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Syncopy

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Syncopy last won the day on February 8 2017

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About Syncopy

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    Les Enfantes d'Enfer
  • Birthday July 17

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    Alterion

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  1. Into the bag, the orbs of electricity peered with a curious delight and an interested mind. If Exodyus believed this boy to be truthful and to allow his presence, then who was the elder to judge at all? Merely the Charon into the gates beyond -- into the Forge itself. The figure sniffed lightly. The thrum of energy pulsed in the air and the waves of static pressed brutally against the fabric of reality around them. Had the man not been present -- Garland's life would have been forfeit here and now, and he never would have been able to ascertain why... "Ugh ... Not now..." the old man grumbled. Toward them, a shining ball of the purest white snapped and jolted toward them. The living lightning seemed to arc and jolt from point to point at an incredible speed aimed directly at them, pouncing from place to place before leaping toward Garland. With an outstretched hand, the elder waved a shield that deflected the energy with a dazzling ripple of energy that showered the young man with a sparkler's dance. Embers rained upon him as the object became tangible and performed something of a multi-somersault before poising itself on a rockface unnaturally and against how gravity truly operated. A head tilted toward the two and a lean, elongated wolfish being stared silently with the same eyes of cerulean electricity as the elder. A maw cracked into a wicked, fatal smile and its head cocked to the side, much like a dog filled with curiosity -- eyes locked upon the old man. In response to a silent question, the elder shrugged, "It is not our decision. Exodyus allows the boy. Perhaps it is time for a new bloodline to emerge." A snarl rippled across the world, and the field bolted toward Garland once again with both taloned hands outstretched to bear hug and shred the boy with all its fury and tenacity. The elder snapped and was roughly ten feet away now, watching with some sort of amusement, as he called out, "Apparently -- you are to be tested..." The scent of static was thick in the air, charging the world around them as this spar brewed hungrily. It had been too long since someone had been here, been able to be challenged -- a challenge at all. And the elder dare not get too close to the wolfish being -- seemed almost scared to get too close... as it lunged, he avoided the direct line of contact with the beast.
  2. Another howl shattered the fumbling silence between the two—closer, now—much, much closer. The boy's story didn't all seem to add up at first, leaving the elder atop his crumbling throne to scowl beneath the hood. The stupidity and hubris of humanity was appalling. Every year or two, someone new would step into this realm and spill out some refuse-of-a-story about how they'd magically acquired them. It wasn't until the young man mentioned being owned, that the electricity beneath the hood dulled and simmered thoughtfully. Taken to another place. Another time. Eons ago, a slave himself ... "You must have considerable skill to have taken that glove from the wearer then, boy." A motion of the staff in hand, pointed toward the massive gauntlet on his thin arm with some notion. "Or the fool wearing it was not truly compatible with its actual potential..." The elder led on for a long moment, spying the youth and listening to his words fumble with some sort of curiosity. What had happened to him within captivity, that his confidence to speak were this broken. Thunder rumbled and groaned across the heavens, yet not a cloud to be seen in the blackest of skies. Torches of pale blue popped up slowly from nothingness, snapping awake and lining the way to the temple. The elder wondered how long it had been since he'd seem them arise—believe a story that had been told. The raw mana of this area was but a fractal of the quiessence. Yet ... it believed the boy. Lightning cracked like a jagged root across the sky, striking the pillar where they elder sat. The blinding flash crumbled and toppled the tower and left nothing but smoldering stone, laced with intricate burns to roll and rest off the beaten path that lay to the temple before the young man. The elder cleared his throat behind Garland. "Exodyus calls you Garland, is this accurate?" The man's voice rasped, as he invaded the boy's personal space, looming over a shoulder close enough for a firm body to push against the young man's shoulder as he looked over it into the bag Garland had began to open. The elder was by no means a short individual anymore, but a man standing nearly a head taller than the lad -- the space within his hood only glowing with two electrical orbs and remaining faceless...
  3. A stranger—in a place like this was bravery or stupidity. Bones littered the entrance and surrounding area in a wide berth, leaving little to the imagination of what might have happened here, but also a testament to the scorching temperatures of these lands, as the bones looked more like shards of rock anymore—petrified and jutting out of the ground like wraith talons. No matter the time of day upon stepping foot near these sands, the shock of nightfall would have been immediate and yet a full moon cast upon the ruins. It often left travelers dazed and disoriented to step a single foot onto a ruin stone around high noon to find the skies overhead be forcefully smeared with starlight and the cascading ivory of moonlight. Always a full moon... The youth traveled further inwards, giving a perception check to his senses; the world altered time, reversing the dawn to steep midnight or beyond, fast-forwarding the dusk to the same point in time. Some thought it the mask of illusion and spent far too long trying to disspell something that could not be undone—centuries these ruins had been eternal night, and even adept wizards, warlocks, and spell-casters seeking such a power for their own stumbled and fell to this power that lingered. Atop a ruined pillar, twice the height of any normal man, sat an aged figure—or rather the hunched back and white wisps that draped like clouds from a beard and crown to cross the following folds of cobalt robes gave off the perception. Lightning cracked from sockets deep within the faceless hood, and the snaps and arcs of power trilled down the columns, leaping and dancing like newborn fauns. The distance—one that could not be pinned or guessed—a curdling lupine howl filled the midnight air. "What brings you, child? Such is not a wise place to step foot on, as a thief..." The aged man said curiously, a cant of his head spilled ivory from the pitch. The tone of his voice was schooled and trained neutrality, no hint of malice or friend in the calm, yet razor-edged accusation. As if his very voice commanded and exhausted power into the world, spirals of wind kicked up ferociously and threw sand all about, eddying to clean the pathway between Garland and the enigmatic old man. They peeled off over the dunes before collapsing into snaps of electrical current.
  4. Rumors lingered in these parts, like stale air and the stench of carrion — some were nested in lies to trick and deceive, while others were born of enchantment and legend. Rumors of treasures, long forgotten, legendary weapons and mythological creatures seemed to be a part of the very communities within Alterion. Some good, some horrific, but the truth of the tale lay in the teller. Elders told it the best; the truest, most times and their stories were told to grandchildren, around burn-pits; like that of the Lightning Wolf, who guarded the treasures around the ruins in the north. Some say it was the wolf who caused the ruins out of fury, others that it was the defense of his homeworld, but the elders — it was the elder's tales that spoke of events as whispers and hushed tones, as to not wake the beast they believed in. They whispered because now and again their stories brought and old figure through the town, hunched with a staff, but wisps of lightning arced beneath the depthless hood masking any sort of face. The elders always bowed to pay respects, which began a tradition of sorts — a testament to the kindness of all elders, for fear that one may truly be the hidden wolf god. The tales woven like tapestries, told a story through vivid charisma with vaguely detailed points — as if some things could not be accounted for. They would say that when his world was crafted into Alterion, a war had occurred and tore asunder the ruins that he protected, which ancient symbols referred to only as the Sigma, marked by an Σ throughout many ruined areas within these parts. The war left his family dead and gone, and he the only left — an immortal without cause. Some say he went insane. Some say he haunts the region. But all say—within the ruins are treasures untold ... and none have come back alive.
  5. Syncopy

    Unforeseen

    Whatever this place was, it was extremely clear to Avitus that he was not welcome. With the spellbinding on the land in this area, it was more than evident that many were not welcome—even he, born of magic—by the lust of Gaia and forged in the eternal womb of fae spirit and magma ... if he was not one for this land, Avitus couldn't fathom who was. Perhaps he'd fallen into some sort of blood-lineage of this land, or perhaps then were just that strong. A world of giants, perhaps? Of people or creatures so powerful, he was not more than an ant among men? What if this were the transference of the demons to his world—and he, to theirs? Avitus pushed these thoughts deep into his core. Such thoughts and worry would only make him scared, and fear would be the mind-killer in such an unfamiliar world. "Haveo vale." The mage wished the lands around him a sincere farewell, with a graceful and respectful bow unto the land. His elegance and regal nature spoke of years in the court, and more trained in the finery of customs than the norm before turning foot and looking down into the trees before making a descent. He heard bells in the distance, and with strong, powerful strides his body moved like that of a wolf through the foliage and avoiding the low hanging branches, dancing through and around the gaunt trunks of young saplings. The clearing broke and the sprawling city of Parime spread out before his eyes. A city with the likes of which he'd never imagined. He stared long and hard at the substance around the city, down in the valley as it sloshed and crashed with a bit of awe. In his home world, this liquid held a very distinct green color, that looked more like the trees surrounding him now and even now, he paused to take notice that their color was not natural for him as well. Avitus scratched at his temple in soft thought. "Caeruleum est aqua?" A fair smile curled upon the corners of his caramel face, bring some sort of peace to the strong jaw and wild emerald-hazel eyes. They had begun to change colors as the sun sank lower into the trees, allowing the flashes to surround him, sporadically as the fire flies emerged. He stared for a moment, narrowing his eyes to the small insects that pulsed a shade of lime. "Tam multa arboribus..." Avitus mouth gaped softly, as he turned to the hillside, watching the what looked like an ocean of trees catch a breath from the soft gale that passed through and the canopies all moved in sync. The young man's feet drew him closer to the edge of the hillside, to see how far exactly the trees went on and on. His country had been at war for so long, that only rolling hills of grass existed for miles and miles and miles—the only trees in the kingdom were to have been found in the royal gardens, on the castle grounds. These lands, they hadn't seen war; or if they had, it hadn't been a siege, or a thousand years of war... peace was upon this forest. The trees were content, despite the weird anomaly that had just dropped in on a whim and snapped a few branches along the way.
  6. Syncopy

    Unforeseen

    No sooner had the clouds rushed in and birthed something not of this world upon the lands, the skies changed back to the soft palette of pastels and proceeded with nightfall as planned. The wisps of clouds that remained from the freak occurrence offered a gentle shower upon the hilltop, before fanning out and rolling down the hillside and off the cliff to mingle with the bordering fog. The stillness of the forest began to wane, as the creatures chattered about what in the Primal had just happened—confused and cautious. It was in the faint responses and noise from the wildlife that Avitus found himself blinking up into the rain before taking a deep breath, which caused the bruised ribs and flesh to ache. "Sanatio pluviis..." The young man groaned. From his throat, the wyrd marks fanned out, spiraling and cascading in helical motions before winding around his head and expanding into a series of rings, breaking apart and encasing his frame within a cylinder of emerald tinted light. The droplets that passed through the crown lens, rippled like a pond's broken surface and washed over his frame softly. As the rings collapsed to the ground and vanished back beneath the grey slacks that were tattered and shredded, the essence of life manipulated itself to his flesh and bone, sinking in to revitalize his well being and seal any exterior wounds, though the scars left behind were just one of the many he retained from a life of combat and war. Marring his once handsome face was now a line crossing over his eyebrow and to his cheek in a thick groove from a nasty branch that tried to take his sight upon the dangerous entry. Hazel eyes roamed the trees of this forest, the birds nested and staring down at him, and the very texture of the grass before making a full circle to realize that he was fully encased within a massive forest, but the nature of the area was mystical—legendary. "Ubi ego sum..." His rough tenor harshly whispered. The passing from one world to the next, left his body strapped with pain that he'd never experienced before, and even the healing spell—which managed well-enough to seal any visible damage and mend cracked bones, did little in the way of managing the dull pain, bruises left by the impacts, and general soreness. He took a few steps and hesitated. Avitus' eyes narrowed, having a hard time adjusting to this world and the feeling now before him. It was a feeling of ancient magic, but the illusion which he now stared at, seemed tricky enough to keep him at bay, though was rigid enough to throw his Mind's Eye into a red-flag state. "Quod tu es?" The enigma mumbled to himself. As a Speaker, Avitus often spoke to himself a lot—spoke a lot in general—because of the wyrd and how it operated. His voice alone, was power. And now, he spoke to the world, but she denied him a response, which the young man found more than peculiar. His world spoke back often, though either this land didn't have a voice of its own, or did not currently find him worthy enough to respond. With a spiral of his hand, the wyrd-runes spread from his forearms and hands to form faint triangles of energy, cast runes unto the air from his very epidermis and they rippled with a faint source of amber hues. "I vestrum adprehendet vos. Nec abscondam... non nocere." He communicated to the land once more. "Resigno ipsum...?" Like a tumbler of words and energy sprawled out upon the land, the barrier or whatever that lay within this region was so tightly knit, and tight lipped that the reality bound before him and around him seemed to be spellbound to something or someone, and because he was not of this blood, the world denied him so. A mages lockpick was only as good as the world he stood in, which unfortunately enough -- this was not his land, nor were they his people, though in some distant world and far-gone connection, the Renovatio exhaled softly, exhausted by his attempts and let loose a simple understanding before locking him out once more. ' Artemis ' the world breathed.
  7. Syncopy

    Unforeseen

    The City of Glass was on the final strokes, as the day came winding to an end. Few ports were still expecting, though as night fell began, the skiffs pulled in and the slips filled generously. Warm hearth-light spilled from the pubs, beckoning a cool drink and warm bread to those wind-skinned and scorched, by the Apollo's glimmering eye. Now, but an ember on the horizon, the faint mist of inversion crept across the waters. The cool air surfed a natural course over the waves, shoving back the warmth of the day and bringing with it a gentle fog. In Parime, all was calm as it always had been. The lackadaisical nature of the coastal peoples, was a jealousy to behold and in this moment—life was good. A few miles inland, though—life was different. Ragging and untamed, as a storm crawled down from the high heavens and snapped angrily at the trees, casting shadows over the city below. The tufts of evergreen and sage ripped from the tips and spiraled through the air in a circular fashion which only seemed to grow more fierce and panicked—as if reality itself was battling for it's very flesh. The skies warped and frayed, as though heat were being pushed to the back of the unseen -- something was coming through. Lightning snapped across the sky, dragging a viciously crisp fingernail along the belly of newly formed, charcoal clouds which were gutted and spilled torrential rains upon the hilltop in such a peculiar fashion, for the area of effect was isolated and rather small. No sooner had this unnatural disaster started, it was erased. The bubble popped and reality split like an egg yolk, dropping something into this world from the beyond, which toppled into the whipping and swinging trees. A body. A man. He wasn't unconscious however, but in the moment -- he'd wished it so. Avitus hit nearly every branch down several trees for nearly thirty feet before find it within himself to claw desperately to one of them. His ribs were aching and breath caught high in his lungs, the young man groaned and coughed, scraping fingernails to bark and limb as though his life depended upon it. In his home world, Avitus would have been considered something of a graceful devil -- in a kingdom that lacked most special arts, his bloodline was one with the Wyrd -- a power akin to magic. However with his birth unto this place, he looked more like a pathetic, homeless, lunatic. He couldn't hold on any longer and collapsed the rest of the way to the ground, only saving himself with a faint whisper, "Volito." The spiraling symbols uncoiled from his legs and spun rather rapidly around him like dragonflies and slowing his descent before touching down with a groan. The world around him—unfamiliar. Avitus' eyes turned skyward, caramel eyes scanning where the rift had spit him out, before the heartache set in and tears welled within the sockets of his eyes, running slowly down his cheeks and stinging the cut that was now noticed upon his face. Tears and blood hit the ground; the mongrel-Son of King Larikanni—Second General of the Larikanni Empire fell to his knees and wept for the death of his King. "You must live, my Son." My Son. My ... Son — echoed through his mind.
  8. Syncopy

    Unforeseen

    Time all but slowed, in this desolate realm of space between worlds. Avitus' body had been encased in some sort of crystalline construct as he was pulled into the ebony orb and then it snapped shut. His father had launched him into space. Into another dimension, perhaps, another universe, another realm or plane of existence. It was cold, and yet there was no definition of time — no comprehension of just how long he had been in this moment. The very concept and measurement of how long or when was suddenly a mystery. Avitus' mind expanded, and while the consciousness grew like the fog of war, the feelings he had once of his Father, his homeland, and pride for his kingdom had already begun to slip away. —or were they merely tucked into a fold of his mind, currently unused? A flash of his homeworld lingered within the Mind's Eye. A tiny blip in a vast ocean of mental acuity—singularly focused on this world. Was it his? Was this home? A chill ran down the young man's spine. It wasn't fear though. Was that a memory of a forgotten past? Avitus focused. On this blip, the homeworld he would imagine. The darkness around him reacted to the cognitive waves, manipulating a picture into view within the nothingness beyond—a screen of viewing—peeking into a world that felt familiar before it looked familiar, though it was ash and ruin. A pang of misunderstanding ebbed through the consciousness, which now felt all-consuming, and yet so infantile. Did his hand reach out? He couldn't necessarily feel it, though... Was this his mind still? A game? This world of destruction began to piece itself back together, a backwards ripple through the timeline of the existence and toward the growth and prosperity of the planet he new viewed. Smoldering crept into view as the rewinding phase of the world proceeded with its course. Too fast it blinked by, and the blackened sky and ripples of inertial signets and demonic mage rings flashed across the heavens to a soft, baby blue sky where the Harrowing did not exist yet... Wait. What was that? A mental thrum paused the rewind and moved the world back through the harmony. He saw a young man and an elder donning a crown. They both looked equally familiar. Felt familiar. His blood pulsed through his ears, beating like the drums of war. The sky went black. Like a faucet turned on, inky bodies fell from the heavens and hit the ground with a rolling wave of smoke. More fell and caused a cloud of darkness to agglomerate. The world sped up and a black orb in a room consumed the boy and he stared into the viewing descry with a sense of being and purpose suddenly. That ... that was him. He willed his mind forward, but the King's hand extended sharply, forcing him back into the darkness... The touch echoed throughout the sable cosmos and another world emerged from opposite of Avitus and his ethereal pool... What ... is happening ...
  9. Syncopy

    Unforeseen

    The tang of metal and the scent of molten flesh upon the air was just the beginning of the raid on every human sense imaginable. The overwhelming heat that radiated from the flames, driving back what was left of the Emperor's men now stood on the precipice of defeat. Bodies mangled and shredded against toppled rocks, the stink of their bubbling flesh clogged the nostrils and had those with weaker constitutions, spilling their stomach contents to the ground, in the midst of sword deflections from something they could not fathom. The reek of decay that the smog bore -- the ghastly apparitions that emerged only to swing long, jagged blades of ebony, fed the mind death and fear -- a haunting, demonizing mindset that left mortals immobilized and useless. Blades knocked from hands and bodies cleaved in twain, the fog of war advanced until little remained. The emperor's men were being slaughtered like cattle in the butcher's pits, as he stepped back further. "All is lost, Father. You must retreat." A young man's voice crossed the threshold, as a winding iridescent whip lashed out and into the darkness. "Ignium." He whispered and the coil of text, scrawled across an outstretched limb seized the end of the whip in the midst of the battle and exploded with an ivory inferno that decimated a radial section of the mist. It's abhorrent screams recoiled from the light of the mage and hissed violently. The smoke dare not billow within the man's reach -- and yet how was it to know the extent of the power it dealt with. Avitus turned to face his father once more, "Please, My King. You Must!" "And where will run? This demon -- it spawned from the heavens and descended upon us like the fated rain of the gods ... we are not long for this word, my General." The man's ivory hair clung to his neck and face, splattered with blood and sticky with sweat from the onslaught. He moved back into the room behind the throne, followed by his son and a half-dozen guards left with shields -- though as they exited, the fog advanced once more. "Then what are we to do, Father?" "You..." The king's emerald eyes sparkled with a sadness that only a Father who knew the end was near and his son may perish in this unfortunate battle, "... you must live, my Son." "I will not leave you, my King!" The fog poured into the room, having consumed what was left of the guards blocking the path and a fiery crown of death lingered in the midst of the mist that leeched across the ivory marble floor. The young man quickly put himself between the death and the king, and his body radiated with a pulsing light, so bright that the demon's hand and weapons lifted to cover what might have been a face, in attempts to shield itself. Avitus' mind quaked, diis exaudi ... "Integumentum." His voice was a whisper, but the barrier that was unleashed from his body consumed every inch of the walls within the room, cascading and crushing any part of the demon between the barrier and a wall. With a plume of ash, the screams and bellows could be heard outside of the ivory room, and weapons thumped against the exterior with little to no avail. In the midst of turning, Avitus felt the strange wyrdflow from his father and turned to see a void within the man's palms and the king whispered, "I thank you for protecting me... and now it is my turn to protect you." "Father! No---" The orb expanded, consuming the youth, and with it's snap -- out went the light. The king knelt and smiled softly, "Long live the king..."
  10. *waves*

    1. Show previous comments  5 more
    2. Garion

      Garion

      How goes it?

    3. Syncopy

      Syncopy

      Hella crazy, brobro.

      We're getting ready to PCS and life is all sorts of upside-down.

    4. Garion

      Garion

      Good luck bro, hope you all get settled quickly and without complications!

  11. Onesimus merely listened and followed, with his own sense of curiosity intact. Being in this place and watching Skar take a form of something more than he was hours ago, was proof enough for him that they were on to something devastatingly unimaginable. The depths and lengths at which someone had gone to mask this ... thing's past was akin to his own past, which resonated still with him in the moment, but the difference would be timing. Skar's had been made possible, due to centralized locality of this reality -- where as Onesimus hadn't seen this world before, or at least what it was in this present day. Manipulated landscapes, remodeled physical topography, different masters for different times; it piqued the question in the back of his mind: has the land changed, because new Raven's exist and therefore it is so, or is this a new reality all together? Down the stairs and into a long holding chambered area they traveled. The dolls -- as skar had called them -- were just as the shells of the Ravens. Had this place been trying to recreate a past they'd stumbled across? An eternal existence? A laboratory of madness? His barefeet traipsed across the overgrown cobble, watching and listening to Skar speak and then ease the dolls pain. A noble gesture that offered a meager kindness to something that did not truly live -- showing kindness to a rock, Oni thought. The bloodline of the Raven's was one forged in the neutrality of nobility, for all except he. It times of peaked crisis or excitement, like the blood pressure of humans -- Oni morphed into something else entirely. A beast of rage and bare essential reason, with all the reserved strength of a normal Brand member, amplified and turned up to ten. He peered to the sigil that had been marked and a lithe and raised to the back of his neck. "I... I'm not sure." He lied. This place felt like they had been working and studying eternal life, this place stank of his past, and the sigil -- were they studying ... him? Something he'd forgotten all about suddenly hit him like a wave of nostalgia and pain, and he put a hand out to the wall, to prop himself up while the memories assaulted his mind, and unclouded more of the fog of war from his mental landscape.
  12. "You'll cover ... me?" Feyd stared long and hard at the box and the ragtime skeleton with a curious and nervous gaze. He'd been looking around the area, watching phantoms come and go as though this place was the uneven clash of two dimensions, caught in a wink of time, but for how long...? The young man sighed, and bit the bullet since his companion did the crazy part of punching a skeleton the the power ball. He sighed again. What a weird life this has turned out to be -- not at all what he'd expected or sought just two weeks ago. But then again, two weeks ago they were seeking ends meet and barely surviving. Now they took as they wanted, and so far -- none could stop them. Placing his hands on the box, Feyd shot a glance to Quatre and snorted, "If I die -- I'm coming back to haunt you." And with that, he opened the chest and a brilliant, unending light shone from the well of its depths. He hesitated for a long moment and the skeleton prodded, "Reach in. Take your fate." - What is your fate, Feyd? - It was the words of Rakaas echoing in his head that gripped him as he reached in with both hands. The light flashed red and drew the boy in roughly. He yelped. Face and hips against the open chest, Feyd gasped for something -- perhaps air would quench whatever pain or fear had gripped him in such a death hold, but he fought it. He felt the searing of his skin and cried out for only a moment, before snarling. It made him angry. "Oh my. This never happens. Usually. Well ... Often, I mean. Mimics are tricky." Gainz quipped. Feyd rammed a knee into the treasure box, pushing himself away and gripping at whatever had a hold of him. In a test of might, he prevailed out of rage and jerks his arms free, tipping the treasure chest onto it's scrambling face before it turned into nothing more than a box once more. In return, Feyd's jerked back arms revealed only ebony tendrils that snapped from either appendage as long, molten sable and plum whips that had welded themselves to his forearms and etched black serpents across his forearms. With two clenched fists, they retracted into his palms and he collapsed to his knees, staring at his hands that burned and ached. "P...please. Turn it off." Eyes welled with tears and teeth gritting and suddenly, he exhaled. And inhaled deeply, catching all the stuck breath that was in his lungs, as Rakaas turned off his pain receptors. - Well then ... you earned that, I suppose. We will need to be careful that this does not get infected... - Feyd looked to Quatre and spat, "Heh... your turn. Good luck with that."  . persona . feyd  . affiliation . oz . post count . 5
  13. Their journey wasn't long at all, however when they arrived, Oni's thoughts would question, now beyond the sanity of his travel companion, but the memory and stability as well. The building was in a part of the city that looked to be overshadowed by the money and power that had come to the city. Like any, the poor and the needy were forgotten by the masses of haves and have-mores and those without the tools, means, or privilege to succeed were left to survive. This entire area looked to be abandoned, and the scratches and etches, graffiti and run-down nature of everything around them left little to the imagination of what might have happened here -- or what still did and remained. One's lips instinctively curled, like a dog's might -- when the ominous sense of danger preluded to an unforeseen event. His eyes darted around as they entered the church, feeling the prying eyes of vermin staring in their invasive direction, before scurrying beneath board and beam. Flutter from the rafters caused the youth to flinch, half-expecting something to be in them and watching. In this instant, Oni felt his eyes move to the ceiling and his cerebrum pulsed -- painfully, but a wave of crimson washed over the world around him. It raced along the floors, up the walls, and traced every linear surface within the edifice they stood inside of and highlighted dozens of rats and pigeons in the uppers. He exhaled a sigh of relief and the hiccup of power disseminated and the living things pulsed softly in a heartbeat of scarlet, pinging locations throughout the building. The youth shook a mane of hair from his face and approached the alter, curiously running his fingers upon it and feeling the arcane whispers of power echoing. His eyes narrowed with a puzzled look and he nodded, "I am fresh to this world, but blood is eternal." He had absorbed plenty of blood on the way here, and now with a grace of his hand across a bit of broken glass, the blood dribbled and spiraled in a helix around his palm, circling and slithering around before impacting into the stone and melding through the ruins. A few drops is all that came out, before his flesh sealed itself once more, but the pact was made and the whispers of darkness ebbed. There was nothing fancy that would have made any sort of noise or special show, except the nature of the liquid's reaction. By the last rune filled, the symbols pulsed a faint crimson, and a latch unseated itself beneath them and the entire column lifted into the air, pushing the alter higher than ever before. As it arose, the section toward the pulpit arose, and then another, until they groaned and stopped abruptly, revealing a staircase. Onesimus looked to Skar. "The text read: Enter the Darkness. Welcome the Hollow one. ... I think. The emphasis sounded more like the Hollow One ... being somebody? Maybe Hollow one - like we are hollow? A riddle, perhaps? What .. exactly are you ...? What is this place...?" Onesimus glanced around the room once more curiously.
  14. Feyd's landing allowed a perfect show for the spectacle of the skeleton and the boy with a parasite, brought to you by a reality-check. He stared for a moment and squinted, then leaned his head in as though the depth of his vision was acutely off or something had smudged is sight, only for Rakaas to chime in curiously, but with a seriousness. - No... you're not seeing things. This alternate reality may be more dangerous than we anticipated, simply by not taking it seriously enough because of this ... thing ... - Feyd scratched at his neck lightly before standing with a shrug, "We don't really have much of a choice -- now do we?" "Let's get this started..."  . persona . feyd  . affiliation . oz . post count . 4 @paradigm
  15. A curl upon thin lips was something most devious, and yet left a hint of innocence to be questioned. The thought of Skar not understanding the definition of derelict left the youth-faced abomination a bit on the happier side and he chuckled. Even in the face of chaos and death, humor reared its wondrous head and made balance in the world. Finding the silver lining is what the beast sought in times like these. He walked on, following Skar and his infectious desire to destroy with a sense of loyalty. One wondered silently if the lupine soul in him left him more loyal because of the potential genetic lineage. Canines were loyal, afterall -- were they not? Or perhaps that had changed in this world and time as well... One's unnatural hunger left him watching people curiously -- hungrily. He could feel their pulse shivering within their veins, so close to the surface, he could almost taste it on the air. Such a dark craving was something that he hadn't experienced before this transformation, and wondered if it was because of his change -- this transformation -- or perhaps the being whose life had been consumed to bring him back from a realm of eternal darkness... whatever it was, he felt so lustful with each passerby. One could hear the change of speech in the creature of destruction, and decided that it best to coax out some of the conversation to assist with reprogramming and mental processing, "I honestly cannot tell you if they're 'tasty' or not..." Onesimus said with a faint shrug. The boy's slender frame needed new clothing, or at least something different, because of the looks he was receiving from his grungy clothing. He chewed at his lip in thought, while following Skar. "I don't know if they even exist anymore. Or if they're even still alive in this reality. I can't feel anyone's presence..." Could he really be the last...?
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