Quest Night of Masks [Closed]

The Night of Masks begins!

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A lawless town of anarchists, built on the ruins of an ancient mining city. [Lore]

Moderator: Regime

Night of Masks [Closed]

Postby Regime on January 23rd, 2019, 10:28 am

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40th Day of Winter, 518 A.V.
3rd bell, Night.


The stars abruptly shone through the mire of the Slag heaps fog that typically occluded it all on the foulest of evenings. The uplifting plums of smog made the air heady and full of libation as revelry could always be found near it. The city took pride in the burning slag. A symbol of freedom to scum and civilian alike.

While one side of the coin chose to party, the others felt a sense of purposeful duty. More people than usual wandered the city this night. All of them dressed for combat. Their hands grasping at the wooden surfaces of gem encrusted masks. Many seemed to move about with wanderlust, while others congregated throughout the city along the roads south of Riverside. At the third bell of the new day, each of them began to hide their faces behind their masks, as was their orders.

***


The flickering of a candle on a table danced with the movements of a swaying ship. The wood of the ship creaked heavily, no doubt straining against water as wind caught within its sails to guide it further inland to the rivers fork at the center of the city from the mouth of Baroque Bay. To those who reveled in the Sunberthan nightlife, it must have been a shock to see the Slab-ship that once seemed to have been petrified at the pier now moving for the first time in many seasons. The sounds of a crew managing its sails could hardly be seen by normal means in dark of night, but it was clear some sailors had gotten it to move.

The sun had long since set as the third bell of the day had just begun. A raised voice muffled from a door nearby, breaking the ambiance of the waters outside. It caused Stiletto to arch their head slowly from the bed they rested on within the captains quarters of the saique merchant ship. The voice continued with a low drawl.

It called out like the sound of light blubbering, the early stage of crying.

When the door opened, Stiletto stood to their feet while dressed in their typically obtuse armor, with their face obscured by a helm of exquisite design. The Boss smirked under their helm as they gazed upon their new visitor. 'The Mother' took a deep breath as she entered the quarter. She walked towards her leader as she ran her fingers along the mask in her hand. She looked gaunt and pale. The contrast made the milky white of her burn scar and cataracted eye shine all the brighter in the candle light.

There were dark circles under her eyes and tired lines on her face. But it only made her seem more mature. More experienced. "The Children are ready." The woman said with a sly smirk. It caused Stiletto to reach to their side to pinch the candles wick which snuffed out its flame.

"Good. And our dear Doctor?" Mother gave Stiletto a nod before putting on a mask of her own. A helm of her own, quite similar to Stiletto's helm as she walked by their side on the way to the cargo hold, it made the two look as if odd twins.

The Slab made everyone on the ship uneasy, save for Stiletto and Doctor Petricious who currently stood behind it, carving a sharpened blade across its surface which caused its marble-flesh to separate. Its wounds brought the Doctor relief and the Slab a sense of belonging.

For a person without fear, Stiletto was able to look upon the Slab with esoteric intrigue. The Slab was something in the realm of mixed presences, possibly categorized under alien sycophant and non-euclidian art. It was beautiful in its own way.

Its body was like that of a pycon made of marble, human sized, its rectangular central body had grown over the seasons since summer to the size of a man's torso; a squared girth of a rib cage. Stiletto had watched it evolve over time, from walking like a spider with three legs protruding from each of its longer sides. To now standing on two horse like legs of its own. Although, the spiders legs now acted like bladed arms in a violent Eypharian fashion.

As Stiletto stared upon it while walking down the decks steps, they could tell its deepest horror. The Boss's nose sniffed at the corruption in the air. It smelt of a person trapped in a cell, left to rot in their own fecal matter, left to remain in a self-depreciating prison of loneliness. The Slab's fear was a tactile thing to the Krivas who enjoyed the taste. It did not want to be alone. It was like a needy child, far too human in many of the worst ways.

"My friends, shall we play?" Stiletto stated in the most soothing of tones, their tone of voice falling into the lowest form of masculine effeminacy, or vice versa.

Stiletto welded that fear to control the Slab, but put no trust in the magical nature of the creature. It was why they needed the Doctor. It was a tool that could be useful and from behind it, Sunberth's very own Mad Doctor happily stood as the wielder of this tool.

The Doctor was calm with an impassive face. He didn't seem to mind that the creature now stood a head taller than him. The sound Stiletto heard came from the Slab. It had no mouth, yet its body gurgled like blood caught in a throat. That gurgling stopped once a long vertical slit opened across its chest as it opened its eye to flicker a glance over Stiletto.

"I told you, waiting to see what it could become has paid off. Hasn't it darling?" The Doctor said while keeping one hand on the slab, petting it with a sharpened knife. The slow pets etching the blade deeper into its side. The slab made a sound that could only be pain... or pleasure. All Mother knew was that the sound made even her feel unnerved.

The Doctor peeled away the piece of Slab with his fingers, squishing it between his fingers before holding it out towards The Mother. "Here is yours." She glanced towards Stiletto, who gave her a nod that seemed to break her caution. She took the piece of the slab, then started to press it against the forehead of her helm in a way that many Daggerhand's were told to do with their own wooden masks.

***


Sunberth had learned to stay away from the ship. It had learned its lesson from the random bursts of sunlight that gave Mr. Wigglemouth his new mouthful of appendages. However, on this night a cloud of energy erupted from the ship in all directions. Its color a vibrant purple as it passed through the city like a swam of ghosts. Phasing through buildings as it spread throughout the whole of the city. Those who were sleeping would no doubt be forced awake from the chilling cold of the wave. While those who were awake emptied out onto the streets in a panic as to what just happened. Cries of 'Mages!' started to sound through the city.

There was only one violent wave which dissipated once it reached the edges of the city, but its work had been done. Panic, frenzy, and horror. Screaming radiated through the city as people began to fear the worst and run for the mines upon one sudden realization.

Ghosts! Undead? Nuit!

While the first was true, the latter were false. Old Jebediah of the Dust Bed swiftly moved into action as soon as he realized many of his zones had been wiped of their protection. He moved to maintain the biggest threats, but a great deal of lesser ghosts had been freed. A woman ran from the Castle Commons as she saw the ghost of her husband get dragged through the streets with chains pierced through his ghastly face. As she ran, a masked Daggerhand followed behind her unmolested by the spiritual beings. The Daggerhand's started to wash through the Western Heights with murderous intent to take the territory for themselves. Meanwhile, other small groups assaulted the Sun's Refuge territory directly from the shock and awe.

The militant Sun's were caught with their pants down as a gang war hit them from their flank. The Masked Men who wore no gang insignia leading the Sun's into believe the Night Eyes were attacking in the confusion! And just maybe, they were as well?

OOC :
Ghosts, gangs, masks, and monsters.

Lots of things, much to do.

This is a city wide event. However, things will go a bit differently than usual.

  • Post to this thread with your introduction.

  • There is no set posting order for this thread. Once the main thread hits a fifth page, I will make a new thread to continue it, and so on, and so forth for grading purposes.

  • I will post as much, or as little as necessary to keep the thread going.

    Inevitably, depending on the acts you take. I will then make separate threads that branch off from this thread to focus on your specific situations.

    Or I will tell you to make a separate thread with the thread title "[Night of Masks] your title here" to keep things organized. Big group threads can get bogged down, so I will try to maintain it by breaking things down when necessary. Should you also want to do your own things away from the plot during the event, I will give you plot seeds that don't require my mod attention for you to solo.

  • If you are apart of a gang, send me a PM for how your faction is reacting or involved.

  • If you have encountered the slab at any point, your PC will be pestered by ghost far more than those who haven't. If your pc has in any way obtained a piece of the slab, it will cause ghosts to avoid you.

  • About the ghosts. As you write about random ghosts, Roll a d20 when it comes to the ghosts you write about:

    On a 2-10 you encounter a ghost with novice levels of ability.

    On an 11 - 19, you encounter a ghost of competent ability.

    On a 1 or 20, you encounter a ghost of expert level.

  • PM me if you have any questions.

Ghosts are everywhere.
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Night of Masks [Open]

Postby Anja Nightwatcher on January 23rd, 2019, 9:26 pm

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A dirge of shaking agony swept through the streets of Sunberth, heralding the cries of fear and dismay flying from the lips of a thousand wakened men. Anja was awake in a flash. That violet wave rousing people from their beds hummed with the force of a thousand dead souls, leaving chaos and terror in it's wake. Anja had come to know this song all too well in his time here. And as he rushed to his window to peer out at the dark streets swarmed with paranoid laden men, the Eiyon lightly touched the scythe-shaped mark on his palm. The dead were singing, and the gale of it resonated in his bones. Something was coming, and soon.

Anja was a man who woke and set to work as soon as Syna's light shone across the dilapidated streets, and as such he felt himself mostly unworried by lack of sleep with dawn only hours away. Within a few steps he was in the Great Room. The residents of the Gem had risen, groggy, anxious, confused, or worried as according to their nature. “Something is coming,” Anja told them. “Ghosts I think. We need to protect the Gem.” And with that, Anja set to work.

The first task at hand was wards. He set up two; the first set of the ghostbeads was strung around the perimeter of Great Room, and charged with unused soulmist from the previous day. Anja cursed his limited amount of Ghostbeads, but what he had could at least protect the Great Room and the Stables. As Anja worked, he instructed the residents of the Gem to move everything of importance into the warded area; blankets, food, valuables. It was difficult to know what the following siege would look like, and the Spiritist advocated for preparedness.

The second ward was put around the Stables. Anja gave Maisa firm instructions to keep Moth within the warded zone, and from the serious look in the Strider's eyes Anja knew that his beloved companion would take him very seriously. He moved the chickens into the Stables as well, a challenging task considering their state of alarm, but Maisa set to work calming and herding them with soft touches of her nose and gentle nickers. Once the animals were safe and secure, the Drykas set to the second task at hand: offense.

“I need to see your weapons,” Anja told the residents of the Gem. “All of them.” As one-by-one weapons were set before the Drykas he took his time to infuse each and every one of them with soulmist, and explained his reasoning to the residents. “These weapons will now harm ghosts,” Anja told them, palming one such infused weapon in his hand and showing it to its owner. “You cannot kill a ghost,” Anja explained. “But if you do enough damage to it, it will be too weak to fight you. These are your weapons, so I trust you know how to use them. Be careful and don't engage if you don't have to. Ghosts know many tricks that you may not be able to defend against. But at the very least, you will be able to harm them with these.”

Anja didn't have nearly enough soulmist on hand to be able to infuse all the weapons, so he was forced to prepare more. He burned through his reserves of materials in making the soulmist, and Ebon was nearly beside himself as he watched Anja cut himself with his own blade in order to get the blood necessary for the recipe. The kelvic immediately healed Anja afterwards, the cut from which the blood came from sealing up immediately. But then Anja did it again. And again. As much as was necessary to protect his family. Anja infused his own blade with soulmist and, after a flash of inspiration, did the same with his gloves. With luck, it might allow him to grab hold of a roving ghost should it be necessary. Every small little bit could help, and Anja was also open to suggestions from the residents of the Gem should they have any interesting ideas.

“I'm not sure how long I should stay here,” Anja admitted. “The Gem should be safe...or at least as safe as it can get for the moment. If anyone runs into trouble they can return here, although I think at least one person should remain here to look after the wards...perhaps Ember or Ebon? Regardless, I think I should go look for Jeb.” Anja bit his tongue at the thought. He and his fellow Eiyon were not on terribly good terms, but if anyone knew what was going on and how he could help the situation, his employer would be the person to ask. “What of the rest of you?” Anja asked. “What are your plans?”
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Night of Masks [Open]

Postby Kelski on January 24th, 2019, 1:31 am

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Kelski was deep in connection with The Gem when the wave of terror washed over the city. Emotions of panic, frenzy, and horror corrupted the streets of Sunberth in an almost tangible tsunami of assault that the newly birthed and raised building felt acutely. Its strong link to its Kelvic mother kept it solidly firm as the Architectrix Mage locked onto its awareness and did a mental version of a mother shaking a child, getting its full attention, and making it look into its mother’s eyes as a storm broke over it. “Me… focus on me!” Kelski’s firm mental hold locked on to The Gem and steadied it, preventing it from doing a magical version of a building picking up its basement beams like a lady gathering her skirts, and making a run for it.

One breath, two breaths, and then the awareness of others within The Gem launching into action all assisted Kelski in settling the building and reassuring it. All was not right – she wouldn’t lie to it – but it didn’t merit embracing the fear and letting it control oneself was the right thing to do. Being strong for someone else – stabilizing them by being an anchor – helped Kelski to not succumb to the fear herself. It wasn’t a natural feeling emotion, but something out of the blue that reminded Kelski of loud noises used by farmers to drive off birds or the terrifying barking of dogs that flushed game out of the brush. She wasn’t going to run, and nor was The Gem.

Once the building was calmer, Kelski gently broke the deep link, leaving a lighter connection and raced out onto the balcony. She leaned over the railing, then slipped out of her clothing, shifted and took wing to the air. Kelski quickly circled Baroque Bay, and flew further out noting all she could see. The ghosts were terrifying to her, swarming below seemingly almost herded by the masked men… masks she remembered working on. There were fighters, and a battle brewing, but to Kelski the most terrifying thing of all was the sight of the slag ship sailing up the Mudway past her home and deeper into the city.

Winging home, she landed neatly on the balcony, darted past the oversized man’s shirt she had been wearing for evening wear, and raced for her room to shrug on her leathers and soft noiseless boots. Kelski then shrugged into her night armor, glad that long ago she’d blackened every ounce of shine on the outfight, matting out the metal and muting everything into more and more layers of deep shadowy colors. She braided her hair into a tight coil, then tucked it under a leather hood that matched her armor and hid the paleness of her face.

Then she slipped out into the main living room where Anja was already busy and pulled her weapons to lay out on the table for Anja’s work. “There are ghosts everywhere! Its… it’s the most frightening thing I’ve ever seen.” Kelski admitted, shaking her head, almost shuddering. “I was over the city, far above them, and they were still terrifying.” The Kelvic said, shaking a moment like a bird ruffling and resetting her feathers. “But the worst thing is the slab ship… its sailing inland with people aboard. That slab… its sentient, powerful, and the magic it contains…. its…. its nothing that needs to be in the city. I’m going to burn the ship…. as it sails if I can. We have a good supply of lamp oil… I’m going to take it and Akajia’s Pathways and light it on fire. Maybe if I can stop it in the water before its landfalls upstream wherever its going, it will help.” Kelski said low, viciously, her predator nature coming forth. “If I can see it from the shore, I can get on it.” She said, watching Anja coat weapons with soulmist. She wasn’t sure exactly what soulmist was, but she knew she had to hurry and that they would make her weapons somehow effective against ghosts.

As Anja worked over the weapons, Kelski gathered two large glass gallon jars of lamp oil – the heavy type that lasted months refilling lamps of all kinds – and loaded them into her backpack. She added strips of cloth from an old torn shirt which she soaked in the lamp oil as well. She made sure she had her flint and steel, and then collected her weapons when Anja was done. She made sure her arrows and bolts for her crossbow were done as well, before she gave the Drykas a quick hug and departed out the door.

Kelski could move faster than a running human could slipping from shadow to shadow Nightstalking through her line of sight. If she could see one shadow, she could step into one beside her and out of one further away. It allowed her to trace her way up Baroque Bay and follow the Mudway until she drew parallel with the ship. Then, using her incredibly good vision, she stepped into a shadow, and out of one on the deck of the ship in a place she judged was away from immediate prying eyes. She tried to come out on the poop deck of the vessel, immediately pulling one jar from her backpack, uncorking it, and spilling its contents across the deck there. Using the flint and steel in her hand, she’d spark it to light and attempt to step into another shadow to the next location… hoping the flare of fire would draw attention away from the hold.

If she could do it, she’d move around the ship in the shadows, hiding there Nightstalker fashion, stepping into one and out of another making her way to the opposite side of the ship as close to the hold or any stairway down she could. Then, hopefully when everyone was distracted, she’d pull the second large glass jar, uncork it, and stuff the soaked rags into the top Molotov cocktail style. Kelski would find a way down… the cargo door, the stair down to the captain’s cabin… a crew entrance… anything and light the wick… tossing the second bottle of oil down into the ship.

Then she’d run…. hard and fast, getting to the nearest shore shadow she could from the nearest big enough shadow cast by anything on the ship. It was a bold move, but Akajia gave her gifts for a reason and Sunberth – as appallingly horrid as the city was – had grown on her. She didn’t want this power loose on it… especially if she could stop it mid-river with fire.

If she made it back to the shore through the shadows, she’d keep running… from shadow to shadow to shadow. Kelski would be looking for a place to observe her work, to see if the ship lit up or if they got the fire suppressed in any way. She had no more oil or the act of surprise to attack again, but perhaps she could wrap more of the oiled rags around crossbow bolts and send them into the ship from the shore if none of her actions bore fruit.
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Night of Masks [Open]

Postby Kynier on January 25th, 2019, 1:23 am

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The deck of The Sunset Tide gently pitched in the calm waters of the harbor. Seawater lightly lapped at the hull in a soothing rhythm to null out any other sounds Kynier might have to strain to hear. Starlight reflected of the deep dark blue. And for once, he was nearly convinced that he wasn’t in the city of anarchy. He sat cross-legged on the deck with his back resting against the starboard wall. Kynier’s hands were in his lap, the fingers of his right resting on those of his left as the tips of his thumbs were lightly pressed together. Eyes were vaguely fixed on the horizon as he took slow breaths that fell in unison with the crashing of waves on the shore unintentionally. Next to him rested his magical pack which contained all his possessions.

The approach of the third bell had crept up on him like a shadow on someone that wasn’t a Nightstalker, unnoticed. Time was one of the last things he was giving any thought about. A few bells of sleep had been captured that night before his Svefra hostess returned to the cabin with… company. Gladly, he had submitted to her wishes for him to vacate the ship’s cabin so that their entertainment could ensue. In the peace of the night, the mage had taken to meditation and was attempting to enter that strange state of being as he quietly muttered a mantra to himself.

It was a mantra about magic, specifically Reimancy, and an approach on how to use the discipline for the betterment of others. Kynier had received it earlier in the Winter and had been slowly memorizing it. Now, with his eyes on the verge of closing, and his lungs full of the fresh sea air, he was slowly reciting the words. Kynier was not speaking the words but trying to feel them and their meaning. Ever since he spoke to the crazed Jamoura, Kynier had been making more of an effort to understand the enigmatic concepts one could find in meditation. That it was one-part poetry and another part philosophy. There was more meaning than the words themselves that intellectual thoughts could not grasp. Meanings that had to be felt when the mind was clear of distraction.

In the midst of his meditation there was a sensation that Kynier couldn’t explain. One that caused him to open his eyes more and pause his chanting. What he felt he did not recognize and did his best to shrug it off and continue. Only a few ticks later he had another sensation. The silent rumble of a wind quickly approaching. Kynier sat up a little higher and turned his head to look over the side of the ship towards the city. A vibrant purple haze was swiftly approaching and had enshrouded every building. As it rushed towards the water, Kynier ducked his head back down for cover. The haze passed through the wood and felt as though it were passing through him as well, sending a cold shiver throughout his body.

After a chime the haze dissipated and left behind an unusual energy that covered the mage’s skin in bumps. Kynier stood up and looked at the buildings lining the harbor as shouts already began to echo the word “Mage” throughout the night. Kynier had never seen or heard of anything like that. Without further delay, he knelt down by his pack and began to strip off his clothing to dawn on his armor. Slipping into the leather first then strapping on the steel vambraces, rerebraces, greaves, and cuisses to this arms and legs. Then he pulled his dark green burgler’s vest overtop the armor and filled the hidden pockets with several magic items. The Mighty Quill, the Amulet of Desire, the Ring of Transference, the Ring of the Black Mouse, and his Stone of Tuvrenan filled the pockets along with his lockpicking tools.

As he gathered his tools and strapped his weapons to the belt, he heard other calls echoing over the water. Cries of ghosts and spirits. His breath froze for an instant at the thought of ghosts. None of his experiences with them had been pleasant and Kynier would’ve been perfectly content to never have another one. On the off-chance that life would not indulge such a wish, he took out the bowl Anja had gotten him a few seasons ago for making soulmist. No longer caring about the privacy of his hostess’s activities, Kynier entered the cabin and gathered the few supplies available to create soulmist as the Ghost Hunter had shown him.

The result of it were two vials worth of weak, white tinted soulmist. His skills in the World Magic where laughable and the lifespan of his efforts was likely to be minimal. So, he stowed the soulmist into two vials and added one to each pant pocket for easy access. Kynier told Kailani that she would likely be safest if she took The Sunset Tide out to sea and that he was going to investigate what was happening in the city. Whether she took his advice or not, the mage departed the cabin and nearly stepped off the deck before he stopped.

With a quick look down at himself, Kynier realized how easy it would be to identify him. The steel armor glinted Leth’s light off its surface and his vest was something he often wore. With a deep exhale, he delved into his soul for his Djed. As he brought it out from his soulcore, Kynier plucked a few strands of hair off his head. With his hands he coated his armor, his vest, the blades of his cold iron shortswords, and even his face from the bridge down with magic. A weave was spun, one that he added the plucked hair too and concentrated on blocking sight. It took the hair and unnatural darkness concealed his face from the eyes down, his armor, his primary weapons, and his vest.

Now disguised, Kynier set off at a light jog down the pier towards the city. A song of chaos was ringing in the night. Not the usual anarchy, but that of terror with fringed hatred. People were running through the streets either in a panic or with a sense of purpose. And they were not alone. Before Kynier could enter the first alley he saw them. The ghosts. Everywhere, disturbing as many people as they could. For an instant he took in the sheer quantity of the apparitions that were present before reaching into his pocket for one of the vials of soulmist. He took it out and felt an unnatural chill approach that his magic cloak could not counteract. Glancing up, several ghosts were abandoning their prey to come at him.

“Shyke.”



Ghost Rolls :
RPBotBOT 1/24/2019 at 8:07 PM
@Kynier rolled 22. (3 + 1 + 8 + 3 + 7 = 22)



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Night of Masks [Open]

Postby Sadie Sundown on January 31st, 2019, 3:45 pm

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A yawn attempted to dislocate Sadie's jaw as she did a final wipe down of the kitchen. It had been a long day of prepping, cooking, sorting out inventory, more cooking, and more prep, among a host of other duties that came along with being a cook at a tavern. As a relatively newcomer to the Pig's Foot, she was often tasked with more cleaning and prep. Especially cleaning.

"Petch, I could use a drink," she grumbled as she rinsed and wrung out her washing rag.
Although it had been much of the usual, albeit somewhat busier than the norm at the Foot, there had been an unusual feeling that had settled in the tavern. As the night had tucked itself around the city, a sense of excitement had begun to build in the tavern, filling the air with the kind of energy that did not require her to use auristics to feel; it could be heard in the rumble of voices that seemed a bit louder than usual, a few nervous laughs and glances from some of the younger folk in the crowd. A general energy had wound it's way through the crowd... anticipation. It was almost as though a festival was approaching, though she could not recall such an event occurring this time of year.
'It's your exhaustion speaking,' she told herself. The sinking feeling in her abdomen suggested otherwise.

'Besides, the sooner you finish this, the sooner you can return to your bed. Mmmm, bed.'

Shrugging away her unease, Sadie rinsed and wrung the rag out once more, placed it by the hearth to dry and grabbed a bucket. A pot of water simmered away over the cooking fire, waiting her for to ladle some out into her bucket, where she would then add some cooler water from one of the barrels that rested by the wall.

Sadie set about her task, filling her bucket two thirds with hot, before lugging it over to the barrel and finishing the last third with cold. She had used slightly more hot water for the various utensils that lay drying on a table on top of cloths, including the row of cooking knives. She had checked the knives for any nicks or dullness, setting those that required any attention aside for later. However, unlike the cooking utensils, the floors would require more scrubbing and thus, water, so she divided the remaining water accordingly.

Another yawn threatened to break free as she went to grab the mop. Just as Sadie's hand closed around the smoothed wooden handle, her breath rushed out from her lungs. A sudden chill had seized her, and her eyes widened in shock as she saw the purple wave pass through the wall before her eyes. For a chime or two, she gasped for air, her knuckles white as she gripped the mop for some sense of stability. It took her another chime to regain some semblance of control, shaken as she was, forcing herself to breath slowly.

"Djed," she whispered, in a mix of awe and horror.
Then she heard the screams.

"Petch!"
With hardly a thought, Sadie immediately dropped the mop and ran to bar the side door to the kitchen with a pair of chairs; who knew what a person blinded by fear and terror could do, or worse yet, those who liked to take advantage of such confusion... though they would have to be either daft or outsiders to even think of messing with Marv's establishment.

Having secured the door, Sadie settled into a loose-kneed stance with her back towards one wall, and attempted to calm her fluttering heart.
She slipped off the apron that she had been wearing for work, and tossed it aside so that she could pass a hand over her belt, reassuring herself that her daggers still rested there. Her eyes briefly darted towards the knives before moving to locate any possible entry point as she picked up and renewed her grip on the mop once more. Although she did not know how to fight with a staff, it would offer her more reach than her daggers, at least temporarily.

"Well, well," she said in low tones, as a rueful smile made its way onto her lips. "Guess I'll have to stay awake now." The expression in her blue eyes hardened as she steeled herself for what was to come.

Ghost Rolls :
Potential ghost encounters: 11, 7, and 4 (rolled three d20s).

Thoughts, Common, Fratava, Vani
~Thank you for letting me base this on one of your templates, Regime!
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Night of Masks [Open]

Postby Vasin on February 1st, 2019, 3:57 am

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Vasin quietly sat towards the back of a ship, the waves gently rocking the small vessel. A gentle breeze ran through his air and filled his nose with the pleasant smell of the sea. It was warm, and he felt joy in his heart as he looked forward. There towards the front of the boat, he could see them. His mother Teija and his father Silin were both there. As usual, they worked as a team, his mother with an eye for detail navigated while his father steered. They worked so well with one another, and he was a part of that. They were talking with one another, but it was muddled and just out of earshot? He couldn't really understand them as he sat there in the back. They were coming to the end of their long journey, Vasin had grown up sailing and seeing the world. His father's dream of sailing all the way back to his home waters was about to come true. What a warm occasion Vasin's muddled thoughts came through. But there was something off, it occurred to him as he sat there glued to his seat.

He couldn't see their faces, they had been turned away this entire time. He tried to shift in place to get a better angle, but no luck. His body just was not responding, or well it was like he could feel his attempt but his limbs did not respond. He couldn't see their faces, and he had to as they moved around the front of the ship with an unnatural smoothness. With great effort Vasin pushed himself up and stood there, his legs felt as if he was controlling them with strings like a puppet. He took a step, and then another the rocking of the boat made it all the more difficult as he stumbled. But he caught himself now out in the direct sunlight. His parents were still out of earshot, their voices distorted as if echoes. He had to get closer, he had to hear them, and he had to see their faces. So he took another step, and then another as their movements began to slow.

Soon they stopped moving entirely and the waves slowly calmed, the ocean becoming seemingly flat. His parents still face away from him as he now stood right behind them. He tried to speak but all that came out was his breath and small describable noise. He tried again now starting to make a word."Mo--" he started to say for all the effort it was all he managed. Then again and again before he managed to finally say it."Mother?" he asked the sound stretching out the world around him silent apart from the constant whistle of the wind. She began to turn her head and for a moment he was hopeful. But that hope quickly began to dwindle and a deep dark feeling began to sink in. Her face, he still couldn't see it as she turned to him. It was a blur like he couldn't focus on it. He couldn't precisely remember her face, he couldn't imagine it, and he couldn't see it. Two black orbs where her eyes should be, a blurry mouth spoke to him but he still couldn't understand. Another voice, he looked to his father. His face also a blur, dark orbs where his eyes should be as they both stared into him.

Vasin felt a pull and felt a rock as his vision started to be pulled away from the terrifying image of his parents. His eyes laid on a ship, a ship so clear in memory as it sat there on the horizon. It was here a solid point in his memory, smaller boats swarmed around it as the seas became rougher and rougher. It was harder and harder to steady himself as the sky blackened, flashes of light from lightning filled the sky. But it was all silent, and he was numb to the rain. The pleasant scent of the sea was gone, a new scent filled his nose. Decay. It was all he could smell and it drew his sight back to his parents. His father was gone, and his mother remained. But her blurred face was now covered in streaks of red, a knife planted in her throat as she gargled out words."Why? Why did you just stand there?" she asked him her voice ghastly and accurate."Why haven't you killed them?" she asked again Vasin terrified was glued to that spot, his heart raced and thumped.

In one flash of light from the silent lightning from above the silhouettes of a few men came and went from behind her. A sword ran through her chest, and he knew what she spoke of. A sense of helplessness ran through him, and a chill ran up his spine as bloated blackened hands began to clamber up the sides of the boat. All faceless corpses began to pull themselves in. They were his father's crew and they dragged themselves towards him. His body finally responded as he stepped back but stumbled and fell. He felt like he fell back forever, the sensation trapped him, and just when he was about to hit the ground he woke.

Vasin gasped and with a start sat up, his heart beat incredibly fast as he caught his breath. A cold sweat ran all over his body, having stained where he lay. A sense of dread filled his body in the dark, no comforting light as the real world came rushing back at him. He stared through the darkness at the ground as it all came racing to him. A mixture of emotions filled his body, fear, sadness, and anger all of which fought for control in his confused and just woken mind. However, it was all interrupted when the world reached out to him with a scream. Vasin froze, the scream had been very close and now that he was listening there was a commotion outside. People were awake? How odd he thought as he pulled himself up the cries of accusation ran through the air. He would peer out his tent, someone ran by. The night was incredibly clear, but that didn't explain why everyone was up. He had felt a chill for certain, it felt cold even though it had been rather warm for winter. Regardless he pulled himself back into the tent.

Spurred by his earlier explorations, and his new need to try and be helpful Vasin set about gathering up his gear. Putting on his shirt, underwear, pants, and boots he quickly put over that his well worn studded leather armor. Then over that a cloak as he then slid on his sword belt and scabbard and nabbed his buckler. With a stretch, Vasin then slid his sword into place as he stepped outside into the night air. He had not spent even a moment on grooming and had come out a bit rough but Vasin knew he didn't have time as he stepped into the rows between tents. Someone nearly bumped into him as he stepped out. He stood there for a moment having not thought of his next step. Firstly he had to find out what was going on. More important than that... His friends! He had to make sure they were all right. So with a slight jog, he set about moving deeper and deeper into Sunberth. He would head to the Midnight gem first, maybe he would find out what was going on along the way? He would head through The Sunset Quarters, walk along the mudway, and then go into Baroque Bay where he would then check on Kelski. The thought of Kelski made him ponder for a moment. If he saw anyone else in trouble should he help them? He shook the thought and decided to take it on a case by case basis.
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Night of Masks [Open]

Postby Tarn Alrenson on February 9th, 2019, 12:17 am

Tarn was sitting on his cot polishing his spear when the chilling wave washed over the Sun’s Barracks. At first, he wondered if he’d been knocked in the head at the training grounds harder than he’d thought, but the cries of his comrades put that worry to rest quickly.

“What was that?” called one of them. Tarn stood, gripping his spear. Other dragoons reached for their weapons as well. Their heads all turned at once as a high-pitch shriek split the air.

“Ghosts! Ghosts!” The origin of the scream--a flustered dragoon--came dashing through the corridor and was quickly surrounded by a gaggle of frightened, armed-to-the-teeth soldiers.

“Ghosts? What do you mean ghosts? Speak man!” Growled one grizzled sergeant. The man just blubbered, nearly dropping the sword in his hand. He was shaking uncontrollably.

“G-ghosts! Everywhere!” the men all looked to each other, questions in their eyes.

“You were probably just hittin’ the mushrooms a bit too hard again, eh?” one of the dragoons suggested. A few people chuckled, but none of them really believed. Tarn glanced warily around. He'd never had any business with ghosts, and wasn't too keen on getting involved with any if he could help it. The shivering man turned to the speaker and gestured wildly with his sword.

“I know what I saw! I’m sober as the day I was born, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t see a phantom fly through that there wall!” The man’s gestures grew more erratic, and the others backed away from the crazy-eyed man. The dragoons were shocked out of their frenzied chaos by an authoritative bellow from a familiar voice.

“All men at attention!” The command was from the master of the barracks, Warden Prak Celewan. He strode briskly into the room, wasting no time. "Show some discipline and get your act together. It's time for you to put your sorry backsides on the line and earn the coin we give you." He gestured to roughly half of the dragoons in the corridor and called out, “You lot! Secure the Western Heights, and be ready for trouble.” He then looked to the remainder of them, including Tarn. “The rest of you I want defending the Tower. If anyone tries to breach it, make sure they see the wrong side of your blades, understand?” The dragoons answered with a nervous, frightened cacophony of “yes sir,” and they began running to do as instructed.

Tarn was one of the first dragoons out the barracks doors. He fortunately had his weapon already in hand when the shockwave had hit them, and hadn't yet dressed down from his evening patrols. He didn't bother trying to grab anything else. From the warden’s words, he guessed they didn’t have much time to spare. He ran toward Nightfall Tower, the stars overhead casting an eerie pall over the city. Screams and shouts rang out with words he couldn’t hear, but a message that came through well enough.

Panic.

Tarn broke out into the courtyard directly beneath Nightfall tower. He fought down the fear in his heart, and forced his nerves to calm. He noticed his hands were trembling, and gripped his spear harder to still them. Here in the open, he noticed the ghosts for the first time. It was an awesome and fearful sight, and he had no words to describe it.

But he had orders.
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Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point. --CS Lewis
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Night of Masks [Open]

Postby Regime on February 12th, 2019, 12:38 pm

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"Fire?"

"FIRE!"

Those were the words being called out by the masked sailors on the slab ship.

Image Stiletto could only shake their head at the flames spilling down the stairs leading to the cargo hold. “As luck would have it, it would seem there is an intruder on the ship.” They said in a rather amused way. It was either that, or one of their men had betrayed them, or was hilariously incompetent when it came to fire safety on the ship and went against the Bosses orders to not bring attention to them.

“Open the hatch covers!” Stiletto’s voice boomed while shifting their hand to rest on Mother’s shoulder to keep their Underboss from taking a step back at the notion of being trapped inside the bowels of a burning ship.

The Daggerhand Boss walked further into the cargo hold with eyes raised to the ceiling when it started to shift aside. Their gaze being met by other masked men who weren’t trying to manage the fire spreading on the deck of the ship. “Fires, Boss. Orders?” The voice of a dedicated Daggerhand said with slight worry. “Maintain progress until we reach The Gallows, we’ll go the rest of the way on foot.” A rope was cast down that Underboss Mother gripped on to be pulled from the Hold.

“Doctor Petricious?” Stiletto said with utter calm while glancing back to the silent man. The Doctor seemed to smile with an unnerving grimace. Or rather, unnerving to anyone save for Stiletto who stepped closer to the mad man. “What is it?” They watched as the Doctor follow behind the upright Slab as it traversed with heavy steps up the staircase. The fire seemed to pull towards its stony skin, absorbing the flames into its flesh as it took on the visage of a clay pot in a kiln.

Image“It was created for such things.” The Doctor stated while glancing over his shoulder. “I wonder if it could ever be full? I hope to find out some day.” The Boss of the Daggerhand glanced back over his shoulder to Underboss Mother looking down at her just standing there. Mother's voice chiming up with slight annoyance at the Doctor from under her own mask.


Image“You could have mentioned it sooner.”

Stiletto followed suit to join everyone on deck to find the person who started the flames. The Slab only proved to keep the flames on the deck near it by the wheel manageable rather than caring to put all of the flames out. The ship was still on fire to an intense degree in the immediate areas where the first one was started.

Stiletto joined the pilot of the ship at the wheel, retrieving a spyglass from the Daggerhand sailor as they cast their gaze along the riversides. Oddly enough, the most distracting thing they found was a rather large Jamoura standing in an odd hand standing pose near The Pig's Foot Tavern as the ship rounded the bend of the river.

They watched as the Jamoura started to cartwheel towards the tavern, then climb up to its roof. Its heavy body causing the roof of the building to creek under the strain. "Transcend your realities!", the Jamoura yelled with intensely pained gravitas to his voice. There was something clearly wrong with the being as it slammed its fists down against the Pig's foots roof, denting a good portion of it, and causing a bit to fall in on a patron just lurking in the main tavern. It was loud enough to cause most people to flee from the tavern, fearing it more than the ghosts as Merv even ducked behind his bar from what ever the petch that was.

Sadie Sundown would find her arm feeling as if the mop wanting to be removed from her grasp as a whirling of three materialized ghost tried to remove the items she held. Two lesser ghost who seemed to barely cling to their forms tried to remove the daggers from her waist, while the third grasped onto the mop to try to make her hit herself with it.

When the Jamoura vanished beyond the building after jumping from the tavern rooftop, "Odd." Was the only word Stiletto could manage before getting ready to exit the ship as the captain of the vessel guided it towards the Gallows riverside.

***


Curiosities and chaos abound, the city of Sunberth began to show its true form once many started to take advantage of the situation.

Baker's Bakeshop was beset upon by starving beggars of the tent city, stealing as much food as they could carry, or being slain by the Myrian wife of Kane Baker in the process.

The merchant citizens of the city all rallied to the storage houses with their individual guards where much of the city stock piled their goods to be sold. The collective of merchants formed a ramshackled union of hired Mercenaries to form the front line of civilian defense against rioters that proved money could bring the greediest of people together.

***


The Battle for the Western Heights filled the area with the sounds of steel and groans of death. The all too human need for bloodshed against heated foes steeled many Dragoon’s discipline in the face of the ethereal undead. The Sun’s were being slowly forced back to the Sun’s Refuge by the Masked Men, but not without a fight. The rest of the Sun's Birth rallied to the Nightfall Tower as pockets of their home territory seemed to be assaulted by the most skilled of warriors. The Night Eyes, Daggerhand, or others? The Sun's Birth could not tell at the moment, but the shadow tactics fit the Night Eyes more than the Daggerhand.

Tarn Alrenson would find his awe of the ghost cut short as something hummed through the air, whistling the sweetest whisper. A crossbow held up only to be let loose right at him from somewhere...

***


The ghosts all over the city seemed to be rabid in their ways, less focused on possessing their targets, but materializing to hit their victims with physical attacks like throwing chairs, picture frames, candle sticks, or trying their best to steal things away from the living. Only the most hearty of undead tried to take control of their victims.

Kynier encountered one such ghost. A faceless little girl dressed in tattered clothes which suffered from signs of burning. Its floating form flickering from visible to incorporeal in a well practiced way. All around him the many voices of laughing children of lesser ghosts started to echo out as they noticed the vial of soulmist.

The cold clamoring of ghostly hands swarmed him like a thick fog in attempt to steal the vial away. The burnt girl apparated by Kynier's side to reach out and possess only that single limb.

***


Vasin's stroll toward Baroque Bay did not go as smoothly as the man might have wanted. Vasin's good intentions to help his friends did not seem to be ones shared by the three men wearing jeweled wooden masks blocking his path. They stared Vasin up and down with dagger's in their hands. Their eyes focused for battle. And then all at once, they walked past Vasin to leave him alone, unmolested as they ran off.

***


A gang plank descended from the side of the Slab-ship once it had reached its destination. All those who were aboard it exited the ship to leave it to burn away into the river. "Tear that down." Stiletto said while motioning a hand to the Gallows. The fire on the ship was put to work as the Masked Daggerhands set it ablaze. The Boss had wanted to do that for the longest time since the murder of Robern Dalagnar. "Make haste for the mansion, Doctor. We shall meet you there."

The Slab on its own whim, started to run forward through the Castle Commons, causing a special kind of panic all of its own in the direction of the Temple of the Unknown. "What is it doing?" The Doctor said while pulling a hatchet from where it rested snugly in the back tie of his apron, his other hand reaching out towards the Slab as it ran, then put that hand into a front pocket of his apron.

"Get that under control, Petricious." The Boss of the Daggerhand stated before continuing up the riverside by foot, flanked by their men while heading in the direction of their territory.

The Good Doctor split away from the gang members as he followed after the Slab. He stopped in his tracks only for a moment to bask in the fire of the burning gallows once realizing something he'd not noticed before, then continued on after he steeled himself for what was to come.


OOC and Rolls :
Dicing Example:
Player vs NPC:
Character A is trying to sneak past an NPC.

  • Character A has Stealth 29 and the NPC has an Observation 42.
  • Character A rolls 1d100 and a staff member rolls for the NPC.
  • Character A rolls a 50 + 29 skill = 79.
  • The NPC rolls (1d100) 30 + 42 skill = 72.
  • Character A succeeds in sneaking past the NPC.


Sadie Sundown
Make an acrobatics roll against @Regime rolled 37 to evade. You get a moderate head wound if you roll lower than 37.

@Tarn:
Make an acrobatics roll against @Regime rolled 79 to evade. You get a moderate shoulder wound if you roll lower than 79.

Likewise, make an Observation skill roll. PM me the results before your next post.

Kelski Roll a single Stealth check to avoid having being seen by the Sailors on the ship, or Stiletto's cursory glance of the Riverside. @Regime rolled 125. If she rolls lower, then a shadow would tell her she was spotted stepping out of one on her escape.

@Kyiner: Use the appropriate Resolveskills to resist the expert level (51) ghost possessing your arm before doing anything else.

@Everyone:
If I missed something in your posts that you wanted me to respond to specifically, just point it out and I will edit my post accordingly to the request.
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Night of Masks [Open]

Postby Kynier on February 22nd, 2019, 4:01 am

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Roll Results :
  • Kynier's Resolve against Possession
    Kynier 2/21/2019 at 4:53 PM
    !roll 1d100+36
    RPBotBOT 2/21/2019 at 4:53 PM
    @Kynier rolled 99. (63, 36)
  • Ghost's Possession Roll
    Kynier 2/21/2019 at 4:53 PM
    !roll 1d100+51
    RPBotBOT 2/21/2019 at 4:53 PM
    @Kynier rolled 117. (66, 51)

99 vs. 117. Failed to resist possession.


Sunberth had slipped over the thin boundary between anarchy and chaos. People were taking to the streets as debris of all forms were hurled through the air. A cacophony of screams and wails emanating from both the living and the dead nearly deafened the sorcerer to his own thoughts. Very few were roaming through his mind as his eyes scanned through the people that were abandoning the Drunken Fish and other surrounding buildings. Spirits were seemingly everywhere with no clear paths in any direction to avoid them.

It was earlier than he had intended, but Kynier reached into his left pocket for a vial of soulmist. He also drew one of his cold iron short swords to spread the compound over. But one he popped the top off the vial he was overcome with a sense of dread. Wisps and mists began to close in on him, opaque hands of varying sizes reaching out for the arm that possessed the open vial of soulmist. As they approached, he dumped the contents onto the blade of his weapon. Dropping the vial, Kynier quickly smeared the off-white substance up and down its length. Before he was finished, a form appeared on his left.

An apparition of a little girl stood beside him. The features of her face were muted and the clothes she appeared in were severely damaged. From the textures of her form, she appeared to have been burned. Unusual distortions of her hands and arms appeared to be burn scars, and more than half of her scalp was bare, with unhealthy strands dangling from the rest of it. Small hands took hold of his left arm, casing it with the bitter cold of a river in winter. Kynier winced loudly from the shock of it as her form contorted and flooded into his arm.

All the hairs along the length of his arm stood on end, and shivers ran up his spine as well as across his shoulders. The muscles in his arm felt thicker and heavier than they did a moment ago. Kynier tried to shake it out but it did nothing of the sort. His fist clenched into a painfully tight ball that turned his fingers white. Next, the arm flailed and struck him in the chest. As other ghosts pressed in on him, he felt compressed by a deathly cold. Fingers of incorporeal hands gripped at his right side, trying to take the other vial of soulmist in his possession. Kynier pulled his head away from his out of control left arm. As he did, he made a sweeping arch with his weapon to drive the other spirits away.

Echoing moans surrounded him as the blade sliced through the gathering mist. The hands of the dead ceased grasping at the vial in his pocket as Kynier made several quick cuts around him. It wasn’t as easy as swing the blade through a fog. Soulmist connected with the incorporeal adding resistance to make it feel like cutting through water at a bad angle. Soon, a path opened before him in the mist that he ran through. His left arm twisted and flexed randomly before slapping its open hand against his chest. Fingers dug and clawed to find a pocket or opening of some kind in his hidden clothing. When Kynier got to a place with a smaller collection of the dead, where he didn’t have to actively cut at them to progress, he pressed his right wrist against the forearm of his left, trapping it against his chest.

It was then something caught his eye. A flare of color against the sky above. Smoke, rising in a column and reflecting the red blaze at its base. Somewhere to the west was a large fire. Kynier gritted his teeth and began to run in its direction. Something egregious had caused the dead to be unsettled. Perhaps the fire was the focal point of the disturbance and where the strange purple haze had originated from. The sorcerer ran through Baroque Bay and Stumble Alley, towards the Castle Commons. More than once a bit of debris had struck him on the way, or another apparition appeared to take possession of something else from him only to be warded away with a few cuts of his blade.

After a time, Kynier realized that the fire was coming from the river. He changed his route to move along the river’s side. There was a boat at the bend that was blazing, with the gangway out for people to disembark. It was then the spirit of the girl swung his own arm at his face and managed to hit an eye. Kynier winced and turned his attention back on the problem within.

The spirit of the little girl fought against him as he tried to will her away from his body. But there was so much anger and pain to fight against. After a moment, he stopped and set his left side against the outside wall of a stone structure, pinning it in place. From the elbow down, the arm flailed against him. Kynier took a steadying breath to try and bring his mind closer to a calm place before pushing against the presence in his body. But the harder he pushed, the more it seemed to tighten its grip in him. It seemed hopeless. Rather than give up, he dared a different tactic.

Kynier stepped away from the wall, allowing the arm to move freely. He dropped the cold iron blade from his hand and reached into the right pocket of his pants for the other vial of soulmist. “Spirit,” he said loudly at his left arm. “I have one last vial of soulmist. Leave my body and I will freely give it to you,” he snarled. Her spirit was filled with such rage that he didn’t believe he would soon be able to banish her from his body. He hoped to Dira that the apparition would accept the bribe and leave him be.

He moved further down the river’s length and follow those that had disembarked. Kynier moved on the balls of his feet and kept his form small underneath his dark cloak. The shadows were his refuge when he paused long enough to scan the area around the Gallows. Several figures were moving around. All of them were wearing masks of intricate design, except for one. The “Good” Doctor, Petricious. Near him was something the sorcerer would never have anticipated. The mysterious slab, moving around on a pair of legs with several protruding limbs. For an instant, Kynier stared, mouth agape, at the sight of it all.

One of the masked figures was giving out directions and the others were carrying out their will. Ghosts were still moving around, crying and wailing as the fires spread. Kynier watched as all the masked figures moved with purpose and without harassment from the apparitions. He furrowed his brow at that. A pair of masked figures literally walked through a mass of ghosts, only for the spirits to part and give them a wide berth. Somehow, something was warding the ghosts away from them?

The mysterious slab moved off on its own and the doctor pursued it. The rest of the people were moving on in a different direction. Kynier’s eyes darted back and forth between the two, wondering which one he should follow. There were several masked figures as well as the pair that appeared in charge of them. Too many for him to contend with unless he sought to expose his abilities. Following them could tell him what or who was orchestrating these events. Whereas the other, was a mystery he had a personal investment in. It was just the strange artifact and the doctor. While Kynier knew there was no practical way to contend with the powers of the artifact, the lone man was something he could handle.

Carefully, he looked around to ensure that no one would see him before abandoning the shadows that helped conceal him. Kynier moved after the Doctor and the mysterious slab, not realizing for several chimes that they were heading towards the Temple of the Unknown. The mystery of it all made his heart beat faster than it already was. As he followed them, he kept to the shadows and piles of debris that could provide cover, not wishing to reveal himself to the “good” doctor.


Stealth Roll :
Kynier 2/21/2019 at 10:55 PM
!roll 1d100+59
RPBotBOT 2/21/2019 at 10:55 PM
@Kynier rolled 147. (88, 59)

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Night of Masks [Open]

Postby Vasin on February 23rd, 2019, 11:20 pm

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Vasin had stopped in his tracks the very moment he had been confronted by three rather intimidating looking figures. All three he noticed wore what appeared to be wooden masks decorated in jewels. His hand hovered over the handle of his long sword as he eyed them up. Vasin took notice that they were already ready for a fight. Daggers already drew as they stared him down through those masks. His heart beat faster and faster in anticipation. He glanced around looking for an escape route. There was no way Vasin could take three people on at once. He could practically feel his heart racing faster and faster as his body tensed up more and more. Then! When they all came at him at once his heart skipped a beat and he nearly drew his sword! But then, oddly enough, they all walked around and past him. Vasin blinked confused as he then turned and watched them run off into the distance.

Vasin would look himself over, not seeing any obvious signs he had been stabbed nor did he feel any of the tell-tale signs. What was all of that about? Who were those freaks? However, Vasin quickly took note of something else. The people of Sunberth were starting to act true to their nature. He could hear it in the air and see it in some cases. People would be looting and stealing all night with what was going on. It was too good of a chance for them he realized. Vasin should have seen it coming, and he knew that in the past he would have been among the very people looting. But now he was seemingly at a crossroads. He was curious about where those three masked men were going and were curious about what that was all about. But he also wanted to make sure Kelski was safe.

Vasin shook his head, as he knew it was dumb to chase 3 armed men who had been staring him down and outnumbered him. So turning around he took off needing to make sure his new friend was all right. After that, he reasoned he could figure out what all of this was about. A thought came to the back of his head however as he kept going. If people were taking advantage of the Chaos, wouldn't the Midnight Gem also be in danger? The thought cemented itself in his mind as he suddenly hurried his pace. While Kelski could certainly take care of her self, Vasin felt the need to make sure of it. At a quicker pace, he ran to Baroque Bay ducking and weaving between people and nearly stumbling here and there. His eyes would come upon the Midnight Gem and he then surveyed the outside of it.
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