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Jotnotes

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Jotnotes last won the day on October 31 2018

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About Jotnotes

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    Full-Time Degenerate
  • Birthday 05/08/1997

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    Donkey Kong
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    Alberta, Canada
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    Gaming, Writing, Occasionally I Draw Poorly. Jojo's Bizarre Adventure is on there, somewhere.
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    This shit is outdated af

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  1. This dungeon is really mean.
  2. The guide follows without comment. He's careful, of course, to step carefully around the bones. They all are, in one way or another. The door opens easily, but not quietly, though it doesn't matter much. The party steps into the hall beyond. There's a few, tense moments as they pass through the halls to their destination, where there is tangible breathing heard from the room they just exited. However, they're too far away to hear the colossal bones shifting in the sand when the undead beast awakes briefly. The next door is stuck. Big surprise. This time, the guide gives it a shove, then a kick before it flies open, slamming against the wall adjacent to the doorway. The clattering fills the room before them, and in no time at all, the party has a response. With a terrifying shriek, a massive winged corpse hurls itself down from the ceiling towards the door they entered through. The guide ducks in time to avoid being splattered as a wyvern strikes the wall behind them. It collapses in a sickly mass of fetid flesh and broken bones. Yet, with an eerie series of disjointed movements, it quickly perks its head back up, and turns towards the party, before shrieking in fury at them again. Its shrieking is joined by several others, deeper in the room, and one can only guess it'll be a matter of moments before they arrive! The guide grips the door again, and with all his might slams it backwards into the wyvern repeatedly. The massive wyrm's legs are caught behind it, and he wastes no time in striking them repeatedly with the heavy door, trying to cripple the thing before it can act again. The wyvern, fully grown, with a wingspan of 20 feet, is a terrifying creature. To have not just one, but possibly more trapped in such a tight space, is a horrible prospect. The melting flesh and rotting scales on the creature speak to their long, tortured lives as undead as well. Even with its limbs battered and crushed, it still begins dragging itself along on its tattered wings, eager for a fight.
  3. Priscilla's expression softened, and she complied quickly. It was hard to see a friend in pain, especially after she'd just completed the impossible for them. The runesmith reached out for Torie's ears and obliged her, scratching her behind one ear at first. She scritched fast and hard, before migrating to the other ear and following suit. It was a little difficult to stand as she was while scratching at this angle, so she shuffled a bit, and wrapped an arm around the tigress' head, stroking the back of her neck while scratching away. "It's okay," She soothed. "The good news is that you'll never need to do that again. You did so good, Torie. You did the best you could." It was a little too easy for Priscilla to spout sappy remarks, but she hoped the tigress appreciated the gesture. She migrated back to the other ear, and scratched under her chin too, for good measure.
  4. The reavers are not looking up in the party's direction, but they are facing the door beneath them, for now. This varies from reaver to reaver. Some are simply standing about. Others are climbing the walls towards some of the other seats. A few are even simply sitting down, in various stages of boredom. Looking over the railing, there's not much to see at first, just more reavers walking into the cathedral. Taking a quick count, there appears to be nearly fifty or so of the things in the room so far, and more entering as time passes. They fan out, and find places to sit, or stand, or whatever it is they do. Anatase can watch a bit longer if he likes, until the masses stop and stare towards the doorway, waiting. Not long after, a small gaggle of reavers enter. These beings wear beautiful armor, made of glass and precious metals that glint in the dim lighting. The majority of it is in various states of disrepair, yet their craftsmanship is still evident. Taking up the rear of this gaggle stands another. This one is dressed in dark armor. At first, this last figure appears to be wearing armor made entirely out of those insects from prior. However, as he walks into the room, the glint of dull silver and aged glass peers through. The armor itself is very likely darker than the rest of their attire, but it is coated in the raveous insects, though why they'd do that appears to be a mystery. The figure is quite tall, even compared to the tall reavers standing upright, and carries a long ceremonial staff. The end, instead of a crest or totem, boasts a blackened metal speartip. In retrospect, you might even say he's wielding a spear instead of a staff, but the way he carries it says 'staff', and so a staff it is. The gaggle parts ways as he makes his way forward, and by the time he reaches the front of the room, closest to the vault, he stands alone. He turns to the congregation, and there's a moment of hush. Who is this guy, anyway?
  5. Since posts in IC areas update to the post feed widget on the front page it's better to include OOC notes as part of the IC post rather than as separate posts in the thread

    Also since the thread is in Genesaris you would want to tag King since he has full mod abilities over that area as its board leader

    1. Jotnotes

      Jotnotes

      Thanks, mate. I forgot.

  6. As Bodice helped Benjamin to rise, and the two of them eventually gathered themselves together, they made an effort to part quickly, and without much to say between them. What could be said, after all, following such an invasive, and revealing spectacle? Nathaniel left her office a changed man--different than the one who had entered the room earlier to speak with her. What he'd entered the room in search of before? Insignificant. What he left with? Uncertain. All that mattered then was that things had been set in motion for him--that could not be undone. As for the Headmistress herself, it only took a manner of moments for her to realize that her straining had cost her. The antediluvian tendrils that ran down her face and arms, carrying her effortlessly as she moved about, were easy to hide from weak minds. The deathly gray skin that covered her body felt taut, and cold. It didn't rob her body of curves or beauty, but robbed her of warmth and that natural life that all living things held. She looked of the sea, or perhaps the crypt, down to the way her eyes appeared ever open, dark orbs swimming with cruel purpose. Out of touch with the rest of her appearance, the red stain of lipstick still caused her ruby red lips to pop. Her shapely face was undisturbed by the lack of color in her face. Eyeliner and eyeshadow accentuated the beauty that was still there, hidden behind the macabre. There was also the mental cost of her meddling--in delving deep, in feasting upon Benjamin's thoughts and feelings, she'd grown stronger. The whispers of the mindflayer's cruel wants and needs had grown into a bitter murmur that never went away. Even though she still dominated their vessel, she could not silence the sullen voice in her head, unintelligible though it may be. More importantly, she could now taste the thoughts and feelings of those near her. It was hard to describe at first, but before long she realized that she could readily sup upon those close by, in small amounts of course. She could also sample the magic in the air around her, feel it weaving and winding through the world, like delicate threads binding everything together. It was sweet and indulgent, finer than any wine. She adored this feeling. Thread Results: Benjamin, with the help of Bodice, was able to unlock a dormant power swimming in the inheritance of his blood for all this time. The efforts of the mindflayer brought the two together, and unshackled the power, giving it all to Benjamin to wield. Though it is uncertain how this will manifest for him, he is of no consequence to Bodice, who through their efforts obtained many new traits. Her mindflayer fetus has developed further, the slave to her wills growing stronger and more powerful, but remaining pinned under her thumb. This has stolen Bodice's natural beauty in some ways, and left her a pale beauty of a corpse--faded and gorgeous, but very much alive. Her new mindflayer tentacles and powers can be hidden from most eyes with powerful sorcery, but wiser folk can see her for what she is now--a monster. Bodice also received a horrible thing--a powerful tome made of flesh and blood and bone, that writes each page as she flays it open. This dark book promises to be a macabre look into Bodice's future plans--her efforts to steal ever more power, and perhaps even cast her gaze beyond the mortal plane, and into that nebulous territory of godhood.
  7. @Hurttoto can post up, if they like, and then we can move along. If not, post up by tuesday!
  8. Priscilla watched, and waited, breathless, as Torie pulled an ace. She watched from the sidelines as the tigress hissed at the kobolds, and smelled the stench of smoke long before the tigress opened her mouth. Blackened, charred clouds wafted from her open maw, and settled low to the ground before rolling away. The smell of charred meat was enough to make Priscilla cover her mouth with her sleeve and look elsewhere for a while. She had no idea where the Tigress had gotten this talent from, and she didn't want to know. What she did know, was that it had the desired effect. When Priscilla looked back, the kobolds had totally cowed to her companion. Torie trotted around, while the bewildered kobolds watched, waiting for her judgement. Instead, the tigress leapt away, hiding for a few moments while they all looked around with confusion. Again, Aaric seemed eager to help, and Priscilla winced again as he picked up again, putting on his tough guy voice once more. This time, instead of punching him, she let him speak, and walked off to go check on the tigress. Priscilla dipped away from prying eyes, and came to the tigress' side, in time to see her coughing up her tongue like it were taffy. The smell of skorched meat still clung to the air, and the sight and smell made Prisclla gag briefly. She overcame it, and knelt next to the beast. "Are you gonna be alright?" She asked in earnest, before dipping her voice a bit lower. "I'm sorry; we shouldn't have tried that stunt. It was a stupid idea...I think you did good, though." She looked back, and added hopefully. "We might even be able to get these guys to help us repair this wagon for us. Could make travelling safer." The kobolds were still shaken, and Shank was much more willing to cooperate this time around. "Shank's crew? We're running ways." He jerked a hand back towards the city. "Broke out of jail. Stole a wagon." Shank threw himself back down on the ground, prostrating again. "Kobolds only wish to serve true dragons! Not liarsome salamanders, and their sticky tricky ways!" "Ah! Yes! Kobolds serve!" One of them piped up. That seemed to start a small chain of reactions, with each of them piping up to cry out for the chance to serve. "Shank and crew would only serve true dragons like mighty Trashkill!" Shank spoke, still on his hands and knees. "Kobolds can take care of dragon, yes? Bring food, shiny bits, take care of eggs, even!"
  9. "Well, that explains it." Lars said, satisfied with the results, for a moment, but it ran its course soon enough, replacing the existing woes with newer ones. "So," He paused, a bit uncomfortably, before following up. "Now we just have to figure out how to convince them all to leave...assuming they aren't, already." Which, again, lead back into the existing concerns. If the party got too mired in the trees, the party would, supposedly, fall into madness. Even then, it wasn't likely the party would manage to slink among the fae, and learn anything in their great numbers. If they did get close, they very likely risked being assaulted or captured. Lars could not afford any of that. So, again, they needed to get close to the fae refuge, and either find a way to make them leave, or see if they planned on leaving of their own volition. So, something had to give. Lars recalled how Xylex was able to feel through the magic, and appeared mostly unharmed. Xylex also wasn't on his payroll, and had his own incentives for seeing this done. That meant... "Xylex." Lars spoke up. "The two of us can't follow you or track magic like you can, so it's up to you to figure out where their camp is." He turned to face him, and looked him over. "Find out where they are, count them up as best as you can, and above all else, be careful. We're not trying to hurt them--we're not trying to pick any fights. See if they're planning on leaving, and if they aren't..." Lars wracked his brain for the right words to describe what he expected from the wolfman. "...If they aren't leaving, or look like they might be able to put up a fight, do what you can to discourage it. Don't hurt them, and don't be seen--just do your best to made it difficult to put up a resistance." Vance gave him a wayward look, but Lars held firm. "We're not looking for a slaughter, so don't hurt anybody, and definitely don't upset them. Just...demoralize them." Lars told Xylex. "Do this, and we'll probably be done long before any more fighting breaks up."
  10. Do I need to post again, and move things along? If memory serves we are waiting for @Thotification, but we can skip them this time around.
  11. Awesome. Priscilla stepped back, letting the tigress take helm, as she did her best to seem not proud, not indifferent, but expectant, waiting for command as befits a sla- A servant. Yeah. The runesmith made a small mental note to talk to a professional about her deep-seated issues, lest they overflowed out of her eventually. For now, however, she cast her stare downward as Torie bluffed and blustered. Great! She had the on the ropes, now. All they needed to do was convince shank that they weren't bluffing, and they'd be home free. Oh. Oh dear. Priscilla sincerely hoped that the kobolds were dumb enough not to think that name over too much. If there was one thing they were clever about, it was their dragon mythos. If Shank was worth his salt--and given how bold he was, she had to assume he was--he might pick up on the name before too long. She held her breath, and waited. Torie was still doing a great job hamming it up, though. If she got any angrier she might actually turn into a dragon! Priscilla shot him a look, but only for a moment. Pulling random dragon facts out of nowhere wasn't going to do them any more favors. All it would take is one of the kobolds to figure out something wasn't right, and they'd all be in trouble. However, it didn't appear to come to that. Shank appeared convinced, and before long knelt before the tigress. All of the kobolds did, really. Priscilla heaved a sigh of relief. It worked. She looked up from the ground, and Aaric piped up again. Priscilla turned on her heels and clocked Aaric in the face, but it was already futile. Shank's eyes had narrowed in suspicion long before she threw the punch, and once she'd connected, they'd already leapt up, brandishing their weapons again. "Trashkill?" Shank repeated, coughing in disbelief. "What dragon is called Trashkill? Is not honorable name, is insulting to dragonkin!" He brandished the dagger, pointing it at Torie, but he didn't strike. Instead, the kobolds backed up several paces, guaranteeing they had distance to evade an attack, or flee if necessary. Priscilla's hand stung, and she immediately felt bad about punching the boy for speaking up. So she reached down and pulled him to his feet. She leaned in close, and hissed in his face before pulling him upright. "New plan," She whispered. "No more talking to the kobolds. Let Torie do the talking, and you worry about fighting." "I said!" Shank called, loudly, aiming the dagger at Torie. He glared embers at her. "What kind of name is Trashkill? Speak, 'dragon!'"
  12. Okay. With the party moving onwards, and out of combat, the posting order is back in effect, so @Thotification is up next. Feel free to recount the sheer indignity of being attacked by horrendous ghouls, and being manhandled by your fellow adventurers. The reavers fled this way, but they're already gone, and finding some means of figuring out where they've gone is next to impossible, as the bathhouse opens into several nearby doors and halls. With the party looking toward fleeing further into the ziggurat, the only ideal way forward for now--and away from the footsteps behind the party--appears to be directly forward, down the gently curving hall and into the rooms beyond. In time, the footsteps are far enough away that things seem safe, and the party slows down a bit, to recount and reorganize. Again, being forced further and further into the ziggurat brings new and confusing layouts, but this room appears familiar. As soon as they enter, the railing directly to the left of the party is recognizeable, as is the massive cathedral room below them, and the great vault door on the far end of the room. There's no mistaking it--this is where that ghostly figure had appeared prior. Upon this balcony, one can get an admirable view of the room below, and there's a distinct sense that this platform is meant for delivering speeches, or perhaps sermons. However, its placement is directly opposite the great door, and it would appear that one would stand on that side of the room if they wanted to give a speech. Especially given that the big doors to this room are directly underneath this platform, and the massive, circular window behind them peers directly into the center of the ziggurat. This is useful, because from here, the party can see the reavers from before! They're down, on the level beneath the party--along with what appears to be hundreds of them. Tall, crooked beings, clad in rough garments, wielding cruel weapons and standing--waiting, for something.
  13. I suppose I need to ask this as well--where is the party going? Back the way they came, or through the door the reavers fled through?
  14. To be clear, you decided that your character would not be struck by the reaver during the fight?
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