyregoed, where the activity of Obscuvos was prominent, at least, where Linda lived. Though at first it was difficult to grow accustomed to, Dorian eventually adapted to the silence that settled between himself and his cold Plague. She was underneath his chair instead of in his pocket this time, refusing to be near him. He wondered what it was he did wrong. Was Lettie jealous? She couldn't be; surely, she'd grown used to his flirtatious escapades--Linda was nothing new to her.
The coachman seemed to take notice of his silence.
"Cheer up, eh, lad? Spring's not gon' stick 'round forever to watch your eyes water in melancholy!"
"My eyes are fine," Dorian snapped, irked that the peasant dared to detail the Arelgren's despair. Really? Spring couldn't care less about him. It was a fleeting season, all of them were. He only hoped that Lettie's crossness with him was just as ephemeral as the seasons.
"My 'pologies, sir."
Dorian grunted in response. He didn't care much for what the coachman had to share, flecks of wisdom whatnot. Linda's pressing kept him awake for a night; it was difficult to keep her out of his bedroom. It seemed as if his absence stirred a spooky essence in the girl--borderline obsession. To think that he'd believed that love was a myth... He tried to shake the thought away, but found that he could not. Linda's behavior worried him in afterthought, and he dreaded returning to her. He prayed to Obscuvos that she would not pursue him and that whatever it was he promised her would be dampened in her thoughts.
"First Lady Waldgrave, who is the next victim, you think, lad?" The coachman seemed to take the issue of death lightly, for he chuckled. Dorian wondered what made the man suddenly chatty. He was certain that the coachman breathed not a word to him when he was delivered to Linda's home.
Dorian's refusal to answer was enough for the coachman to know the boy would not speak. Lettie, like him, peeped not a word. Soon, the coachman was left in his own awkward mumblings on the road to west Shyregoed. Dorian had told him to drop him off at the nearest sign of a hubub. Chaos. Disruption. He was quite bored--no--bored was not the suitable word for the occasion--he was quite haggard.
After what seemed like hours, the horse's hoofs came to a slow trot, then a halt. Dorian's ears perked at the sound of shattering glass outside his carriage, and the yells of men were more than audible to him. The coachman knocked rapidly on the small window behind him, and through it, Dorian handed him a second fistful of shillings before gathering (a rather reluctant) Lettie into the safety of his pocket and exposing himself in the Shyregoed sun. He was well aware of the riot that he was in the midst of; he was well aware of who caused it--rather--what caused it. House riots were common--often against commonfolk that were dubious that the Obscuvians were benefactors. Well, truthfully, they were, but to themselves only. It was only natural, after all, that Obscuvos would segregate the filth from those that were competent enough to see Panymium through the end.
He pushed through the crowd that formed; he could make out "The Annex" not too far away from where he parted the human waves. Through gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, the Arelgren son drew the attention of the rioters. They stared though did not cease their pandemonium--curious of who the man clad in proud colors was intending--he did not don the cloak of the House--but for what reason was he heading for it? Questions were thick in the atmosphere, though Dorian's gestures provided little further information to answer them.
Lettie pulled her hat over her face, hoping that the noise would just go away. Dorian seemed to only be treading where the sound grew louder, and she was frightened of what would become of them. The giants were in tumult, and her Keeper seemed only to press onwards instead of making escape. She was still cross with him and his false promise to Linda, though she didn't tell him so.
When he reached the door of the cultist hub, he spread his arms over the door in a protective manner, eyes glowering at the rowdy plethora of fellow hooded Obscuvians and civilians alike. He really did not approve of riots, and he felt the very being of a mob was barbaric and necessary. Felicity and Claudia converted him to the House through words of empathy and understanding. Violence and prejudiced cries would reap no new sons or daughters for Obscuvos. At the sight of him, the shouting was slightly quieter, albeit not too much. Those that recognized the quirky Arelgren decided to thin their lips in curiosity of what "sensibilities" he had to share. The few Obscuvians that recognized him seemed taken aback with his behavior and were confused at why his jade-green coals gazed at them, his fellow siblings, in disapproval.
Dorian's heart raced, he licked his lips and feigned confidence.
"SILENCE!" he thundered, his voice rippling through the chaos. "Obscuvians...what have you done? Are these truly works of Obscuvos's sons and daughters? Disgusting. You are all worse than peasantry. The masses figure that we're madmen, 'cultists', they call us, here to condemn the world, here to act upon our prejudice."
A nearby woman dressed in deep blue wiped her sweat-beaded brow, and emitted a high-pitched laugh. Dorian's eyes averted to hers immediately. She smiled smugly at him, curling an ebony lock around a finger. "Really, Arelgren, are you trying to argue sense? Since what century?"
Those that knew him roared with laughter at this, though Dorian stood firm. He smiled a wolf-smile. Mrs. Randolph. The high-society's tailor's wife. Socialite by day, whore by night. Her kind comes and goes, really. He was surprised she had the gall to blaze him.
"Since the great Lord, Obscuvos, collected me. He is my shepherd, he led me here to you all. Dear Mrs.Randolph, Obscuvos does not take lightly on the dirtying of his name. The riotous behavior of your husband and yourself is quite a comical one, and rather foolish. As for the rest of you--and the mob of incompetence--" Dorian sighed before continuing.
"I was not changed because of conflict, nor was I changed through being physically assaulted, or worse by my standards, slandered. I was changed because Obscuvos spoke to me, through one of his daughters, that my existence holds more meaning than I know. That I am not just a Shyregoedian gadfly, but a child of crow."
The crowd murmured among themelves. Dorian Arelgren was the last man they figured that could be changed; they figured no god was capable of such a herculean deed. However there was an edge of sincerity in his voice that evoked something lost within them to surface.
"I did not murder Nancy," Dorian said bitterly, his tone different than before. He stared into the eyes of the dispersing crowd. Several socialites smirked at him, others gave doleful smiles, and the rest granted him their fair share of choleric glares. The Obscuvians remained by his side, taking his hands into their own. They seemed penitent when they spoke, and Dorian apologized for raising his voice towards his brothers and sisters. All was well until a civilian in the crowd jabbed a finger at his chest and yelled, "MURDERER! THE MURDERER OF MS. BURDREW CANNOT BE BELIEVED! SMITE HIM!!
Lettie yelped when Dorian released the hands of his brothers and sisters and rushed forwards with force. He did not know what it was that came over him, but he seemed to have adopted the very diabolic intent that he reprimanded. He grabbed the peasant by the shirt, breathing heavily with poison dripping from each and every word. "By soiling me, you've soiled Nancy's memory."
The man chuckled. "No, it is you who'v soiled your own manhood and Ms.Burdrew's memory."
Dorian did not remember what came over him next, save for that he momentarily released the revolting peasant, handed an Obscuvian sibling his coat with Lettie in it, and proceeded to do the imaginable. With an exchanged nod, the Obscuvian in possession of his coat and Lettie entered The Annex. Dorian did not want Lettie to see.
The few people that remained to speculate were mortified at the sight of the son of nobility collecting blood along his knuckles as he delivered each blow, the cracking of bones a baroque symphony in the Shyregoedian air. The curdling cries of the Arelgren's victim registered no response to the former, Dorian's mind was blank in the beating. Dull jade-green eyes watched in fascination as crimson poured out from the man's pores, red like the color of satin. Around him, the snow began to wear the same red.
When Dorian had completed what he started, the sun seemed to shine brighter than before and the snow around the man meledt into puddles of dirty scarlet; the first death reaped by Dorian Arelgren.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Wed Apr 06, 2011 5:13 pm
ＬＡＣＫＬＵＳＴＥＲ
✦ ✦ ✦ CHAPTER 14. ✦ ✦ ✦
??? ; ???; meta
Meta prompt - House. "Obtain," The House of Obscuvos vs. The Council of Sciences
Unfortunately for Council and House members alike, there is a high chance that you will intermingle with one another in the next few days. This is not fate or chance, just a clash in duties, as you will. Both factions have been adamant in trying to get their own brand of potion, the Furvus Elixir, a black and glowing liquid that has the ability to instantly kill people in a painful way or, in contrast, heal a Plague's mental and physical ailments. Not only are these elixirs sparse, they come in small quantities, and you need at least one full bottle of it. They are only available in black markets sprawled around port cities and in certain trade areas, but they're all quite shady and rely on your skill for words and convincing.
Get a copy and report to the nearest faction hub to you so it can be delivered to Dr. Adlam or Dr. Kirkaldy.
"She doesn't know?" Dorian breathed, gesticulating with a jerk of his chin towards his coat that contained Lettie while he rinsed his bloodied hands in a porcelain bowl an Obscuvian sister offered. No one seemed bothered that Dorian had allowed his hands to remain painted with blood for days. The Obscuvian sister nodded in response to his inquiry, handing him a cloth to dry his guilt with. He seemed content with her answer, for he was quiet for a short period of time until he was called upon once more. Obediently, he left his temporary room in The Annex to join the congregation of Obscuvians in the lower portion of the edifice. He picked up his coat and put it on before he left.
The meeting was a mandatory one, though Dorian could understand why so many siblings were needed for the particular assignment. He was to fetch the Furvus Elixir, a potion of some sort. Admittedly, he could not focus during the meeting and allowed his mind to enter the state of reverie when the speaker was explaining the dire need of the elixir. Dorian frankly didn't care much for it (fatigue was beginning to take its toll on him), but he was to prove his allegiance to the glutton god in any way he could offer himself, therefore it was required of him to.
He was instructed to search for a port. A shady stand, something unnatural. The Arelgren sighed, dispirited. Lettie did not speak to him, and he still could not fathom what caused her silence. Furthermore, he had to search for a needle in a haystack that he did not care for. As promising as the House was, Dorian was rather haggard from his episode with escaping Linda and the riot. A hunt for the improbable was the last thing he had in mind.
Shyregoed seemed more desolate than he remembered. Outside The Annex, one could not have guessed that a riot ever took place. Dorian hailed for a carriage once more, and this time, the driver was a woman in her early teens. She was pretty in her own way, though, Dorian appreciated that she did not initiate conversation with him. He was grateful that she knew a mouthful of ports that she could drive him to, his alibi convinced her that he was in desperate need of an escape from life. Well. It is certainly not uncommon.
The ride was rather pleasant, and Dorian thanked the girl for it. She returned his thanks with a blushing smile, jerked the reigns of her carriage--and was off again. When she left, Dorian gazed at the port around him, unaware of what its name was. There was no sign in sight. He hoped that wherever he was, he was still in Shyregoed. Taverns seemed to blossom from the ground wherever he looked, some sold foods, others, trinkets. Groaning, he trudged through the mud in search of a "shady place".
"Dorian?" a small woman's voice squeaked.
Dorian felt the blood drain from his face when he found the source of the noise. Linda Reese. How lovely to see her almost everywhere he went. He forced a smile, which she returned. Lettie finally began to squirm, making Dorian all the more uneasy.
"Hello Linda."
"What brings you here, Dorian?" She seemed rather pleased with herself, though Dorian could only guess why.
"Elixir hunt. House business." He had no reason to share with her anything.
"Well, that's just dandy! I have one myself. Furvus Elixir, yes? I can spare it to you, I have no need of it myself really. Dorian you must understand, I am grateful to the House, but I am not indebted to them. I am indebted to you."
"That's lovely, Linda. I am awfully tired today so I suppose I'll finish my business here and retreat."
"Dorian! You make a fool of me!" Linda giggled, she whipped out a bottle of Elixir which he instantly recognized. Its ebony color and glow was all he needed to assure its authenticity. Wordlessly, he accepted it from Linda, and hailed another carriage. He hoped he would never have to see her again.
Secretly, Lettie did too.
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Posted: Fri Apr 08, 2011 7:09 pm
ＲＥＤ ＲＩＢＢＯＮ
✦ ✦ ✦ CHAPTER 15. ✦ ✦ ✦
??? ; ???; meta
Meta prompt - House. "Opposable Fingers," Mishkan, Shyregoed, Auvinus, and Helios
Well, this is certainly no good, and it's not even the cultists' fault this time. There's been a kind of mass hysteria that's been hitting every other province outside of Imisus, where riots are still happening, seemingly an aftereffect (like it needs one) to the giant fiasco with the riots in the east. The remaining crew of the Panymese Press seems to have picked their place back up from Imisus and have been ravaging every province they can with propaganda and newspapers detailing scandalous and probably faulty news against the Council of Sciences and especially against the Fellowship of Mages and, worst of all, pitting everyone else in a survival of the fittest.
The main thing that has been hitting up rumors on the street in one form or another is that it's solely Emperor Rine VIII's doing that the Black Death is deterring Panymium at such a quick rate, and that the Black Death is predicted to wipe out everyone by the end of the season. They are starting fights, they are committing suicide and, most of all, they are against you in every way. Not only that, but the Council supposedly predicted that the Plagues are a direct effect to quickening the disease's potency.
Avoiding conflict with angry townsmen, even for nobles, is near impossible. So, please, do detail us in about your particular woes with these folk.
Dorian Arelgren slept soundlessly, the color red filling his subconscious mind with fields of scarlet roses. The roses smelled pleasant to him, seductive as they were. He was lying in the midst of them, his eyes glazed, staring into a red sun that beamed down upon the field of crimson. He watched as the roses around him augmented--their petals forming humanlike shapes of women and men alike. They were speaking to him in a foreign tongue--a beautiful sound that was both papery yet slightly threatening. Their towering figures cast shadows over him, and the biggest one bent forwards, impaling him with a long, thorny arm. When it retracted its limb, Dorian could clearly see his own blood pouring from the wound. When he gazed back at the rose-men, he saw that like him, they were bleeding also.
It fascinated him. Everything fascinated him. He laughed along with the rose-men, merry in bleeding. It was strange; pain became no different than euphoria.
The laughter ceased when a pale creature entered. She seemed to blossom from the ground beside him, much younger than himself, no older than seventeen perhaps. Her eyes were closed, but he could see that she noticed his presence. Her caramel hair was curled into pigtails that hung on either side of her shoulders. The scarlet ribbons that tied them in place were identical to the one that hung around Dorian's neck, and when her pretty lips parted, the gaiety that Dorian experienced left him immediately.
"Why must the roses be red?" she asked softly, her voice a doleful one. "Red does not suit you."
She seemed pained, her chocolate eyes watered, and her small body trembled. He could not look at her. He turned away from her stricken expression--and as soon as he diverted his attention---a thunk sound rang through the air beside him. He turned. A thorn-man had also impaled her. The blood that flowed out of her colored her clear skin an ugly red, and when the red deepened into a hue of ebony--her body burned into ashes.
Dorian woke with a start, his breathing unsteady. He stared down at his torso, only to find it whole with no wound in sight. A nightmare. Yes, that was what it was. He was exhausted from his journey to retrieve the Elixir, and a nightmare was the product of the ordeal. He had not returned home in a week, The Annex had become a second home to him. Lettie slept soundly beside him, her small, brown form radiating a chill. She was still upset with him.
The following morning was no different than his other mornings. He followed the Obscuvians out of The Annex to create more followers; to inspire. Though he spoke of morality not too long ago in his own attempt to convert Obscuvians, he could only watch impassively as those that refused to conform were beaten by his bretheren. What he did not notice was that for the first time, Lettie was exposed to the darkness of the House, her eyes widening at the red that poured lucidly from the cuts of the Obscuvians's victims.
Dorian did not move. Strangely, in the midst of the riot, he remained untouched. It was as if nobody took notice of him.
They left without him, too.
When the dust cleared, he became the victim of new arrivals. He was cursed, beaten, defenseless in his own right. He made no attempts to retaliate, watching as red poured from him. He could feel Lettie trembling from inside his pocket. Jade eyes stared at the cloudless skies above. In his dream, they were crimson, but for now--the only crimson to be seen was himself.
It was the House. The House needed more blood for the slaughter, and Dorian was merely another provider.
He remained lying there in the field of dirt and his own blood until an able Obscuvian discovered him and carried him back to The Annex.
"It's a red ribbon, your beliefs, I mean," he said softly, but barely. "It is a stigma. A stigma you must wear to prove your worth--or to prove something. If you do not wear it, then you proved nothing."
At the moment, he did not question if it was worth wearing.
He thought about the girl in the rose field. She seemed to disapprove of it--the red ribbon, his red self. What was it all about anymore? Why did peasantry exist? Why was there a lower class? Why was there a higher class? Why did people find no alternative save for to inflict pain upon another persons--to make them bleed? Why did Obscuvos allow his children to wear his stigma?
He remained silent while Lettie sobbed quietly.
"Just try to sleep when we return", the Obscuvian said. The man was neither sympathetic or empathetic in the way he spoke. To Dorian, it was not enough.
"Sleep should be an escape."
Nothing was anymore.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Sun May 01, 2011 7:10 pm
 Ａ ＴＥＲＲＩＢＬＥ ＴＥＲＲＩＢＬＥ ＴＩＤＥ✦ ✦ ✦ CHAPTER 16. ✦ ✦ ✦ en route to a point several hundred km. from Easton; Imisus ＦＥＡＴＵＲＩＮＧ： Wrickwright Finch, Hopkin, Coyotl Coyotl - ｆｉｎ
In which Dorian rescues Coyotl and Wickwright from their would be fate.
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Posted: Sun May 01, 2011 7:12 pm
ＮＯ ＩＮＣＯＧＮＩＴＯ✦ ✦ ✦ CHAPTER 17. ✦ ✦ ✦ the finch wagon; imisus; growth questＦＥＡＴＵＲＩＮＧ： Wrickwright Finch - ｆｉｎ
In which Dorian swears on his heart; Wickwright maintains good faith.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Sun May 01, 2011 7:14 pm
ＣＨＡＮＧＥＳ, ＣＨＡＮＧＥＳ, ＣＨＡＮＧＥＳ✦ ✦ ✦ CHAPTER 18. ✦ ✦ ✦ the finch wagon; imisus; growth questＦＥＡＴＵＲＩＮＧ： Hopkin - ｆｉｎ
In which Lettie receives many gifts from Hopkin.
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Posted: Mon May 02, 2011 6:35 pm
ＢＬＯＯＤ ＬＩＫＥ ＩＮＫ
✦ ✦ ✦ CHAPTER 19. ✦ ✦ ✦
??? ; ???; meta
 Meta prompt - House. UPDATE 4: "Leaking Sun," during daylight, for those who lack sleep, Panymium, week 4
There's been a mark of hallucinations across Panymium, and many have sent certain people into a certain daze. The earth is being marked by copious amounts of sand, a kind of thing that Panymium rarely sees outside of the scattered beach shores, and the people and objects around them seem to be melting and molting feathers. Not only this, but you see a bird's visage at the corner of your eye, a bird-headed man covered in feathers with a bare and tanned body standing aimlessly amidst the crowds, when you are alone, at any time-- but he does not speak to you. At some point in time this bird-headed man will tempt you to do something, a question that has lurked at the back of your mind, and that question will be the only thing he will say to you before he disappears, molting away until he's nothing but a scattered collection of dust.
What does he say, and what do you do in response?
The night quickly passed, swiftly as it came--it seemed as if Dorian only blinked and Wickwright, the caravan, the disgruntled guide--everything---was gone. He didn't quite know if he liked his situation, trying to somehow vomit an excuse for why he was no longer in Imisus or Mishkan or wherever it was the House expected him to be; his confrontation with Wickwright made him wonder if he truly wanted to be anywhere anymore, or if he just was merely a spectre shadow that lingered after every command Obscuvos directed. Sentimentally, he felt lost. Physically, he felt as phlegmatic as before. The morning failed to rejuvenate him as Wickwright did to his spirits the previous night. It was rather disappointing and frustrating, actually. The Arelgren did not appreciate it. The lack in Wickwright and Hopkin was suddenly an object of fear to Dorian, knowing that his sagacious wise man was no longer there to guide him, and that he'd promised the said wise man something that seemed impossible to fulfill. Eradicating the Plague is no easy task, Arelgren. No easy task indeed, and no easy task will it become... It was all very depressing.
Lettie, on the contrary, was rather pleased with herself. Her small gloved hands continued to massage Dorian's locks as she bounced up and down upon his head as he walked away from town and towards the Imisus sands. Sands? Yes, sands. There was sand from where she looked, though she wasn't entirely sure that the grainy material was called sand, but in Dorian's picture-books they were called sand, and she assumed all books were naturally correct because Hopkin was, and Hopkin was a book! The sand was very pale, it had a similar hue to Dorian's hair, but it wasn't as pretty to Lettie, so she tried not to compare it to Dorian's hair in her mind. Dorian's hair was one of his most charming qualities to her, she enjoyed flopping it with her hands and riddling it with ribbons. She wasn't quite sure what sand was, but she didn't think ribbons would make sand very pretty.
She pointed at the sand, giggling at it because it was just there. Dorian followed her finger and frowned slightly, for he saw something other than sand; peasants scurrying about the grains, their feet leaving prints of their being--he couldn't hear them from where he stood--but they certainly were not plagued and he used up his sympathy inventory the day before with his sparing of the caravan. Peasants seemed to only make his life more difficult, and yet he was making a valiant choice in his decision to protect them. He began to slightly dread his decision, but stopped himself when he thought of Wicky. Wicky was like a father to him, and he did not want to have his word unkept with Wicky. His word would be firm, and he would save Wicky. No doubt Wickwright would account another tally for the Plague if a cure was not discovered soon. Dorian sighed, eyeing the peasants with remorse, questioning them in his head.
They hated him anyways. He didn't know what it was that made him sympathize with them for a good measure of time, definitely Hopkin or Wickwright or both. Respectable folk had that sort of effect. They made Dorian feel rather weird.
But what....?
The peasants seemed to be melting into puddles of black that seeped into the sand. Peasants did not normally melt, it was all so queer.. He rubbed his eyes a bit with his knuckles, his frown deepening when his sight revealed the same melting people, the sky as dizzy as he was--the sun plagued with black. He felt lightheaded, and Lettie suddenly seemed to weigh a ton.
Lettie, you are awfully fat all of a sudden, what say you? Dorian thought smugly.
His smile disappeared when he saw Him.
Obscuvos, rising from the warm waters, his fowl-head directed at the Arelgren boy. His feathers, black, were altogether very real, they reflected the melting sun in an eerie fashion that was indescribable. His beady, ebony eyes were directed at the Shyregoedian runaway, and he seemed to know things with his feathered head and bare chest. Dorian could only stare, though he was well aware he was trembling. He always believed Obscuvos was real, but what caused the trembling was definitely not a factor of awe--but fear. The caravan flashed across his mind, Wickwright's face--everything--Hopkin--and it began to speak.
The bird god said one thing only: "I know."
And everything went black, then red, then black--then red again--but ultimately black. They became one. One with each other, the reds and blacks, Dorian's sight, red like the blood of the man that was cheated of life, and black like the ink of the parchment that sealed his fate. It was a pact--something of the sort--whatever it was he was seeing it was causing curdling cries to rise from his throat.
Blood like ink, and Dorian Arelgren only screamed more.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Mon May 02, 2011 6:36 pm
ＴＨＥ ＨＡＮＧＭＡＮ
✦ ✦ ✦ CHAPTER 20. ✦ ✦ ✦
??? ; ???; meta
Meta prompt - House. UPDATE 5: "Followed by Chaos," House of Obscuvos, week 4
Attacks at Shyregoed were generally considered a major failure or success, it depends wholly on where you are in the spectrum of things. Hundreds, if not thousands, of cultists lay dead in Shyregoed after the massive attacks at the bases, not to mention the Fellowship temporarily reconvened and a small sector has taken out a considerable number at the Annex. The House of Obscuvos is not a haughty faith, though, and things have gone according to the Glutton God's wishes-- the cultists have gained a repertoire, and we have finally been recognized as a major factor in Panymese politics. Cultists are still prepared to take the reams in many of the provinces and, due to the Imperial Guard's shaky stance right now, many are still disguised as we speak.
To all and anyone who have kept their identity as an Obscuvos secret, the High Prophet begs you, rise! Cultist mongrels around the continent have gone around to every Grimm's doorstep to posit a simple request-- make your faith known to the world to the best of your ability. Do you publicly announce your faith in light of this request or, for your own well being, do you keep your religious identity a secret?
The screaming ceased, and Dorian could no longer bear it--he blinked and cried aloud, Lettie shrieked along with him (being startled as she was, the poor thing!) and the two reached a mutual silence after a few minutes of lack of oxygen. It was quiet again, and Dorian knew he could not bear it. He could not return to Obscuvos--he wouldn't. He could not draw his blade earlier, and he was paying reparations for his actions--for he was not penitent about what he did at all. In fact, he was secretly proud of himself, though rather afraid for his well-being all the while. The ribbon was hot around his neck, and he scratched at it more. The itch seemed only to worsen. Whether it originated from the heat or sin, he was unaware, but his neck was feeling rather uncomfortable and he felt as if a hangman was cackling to his old self somewhere from the Imisus shadows. Anywhere really, hangmen were nasty folk judging from what Dorian read.
Truth being, Dorian couldn't continue on--boisterous and stentorian about how wonderful Obscuvos was to him, how wonderful he was now as a man, how magnificent Dorian Arelgren had become. He used to be his own religion, and after adapting another, things seemed to only fall towards a chaotic stance and fail to relieve itself of it. Nancy's death was no excuse, despite that it brought him Lettie. Lettie was all that mattered--but she seemed to bring trouble as well. He was no blind man. He noticed the wary stares (and furtive ones) of the commonfolk that passed him, the commonwealth generally cared not for him, sans the parties, but he knew they were doubtful of him all the same. Was Dorian Arelgren truly a part of the House? Or is he just lampooning again? What an impudent man! Impudent! Impudent! Impudent! Impudent was all the public thought of him, and nothing more. His place in the social milieu was not of any importance in regards to how he was reflected, and that unsettled him. There seemed to be very few persons that even liked him in Panymium. He needed to be liked. Not just by Lettie, but by more others outside the meager number of people he was well-acquainted with, sans Linda. Besides, his impudence was to be appreciated...wasn't it? The Obscuvians were all murderers anyhow. Impudence was better than murder.
Who was he to say otherwise?He couldn't go off just telling people anymore, that much was sure. The High Priest had addressed Obscuvians to be as passionate as they could, but it seemed to Dorian that passion was interchangeable with murder, and he was not at all alright with the sentiment. That is, not alright with the moral induction it wrought upon his blond head, as stupid as it may be. Lettie knew none of it, and he intended on keeping her that way. He'd only recently managed to get her to speak to him once more, the effort largely credited to Hopkin of course. He was taking too many risks, he knew, but judgement was a fickle creature and he seemed to be feeding it well enough to carry himself onwards. Guilt was deep within him, that it was for sure, but he wasn't a man enough to confront it. He didn't like being guilty, rather, he didn't like being wrong. It was all very strange to him, knowing that he committed a horrible sin and repenting for it altogether. He just wanted out. Out of it all.
They had to escape. To run away. Away from Shyregoed--everyone--anyone--not Imisus--not Shyregoed! Anywhere--as long as not a soul knew of Dorian Arelgren. Or better! That they did not correlate his good name to The House! He was truly sorry towards Felicity (bless her) and Dragomir. Lettie would not be aware that she would not be visiting Hopkin and Chayele for a good time, or any Plague, but renewal responded to separation well, thus he felt his decision was not a poor one. Lettie could cope. She'd coped the entire time without knowing she did, and she certainly could now.
"Let us go to Mishkan, Lettie. Let us begin." His voice was soft, it sounded more like an offhanded comment than a resolution. It convinced Lettie enough, however.
Lettie nodded, not quite understanding what her Grimm meant, but glad all the while that he said something as opposed to screaming. Because he did not share why he screamed, she did not ask. Yes, they would go to Mishkan, and things would be wonderful again because Dorian seemed to be feeling more wonderful now. The thought of Miss Linda Reese's poor heart slipped Lettie's mind completely.
"Of course, Mr. Arelgren! I am very glad you are happy again," Lettie chimed, and she was indeed! She and Dorian were off to a new adventure, it excited her, she shivered with excitement to show it so.
"Lettie, do promise me something."
"Oh definitely, Mr. Arelgren!"
"Promise me that whatever the circumstance, you will understand that I am trying to be a better man."
Lettie gave a hard nod gayly, glad he was trying to improve himself. At least Mr. Arelgren has a goal now, and it makes him happy. That makes me happy, too.
"Mr. Arelgren has poor conduct and does not know how to treat a lady the way he ought," Lettie said rather stiffly all of a sudden, which took Dorian by surprise. She moved nimbly to perch herself atop his shoulder. Cupping her hands, she spoke into his ear, and Dorian listened to every word.
"Mr. Dorian must apologize to Miss Reese later. I don't like her very much, not exactly my cream of the crop," her voice maturing when she said "cream of the crop". Dorian could only laugh and nod in agreement, he was glad the two of them finally reached momentum that was one that they both could agree upon. Linda Reese was awfully horrid. He'd have to apologize to her later anyways.
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Posted: Mon May 02, 2011 6:37 pm
ＴＨＥ ＩＴＣＨＩＮＧ
✦ ✦ ✦ CHAPTER 21. ✦ ✦ ✦
??? ; ???; meta
Meta prompt - House. UPDATE 5: "Wait for High Tide," Shyregoed, week 5
One thing is for sure-- none of you have any information about the Grand Magus, the state of the Fellowship, nor the state of your nation or the health of your family. Crows are infiltrating your area, you are being pushed into a state of complete disarray, and no one knows any more than you do, at this point. You hear announcement of a major rally in Anica on April the 19th, the day that the new Grand Magus will reveal his-self or herself after the official coronation. Nearly everyone in Shyregoed has gone to these coronations in the past and it's extremely unlikely that you'd be one to miss it, especially if you are a province native. But hear-say of these riots are plotting a murder and eventual destruction of the Anican castles-- how do you prepare for the post-coronation on the 19th? Do you plan to join the riots, or do you plan to stand before the Anican castle and heed to the new Grand Magus?
Dorian groaned at the sorry sight when he stepped a foot out from his high carriage. Riots. Choleric folk. It all came back again, the acme of the plague's effects--not its sickening effects--no--the societal ones--yes! He hated them, he'd traveled to Mishkan to evade them, but it seemed that the mere ugly truth was that there was simply no escaping the Plague, the House, the scientists, the mages, and all the peasants that seemed to be its prime victims (well, to Dorian at least). It bothered him senseless and he half-wanted to return to the carriage of which he came, and half wanted to shout at the crowd in the most profane method possible--but he knew both choices were futile ones, for evasion itself was a sorry action to commit. Yes, the riots would be everywhere. He was foolish to believe otherwise. He was trapped in Panymium anyhow, it wasn't as if he could just row a boat across the sea to escape the Plague--he'd probably only reap more misfortune for himself dying at sea. He was no seaman to begin with.
He'd gotten ahold of a satchel along his journey at a stop-by marketplace, and Lettie was sleeping peacefully within its folds, wrapped in her leather shawl, protected from the ruckus outside her sanctuary due to the lulling of dreams. Dorian rather envied her now, really, she was safe from it all. To be frank, he envied anyone that felt satisfied with where they were, he sure in hell didn't. The crowd sure in hell did not either. It was all so annoying, boring, annoying, boring, annoying, boring, the Plague that was. He hated being in the midst of it and he hated being a part of it, having Lettie. Lettie became something he was unsure of whether he liked or disliked. He liked her company, yes, but he disliked the chaos she brought. Of course, Nancy's goodwill was what personified her, but there was no batting an eye at the awfulness she attracted because she was a Plague. He could never bring himself to hate Lettie, however, never to hate her--no, he loved his Plague more than anything, like a darling younger sister hugged at his breast.
Dorian's thoughts were rudely interrupted.
"The Grand Magus's cor' nayshun!" a young girl laughed, elbowing the Arelgren playfully on the arm. She looped her own around his, and he pinked at the contact. He decided she was alright, for she wasn't Linda for sure, though he was disturbed that she was bold for such a stranger. Perhaps it was Mishkan culture to be brash and forward when acquainting oneself with a stranger. No matter, she was chattering and he was forced to listen, reluctantly. They moved through the crowd like silk, her footwork fascinated him at its ability to weave adeptly through and fro the amalgam of people. Her chatter was slurred, the accent unknown. It was charming, though, for a girl of nine, or so she appeared. Dorian was horrible at figuring the age of children. They were all the same to him. Young. Stupid. Charming. A blend of the three. This particular one seemed to have descended from aristocracy, though he had no idea why she latched onto him particularly, his coat was so dirty that he no longer appeared dandy. Its purple was tainted with the unruly brown from the Isimus dirt, and his reflection (when he last was acquainted with it) reflected a messy-looking man with sandy hair moist with sweat. He looked disgusting.
"I hear theys gon' kill ha," the girl inquired, cocking her head slightly. She had a pretty dress on, Lettie would have liked it. "You reckon sah?"
"N-no, I don't reckon so. It's rather foolish to attempt a murder on a member of commonwealth, don't you think? You're rather wrapped in lace and silk yourself, you too are a member of commonwealth, are you not?" Dorian questioned uncomfortably, shifting from where he stood. The girl was excited about blood, that was for sure.
"Yous a funny sah," the girl giggled, pinching at his cheek. She loftily released his arm, pointing a finger towards the mountains (though Dorian doubted where she pointed was the castle's true location), "Anican Castle. They gon' kill ha thah. Lossa blood. Ver' beautifol."
Dorian nodded, still unaware of what to make of the strange commonwealth child. Are all children in this day and age unhealthily infatuated with grisly bodily fluids?
He wanted no part in it--no more blood--no more red--no more crimson. Apologizing for his abrupt leave, he rushed through the crowd from which they came, bustling clumsily through them, for he lacked the girl's footwork--and the people around him blurred with his thoughts. I musn't become a murderer, I musn't become a murderer, I musn't become a murderer! He was unsure of whether Obscuvos had much control in Mishkan as He did in Shyregoed, but he was not willing to risk anything more so he stuck to his decision of keeping mum of his membership. The girl would probably run her mouth off due to excitement if he did anyways, asking him about blood and such, and if he'd killed anyone (and he did, too), things that made him want to sob anyhow. Children could be cruel, as charming as they came. This one was just curious, in a not-very-pretty way, but somehow still managed to come across as charming. It scared Dorian, a little bit. She wasn't what dominated his train of thought at the moment, it was Obscuvos that did.
But Obscuvos's words still hung thick in the air.
"I know."
They scared him, those very words--they scared him more than Linda.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Mon May 02, 2011 6:38 pm
ＴＨＥ ＧＲＯＵＮＤ ＴＨＡＴ ＳＷＡＬＬＯＷＳ
✦ ✦ ✦ CHAPTER 22. ✦ ✦ ✦
??? ; ???; meta
Meta prompt - House. UPDATE 3: "Not a Penny More," Commonwealth, week 5
Tax collectors and beggars, the lot of them, but due to the current state of disrepair many people are requesting for a general "forcible aid" and charity to every citizen they can to account for the amount of effort and resources it will take to rebuild the provinces again after the hectic dealings around Shyregoed and Imisus, especially. Not only are they requesting an insane amount of money from you, these supposed government officials are literally threatening you with arrest if you don't comply. On the other hand, however, you might encounter a fellow propagandist from the Panymese Press, who says that they're willing to help you out and give you information in the future if you give them your supposed donation to the government official to them instead. Which one do you give aid to, if either, and if you don't give the officiate your share, how do they react?
Mishkan was all so weird for Dorian, things were out of place--the people seemed unlike the Shyregoedians, children with eerie infatuations with blood and murder, it seemed barbaric; the commonwealth too. They were different from peasantry, the peasants here. They seemed to be in the know, they were definitely more well-informed, and more well-armed. Innovation and technology were intricate in Mishkan as well, Dorian spotted strange contraptions in a tavern he visited earlier, and he still could not figure what the foreign wheel-invention was supposed to do. After asking the bartender for quite a measure of time, he let the question drop for the man was humoring himself by not giving Dorian a straight answer. He seemed to take a liking to the Arelgren though, for he gave him more gin to go with his meat. The meat was altogether something else. It was very satisfying.
Food aside, the economy appeared to be horrible, at least, from the perspective of those who begged for shillings from him. Dorian found himself evading propagandists demanding he turn over his dough, and when Dorian explained he couldn't if he wanted to because he'd left the pot of it back at Arelgren House, there was very little he could use to bribe the man away. Sometimes he found himself almost losing his temper. He seldom spoke to Lettie, for the two of them communicated through smiles only for awhile, and he liked it that way. She wasn't quite "ready" to talk to him, and he wasn't altogether ready to "talk" at all; the Press was trying to get him to though, members of it at least. They continued to badger him to pay them for sourcing in the future. He didn't really care. He wasn't enthusiastic about parting with his pocket money, the very few shillings he had remaining on him, and it frustrated him when the idiots tried to coerce it from him. It was all very futile, and he didn't see why the idiots couldn't see it also. The peasant-beggars were also gadflyish.
Finally, he managed to rid himself of them to settle at a low inn. He'd explained his situation to the innkeep, and the young lad was sympathetic enough to provide him a lock for his door. He tipped the boy, of course. He also learned his name was Evans Charming. Lettie giggled to herself at the name, and she whispered to Dorian:"But he is quite charming, Mr. Arelgren!"
"I reckon he is a pretty fine looking lad," Lettie continued, stressing the "I" with a whispy movement of her hand. She seemed rather smitten with Mr. Evans Charming, and her standards were unique to Dorian. "Of course Mr. Metschke is still very good looking too. Mr. Arelgren is best of course, but Mr. Charming is very charming!"
Dorian agreed that Mr.Charming lived up to his name, and he decided the lad made his day a well one, despite all the earlier badgering. Night fell again, but this time, it was one draped in temporary euphoria. Temporary, because once morning commanded, the entire cycle of badgering began once more, making the Alregren quite irascible.
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Posted: Mon May 02, 2011 6:40 pm
ＴＨＥ ＥＳＣＡＰＩＳＴ
✦ ✦ ✦ CHAPTER 23. ✦ ✦ ✦
??? ; ???; meta
Meta prompt - House. UPDATE 5: Commonwealth, week 6
...And those reasons are about to be proved once again.
You find a bottle of Furvus Elixir somewhere around you. A note is attached to it, but it's blank, and it whispers one thing--
"Keep this safe."
Dorian slumped down on his cot, throwing his dirtied coat upon the table. Sweat beaded his upper lip, for he had talked himself out of paying anything to anyone (mind you, the beggars were abundant in number) and he soon realized that even if he had indeed escaped the prosecution of scientists, mages, and cultists alike--the economy was dead on his heels! He frowned at the thought of having his pocket picked, but he knew that was never going to happen probably for he took the precaution of placing the dough in his shoes. He divided the lot between left and right; he seldom removed his boots for the very purpose of keeping the shillings sure-bound. It hurt his feet an awful lot though, but it was for the sake of security so Dorian figured the pain was worth the suffering.
Dorian fumbled underneath Charming's quilt for his satchel, wondering if there was anything of particular interest that rested within it. He was growing rather bored with it all. When he opened his satchel, something glistened and caught his eye, something he hadn't looked upon (Lettie did). The Fervus Elixir. The mystery potion, Linda's blessing of a sort. Its black glow drew a frown from him, and he licked his lips wet. There was a note that hung like a noose around its neck, and Dorian was reminded of his own. He pulled at his ribbon while scanning the text:
Keep this safe
Of course he was supposed to keep it safe. He couldn't even keep himself safe, Lettie yes, so far, but not himself. Whoever it was that decided he was a worthy protectorate was most likely out of his (or her) mind, and was a candidate for analysis. Dorian Arelgren was the most irresponsible, impulsive, vain--impudent--Shyregoedian. Whoever would want a man burned in effigy to protect a potion so secret and prominent? Only a foolish man, one with lesser judgement than a newborn beast.
Crazy folk. Folk that differed from his mother and father. They had the deepest sense of judgement. They left him to fend for his self with Nancy--who did very little by passing away. Dorian had accepted her disappearance as her death, and it didn't seem to stir impending darkness in him any more than it did when Linda spun her tale of how it happened.
A sigh escaped his lips.
At least it beats murder.
Dorian decided he would keep it safe, for as long as he could. No doubt the liquid signaled danger to come, it was black after all, black like the Plague's signature. He had never truly escaped from the redness of it all--the House--all of it, any of it, the only escapist that succeeded was the little black vial that Lettie now scrutinized. The Furvus Elixir.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Mon May 02, 2011 6:41 pm
ＣＥＲＴＡＩＮＬＹ, ＳＵＲＥＬＹ, ＤＥＦＩＮＩＴＥＬＹ
✦ ✦ ✦ CHAPTER 24. ✦ ✦ ✦
??? ; ???; meta
Meta prompt - House. UPDATE 3: those of wavering faith, week 6
...Or it will do a great many things to your health.
If Obscuvos was chasing you at any point in time the previous week, and has faded in and out of his appearance as of late, this is the time he'll become the most sentient. The black goop that's been appearing in masses across the streets have recollected and are seemingly immediately attracting to this god image that is following you around, real in mass or not. He is becoming a bulky and unavoidable thing, and what was once a stalker has now become murderous. He snares open his crow's beak and elongates his feathered neck, arched in an eerie fashion. Obscuvos can devour you.
This thing will murder you at any cost, and perhaps it will, but this instance of killing seems to be nothing but a delusion. Once he gets his final and imminent grip on you, you'll recognize your mode of death and you'll feel pain in the process, but after a strange dream you wake. When you wake, you're covered in a seeping black and you have complete memory of what just happened to you.
How do you get killed?
Did you really get killed at all?
Truthfully, the Arelgren was in shock. He did not expect the glutton god to be able to track him this far, and his eyes only widened when he saw that Obscuvos was devouring every step he took, quite literally. It was as if he was accumulating viscous, black gloop over his feathers, gathering it so that he became bigger, taller, faster, stronger even--and his beady eyes were fixed upon the Arelgren who had a dirtied coat in hand. He'd planned on washing it by the river, but the sight of the ebony monster changed his mind.
It was probably a better idea to run.
Lettie, who peeked out of a small opening in the satchel, squeaked in horror at the image of Obscuvos, and she ducked immediately back from which she came. Dorian took no time to ponder, for he was off as quick as a delivery horse, trotting through the empty streets of Mishkan, Obscuvos crying out His deafening CAW, CAW, CAW!s behind him. It was horrifying. The Arelgren was frozen stiff where he stood, and when he tried to force himself to move, he found that he could not.
Dorian screamed as loud as his lungs could allow him to, Obscuvos's stench was stronger and when Dorian craned his neck to see, he was silenced by the snapping beak that tore a gaping hole through his stomach, eating at his intestines as the Arelgren boy cried out in pain and mortification--the sight of himself nauseating his senses--black and red fusing once more. He felt the noose tighten around his neck, his hands unable to stop neither the phantom ribbon menace nor the glutton god's banquet.
The girl from before watched intently from a foot away, Dorian tried to call out to her to run away, to escape, but she merely lifted an index finger to her lower lip, pressing it against the plumpness of it, and then saying: "Lookit sah, yous cov'd in blud. Yous cov'd in lossa blood, the bird's got you, the bird's got yous good!"
She laughed some more, hugging her sides, her laughter fusing with his pained cries into loud nonsensical noises that made Dorian want to cover his ears. There was little he could do, his nerves would not respond to him--he wanted to get away--Obscuvos's beak finally savored Dorian's heart---
And he woke.
He stiffened at the black spots that spotted his attire. He wondered where it was it came from.
Lettie was upon him, sobbing her little eyes onto his vest, a strange wetness overcoming it. He patted his chest consciously, breathing heavily knowing that he was alive and well--though doubting that he was safe in Mishkan. He was not. The dream was not real (thank goodness), but Dorian wasn't safe here in Mishkan, that much he knew, it was frightening--all of it. Mostly, the mysterious black that wet his clothing.
"I'm...not...dead?" Dorian asked to himself incredulously, unable to believe that the pain he felt was not real. It all sure as hell felt real. He patted himself again, then Lettie, whispering soothing vowels to calm her, thoguh it only frightened her more because he sounded like a ghost. He wasn't safe. She wasn't safe. Surely, definitely...and most certainly. He no longer could fathom the fine line between where he was safe and where he wasn't. Though he did not want to, he knew he had to return soon--to Shyregoed--where all things began--but first, he would have to escape Mishkan, which, ironically, he had chosen as an escape.
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