Messing With Aarbrok's Stuff

Volka

So @Aarbrok‌ 's hiatus started with an admonishment to not touch his stuff. In true cabalist (and friend) fashion, here's Volka and an unnamed cabalist of Ef'tig...well...touching his stuff.
Volka:
She is a normal Human She is a muscular yet lithe woman, her pale complexion broken only by the scattering of freckles across her face. Her light blue eyes have a crystaline clarity to them, and her white-blonde hair is twisted into an intricate-looking plait that rests on her right shoulder. Her right hand bears a dark, swirling, and blackened scar that twists down her index finger, terminating at the base of her nail. She carries herself with a self-assured posture, generally relaxed in her surrounds.

(cinched around her waist) : a silver-buckled black leather belt
(worn on the legs) : tailored black trousers
(gleaming darkly) : sturdy steel-capped black boots
(worn on the ears) : a beaten gold and silver cuff earring
(perched on the ear) : a clinging spider earring
(worn on the feet) : a pair of long, gray socks
(covering the torso) : a dark, high-collared shirt

Yon random Cabalist:
This jovial man bears an expression of pure amusement in his visage, his lips curved in a constant grin and his eyes slightly narrowed as if in laughter. His purplish scales contrast with his scarce silvery hair, and yellowish eyes peer out through the pair of delicate lenses his glasses hold. A crimson robe drapes about him loosely, the collar of a white shirt poking messily out above the neckline of the outer garment.
A cabalist of ef'tig looks weak and feeble.

Hoplite Hill:
------ 26:-7:0 ------
The bright sun shines down, blanketing you with its life-giving warmth. A long, low hill rises above the rest of the cemetery here, spotted with small groves of hardy evergreens. From this vantage, the outer ward of the city is visible off towards the west, estates and guildhalls, inns and taverns creating a bustling backdrop for the calm, sobering sight in the foreground: orderly rows of white marble headstones, each carved with a name, date and military rank, honoring the Republic's soldiers who have fallen in battle. A conscripted Spirean soldier statue coldly scans the area for threats. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. Resting on the ground is a cube-shaped silver sigil. A cabalist of ef'tig stands poised, ready to convey knowledge. A dark pall of red-tinged mist has descended upon Hoplites' Hill, smothering the surroundings in a miasma of death.
You see exits leading north, northeast, and northwest.

You mutter, "Great. .... Aarbr.. comes back. .e'll eat me. ..ntasti.."

A cabalist of ef'tig places his hand upon the ground, motioning towards you quietly to join him, "Come now Seven-hand, show me...your contemplations." he encourages, "Finish what the Inquisitor started...before the ...erm discovery."
]
A cabalist of ef'tig says, "What we need to do is pull this..mist out of the surrounding area, it is a manipulation of essence in which is rudimentary."
]
A cabalist of ef'tig says, "You will need focus upon the essence of death which lies in this area, and find a conduit for it to be removed to."

Volka frowns, though she readily joins a cabalist of ef'tig. "I don't even know what he was -really- doing." she mutters under her breath. "The problem is, I don't have anywhere for this stuff to -go-." She says, a little louder. "Which is the same problem as in the Bloodwood. I can move it around, but.."
Shrugging, you say, "I can't just stick it willy-nilly, you know."

A cabalist of ef'tig says, "The Inquisitor was utilising the tree as the conduit for the energy, which is why it has been slowly dying. You will need to focus your energy to pour it into the tree."

You look about, rubbing your chin thoughtfully.
]
A cabalist of ef'tig says, "He attuned it with the bough he grafted so that it would be slowly attuned with the essence, preparing it for this day."

You say, "That'd be handy, but you notice, the tree is in absencia."

It is still there, just preparations *cough*.

((Oh, I feel like a derp))

A frown wrinkles your brow as you articulate a "Hrm...."
You say, "So we should be able to pull the mist into the tree, and contain it that way?"

A cabalist of ef'tig says, "Well, we shall see hmm."

You have emoted: Volka brightens suddenly. "Like the sticks!" She exclaims, nodding. "I get it!"



A cabalist of ef'tig grins wickedly, pressing his hands to the earth and closing his eyes.

You have emoted: Volka shifts to a kneeling position, leaning forward and placing her hands in the soft earth. Her smile fades away to an almost serene contemplative expression, brow furrowing in concentration.

The threads begin to vibrate gently as the contemplation begins, a symphony of sounds and sensations coursing through your very existence as a focal point is sought.

A cabalist of ef'tig clenches one fist in the soil, the mist coalescing about his form in wisps and tendrils of crimson during his contemplation.

]You have emoted: Volka smiles faintly at the familiar trembling, as she searches for the right point.

The sensation of the very world around you tightens and twists as you seek through the fibers surrounding you. A discomforting tension forms around your very being, pulling and tugging upon your concentration.

A cabalist of ef'tig winces slightly, the tension forming as a vein protrudes through his violet scales, pushing them up, "Seven-hand, I sense the focal point. I will hold it, if you can push the essence towards it...just find where I am pulling upon." he murmurs quietly as the silence overtakes the surroundings yet again and the familiar tugging continues.

You have emoted: Volka frowns, fingers raking furrows in the loamy dirt as her hands tense, trying to focus on the familiar vibrations, on the prominent point of attention. Forehead sheened with sweat, she nods slowly, pulling on the essence around them and begining to move it.

The deepening dusk yields to impenetrable darkness as night claims the land.

A sound reverberates in your mindseye, the tension catching as you grasp the focal point and place your concentration upon it.
Volka shivers involuntarily as the dusk brings cooler air.

< ..Varian's pants...

A cabalist of ef'tig continues pulling upon the focal point, holding it open for the manipulations, "Now this part is delicate, breathe and move it fluidly." he says with a calming tone, "..take what you wish to move and move it."

A deep, resonant note echoes from all throughout the corridors of the Citadel, creating a tremulous sound that seems to rattle the sky itself. In its wake, a chill wind bellows across the firmament, embracing the twilight of a new dusk.

Volka bites her lower lip in concentration, taking a steadying breath. "Right right." she mutters. "Like th' sticks." Fingers burried in the ground before her, she slowly pulls on the essence in the mist, focusing on moving it to the open point.

]
A cabalist of ef'tig says, "..he always said you were smarter than you put on."

]Quietly, you say, "Shh. Sing my praises after I don't blow us up."

The ground shudders and the mist slowly shifts around the forms present, coalescing above the tree which stands at the peak of the hill. A cracking emanates from the massive tree as it seemingly grows before you.



A cabalist of ef'tig says, "Hold it..keep it going steady Seven-Hand."

Now the threads begin to shake, wildly and erratically. The mist is being siphoned into the tree and your vision blurs with a crimson hue blinding you.

Volka frowns severely, leaning forward as if to keep her balance.


A violent snap takes place, and a cabalist of ef'tig goes tumbling, releasing his grip on the focal point and pushing all the tension upon you, the force unbearable as it collides with your being.

A cabalist of ef'tig says, "...pit sake!"
.

Volka yelps loudly, practically collapsing under the weight of the impact, forehead pressed to the ground.

A cabalist of ef'tig rubs his head, muttering to himself as he pushes himself upright, "...we..well of cours..." he seems a bit confused at first then the enthusiasm rolls in a bit, "..i'll be damned."

You have emoted: Sounding irritated, though muffled Volka says sarcastically "Don't mind me....Just keeping Creation together on my own."


A cabalist of ef'tig says, "No dear, you ...are fine. Just a bit of recoil."
]
A cabalist of ef'tig says, "May be a bit sore in the morning..or the next week for that matter."

The crystalline foliage of the desiccated tree catches the light of the aurora borealis, casting a prismatic spectrum of ghostly light upon the Memorial hillside.

Volka pushes herself back up to a somewhat sitting position, swiping a hand across her face, and only managing to smear the dirt on her forehead into a muddy streak. "Recoil? Varian's pants, remind me to get Aarbrok a bloody cake or somethin', if that's what he's putting up with. That -hurt-.

A cabalist of ef'tig chuckles to himself, "The inquisitor did not unravel himself playing with trees." he mentions as an aside, "..in fact he did himself in so well, nothing of him was left, a true scholar he was at times...or a fool." he snorts amusedly.

]You have emoted: Volka blinks in the light, looking up at the tree, irritation melting into a look of awe. "Wow..." she breathes. A flash of defiance creeps into her features. "Aarbrok did -not- unravel himself. He'll be back." She shrugs. "Eventually."

You say, "I know he will."

The twisted boughs of this tree resonate with an eerie power, frozen in time to the last moment life essence coursed through the roots. The foliage has been rendered to crystal, the colourful vibrance left with a faceted finish in various reddish, yellow, and verdant hues. The petrified wood of the trunk and boughs has been wrapped in bandages scribed with numerological print which bound this massive testament have been frayed where the growth of the tree burst forth from, violently, unnaturally. Small crystalline blossoms litter the ground, and where fruit would have grown from the tree is now forgotten, fallen remnants of the once living. As was the end of the cycle for this tree, life can have abrupt and unexpected consequence, and this massive monument stands testament to such things.
]You say, "Probably hungover too."
]You smirk.

A vibrant note echoes through the air, emanating from the central spire. Brief seconds later, a cold gust of wind bellows in, heralding the arrival of dawn's waking breath.
Hoplites' Hill




The stars twinkle in the clear night sky. A long, low hill rises above the rest of the cemetery here, spotted with small groves of hardy evergreens. From this vantage, the outer ward of the city is visible off towards the west, estates and guildhalls, inns and taverns creating a bustling backdrop for the calm, sobering sight in the foreground: orderly rows of white marble headstones, each carved with a name, date and military rank, honoring the Republic's soldiers who have fallen in battle. A conscripted Spirean soldier statue coldly scans the area for threats. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. Resting on the ground is a cube-shaped silver sigil. A cabalist of ef'tig stands poised, ready to convey knowledge. Twisted boughs humming ominously in the stillness of the graveyard, a crystalline tree stands monument here. Prismatic light refracts off foliage of the crystalline tree, covering the surroundings in multi-coloured hues.
You see exits leading north, northeast, and northwest.
]
A cabalist of ef'tig reaches forward, placing a small crystalline blossom in the hand of you, "...a gift from your labors, Seven-Hand." he says curtly, "The Inquisitor would have wanted it this way."
You crease your brow in a frown.
]Suddenly, you say, "...were you there?"
((The crystalline petals of this unique blossom are reminiscent of a fruiting trees spring foliage. Petals of prismatic hues have been formed delicately and sprout outwards from the mineral base which comprises the floral decoration. When catching faint light of any variety, the crystalline aspects cast a rainbow prism from within.))


A cabalist of ef'tig says, "Nevermind that, the work continues."

A cabalist of ef'tig says, "We accomplished one of his works, we shall continue on, for that is what we do."
< He has to come back. Maybe if we mess with his stuff enough.
]You think for a moment before nodding slowly.
]Staring at the @blossom, you say, "I suppose."

A cabalist of ef'tig smiles, nodding to himself, "Could be worse, people dont just erase themselves....his essence is likely preoccupied." he says with a snort, "If he did expire, he would have damn well haunted us by now."
]You say, "Ah well. That's one way to learn how to fiddle with the essence, innit?"
The corners of your mouth turn up as you grin mischievously.
]You say, "You, maybe."

A cabalist of ef'tig says, "Well I mean, unless he did, then his findings were glorious, but...I mean he made it to say goodbye....adventure continues!"
]
A cabalist of ef'tig throws his arms high into the air and shouts, "Huzzah!" at the top of his voice.
]You rally alongside a cabalist of ef'tig, declaring with him, "For SCIENCE!"

A cabalist of ef'tig strikes a pose that can only be described as mathematical, crying out, "For SCIENCE!"
]The corners of your mouth turn up as you grin mischievously.

A cabalist of ef'tig says, "I am going to rest a bit, perhaps I will stick around the lab."
You nod your head emphatically.

A cabalist of ef'tig says to you, "We ever get it cleaned up?"
You say, "From the creatures?"
]You say, "Mostly."

A cabalist of ef'tig shrugs helplessly.

A cabalist of ef'tig says, "Carry on then Seven-Hand, and I am appreciative of your assistance."

You say, "You might find some residue. Just wipe it off. The inquisitor did give you one of the astringent rags, yes?"

A cabalist of ef'tig nods his head emphatically.
You say, "They work well against the goo."

A cabalist of ef'tig says, "Splendid."
You say, "I appreciate your help. I feel better knowing that miasma isn't floating around here."

A cabalist of ef'tig says, "Aye, breathing in some bad essence ain't gonna hurt you none more than the Wardens cooking."
You giggle happily.
You say, "Depends on what side of the skillet you're on."

A cabalist of ef'tig snickers under his breath.
This jovial man bears an expression of pure amusement in his visage, his lips curved in a constant grin and his eyes slightly narrowed as if in laughter. His purplish scales contrast with his scarce silvery hair, and yellowish eyes peer out through the pair of delicate lenses his glasses hold. A crimson robe drapes about him loosely, the collar of a white shirt poking messily out above the neckline of the outer garment.


A cabalist of ef'tig says, "Be well, off I go...POOF!"

A cabalist of ef'tig wanders out to the north.

You chuckle long and heartily.

Volka

Thankies to whoever was the cabalist for being so entertaining and putting up with my lack of knowing what the heck I was doing. :P Was superfun.

Moirean

This was great. Eugenides just clued me in to the tree - it's beautiful. Awesome contribution to the city, Volka. You're a science-star.