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For the darkness that waits beyond the candle: a Shadowborn Fete ritual
The grand foyer of the Dragon Spire.
The wide and expansive foyer of the Dragon Spire opens up from the entryway into a grand space, with decorative gold sconces high on the walls to hold the light globes which illuminate the area. Hugging the walls, a staircase to the left and right of the entryway ascend into the heights of the great spire. The walls have had lavish and extravagant murals painted onto them, and even as one begins to ascend the stairs, scenes of battle and myth flow smoothly from one to the next as though to tell great stories, each one depicting in some way a mighty Dragon performing great and terrible deeds. The floor, while similarly decorated lavishly with blues and golds, is prevented from having equally grand murals painted on it by the huge hole that descends down into the depths below the spire. The hole seems to have been created intentionally, with an ornate railing to prevent people from blundering into it, and a lack of apparent damage to the floor. The flickering of faint torchlight in a discrete corner reveals a narrow and stony descent downwards into the cavern below.
A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. Carefully placed, a statue of a dragon guarding her hoard awaits a viewer's eye. There are 6 few crimson makvenas bells here.
You see exits leading west, up, and down.
You shout, "Blessed are we to walk in Her Shadow - a ritual for Sky Dreaming will be held in twelve minutes, at the foyer of Her spire. Witness, and pray for Her awakening."
Kanivara arrives from the west.
A dark aura surrounds Qelres, bringing the smell of decay in from the west.
Robyn ripples into existence before you.
A ghostly apparition glides into view from the west.
Bulrok enters from the west, riding a scarred, pale warhorse.
(Market): You say, "A ritual for Sky Dreaming will be held in twelve minutes at 63996. Witness, and pray for Her awakening."
Bulrok enters the foyer quietly, stowing away his weapons as he finds a place out of the way to stand, clasping his hands behind his back.
(Tells): From afar, Malcanthet hisses harshly to you, "Oh goodie!"
Malcanthet strides in from the west, her colossal form sending tremors through the ground.
She is followed by a daemonic golem and the reanimated body of Malcanthet.
You have emoted: Galilei's face is turned from the entrance, and far more presences than usual litter the room; a rather shadowed ensemble by the stairs, a lone drum across from where she stands.
Malcanthet flashes a wide grin full of teeth as she enters and nods to you in acknowledgement.
A ghostly apparition glides into view from the west.
She is preceded by a soothing and sweet smell that is complemented by a buttery scent.
(Tells): On tendrils of air, you let your velvety voice reach Malcanthet's mind: "Ah, Weaver. A pleasure to have you in our midst."
Nebula slips in silently, keeping to the shadows as if hoping to remain unnoticed.
(Tells): From afar, Malcanthet hisses harshly to you, "A pleasure to be here."
Qelres takes up a post at the corner of the room. Languid, they spare a glance to those others gathered as they set about packing their pipe with something black and sweet smelling.
You have emoted: Qelres has made the right choice in terms of location - the great circling railing at the centre of the floor leaves little room for everyone to cluster there, and Galilei herself would not have room to move with too many flourishes should the audience also try to surge front.
Mjoll eyes the reanimated body of Malcanthet, giving her the once over.
Stine's voice resonates across the land, "This game has gone on forever!"
Isia's voice resonates across the land, "Shush Princess."
Merek arrives from the west.
The reanimated body of Malcanthet's eyes roll in their sockets as she lets out a hungry moan, bloody drool dripping in fine rivulets down her chin.
Aolin tiptoes through the crowd, trailing the smell of fresh baked desserts behind her, until she reaches the far wall.
Malcanthet raises her index finger to her lips and emits a forceful "Shhhh!" at the reanimated body of Malcanthet.
Mileta pats Aolin in a friendly manner.
Chidingly, Malcanthet says, "You just ate, hush."
Alela enters from the west, riding a midnight black stallion.
She is followed by a charcoal warhound, a silver warhound, and a white warhound.
Czcibor's voice resonates across the land, "It's not too late to run away, Stine."
Your pose is now set as:
Galilei stands with her back to the entrance, waiting.
And chaos ensued.
You have emoted: Then Galilei's face grows impassive, dark eyes sweeping across those gathered. "Please refrain from coming too close to the central railing - the circle is my guide, far below the Goddess to which this ritual is dedicated. It begins - soon." The Consanguine lifts her sleeves, summoning shadows from the ground to coil and wrap about her, leaving nothing behind.
You beckon to the nearby shadows which eerily come alive, slithering toward you and up over your body until they conceal you from view.
Aolin cheerfully pats the shrunken head of Aolin and shuffles obligingly away from Qelres and back to the far wall.
Sekara says to Nebula, "Ah thank you kindly."
Sekara carefully lights a slender black cigarette with red accents.
(Tells): On tendrils of air, you let your velvety voice reach Ayastia's mind: "Come where I am, a ritual is beginning. Closer to the entrance, please."
Sekara takes a long drag from a lit slender black cigarette with red accents.
Nebula closes an ironwood smoke box.
Isia sips from a 'Mulariad's Mark'-branded glass bottle of smoky 'Rahiela's Finest' whiskey.
You have emoted: Signalling the beginning of the ritual, the sconce lights about the foyer dim a touch and shadow rolls lazily over the grand carvings. The stage is set - musicians in golden masks and white linen wait by the staircases. Flutes and pipes of wood and brass, lacquered drums shaped like hourglasses - the instruments are varied and their players are mute, watching from beneath dyed leather for the last ritualist, Galilei.
Isia rolls her eyes a bit as she tightens her grip on the regal white lion's reins and takes another sip from her whiskey bottle.
Malcanthet leans forward, watching you with interest.
You have emoted: Only the candles newly placed upon the central railing provide unsheathed light. These are sizable jet-black tapers bearing warm yellow flame, which float above the great, yawning pit within their circular altar like fireflies fleeing from night. It is from this pit Galilei emerges - understandably unable to respond to Alela, ascending the narrow stone walkway onto the foyer proper.
Ayastia arrives from the west.
You have emoted: In a whisper of dark silk, Galilei prostrates herself a few paces before the railing, across from the lone ornamental drum standing before a statue of a dragon guarding her hoard. Silence and stillness stretch out until the percussionists raise their sticks. Music - unfamiliar, unhurried. While reeds and strings call out into the distance, the woman rises from her genuflection as a newly-shaped heart might beat, or how stars might wink into being; a gossamer sleeve rises languidly into the air, then its twin.
You have emoted: Bare, milky-white feet slip in and out of view from behind Galilei's shadowy robes. She follows the curve of the railing backwards, hooded head bowed and her sleeves following her like warm wind. One slow turn before a candle to her right - a Dragon treading and not yet shedding dreams. Beneath the persistent cry of the flutes nobody hears the first golden flame expire as Galilei draws the air about it into her arms.
You have emoted: Seven candles had been lit; only six flicker as the music swells. Galilei's movements hold an almost entranced sort of grace, further enhanced by the thick smoke now rising from the remains of the first taper. She follows the coiling trail with a rising, languid hand, piercing the smoke's heart to let it reform around and slither down her silk-draped arm as she continues counterclockwise along the railing to the next taper.
Taj arrives from the west.
He is followed by a cream warhound, a silver warhound, and a white warhound.
You have emoted: So the circle continues, the entrails of claimed candlelight twining about and trailing Galilei like ghosts. While each flourish of her garments, each spin and step seems to dwell in reverie, in no way does it lack for control; the drums sound out their steady beat, their sound growing sonorous, and beneath that dreamlike veneer the dancer's movements swell with unmistakable vigour. First flame, second flame both gone, now onto the third. Galilei's feet patter to and fro, weaving a winding path before the great candle before, with one sweep of a sleeve, the flame dies. Strings continue to pluck out a resounding, living beat deep down while she steps up to the waiting drum across from where she had began her dance. The smoke from before has long since dispersed on the air to carry to the sleeping Goddess far above the spire.
You have emoted: There is no silence when Galilei raises her twin sticks. The flutes flourish as a new sound joins their ranks, and the pipe continues its keening for a little while; only then does the ensemble retreat, leaving nothing but the sound of wood upon hardened and painted leather.
Kalena leaves to the west, followed by Isia and Rhine.
Saidenn's ears tilt toward the sounds as he listens, one paw staying curled about a long wooden staff. His tail flicks behind him, the occasional chime of a bell following the motion.
You have emoted: No pause lasts for more than a bar in the beating of the drum. The sound rises and then falls, rattles out a simple rhythm and then follows it with punctuating pauses. At times the beat sounds like a dialogue, between the right hand's lighter rapping and the left's heavier, resounding blows. Galilei's dancing has not ceased; swaying, flourishing, she calls to the sleeping Sky Dreaming with her motions and her instrument. Nothing of her face can be seen behind the golden gossamer that so covers her head as the drums' power reaches its zenith. She Who hungers, they seem to rattle out - She Who hungers, hungers, hungers, hungers, hungers, hungers...
Qelres's slumped and languid pose straightens into still attention, booted foot sliding back to rest heel to heel and smoking pipe lowering, now forgotten, from their mouth. They wear the look of someone who has lost their breath, if they had any breath to lose.
Czcibor leaves to the west.
You have emoted: The masked drummer joins Galilei, and she releases her own drum for a moment to clack her own drumsticks together, lifting them over her head as she spins. Her dark eyes are open and her lips are parted, breathing even as she does not truly need to breathe. Is she seeing? She must be. Is she aware? Not more than needed to carry on the ritual. And then she has turned once again, four hands resound five decisive beats, and then it all stops - before it begins again.
(Tells): Her voice laden with crackling fire, Kalena whispers warmly to you, "Sorry to run. We thought it was a sermon and felt like we shouldnt be there when we realized it was a ritual."
A sonorous rumble quakes the ground underfoot as the very earth itself welcomes the Earthen Lord to its surface once more.
You have emoted: The music rises as the percussion slowly, graciously retreats. Once more Galilei traces the great circle, caressing still air into living currents to bear her sleeves. Fourth, fifth, sixth, all are extinguished, all only adding to the hoard of whispering air that weaves about her, until her wandering feet carry her back to the start, where that final candle awaits her.
You have emoted: Back turned to the audience, Galilei sinks down onto the foyer floor. She had done so more than once as she had danced, but she had always risen again - looking so much like an egret taking flight. Now she remains where she is, knelt, golden hood slowly tilting back as she gazes up at the single burning taper. Her concealed hands lift beneath silently whispering sleeves as if in supplication to the light, yet her gaze is for a Divine sleeping far, far above. The beat of the drum is close to dying; once more it rattles while the other instruments quietly mourn. The sound of a gong echoes forth, and in one second the Consanguine rears up to wrench apart her hands, splitting the air before her as though to take flight.
Swara arrives from the west.
You have emoted: The last flame dies, and Galilei falls in genuflection: the circle is complete, the ritual at its end.
Malcanthet glances around expectantly, for surely the Sun Drinker will awaken after that.
(Tells): In the back of your mind, you hear Kanivara saying to you, "Well -done-."
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.
Sekara takes a long drag from a lit slender black cigarette with red accents.
Alela stares cluelessly at the wall. Noticing the relative silence, she whispers to Mjoll, "Wait, did I miss it?"
Qelres's throat flexes in an instinctive swallow. They do not applaud, or whoop, or cheer; they are silent, even as the halls of the Citadel sound hollowly with the changing hour. They are looking on you as if no force in the world could make them look away.
Rijetta watches the ritual with vested interest, even forgetting to smoke. Her cigarette hangs limply in her lips, and as the ritual comes to a close, she reaches up to wipe a tear or two away from her eye.
Swara glances toward Alela as she whispers to Mjoll and her gaze seems to remain fixated there as she searches for a cigarette in her pockets.
Saidenn's brow furrows slightly in consideration. His intrigue is that of interest and curiosity rather than open veneration, a rumble escaping his chest as his attention remains upon you.
Swara takes a long drag from a lit slender black cigarette with an emerald binding.
Swara exhales a greyish cloud of smoke, redolent with mild, robust scents.
(Tells): On tendrils of air, you let your velvety voice reach Kalena's mind: "Ah..." She sounds as though she has just awoken. "Oh, no - you were welcome to stay, Kalena."
Sekara exhales slowly, allowing a long fluid breath to creep from her lungs.
Merek watches on with curiosity.
Mjoll offers a quick upwards tick of her lips as response to Alela, rapt attention on you, waiting intently.
(Tells): Robyn tells you, "Maybe poke at Her treasure heap? That might get Her attention. Of course you'd get crispy real fast I imagine."
Ayastia shuffles her way through the crowd until she gets to Swara, standing near her friend as her eyes return to you.
You have emoted: The sconces flare back to life as twilight strikes. Galilei rises slowly, moving as one would in her garments. She is not smiling when she looks back at those gathered, but while her face is grave, there is a softness there. "Thank you all for attending. Now - one question, for I was slow to wake this week. Has the Talon offered a sermon?"
Kanivara says, "She has not."
Mazzion enters from the west, riding a flaming stallion.
(Tells): Taj tells you, "That was beautiful."
You have emoted: Galilei nods, briefly meeting Mazzion's eyes in acknowledgement. "Then those who will, follow me up to the pinnacle. I shall perform one, and any with questions may come forth."
No one really did, but no matter. It has been done. In the works for a few days, written in about an hour, thankfully not too horrible, and made with LOTS OF LOVE FOR @Tanixalthas, PLEASE COME BACK, SAPIENCE NEEDS YOUR SPLENDOR. @Zeheia OR ANYBODY ELSE POKE HER FOR ME.
The wide and expansive foyer of the Dragon Spire opens up from the entryway into a grand space, with decorative gold sconces high on the walls to hold the light globes which illuminate the area. Hugging the walls, a staircase to the left and right of the entryway ascend into the heights of the great spire. The walls have had lavish and extravagant murals painted onto them, and even as one begins to ascend the stairs, scenes of battle and myth flow smoothly from one to the next as though to tell great stories, each one depicting in some way a mighty Dragon performing great and terrible deeds. The floor, while similarly decorated lavishly with blues and golds, is prevented from having equally grand murals painted on it by the huge hole that descends down into the depths below the spire. The hole seems to have been created intentionally, with an ornate railing to prevent people from blundering into it, and a lack of apparent damage to the floor. The flickering of faint torchlight in a discrete corner reveals a narrow and stony descent downwards into the cavern below.
A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. Carefully placed, a statue of a dragon guarding her hoard awaits a viewer's eye. There are 6 few crimson makvenas bells here.
You see exits leading west, up, and down.
You shout, "Blessed are we to walk in Her Shadow - a ritual for Sky Dreaming will be held in twelve minutes, at the foyer of Her spire. Witness, and pray for Her awakening."
Kanivara arrives from the west.
A dark aura surrounds Qelres, bringing the smell of decay in from the west.
Robyn ripples into existence before you.
A ghostly apparition glides into view from the west.
Bulrok enters from the west, riding a scarred, pale warhorse.
(Market): You say, "A ritual for Sky Dreaming will be held in twelve minutes at 63996. Witness, and pray for Her awakening."
Bulrok enters the foyer quietly, stowing away his weapons as he finds a place out of the way to stand, clasping his hands behind his back.
(Tells): From afar, Malcanthet hisses harshly to you, "Oh goodie!"
Malcanthet strides in from the west, her colossal form sending tremors through the ground.
She is followed by a daemonic golem and the reanimated body of Malcanthet.
You have emoted: Galilei's face is turned from the entrance, and far more presences than usual litter the room; a rather shadowed ensemble by the stairs, a lone drum across from where she stands.
Malcanthet flashes a wide grin full of teeth as she enters and nods to you in acknowledgement.
A ghostly apparition glides into view from the west.
She is preceded by a soothing and sweet smell that is complemented by a buttery scent.
(Tells): On tendrils of air, you let your velvety voice reach Malcanthet's mind: "Ah, Weaver. A pleasure to have you in our midst."
Nebula slips in silently, keeping to the shadows as if hoping to remain unnoticed.
(Tells): From afar, Malcanthet hisses harshly to you, "A pleasure to be here."
Qelres takes up a post at the corner of the room. Languid, they spare a glance to those others gathered as they set about packing their pipe with something black and sweet smelling.
You have emoted: Qelres has made the right choice in terms of location - the great circling railing at the centre of the floor leaves little room for everyone to cluster there, and Galilei herself would not have room to move with too many flourishes should the audience also try to surge front.
Mjoll eyes the reanimated body of Malcanthet, giving her the once over.
Stine's voice resonates across the land, "This game has gone on forever!"
Isia's voice resonates across the land, "Shush Princess."
Merek arrives from the west.
The reanimated body of Malcanthet's eyes roll in their sockets as she lets out a hungry moan, bloody drool dripping in fine rivulets down her chin.
Aolin tiptoes through the crowd, trailing the smell of fresh baked desserts behind her, until she reaches the far wall.
Malcanthet raises her index finger to her lips and emits a forceful "Shhhh!" at the reanimated body of Malcanthet.
Mileta pats Aolin in a friendly manner.
Chidingly, Malcanthet says, "You just ate, hush."
Alela enters from the west, riding a midnight black stallion.
She is followed by a charcoal warhound, a silver warhound, and a white warhound.
Czcibor's voice resonates across the land, "It's not too late to run away, Stine."
Your pose is now set as:
Galilei stands with her back to the entrance, waiting.
And chaos ensued.
Alela's muscles bulge with deadly strength as she tightens her grip upon her hammer.
Alela swings a blackened warhammer around and slams it heavily into Mjoll's side.
The attack rebounds back onto Alela!
The force of the blow sends Alela cartwheeling through the air towards the west.
Rijetta waves goodbye.
Czcibor arrives from the west.
Aolin giggles happily.
Malcanthet chuckles long and heartily.
Merek flails wildly.
Alela arrives from the west.
A chaos hound explodes into a fury of claws and teeth, rending Czcibor's flesh.
Alela cackles hellishly.
A chaos hound seems to settle down.
A chaos hound explodes into a fury of claws and teeth, rending Czcibor's flesh.
A chaos hound, its task finished, slinks back to the Plane of Chaos.
Robyn opens her mouth but says nothing.
Rijetta whispers something to a chaosorb, a chimera, a crone, a dervish, a doppleganger, a firelord, a gremlin, a minion, a pathfinder, a storm, and a sycophant.
They all seem to settle down.
The sound of gold coins clinking against one another fills the air as a golden magical shield springs up around Czcibor.
The lion head of the chimera lets forth a powerful roar at Czcibor, but he appears unfazed by the attack.
Rijetta lets out a devilish laugh as a look of confusion spreads across Mjoll's features.
As Rijetta flings a tarot card at Mjoll, it turns a violent magenta before striking her in the chest.
Mjoll fights her seizing muscles with reckless abandon.
As Rijetta flings a tarot card at Mjoll, it turns an ominous, sickly red before striking her in the head.
Merek demands, "What the hell!?"
Mjoll seems to droop as the colour drains from her face.
Rijetta boggles.
Robyn says to Merek, "They're playing, shush."
Mjoll utters a deep, rumbling laugh.
Malcanthet quickly devours a triple chocolate cookie.
Merek says, "Oh."
Aolin smiles at Czcibor.
Merek says, "Tell me before you do!"
Twirling a blackened warhammer above her head, Mjoll quickly hurls it towards Alela.
A white warhound leaps forward and intercepts the attack.
The hammer slams head-first into her chest, leaving her dazed and winded.
Alela pales as a trickle of her soul ebbs from an ethereal wound.
You have emoted: Galilei manages to stay mostly immobile even with the exit of Alela and the general chaos, though a folded, gold gossamer hood turns a little to one side.
Alela rams a blackened warhammer into the ground and bellows out a challenge, frayed strands of essence snapping around her like ephemeral whips as she unleashes her furor.
Twirling a blackened warhammer above her head, Alela quickly hurls it towards Mjoll.
The hammer slams head-first into her chest, leaving her dazed and winded.
Mjoll pales as a trickle of her soul ebbs from an ethereal wound.
(Market): You say, "The ritual will commence in five minutes at 63996. Those unenemied to Spinesreach are encouraged to attend."
Rijetta ponders a few crimson makvena bells's profile, deep in consideration.
Merek says, "I want someone to hit me."
Twirling a blackened warhammer above her head, Alela quickly hurls it towards Merek.
Wisps of magic disperse from the edges of Merek's blurred form as the blow glances him.
The hammer slams head-first into his chest, leaving him dazed and winded.
Merek pales as a trickle of his soul ebbs from an ethereal wound.
Twirling a blackened warhammer above her head, Mjoll quickly hurls it towards Merek.
Wisps of magic disperse from the edges of Merek's blurred form as the blow glances him.
The hammer slams head-first into his chest, leaving him dazed and winded.
Rijetta carefully lights a slender black cigarette with a thin carmine band.
Mjoll says, "OH SCARY."
Alela cackles hellishly.
Mileta lowers her head and rams it into Merek.
Mileta uses Horns on Merek.
Mileta's horns tear into Merek's flesh, drawing forth blood.
Rijetta takes a long drag from a lit slender black cigarette with a thin carmine band.
Merek says, "Thanks."
Rijetta exhales a thick, solid cloud of smoke, redolent with brawny, oaken scents.
Malcanthet says, "You'll find this an accommodating crowd."
Merek says, "That's pretty fun."
Malcanthet nods her head at Merek.
Alela pulls a bardiche from her weaponbelt fluidly into both hands.
Aolin congratulates Merek with some wild clapping.
Alela nods her head sagely.
Mjoll suddenly slams her horns into Mileta's and attempts to hurl her to the ground.
Mileta overpowers Mjoll, tossing her to the ground by the horns.
Losing her balance, Mjoll falls from her steed to the hard ground.
A contingent of insects detaches off Qelres' headdress, spreading in a scouting formation around them. Satisfied with their findings, the insects return to crawl up Qelres' body, rejoining the horde.
Sekara arrives from the west.
Mjoll stands up and stretches her arms out wide.
Mjoll says, "WAUGH."
Mileta flexes her muscles in an attempted display of strength.
Rijetta sidles over towards Qelres, a lit slender black cigarette with a thin carmine band held gingerly between two fingers.
(Tells): On tendrils of air, you let your velvety voice reach Sekara's mind: "A pleasure to see you, Minister."
(Tells): Sekara whispers into your consciousness, "Likewise and thank you."
Sekara inclines her head politely to those around her.
Clearing her throat, Mjoll says, "Alright, alright. Calm the shit down, you lot. Eyes on the Pontifex."
Qelres's pipe is smoking at last. They tuck the stem between their ruined mouth and dip their chin towards Rijetta in an acknowledging nod.
Alela turns and fixes her stare on Mjoll.
Kalena enters from the west, followed by Isia and Rhine.
Aolin sidles along the railing until she reaches Qelres."How's your house coming?" she inquires with a bright smile.
You have emoted: Galilei's entourage is equally immobile, their instruments already having been tuned beforehand. Their golden masks make it difficult to tell whether they are even aware.
Sekara tries to hide a slight giggle inside as she keeps her composure.
Kanivara's ear flicks and she focuses on you.
Bulrok glances around at all the various types of hounds present, before noticing his is missing. "Oh. That explains that." He turns towards Czcibor and mouths out 'Sorry' as he turns his attention back to you.
Qelres flaps a hand at Aolin in an effort to shush her. They smile nevertheless, but shake their head.
Rijetta leans on the railing near Qelres, taking a long drag and affecting a 'cool kid' pose.
Sekara hides a grin.
Saidenn enters from the west, followed by Taja.
He is followed by a giant, black-furred wolf.
A pinprick of wavering air warps outwards as a singularity blooms through a momentary, whispering miasma.
Rijetta exhales a thick, solid cloud of smoke, redolent with brawny, oaken scents.
The air shifts around Kalena, a little delayed as if she was lighter.
The air shifts around Rhine, a little delayed as if she was lighter.
The air shifts around Aolin, a little delayed as if she was lighter.
The air shifts around Czcibor, a little delayed as if he was lighter.
Rijetta takes a long drag from a lit slender black cigarette with a thin carmine band.
Rijetta exhales a thick, solid cloud of smoke, redolent with brawny, oaken scents.
Rijetta glares angrily at Saidenn.
"Ouch," Aolin intones playfully.
Kalena grins mischievously at Aolin.
Saidenn waves his paw, "It has been resolved," he says plainly.
You have emoted: Galilei looks to Rijetta, smiling a little. "Lieutenant, closer to the entrance, if you please." She gestures to the great candles by the railing, paraphernalia for her ritual.
Aolin gives Celeun a tight hug.
Sekara looks on ready to pay attention, wishing she had a cigarette.
Alela faces the wrong way entirely, as if unaware she should be watching something. She doesn't look nearly as cool as Rijetta, of course, but who does?
A swirling portal of chaos opens, spits out a chaos hound, then vanishes.
A chaos hound seems to settle down.
Nebula opens an ironwood smoke box.
Kalena smiles at Nebula.
Nebula gives Kalena a peck on the cheek.
Rijetta blinks, staring at you for a long few minutes. Eventually, she begrudgingly moves to where she's supposed to be, apparently, a little deflated.
(Tells): An uneasy sense of emotion hedges into your mind as the throaty whisper of Ayastia imparts, "Hey Gal."
Alela swings a blackened warhammer around and slams it heavily into Mjoll's side.
The attack rebounds back onto Alela!
The force of the blow sends Alela cartwheeling through the air towards the west.
Rijetta waves goodbye.
Czcibor arrives from the west.
Aolin giggles happily.
Malcanthet chuckles long and heartily.
Merek flails wildly.
Alela arrives from the west.
A chaos hound explodes into a fury of claws and teeth, rending Czcibor's flesh.
Alela cackles hellishly.
A chaos hound seems to settle down.
A chaos hound explodes into a fury of claws and teeth, rending Czcibor's flesh.
A chaos hound, its task finished, slinks back to the Plane of Chaos.
Robyn opens her mouth but says nothing.
Rijetta whispers something to a chaosorb, a chimera, a crone, a dervish, a doppleganger, a firelord, a gremlin, a minion, a pathfinder, a storm, and a sycophant.
They all seem to settle down.
The sound of gold coins clinking against one another fills the air as a golden magical shield springs up around Czcibor.
The lion head of the chimera lets forth a powerful roar at Czcibor, but he appears unfazed by the attack.
Rijetta lets out a devilish laugh as a look of confusion spreads across Mjoll's features.
As Rijetta flings a tarot card at Mjoll, it turns a violent magenta before striking her in the chest.
Mjoll fights her seizing muscles with reckless abandon.
As Rijetta flings a tarot card at Mjoll, it turns an ominous, sickly red before striking her in the head.
Merek demands, "What the hell!?"
Mjoll seems to droop as the colour drains from her face.
Rijetta boggles.
Robyn says to Merek, "They're playing, shush."
Mjoll utters a deep, rumbling laugh.
Malcanthet quickly devours a triple chocolate cookie.
Merek says, "Oh."
Aolin smiles at Czcibor.
Merek says, "Tell me before you do!"
Twirling a blackened warhammer above her head, Mjoll quickly hurls it towards Alela.
A white warhound leaps forward and intercepts the attack.
The hammer slams head-first into her chest, leaving her dazed and winded.
Alela pales as a trickle of her soul ebbs from an ethereal wound.
You have emoted: Galilei manages to stay mostly immobile even with the exit of Alela and the general chaos, though a folded, gold gossamer hood turns a little to one side.
Alela rams a blackened warhammer into the ground and bellows out a challenge, frayed strands of essence snapping around her like ephemeral whips as she unleashes her furor.
Twirling a blackened warhammer above her head, Alela quickly hurls it towards Mjoll.
The hammer slams head-first into her chest, leaving her dazed and winded.
Mjoll pales as a trickle of her soul ebbs from an ethereal wound.
(Market): You say, "The ritual will commence in five minutes at 63996. Those unenemied to Spinesreach are encouraged to attend."
Rijetta ponders a few crimson makvena bells's profile, deep in consideration.
Merek says, "I want someone to hit me."
Twirling a blackened warhammer above her head, Alela quickly hurls it towards Merek.
Wisps of magic disperse from the edges of Merek's blurred form as the blow glances him.
The hammer slams head-first into his chest, leaving him dazed and winded.
Merek pales as a trickle of his soul ebbs from an ethereal wound.
Twirling a blackened warhammer above her head, Mjoll quickly hurls it towards Merek.
Wisps of magic disperse from the edges of Merek's blurred form as the blow glances him.
The hammer slams head-first into his chest, leaving him dazed and winded.
Rijetta carefully lights a slender black cigarette with a thin carmine band.
Mjoll says, "OH SCARY."
Alela cackles hellishly.
Mileta lowers her head and rams it into Merek.
Mileta uses Horns on Merek.
Mileta's horns tear into Merek's flesh, drawing forth blood.
Rijetta takes a long drag from a lit slender black cigarette with a thin carmine band.
Merek says, "Thanks."
Rijetta exhales a thick, solid cloud of smoke, redolent with brawny, oaken scents.
Malcanthet says, "You'll find this an accommodating crowd."
Merek says, "That's pretty fun."
Malcanthet nods her head at Merek.
Alela pulls a bardiche from her weaponbelt fluidly into both hands.
Aolin congratulates Merek with some wild clapping.
Alela nods her head sagely.
Mjoll suddenly slams her horns into Mileta's and attempts to hurl her to the ground.
Mileta overpowers Mjoll, tossing her to the ground by the horns.
Losing her balance, Mjoll falls from her steed to the hard ground.
A contingent of insects detaches off Qelres' headdress, spreading in a scouting formation around them. Satisfied with their findings, the insects return to crawl up Qelres' body, rejoining the horde.
Sekara arrives from the west.
Mjoll stands up and stretches her arms out wide.
Mjoll says, "WAUGH."
Mileta flexes her muscles in an attempted display of strength.
Rijetta sidles over towards Qelres, a lit slender black cigarette with a thin carmine band held gingerly between two fingers.
(Tells): On tendrils of air, you let your velvety voice reach Sekara's mind: "A pleasure to see you, Minister."
(Tells): Sekara whispers into your consciousness, "Likewise and thank you."
Sekara inclines her head politely to those around her.
Clearing her throat, Mjoll says, "Alright, alright. Calm the shit down, you lot. Eyes on the Pontifex."
Qelres's pipe is smoking at last. They tuck the stem between their ruined mouth and dip their chin towards Rijetta in an acknowledging nod.
Alela turns and fixes her stare on Mjoll.
Kalena enters from the west, followed by Isia and Rhine.
Aolin sidles along the railing until she reaches Qelres."How's your house coming?" she inquires with a bright smile.
You have emoted: Galilei's entourage is equally immobile, their instruments already having been tuned beforehand. Their golden masks make it difficult to tell whether they are even aware.
Sekara tries to hide a slight giggle inside as she keeps her composure.
Kanivara's ear flicks and she focuses on you.
Bulrok glances around at all the various types of hounds present, before noticing his is missing. "Oh. That explains that." He turns towards Czcibor and mouths out 'Sorry' as he turns his attention back to you.
Qelres flaps a hand at Aolin in an effort to shush her. They smile nevertheless, but shake their head.
Rijetta leans on the railing near Qelres, taking a long drag and affecting a 'cool kid' pose.
Sekara hides a grin.
Saidenn enters from the west, followed by Taja.
He is followed by a giant, black-furred wolf.
A pinprick of wavering air warps outwards as a singularity blooms through a momentary, whispering miasma.
Rijetta exhales a thick, solid cloud of smoke, redolent with brawny, oaken scents.
The air shifts around Kalena, a little delayed as if she was lighter.
The air shifts around Rhine, a little delayed as if she was lighter.
The air shifts around Aolin, a little delayed as if she was lighter.
The air shifts around Czcibor, a little delayed as if he was lighter.
Rijetta takes a long drag from a lit slender black cigarette with a thin carmine band.
Rijetta exhales a thick, solid cloud of smoke, redolent with brawny, oaken scents.
Rijetta glares angrily at Saidenn.
"Ouch," Aolin intones playfully.
Kalena grins mischievously at Aolin.
Saidenn waves his paw, "It has been resolved," he says plainly.
You have emoted: Galilei looks to Rijetta, smiling a little. "Lieutenant, closer to the entrance, if you please." She gestures to the great candles by the railing, paraphernalia for her ritual.
Aolin gives Celeun a tight hug.
Sekara looks on ready to pay attention, wishing she had a cigarette.
Alela faces the wrong way entirely, as if unaware she should be watching something. She doesn't look nearly as cool as Rijetta, of course, but who does?
A swirling portal of chaos opens, spits out a chaos hound, then vanishes.
A chaos hound seems to settle down.
Nebula opens an ironwood smoke box.
Kalena smiles at Nebula.
Nebula gives Kalena a peck on the cheek.
Rijetta blinks, staring at you for a long few minutes. Eventually, she begrudgingly moves to where she's supposed to be, apparently, a little deflated.
(Tells): An uneasy sense of emotion hedges into your mind as the throaty whisper of Ayastia imparts, "Hey Gal."
You have emoted: Then Galilei's face grows impassive, dark eyes sweeping across those gathered. "Please refrain from coming too close to the central railing - the circle is my guide, far below the Goddess to which this ritual is dedicated. It begins - soon." The Consanguine lifts her sleeves, summoning shadows from the ground to coil and wrap about her, leaving nothing behind.
You beckon to the nearby shadows which eerily come alive, slithering toward you and up over your body until they conceal you from view.
Aolin cheerfully pats the shrunken head of Aolin and shuffles obligingly away from Qelres and back to the far wall.
Sekara says to Nebula, "Ah thank you kindly."
Sekara carefully lights a slender black cigarette with red accents.
(Tells): On tendrils of air, you let your velvety voice reach Ayastia's mind: "Come where I am, a ritual is beginning. Closer to the entrance, please."
Sekara takes a long drag from a lit slender black cigarette with red accents.
Nebula closes an ironwood smoke box.
Isia sips from a 'Mulariad's Mark'-branded glass bottle of smoky 'Rahiela's Finest' whiskey.
You have emoted: Signalling the beginning of the ritual, the sconce lights about the foyer dim a touch and shadow rolls lazily over the grand carvings. The stage is set - musicians in golden masks and white linen wait by the staircases. Flutes and pipes of wood and brass, lacquered drums shaped like hourglasses - the instruments are varied and their players are mute, watching from beneath dyed leather for the last ritualist, Galilei.
Isia rolls her eyes a bit as she tightens her grip on the regal white lion's reins and takes another sip from her whiskey bottle.
Malcanthet leans forward, watching you with interest.
You have emoted: Only the candles newly placed upon the central railing provide unsheathed light. These are sizable jet-black tapers bearing warm yellow flame, which float above the great, yawning pit within their circular altar like fireflies fleeing from night. It is from this pit Galilei emerges - understandably unable to respond to Alela, ascending the narrow stone walkway onto the foyer proper.
Ayastia arrives from the west.
You have emoted: In a whisper of dark silk, Galilei prostrates herself a few paces before the railing, across from the lone ornamental drum standing before a statue of a dragon guarding her hoard. Silence and stillness stretch out until the percussionists raise their sticks. Music - unfamiliar, unhurried. While reeds and strings call out into the distance, the woman rises from her genuflection as a newly-shaped heart might beat, or how stars might wink into being; a gossamer sleeve rises languidly into the air, then its twin.
You have emoted: Bare, milky-white feet slip in and out of view from behind Galilei's shadowy robes. She follows the curve of the railing backwards, hooded head bowed and her sleeves following her like warm wind. One slow turn before a candle to her right - a Dragon treading and not yet shedding dreams. Beneath the persistent cry of the flutes nobody hears the first golden flame expire as Galilei draws the air about it into her arms.
You have emoted: Seven candles had been lit; only six flicker as the music swells. Galilei's movements hold an almost entranced sort of grace, further enhanced by the thick smoke now rising from the remains of the first taper. She follows the coiling trail with a rising, languid hand, piercing the smoke's heart to let it reform around and slither down her silk-draped arm as she continues counterclockwise along the railing to the next taper.
Taj arrives from the west.
He is followed by a cream warhound, a silver warhound, and a white warhound.
You have emoted: So the circle continues, the entrails of claimed candlelight twining about and trailing Galilei like ghosts. While each flourish of her garments, each spin and step seems to dwell in reverie, in no way does it lack for control; the drums sound out their steady beat, their sound growing sonorous, and beneath that dreamlike veneer the dancer's movements swell with unmistakable vigour. First flame, second flame both gone, now onto the third. Galilei's feet patter to and fro, weaving a winding path before the great candle before, with one sweep of a sleeve, the flame dies. Strings continue to pluck out a resounding, living beat deep down while she steps up to the waiting drum across from where she had began her dance. The smoke from before has long since dispersed on the air to carry to the sleeping Goddess far above the spire.
You have emoted: There is no silence when Galilei raises her twin sticks. The flutes flourish as a new sound joins their ranks, and the pipe continues its keening for a little while; only then does the ensemble retreat, leaving nothing but the sound of wood upon hardened and painted leather.
Kalena leaves to the west, followed by Isia and Rhine.
Saidenn's ears tilt toward the sounds as he listens, one paw staying curled about a long wooden staff. His tail flicks behind him, the occasional chime of a bell following the motion.
You have emoted: No pause lasts for more than a bar in the beating of the drum. The sound rises and then falls, rattles out a simple rhythm and then follows it with punctuating pauses. At times the beat sounds like a dialogue, between the right hand's lighter rapping and the left's heavier, resounding blows. Galilei's dancing has not ceased; swaying, flourishing, she calls to the sleeping Sky Dreaming with her motions and her instrument. Nothing of her face can be seen behind the golden gossamer that so covers her head as the drums' power reaches its zenith. She Who hungers, they seem to rattle out - She Who hungers, hungers, hungers, hungers, hungers, hungers...
Qelres's slumped and languid pose straightens into still attention, booted foot sliding back to rest heel to heel and smoking pipe lowering, now forgotten, from their mouth. They wear the look of someone who has lost their breath, if they had any breath to lose.
Czcibor leaves to the west.
You have emoted: The masked drummer joins Galilei, and she releases her own drum for a moment to clack her own drumsticks together, lifting them over her head as she spins. Her dark eyes are open and her lips are parted, breathing even as she does not truly need to breathe. Is she seeing? She must be. Is she aware? Not more than needed to carry on the ritual. And then she has turned once again, four hands resound five decisive beats, and then it all stops - before it begins again.
(Tells): Her voice laden with crackling fire, Kalena whispers warmly to you, "Sorry to run. We thought it was a sermon and felt like we shouldnt be there when we realized it was a ritual."
A sonorous rumble quakes the ground underfoot as the very earth itself welcomes the Earthen Lord to its surface once more.
You have emoted: The music rises as the percussion slowly, graciously retreats. Once more Galilei traces the great circle, caressing still air into living currents to bear her sleeves. Fourth, fifth, sixth, all are extinguished, all only adding to the hoard of whispering air that weaves about her, until her wandering feet carry her back to the start, where that final candle awaits her.
You have emoted: Back turned to the audience, Galilei sinks down onto the foyer floor. She had done so more than once as she had danced, but she had always risen again - looking so much like an egret taking flight. Now she remains where she is, knelt, golden hood slowly tilting back as she gazes up at the single burning taper. Her concealed hands lift beneath silently whispering sleeves as if in supplication to the light, yet her gaze is for a Divine sleeping far, far above. The beat of the drum is close to dying; once more it rattles while the other instruments quietly mourn. The sound of a gong echoes forth, and in one second the Consanguine rears up to wrench apart her hands, splitting the air before her as though to take flight.
Swara arrives from the west.
You have emoted: The last flame dies, and Galilei falls in genuflection: the circle is complete, the ritual at its end.
Malcanthet glances around expectantly, for surely the Sun Drinker will awaken after that.
(Tells): In the back of your mind, you hear Kanivara saying to you, "Well -done-."
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.
Sekara takes a long drag from a lit slender black cigarette with red accents.
Alela stares cluelessly at the wall. Noticing the relative silence, she whispers to Mjoll, "Wait, did I miss it?"
Qelres's throat flexes in an instinctive swallow. They do not applaud, or whoop, or cheer; they are silent, even as the halls of the Citadel sound hollowly with the changing hour. They are looking on you as if no force in the world could make them look away.
Rijetta watches the ritual with vested interest, even forgetting to smoke. Her cigarette hangs limply in her lips, and as the ritual comes to a close, she reaches up to wipe a tear or two away from her eye.
Swara glances toward Alela as she whispers to Mjoll and her gaze seems to remain fixated there as she searches for a cigarette in her pockets.
Saidenn's brow furrows slightly in consideration. His intrigue is that of interest and curiosity rather than open veneration, a rumble escaping his chest as his attention remains upon you.
Swara takes a long drag from a lit slender black cigarette with an emerald binding.
Swara exhales a greyish cloud of smoke, redolent with mild, robust scents.
(Tells): On tendrils of air, you let your velvety voice reach Kalena's mind: "Ah..." She sounds as though she has just awoken. "Oh, no - you were welcome to stay, Kalena."
Sekara exhales slowly, allowing a long fluid breath to creep from her lungs.
Merek watches on with curiosity.
Mjoll offers a quick upwards tick of her lips as response to Alela, rapt attention on you, waiting intently.
(Tells): Robyn tells you, "Maybe poke at Her treasure heap? That might get Her attention. Of course you'd get crispy real fast I imagine."
Ayastia shuffles her way through the crowd until she gets to Swara, standing near her friend as her eyes return to you.
You have emoted: The sconces flare back to life as twilight strikes. Galilei rises slowly, moving as one would in her garments. She is not smiling when she looks back at those gathered, but while her face is grave, there is a softness there. "Thank you all for attending. Now - one question, for I was slow to wake this week. Has the Talon offered a sermon?"
Kanivara says, "She has not."
Mazzion enters from the west, riding a flaming stallion.
(Tells): Taj tells you, "That was beautiful."
You have emoted: Galilei nods, briefly meeting Mazzion's eyes in acknowledgement. "Then those who will, follow me up to the pinnacle. I shall perform one, and any with questions may come forth."
No one really did, but no matter. It has been done. In the works for a few days, written in about an hour, thankfully not too horrible, and made with LOTS OF LOVE FOR @Tanixalthas, PLEASE COME BACK, SAPIENCE NEEDS YOUR SPLENDOR. @Zeheia OR ANYBODY ELSE POKE HER FOR ME.
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Inspiration was taken from
desc:
She is an athletic Idreth vampire of Tsol'aa heritage whose alabaster skin is clear enough to seem almost translucent. Coolly elegant facial features are complemented by a pear-shaped, leanly muscled physique befitting her status - the Consanguine's six-foot-tall frame is held with a proud bearing that is only reinforced by the arch in her thin brows. Her deep-set, long-lashed eyes are darker than smoky topaz; her voice is low and velvety, and always seems to brush against the ivory fangs peeking from beneath a plush lip. Her wavy black hair is cropped short, highlighting the graceful shape of her skull and neck and showcasing her pretty, pointed ears. The dusky violet shimmering across her locks strikes a contrast against the rosiness of her auricles, a hallmark of the warm and living blood that all her kind still possess. Long, jagged stalks of crimson crystal sprout from her shoulder blades in an approximation of skeletal wings - thorns and strange shards of the same material take the place of pinions, making no sound even when they clink together.
She is wearing:
a blood red ceremonial sash, worn across her chest
sheer black robes of the ritual dancer, sleeves lazily trailing
a folded, gold gossamer hood, lightly brushing her cheek
billowing trousers of white linen, worn on the legs
a draping white linen top, contrasting with her robes
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Alela's Affirmations