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About Vansin

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    The Venom Sign

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  1. Vansin

    The factions are coming OOC

    I'm still hyped for this. Looking forward to what comes next!
  2. [COTH - Ascending the Hill] "Uh-I don't know..." the girl said, still stepping back away from the newcomer. "Maybe he's up there." she said, pointing up at the feast. After that, the children broke into a run. The boy bolted alongside his sister, the garden shears he'd coveted left on the ground without a thought. Somehow, the children had felt something strange from Marcus. Surely, there was quite a bit of strangeness to be felt. However the town itself remained open to him. COTH was an idyllic place. Its people certainly didn't seem to prioritize defense-- you could probably walk right in to any home. Instead, the entire town was partying uphill, cheerfully celebrating the holy holiday that had been declared by the very man Marcus had come to see. Only, it was quite late. The sun was nearly set and that man, Constans, had stolen away on an adventure. Once Marcus made it up to the party to investigate further, he would blend in with the crowd of revelers, all of them too drunk and happy to give him a second look. Only the crones, who were too busy serving and cleaning to have any fun, looked at Marcus. They didn't seem impressed. "Oh boy!" a simple looking man said as he accidentally bumped into Marcus. He had a round face and unfocused eyes. "Heya- hey you. You want to know a secret? You wanna know? You wanna knooooowowow~?" he slurred. "You wanna know that I've seen the green fire? Saw it kill a man. A damned miracle." @Better Than Gore
  3. Vansin

    The Black Book (B|E Quest)

    Constans didn't mind the city, really. The architecture was as varied and vivid as a field of wildflowers. The people too, were good. Most of them weren't oppressive, or any more manipulative than your average merchant. They were just people, like could be found anywhere, just surviving. And yes, the smells were wonderful, sizzling, seared, cooked smells. But beneath them was a stink that never escaped Constans' nostrils. It was the stink of human rot, of a place that was beginning to sag under the weight of its false promise. Cities screamed prosperity, hoarded it tightly, and yet still never seemed to have enough for the people in them. Like the beggars he'd met earlier. Like the wastrel children he spied running through the alleyways as he passed them, Ioreth at his side. He followed her lead, diverting his eyes from the thugs with the curved blades. Another symptom of the city strangeness, the sort of tumor that could only grow in a place that was as impossible to manage as Blairville. But even still, Constans understood it. He understood that for some people the safety of strong walls was worth the risk of being swallowed by the maw of a hungry city. He understood that anyone who wanted to make money needed to be around a lot of people ready to spend it. He understood that if you had a mission, or an invention, or even a religion, this was the place to be. Eventually, he knew, he would be forced to come here himself-- with his new religion in hand, to change the world. It would start with Blairville, he knew. The struggle for the soul of this city would be his struggle. He looked down the row of lawns, smiling at the evocative decorations that gave life to the block. He led Ioreth down the street, peering around with an investigator's eyes. He leaned down to touch a child's bike on one lawn, ran his finger over its worn handle. It was an old thing, a hand-me-down most likely. Why that made him smile, he couldn't say, but it did. It wasn't until he looked up at the next home, and the pond and bronze statue combination before it, that he knew. It looked almost shrine-like, the upright figure of a woman painting in the air, her lifelike brush painting an arc of red metal above her, as though the sky were her canvass. Or as though dreams were. "Suena." Constans said to himself. He looked back at Ioreth with wonder. He looked at the statue again. "Suena, the dream painter." he said, throwing a pointed finger at the statue, "From Hunt For the Color of Rose." It was an old book, an old story from his childhood. Suena helped Rose understand color despite her being blind. "Have you ever felt the touch of a kiss?" Suena said. "I have, it feels like warmth entering my body." "That's red, Rose." Suena said, and she, in the darkness, brushed. And where she brushed Rose saw, and gasped. To the blind girl, darkness was all there was-- but no longer, for now Rose knew red, as much red as all the kisses in the world. "Mom..." Constans whispered to himself. He felt her kiss his cheek, as she had done whenever Rose discovered red. For a moment, his skin warmed like it would when he was in his mother's arms. It was a feeling of belonging, of trust and delight that he never thought he'd feel again. "That's a good statue." he decided aloud. He took a deep breath and smiled at Ioreth. "This is the place." @KittyvonCupcake
  4. [COTH: Chicken Coop] The chicken leaped, flapping its trimmed wings and kicking its meaty legs out in a simultaneous scramble for safety and fadeaway attack. It missed completely, because its eyes were filled with gook and it wasn't very calm. Yet it had escaped, which was the most important thing. It was prepared to play the long game: try and land as many blows as it took to kill its assailant while also never being touched. It was a bad game plan. It would take maybe 200 kicks to kill a human. The chicken didn't realize it would be lucky to get three. Frankly, not great strategists, chickens. Some of the other chickens began bawlking worriedly, but the hen couldn't spare any attention for them. Before it was Haru and her killable rat. The hen circled the strange girl, its eyes devoid of understanding. Suddenly, it kicked up, spraying sand and wood chips into Haru's face. It flapped its wings, hurling itself at Haru's shoulder, claws reaching for Tachi! @HotPizza
  5. Two hours ago, Constans had stolen a horse. Two horses. It was wrong, but at the same time he knew who they belonged to-- Dale Thimmick-- and he knew the man wouldn't mind. Really, Dale would brag about it to his friends and family: The father borrowed my horses, an' why not? They're the best! That's what he'd say. But it was still wrong. It would be wrong when Constans returned the horses, it would be wrong when Constans sprinkled silver into Dale's hands, and it would just always be wrong. But Ioreth had asked, and she seemed to be trying so hard to ease his worry, and her own. And after all, exploring some ancient place sounded fun. It was the night of the feast, it was supposed to be fun. A quick change into a more travel-friendly doublet and they'd set off. East, she'd said, and little more. He trusted her to know, and anyway if he followed her he'd find out. So they were riding. The horses didn't mind being stolen, in fact they seemed to think coursing through the sunset light toward the woods was preferable to a night in the stables, smelling their own dung and not moving. Constans had never been a good rider, in fact he'd really never done it, so he found it curious that he was riding magnificently. He was one with the horse, leaning into the ride with his backside lifted into the air. The thick breeze was howling past his ears and skimming his new-grown hairline, and his legs were tight on the beast. He rode its rocking frame like a hawk; the littlest change in his otherwise smooth posture and the horse reacted. It reacted very predictably too, which was something Constans had never experienced before. The setting sun threw the strangest colors across the sky, and Constans took a moment amid the rush of his riding to look up and admire them. Orange, purple, pink. He smiled, then frowned. Green. A green streak reached out from the horizon, corrupting the clouds it touched, spinning them. Constans gasped as the clouds whirled together, threading into a serpent in the sky. Its eyes shone gold, and it reared its wide cobra head, big enough to block out the sun. Constans struggled to keep his eyes open. He wanted to turn away, to run away. The snake lunged down from the sky, whipping at him with long fangs quickly coming into focus-- SLAM! Constans' horse skidded to a panicked stop, because Constans wasn't on it anymore. He flipped once around the branch that had collided with his chest and belly-flopped onto the ground below. He didn't move for a long time. When he did, it was to rise weakly and collect his spinning thoughts. He brushed away his dignity with the loose soil that had stuck to his doublet. "Shit." he said, understandably. @KittyvonCupcake
  6. (Thanks to @KittyvonCupcake for the...this thing:) The chief continued to walk beside Anton and his pathetic vehicle. Behind them shuffled the warriors, their leather and irons a constant creak and clangor. Despite the dire tone of his answer, Anton would have been forgiven for thinking Viscerex hadn't heard him, so long did the warrior-prince remain silent. But no, he heard. Green fire. His uncle had told him before he left for this faraway land: "Wherever you find wonder in the world, that is god." Well, he felt wonder now. How could it be that this skinny child knew of the green-fire god? No way, except through god's intervention. Viscerex believed this boy was sent to him, an emissary of god's will. He was sure of it. He was less sure why god would send him a cursed boy. Surely, the cryptic child was displaying his grotesque hands as a sort of warning, like a skunk lifting its tail. This was something Viscerex had observed city-folk do from time to time: provoke his barbarian sensibilities. They'd try to stir him up with things they thought would offend him, or confuse him. It worked every time-- he had barbarian sensibilities, he did get stirred up. "Erlken, get another man." he ordered, and the warrior spun to retrieve one. Viscerex looked down at Anton, shadows in the holes where the iron face's eyes would be. "You are unwise to reveal your deformity. Yet you are lucky, I know the cure for it." Erlken returned with Aethelmir, a warrior with a missing eye and a long, oily beard. He had a handaxe brandished out hungrily toward Anton. "You'll be needing him filleted, mighty chief?" Aethelmir cooed, then looked at the boy rightly and noticed his hands. "By god, I see it sire. Pin him against that tree now, Erl. Hold him by the elbows, don't touch the damn hands." The horde of warriors stopped to watch Erlken and Aethelmir rip Anton from the back of his stupid steed and drag him-- all tied up and flopping around because they were pulling him like a sack-- to the nearest tree. Erlken heaved the boy against the tree, grabbed his elbows as he'd been instructed and held Anton's two hands and forearms against the mossy bark above him. If by this point the boy hadn't guessed what was going on, it was this: they were going to cut off his hands. Viscerex strode after them, and the crowd of warriors closed in for the action. "When they are finished, you will tell me the secrets god gave you." the chief promised. "Here boy." Aethelmir said, scooping up a thick fallen branch from the ground, snapping it small, and offering it to Anton's mouth. It was to bite on, for the pain. @Bastard
  7. [COTH: The base of the hill] A pair of children ran down the hill, one little boy carrying a pair of sharp gardening shears while the other, an adolescent girl, chased after him. The boy giggled impetuously as he fled the girl, holding the dangerous tool over his head. The oversized scissors bounced and snapped like an angry crocodile as the boy burst through a shrub to find himself on the grass near the tattered robed figure. He stopped short, and his sister who came after softened her angry look at once and came to a timid stop next to her brother. The children looked up nervously. Their eyes were bright, bright green. "This is one of the bad ones..." the boy whispered to his sister. She could sense it too. This robed man was wrong-- unwanted somehow. They felt repulsed by him deep in their hearts. "Yeah...we should...uh..." she said and with her hand on the boy's shoulder encouraged him to slowly walk backward away from the intimidating figure. @Better Than Gore
  8. [The Forests Outside COTH --> The streets of COTH] The giant put himself away and stretched his arms. His wingspan was the width of a small house. He sighed with enough air to pop a normal man, and then turned to return toward the city. His lumbering gait showed all the symptoms of drunkenness and those wobbly footsteps carried him out of the forest much the same way he had entered it. Once the giant had found the road again, he took a few moments to determine where the village was-- not hard, since it was raised on the hill above the forest and the open land. The giant made its way up the incline of COTH's slope, ascending toward the peaceful festivities above. At no point did the giant make for his weapon, nor express a hint of hostility. As Albereich followed the creature, he would find himself skulking through COTH itself-- a small town arranged prettily on the slope of that aforementioned hill. Indeed "COTH" stood for Church-On-The-Hill, and a church stood there at the pinnacle of the raised land. All the town descended from it. Trees yielded to grassland long before one was in COTH, and with the exception of the tilled farmland soil that splayed out at the base of the hill, the town was smooth with fine green grass as its natural carpeting. Dirt roads were arranged pleasurably, providing ample vistas from which to admire the increasingly beautiful views the high hill provided. Though it had been built very quickly, it had been by experienced hands and the homesteads which surrounded the hill were comfortable looking and charming. Yet to Albereich the lower rungs of the hill-town would seem abandoned. As a matter of fact they were, for the party was going on near the church at the top, and it was toward this that the ice gaint lumbered. @BiggieSmalls
  9. Mikeyyyy I'm stellar. Many congrats on your upcoming nuptials and may your first child be a masculine one.
  10. I'm still here! It's been a helluva work week. 😴

  11. Vansin

    Need someone to beat my friend with a stick

    The sticks can be whatever length and thickness you both desire individually and may be prone to snapping, necessitating a replacement, of which there are many. @Spooky Mittens @Fierach
  12. Title says it all. I got a friend, his name is @Spooky Mittens and he's waiting in a thread to have a stick fight with someone to finish a quest. If you're interested in a no-commitment, one-time stick fight, leave a post and I'll choose whoever I like best. The winner gets a cool green gem for their character! Thanks!
  13. [Outside COTH: The Forests] Indeed, something massive and, apparently, a bit wet had tracked huge bootlike prints from the road into the forest. It wouldn't take long for Albereich to figure out who it was. A keen tracker such as he would quickly acclimate to the step pattern. It was humanoid, albeit on an exaggerated scale. Yet when he removed that obstacle from his assessment of the gait, he'd realize the creature he was tracking was in no real rush. The steps showed a calm, perhaps even a bit wobbly stride. And they didn't go far. The woodsman was only just out of sight from the group he'd escorted to COTH. Once they were done groveling, they'd join the feast and his duty would be fulfilled. Anyway, he had bigger problems. At the end of the tracks stood a massive, massive man, way taller than the tallest man could possibly be. At his hip, a sword that could cut a bull in half. On his head, a mighty helmet cocked to one side, its horns tilted. The giant man had his back to Albereich, and looked to be shaking something in front of him. On his feet were a pair of boots which seemed to be casting a slight permafrost over the soil around them. In front of him, a slowly growing yellow pool was killing the plants. As he shook the thing in front of him, he staggered, and even just a single wobbly step back sent the entire forest a-shaking. @BiggieSmalls
  14. [Outside Blairville: The Forest by the Road] In short order Anton was: 1) Punched in the face 2) Tied up, and 3) Thrown on the back of a horse. The chief didn't have to do a thing. He stood, he watched, he turned away and got back to business. Their chance to honor Hanser would have to wait, for no foeman was present. His attention needed to turn back to the problem at hand. It was this: they had not managed to find a single food caravan going from the city to the lands beyond. Simply, Blairville was not behaving as he had predicted. It baffled the chief, for cities were where weak men kept their wealth and their food stores. Needn't they provide some of those lifesaving stores to the beleaguered peasantry? After all, Viscerex was not the only man raiding the Terran countryside these days. The rolling plains beyond the city walls had become awash with banditry, and the raiders-- mostly domestic, unlike Viscerex's-- had picked the towns clean. Once they had, Viscerex and others like him had gone on the hunt in the countryside, looking for more rare estates. Some were farms, and with these Viscerex fed his men, even further out had been manorial estates, which had made the raiders rich. But the people they left behind? They would certainly starve. Once Viscerex felt they had found as much pillage as was to be won from the country, he returned to the city walls. It was risky to be so close to a city, they could be packed with the sorts of insane heroic types Viscerex feared to face, who wove sword and sorcery as he did. Always, he struggled to kill them, and they frequently attacked in teams. But so far there had been none of that. At first, a caravan or two left the walled city-- but filled with soldiers. Viscerex had at least been able to dole out fine weapons to his warriors. Nothing had come after that. Occasionally, a caravan would come to Blairville, but those were only ever filled with wretched peasant people. Otherwise, nothing. For forty-eight days. When was the city going to relieve its subjects? When would there be more food to steal? Perhaps city men weren't as weak as he expected. "Erlken." the chief said suddenly after his long, introspective silence. Erlken, the swarthy warrior beside him, reared in surprise at the sound and spun to face his leader. "My lord?" "Bring me our new capture." Erlken jogged off to rejoin the warband which tailed behind the chief as he walked. Generally, wherever Viscerex went the band of warriors followed and it was rarely in any particular order unless preparing for battle. The swaggering warriors, the pack behavior, it always struck the chief as being distinctly wolflike. In no particular order, members would break off from the group and take long loops ahead of Viscerex, or wherever he seemed to be going. Scouting was like a game to them, a lupine game in which catching prey was the high prize. Rabbits, deer, even people if they found them. All were dragged back to the group of warriors for inspection. From that group returned Erlken, pulling the reins of a mangy donkey upon which the hogtied Anton was laid. Erlken pulled the beast forward so that Anton's face was hovering in the air beside the chief. Hung over the donkey's back on his stomach, Anton would have to strain mightily to look Viscerex in the eye-holes of his helmet. Certainly, Viscerex made no effort to look down at Anton. "You will tell me why there is no food or succor departing the city for the outlying villages." did it sound like a request? It was not. @Bastard