RuneScape Forum Archive | [RP] Into The Fire

Laser Gunk

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Four days ago, the slave galley nosed into the icy wharf. At the same time as a cold that chilled you to the bone, and sleet that stuck in your boots, came the whispers of condemnation around the mean little taverns: Slavers! Rat black braggarts with money and strange southern ways. They’ve come to strike bargains with the ogres to sell their own kind into lives of endless hardship. In a way, you have to admire it.

But the galley left before long. An old man, with a greying hedge of jet-black hair, greasy lifeless skin, sagging cheeks, once handsome, and a wedge of beer belly underneath the steel plate, was dropped off from the ship. The stern sunk into the milky-white dawn, etched into it the word Greenfang . The snot-green bore the blood of a hundred battles, civil war, slaver internecine war, murder and family killings on the scarred oil paint. The colour matched with the man’s eyes and the jewels in his teeth, dancing little emeralds in blue shark’s teeth, the great beast beaten to death in a horrible game of bloodsport. The boy had no say in it. The memory would have been gone now, but the teeth reminded him.

Jogged that little membrane in his skull. The white, pale white, corsair from the black-headed southlands had on a green ceremonial sash of the finest child-labour’s silk. It came down the fire-blackened chestplate like a great twisting sail, caught in a gale. The corsair had dark, streaming tattoos shown on his bare forearms, some of it henna, the rest occult and religious. The unblinking eye stared out from the palm of his right hand. There were biblical verses, and arachnid, shark, nautical and other iconography that stretched beyond the hem of his tunic, where chainmail also fell. 'Oo are ya

02-Jun-2016 18:00:53

Laser Gunk

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The boots were waterlogged seafarer’s boots, nothing special about them. His greaves were scarred by swords, sparks, puppy-dogs’ brains when he kicked their faces in on a whim. He hated little animals. Claw marks hit the steel where he fought lions, tigers, gorillas, because they were not only slavers, but ancient imperialists. More chainmail. A captain’s leathern belt where pouches held powders, mash vodka, knives, cords, drugs, rags, petrol, ink, and all number of other utilities.

Ryle Emeraldian. He hunted big game. He murdered men. He was killed by men, his Overlord brought him back to do more. There was one out of place object. A silver locket slung around his throat, buried in the mail, which he lifted and flicked open with a huge spit on the quay. He was swaggering along the quay, into the ugly port town, where he was going to buy a fish fillet and battered chips, before taking a sickly-looking horse out into the ranging ogre hills.

The locket was not his. It belonged to his old friend, whom he loved dearly, like no-one else. It was a strange attachment. Maybe it had no cause. But Ryle Emeraldian was a strange, deranged man, especially in his demented age. The locket held a pencil depiction of his old friend’s wife. But he murmured another woman’s name: “Charlotte, Charlotte, har har har. I miss yer. I missed yer.” He squeezed the locket very tight in his unseeing fist; the eye blinked, took the silver in its veiny eyelashes.

The trip would last some time. Kicking the gelding into a pulp as it traversed the wide, bleak, icy hills. Without the quivering frost, a stab in the black earth each time the hooves moved, it reminded him of the golden hinterland back home. A place he missed dearly. When he returned, with Charlotte, with blood and ink on the slave contract, with his lovely daughter, all would once again be well, and he would dine like a king on his great latifundio. 'Oo are ya

02-Jun-2016 18:01:19

Loaned Shark

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The Necromancer

This made no sense.

Memories he did not remember bloomed before his eyes, a city he had never seen lay conquered at his feet. The vision, ostentatious as it was, was not as far-fetched as it seemed. The titan 'he' had crafted was worthy of further attention in the real world, if only to see what obstacles arose in the melding of that many bodies. The host 'he' commanded could be constructed, particularly considering Soahc had promised him the raw material for his part in this endeavour.

The purpose, though, perplexed him. Ignoring Soahc's entrance into the room, the death of the congregation's convener, Ubaid's right hand whipped up to seize the void's arm like a vice. " The Lich King? " Ubaid echoed flatly, his voice kept low while Soahc bantered with Molloran the Second.

He could think of a thousand and one reasons for acting out this power-fantasy. Some of them, he conceded, might even be useful. Soahc's habit of painting a target on his servant's backs for the fun of it was wearing thin, and the resources his force represented could be rendered moot before they had even reached their goal, let alone succeeded at it . None of those reasons, however, fitted with the gloating satisfaction Ubaid felt - remembered - upon seeing victory wrought before him.

The Lich King. Not a means to his purpose, a purpose in itself. However interesting the void's powers may be, planting memories in the mind of a dead thing without effort, Ubaid did not appreciate this attempt at subversion. A deathly chill seeped from the blankness between his wrappings. The blue pinpricks of his eyes, at the edge of sight, flared. The athame slid from the palm of his spare hand, was caught by the tip before it clattered to the floor, flipped about so Ubaid gripped the handle. All seeing. All knowing. All scumbag.

06-Jun-2016 03:31:54

Loaned Shark

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Before he could demand further, the slaughter began, and a long-suffering sigh issued from the ghost's helmet. Of course it would be Brodus, and of course they would just start killing everything as soon as they walked in! "And so," Ubaid remarked to Acoxyle's voice, "Your point is made."

A bawling priestess, hoping against hope, rushed to the necromancer and clutched at his arm. Without gracing her with his attention, Ubaid's athame snapped out. Her porcelain mask shattered under his gauntlet, sobs turned to screams, and with blood gushing from a broken nose and a dozen slices across her ivory skin she staggered back. Let the Knight of Souls do as he wished; it kept him from turning his sword on the void, at least until Ubaid was (hopefully) done with it.

"I was trying to find that out," Ubaid called back across the carnage, "To learn whether this deafening silence was a honey trap or an assistance imprisoned." His voice, carefully and pointedly, was neutral and without inflection. His coat of scales shimmered like fishskin, bronze clinked as he turned now to gaze upon his master. The jagged edges of his mask shone in the candlelight. "I grew weary of trusting my fate to your minions. Playing to the priesthood's panic had them willing to tell me anything, as long as I saved them from the evil Deceiver! " The ghost shrugged.

"They hadn't much opportunity before your entrance, but I doubt it matters. You see the void as well as I, and so you know almost all I do. I present the Grand Priest of Acoxyle, whomever the name speaks to; a danger, perhaps. A threat, I doubt, or his silence would have turned on us with the deaths of these zinzakarna. " All seeing. All knowing. All scumbag.

06-Jun-2016 03:32:18

Loaned Shark

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Flesh-wastes. The tool broken before it could be used, dullards with nothing pertinent to offer. Souls fit for shattering, for lubricating the gears of the worthy and then casting aside without a second thought. Soahc had known the word for what Ubaid was, and the ghost wondered whether his knowledge extended to the old tongue's equivalent for damnation .

And, perhaps, the long monologue would give the void time to implant new, more explanatory memories in Ubaid's head.

"I think it should come with us," Ubaid looked back into the void, his grip tightened about the grip of his athame. "The silence could have much yet to say."

Sir Charles

Just as Charles thought he was going to black out, the fit subsided enough for him to get something down his lungs. The swallowing blackness in his vision began to peel back, the fingers loosened their hold on his chest - but, he realised with tired horror, did not release it altogether. His arms felt like jelly, and before he pitched face-first into the blood-spotted mud he had been hacking over Charles gave one last push, rolling away onto his back with a groaned, self-indulgent "Ow."

Slowly, to stop the world spinning any worse than it already was, the knight turned his head to glare incredulously at his rescuer. "Peachy," he snarled, his right hand raising to aim straight at Alania. "Me, and her. Armed guard. Always! It was in our heads! "

The important bit delivered, Charles flopped back down, yanking the glove off his right hand and massaging his burning throat. "Showed us..." he floundered for a moment, searching and failing to find the words to properly describe what just happened. "Showed us death. Torture, flaying, some... machine- things , I don't know." His grimacing face contorted. "That dumb b**** wants to help it."

A moment passed before he realised what that sounded like. He almost didn't care. "Save it, pull it back, whatever. She wants to save it." All seeing. All knowing. All scumbag.

06-Jun-2016 03:32:40

Loaned Shark

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He opened his eyes again, trying to look at Kat without lifting his head off the floor. Pushing through the cheesegrater slicing up and down his windpipe, Charles tried to fill her (and given the scene he'd just made, probably the rest of the bloody camp) in on what he knew. "I don't know what we saw, but if the demon was hurt? Don't think it matters. Wants to turn the world into a torture chamber for laughs, seems to think it can do it as well."

Shaking, Charles propped himself up on his elbows, nearly slipping in the muck. "Can't trust me much," he admitted through gritted teeth, "But one of them kept talking about... holy fire, I think, and necromancy. Said that's what could kill it." He snorted, and regretted it instantly as a spasm roiled through his chest. Belaying further opinions on a demon telling them how to stop it, the knight wheezed his way through his own thoughts before crashing back down: "Get anti-magic. Guns. Swords. Sticks, damn it. Fast.

"And tell the chaplain to **** off." Charles' face sagged with a sigh. "He can't help me." All seeing. All knowing. All scumbag.

06-Jun-2016 03:32:57 - Last edited on 06-Jun-2016 03:33:18 by Loaned Shark

Guthix SS4

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Ryokin

The answer that was given to Ryokin pleases him great he then says,

"Well you join me and your enemies are my enemies. I will take you to Soahc then."

Ryokin looks up at the phoenix still impressed by this women's magical prowess he then calls out to the pyromistress

"Milady Pyromisttress could you not be so kind and give this new friend of mine directions to find our great lord Soahc ."

He spoke about Soahc in a sarcastic tone.

He has begun, Ryokin has begun to go through his true intentions like any other demon would. There were things he needed, his status as a demon needed to be restore having been banished from the demon halls has left him with only a fraction of his full power. Ryokin's ambitions drive him to get whatever he wants and make everything happen.

and nothing was spoiled

06-Jun-2016 04:17:57

D F Angel

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Hamstead

Etheldredda listened to the words of Joric- the insinuation that Judy had been the one to betray them. Was it true? Etheldredda had fought alongside Judy in Capital City and in Messia, and she had seemed a stalwart companion of Annie's ever since the two met. She had been a lone teenager caught up in the necropolis that had been Capital City, an orphan fighting for her life. Hadn't she?

The hagspawn was realising now that she knew next to nothing about Judy. She just showed up one day, latched herself to the group, and Etheldredda had not given it a second thought. Had she been plotting to betray them this entire time? Was she working to some higher purpose? Or had something inside of her just snapped, had something caused her to become a darker being?

Shaking her masked head, aware that pondering on such things was futile, Etheldredda set herself to the task at hand. "We leave," she repeated to Joric succinctly- they did not have time to go looking for Judy, if Etheldredda's hunch at the loudness of an exploding house in the middle of a quiet night was correct. Rovaan had reverted back to his human form- except now a pair of horns stood upon his head. Was the demon form the transformation, or was the human form the glamour? Etheldredda did not know, and was not certain which was worse.

She looked at Tempora Sage, the man who had just dropped a building on them. As far as trustworthy actions went, that was particularly low down the list. There was some parchment in his hand, which crumbled into dust. He leapt as gracefully as a century-old-looking-man could from the staircase, falling in slow-motion until his feet reached the chair that Joric had set up. Tapping it with his walking staff, the chair began to levitate. Etheldredda assumed this wasn't a man used to making a quick get-away, and had rigged the piece of furniture to act as his legs instead. Hags be hagglin', gods be god damn crazy, it's all happening ogre at Into The Fire

06-Jun-2016 16:06:23

D F Angel

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Annie was saying she needed to rest, and Etheldredda didn't doubt her sincerity, given what the young girl had just accomplished through her extraordinary magic. "Put Annie on Kuro's horse, and-" as she turned, Etheldredda saw Kuro riding off into the distance without any warning. She felt the anger building up inside her, the rage which defined her existence, and grated her teeth together in frustration.

"Rovaan, carry the girl. Joric on point, keep your shield high." Having had a demon summoned in front of them, and having two of their team members suspiciously vanish, meant that Etheldredda's paranoia about magic being used against them was at a new-found high. Zed was just waking up- wait, just waking up? - and Etheldredda's opinion on that was surmised perfectly by Tempora Sage, who said, "Is this one having us on?"

Conleth was offering guidance, through his uncanny relation with birds- magic, or a talent, Etheldredda still hadn't found the answer and still did not have time to ask the question. "The docks," she told Conleth clearly, putting the chances of their group's passage through this town directly into the man's hands. If he could truly spy out a safe journey, then he would be invaluable. They had no time to waste, no time to second guess, to pontificate on the events as they had fallen. They had to leave, now .

"Move out!" Etheldredda ordered, and the group went into action.

They left the ruined premises, Joric leading the way, Conleth guiding them, Rovaan lugging the semi-conscious form of Annie, Zed sluggishly coming along for the ride mid-yawn, and Tempora Sage bobbing along on his floating chair. They made for quite a conspicuous sight, yet under the direction of Conleth they managed to pass through the town unhindered, until they reached the river where the boat awaited them. Hags be hagglin', gods be god damn crazy, it's all happening ogre at Into The Fire

06-Jun-2016 16:06:41

D F Angel

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The boatmaster was already aboard, and didn't seem to question their sudden appearance whatsoever. "Ah, I'd want to get out of here early too, hearing that racket. What's gone off, I wonder?" He said aloud, mostly to himself it seemed, yet the humble man did not connect the sounds that he had heard to the sudden appearance of the group, miraculously.

"Where's Siera?" Asked Etheldredda, once she paused long enough to get a head-count.

"Gone," Tempora Sage replied simply, sat upon the chair he'd brought along for the ride. "Said she had business of her own to attend to, and that she was sorry she had to leave."

Etheldredda turned back to look at the town of Hamstead, but it was already drifting away from them, as they sailed downstream, south and east, away from Selathon and all of its chaos and towards Myrkviðr, which would soon present problems of its own, no doubt...

---

Just as in the case of the attack on Copperdale, the Lord of Hamstead's lordling son had arrived on the scene, somewhat delayed by his need to dress himself in something impressive, and was as stumped as the next person as to how a building had moved itself ten metres outwards and collapsed.

"WHO DID THIS?!" He yelled into the night, as though expecting someone to own up to it immediately.

"Check the boatyard," suggested a knight upon horseback, another veteran from Copperdale, and the only knight to have survived the onslaught there. "If they leave the kingdom, we cannot pursue them. It would be suicidal to head anywhere else."

The lordling nodded, grinning as though the idea had came to him by his own wits, rather than by the aid of one of his father's men. He told the knight to stay at the scene, (though why someone would come back to this scene was anyone's guess,) and headed east with more than half of the gathered retinue, evidently so that the lordling would gain all of the glory for their capture. Hags be hagglin', gods be god damn crazy, it's all happening ogre at Into The Fire

06-Jun-2016 16:07:13

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[RP] Into The Fire