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[Whispernight Ragnarok - Vintel] once upon a whispernight dreary...

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Oh – the word booms and echoes from the voices of prophets, so full of gravity, so full of madness, so full of the sound of breaking mountains and shattering earth. What godlessness lies behind this word, what fear of divinity and the abyssal; the mere mention of it sends a tremble through the thread of Fate herself. Men have been driven to despair by less. Whispernight. Let me sing you a song of death, of the dreams of a thousand generations of mortal men breaking like waves upon the prow of a ship beneath the impending power of the Magestorms, of the plagues that sweep the Arcane Lands. So they build vast walls hewn of stone, spires that rise to pierce the heavens, temples to every god under the sun. It will be, nonetheless, shattered. The land itself cares nothing for artificial accomplishment. Our castles in the sand will be overcome. All-consuming, like fire. All-encompassing, like flood. The Age of Myth is long dead, yet the legend of this Night lives on in the flesh.

And of course, what is man in the face of legend?

We have always buckled beneath this day. The day when brother is fully equal to brother in the face of Death come to collect en masse, and neither wealth nor faith or the power of an empire will save your souls from culling. This is the forge in which gods are made. Souls will be smashed beneath adversity, crushed and from the dust something will rise – a something, I’m sure, that we wish nothing to do with. The child of catastrophe, maybe; an ashy, bloody, decaying sort of world order in the remnants.

They called Ragnarok the twilight of the gods – is this our ragnarok? Is this the twilight of men?


“This is a fine, hot mess.”

The clouds rumble with the echoing boom of avalanche, as if the sky itself tumbles over itself in collapse. Maybe it is. Maybe the gods have given up, maybe Atlas has finally buckled beneath the weight of his sins and the weight of man’s hubris, and now everything is falling in on itself. Lightning, hot and white and searingly bright, arcs between the black thunderheads and leaves afterimages in the dust-laced air. They leave behind the smell of ozone and the bitter taste of charcoal as the gale winds whip the burnt soil and trees disintegrating into powder through the atmosphere. Whirlwinds and spectres dance in the swirling grit twenty, thirty, forty stories tall, and the keening whistle of the winds slice through the rumble of thunder like a knife through molten rock. The sound numbs and cuts and burns the mind, and nestles in the root of all thought like a thorn.

When Dove opens the door, she cannot hear herself think, she cannot hear the chatter of the women behind her, and even the roaring engines of the airship choking on dust is almost muted away by the sound of apocalypse. The hot, fire-scorched wind whips her hair into disarray, stinging and intensely warm where it slaps at her face; almost instantly, ash collects in the folds of her dress, painting her as a painter zealous with his shading and contrast. The inside of the cabin fills with delicate, swirling petals, remnants of trees and homes, livelihoods and lives, The sandy soil that’s been blown by the gusts into a froth from the dry, top layer of the earth begins to settle on the seats and controls for the airship. The smell of leather seats and metal is quickly overtaken by smoke.

It is midday, but the air is the color of dust at dusk, where the sun is replaced by the flames that engulf the greater rainforest on the horizon and rapidly spreading. Everything is fiery orange, dust brown, coal black, gray like the bellies of impossibly large ships. The sight of Vintel falling apart beneath is nearly obscured by its own ashes. Dove wipes the dust that’s coated her lips already and narrows her eyes for better vision of the remnants of the city. There is nothing to see. It is chaos. All semblance of order has fallen in the darkness, and now there is just life at its lowest tier: struggling to continuing living. Swarms of the undead and the newly dead choke the vine-gripped streets; blood is mixed with ash to congeal the ground like mud. The high towers, the stone skyscrapers, the homes nestled in the branches and the nooks of the massive roots of the great trees – these have collapsed already. Boulders and shards of concrete and marble are implanted into the soft ground, and what buildings have not yet fallen, are shuddering and crumbling and smashing handfuls of soldiers and undead beneath their slabs of broken rock.

The five Towers loom from the mess, regal, carved into the five massive trees on the distant borders of the city, but they too are on the verge of collapse. Specks and flecks of black are dread wolves and ghouls, feral vampires and wyrms. They slither within the towers’ windows, tear at flesh and the screams of the living upon the balconies, spill over in the thousands and scrabble up and down the steadily flaming trunks of the Towers. The Wintergreen Guardians have come in the full, too, and these are the white specks that are swarming the ground around the towers as they clash with the waves of darkness.

Magnificent. Dove’s eyes nearly tear up at the sight. Never had she seen such amazing destruction – never had she watched such life become such waste so quickly.

How perfectly was the stage set for their entrance.

The sound of metal catching, grinding, screeching against metal perks at her ears. The turbines, Dove notices, have torn themselves nearly to shreds by the chips of wood and scraps of ash that have caught in their gears. Their metallic, tortured grating is the only thing she can hear of them. A generous estimate gives ten minutes before the airship fails on them and they are plunged into the chaos of the jungle. The tactician coughs into a sleeve quietly – completely and utterly muted by the roar of destruction outside – and with a grunt of effort slams the door shut.

With that, silence suddenly falls. The word “silence” is relative. All things are but muted, and her thoughts are once again in perfect clarity. The dry sound of storm goes on outside as she turns to address the group that she had requested of Koji – the many varied figures gathered here were all women of the Royal Harem, and they were all extraordinarily lethal women.

“I will keep this brief, as time itself works against us.” Dove folds her arms behind her back as a prepared magical projection of the formerly intact city flickers into view between them all. “The Five Towers of Vintel are the vertices of the leylines that run naturally through this city, as well as the Verdant Spire of the Greenhouse Palace.”

She nodded to Mina, who would undoubtedly be able to see the massive, pulsing arteries of magic that circled the city and tied the six great structures together.

“I have given each of you a copy of a specific pattern – a counterspell of my devising. The ultimate objective is to carve this pattern into the center of the top floor of each tower. I will deal with the Verdant Spire – the center of this undead infestation – myself.”

“If you are curious, this counterspell is designed to absorb the force and magic of the Whispernight that is en route to the city.” A dusty, distorted feed of the west horizon appears along the west wall of the airship cabin. Past the pillars of smoke, the clouds, the lighting, the impression of a massive, towering wall of black dust lines the entire western horizon. “What you see below our feet right now is merely the beginning of the plague of destruction that envelops Genesaris. This wavefront of dark magic is the local manifestation of Whispernight in the Wintergreen Province, and it is exactly five hundred and fifty-seven miles to the west, descending from the mountains. It is five miles high and some hundred miles wide, and moves at a hundred miles per hour.”

“In five and a half hours, this city, this entire forest, will be reduced to nothingness.” Dove closed the feed with the snap of a finger, and pinned them each with a knowing look. “However, my counterspell will be sufficient to protect us and the wreckage of this city. That is not its intention, however. The intention is to absorb the vast magical energy of the Whispernight. If done correctly, the Empire will have a superweapon capable of leveling a single city at its disposal.”

“What that means is also this: you must fight through the forces of the undead legions and reach the top floors of the Five Towers in less than five hours, or we all die,” she says shortly, and smiles toothily at each of the women.

“But I’m not without a plan. The Five Towers are connected at the top level to each other by a network of vast bridges that are holding strong at the moment – albeit swarming with undead. I am going to create an LZ at the base of the Fifth Tower,” the ground around one of the tall trees lights up, “and that is where you will be dropped to the ground. Fight your way up to the top of the Fifth, carve the pattern, and split into trios to take the Fourth and Third towers across the two bridges connecting.”

Two wide strips of light join the Fifth to each of the others – they look to be vast, easily two hundred feet wide and a mile long.

“The Wintergreen Guards control the first two towers already, and are viciously fighting in the Fourth and Third. Use them to your advantage, and we may yet see the dawn of this blackest night.”

“The last two things: I suggest absolute teamwork, and I also suggest not dying. You may find both difficult, but one will lead to the other quite naturally. Dismissed.”

Dove closes the projection with a curt nod and turns on her heels, marching towards the small room that serves as the captain’s cabin. She brushes the dust from the pilot’s seat and sits down at the controls with a sigh. Two minutes remaining. The sounds of the others equipping their parachutes and other landing gear echo over to her, and she kicks up her feet to rest upon the controls, closing her eyes and letting the thrum of the airship soothe her soul. The howl of wind bleeds through the thousand microscopic cracks left in the glass by airborne debris, pebbles and hard bits of concrete and once, the bloodied diamond from a wedding ring.

The air is unforgivably dry, and yet the sky is pregnant with unimaginably tall clouds, black and heavy and full of water. The reflection of flames in the metal flicker gently like candlelight. Dove cracks open her right eye, a single pupil peering through the grit-coated windows of the airship. They have lost altitude, angling downwards without much fanfare or sinking sensation of the stomach. It is a gentle decline; the barren canopies of the rainforests loom from the dust and ash clouds below – bony, clawing, thorned and twisted branches rendered malicious as their foliage burns away.

The trunk of the Second Tower appears suddenly from the darkness, and Dove reaches over to the controls and nudges the nose towards a more favorable angle to avoid colliding with the very peak of the massive, half-mile-high tree. The white specks on the balconies far below resolve into blood-stained, despairing Wintergreen Guards. They look up from rolling the corpses of the undead off the sides of the tower – they stare at the aircraft thoughtlessly, too tired to wonder what this intruder into their domain represented, and after a short while return to their labor. The shriveled, rotting bodies fall from the Tower towards the street like rain, and a quick glance downwards reveals streets literally brimming over with bodies, piles as tall as the buildings lining them. This quickly fades as the airship carries on its lonely journey through Tartarus, and the soldiers, too, are fallen upon by another airborne squadron of feral vampires.

Dove reaches for her flask, taking another mouthful of rum and runs a few calculations with the liquid. Swallowing the burning liquid after a few seconds, her hands correct the angle of flight as the Fifth Tower comes into view on their left. The airship coasts into a gentle curve around the tower, exactly a mile from the trunk. At this distance, just as the Wintergreen Guards could be seen upon the second, the five women preparing for descent would be able to see the thousands of mindless undead massing like ants on the balconies and around the base of the tower, grinning and leering stupidly up at the airship with their glowing, bloody eyes. The ground around the tower was invisible beneath their number, so crowded were they. Dove was unshaken by this, but she would forgive fear to any man who was scared of death.

“Five,” she says hollowly in the quiet of the cabin, taking a deep breath and cracking her knuckles. “Four.”

“Three.” Her silken scarf dissolves into threads which wind their way through her body, tightening and strengthening and doing their own variety of preparations. “Two.”

“One.” They round the other side of the Fifth Tower, keeping the trunk to their left. Directly in the path of the plane, two miles forward, the delicate marble of the Verdant Spire glimmers through the dust and ash.

“All units, deploy!” The door slams open at her command and the women jump out the side of the plane, plummeting downwards towards the armies of undead that await them, and the incredible wall of sound that was hovering outside – the crackling of flame, the screams, the collective roar of the undead seeing their prey come down, the wind and thunder – this rumbles into the cabin and drowns out Dove’s last muttered word.


In a lightning motion, Dove’s hand whips across the controls and smashes against the airbrakes – the turbine brakes immediately attempt to halt the blades and reverse direction. The momentum of this action leverages immense force upon their hinges that have been worn down to nothing by the constant grind of dust in the gears, and simultaneously, the massive blades of each engine snap off. The two spinning blades continue forward, propelled by their own motion: a ton of sharpened, lethal steel whirling at incredible speed and yet dragged towards the ground by the force of gravity – they accelerate and arc towards the base of the tower, narrowly dodging the falling women.

Instead, a single second later, they scythe into the masses of undead at the very base of the Tower, where the women would land mere seconds after. The undead are cut to pieces by the turbine blades, a vast swath of them falling instantly while the blades continue spinning along the ground tearing up the soil and crushing their bodies until they smash into the walls on either side of the gate into the Tower. With this, Dove has given them a grace period of thirty seconds while the legions outside milled about in sudden shock and intuitive caution, as well as a direct, hundred-yard cleared path into the Tower itself.

This is her gift to them, and she jams the steering controls into a collision course for the Verdant Spire itself. The aircraft accelerates as it angles even steeper downwards, and the two miles that separated herself and the marble spire becomes one-and-a-half in fifteen seconds, then one in another fifteen.

Dove jumps up from her seat with a yawn and a stretch, and climbs into the sharply angled main cabin – at this point, it is almost impossible to keep her footing. The seats of the cabin are now handholds, and the seconds tick by as she pulls herself towards the doorway. Left, right, left, right.

The door is swaying gently in the rush of wind as the plane falls out of the air towards the Spire. It is strange, because the sounds of all else has almost disappeared in the singular rush of wind streaming along the aerodynamic hull of the aircraft. Dove climbs to a standing position in the doorway, which is nearly on its side, and watches the cityscape of Vintel stretch out beneath her, getting closer second by second. A peaceful smile – a genuine one, too – splits her face, and she turns it upwards to watch the place where the sun may have been on a better day.

The drop come heavy, splashing upon her cheeks at first tentatively, and then in force. They are large and swollen with ash, and warm because of the flames that pump heat into the sky and suck the moisture from the air. Dove is surprised that the droplets are even swift enough to catch up with the falling plane, but quickly that emotion is quelled. There is no room for anything save the enjoyment of this moment – the breathtaking instant where the water absorbs all the sound in the world, and the harshness of circumstance is swallowed up inside its buoyant warmth. Summer storms and spring showers and the pleasant coolness of water falling endlessly from dreary skies painted with flame and dust-becoming-mud.

Ah. What a beautiful day for rain.

A pair of wings explode from her back, things of thick, glowing, angelic red thread, and a single echoing beat propels her body into the sky. The lich soars into the rain and the haze of steam that has suddenly swallowed the city of Vintel. Half a second later, the airship smashes into the side of the Verdant Spire crawling with undead, and the active munitions carried in its hold blow right through the middle of the marble tower, sending boulders and chunks of marble smashing into the gardens. It hangs there slowly at first, hesitant – and then everything comes crashing down.

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The world around Shalia had devolved into a shrieking mess. The contraption her compatriots called an 'airship' was screaming as it flew, carrying them miraculously through the air, juddering on occasion as the winds buffeted it. Beyond that was the outside world, and what she had been told was their intended destination; a horde of the risen dead, surrounded by an inferno, with the last few living survivors scratching and clawing for their lives. Shalia's guts churned at the occasional leaps their vessel took, disrupted by turbulence from the flames below. It was certainly rougher than the ride across the ocean had been. But while she had been disturbed greatly by that previous voyage, this ride was much less distressing. At least here all that waited beneath their ship 'sinking' was a quick death, without the unknowable horror of the Deep, and Shalia had died before. It wasn't an experience she would recommend, but it was better than whatever terror waited beneath the endless waves.

While the others made small talk on the ride over, Shalia found a small space to sit upon the airship's floor. The dark-haired woman folded her gauze-wrapped legs beneath herself in what some called lotus posture, and placed both her hands against her breast, pressing firmly. With a deep breath she shut her eyes, and focused. Within the depths of her bosom she felt the stirrings of her flame. It flickered some with each lurch of the airship, the instinctive fear of a long fall with a sudden stop disrupting her focus briefly before being swiftly quelled each time. Those present in the airship with her would feel a subtle heat emanating from Shalia's body, turning the cold steel structure around them warm to the touch. Over time, her inner flame was disrupted less with each bout of turbulence, until finally it flickered not at all. Human concerns slowly fell by the wayside, and all that was left was fire.

Dove opened the door, and the familiar scent of ash filled Shalia's nose. The city below was being devoured by the undead, and the defenders' resultant inferno. The fire had begun spreading exponentially due to the natural greenery. Either the undead would destroy whatever was left, or the fire would, followed by the dark cataclysm called Whispernight that was sweeping the land to utterly consume what little remained. The fire outside called to her own, singing its sweet free song as it happily ate whatever it touched. Gluttony, pure and simple. Shalia would not partake of its heedless feast. There were much more reserved methods of destruction.

Distantly Shalia could hear Dove explaining the specifics of their mission. The lich explained about her counterspell, intending to harness the apocalyptic force of the Whispernight for the new Empire as a weapon, to hang over any foe's head. Sorceror's work, something Shalia could vaguely understand, but wasn't formally trained to participate in. The plan was overall simple; enter the Tower, reach the top, move to the others, place the counterspell's components, and avoid dying. The last was easily accomplished for Shalia. The shard of her Bonfire was buried in the earth back at the Imperial camp.

The moment finally came. While the others readied themselves, Shalia left her meditations and rose to her feet. Reaching into one of the pouches about her waist, she withdrew four Rings, thoughtfully placing two on each hand. The fear of what was to come was now a dim murmuring in her mind, her inner flame brought into a calm warmth that emanated off her almost visibly. As she stood by the door, awaiting the word to exit, she rose one hand to her mouth, gently kissing one of the rings; a tiny silver cat wrapping her finger, its little sapphire eyes gleaming in the light.

"Time to take the plunge," Shalia said softly, as much to herself as those around her. Then the door flew open, and Dove was shouting something inaudible over the rush of noise. Shalia took a deep breath before leaning forward out the airship's door. Without a parachute, she fell. The chaos of it was incredible. The wind screamed in her ears as she fell, as all around her flames devoured the landscape, casting ash into the air as heavy as snowfall. The undead writhed upon the earth like a mass, and even from this high Shalia could see their hungry, hate-filled eyes gleaming up at her. Her clothes whipped around her, the skirt about her waist billowing away from her body and revealing that at least she had the modesty to not be nude, even if it were nothing but more tightly wrapped bandages.

After a few hundred feet, the peculiar sensation of weightlessness took over. The pull of gravity and the weight of the wind had reached a compromise, and Shalia's fall was no longer accelerating. Suddenly added to the din was the shriek of warping steel, and it was no small shock to see the blades from the airship they had just been riding go hurtling by, humming as they went. In the distance she saw them fall like the Reaper's own scythe, reaping through the undead milling at their landing point like grass. The ground rushed up at her, and even the calm her meditation had brought her was disrupted by the sheer insanity of what was happening.

The Silver Cat's eyes glowed, and Shalia's body was encased in a barely visible layer of magic, almost like bubbles. Her descent rapidly slowed as she neared the ground, the ring's magic fighting an unwinnable battle with gravity. Even with the magic active, this would not be a gentle landing. Shalia's body struck the ground hard, the ring's magic coalescing visibly around her wherever her body met earth. The dark-haired woman tumbled, the rebound of force sending her uncontrollably skidding across the ground, each a hammering blow that drew gasping sounds of pain from Shalia. After a moment the violence ended, gravity taking as much of its due as it could. Shalia lay unmoving.

But after a moment she stirred. Shalia rose to her feet, and from her came what at first seemed to be a cough. But slowly it became louder, fuller, turning into laughter. The madness of what she had just done broke through the pain, the calm from the pyromancer's meditation long forgotten. Shalia's mirth shook her body, peals of her laughing echoing in the dead and dying city. She lifted her right hand, and from it erupted flame. The fire twisted in on itself, shaping itself into something that looked nearly solid; a curved sword of pure flame, the Demon's Scar. There was something unnatural about the flames composing the 'weapon. They writhed like a living thing, and even compared to the inferno around them they seemed hungry, ready to devour whatever they touched. A touch of the Old Chaos.

The Demon's Scar hissed as the rain began to fall, and where drops landed on Shalia they slowly steamed away. Shalia paid them no mind. They went unheeded, the same as the small cuts and bruises across her body granted her by gravity's brutality. Instead Shalia brought the Demon's Scar forward, gesturing it at any of the undead nearby. Her laughter slowly died, and she found her voice again.

"Gone hollow have you?! Well there's still life to be found in this corpse here! Come take it from me, will-less fools!"



Equipped Rings

Sun Princess Ring

"Ring associated with Gwynevere, princess of sunlight and eldest daughter of Gwyn, the First Lord. The ring is vaguely warm, like a beam of sunlight, and gradually heals the wearer's wounds. Gwynevere left her home with a great many other deities, and became a wife and mother, raising several heavenly children."

This golden ring increases the wearer's natural healing, halving the time it would take for a non-fatal injury to heal. Superficial wounds, such as minor cuts, heal at an even higher rate, visibly scabbing over and closing over a few minutes.

Witch's Ring

"The Witch of Izalith and her daughters, scorched by the flame of chaos, thaught humans the art of pyromancy and offered them this ring. Every pyromancer is familiar with the parable that tells of the witches espousing the need to fear the flame, and teaching the art of pyromancy to men in hopes that they might learn to control it."

This dark ring resonates with the wearer's inner flame, giving them greater control over its usage in Pyromancy and enhancing its strength.

Ring of Steel Protection

"Ring of the Knight King of ancient legend. Increases physical damage absorption. The Knight King was said to be lined with steel on the inside, such that even the talons of mighty dragons did him little harm."

This ring affects the wearer's clothing and armor, rather than them personally. It increases the durability of all their currently worn attire, allowing simple cloth to absorb light blows or heavy plate to become virtually impregnable. This ring grants no resistance to magical or elemental effects; it only defends against physical damage.

Silvercat Ring

"Silver ring depicting a leaping feline. Prevents damage from falling. In the Age of Gods, or possibily following it, an old cat was said to speak a human tongue, with the voice of an old woman, and the form of a fanciful immortal."

This ring cushions the wearer's body when landing from heights, preventing them from taking any damage when landing unless the fall would normally be fatal.

Cast Spells

Demon's Scar

"The demons, birthed from a common Chaos, share almost everything between them, even the pride of their prince, and his nearly-faded flame. So that the last demon standing may rekindle it. This chaotic thing, the last flame kindled by a demon prince, is shaped like the claw marks of a demon. It is both a fiery bladed weapon, and Pyromancy flame."

Shalia summons a blade of flame, tinged by Chaos, into her hand. Though shaped like a blade, it is intensely burning fire, and scorches as it passes. The weapon does not cut, but rather tries to remain cohesive, washing whatever it touches in the virulently hungry fire of the Old Chaos. Like all Chaos fire, this weapon's flames adhere to whatever they touch, corrosively devouring it no matter how long it may take, until only ash remains. Shalia can maintain this weapon indefinitely, though it is reliant on her willpower to not allow the gluttonous Chaos to go out of control and devour her.


Edited by Trenchant Cogency
General cleanup and formatting.

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assassin thief character design | concept art fantasy RPG | dungeons and dragons | white hair female woman, ninja:'On days like this, I prefer a little rain to turn the white and black into grey.' -Mina

'Would you like to play?'

'There are often days where things, don't exactly make sense.

Yet we find a reason to justify our actions; such strides are considered effort.

An so we lay claim to our beliefs through our wanderings, proclaiming the

Sovereignty of this injustice. Nothing is Black and White.. 

All things are just a shade of Grey.'

- Mina, Coming of Whispernight, Ragnorok.

How long had she sat her in utter silence..? The once peaceful hum of the airships engines had swiftly changed to the grinding of metals. As monotone as the cabin made things, Mina's senses were all to acute for such scenes. Looking left and right her face remained impassive as she glanced at the other women in the Royal Harem. A mission had been placed upon their shoulders and as such, they would successful see this mission to its end. Or at least Mina would not fail to see it completed, there was too much at stake for them not to complete this task. Flexing her fingers slowly, she became reacquainted with her gear as it latched firmly to her body. Still garbed in white the outfit beneath her long coat remained a mystery. A single shall of fabric covered her face from the nose down with a hood covering her head. Her hands were wrapped with gauze from the finger tips up, ending at her elbows, over the gauze she wore fitted chain mail gloves that were finger-less and went up to the end of her forearms. Her coat sleeves were long enough to cover past her hands, yet when sitting she was sure to roll them back in case she needed to grab something. Her breathing remained at ease. 

When Dove rose up to take a look outside, Mina's optics adjusted slowly the incoming heat and dust. The scent was something she was used to. Destruction was nothing new to the maiden, nor would she ever trade this blood ridden path for a safe life and children. She couldn't bear the idea of having kids in this world, yet she did not knock those who had such a desire. She wished them all the best, and hoped for happiness to find them.  

Several moments had passed before Dove had decided to close the door and address the group about the mission at hand. It was almost show time and things were going to get very interesting once they left the confines of the ship. Her mind remained focused on Dove's words as she spoke about the seals needed to absorb and capture this storm at hand.  Still one thing puzzled Mina deeply, why was there no other people attempting to do this besides themselves. Even within the confines of the airship she visibly read every leyline that crossed her sight. There was not a single other soul fighting to make it to these towers. Perhaps no one had thought of this idea yet? Who knew but Mina would be sure to keep her eyes open for any unwanted company.  When Dove had given her the nod of acknowledgement, Mina slightly bowed her head before returning her attention back the visual diagram. 

Things were going to get very interesting to say in the least. Rising to her feet she could not sit for much longer. Already her blood boiled with the desire to slaughter things without consequence. The undead had no feelings to pass therefore she felt no guilt and cutting them down for no reason.. Wait.. Was it just the undead she did not care to kill..? No.. No.. That's right, she would kill anyone without second thought so long as it brought something better about.  As she rose her long sleeves fell back down over her hands blocking them from sight. Upon her back was a single Katana which was heavily locked into place. She had never once used the blade granted to her by her teacher. There was no need for such a item in the first place. Yet she respectfully carried it as a badge of honor for her graduation. As she would say; 'Use brings about, wear, tear, and rust.'  A pleased smile crossed her lips as a flash back of blood splattered walls crossed her mind. He was a good master indeed..

Memories ceased to flow as the count down began swiftly. Grabbing a hold of a small scroll she had packed Mina followed Shalia's suit. Without a parachute she left the plane doors and opened the scroll in hand. She was not blessed with what some might call magic. Rather she had chakura, something to be said like magic but derived from the body itself. When the scroll was open she used her right hand making a single handsign 'Ram', from which the scrolls animation came to life. Expanding and coming off of the page in the form of ink, Mina landed on the back of a giant bird. Flying down towards the earth she swooped low and slowed her pace. Catching her other falling members upon the birds back, there was no need for them to use the parachute. From what had happened next the way seemed to be very clear as the bird descended to the ground allowing the others the bail before Mina hopped off last. The ink creation slammed full force into the slow moving mob at their backs. 

"Shall we.. Get going?" Landing a few paces ahead of Shalia the woman turned her blank gaze upon the rest before making her way towards the doors. This gate way would not be open for long, time was of the essence. 

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kEK1SbV.png      "The sky is falling, the sky is falling."

      The muted screams of a dying engine permeated the airship, broken only by the sardonic drawl of Cassandra's voice as she recited a child's fable. With only a fleeting glance beyond the steel cage of the cabin, even the most nearsighted would see the fable become truth before their very eyes.

      The sky was at war with the earth.

      Surging clouds spewed sheets of lightning, whirling columns of wind traced tracts of destruction across the earth, and torrid smoke choked the breath from anything that remained, as though Mother Nature herself had condemned the world to hang.

      The sprawling destruction was as familiar as a second skin to Cassandra. Ash that covered the ground and filled the air, spewed from all-consuming flames, was a strange imitation of the blowing dunes of ash that covered her layer of the Abyss. Perhaps the ash that made up her home was remnants of cities like Vintel, kingdoms that had fallen to the Abyssal hordes. Entire worlds consumed by hellfire until nothing but the grey deserts remained. Perhaps Genesaris would one day join the Abyss, another landscape for the ceaseless struggle between demons and devils. Another battlefield for the Serpent to conquer. Perhaps the destruction would spawn the cruelty and sin needed to fill her armies with tanar'ri. Allowing demons to rise from the ash of humanity's pain, to be thrown into the endless slaughter of the Blood War.

      The rumble of Dove's voice broke her contemplation, and the demon fixed serpentine eyes upon the Empire's tactician. A snake judging whether it could strike down a bird. Sizing up the lich, and her potential as a commander of the Empire's considerable strength. After all, 700 years was little more than childhood when compared to a tanar'ri's lifespan, and Cass was unaccustomed to taking orders from anyone but her Lord. Placing her under the control of a creature she deemed below her would certainly cause tension. A thought flitted across the Serpent's mind, one that curled the corners of her lovely mouth into a wicked grin.

      Perhaps Koji had placed Dove in charge, precisely for that reason.

      The Datsuzoku Empire could prove entertaining, after all. And when it crumbled, as all kingdoms did with time, Koji could prove to make a suitable Lord of the Abyss. Even the little bird who now chirped in her ear could find a place in the Abyssal horde, if it was as talented as it claimed.

      The tactician had given her commands, it seemed. In a single graceful movement, Cassandra rose from her seat and approached the open portal into chaos. A curtain of fabric whipped in the wind, twisting and swirling around the woman's legs. Rope kept the fabric cinched at the waist, to prevent exposing more of her porcelain skin than was appropriate. Though modesty had not been taken into account when it came to her upper body, it seemed. A tightly-wrapped red silk scarf was all that shielded her chest from view, giving ample opportunity for the other women to admire a slender waist and the flat expanse of her stomach. Flowing raven locks had been tamed by a similar scarf, a brilliant crimson ribbon that kept her vision unobstructed. Despite the care given to her appearance, the Serpent had not forgotten that the Empire had not sent its Harem on a social visit. Various weapons hung from the rope that cinched shut her skirt, elegant longswords strung up next to gracefully curving scimitars. Each was sharpened to a keen edge, and each glinted dangerously in the flashes of lightning that lit the airship's interior.iUS555x.png

      Pivoting, Cass faced the remaining members of the Royal Harem. A single slender wrist lifted elegant fingers in a mocking salute, as the Serpent fell from the cabin and succumbed to the howling inferno.

      The roar of the wind and the legions below drowned out the marilith's chaotic laughter as she plummeted, hair tearing free from its binding and streaming behind her in a dark wave. Two spectral arms began a series of somatic spell casting while a corporeal hand ripped the ruby pendant from her neck. To the observers below, the smoke and murky clouds appeared to coalesce around the falling woman, creating a shadow that continued to plunge toward the earth.

      Just as quickly as it appeared, the darkness blew apart. Two membranous wings spread across the sky, blotting out what little light fell to the ground. On the back of a batlike demon, Cassandra screamed a battle cry as she and her mount swooped to the earth. Crushing undead beneath its massive body, the bat crashed to the earth beside Shalia. The woman that slid off its haunch was Cassandra, reformed.

      Coils of a serpentine tail surrounded an elegant torso, ringed by six muscled arms. From the ground, the marilith was over nine feet tall, towering above the hordes of animated corpses. In each hand were the weapons that had hung from Cass' belt, wielded as though the steel were extensions of the limbs that held them. Massive scales glittered in the dull light, glossy black covering the sleek muscle beneath. Gold hung from the demon's arms and waist, her torso bare but for the ornate jewels and shining metal. A similar helm crowned her raven head, and as she turned to peer at the warrior ahead of her, she would mark the slitted pupils of a snake. Even her irises had morphed, now glowing a crimson that seemed to flicker like the flames of the Abyss. Hearing the invitation forward, one toned arm gestured toward the gate.

      "Lead the way."

Edited by Misty

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Athena Bladesong sat still while the airship around her rumbled through the air, its gears churning noisily to keep the group in the air. Despite the acute possibility of the ship disintegrating due to the stress placed on it, Athena stayed still. Her eyes were closed and she breathed deeply, shutting out her surroundings. For she did not care.

It was an odd sensation, to only care about only one thing, a person: Koji. Sometimes Athena figured that something was wrong with her; most of the time she didn't care. In her mind, the only reason she would obey her companions' orders was because they too were working for her savior, and thus they would be able to work together without clashing. Not that she cared, really.

Opening her eyes at the sound of Dove's voice, she paid half a mind to her instructions as the other half once again retreated back into the depths of her thoughts. The plan was sound, at the very least. At least this way there would be relatively little in the way of meaningful resistance from the undead that the group faced.

Sometimes she envied the undead - they existed without feeling or purpose or intent. They would have been the perfect tool for her previous owners, instead of the broken mess that they had in her. Of course, they had done their best to fix her, destroying her feelings and will and shaping her into a weapon to be used at their disposal. Athena didn't think it was enough.

Once again her mind was brought back to the present as the group around her readied to jump. She too, prepared herself, making sure her rapier and dagger were in their places. She was ready.

As she approached the edge, she looked down at what she would soon approached. The fall, not the ground, was what she desired most. For some odd reason, she felt a hint of emotion whenever she fell, however short the distance was. Sometimes she hated it, other times she welcomed it. Today, she felt as if she would welcome it.


Closing her eyes, she stepped over the void and let herself drop, a hint of a smile on her face as she plummeted to the ground beneath her.




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“What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up – like a raisin in the sun?” Dove mused this to herself, and the words rang clearly in her ears for a second before the boom of thunder and the roar of wind swept the poetry into the dust.

Perhaps this was the truth: that all the dreams man and woman and child had ever nurtured, tossed away into some forgotten corner of the mind – perhaps they simply dried up, their lifeblood sucked away by the hot shame of despair. How many of those empty husks would there be, then, lying around the collective consciousness of the world? How many eons of dead casings – and the next question has to be:

What happens to the liquid dreamstuff?

Dove’s flight slowed to halt as she hovered some hundred feet above the wreckage and ruins of Vintel beneath. The woman held out a slender finger, the tip glowing with magic, and watched a single, burgeoning raindrop slow to a heavy pause above it. It was unblemished, smooth as water, swelling and fresh and swirling with ash. The waves of black specks inside were like clouds shaping themselves into animals, evanescent omens of death and life and hints into the truth of everything inside this orb hurtling towards the ground.

Maybe, just maybe, Dove thought, the dreams coalesced in the clouds. All the hopes of children, all the prayers of martyrs, all the promises of lovers – maybe they were all there, sky-bound, among the strata beneath the stars. Rain was their great return as they came down to nourish the earth, and the bitter sweetness of old dreams would lay the fertile ground for new, more hopeful wishes.

Another crash of thunder; another great beat of her false wings, and the winds swept the droplet from her fingers. The woman watched it fly from her hands, and dull eyes followed it as it spiraled downwards into the city and splashed upon the twin, small twisted corpses of brother and sister, hissing when it struck the burning beam that pinned the two bodies to the ground.

A few stray undead clambered around their bodies as they searched for more victims. Black, rotten necks craned into nooks and burning storefronts; the stained brown bones of their elbows were attached backwards as they moved, like a child’s imitation of wolves, about the alleyway in pursuit of the scent of meat. Finding none, they turned their gazes upon the well-done bodies in their midst and seemed to come to reluctant agreement amongst each other. One approached slowly, shying away from the fire while its jaw gaped open; its head dipped to nuzzle the younger boy’s cheek, and teeth – no, it couldn’t be called teeth – the jagged bits of skull that were exposed from within the putrefied flesh closed on his shoulder fatally. The zombie’s neck tensed, and tugged in a single, primal motion, ripping off the flesh that separated his neck from his chest.

Dove’s gaze lingered upon this for a few seconds more as the fires crackled and the winds keened and the rain drowned everything in a deluge of wet static. A second undead, spurred on by the first, joined in upon the legs of the girl. Snap, crack, tear – her imagination supplied these sounds as she hovered there, shaking her head in the midst of falling dreams.

So much for that idea. Dove cupped her hands together, letting the rain pool once again into a puddle of ash and fire-warmed water. Romance didn’t exist – because to believe it did was to grow a rose in the ashes of a field of corpses. Delusions could only be so small before one had to acknowledge reality, or the truth beneath the glamour we cast.

What poor fate it was that awaited people – those who lived, or died trying.

“One…two…five million, two hundred twelve thousand, seven hundred seventy-two.” She let the water drip through her fingers, finished with her temporary calculations; they sieved through her fingers until only a thin coat of ash was left on her palms. 5,212,772. This was the number of threads of soul she had at her disposal. Of those, half were devoted to the wings that channeled aeromana and kept her afloat at the present.

As for the other two million…

Three shimmering threads of silk came down from the sky like silent, glimmering bullets, and cracked the pavement where they hit – little puffs of dust where the ends of the silk struck. The threads with the hardness of steel curled upwards and pierced the three undead through their other eye socket; they wound through the rotting brain-flesh into the stem, and threaded through the length of the spinal cord. Leaving from the pelvic area, they came around to rejoin the initial thread in a loop.

And the loop tightened, and tightened, and tightened, until the bones split and cracked and the zombies exploded, collapsed in on themselves.

A coiled cord of several thousand threads came down with a rush of air and swept into the side of the alley. The stone cracked, the wood snapped, and the walls came tumbling down upon their corpses in a rumbling landslide. Dove smiled grimly at the remains of the alleyway. “May Fate be kinder to you in another life.”

She would not, but let us see if Dove could catch the fickle Lady’s attention long enough to slap her across the face.

Her false wings began to beat once more, and the Tactician continued her journey towards the gaping ruins of the Spire and the crowds of undead that crowed and howled in the grounds of the gardens surrounding. 



The Challenge Facing:

Innumerable is the word of choice that describes the hordes that surround the women of the Harem. There is no victory against these numbers. If they close in, defeat may be slow, but inevitable. The only choice is to keep moving and somehow prevent the legion from following behind. There are groups of creatures inside the gates to the massive tree-tower, as well, but those are limited and can be destroyed with limit. The party has thirty seconds to cross the temporary safe zone before the undead that mill about collapse inwards in a mad rush at the women.

Kill as many as you can, perhaps, and stay alive. This thread is about style points, after all, but the enemy will not relent and wounds may well be grievous. There will be no healing until you make contact with the Wintergreen Vanguard, currently fighting atop the bridges between Towers One and Three, and Two and Four. Exercise caution.

You have 4 hours and 55 minutes remaining.



Edited by Mag

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Mina's encouragement was unnecessary. Even as the white-haired woman turned, Shalia's bare feet were tearing across the earth. Her rush to the door was partly out of the urgency of their situation, but in truth she also wanted to create distance between herself and... whatever Cassandra had become. The transformed woman's serpentine form brought up dark memories. Shalia hurried past Mina as the woman finished speaking.

"Take your own advice!" Shalia shouted as she passed. Some of the undead had already come to their senses and were beginning to shamble towards them. The group gathered here was monstrously powerful, but Shalia didn't look forward to fighting an entire city's worth of undead. The circle of undead was slowly closing. Shalia hissed a breath between her teeth, and brought her left arm up, channeling her inner flame into it. Now wasn't a time to be reserved.  Within her the flame of the Old Chaos stirred, aching to consume her body and everything around her. The call of it was elation, as mad as it may seem. Shalia's inner flame urged her to give in, to reunite it with the fire of Chaos. But she did not.

From her empty left hand an orb of fire formed, and within it churned the incredibly bright fires of Chaos. Their neon-like orange glow made it difficult to look directly into the orb, and slowly became brighter as Shalia surged more of the Old Chaos into it. The Pyromancer had her teeth clenched hard, fighting to keep the spell cohesive as well as resisting the urge to let it consume her. It took only a moment more of effort before it was fully formed, and Shalia wasted no time going into action.

Without stopping, she swung her left arm forward, hurling the flame into the nearest grouping of the undead. As it flew, it expanded outward, becoming as large as a human body. It shrieked as it sailed through the air before slamming violently into the undead. It destablized on impact, the outer coating of Shalia's inner flame giving way to the fires of Chaos within.

The Old Chaos was free. With it came death.

The flames spilled out like a thing alive, grasping hungrily at the undead nearby. The explosion alone had sent half-rotted bodies flying into pieces, but those were the lucky ones. The Chaos fires clung to everything they touched and devoured it. The undead flesh it touched didn't so much burn as melt, and the flames became only more hungry for it. The undead moved through it heedlessly, but it ate their very legs from beneath them and pulled them down. It hissed and churned like magma, slowly spreading itself as it gained more fuel from whatever it touched. It had become a self-perpetuating trap against the undead, but it was slow. It was only impeding a certain area, and the group was surrounded.

Chaos Flame was not something she used lightly. Shalia noted with fearful reverence that besides the undead, it was slowly eating into the earth, turning it into more molten Chaos. If it went unchecked it would slowly spread, destroying all in its wake. It would have been a death sentence for this place. But the city was already long lost, and the Whispernight was coming. Chaos could eat its fill here.

"Come, swiftly! And don't get near the fire!" Shalia shouted over her shoulder at the others. Hopefully they wouldn't make her charge the gate alone.



Cast Spells

Forbidden Sun

"Pyromancy developed in Aldian rites. Fires a giant fireball with a widely encompassing explosion. What could possibly justify such excessive destructive power? In all likelihood, the madmen of Aldia never even questioned the need."


Edited by Trenchant Cogency

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'Fly you fools!!' - Gandolf the GreyKunoichi by marcinwuu female cosplay costume LARP LRP thief rogue assassin spy dark elf drow armor clothes clothing fashion player character npc | Create your own roleplaying game material w/ RPG Bard: www.rpgbard.com | Writing inspiration for Dungeons and Dragons DND D&D Pathfinder PFRPG Warhammer 40k Star Wars Shadowrun Call of Cthulhu Lord of the Rings LoTR   d20 fantasy science fiction scifi horror design | Not Trusty Sword art: click artwork for source:

As the others landed, Mina seemi stepped back in a state of amusement at Casanda's transformation. 'Something terrifying to those who never knew the taste of darkness no?' The thought made her chuckle even as Shalia rushed by her in mid sentence. Turning to follow suit the woman was now about to leave this bi - polar pyromaniac do anything alone that might risk her life. The harem had to be a team no? Perhaps not then in a sense. Would it not have been easier to have them split up and cover all bases 1 to 1? Five hours was seemingly long in the outer scope. Yet when in the fray time could past so swiftly one might forget what time they started. Digging the balls of her feet into the earth, Mina soon caught up to Shalia as the woman threw the Chaos flames at their enemy. Time was sincerely of the essence and she would not waste it. Skipping past Shalia as she made her throw Mina kept her arms out and ready to trike anything that came to close. Her optics slowly shifted from a placid moon pool to a cracked appearance what traveled out to the veins around her eyes. Sight was everything and when it came to finding the lay-lines she was needed. 'Here goes nothing..' Mina thought to herself as she approached the gate looking left and right she slowed her pace a bit as she inspected the interior of the court yard. "We have several groups of enemies within, a limited amount! If you encounter be sure to eliminate the threat!!" Shouting out once more she made it so her voice could be heard by all. Even as she drove her self further towards the base of the tower. 

Bodies tumbled over bodies while fire spread to consume the other undead bodies in chaos flames.Without pause Mina veered to her left slightly jumping through the air she spun upon side down like a top. Invisible to the naked eye she arms were coated in chakura. THe blades were ever sharp and her aim was ever accurate. Cleaving the head off of a few zombies before landing and continuing her run towards the doors at the base of the tower. Looking at a few of the remaining groups within, Mina had a plan of action in mind. "As we approach guys take out the beings within the yard." Her voice carried out freely to everyone as if she were right next to them. Sliding towards another group, Mina thrust out her right hand. Keeping it in the form of a knife hand she pierced the zombies skull before dragging her arm down. Barreling through she crossed her arms over and cut deeply into the next to in front of her. Knocking them off balance she lurched forward doing a no handed front flip in order to kick out with both feet. Knocking into the bodies she pushed them over into two more undead bodies. With this pile in hand Mina landed onto her back before doing a hand spring to get up and jumped  forward like a beast. Piercing their skulls with her energy blades their bodies ceased to move. 

Continuing with her momentum she landed on her feet once more and rushed ahead without another word. Blood slowly stained her sleeves in the process but that did not bother her. Making her way to the front door she quickly opened up another scroll and began to draw in it as she ran. She didn't have time to stop and do this work, but her artistic skills were still on point. Drawing up two four armed guards she armed them with weapons per a hand. 'Lets hope these things last a while.' Looking back she did a single hand seal before the animations came to life. Stepping out and enlarging  from the paper the inked creations stood at seven feet in height and their arms moved and  flexed with anticipation. "To the Death Guardians.." Mina shouted out her orders as she rolled up the scroll and stuffed the brush back into the wood segment. 

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Athena landed gracefully on her feet, drawing her weapons and moving dashing forward in a flash. While Shalia dealt with her fair share of the undead around them, Athena chose a second, smaller group off to the side to take care of. While she didn't have any outstanding powers like some of the others, she made up for what she lacked in pure skill with her blades, cutting and slicing through the undead horde around her like a knife through hot butter.

She found herself lost in the fray, only breaking herself out of her trance after hearing Mina's command. She nodded to the woman as she ran up to her side.

"Perhaps if we found a way to block the gates once we are through, it would protect our flanks."

Edited by TheCalmOne
I was being a dumb butt lol

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DGhqICu.jpgThe demoness could not blame the others for their discomfort. Gazing into her eyes, the wicked and deranged felt the heat of the flames that seemed to burn behind the crimson stare. The fiery glow was only a taste of the sins they had committed in their past, but most men were daunted by the reminder that atrocities committed in life would be punished in death. Those who could not face their inner demons were the same as those who could not face Cassandra. After all, if a man could not acknowledge the evil within him, how could he stay strong when it stood before him? That was what a marilith was. The sins of the past, personified in the present. A hint to the despair that awaited them in the future. Most humans preferred to believe in forgiveness, a lovely fairytale of ignorance that promised happiness in the afterlife. Cassandra’s true form was a harsh awakening to those who preferred to be blind to the darkness around them, and so they avoided her to prevent their fragile reality from shattering.

Koji and his yokai bride were anomalies. Intrigued, rather than repulsed. Accepting, rather than afraid. The young couple not only acknowledged their sins, but reveled in them. The arrival of companions who shared her ideals had been a pleasant surprise to a demoness used to opposition. Though boredom had drawn Cass to the budding empire, fascination had prompted her to stay. So much potential for destruction, for mayhem, for slaughter, gathered under one banner. The marilith had found a new sandbox and playmates who were willing to wreak havoc alongside her. The Empire’s denizens were as eager for bloodshed as she, and the Serpent could not wait to begin.

Time to play.

Flickering firelight played across the planes of Cassandra’s face as the harem raced forward. Her wild grin was morphed into something wicked by the reddish glow, the light accentuating her sharp features and the shadows creating terrifying contours. It transformed her expression from excited to savage, aggressive, bloodthirsty. As the flames flared and sparked, the wickedly sharp blades clutched in Cassandra’s grasp glinted and shone. The steel seemed to be extensions of her limbs, spinning and tearing through flesh as though she danced with the grasping undead. Her maniacal laugh was drowned out by the din of the dead, but the stretch of her lips spoke volumes to the pleasure she derived from battle. Only the calls of her fellow women kept Cass from taking her time and savouring the battle. Instead, she covered their backs, taking out the groups that got too close as the Royal Harem moved to the base of the first tower.

Preserving the gifted women was a priority, after all. When the Empire fell, consumed by flames like those that raged behind her, the Serpent would take her playthings back to the Abyss to stay by her side and keep her entertained when things became dull once again.

Edited by Misty

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Most days she wondered how she ended up here.

Kat seemed to fit with her surroundings, she was always good at adapting to her state. There was always chaos surrounding her, between her patrons and owners of the place she came from she had more than her fill of adventure. Watching the destruction pop up around her she leaned over to see the brilliant colors of gold and orange surrounding the jungle like atmosphere. A voice can be heard calling the others to it. Dove, someone, like the rest whom she was barely familiar with was giving orders for this mission. The vampire looked toward her captain to listen about the towers, where they were landing and what exactly they were doing. Most times she knew that plans were hard to follow with mass amounts of battle around them but she would try to obtain victory like the others. What made it worse was the pounding rain that seemed to drown Dove's voice every now and then. Kat did catch the part about them landing near or on the tree lit below, as well as what would be waiting when she and the others landed in to the middle.

Part of her really wished these things were alive, then she could eat at least. Fresh, fresh blood, something she often missed. It wasn't that she was mistreated by any means, it was the thrill of hunting that this place had brought back to her. For years she had pushed away the feeling of watching someone start in fear, then pure ecstasy, to the very brink of death just under her full lips.

Looking around as she listened she could see this was an impressive group of women that Koji had chosen as a part of this harem he had. Kat still didn't really believe in the whole thing but she decided for adventure sake she would give it a go.

At the stoke of one she was out like the others falling in mid-air she wondered just how she'd get through. After landing she saw the hoard coming at them, most had started filing through the masses of undead. The ship had taken out its share before becoming a pile of flaming debris.

Kat used strength, that was what she had, she wasn't a weapons master but she had perks of being her own undead being. There were spells that could be used to kill, as she started in on them a couple rings of red began to follow her. Kat's lips were moving though it sounded as though nothing was coming out, even so the rings heeded her command and spread out. As they did a couple ran at her first, though they would never make their target. The rings came from behind them, just at their feet. The undead seemed to be at a stand still as though the rings were keeping them in their place. While they struggled to move one could see their faces and attributes began to look more drained within a minute. They dropped to the ground looking like nothing more than freeze dried fruit. As more came, more rings would spread through them like targets. Kat seemed started to walk through just as the others fought their way through, following where they were going, unsure of who she would team up with to complete this.

More began to drop, she was gathering their energy for something that would take time. If successful she would be able to call aid of the hoard itself, pinning it against its own soldiers. The hard part was keeping them away from her while she concentrated, but just like flies they flocked to her just as they did the others.


((Let me know if I'm off with anything, I can change things around.))

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22, su jian on ArtStation at https://www.artstation.com/artwork/22-2:Let's climb these towers.

First Floor

As all party members rolled into the building the guardians slashed and broke the entrance doors down into a heap. Locking the ladies inside without fail, there would be no interruptions at their back. The infinite flow of the mob was cut to null allowing the limited number of beings within the being to be their targets. Looking left and right Mina's energy blades fluxed around her hands as she peered across the room. Bodies everywhere and the pace of the killing would steadily grow from here. Ducking  a fine toned swipe Mina cut the assailant in two with the swipe of her arm. The tinted aura cut through flesh and bone like a hot knife through butter. "We press onward everyone.. Remember our goal is the top of every tower.." The numbers had dwindled and some people seemed to have been lost or divided in the rush for the doors. She thought she counted all of them? Was it perhaps a miscount? She hoped not for the sake of Koji and the Harem at hand. 

"Do what you must to get there, however do not forget no one should be left behind.. We can not expect to be the strongest Harem of the Empire if we fall today.." Her words were serious and pointed at all those who would consider solo actions. Although it would seem as if solo action would have to take place from time to time. "Move out!!" Rushing forward she headed for the stairwell and main corridor with haste. Her arms were spread wide as she slice and diced through Zombies like a dual wielding master. The flow of energy resonated with all those present. A passive innate trait which allowed her to share her energy with others to boost their efforts and pace of this mission. Failure was not an option. 

Up she went stepping on skulls and limbs while cutting down others with ease. Her body moved like a whirlwind, her limbs stabbed and cut the enemy as energy coated her from head to toe. 'Onward I go, striving to reach the top where I was born to be..' [ Birthright: Battleborn: Beserker: Active.] The thought sent adrenaline coursing through her veins as her speed and ascension up the stairwell began to snowball.  For those aiming to take the top of the first tower with her, their best bet was to follow her lead, if not going to the next tower meant taking the corridor over to tower II which had its own problems at hand.

"Remember! Be way of the sentry guard!" Was the last thing she said before she took a lone corpse and threw it across the room. Using it to bowl an open path for the staircase and corridor they had maybe ten seconds to make a choice. Either climbs up or split into two groups, either way Mina was going up.

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1fbg2d.pngShe lacks the proper words.

The Cold South is home and will forever be home no matter where she decides to plant her roots. This is the coldness, the briskness, the abruptness, and the uniqueness which she finds comfort in. The familiarity made her skin burn and her blood run wildly through her veins. Though no matter the amount of love and admiration she held for the Cold South, she felt no connection to Vintel. It had tried to stay strong beneath the heavy hand of the Emperor, but time finally took the reins and made the decision that it was time to remove the nuisance for something better.

Celine knew that somewhere in the heart of Shrine City, the might heart of the Cold South, is a woman with a heart too soft mourning the loss of Vintel. A confusing thing, this subtle assumption, because said woman is called by the name of Lion and certainly acts like it but perhaps does not live by the divinity of it. 

Dove broke Celine's train of random thought.

Pulling herself forward she listened with one ear and ignored with the other, simply because of her emotional state of whimsical need. She spoke of the familiar towers and the familiar Palace, but what made her paid attention was the pattern and what they're to do with them. She liked how Dove was capable of pulling them all together and giving them a task, allowing them a chance to genuinly show their abilities to work as one for a cause most respected.

Running and climbing - fantastic. She thought to heself while giving a wane smile. 

There was no bloodlust, no urge to devour and destory, no prompt to dip her toes in this destruction. Celine stood tall and unique in the group of already unique women and listened to the rest of the plan. It was all laid out perfectly because that is just how Dove operates, then they were left to prepare and descend into the hateful mass swarming bellow them. A sight to see that is for sure, and sight that's about to become tangible here in a few minutes.

No time was wasted and with patience gudiing her steps she followed after the rest of her partners in crime and jumped into fire and fury with a slight smile on her face. She had no intention on even using the parachute and just use her own abilities to land on her feet, but not even that was necessary because the remainder of the group are gracfully put down by Mina. When they landed they all made their random introductions; Cassandra was a mighty sight to behold, and Shalia was ...

Shalia made Celine roll her eyes, a gesture that wasn't subtle whatsoever but not meant to honestly offend. Whatever floated this woman's boat was none of Celine's business, it's just difficult to hide how she felt about her shouting and laughter. There was something oddly comical about it, though she herself is a combination of many cliches and judgement shouldn't be solely placed on the members of her company. 

They assembled, some roared, some slithered and then, well, what else is there to say? A battle ensued, skills were flung, and determination was certainly shown as the group rushed forth to get the deed done. Celine isn't sure what she did exactly to be part of this but hoped she was able to assist in some way. If she didn't, hopefully she can make up for it this round. 

Now they have options, more options than they had earlier anticipated. She wasn't sure what exactly happened during that little bit of a scuffle to get inside, which is unfortunate because that's not a good thing, but it would appear they are not so much a group any more. Mina proved to be fantastic by just going forward with little to no hesitation whatsoever, all the while letting them know about these said options. Celine had listened, looked, and then followed after Mina with a perk to her steps. 

It'd be useless to try to take the second  tower by herself, and even though it would be faster in some sense to split up, it's useless now when they're suddenly cut so short. She has strength and power, but she is completely aware how useless she is if she becomes incapacitated. Tagging along with Mina will hopefully speed up the process - hopefully.

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(Courtesy of Dove)

So somebody (read: Dove, the head of this operation) thought it was a good idea to take out the Emperor's entire prospective Harem out on a nice dinner date to the site of absolute Whispernight-based destruction, Vintel. The general idea is to instill a sense of teamwork, togetherness, and not-hating-each-other's-guts in the jealous ladies, as well as attempt to absorb some of Whispernight's incredible destructive power through one of the Lich's hare-brained schemes and counterspells. This would be simple, save for the massive army of undead tearing through the city, the prelude-to-Whispernight lightning, dust, and firestorm that's raging through the entire rainforest, and the entire collected Wintergreen Guard that's slaughtering and being slaughtered by the undead en masse in the streets of the forest nation. Is it even possible for the lovely ladies to make it out alive of this Girl's Night Out gone awry?

But hey, it isn't all bad. There's a plane involved, and it's crashed with no survivors. So at least we get to make that joke.



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