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Purifying Flesh
Tetchta
The Innocent
Not a ton of background information is necessary for this, was just a really awesome scene with @Ivoln. I'll be honest, I had a glass of wine right before this scene started (I probably shouldn't have initiated it >.>), so I'm not, like, tremendously proud of my emotes here, but this scene was just, like, WAY too fun to share.
The Tarean Mountains overlooking a glacier.
The sun glares down from its noonday throne, blood red and relentless through the sky's bleak haze. A precarious ledge of torn rock juts out from the rocky slope of this mountain, ice and snow clinging to its form. Falling away below it lays the sharp and weather mangled foothills of the Tarean Mountains, their vista completely immersed in snow and ice. The beginnings of the glacier claw up into the mountainside from which it spans away from the slopes, disappearing into the horizon amid an expanse of white. A tiny, rusting, pole of frozen iron is shoved into the ground here.
You see a single exit leading down.
You nod your head emphatically.
You have emoted: Tetchta positions himself on a rock and turns to face the glacier, pulling a lit thin cigarillo to his lips for a drag.
Your pose is now set as:
Tetchta is sitting on a rock overlooking the glacer, smoking.
You have emoted: "'My sect,'" Tetchta says to himself, as though repeating something he heard elsewhere. The man sits in silence, black eyes staring out at nothing in particular as he ruminates silently to himself about unseen puzzles. A lit thin cigarillo comes to his lips and he inhales deeply into his undead lungs. Exhale. The steam from Tetchta's lungs mixes with the blue gray smoke of the cigarillo and sends out a veritable cloud of condensate and smoke into the air, as though the man were a tiny dragonling perched on an icy outcropping. "Maybe this time I'll get an opportunity to explain myself," Tetchta continues aloud, his obsidian, glassy eyes leaving the landscape to peer at the length of ash on the end of a lit thin cigarillo. He ashes it into the frozen air.
You feel your eyes drawn toward the skies above you, your mouth turning a little dry.
H:7587 M:5668 E:99% W:99% B:100% Bl: 0 [c eb]tell ivoln This might come as a surprise, but I do not generally prefer to step out of place and shout and yell. I don't prefer to speak up if I can help it, unless nobody else will, which is unfortunately quite common. That is to say, it goes against my nature to be approaching you right now." A beat. A long one. The skittering of edge--his discomfort is palpable, crackling like ice that's too thin underfoot in the connection between you. Alas, he perseveres, "But I have a request."
Whom do you wish to tell?
[[RIP RP I thought, I just missed him, and I hadn’t noticed the previous room echo because I’m dumb]]
You snap your fingers.
The earth rumbles nearby.
You have emoted: Tetchta 's ears prick up instantly. "That is not a normal sound," he comments aloud, though he doesn't turn around.
The earth starts to writhe at your feet, broken bits of the frozen ridge rising up and churning into a more solid mass.
You have emoted: Tetchta turns to face the surging mass of freezing earth. In the same movement, he flicks a lit thin cigarillo of the edge of the mountain, sending it tumbling to the air. He stands from the rock he's sitting on and brushes off his pants, as though preparing for someone's arrival.
You return to a normal position, relaxing the pose.
The transformation is gradual but with enough time, the loose semblance of a rocky body with arms and legs assembles before you. Though a rock golem does not speak, the sonorous rumble of grinding stone and crunching rock reverberate outward from its frame. The entity watches you as it comes to a standstill - almost as if awaiting something.
The Tarean Mountains overlooking a glacier.
The sun glares down from its noonday throne, blood red and relentless through the sky's bleak haze. A precarious ledge of torn rock juts out from the rocky slope of this mountain, ice and snow clinging to its form. Falling away below it lays the sharp and weather mangled foothills of the Tarean Mountains, their vista completely immersed in snow and ice. The beginnings of the glacier claw up into the mountainside from which it spans away from the slopes, disappearing into the horizon amid an expanse of white. A tiny, rusting, pole of frozen iron is shoved into the ground here. A large rock golem stalks the terrain here.
You see a single exit leading down.
H:7587 M:5668 E:99% W:99% B:100% Bl: 0 [c eb]p golem
Comprised mostly of rock and earth, the creature before you has a loosely discernable shape of arms, legs, and a bulbous body more boulder-like than anything. Bits and pieces of the frozen terrain gradually break away and meld into the earthy form of the rock golem, lending credence to its towering four meter form. From worms to frozen blades of grass that mar its form, the rock golem appears to be in ever shifting motion as it sheds its impurities
in favor of pure earth.
A rock golem exudes an aura of overwhelming power.
It is strangely weightless.
[[Thankfully it didn't have 10 weeks of survival experience otherwise the temptation would've been REAL.]]
You have emoted: The vampire considers a rock golem's profile for quite some time in silence. His glassy, black eyes watch the frozen earth and grass tumble from the being's chaotic, earthen form before returning his attention to it's face? Tetchta makes an educated guess at the creature's center of intelligence and asks, "You represent him?"
There are no eyes or face to speak of amid the churning mass of rock and frozen terrain. What impurities plague the creature are shed from its form, frigid blades of grass and sloughs of mushy snow ground out and deposited onto the ridge, only to be drawn back up again by the churning mass. A rock golem takes a thunderous step forward at your question, toppling over bits of rubble over the ridge's edge unto oblivion. Still, the creature awaits you. Watching. Weighing. Judging you.
A rock golem just thought:
As the reverberation echoes out over the ridge, the slow visage of an Azudim Imp forms in its mind.
You have emoted: The man, large by mortal standards, is positively dwarfed by the mountainous golem, of frozen earth. Tetchta 's neck is angled quite steeply as he, instinctively, seeks for a center to speak to. Even as the creature steps forward, he remains where he stands--not brazen, but resolute. "I have a problem," he says, eyes flicking from place to place on a rock golem in a vain attempt to make eye contact, "With the purification of flesh." He pauses and furrows his brow; his jaw is set as the wheels turn within him, "It is meant to be a sacrifice." A statement, not a question--though that is where he rests, waiting for a response.
Thinking:
Click. Click. Click. The sound of wood, gears, and machines being put into place; they are obscured by a practiced gray fog that lays over Tetchta's mind, but the obscured structure and complexity is able to shine through regardless.
Jagged molds of stone and mortar that shape would could be construed as hands come to settle against the ridge as a rock golem brings its bulbous form closer to you in a half-crawl. A larger piece of the ridge brought up into the churning mass circles around the torso of the creature and comes back around to barrel into the ground, sending forth another shockwave of reverberations through the region.
A rock golem just thought:
The reverberations send a clarifying image as the more detailed form of Tetchta comes into view in the surface of the creature's mind accompanied by a cold, suffocating embrace as dark as a tomb. From the knee-high combat boots to the two long, goatlke horns pointed towards the heavens, the image of Tetchta continues to be refined until it is crystal clear in the creature's minds eye. Soon words follow, crude and primal in the vast emptiness of its psyche: Chosen. Blood. Flesh. Huuuunnnnggggeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrr.
You have emoted: Tetchta's eyes follow the tumbling, churning mass of rock, earth, and whatever remaining bits of grass and ice have managed to survive its chaotic ministrations. A wince; a visible sign of discomfort. A reaction, to something unseen, and his back reflexivly bends. His eyes narrow, but remain open, just barely, so that he can keep his attention on a rock golem. After a moment of collection, to absorb and process whatever it is that came awash over him, his eyes open fully once more, and his back straightens to his full height. Then, he nods at the creature. "Yes," Tetchta says, his voice low, a husky whisper--a large, surly man; a Carnifex, still cowed by whatever hit him, and it shows in his voice, ragged. "The problem is I am a vampire," he continues, "I can cut off any part of me and put it at your feet and call it a sacrifice. But," his tail twitches once, "It would be a lie. Our healing powers are prodigious. I can recover from any wound, any ailment, should I will it. Any sacrifice I make myself would be a pretense. A farce." Now, the first real movement from him--a single step forward, toward a rock golem. "I do not like pretense. I do not like lies." He pauses, and for a moment, there is just silence; the only sound is the occasional crumbling of snow in the distance accompanied by the freezing, tundral wind brushing over the two things standing there on the mountainside. Finally, he says, "I need you to take it from me. I want it to be real, in a way that I cannot recover. It needs taken in a way that it will not come back." Throughout the monologue, the vampire's eyes don't leave the golem--they are resolute, like iron, "It needs to be taken from me by something greater than myself."
Thinking:
The fog roils and the clicking stops as the mists change from a featureless grey to a churning of colors; a whirlpool of intermingled thoughts and emotions suddenly rush to the surface of Tetchta's mind. Fear. Curiosity. Resolve. An ever-present anger. Hunger. Pain. Affection.
(The Black Arrow): You say, "I just sent a Celani a 16 liner and I wish we had an OOC channel to go "I'M VERY SORRY I'M LIKE THIS"."
(The Black Arrow): Alela says, "You should be."
The churning mass whirls faster for a moment at your words before a rock golem finds itself suddenly lurching forward, narrowing the distance to a fine hair between the pair. The air is rich with the scent of earth being so close now, the chaos of the roiling terrain dangerously close to nicking your flesh. It is here that the full weight of a rock golem can be felt as the thundering reverberations not only shake the ridge but resonates out through the golem and up your legs and into your very being. A gradual rhythmic pulse or thrum - like a song meant just for you.
Without warning a piece of rock smashes into the ground and breaks into a thousand shards that go spiraling about, shredding through the air with reckless abandon.
You exert your superior mental control and will your wounds to fully clot.
You have emoted: Tetchta reacts quickly, in a reflex, but it's not enough to spare him from the onslaught of sudden earthen shrapnel, and it zips past and into and through him, embedding in his skin and slicing his face as the shards explode outward.
You have emoted: As Tetchta recovers from the onslaught of earth and rock, he rights himself, bleeding, to look at the golem, now practically on top of him. As the rhythm, the pulse, the song, hits him in the chest, for the first time a sign of emotional vulnerability bursts through the surface of the vampire's practiced facade. "You," he starts, opening his mouth, his words a mix of shock and...Satisfaction? He stops and looks down. "Of course you know," Tetchta says with resolution and understanding. The man reaches forward with his gloved hand and places it on the golem, palm down. "You feel the beating of it. In all of us," the vampire says, his voice a whisper. "Why wouldn't you," he says aloud, eyes narrowing. Blood has begun to traild down his wounds and hit the snow at his feet, staining them red.
As your gaze drops to the frozen ridge at your feet, you take notice of something that was not there before. Wedged neatly into the ground and partly sliced into your boot, you find a shard.
You have emoted: Tetchta 's hand slips from the golem as he's lifted from his reverie as his attention is grabbed by the large shard of stone at his feet. Snow crunches beneath his feet as one foot steps back so he can kneel down. Blackened fingertips reach to grab a crude dagger like shard of stone, and he gives a yank, pulling it out of the frozen earth. The man rights himself. Hefting the daggerlike splinter of rock, he eyes the edge. Finally, his attention returns to the golem and utters a question. A single word, loaded with meaning, "This?"
You pick up a crude dagger like shard of stone.
Thinking:
Finally, a clear picture emerges from the swirl of thoughts in Tetchta's mind. A flash of the shard cutting flesh, limbs being removed, fingers, ears.
The shard feels cool to touch amid your grip, the crude edges quite sharp and already biting down into your flesh as you hold it. Briefly, at the taste of your blood, you can feel the dagger warmthen before that too subsides, leaving your mark impressed upon the stone.
You exert your superior mental control and will your wounds to fully clot.
H:7587 M:5007 E:99% W:99% B:100% Bl: 0 [c eb]p shard
Chipped out of a larger piece of stone of varying hues, this shard has an edge fine enough to split hair. Surprisingly light and sturdy, the natural cut of the shard suggests it can be thrown quite sufficiently. It has 30 weeks of usefulness left.
It weighs about 10 pound(s).
It bears the distinctive mark of Lord Tetchta V. Mesis, the Sphygmic Prophet.
You may use the following commands with this weapon:
throw
You have emoted: Tetchta doesn't react to the pain-- a man built of centuries of wounds and torture, but his eyes widen at the sharpness of the thing. He clearly did not expect it to be so good at its job, let alone to react readily to the taste of his body.
Piece by piece the rock golem settles into the frozen ridge floor, half burrowed and half exposed until a rock golem looks like nothing more than a natural jagged protrusion along the cliff's edge. The earth stills and soon the reverberations and thrumming fades until your left to your own thoughts.
A rock golem just thought:
The last fading thought to accompany the golem: Earth. Blood. Flesh. Huuunnnngggggeeeeerr....
A nearby pebble is dislodged and goes tumbling down the mountainside.
You have emoted: Blood seeps from Tetchta's hand and stains the snow below as he stands, thinking, wheels turning in his mind, visibly, after the golem's departure. Then, wordlessly, he brings his arms back and tilts his shoulders, allowing a skull-clasped black leather coat to slip from his body and onto the ground, revealing his naked torso in full to the freezing air of the northern mountain. His jaw sets; a look of resolute determination as he grips the shard tighter and it digs into his fingers to the bone. Then, slowly, he lifts his arm -- moment of hesitation. Fear? No. Indecision. Then, finally, the arm moves, as if on its own. His body makes the decision his brain cannot, and the pointed end of a crude dagger like shard of stone buries itself into the shoulder of his left arm. He did not react to the pain in his hand, but he reacts to this. The shard pushes deep, parting his skin, fat, and muscles effortlessly, reaching the joint where his arm meets his torso in a flash second. Tetchta's knees buckle and he does, in this moment, fall to his knees into the snow, though he still remains silent, gritting his teeth.
H:7587 M:5668 E:99% W:99% B:100% Bl: 0 [c eb]naked torso tattoos
You adjust a three-headed hydra tattoo slightly until it seems more suitable.
You adjust an abstract tattoo of claw marks slightly until it seems more suitable.
You adjust a band of tattooed emerald flames slightly until it seems more suitable.
You adjust a serpentine tattoo with a centric stylized "V" slightly until it seems more suitable.
You adjust a tattoo of a crossed halberd-and-hammer 'X' slightly until it seems more suitable.
You start wearing a carved and scarified soulstone tattoo in an ordinary fashion.
You start wearing an endlessly howling wraith-like skull tattoo in an ordinary fashion.
You begin to conceal a portrait tattoo holding the oath of slaughter from sight.
You start wearing a flickering elemental brand in an ordinary fashion.
You have emoted: Jaws unclench as Tetchta lets out a ragged breath; a growl, as he fights against the urge to pull the shard from his arm. The experience of a man feeling real pain for the first time in almost an age fights against his warrior instincts to sever; a tug of war inside of him. Again, his body, muscle memory, makes the decision he cannot, and he twists the shard so that it wedges itself in the socket of his arm, severing a couple tendons as the point finds its home. Blood begins to pour, a veritable deluge, from the gash a crude dagger like shard of stone has carved into him, and he bends forward as pain wracks his body. He falls onto his right shoulder and lets out a loud, savage howl as his vitae begins to spill from him like a waterfall, painting the mountainside and his torso red in the process.
You yell, "AAAAAAAAAAGHN."
You have emoted: Panting after his outburst, Tetchta manages to bring a semblance of lucidity to his ministrations. Breathing like a dog in heat, he shoves himself off the ground with this shoulder, still gripping a crude dagger like shard of stone as he rights himself. As his blood leaves him, Something Else rises inside him, a beast beating at a cage begins to shatter the hinges, and his resolve doubles as his eyes grow wild. Twist. Another tendon snaps with a popping. "Hngn," he manages, through gritted teeth, saliva foaming. Turn. Rotate. Another tendon goes as Tetchta's arm loses its foothold on his body.
The pulsing warmth of your blood pouring onto the frozen tundra suddenly slows as you feel the edges of your vision darken, gradually succumbing to the cold embrace of the earth. Each passing moment feels stretched into eternity as beads of earth, rock, and sand break away from the terrain around you and encircle your form. As the crude dagger-like shard of stone remains cruelly twisted into your form, you suddenly find the earthen elements surging forward into your being. Thousands of needleless pangs of pain to wrack your form alongside your mutiliation, you watch on in agony as the very fiber of your being is brought to heed a distant song.
You tactfully will your body to clot some of its open wounds.
You find yourself beginning to forge a deeper connection with the Earthen Lord. With the dagger slick with your blood and numerous pins of earth and rock embedding themselves beneath the surface of your flesh, you are left to wonder... what more trials await you before the connection is fully forged.
You have emoted: If Tetchta were at risk of overcoming the pain the dagger was inflicting, the point becomes moot as the pang of elemental song wrack his body. The vampire's chest undulates as he throws up a massive pool of blood and feculence. Blood and foaming saliva mix into an orange, ruddy hue, like loam on the surface of the sea. His breathing escalates--after all this time, an unsupressed stress response. It's rhythmic, matching the invisible, primal thrumming in his body as he rests his forehead in the mix of ice, snow, blood, and vomit. He manages to grunt out, "I--can keep--going." Even as he says this, his grip slips on a crude dagger like shard of stone slightly, and he collapses, on the verge of blacking out, face down onto the ground. "You--want--to know how--ngh--devoted I am. I--won't be stopped," Tetchta murmurs, grunting, his breath disturbing the puddle of filth he now finds himself face down in.
Your pose is now set as:
Tetchta is collapsed on the ground, bleeding in a puddle of blood and filth.
Thinking:
What would be a pulsing haze of covered emotions is now empty blackness, which itself threatens to fade as Tetchta's blood leaves his body from his wounds. What remains is a single, angry scrap of determination and purpose. And yet even that threatens to flicker in the face of his trial.
You have emoted: Consciousness slips from Tetchta as even the push of vampire barbarism grows dull, and his eyes close as his grip on a crude dagger like shard of stone loosens entirely and he lays there, a mess of blood, flesh, and vomit. The puddle beneath him is already beginning to freeze in the tundral air as he lays there, a crude dagger like shard of stone wedged in his shoulder, smeared in his blood. The flow of blood slows as less and less remains inside him, and wispy tendrils lift off of him as his body begins to decorporealize.
Your pose is now set as:
Tetchta is laying face down in a pile of frozen blood and vomit, a shard of stone stuck in his shoulder.
You have emoted: The traumatic damage of the a crude dagger like shard of stone finally takes its toll on Tetchta, and his body begins to unravel at the seams. It begins at his wound and works its way outward, like a wildfire, burning him from the outside in, and sending his soul up into the air like a plume of ethereal smoke. It spreads quickly, devouring him, and before long, nothing remains of the man aside from a withered husk sitting in a pile of frozen filth: a transient reminder of what transpired here.
You have been slain by misadventure.
You were not afflicted.
Experience Lost: 1243134 [total: 37772525]
Stricken, you collapse to the ground. Unable to maintain the composure of your physical form any longer, you feel your body shrivel and wither away as you revert to your mistform.
You use Corpus Entomb.
You utter a brief charm, focusing upon the link to your coffin.
You suddenly sink straight down into the ground beneath you. A sensation of tremendous movement overtakes you, and when you open your eyes you are safe inside your coffin, buried deep within the earth.
Asleep in a coffin.
This room has not been mapped.
There are no obvious exits.
You are afflicted with asleep.
You once again occupy a physical body. You can RISE to leave the earth.
On the lip of a crater.
A statue of a Teshen raider is here, a look of terror on her stony face.
You see exits leading northeast, northwest, and down.
[HINT]: Look at yourself.
He is a typical Azudim vampire of Imp heritage who is as tall as a full-grown troll, with width to match--he is built like a brick wall. He is muscular--his build that of a warrior, seasoned and well-trained, at the peak of physical fitness. An apex predator. The skin covering this massive man's muscles is a vibrant, reddish color, and every visible inch from his neck down is covered in tattoos. Ink fights for room on his flesh, and while many designs stand out here and there, just as many seem nonsensical and inscrutable, blending into a swirling mess of text, flowing lines, shapes, and ritualistic scarifications. Claws the color of darkest obsidian tip each finger, trimmed somewhat short but invariably as sharp as razors, and they are polished to a mirror-like shine. The skin from the tips of these claws all the way up to his forearms is as black as pitch, as though it were charred under flames or dipped in ink. Gradually, it fades into his natural red by his mid-bicep. Two long, goatlike horns extend toward the heavens from the side of his head, sharp and ridged--dangerous. His eyes: black; two singularities that suck in everything around them. Inky hair to match his eyes falls about the place in loose curls down to his chin. His face is angular, narrow, sharp, and he is wearing a coat of black lipstick and eyeliner, an island of femininity in this towering mass of brutishness. When visible, his teeth are pearly white and sharp--like a row of cat's teeth, perfect for piercing and slicing. Behind him is a long, leathery tail. Falling to the floor and nearly as long as he is tall, its thick and muscular, more like a python with a mind of its own than a tail. Wrapped around the shoulder and secured with a copper band is a paired shoulder cord showing off colors of teal and emerald. He is glowing with a warm, gentle light. Earth and stone cling to his form under the blessing of the Earthen Lord.
(snaking up the tail) : savage crimson and black tail dath
(tied to his left horn with ribbon) : a purple nightshade flower
(inked on the left side of the neck) : a tattoo of a crossed halberd-and-hammer 'X'
(covering the chest) : a three-headed hydra tattoo
(raking the entire back) : an abstract tattoo of claw marks
(inked on the right forearm) : a band of tattooed emerald flames
(inked upon the right wrist) : an endlessly howling wraith-like skull tattoo
(around one wrist) : a flickering elemental brand
(inked upon the left hand) : a carved and scarified soulstone tattoo
(inked on the back of the right hand) : a serpentine tattoo with a centric stylized "V"
(loose around hips) : a reinforced leather weaponbelt of the Carnifex
(tucked into boots) : deep sable riding trousers
(laced tight) : black, knee-high laced combat boots
(embedded gruesomely into the shoulder) : a crude dagger like shard of stone
H:7260 M:5668 E:100% W:99% B:100% Bl: 0 [eb]ii shard
You aren't wielding anything in either hand.
You are holding:
You are wearing:
"shard339099" a crude dagger like shard of stone, embedded gruesomely into the shoulder.
You are holding 1 items.
You are holding 1 quest item(s).
[HINT]: Attire as appropriate when worn or remove to use as a weapon/dagger or other creative ways in the trials ahead.
You have emoted: Tetchta rises from his coffin and into the desert air, fully formed and shirtless. He makes to move, by instinct, and suddenly winces as pain shoots through him. He grabs at his arm with his right hand as he hunches over in a mix of surprise and agony. The man's claws dig tight into his skin as he turns to look at his left shoulder, and a smile creeps onto his face as they fall upon a crude dagger like shard of stone. "Pain," he says softly, "Real pain." The Carnifex rights himself and shakes his left arm several times; he winces with each jostle, but manages to stay upright all the same. "Hng," a sound, vocalizing, "I accept this sacrifice." He flexes his left hand and grits his teeth as pain shoots through his body once more, tensing every muscle in his body. "Thank you, Ivoln. I'm not done yet. Not by a long shot." And with that, he tears off down the desert on foot, heading on to his next adventure.
You express your esteem of Ivoln for: HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT.
The Tarean Mountains overlooking a glacier.
The sun glares down from its noonday throne, blood red and relentless through the sky's bleak haze. A precarious ledge of torn rock juts out from the rocky slope of this mountain, ice and snow clinging to its form. Falling away below it lays the sharp and weather mangled foothills of the Tarean Mountains, their vista completely immersed in snow and ice. The beginnings of the glacier claw up into the mountainside from which it spans away from the slopes, disappearing into the horizon amid an expanse of white. A tiny, rusting, pole of frozen iron is shoved into the ground here.
You see a single exit leading down.
You nod your head emphatically.
You have emoted: Tetchta positions himself on a rock and turns to face the glacier, pulling a lit thin cigarillo to his lips for a drag.
Your pose is now set as:
Tetchta is sitting on a rock overlooking the glacer, smoking.
You have emoted: "'My sect,'" Tetchta says to himself, as though repeating something he heard elsewhere. The man sits in silence, black eyes staring out at nothing in particular as he ruminates silently to himself about unseen puzzles. A lit thin cigarillo comes to his lips and he inhales deeply into his undead lungs. Exhale. The steam from Tetchta's lungs mixes with the blue gray smoke of the cigarillo and sends out a veritable cloud of condensate and smoke into the air, as though the man were a tiny dragonling perched on an icy outcropping. "Maybe this time I'll get an opportunity to explain myself," Tetchta continues aloud, his obsidian, glassy eyes leaving the landscape to peer at the length of ash on the end of a lit thin cigarillo. He ashes it into the frozen air.
You feel your eyes drawn toward the skies above you, your mouth turning a little dry.
H:7587 M:5668 E:99% W:99% B:100% Bl: 0 [c eb]tell ivoln This might come as a surprise, but I do not generally prefer to step out of place and shout and yell. I don't prefer to speak up if I can help it, unless nobody else will, which is unfortunately quite common. That is to say, it goes against my nature to be approaching you right now." A beat. A long one. The skittering of edge--his discomfort is palpable, crackling like ice that's too thin underfoot in the connection between you. Alas, he perseveres, "But I have a request."
Whom do you wish to tell?
[[RIP RP I thought, I just missed him, and I hadn’t noticed the previous room echo because I’m dumb]]
You snap your fingers.
The earth rumbles nearby.
You have emoted: Tetchta 's ears prick up instantly. "That is not a normal sound," he comments aloud, though he doesn't turn around.
The earth starts to writhe at your feet, broken bits of the frozen ridge rising up and churning into a more solid mass.
You have emoted: Tetchta turns to face the surging mass of freezing earth. In the same movement, he flicks a lit thin cigarillo of the edge of the mountain, sending it tumbling to the air. He stands from the rock he's sitting on and brushes off his pants, as though preparing for someone's arrival.
You return to a normal position, relaxing the pose.
The transformation is gradual but with enough time, the loose semblance of a rocky body with arms and legs assembles before you. Though a rock golem does not speak, the sonorous rumble of grinding stone and crunching rock reverberate outward from its frame. The entity watches you as it comes to a standstill - almost as if awaiting something.
The Tarean Mountains overlooking a glacier.
The sun glares down from its noonday throne, blood red and relentless through the sky's bleak haze. A precarious ledge of torn rock juts out from the rocky slope of this mountain, ice and snow clinging to its form. Falling away below it lays the sharp and weather mangled foothills of the Tarean Mountains, their vista completely immersed in snow and ice. The beginnings of the glacier claw up into the mountainside from which it spans away from the slopes, disappearing into the horizon amid an expanse of white. A tiny, rusting, pole of frozen iron is shoved into the ground here. A large rock golem stalks the terrain here.
You see a single exit leading down.
H:7587 M:5668 E:99% W:99% B:100% Bl: 0 [c eb]p golem
Comprised mostly of rock and earth, the creature before you has a loosely discernable shape of arms, legs, and a bulbous body more boulder-like than anything. Bits and pieces of the frozen terrain gradually break away and meld into the earthy form of the rock golem, lending credence to its towering four meter form. From worms to frozen blades of grass that mar its form, the rock golem appears to be in ever shifting motion as it sheds its impurities
in favor of pure earth.
A rock golem exudes an aura of overwhelming power.
It is strangely weightless.
[[Thankfully it didn't have 10 weeks of survival experience otherwise the temptation would've been REAL.]]
You have emoted: The vampire considers a rock golem's profile for quite some time in silence. His glassy, black eyes watch the frozen earth and grass tumble from the being's chaotic, earthen form before returning his attention to it's face? Tetchta makes an educated guess at the creature's center of intelligence and asks, "You represent him?"
There are no eyes or face to speak of amid the churning mass of rock and frozen terrain. What impurities plague the creature are shed from its form, frigid blades of grass and sloughs of mushy snow ground out and deposited onto the ridge, only to be drawn back up again by the churning mass. A rock golem takes a thunderous step forward at your question, toppling over bits of rubble over the ridge's edge unto oblivion. Still, the creature awaits you. Watching. Weighing. Judging you.
A rock golem just thought:
As the reverberation echoes out over the ridge, the slow visage of an Azudim Imp forms in its mind.
You have emoted: The man, large by mortal standards, is positively dwarfed by the mountainous golem, of frozen earth. Tetchta 's neck is angled quite steeply as he, instinctively, seeks for a center to speak to. Even as the creature steps forward, he remains where he stands--not brazen, but resolute. "I have a problem," he says, eyes flicking from place to place on a rock golem in a vain attempt to make eye contact, "With the purification of flesh." He pauses and furrows his brow; his jaw is set as the wheels turn within him, "It is meant to be a sacrifice." A statement, not a question--though that is where he rests, waiting for a response.
Thinking:
Click. Click. Click. The sound of wood, gears, and machines being put into place; they are obscured by a practiced gray fog that lays over Tetchta's mind, but the obscured structure and complexity is able to shine through regardless.
Jagged molds of stone and mortar that shape would could be construed as hands come to settle against the ridge as a rock golem brings its bulbous form closer to you in a half-crawl. A larger piece of the ridge brought up into the churning mass circles around the torso of the creature and comes back around to barrel into the ground, sending forth another shockwave of reverberations through the region.
A rock golem just thought:
The reverberations send a clarifying image as the more detailed form of Tetchta comes into view in the surface of the creature's mind accompanied by a cold, suffocating embrace as dark as a tomb. From the knee-high combat boots to the two long, goatlke horns pointed towards the heavens, the image of Tetchta continues to be refined until it is crystal clear in the creature's minds eye. Soon words follow, crude and primal in the vast emptiness of its psyche: Chosen. Blood. Flesh. Huuuunnnnggggeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrr.
You have emoted: Tetchta's eyes follow the tumbling, churning mass of rock, earth, and whatever remaining bits of grass and ice have managed to survive its chaotic ministrations. A wince; a visible sign of discomfort. A reaction, to something unseen, and his back reflexivly bends. His eyes narrow, but remain open, just barely, so that he can keep his attention on a rock golem. After a moment of collection, to absorb and process whatever it is that came awash over him, his eyes open fully once more, and his back straightens to his full height. Then, he nods at the creature. "Yes," Tetchta says, his voice low, a husky whisper--a large, surly man; a Carnifex, still cowed by whatever hit him, and it shows in his voice, ragged. "The problem is I am a vampire," he continues, "I can cut off any part of me and put it at your feet and call it a sacrifice. But," his tail twitches once, "It would be a lie. Our healing powers are prodigious. I can recover from any wound, any ailment, should I will it. Any sacrifice I make myself would be a pretense. A farce." Now, the first real movement from him--a single step forward, toward a rock golem. "I do not like pretense. I do not like lies." He pauses, and for a moment, there is just silence; the only sound is the occasional crumbling of snow in the distance accompanied by the freezing, tundral wind brushing over the two things standing there on the mountainside. Finally, he says, "I need you to take it from me. I want it to be real, in a way that I cannot recover. It needs taken in a way that it will not come back." Throughout the monologue, the vampire's eyes don't leave the golem--they are resolute, like iron, "It needs to be taken from me by something greater than myself."
Thinking:
The fog roils and the clicking stops as the mists change from a featureless grey to a churning of colors; a whirlpool of intermingled thoughts and emotions suddenly rush to the surface of Tetchta's mind. Fear. Curiosity. Resolve. An ever-present anger. Hunger. Pain. Affection.
(The Black Arrow): You say, "I just sent a Celani a 16 liner and I wish we had an OOC channel to go "I'M VERY SORRY I'M LIKE THIS"."
(The Black Arrow): Alela says, "You should be."
The churning mass whirls faster for a moment at your words before a rock golem finds itself suddenly lurching forward, narrowing the distance to a fine hair between the pair. The air is rich with the scent of earth being so close now, the chaos of the roiling terrain dangerously close to nicking your flesh. It is here that the full weight of a rock golem can be felt as the thundering reverberations not only shake the ridge but resonates out through the golem and up your legs and into your very being. A gradual rhythmic pulse or thrum - like a song meant just for you.
Without warning a piece of rock smashes into the ground and breaks into a thousand shards that go spiraling about, shredding through the air with reckless abandon.
You exert your superior mental control and will your wounds to fully clot.
You have emoted: Tetchta reacts quickly, in a reflex, but it's not enough to spare him from the onslaught of sudden earthen shrapnel, and it zips past and into and through him, embedding in his skin and slicing his face as the shards explode outward.
You have emoted: As Tetchta recovers from the onslaught of earth and rock, he rights himself, bleeding, to look at the golem, now practically on top of him. As the rhythm, the pulse, the song, hits him in the chest, for the first time a sign of emotional vulnerability bursts through the surface of the vampire's practiced facade. "You," he starts, opening his mouth, his words a mix of shock and...Satisfaction? He stops and looks down. "Of course you know," Tetchta says with resolution and understanding. The man reaches forward with his gloved hand and places it on the golem, palm down. "You feel the beating of it. In all of us," the vampire says, his voice a whisper. "Why wouldn't you," he says aloud, eyes narrowing. Blood has begun to traild down his wounds and hit the snow at his feet, staining them red.
As your gaze drops to the frozen ridge at your feet, you take notice of something that was not there before. Wedged neatly into the ground and partly sliced into your boot, you find a shard.
You have emoted: Tetchta 's hand slips from the golem as he's lifted from his reverie as his attention is grabbed by the large shard of stone at his feet. Snow crunches beneath his feet as one foot steps back so he can kneel down. Blackened fingertips reach to grab a crude dagger like shard of stone, and he gives a yank, pulling it out of the frozen earth. The man rights himself. Hefting the daggerlike splinter of rock, he eyes the edge. Finally, his attention returns to the golem and utters a question. A single word, loaded with meaning, "This?"
You pick up a crude dagger like shard of stone.
Thinking:
Finally, a clear picture emerges from the swirl of thoughts in Tetchta's mind. A flash of the shard cutting flesh, limbs being removed, fingers, ears.
The shard feels cool to touch amid your grip, the crude edges quite sharp and already biting down into your flesh as you hold it. Briefly, at the taste of your blood, you can feel the dagger warmthen before that too subsides, leaving your mark impressed upon the stone.
You exert your superior mental control and will your wounds to fully clot.
H:7587 M:5007 E:99% W:99% B:100% Bl: 0 [c eb]p shard
Chipped out of a larger piece of stone of varying hues, this shard has an edge fine enough to split hair. Surprisingly light and sturdy, the natural cut of the shard suggests it can be thrown quite sufficiently. It has 30 weeks of usefulness left.
It weighs about 10 pound(s).
It bears the distinctive mark of Lord Tetchta V. Mesis, the Sphygmic Prophet.
You may use the following commands with this weapon:
throw
You have emoted: Tetchta doesn't react to the pain-- a man built of centuries of wounds and torture, but his eyes widen at the sharpness of the thing. He clearly did not expect it to be so good at its job, let alone to react readily to the taste of his body.
Piece by piece the rock golem settles into the frozen ridge floor, half burrowed and half exposed until a rock golem looks like nothing more than a natural jagged protrusion along the cliff's edge. The earth stills and soon the reverberations and thrumming fades until your left to your own thoughts.
A rock golem just thought:
The last fading thought to accompany the golem: Earth. Blood. Flesh. Huuunnnngggggeeeeerr....
A nearby pebble is dislodged and goes tumbling down the mountainside.
You have emoted: Blood seeps from Tetchta's hand and stains the snow below as he stands, thinking, wheels turning in his mind, visibly, after the golem's departure. Then, wordlessly, he brings his arms back and tilts his shoulders, allowing a skull-clasped black leather coat to slip from his body and onto the ground, revealing his naked torso in full to the freezing air of the northern mountain. His jaw sets; a look of resolute determination as he grips the shard tighter and it digs into his fingers to the bone. Then, slowly, he lifts his arm -- moment of hesitation. Fear? No. Indecision. Then, finally, the arm moves, as if on its own. His body makes the decision his brain cannot, and the pointed end of a crude dagger like shard of stone buries itself into the shoulder of his left arm. He did not react to the pain in his hand, but he reacts to this. The shard pushes deep, parting his skin, fat, and muscles effortlessly, reaching the joint where his arm meets his torso in a flash second. Tetchta's knees buckle and he does, in this moment, fall to his knees into the snow, though he still remains silent, gritting his teeth.
H:7587 M:5668 E:99% W:99% B:100% Bl: 0 [c eb]naked torso tattoos
You adjust a three-headed hydra tattoo slightly until it seems more suitable.
You adjust an abstract tattoo of claw marks slightly until it seems more suitable.
You adjust a band of tattooed emerald flames slightly until it seems more suitable.
You adjust a serpentine tattoo with a centric stylized "V" slightly until it seems more suitable.
You adjust a tattoo of a crossed halberd-and-hammer 'X' slightly until it seems more suitable.
You start wearing a carved and scarified soulstone tattoo in an ordinary fashion.
You start wearing an endlessly howling wraith-like skull tattoo in an ordinary fashion.
You begin to conceal a portrait tattoo holding the oath of slaughter from sight.
You start wearing a flickering elemental brand in an ordinary fashion.
You have emoted: Jaws unclench as Tetchta lets out a ragged breath; a growl, as he fights against the urge to pull the shard from his arm. The experience of a man feeling real pain for the first time in almost an age fights against his warrior instincts to sever; a tug of war inside of him. Again, his body, muscle memory, makes the decision he cannot, and he twists the shard so that it wedges itself in the socket of his arm, severing a couple tendons as the point finds its home. Blood begins to pour, a veritable deluge, from the gash a crude dagger like shard of stone has carved into him, and he bends forward as pain wracks his body. He falls onto his right shoulder and lets out a loud, savage howl as his vitae begins to spill from him like a waterfall, painting the mountainside and his torso red in the process.
You yell, "AAAAAAAAAAGHN."
You have emoted: Panting after his outburst, Tetchta manages to bring a semblance of lucidity to his ministrations. Breathing like a dog in heat, he shoves himself off the ground with this shoulder, still gripping a crude dagger like shard of stone as he rights himself. As his blood leaves him, Something Else rises inside him, a beast beating at a cage begins to shatter the hinges, and his resolve doubles as his eyes grow wild. Twist. Another tendon snaps with a popping. "Hngn," he manages, through gritted teeth, saliva foaming. Turn. Rotate. Another tendon goes as Tetchta's arm loses its foothold on his body.
The pulsing warmth of your blood pouring onto the frozen tundra suddenly slows as you feel the edges of your vision darken, gradually succumbing to the cold embrace of the earth. Each passing moment feels stretched into eternity as beads of earth, rock, and sand break away from the terrain around you and encircle your form. As the crude dagger-like shard of stone remains cruelly twisted into your form, you suddenly find the earthen elements surging forward into your being. Thousands of needleless pangs of pain to wrack your form alongside your mutiliation, you watch on in agony as the very fiber of your being is brought to heed a distant song.
You tactfully will your body to clot some of its open wounds.
You find yourself beginning to forge a deeper connection with the Earthen Lord. With the dagger slick with your blood and numerous pins of earth and rock embedding themselves beneath the surface of your flesh, you are left to wonder... what more trials await you before the connection is fully forged.
You have emoted: If Tetchta were at risk of overcoming the pain the dagger was inflicting, the point becomes moot as the pang of elemental song wrack his body. The vampire's chest undulates as he throws up a massive pool of blood and feculence. Blood and foaming saliva mix into an orange, ruddy hue, like loam on the surface of the sea. His breathing escalates--after all this time, an unsupressed stress response. It's rhythmic, matching the invisible, primal thrumming in his body as he rests his forehead in the mix of ice, snow, blood, and vomit. He manages to grunt out, "I--can keep--going." Even as he says this, his grip slips on a crude dagger like shard of stone slightly, and he collapses, on the verge of blacking out, face down onto the ground. "You--want--to know how--ngh--devoted I am. I--won't be stopped," Tetchta murmurs, grunting, his breath disturbing the puddle of filth he now finds himself face down in.
Your pose is now set as:
Tetchta is collapsed on the ground, bleeding in a puddle of blood and filth.
Thinking:
What would be a pulsing haze of covered emotions is now empty blackness, which itself threatens to fade as Tetchta's blood leaves his body from his wounds. What remains is a single, angry scrap of determination and purpose. And yet even that threatens to flicker in the face of his trial.
You have emoted: Consciousness slips from Tetchta as even the push of vampire barbarism grows dull, and his eyes close as his grip on a crude dagger like shard of stone loosens entirely and he lays there, a mess of blood, flesh, and vomit. The puddle beneath him is already beginning to freeze in the tundral air as he lays there, a crude dagger like shard of stone wedged in his shoulder, smeared in his blood. The flow of blood slows as less and less remains inside him, and wispy tendrils lift off of him as his body begins to decorporealize.
Your pose is now set as:
Tetchta is laying face down in a pile of frozen blood and vomit, a shard of stone stuck in his shoulder.
You have emoted: The traumatic damage of the a crude dagger like shard of stone finally takes its toll on Tetchta, and his body begins to unravel at the seams. It begins at his wound and works its way outward, like a wildfire, burning him from the outside in, and sending his soul up into the air like a plume of ethereal smoke. It spreads quickly, devouring him, and before long, nothing remains of the man aside from a withered husk sitting in a pile of frozen filth: a transient reminder of what transpired here.
You have been slain by misadventure.
You were not afflicted.
Experience Lost: 1243134 [total: 37772525]
Stricken, you collapse to the ground. Unable to maintain the composure of your physical form any longer, you feel your body shrivel and wither away as you revert to your mistform.
You use Corpus Entomb.
You utter a brief charm, focusing upon the link to your coffin.
You suddenly sink straight down into the ground beneath you. A sensation of tremendous movement overtakes you, and when you open your eyes you are safe inside your coffin, buried deep within the earth.
Asleep in a coffin.
This room has not been mapped.
There are no obvious exits.
You are afflicted with asleep.
You once again occupy a physical body. You can RISE to leave the earth.
On the lip of a crater.
A statue of a Teshen raider is here, a look of terror on her stony face.
You see exits leading northeast, northwest, and down.
[HINT]: Look at yourself.
He is a typical Azudim vampire of Imp heritage who is as tall as a full-grown troll, with width to match--he is built like a brick wall. He is muscular--his build that of a warrior, seasoned and well-trained, at the peak of physical fitness. An apex predator. The skin covering this massive man's muscles is a vibrant, reddish color, and every visible inch from his neck down is covered in tattoos. Ink fights for room on his flesh, and while many designs stand out here and there, just as many seem nonsensical and inscrutable, blending into a swirling mess of text, flowing lines, shapes, and ritualistic scarifications. Claws the color of darkest obsidian tip each finger, trimmed somewhat short but invariably as sharp as razors, and they are polished to a mirror-like shine. The skin from the tips of these claws all the way up to his forearms is as black as pitch, as though it were charred under flames or dipped in ink. Gradually, it fades into his natural red by his mid-bicep. Two long, goatlike horns extend toward the heavens from the side of his head, sharp and ridged--dangerous. His eyes: black; two singularities that suck in everything around them. Inky hair to match his eyes falls about the place in loose curls down to his chin. His face is angular, narrow, sharp, and he is wearing a coat of black lipstick and eyeliner, an island of femininity in this towering mass of brutishness. When visible, his teeth are pearly white and sharp--like a row of cat's teeth, perfect for piercing and slicing. Behind him is a long, leathery tail. Falling to the floor and nearly as long as he is tall, its thick and muscular, more like a python with a mind of its own than a tail. Wrapped around the shoulder and secured with a copper band is a paired shoulder cord showing off colors of teal and emerald. He is glowing with a warm, gentle light. Earth and stone cling to his form under the blessing of the Earthen Lord.
(snaking up the tail) : savage crimson and black tail dath
(tied to his left horn with ribbon) : a purple nightshade flower
(inked on the left side of the neck) : a tattoo of a crossed halberd-and-hammer 'X'
(covering the chest) : a three-headed hydra tattoo
(raking the entire back) : an abstract tattoo of claw marks
(inked on the right forearm) : a band of tattooed emerald flames
(inked upon the right wrist) : an endlessly howling wraith-like skull tattoo
(around one wrist) : a flickering elemental brand
(inked upon the left hand) : a carved and scarified soulstone tattoo
(inked on the back of the right hand) : a serpentine tattoo with a centric stylized "V"
(loose around hips) : a reinforced leather weaponbelt of the Carnifex
(tucked into boots) : deep sable riding trousers
(laced tight) : black, knee-high laced combat boots
(embedded gruesomely into the shoulder) : a crude dagger like shard of stone
H:7260 M:5668 E:100% W:99% B:100% Bl: 0 [eb]ii shard
You aren't wielding anything in either hand.
You are holding:
You are wearing:
"shard339099" a crude dagger like shard of stone, embedded gruesomely into the shoulder.
You are holding 1 items.
You are holding 1 quest item(s).
[HINT]: Attire as appropriate when worn or remove to use as a weapon/dagger or other creative ways in the trials ahead.
You have emoted: Tetchta rises from his coffin and into the desert air, fully formed and shirtless. He makes to move, by instinct, and suddenly winces as pain shoots through him. He grabs at his arm with his right hand as he hunches over in a mix of surprise and agony. The man's claws dig tight into his skin as he turns to look at his left shoulder, and a smile creeps onto his face as they fall upon a crude dagger like shard of stone. "Pain," he says softly, "Real pain." The Carnifex rights himself and shakes his left arm several times; he winces with each jostle, but manages to stay upright all the same. "Hng," a sound, vocalizing, "I accept this sacrifice." He flexes his left hand and grits his teeth as pain shoots through his body once more, tensing every muscle in his body. "Thank you, Ivoln. I'm not done yet. Not by a long shot." And with that, he tears off down the desert on foot, heading on to his next adventure.
You express your esteem of Ivoln for: HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT.
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Avatar of Fyrren drawn by the amazing Sessizlik.