Event Freeze Frame

19th - A blast of cold pierces the heart of Ravok

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A city floating in the center of a lake, Ravok is a place of dark beauty, romance and culture. Behind it all though is the presence of Rhysol, God of Evil and Betrayal. The city is controlled by The Black Sun, a religious organization devoted to Rhysol. [Lore]

Freeze Frame

Postby Elias Caldera on April 13th, 2018, 2:24 am

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She knew…

The agony was incredible, unbearable even, yet it was nothing compared to the sheer shock of the Druvin’s ruinous reveal…

She. Knew.

This changed everything! Somehow, someway, this white eyed devil had unraveled his plans, had seen through his charade and now the revelation would force him to act direly. Where to make his initial strike on this apex of a woman? Where did he land the first and final blow that would lay such physical perfection low before she could react? There was more to consider even before he had a chance to ball his hands into fists. Where did he go afterwards, how did he hide this treachery? The soldier in him that begged to be unleashed before it was too late found itself in a fight against the pragmatist and schemer that demanded they wait and work this out before the wrong step saw them all toppled over the edge. There was too much to do, too much to think about in such a fleeting instant! She knew and she had to be-

-No, wait…

There was pain, yes, but that was all. Pain he could endure, for he had been forced to endure horrors of anguish unlike any most men could fathom let alone survive. What he now suffered, though it brought his teeth to bare and his eyes nearly to water, was a triviality to what the monsters below had shown him down in the depths Ravok’s underbelly. Pain he knew, pain he had survived, but Aemeli, she couldn’t know, not really, because if she did, then the Druvin would have known that in that moment, she was his greatest enemy. She was the sickness he had spoken of personified, the thing that had to be excised and driven out lest its cancerous nature fester any further. The immortals were the worst offenders of this most unholy crime Elias leveled against Rhysol’s children, for they had squandered their god’s greatest gift in the worst way imaginable. A life unending did not mean an end to service, only the joy of its eternal satisfaction, yet what had they accomplished? What had this unblemished and hallowed creature ever managed to do for her nation or its glory? He did not know her exploits, but in his ignorance was displayed her failings. How many years had she had to demonstrate herself? How many lifetimes had she trifled away with petty games and plots like the one she now sought to entangle the stryfer in now?

“What?”

Petch’ he cursed within his mind as he struggled to keep his composure. Her finger alone had nearly brought him to the brink of unconsciousness, yet he dared not show it. Elias held his ground defiantly against her torturous whim for there was no other choice. Weakness was intolerable, such was Rhysol’s lesson to him, and none had been taken to heart more readily that this one. There was no room for those who faltered or waned, even against the likes of a Druvin. Yet still, such incredible power so tightly contained in such an incredible form, it was such a shame she squandered it. It was also a shame that exquisite form now bared down against him so intimately. It was proving easier to hide his weakness than it was the tightening in his breeches at the end of her excruciating touch. That was… a peculiar reaction, but utterly irrelevant. What mattered now was that this was too soon! Far, far too petching soon! The Caldera was bold, but not so bold as to think himself ready to be playing in the league of the divine. He needed to be careful with this -be careful with her. How then to handle this properly?

“Mistress, I’m sure I don’t understand what you mean. I am but a servant, I command none and would not dare to condemn another to such a perilous task...” Subtle now. Subtle! he thought, furiously plucking out the right words within the tumultuous soup that made up his mental options “…without proper incentive.”

Spy on the spymaster? It was madness, quite literally in this case considering what a chosen like Silvas was known for. Yet, it was a madness Elias now found himself inescapably stricken with, for how was he to deny such a request outright and still manage to keep his head? Though it had been a means of distracting her for just a while longer, the thought of a boon from one in her position did make the greedy and lecherous swordsman begin to wonder, if only for a moment. Of all things he could ask for, all things he wanted, there was only one word knew would be on the tip of his tongue the moment she agreed to lower herself to haggling with him. Only one name that truly mattered enough to be spoken aloud... but he was getting ahead of himself.

“You ask this thing of me my lady, but I don’t understand. How can you be so calm, how can you smile at a time like this?” Ravok was under attack! Its people were dead in the streets! His confusion was genuine, as was the frustration that was starting to bubble up within. He had no answers, yet Aemeli seemed like she had an abundance, though that smile told the stryfer the wicked seductress clearly had no intention of sharing. He had to ask none the less.

Straightening his posture, he stared the deathless one in her hollow eyes with a look that spoke volumes. “What do you know?” He asked resolutely. “What do you know that keeps you at such ease when all around you is collapsing into chaos?”

The soldier stiffened.

“What. Is. This?”
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Freeze Frame

Postby Prophet on April 19th, 2018, 2:32 am

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---ELIAS---

Aemeli was done with her toy. She made her demand and passed the order on to a subordinate. There was little else that need be said yet here he was--- pleading for more. She would have to ask her lover about this soldier tomorrow. Certainly, he would reveal a secret or two that she could use to twist him without causing him to scream in such a way as to wake the souls put to sleep by the layers of ice that now covered the city. Still, he had a childlike shadow that settled over his face now and again and it was that innocence that the priestess craved.

The woman shifted her weight from one leg to the other, her hip brushing against his trousers. The expression she bore indicated exactly the knowledge of what had transpired. “Ooh...if pain makes you excited, dear boy…” She squared up to him now. “Then I suggest you continue to waste my time-” Her tone’s sweetness fell away. The pitch climbed as did her volume as the playfulness on her skin fled before the rage that welled up from inside. “With your dumb arse questions!” Her knee found his groin but not to wound-- merely as a way to emphasize her point. While most men would worry about their bits, her right hand smashed against the wall near his face while the left drew a needle and stuck it under his breastplate. It might never prick him… or it might scrape him… or it could stab him and the drug it held would put him into deep hallucinations for the next three days. Such is the way of chaos.

Aemeli was terribly disinterested now and simply walked away. Though it was never just that simple. She walked slowly and with purposeful strides to display her powerful figure and the sway of her hips beneath the battle skirt of leather straps reinforced by metal studs poured into the shapes of human teeth. She had given her order. She also had a plan in place if it was not followed.
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Freeze Frame

Postby Alija on April 19th, 2018, 8:03 pm

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An old woman approached - clearly, she had heard her attempts at praying. Alija blushed at the mention, trying to hide her embarrassment at having spoken that for her to hear. But at least the woman wasn't trying to reprimand her for her failed attempts, or scold for her trying to prayer so poorly. Instead, she was putting all her faith in Rhysol, all her faith in prayers.

The blacksmith couldn't help feeling sorry for the woman. Rhysol might help, she couldn't deny that. But the gods couldn't do everything - letting this happen clearly showed that, in some shape or form. The destruction around them was too great to simply put faith in prayers. Prayers couldn't put roofs back over heads, or platforms under feet. But she didn't want to break someone's faith, so she let the old woman believe, simply nodding to show agreement and letting her leave.

It was only when the old woman was gone that Alija noticed the two men behind her. At once, her frame stiffened. One was hidden under a hood, another had a chilling white eye. Elias had mentioned people like him. Rhysol's chosen had white eyes. These were the people in charge, so of course she stiffened.

But then there was that sign of respect and a calm voice, so perhaps she was too hasty in being nervous. After all, she had done nothing wrong but ask to help and that surely had to be something good. Her lips still remained tightly sealed as he spoke, making sure to understand exactly why they had approached her of all people, out of everyone. But it only seemed to be good things. Gifts. Of course, she was scared of the poison that could come with the gifts. But it would be rude to refuse it in the first place.

Taking the necklace, she wrapped her fingers tightly around the anvil trinket. Carefully, she directed her attention towards it, squeezing tight to let the blood - and djed - rush to her fist. Slowly, she let it infuse across her palm and fingertips, feeling the surface of the anvil carefully. Not just for the physical indents and curves, but for the aura. It felt smooth to the touch, the aura did. Any bumps or cuts or strange shapes that didn't quite match the shape of the anvil would be cause for alarm - extra additions or faults in the aura that indicated something that had been meddled with. But initially she felt nothing. So perhaps it was just a gesture of kindness.

As she felt the necklace, using her fingers to read the aura instead of her eyes, she was able to keep her gaze on the men in front of her. Unless they were magic-users themselves, it would be hard to tell that her attention was divided, given her line of sight. She had forced a smile, and started in reply, "I will head west, then. I will use the best of my skills to help. Thank you, for the directions. Thank you for the necklace, too. I am honoured to be given it."

Before Ephesus could be called away by the other man, she pulled the necklace over her head, tightening it around her neck to hang just below the collarbone. She hadn't felt anything majorly dangerous - it wouldn't hurt to wear it, would it? "I'll make sure I wear it when I help." She pushed out another smile, this one easier. "Thank you. I'll let you go."

Her hand reached back, finding Kial's. "Let's go, then," she said, tugging slightly as she began to move in the direction that had been pointed. The boy hurried behind her as she made her way, fiddling with the necklace with her other hand as she did. It was a strange gift. But perhaps it would help? All she needed was to be told what to make to help out, and perhaps she'd find out.



:::A note from Prophet:::
Secret :
Alija received a small necklace with an anvil-shaped trinket upon its cord. This is an heirloom of a Black Sun member who passed it on not knowing of its power. Every time Alija prays to Rhysol, a bit of his essence will deposit itself into the amulet to be stored until she forges something. Any object she makes after praying to the god of Chaos has the potential to be cursed. Once enough prayers are made, the items she creates will start to gain an allure. People will seek these items through no fault of their own other than the pure chaos twisting reality around the objects to make them appear nicer/better/sturdier/etc. Alija will not know or detect this as an aurist because the divine magic at work is beyond the field of vision for the personal magic.
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Freeze Frame

Postby Elias Caldera on April 20th, 2018, 3:30 am

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A Few Bells Later...

Another massive chunk of ice gave way from the building’s frozen exterior, its hulking mass crashing to the street below in a thunderous explosion of shards.

Elias payed the frigid spectacle no mind, for by now he had seen its likes a hundred times over. The Ravokian focused instead on the magical work at hand he’d set himself to for the better part of two bells now. A dozen different orbs of res circled and danced about the structure, zipping from left to right, to and fro, working tirelessly to undo the disastrous ice on behalf of their pale master’s will. Naturally, his reimancy proved invaluable in the aftermath of the calamitous attack, as did his other arcane talents. Whether it was his auristics assisting rescue teams discover the trapped and injured, his flux when it came to moving aside heavy obstacles, or even his hypnotism when the hurt or grieving needed to be calmed and consoled in their hour of need, his djed poured forth from the sorcerer in wave after wave in service to his city, yet for all he gave, no art demanded so much of him as did his bending fo the elements.

He had torn apart the ice with his res, or set it to blaze with great gouts of fire, and when either option proved too indelicate for the task, he’d resorted to boiling lake water in massive floating globules and then applying it to the remnants of the icy attack that still gripped much of the city. Though he was not the only mage the stryfe had unleashed against this monumental task of restoring the affected platforms to working order, it felt as if he was all alone in a fight against the goddess Morwen herself. The struggle was endless, and sweat poured from his brown in rivers despite the chilled hellscape that encapsulated every street corner and alleyway around him. He’d lost count of how many homes he’d freed from the frosty torment by then, and even the number of citizens he’d helped along the way was but a distant memory, for the truth of the matter was the mage’s heart may have been in it, but his mind was elsewhere.

For Elias thoughts were still wracked with the memory of the white eyed devil who’d caught him.

Aemeli, this cruel and cunning creature who’d slithered from the shadows in the wake disaster had him transfixed even in her absence. Her gaze, a milky, endless void of uncertainty and playful brutality still had the stryfer pinned to that wall long after she’d made her exit. She was all the scarred man could think about even as he delved diligently into effort of saving his city.

Spy on another of Rhysol’s chosen? She had expected such service from him so readily, yet had not the wherewithal to ensure his loyalty in the manner. She had made the request as if it were as simple a matter of picking up her dry cleaning! How could she ask- how could she demand so much and promise to repay with so little? If it had been anyone else other than another Druvin, the matter would have been simple, for he would have done it and been glad for the opportunity. In setting him against one of her peers though, she had forced Elias into a corner, and after the ancient seductress had made it all too clear she had no intention of rewarding him for the perilous mission, it had only made things all the more troubling. He’d been pondering the situation he now found himself in ever since their thrilling confrontation, and in all honesty, the idea he’d formed the moment she’d rejected him was still the same as the one he now bore;

Aemeli was his enemy.

She had to be undone, for what other choice was there when it came to a foe such as her? Immortal, immoral, and dangerous to a degree unprecedented in the swordsman’s past, she may have been a subject of the Defiler, but Elias could not allow himself to be killed simply for the sake of her seemingly petty whim. What bothered the stryfer most however, what truly ruined the giantess in his eyes, was the fact that she hadn’t even batted at eye at the suffering of what were meant to be her people. Such coldness threatened to frost over even the ice that had seized the city, and spoke ill of his own hopes of survival.

Why, of all times, had she chosen now to do this? The priestess had not answered his desperate question in the end, and he couldn’t have been certain whether or not that meant she knew something, or was hiding something… both of which were equally unsettling.

Regardless, for whatever reason, the Druvin had picked him to be play the part of the puppet, but Elias had sworn his strings cut the day Rhysol cursed his flesh. He had to make his stand, had to bring her down before she could do the same to him and end his holy mission before it had even begun. The Caldera knew he could not accomplish such a herculean feat on his own however, which was where the old adage ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ came in to play.

The Keeper of the Well would either prove the soldier’s salvation in this, or his utter damnation, and it was impossible to tell which, but Elias had few options but to risk it. Hopefully, if god was good and gracious, the master of madness would find worth in the pale killer’s allegiance, along with a degree of gratitude for bringing word of Aemeli’s attempts at espionage on his person.

…or, the man would simply kill him outright for the disturbance. He had a feeling such clandestine chicanery was not uncommon in the house of the Black Sun, let alone for those ageless ones who delved deep into such intrigue and ploys on a daily basis. Elias hadn’t ever been so close to a chosen before, let alone spoken to one so… intimately, but now that he’d been in the presence of the divine twice, he was starting to think his perceived perception of the Druvin was not entirely what he had once believed. Of course, such was the way of things with a great deal of Ravok in the end.

Silvas had to be different from his curvaceous counterpart though, he just had to be, for if he proved otherwise, there was no coy way to put it…

Elias would be utterly petched.
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Freeze Frame

Postby Shiress on April 22nd, 2018, 6:06 pm

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5th Bell


Shiress lay in her cot, chained of course, as she was every evening since being claimed by Radcliffe Lark. The cot beside her was empty however, the young occupant, a house slave, was no doubt finishing up the cleaning of the evening meal. Elene was a beautiful, golden haired young girl, no more than 13 summers old, and had become one of Shiress's closest friends since coming to the Lark estate. The two slaves shared a small -very small- room with two cots, that nearly touched the other, with barely enough room for one to move between.

There were twin chains running from each cot to a metal bolt in the wall above each bed, here both girl's were chained every night, or when ever they were in their rooms. Elene had far more freedom about the Lark house, being a scullion, than Shiress did, and so the older woman found herself chained, alone, more than not. As where the early evening had found the chestnut haired slave, chained to her cot, empty water cup, and soup bowl, nearby, and a wistful Shiress, lying on her back, eyes focused on the ceiling, hands resting thoughtfully on her stomach.

Her thoughts swirled, but mostly was focused on the boy Kelvic, Rook, and the confused bundle of new emotion that he caused her. Shiress...missed him, longed to be near him, but it was nothing like anything she had ever felt before; she needed to know he was okay, but knew, in some strange, magical, way that he was.

That's when it happened.

In all her life, Shiress would never do justice to describing the sound that had jarred her from her musing that Spring day. From the depth of thought a loud, piercing shriek of....something....as if Rhysol himself had torn a rift in the very essence of air, ripped through Shiress's awareness. Bolting straight up in her cot, chains clinking in the wake of her movement, the slave waited a long time before the door flew open, revealing Elene in the doorway.

"Ice!" the young slave exclaimed, her face pale, "there's ice everywhere! People are...frozen...screaming..."

Shiress slowly stood and moved as far toward Elene as her chains allowed. "Elene, what do you mean?" Just then the slave warden moved in behind Elene. A nasty being, mean and spiteful, short and bean pole thin, the woman would make Shiress hate a tight hair bun for the rest of her life. "Never you mind, slave. You need not..."

"Wait!" Shiress interjected boldly "I can help! I have medical skill!" The tight lipped woman gave the older slave a very long look, then shifted her gaze outside the door. "Guard! Come!" Shiress watched as a young, dark haired Lark guard stepped up to the short woman. "Undo this one's chains, she is to see to the injured, guard her with penalty to your life!" The guard clicked his heels together in some sort of a solute and ducked into the room, deftly undoing the chains with a twist of a key. "Come." he said "I know where there are many injured.."

6th Bell


Shiress slumped against a doorway, shivering, the cold biting against her skin now that she stood still. Her appointed guard, Kylar, as he had finally told her his name after becoming annoyed at being referred to as 'Hey You' so many times, stood close by, though he allowed the respite. Shiress had been informally charged with the triage of the victims of this strange explosion of ice, assessing injuries, and determining who should go to the overwhelmed healers, and who could wait, or those whom she could treat herself.

"Miss?" Called a voice behind her and Shiress spun in sync with her guard, to see a young, light haired boy swaying where he stood, blood running from a cut on his head. Shiress took a hasty step toward him, brushing back blonde curls to see the wound, but the boy pulled away, shaking his head. "I..I'm okay," he said, voice trembling, "it's my Da, he's hurt bad," tears welled in the young boy's eyes, "Our roof caved in and.." The slave held up a hand, forestalling the boy, glancing up to her guard, questionably.

The boy's home was obviously off the Lark Estate and it would be left for the guard to decide. Kylar, indecisive glance slid from Shiress to the boy, then back again to Shiress, but before he could say anything Shiress interjected, "You have my word -I wont do anything but see to his Father." The guard nodded once and Shiress looked to the boy, "Go," she said, nodding in the direction from which he had come, "take us to him."

They were led to a small cottage where one side of the roof was collapsed downward. Shiress took a deep breath, stilling her fear that the rest would fall in on herself, and followed the boy inside. The man was face down, unmoving, with the lower half of his body buried to the hips under the fallen roof. Without having to asked, Kylar began moving what debris he could off the man, as Shiress knelt down beside him.

"What's your Da's name?" she asked gently, hand surreptitiously moving before the prone man's nose and mouth, checking for breath.

"Luke." he replied, fighting back tears.

"And yours?" she asked.

"Michael" came the reply.

Shiress nodded, "Grab that blanket over there, Michael, and go wait outside. I don't want you to be in here if this roof falls more, OK?"

The boy nodded and moved away. Once he was out of earshot, Shiress glanced to the guard. "He's breathing, but its labored." she noted, grimly, "Try and get that off him as fast as you can." Leaning down, she called the man's name and he stirred, opening his eyes. Relief washed through Shiress and she smiled at him.

"Where do you hurt?" she asked him.

"My leg" he grunted, "there's something stabbed through it."

Shiress nodded and moved down to where his legs were buried and began moving what she could off them. It took some time, but with her, and the guard both laboring, they finally freed Luke enough for Shiress to finally got a look at the man's injury. A long, broken shaft of wood had gone completely through Luke's thigh, leaving several inches of wood protruding on the opposite side. Shiress drew in a long breath, seeing the amount of blood pooling beneath the man's leg. "It's hit something in his leg," she sighed,looking up at Kylar,"a large vein, an artery and we need to get him out now." She glanced down and gave Luke a pitying look. "We are going to have to pull your leg off that wood and it's going to hurt." She said, hand squeezing the man's shoulder.

The guard knelt beside Shiress, and with a nod of her head, Kylar slowly slid the impaled leg free. Blood instantly cascaded like a fountain from the wound and Luke screamed, then went limp. Shiress ripped a long piece of fabric from the man's tattered shirt and wrapped it around his leg, just above the river of blood. Grabbing a piece of wood from the floor beside her, she tied it into the cloth, then twisted the wood into it, drawing the cloth tightly around the man's thigh. Slowly, the river of blood slowed, but did not fully stop. "Can you carry him?" Shiress asked, and without a word, Kylar stood, leaned down, and took the unconscious man up into his arms and walked from the cottage.

Shiress followed, grabbing Michael by the hand in passing, smiling down at him.

"I think your Da is going to be okay."

Glancing around at the web of ice, Shiress's heart broke at the thought that so many other Ravokians wouldn't be.

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Freeze Frame

Postby Oleander Soleran on May 4th, 2018, 2:32 pm

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Oleander had never been much of a night dweller, but even an early bird like him was not used to waking before the fifth bell, especially when no work called for him to get out of bed before sunrise. There was something different that morning, but it would take him another few chimes to find out what it was. Those first moments were spent blinking, swiping the remnants of sleep from the corners of his eyes, considering whether or not it was worth leaving the warmth and comfort of the hostel bed to refresh himself – it wasn’t. He peeked over at the other side of the room: As expected, Hortense was still fast asleep, half-hidden under a tower of blankets. Everything seemed fine, except for that lurking feeling of strangeness. Shrugging it off, Oleander turned to his other side and closed his eyes.

It couldn’t have lasted longer than a few ticks before the wave of cold hit him. There was a flash through the window, and an unbearable sound the likes of which he’d never heard before. He thought he could hear glass breaking elsewhere, but the windows in their room thankfully endured.

Before Oleander had a chance to react, Hortense shot up from her bed, already wide awake, eyes wide like saucers. “What’s happening?”, she asked, voice pitching a little too high, then she sprinted for the window.

“Hortense, maybe we should stay back, wait this out-”

“Oh shut up, Oleander, and look at this.” Hortense stood at the window, rubbing the heel of her hand over the window, melting clear space into what seemed to be frost. Frost? Oleander had almost forgotten the concept of feeling truly cold. He had not seen snow in several years. When his sister took her hand away, he knelt to look through the hole. The city was frozen solid, glinting in unreal shades of blue and white. A fine sheen of ice covered the canal, one could’ve walked over to Odds and Ends without using a bridge – in fact, one would have had to, considering the bridge was in pieces. In between houses, Oleander could see open spaces where there should have been establishments. A cold shiver ran down his spine, and he wasn’t sure if it was the implications that disturbed him or the actual physical cold emanating from the window.

He stepped back, and pulled Hortense by a sleeve. His sister’s gaze was still transfixed on the phenomenon outside. “How did this happen?”, she whispered, stunned and hardly able to believe her eyes. “Oleander, what did this?” Her eyes shot to her brother, but he was just as clueless. “Does it have to do with Rhysol?”

He shook his head. “If there are gods involved, it’s bound to be Morwen. Perhaps some strange magic?”

“It’s scary”, Hortense said, and for once, her fright seemed genuine. “I hope that was a one time event.”
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Freeze Frame

Postby Vanguard on December 3rd, 2018, 2:59 am

Judgment Is Upon Thee!



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