|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Apr 18, 2011 12:36 pm
[1] page 5 navigation [2] revolution roulette [PRP] [3] the word of an apostate [PRP] [4] an opposable routine [SRP] [5] a lovely corpse or two [PRP] [6] a new purpose [SRP] [7] an unusual circumstance [PRP] [8] open your eyes [PRP] [9] a call for action [SRP] [11] cunning foxes [ORP] [12] a finer ash [PRP] [13] what comes next [SRP] [14] a noble act [SRP]
|
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Apr 18, 2011 12:38 pm
[2] revolution rouletteDer Pestdoktor "Festering," Fellowship / Shyregoed, week 1 If you haven't heard of the news yet, well, good job, you have a pair of very dense ears. Lady Benedicta Waldgrave is dead, snuffed of life right underneath Fellowship noses, and for reasons very little people know of, either. News is spreading quickly throughout Shyregoed, and the Fellowship members are acting... a little bit strangely. Of course, anywhere you even begin to go in Shyregoed, you'll end up coming across at least one mage if you aren't one already. If you do end up seeing a few, even one, tell us, are they as noble as they say, and do they help you out, or are they corrupt souls who are trying to overtake Benedicta Waldgrave's place?
|
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Apr 18, 2011 12:40 pm
[3] the word of an apostateDer Pestdoktor "The Kick," Grimms, week 1 Unfortunately for you, the threat seems more than viable by now. That crow that sent you that letter is seemingly coming at you in multitudes, dropping you pieces of parchment with absolutely nothing inside, though it seems to 'melt away' in the same fashion as the one that you first got, as if it's reminding you of something. There are also stalkers within your vicinity, where ever you are-- just how they got there you don't know, unless you pry it out of them. Beware of those keeping track of where you're going when you do. They are not attacking, but they are watching, so think before you act and act intelligently.
|
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Apr 18, 2011 12:42 pm
[4] an opposable routineDer Pestdoktor "Opposable Fingers," Mishkan, Shyregoed, Auvinus, and Helios, week 2 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. "Routine," The Imperial Guard, week 2 The Imperial Guard has gotten word from a rather reliable source that the appearance of crows have been disrupting the usual activity of towns, as they have been ravaging what they have of Panymium's already sparse crops, and have made cities smell even more like corpse than they did already. They have also heard word that these crows have been particularly populous around where Grimms are and, due to this, the Imperial Guard will check on you at some point in time during this week to see if you're doing okay, if you need any assistance, and probably urge you to try and get you to let them take your Plague so they can deport them to Imisus, where they'll be safe with the Council. How do you react to all of this?
|
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Apr 18, 2011 12:44 pm
[5] a lovely corpse or twoDer Pestdoktor "A Lovely Corpse," Plagues (St 2 and above), week 2 What isn't particularly good for you Plaguefolk, Excitos included, is that while your Grimms are being stalked, you're being openly confronted. If you're already within the House of Obscuvos, you will be regaled with gifts and lavish decor for yourself, courtesy of the Holy Wife, and please, don't mind them if you overhear a fellow Obscuvan threatening your Grimm to do better-- we only want them to be a Remnant truly worth of the new world. If you're not within the House of Obscuvos well, it's always better to convert later than never. The House of Obscuvos will attempt to take you, back to the consorts of the House chapels. If you don't comply, you will be taken by force. Do you fight back at all, and if you do, do you succeed or fail?
|
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Apr 18, 2011 12:46 pm
[6] a new purpose Der Pestdoktor "Fleeting," Plagues (St 2 and up), week 3 If you've managed to fight of the Obscuvans, and good job, it looks like many of you have-- they're not going to try again any time soon, it doesn't seem like, and the ribbon dropping has ceased as well as the stalkings from your Grimm. What's bad is that if you've come in contact with any of these cultist folk, if you were engaged in battle especially, you're going to feel a little bit strange-- bated, even. Not only are you going to lose many of your Plague characteristics if you fought with a cultist, you're going to look completely like a human and act like one, too. What does that feel like for you? Congratulations-- someone has found a miasmic form of the Furvus Elixir, and it's working at its full intensity. March 30th, 1411
|
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Apr 18, 2011 12:47 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Apr 18, 2011 12:48 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Apr 18, 2011 12:49 pm
[9] a call for action Der Pestdoktor "Cunning Foxes," House of Obscuvos vs. Fellowship of Mages, week 3 Dr. Adlam's fiddled around with the Furvus Elixir some and he's come to a potential diposable and transportable threat for the Fellowship of Mages, something that has an innate ability to decapitate several mages at once. Thanks to some of the inner workings of the Fellowship of Mages and its lateral corruption, fully blooming with Lady Waldgrave's death, several of the cultists have managed to invade fortresses to try and sneak in this new poison to Fellowship fortresses. This is not only an immediate threat, but this poison will instantly burn and kill you. Obscuvans be weary when entering a Fellowship Base, and confer at the Annex if you so desire. Fellowship, you must decide between one of two things-- use your wits and snuff out these Obscuvan spies or relocate yourself to one of the bigger Fellowship bases, the Northern Base or the Anican castles. April 1st, 1411
|
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Apr 18, 2011 12:50 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Apr 18, 2011 12:53 pm
[12] a finer ash
Who: Lady Hayat, Chauhn and Clurie Clemmings When: Mid-Morning Where: Anica Why: A Separation of Service
]http://www.gaiaonline.com/guilds/viewtopic.php?t=21419111
|
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Apr 18, 2011 12:55 pm
[13] what comes next Der Pestdoktor
LORD YIZHAQ gentle aristocrat
A crow is waiting for you, a piece of parchment clutched in its beak, crinkled and wrapped in black ribbon.
The crow isn't the same kind of dead husk as the one that seemingly started this mess, it eyes beady and watery and its feathers ruffled with the thin details of lighting and shade, with no staunch and pestilent aura about it. When you try to reach for it, the crow merely hops away and drops the parchment without a second's thought, dumbly cooing about until you either catch it or until it decides to fly away into a distance, its wingers lazily fluttering about it. The parchment doesn't unwrap itself, but the ribbon's grip slips easily and the parchment is crispy to the touch if you try to open it.
Once you do open it, however, the piece of paper is wordless, but it gives off a tired but satisfied laugh, the same old and starkest voice out of the pond of whispers that spoke to you around the ides of March. "What a successful trial this was," the voice coos while the parchment withers and falls between your fingers as specks of dust, "I must say, all you Grimms are a troubled lot."
The ribbon seeps and liquifies, sunk in a black aura, and without a moment's warning it slinks over to you like a tired beast. Instead of disappearing, it juts and freezes in form, moment by moment twitching in mass, exhausting back into the liquified form, then becoming bigger and bigger as the moments pass.
"You see, I've learned something from all of you, what two-thousand and growing lot there are, and what few hundred have seemingly passed my trials alive. This aura, this Furvus Elixir, it's truly what you make of it... and I've been deceived all along, and so have you. Welcome to my world of smoke and mirrors."
The black form with limbs rolls over, shivering and crumpled in on itself, now fully in form. Neck arched upward, it looks at you, a featureless face with a pair of glimmering white and pearl-round eyes. It immediately stands up, brusque and standing straight, the very figure of a man painted in pure black. Eyes narrowed, its hands waving its hand over itself as black dust whisked around it and configured itself a noble's attire fit only for one man, a glove about one hand and a falcon regally perched upon another, it stands before you in both regality and subtle disappointment, the very picture of your father. Without a word, it turns its back and murmurs, "What's happened to my dear son?"
It takes a step away from you, shaking its head. It looks to the side at its falcon, also pitch black. "No... all of my sons are already dead."
White eyes gleam back at you, a Plague's dotted mouth curved into a slight frown, and at once the figure melts like candlewax and drips back onto the floor as a black goop. Yizhaq had stared, his light, hazel-green eyes wide, brow furrowed at the creature that took his father's form. Its posture, the tilt of his - its, he correct again - its head, was perfect. The young lord's heart slammed against his chest, desperately trying to free itself, as his mind fought against the words slipping from the black figure.
Dear son?
His father had held that illusion [or was it a truth?], until the day he had died, holding Yizhaq's gloved hand, and instructing him to continue his studies. He would never know how well Yizhaq had done, that he had married, and that he now had a grandson. If he spoke to this creature, this visage, would he know? Was such a thing possible?
Yizhaq choked on his words, instead, swallowing them, as it spoke again.... Sons...?
His mind flew, then, to Altair, his own curly-haired, sweet child, and he was struck, then, with the overwhelming urge to secure him. To see his mischevious grin, and Bhakti's watchful stare. He could stay at Anica no longer.
The figure was still bubbling into the floor as Yizhaq left, taking his horse and riding hard for home. It was faster, without the caravan.
What he found there, though, gave him no peace.
Resting within Altair's hand-crafted bed was a small vial. The elixir, with it's small, maddening note.
They were gone.
|
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Apr 18, 2011 12:56 pm
[14] a noble actDer Pestdoktor Faction Prompt - Guard
As a Lord, you are indebted by blood to swear your fealty to the Emperor. In this time of need, Lord Yizhaq, we request that you show your humble loyalty to the Emperor with a simple request made by Emperor Rine VIII himself. We are aware of your power as well as your family's ties within the Fellowship of the Mages, as well as a few other Lords within your province, but would like for you and the other Lords to consider yourselves as not a Mage, but as a man of Panymium.
The House of Obscuvos has recently secured a base in each continent due to their impeccably irritable timing, when Imisus was facing a series of devastating riots. The Imperial Guard's funding is sparse and its attention spread too thin, so a personal request has been sent by General Diedthelm Kunze to you to help eliminate these bases. We will reward you with honors from the Emperor himself and will escort you to Helios personally if you do. If you choose to accept this humble offer, the Imperial Guard of Shyregoed will escort Plague General Treatise of General Diedthelm Kunze to transfer you to Mishkan, and will provide you with the adequate information and supplies needed for any possible plans you may have. General Kunze is unable to meet you in person at this time, as his affairs have been landlocked within the borders of Helios.
Thank you for your time,
Adviser Sanne of Royal House Valhalla, minor seat in the Advisers of Emperor Rine VIII
It came to him via a subdued knock at his study, most of the staff far too respectful of his sorrow and dignity to intrude upon his downward spiral. Yizhaq had been secluded for days, eyes too-bright against his face, dark circles beneath his eyes. His glass was full, as it always was, lately, of liquor, his books and maps marked with pen.
Yizhaq was obsessing.
It took a second knock to catch his attention, make him lift his head, and respond. "Come," he muttered, more interested in his work.
The Steward stepped in, an envelope in hand. He, unlike most, could look at the young lord without flinching. He, unlike most, had known Yizhaq since before the earthquake that had changed their lives.
The message was set carefully on the desk, and the Steward stood by, watchful, until Yizhaq finally reached for it, too tired to even express surprise as he flipped it over and glanced at the back.
"The Emperor's seal."
"Yes, mi'lord."
It was opened, with surprising care, and read, in silence. Several minutes passed, before he looked up, again.
"Where is the messenger?"
The Steward answered, quietly. "I put him up in a room, mi'lord, and told him I would carry the message to you."
"I appreciate that." It wouldn't do for an Imperial messenger to see him in this state.
There was new life in Yizhaq's eyes as he drew a fresh sheet of parchment from his desk drawer.
Adviser Sanne,
It would do me great honor to assist the Emperor in this matter.
The flash of white teeth was far from a smile as he sealed his response, handing it to the Steward.
Hayat spoke, then, from where she had been for days, quietly observing her Lord from the window sill.
"Mi'lord will need his things readied for travel."
"Yes, mi'lady."
|
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|