Roleplay Logs!

Mathonwy

@Taraus sucks thoughtfully on her teeth.

Taraus whispers to you in Mhaldorian with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Would it be wrong of us to go torment the gleam addict?"

You ask in Mhaldorian, "Which?"

Taraus says in Mhaldorian with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Whoever's dragging around with @Saeva."

You smirk.

You begin to follow Taraus.

Taraus says to you in Mhaldorian with a throaty, lyrical accent, "I see you're still as alert and attentive as ever."

You say in Mhaldorian, "Only for things that matter."

You follow Taraus northeast to Black Fist Wares.

Taraus slams shut the door leading southwest with a melodramatic heave.

"Oh?" Saeva exclaims quizzically.

Taraus levels her gaze at Amelythe, amusement flickering in her eyes.

@Amelythe raises an eyebrow questioningly.

Taraus casually asks Saeva with a throaty, lyrical accent, "This is her, then?"

Saeva Aristata, Herald of Iniquity says to Taraus, "Aye."

Amelythe says in a light, ethereal voice, "Well, whatever you do, please don't mess up my dress. I got all decorated for the season."

You ask, "Late autumn?"

Amelythe says in a light, ethereal voice, "Logosmas, although I can change to something more bland if you prefer."

Taraus says absently with a throaty, lyrical accent, "She's got her father's twitch."

Amelythe chuckles long and heartily.

Amelythe says to Taraus in a light, ethereal voice, "I am very much my father's daughter, I assure you."

You say distastefully, "Oh."

Taraus says derisively with a throaty, lyrical accent, "And if the sheen in her eyes is any indication, she's got his habits, too."

Amelythe says in a light, ethereal voice, "Some of them."

Taraus says mildly to Amelythe with a throaty, lyrical accent, "And if you've any sense, you'll try and roll as far away from that tree as you can, apple."

Saeva huffs a laugh quietly from her nose.

Amelythe chuckles long and heartily.

You say, "Let's see if I can remember the words."

You say, "<top secret Chaos passcode>."

You grin smugly.

Amelythe arches an eyebrow in surprise.

Humming softly to herself, Taraus completes her path around Amelythe. The corner of her lips twitch upward in response to your incantation, watching with no little amusement the girl's reaction.

Amelythe smirks.

Amelythe says in a light, ethereal voice, "While I do so love being on display, I very much did come here simply to shop and requested an escort out of respect for your rules. Then I shall depart."

Taraus says mildly with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Who's stopping you?"

Amelythe says in a light, ethereal voice, "I don't want to run off without my escort...escorting."

Taraus says wolfishly to Amelythe with a throaty, lyrical accent, "And do send your Daddy my regards."

Amelythe says in a light, ethereal voice, "He has mentioned you afore."

Taraus says drily with a throaty, lyrical accent, "I'm sure he has."

Amelythe says in a light, ethereal voice, "A few times. Lady Sybilla did as well."

You say, "There isn't much else to do in the Occultists these days but tell old stories, I hear."

The corners of Amelythe's mouth turn up as she grins mischievously.

You say to Taraus, "Ah well. You can only destroy and resummon the Eschaton so many times before it becomes old hat, you know."

Amelythe says in a light, ethereal voice, "Then you hear as we wish you to hear."

Taraus barks a short, sharp laugh.

Taraus says dismissively with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Oh, please."

You say, "That's the perfect way to make sure all of their secrets remain secret."

You say, "Kill all of the Occultists."

You have emoted: Mathonwy smiles tightly.

You say, "Then everyone's happy."

Taraus hooks one thumb in her waistband, and loops the other over her belthook.

Amelythe says in a light, ethereal voice, "I can't say I'd be overly thrilled if you killed me."

Taraus says casually with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Why not? We would, of course, bring you back."

Taraus says responsibly to Amelythe with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Home of necromancy, you know."

You say, "And you might learn a thing or two in the suffering, you know."

Amelythe says in a light, ethereal voice, "I want no part of necromancy and I've suffered plenty in my...work."

Amelythe gives a pained sigh.

Taraus says with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Ah!"

You say to Amelythe, "Are you sure you won't reconsider? You could take home a brand as a souvenier."

Taraus says to you with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Behold, the future of the Occult."

You say in Mhaldorian, "So many paper cuts from inscribing tarot cards."

Taraus says to you with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Afforded an opportunity, and politely denied."

You have emoted: Mathonwy nods sympathetically at Amelythe.

Taraus shakes her head sadly from side to side.

Taraus swirls the golden liquor around thoughtfully in a snifter of corsair cognac before slowly savouring each delicious, heady drop within.

Taraus opens the door to the southwest.

Taraus unlatches and kicks the door open, gesturing with a lift of her chin.

Saeva bows her head slightly in respect to those in the room.

Taraus says viciously to Amelythe with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Get about your business, and get out."

Amelythe leaves, following Saeva to the southwest.

Melodie

Ohhhhh I wish I could have been there you have no idea.

That was awesome, though.

Erhon

Austere logged this for me since I'm on the HTML client and don't have a good way to save logs easily(or just don't know how to yet).

-------

Erhon Lucoster says, "Right, first things first. Austere, stand on the far side of the cauldron," as he points towards
a particular spot, "and you stand over here, Jonesey," as he indicates the other spot.


Austere steps to the side of the cauldron.

Jonesey moves to the other spot.

Erhon moves over to Jadys and pulls her off to the side so she doesn't get hit by flying fluids or anything, then takes
his spot around the cauldron so the three make a triangle around it.

Erhon Lucoster says, "...must take precautions."

Erhon smirks and shakes his head slightly, then hits the cauldron with his own staff, letting the iron ring out.

Slowly the ringing dies down and lines of light begin to expand from the base of it, creating the ritual circle around
the three. The lines spiral out from the cauldron, and halt when it makes the ring encompassing all of them.

Erhon Lucoster says, "Today we make official what you two have always felt spiritually. Bonds of brotherhood forged
in combat will be made in blood."

Erhon Lucoster says, "And while your third brother has yet to be present, he too will eventually be bound by ties of
blood, as long as Kiba still breathes somewhere."

Erhon Lucoster says, "Do you both agree?"

You nod your head emphatically.

Jonesey nods his head in agreement.

Erhon Lucoster says, "Spit into the cauldron please? First will be the marking."

Jonesey spits in a pewter cauldron's face.

Austere spits into the cauldron.

Erhon holds his right hand out, palm forward and chants softly, calling upon the Elemental Lords of Earth and Fire.
Slowly turning his hand he brings it around and raises it as if he's lifting something.

The gold bar in the cauldron lifts up into the air, the spittle on it bubbling as if it were boiling.

Slowly the bar begins to melt and become a liquid ball flowing in the air. Erhon closes his fist and then splays his
fingers wide quickly, the gold ball compressing a second before lashing out towards Austere and Jonesey as two
streams of molten gold.

Striking like an asp, the stream of liquid metal splatters on the back of their left hands, settling into a shape of a
thunderhead broken by a lightning bolt.

Erhon Lucoster says, "Behold, the mark of the Storm Covenant... now for the bonds of blood. Will each of you please
donate a small measure of blood to the cauldron to anoint the steel within?"

Austere slices the palm of his hand, allowing his blood to drip into the cauldron.

Jonesey uses the tip of the dagger to prick the tip of his finger. A drop of blood falls into the cauldron.

Erhon Lucoster says, "Austere... your power is quick and deadly, a bright conflagaration of power, the Lightning
of the Storm... Jonesey, wild and loud, a force barely contained and hardly denied, everyone agreed you are Thunder."

Erhon Lucoster says, "Austere... I have need of your Lightning..."

You say, "Prepare yourself."

Erhon braces himself with his arms up infront of him in a defensive posture.

The sky above grows dark as you call upon powerful magics. Raising your hands balefully, you cause lightning
 bolts, the hammer of the storm, to shoot from your hands and slam into Erhon.

As the lightning strikes the grook he shudders and slides backwards, but starts moving his arms,
moulding the lightning around him and directing part of the blast so that it starts weaving around him.

Erhon Lucoster says, "Jonesey... Yours now."

The sky grows dark as Jonesey calls upon powerful magics. Raising his hands balefully, he causes lightning
bolts, the hammer of the storm, to shoot from his hands and slam into Erhon.

Erhon concentrates on keeping the first stormhammer flowing around him, and grunts as the second
slams in to him. Quickly adding what he can to the first, he gets them moving about him, weaving them
together before punching both fists forward towards the cauldron.

The electrical blast roars towards the cauldron and slams into the iron, racing around the metal and
causing the entire thing to become white hot. The blood and steel within sublimate into the iron of the
pot as it too turns to liquid from the Storm's onslaught.

Erhon reaches forward, making a clawlike gesture at the molten metal with both his hands, then rends them apart.

The metal in the center of the room splits apart into two even globules that begin to spin in midair. 
Slowly the metal elongates and begins to cool, shifting from the bright white down to a angry red and
cooling slowly down to orange and then going dark.

The two staves finally cool completely and fall to the ground in a metallic clatter, and Erhon hits his
staff down on the ground, dispelling the ward circle.

Erhon goes over to the two staves and picks them up, looking them over a second before nodding.

Erhon gives a blackened steel staff to you.

Erhon gives a blackened steel staff to Jonesey.

Erhon Lucoster says, "Behold the Covenant of the Storm."

Polished to a reflective, obsidian sheen, a rod of blackened steel stretches to five feet in length.
Runes etch within bands along the length of the rod, filled with electrum to contrast against the
base steel. Occasionally a glimpse of thunderheads rolling across the surface of the staff can be
seen, accompanied by the scent of heavy rain and ozone. Oiled and worked leather strips are wound
around the middle of the staff, worn and moulded to the owner's grip from repeated use. Branded
across the length of the grip is the word, "Lightning."

Polished to a reflective, obsidian sheen, a rod of blackened steel stretches to five feet in length.
Runes etch within bands along the length of the rod, filled with electrum to contrast against the
base steel. Occasionally a glimpse of thunderheads rolling across the surface of the staff can be
seen, accompanied by the scent of heavy rain and ozone. Oiled and worked leather strips are wound
around the middle of the staff, worn and moulded to the owner's grip from repeated use. Branded
across the length of the grip is the word, "Thunder."

You begin to wield a blackened steel staff in your left hand.
Small arcs of electricity dance across the length of a blackened steel staff, accompanied by a warning
growl of thunder, as it eagerly readies itself for its master.

Jonesey begins to wield a blackened steel staff in his right hand.
Small arcs of electricity dance across the length of a blackened steel staff, accompanied by a warning
growl of thunder, as it eagerly readies itself for its master.

Jonesey points a blackened steel staff at you, and a bolt of lightning cascades out and roars, screaming, into your body.
You point a blackened steel staff at Jonesey, and cause a bolt of lightning to cascade out and roar screaming into him.

Austere

Love this ritual, seriously one of the best things I have ever been involved in.  Major raves for @Erhon and everything he has done to progress my character from a roleplay standpoint.  Was at a standstill when he came back and he has definitely prodded me forward.  

Here is the HTML for those interested: https://ada-young.appspot.com/pastebin/7cee1555
And the new theme song for the Covenant: 

Erhon

Silly @Austere‌ everyone knows we Ashtani don't arpee.

Saeva

So for the past week or so, @Mathonwy and Saeva have been going to Delos to destroy mimes. We have nurtured a healthy hatred for them and so on our daily venture to Delos, we had Melodie and Aegoth join us this time and to our great surprise, there were MORE mimes there than we have ever seen! The destruction continues.

A feeling of generosity spreads throughout you.

You drop the corpse of a six-fingered mime.

You drop the corpse of a stout mime.

You rub your hands together greedily.

@Melodie's eyes gleam with generosity.

Melodie drops the corpse of a lanky mime.

Melodie drops the corpse of a mime.

Melodie drops the corpse of a short mime.

You say in Mhaldorian, "Everyone, place your mimes down at our feet."

Melodie rubs her hands together greedily.

You say to Melodie in Mhaldorian, "Herald, I would require a blood pentagram.
Who better than an Apostate."

@Aegoth produces a mime from somewhere and does so.

Melodie says with a flowing, cultured accent, "My pleasure."

Melodie prays to the Lords of Hell.

Melodie begins to wield a wicked-looking daegger in her left hand.

In the crystal-clear night sky, the stars twinkle and glow brightly.

Using a living daegger, Melodie opens a vein in her wrist and lets the blood
outline a pentagram, floating waist-high.

On the Delosian bridge.
The stars twinkle in the clear night sky. You stand roughly midway along the
wide Delosian Bridge built from huge cubes of stone. A wide river flows
underneath the bridge from the northwest downhill to the south, the water clear
and refreshing although sometimes choked with froth and debris. Such is the
clarity from the water that you wonder what powerful magical blessing has been
placed upon it for it to flow so smoothly. The bridge continues a wide road
running through the town of Delos to the northeast and southeast, leading
towards Epitus Avenue to the northeast and into Ithmia Street to the southeast.
The Great Highway system built by the Church many years ago can be seen not far
to the west. Dressed in a smart uniform of maroon and silver, a young boy stands
at the ready. A ladder of long, soft leaves comprises a wispy Weaver's Fern
along the ground. A nebulous water weird is here. A deceased mime lies here,
baggy blue clothes puddling around his form. A mime's corpse lies here,
stiffened fingers clutching an imaginary object. A mime's corpse lies here,
stiffened fingers clutching an imaginary object. The colourful corpse of a mime
lies broken here, red blood mingling with the greens and blues of his costume. A
mime's corpse lies here, blood dripping from his immaculately twirled moustache.
Dripping with blood, an inverted pentagram floats in mid-air.  Emissary Mathonwy,
 Thrall of Milenka is here. He wields an elemental staff in his left hand.
Aegoth I'llur, Herald of the Insidium is here. He wields an elemental staff in
his left hand. Melodie Le'Murzen, Herald of the Insidium is here. She wields a
wicked-looking daegger in her left hand. You may ENTER the WILDERNESS map from
here.
You see exits leading northeast, southeast, west, and down.

Mathonwy nods bleakly.

You say solemnly in Mhaldorian, "Beings of the Inferno, we cry out today that
you might consume these corpses and bring about a new vision of Suffering unto
them in planes unknown to their silent and pathetic lives!"

You cease wielding a blackened cavalry shield with ivory accents in your right
hand.

You have emoted: Saeva slides her hand open with the blade of an obsidian dagger
and begins to shed her blood across the faces of each mime corpse.

Aegoth raises his arms high, causing the sky to crack as a roiling inferno rips
across the firmament.

Accompanied by the ringing of the bells on her slippers, a HaHaHa halfling
enters.

You say in Mhaldorian, "Take my blood as a token of our thanks for your
assistance in this matter. As Malevolence reigns supreme, you will feed on the
flesh of six fingers, the stout and the lanky."

With her belled slippers ringing, a HaHaHa halfling leaves to the southeast.

Emissary Mathonwy, Thrall of Milenka says in Mhaldorian, "He of the six fingers
is an abomination unto Order and the Lord's way. Clearly, his deformity is a
sign of His disapproval."

You have emoted: Saeva moves from corpse to corpse, slicing the mouths of each
mime open further at their edges and says, "Speak loudly the Truths, or perish."

Aegoth speaks in tongues while wails and moans of torment ring across the thick,
stale air, fetid heat pouring forth from the gaping wound along the sky.

You say angrily in Mhaldorian, "If your mouth prevents you from such, open it
wider."

Emissary Mathonwy, Thrall of Milenka says in Mhaldorian, "Yes! Let all tongues
speak His glorious praises."

Melodie says reverently with a flowing, cultured accent, "Amen."

Emissary Mathonwy, Thrall of Milenka says in Mhaldorian, "Every knee will bend...
 or it will break."

Aegoth tendrils of flame reach down from the heavens, licking the corpses
hungrily as flame begins to consume them.

Mathonwy brings an elemental staff down upon the knee of the corpse of a six-
fingered mime, and it shatters with a satisfying crunch.

You nod your head slowly, trying to wear your best wise look.

You say solemnly in Mhaldorian, "So mote it be."

Stretching in a fiery arc that embraces the world, the triune rings of Achaea
blaze in response to the first kiss of dawn.

You say in Mhaldorian, "Well done, Mhaldor. Your assistance in this will not be
forgotten."

Mathonwy

They spawn like blowflies

Florentino

You read what is written on a letter decorated for Logosmas:

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*._.:*~*._.:*~*:.

.                                                                   .

. [Intricate script in stygian ink flows across this    .      .    .

. letter, depicting a scene of ultimate Logosmas        _\/  \/_    .

. horror. Though the white-covered village of            _\/\/_     .

. unknown origin may have once been peaceful and     _\_\_\/\/_/_/_ .

. idyllic, the mayhem laid bare on the virgin snow    / /_/\/\_\ \  .

. tells a story of monstrous battle. All that            _/\/\_     .

. remains is assorted corpses of various states of       /\  /\     .

. dismemberment, puddles of blood oozing from them      '      '    .

. to stain the frosty veil beneath. Amidst the grim site            .

. stands a single woman, her vibrant curls obscuring much of        .

. her expression as the invisible wind plies her strands. She       .

. is dressed in a regal, austere gown that brushes against the      .

. snow, her hands folded in front of her. What can be seen of       .

. her expression shows a serenity that belies the destruction       .

. surrounding her, though no mark from blood nor stain of battle    .

. mars her petite form. Obscenely cheerful snowmen, untouched by    .

. the devastation, watch on with lifeless eyes, silent as stars.]   .

.                                                                   .

.                         ::::::    .-~~\        ::::::             .

.                         |::::|   /     \ _     |::::|             .

.                 _ _     l~~~~!   ~x   .-~_)_   l~~~~!             .

.              .-~   ~-.   \  /      ~x".-~   ~-. \  /              .

.       _     /         \   ||    _  ( /         \ ||               .

.       ||   T  o  o     Y  ||    ||  T o  o      Y||               .

.     ==:l   l   <       !  (3  ==:l  l  <        !(3               .

.        \\   \  .__/   /  /||     \\  \  ._/    / ||               .

.         \\ ,r"-,___.-'r.//||      \\,r"-,___.-'r/||               .

.          }^ \.( )   _.'//.||      }^\. ( )  _.-//||               .

.         /    }~Xi--~  //  ||     /   }~Xi--~  // ||\              .

.        Y    Y I\ \    "   ||    Y   Y I\ \    "  || Y             .

.        |    | |o\ \       ||    |   | |o\ \      || |             .

.        |    l_l  Y T      ||    |   l_l  Y T     || |             .

.        l      "o l_j      |!    l     "o l_j     || !             .

.         \                 ||     \               ||/              .

.       .--^.     o       .^||.  .--^.     o       ||--.            .

.            "           ~  `'        "           ~`'               .

.                                                                   .

. [In the bottom-right corner, an elegant bit of calligraphy        .

. flits across the page, depicting a few words in the common        .

. tongue.]                                                          .

.                                                                   .

. May Logosmas grant you another turn of the Vault in Strength,     .

. Suffering, and growth.                                            .

.                                                                   .

. In fondness,                                                      .

. Melodie Le'Murzen                                                 .

. Herald of the Insidium                                            .

.                                                                   .

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*._.:*~*._.:*~*:.

Amarillys

Florentino said:

You read what is written on a letter decorated for Logosmas:

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*._.:*~*._.:*~*:.

.                                                                   .

. [Intricate script in stygian ink flows across this    .      .    .

. letter, depicting a scene of ultimate Logosmas        _\/  \/_    .

. horror. Though the white-covered village of            _\/\/_     .

. unknown origin may have once been peaceful and     _\_\_\/\/_/_/_ .

. idyllic, the mayhem laid bare on the virgin snow    / /_/\/\_\ \  .

. tells a story of monstrous battle. All that            _/\/\_     .

. remains is assorted corpses of various states of       /\  /\     .

. dismemberment, puddles of blood oozing from them      '      '    .

. to stain the frosty veil beneath. Amidst the grim site            .

. stands a single woman, her vibrant curls obscuring much of        .

. her expression as the invisible wind plies her strands. She       .

. is dressed in a regal, austere gown that brushes against the      .

. snow, her hands folded in front of her. What can be seen of       .

. her expression shows a serenity that belies the destruction       .

. surrounding her, though no mark from blood nor stain of battle    .

. mars her petite form. Obscenely cheerful snowmen, untouched by    .

. the devastation, watch on with lifeless eyes, silent as stars.]   .

.                                                                   .

.                         ::::::    .-~~\        ::::::             .

.                         |::::|   /     \ _     |::::|             .

.                 _ _     l~~~~!   ~x   .-~_)_   l~~~~!             .

.              .-~   ~-.   \  /      ~x".-~   ~-. \  /              .

.       _     /         \   ||    _  ( /         \ ||               .

.       ||   T  o  o     Y  ||    ||  T o  o      Y||               .

.     ==:l   l   <       !  (3  ==:l  l  <        !(3               .

.        \\   \  .__/   /  /||     \\  \  ._/    / ||               .

.         \\ ,r"-,___.-'r.//||      \\,r"-,___.-'r/||               .

.          }^ \.( )   _.'//.||      }^\. ( )  _.-//||               .

.         /    }~Xi--~  //  ||     /   }~Xi--~  // ||\              .

.        Y    Y I\ \    "   ||    Y   Y I\ \    "  || Y             .

.        |    | |o\ \       ||    |   | |o\ \      || |             .

.        |    l_l  Y T      ||    |   l_l  Y T     || |             .

.        l      "o l_j      |!    l     "o l_j     || !             .

.         \                 ||     \               ||/              .

.       .--^.     o       .^||.  .--^.     o       ||--.            .

.            "           ~  `'        "           ~`'               .

.                                                                   .

. [In the bottom-right corner, an elegant bit of calligraphy        .

. flits across the page, depicting a few words in the common        .

. tongue.]                                                          .

.                                                                   .

. May Logosmas grant you another turn of the Vault in Strength,     .

. Suffering, and growth.                                            .

.                                                                   .

. In fondness,                                                      .

. Melodie Le'Murzen                                                 .

. Herald of the Insidium                                            .

.                                                                   .

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*._.:*~*._.:*~*:.

It's so horrifyingly adorable ^_^

Xinna

She just wanted to send a card with happy snowmen. Closet Cyrenian still.

@Melodie.  

Dalran

ARPE
https://ada-young.appspot.com/pastebin/46ec938f

Aodfionn

(The Midnight Crew): Nemutaur says, "Serves you right for taking a muslim title into Achaea and
expecting people to get it."

lol'd

Kresslack

Aodfionn said:

(The Midnight Crew): Nemutaur says, "Serves you right for taking a muslim title into Achaea and
expecting people to get it."

lol'd

I'm curious; what was the title?

Shara

Kresslack said:

Aodfionn said:

(The Midnight Crew): Nemutaur says, "Serves you right for taking a muslim title into Achaea and
expecting people to get it."

lol'd

I'm curious; what was the title?

It's in the log: Imam

Kresslack

Shara said:

Kresslack said:

Aodfionn said:

(The Midnight Crew): Nemutaur says, "Serves you right for taking a muslim title into Achaea and
expecting people to get it."

lol'd

I'm curious; what was the title?

It's in the log: Imam

I regret reading that log...and I blame you.

Exelethril

RIP Imam Kendrick

Addama

(The Midnight Crew): You say, "Lmao who is Hesper."

(The Midnight Crew): Deladan says, "Hipsana."

Shara

Kresslack said:

Shara said:

It's in the log: Imam

I regret reading that log...and I blame you.

I lurve chu. Will send potash before you bring shame unto my famiry cow!

Kresslack

Shara said:

Kresslack said:

Shara said:

It's in the log: Imam

I regret reading that log...and I blame you.

I lurve chu. Will send potash before you bring shame unto my famiry cow!

Your offer is well received. Please to be including sticky rice to seal the deal.

Shara

Kresslack said:

Shara said:

I lurve chu. Will send potash before you bring shame unto my famiry cow!

Your offer is well received. Please to be including sticky rice to seal the deal.

The tea has been steeped. I repeat, the tea has steeped, sir. Check your mail next time you log in. I hope you giggle. We had a good laugh in the Deli about it.

Kendrick

So, uh. This is apparently what happens when Babby's First Unravel hits Kendrick Gothfraidh.

https://ada-young.appspot.com/pastebin/c2bb68ae

Herenicus

...meanwhile, back in Mhaldor

The Scriptorium (indoors).
Everything about you is obscured by a heavy fog. Ebony bookcases stretch into the darkness, their dusty tops lost in the oppressive gloom. Shelves creak under all imaginable types of written work as expensive vellum journals, ragged lambskin scrolls, granite tablets, and many more contend for shelf space. Despite the lack of a breeze, the feverish rustling of parchment can be heard from deeper within the stacks. Occasionally interspersed amidst the wooden bookshelves are cast iron podiums, held fast to the floor by massive steel bolts. Atop these colossal pedestals, mouldering, leathery tomes are bound tightly by multiple loops of steel chain. Simple writing desks sit in rows before the shelves, with neat piles of yellowed paper and sharp quill pens awaiting future authors. A runic totem is planted solidly in the ground. A breathtakingly beautiful face smiles wickedly from behind the folds of a deeply cowled, soft grey robe. Standing with his hands steepled before him, Sevet awaits visitors here, a large smile upon his face. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. There are 2 black wooden bookshelves here. A bookshelf is here. A mahogany bookcase is here. Dread Legate Taraus Bravi'os is here.
You see a single exit leading northeast.
 
You grin mischievously at Taraus

You smile and say to Taraus, "Hi there, trouble."

Taraus says with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Hello."

Taraus asks with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Trouble?"
 
Taraus innocently asks with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Me?"
 
Herenicus turns his eyes in a good-natured roll.

Taraus asks with a throaty, lyrical accent, "How are you?"
 
You say to Taraus, "Well, let me see."

You say to Taraus, "I am nearly finished with the [redacted]."

You say, "I took a long break from that to discuss the subject of hope with Mathonwy."

You say, "And to encourage he and I to make the effort to squeeze the work we do naturally into the paces set before us by the House requirements."

Taraus says thoughtfully with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Hope."
 
Taraus says with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Milenka's nudged me to do the room designs, and some..."
 
Taraus gestures vaguely.
 
Taraus says with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Creative item."

Araval, the Illuminatrix exclaims, "You couldn't sound less enchanted with the idea, I'd say!"
Taraus rubs her eyes tiredly.
 
Taraus smiles impishly and says to Araval, the Illuminatrix with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Oh, I reckon I could if I -tried-."
 
Casting a serious glance at Taraus, you furrow your brow.

Taraus says to Araval, the Illuminatrix with a throaty, lyrical accent, "I've always struggled the most with architecture, it's a tricky balance to achieve."

You say, "You describe a floor, you describe a door, some torches here, and there some more."
 
Taraus says musingly with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Oh, are -those- the bits that make up a room. Huh."
 
You say to Taraus, "If only they were as easy to describe as EXCUSES."
 
You cough softly.
 
You say politely, "Ahem."

Taraus shoots a withering look of disapproval at you.

You scurry to hide behind Araval, the Illuminatrix.
 
Taraus says to you with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Beyond that, it must mesh with the other rooms nearby, achieve an appropriate decorating scheme to properly create the right ambience, and it must be done as succinctly as possible."

Araval, the Illuminatrix says, "There is something of interest I might share, if you like."

Taraus says to Araval, the Illuminatrix with a throaty, lyrical accent, "By all means, Illuminatrix. Share what you will!"

Araval, the Illuminatrix says, "I was thrashing one of His building slaves for attempting to scrawl design schematics in one of my books, the filthy wretch, and it seems that they've nearly finished the interior of the hall. So if you are not set on contributing some type of architectural wonder, you need not press yourself into such service, as it were."

Herenicus gives Taraus a sympathetic look.

Taraus says to Araval, the Illuminatrix with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Oh, there's no question 
that I'll do it, it's simply a matter of doing it -right-."
 
You say confidingly to Araval, the Illuminatrix, "...perfectionism."

You ponder Taraus, and give a click of your tongue.
  
Taraus says to you with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Well, you can't go traipsing through a room hewn from black marble, and then suddenly find yourself surrounded by mahogany and brocade."
 
Taraus says to you with a throaty, lyrical accent, "That's jarring and incongruous!"

Araval, the Illuminatrix says, "Ah, you might be interested to know that the builders were lugging around a fair amount of granite recently."

Taraus says with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Ah!"

Taraus says with a throaty, lyrical accent, "See, now that's useful information."
 
You say to Taraus, "See, I took the stone-based architecture for..."
 
Herenicus gestures vaguely.
 
Taraus says to you with a throaty, lyrical accent, "And you're the one laboring over [redacted]."
 
You say to Taraus, "[redacted].'"
 
You cough softly.

Taraus says to you with a throaty, lyrical accent, "[redacted]."

Araval, the Illuminatrix taps her nose knowingly.

You say to Taraus, "I am working as fast as I can, slave driver. Thank you for your encouragement, as always."
 
You say to Taraus, "[redacted]."

You say to Taraus, "I know, I know."

Taraus says to you with a throaty, lyrical accent, "From the man who was just chiding and deriding me moments ago?"

You say to Taraus, "I don't want to hear it."

Herenicus grins a bit.

Taraus says stiffly with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Oh, I can easily think of a half-dozen things you'll not be hearing."

Herenicus' eyes widen, his dark brows scaling his forehead in mild comeuppance.

Taraus offers you a saccharine smile.

Taraus looks thoughtful and says with a throaty, lyrical accent, "The rooms, once I've settled into sketching, will come easily enough. It's the unique item that I'm stalled on."

Araval, the Illuminatrix tells you, "Perhaps I can assist you if you are... stuck as it were. If you have questions, I have seen quite a lot of the planning work after thrashing the slave."

Taraus nods her head at Araval, the Illuminatrix.

You tell Araval, the Illuminatrix, "[redacted]."

Araval, the Illuminatrix gives you the once-over, eyeing you suspiciously.
 
Araval, the Illuminatrix says, "Show me your hands. Have you bathed recently?"

He is a human, dark-haired and casting a grim silhouette. His grave countenance recalls a sinister tapestry of cruel angles, punctuated by the purpled rings beneath his tired eyes. The eyes themselves glow with zealous intensity, near-drained of colour and left an unsettling bluish-white. A glossy mane of sleek burnet drapes past the line of his jaw like an ebon veil. His generous mouth and thin lips animate his features, parting to reveal a toothsome, carnivorous aspect. Having seen the benefit of a close shave, the balance of his grooming suggests an exacting precision that verges on fussiness. Ink-stained fingertips give the only lie to his would-be spotlessness. A lean musculature and white, unblemished skin unite with the richness of his attire in suggesting membership in the leisure class. Scarcely visible at remove, a lattice of thin scars traverses the back of his hands, disappearing into either sleeve.
He is wearing:
 a studded black leather scabbard,
 a bone ring with an icewall rune,
 a platinum band bearing an iced sapphire,
 a bespoke formal jacket in heather grey,
 a collared shirt of ivory silk,
 tailored heather grey trousers,
 burnished steel cufflinks,
 a single-breasted waistcoat of cobalt,
 a pocket chain of burnished steel,
 a carefully folded handkerchief of cobalt silk,
 polished shoes of ivory leather, and
 a whimsical snowman brooch
 
Taraus laughs abruptly, ducking her head against her shoulder and hiding the sound behind a cough.
 
Herenicus' colour drains from his face.
 
Araval, the Illuminatrix says, "Well, just don't go touching things in here then."
 
Taraus clears her throat, arranging her countenance in some semblance of composure.

Herenicus smiles coldly if too wide, exposing the impolite teeth.

Taraus says airily with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Anyhow."

You grunt noncommittally.

You mutter, "Ih......e..e.....ffen....nall....fe."

With a sidelong glance, Taraus flashes you a brief, affectionate grin.
 
You just received message #13018 from Taraus.
Message #13018      Sent by Taraus
12/31/2:53 // ??????

You sent the following message to Taraus:
// Ihaveneverbeensooffendedinallmylife.

Taraus whispers to you with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Don't forget to exhale, dear, else you'll pass out."

Araval, the Illuminatrix says, "I've seen this type of affliction before."

Araval, the Illuminatrix says, "Mumbled speech, held breath."
 
Not knowing what to say, you stare around blankly.

Taraus tilts her head curiously at Araval, the Illuminatrix.

Araval, the Illuminatrix says, "The air in the southern Vashnars is quite insidious. It lingers in the blood."
 
Your eyes burn with hatred.
 
Araval, the Illuminatrix says, "In a decade or two it should pass fully."

Comprehension flashes across Taraus's face.
 
Taraus says soothingly to you with a throaty, lyrical accent, "There, see? It isn't fatal."

You say to Araval, the Illuminatrix, "For a woman who's never authored a word to my knowledge, you hold down a stack of papers with admirable heft."
 
Araval, the Illuminatrix coughs politely, smiling.

You say to Araval, the Illuminatrix, "Try not to strain yourself selling those ink quills."

Taraus winces in pain.

You say, "Excuse me."

You say, "I have to wash my hands."

...later that day...

You stare pointedly at Araval, the Illuminatrix.

You incline your head politely to Sevet, a black-robed priest.
 
Araval, the Illuminatrix exclaims, "Your hands!"

You say threateningly to Araval, the Illuminatrix, "Watch it."
  
Araval, the Illuminatrix exclaims, "You smell as clean as a Mhaldorian subdivision pond, Coldraven!"

You begin to wield an exquisite manuscript debossed with quills in your left hand.
 
Herenicus pauses in opening an exquisite manuscript debossed with quills, glancing up from the task with bright-eyed incandescence.
 
Araval, the Illuminatrix's eyes sparkle with amusement.

Araval, the Illuminatrix says, "That's what I like about you, Coldraven. You do pay such attention to detail."
 
Herenicus affects a flattered smile, his features softening save for his eyes.
 
You softly ask Araval, the Illuminatrix, "...may I confess what I like best about you, Araval?"
 
Araval, the Illuminatrix says, "Now, now. I'm a woman of a certain age. Your tricks won't work on me. Save that for the... more spry members of the citizenry."
 
You say apologetically to Araval, the Illuminatrix, "But I really must commend you for a trait so many others lack, a virtue more might wield."
Araval, the Illuminatrix gives you the once-over, eyeing you suspiciously.
 
You say to Araval, the Illuminatrix, "The good sense to keep your mouth closed the better half of the time."
 
Araval, the Illuminatrix exclaims, "Ha!"

You wrinkle your nose and sniff.

Herenicus flares a nostril in rank celebration before returning to an exquisite manuscript debossed with quills.
 
Herenicus glances up with the sense to look embarrassed.

You say to Araval, the Illuminatrix, "I need to purchase one of those quills off you."

Saeva

Taraus says to Araval, the Illuminatrix with a throaty, lyrical accent, "I've always struggled the most with architecture, it's a tricky balance to achieve."

You say, "You describe a floor, you describe a door, some torches here, and there some more."

Okay, Hasar

Taraus

ahem, for the record:

Araval, the Illuminatrix tells you, "Think nothing of it. I have moments of extreme disinterest handing out books to people. Their hands are often filthy."

You tell Araval, the Illuminatrix, "If only the filth stopped at the wrists!"

Araval, the Illuminatrix gives Herenicus the once-over, eyeing him suspiciously.
 
Araval, the Illuminatrix says, "Show me your hands. Have you bathed recently?"

Caoimhaen

@Halos , this sort of made my day.

[sitting in a random street in Cyrene]

You feel the spiritual presence of Halos touch you momentarily.

[I sense him and come to see him. I try and leave. Piety is down. so I tumble and he attempts to beckon me. It doesn't work. I return to the room and this is what ensues.]

A quiet grotto behind massive boulders (indoors).

This room has not been mapped.

A pair of monolithic boulders protects the mouth of this shallow grotto. Scant light filters in, and 

the gusting wind beyond sends only cursory drafts to whisper throughout the cavern and stir the rock 

dust upon the pebbled floor. Beeswax candles burn in alcoves chiselled directly into the coarse, 

grey granite of the far wall, leaving faint traces of sandalwood and lavender oil to linger on the 

air. Steam rising in feathery wisps from its surface, a rivulet of crystal-clear water emerges 

beneath the display before looping around and vanishing into a slender crevice to the east, its 

destination indeterminable. A rune shaped like a butterfly has been sketched into the ground here 

(nairat: transfix). A rune like an open eye has been sketched into the ground here (wunjo: cure 

blind). A runic totem is planted solidly in the ground. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular 

monolith is on the ground. The shining figure of a guardian angel floats in the air here. An ashen-

hued granite bench is here, mottled and worn with age. Harbinger Halos Vorondil is here, sitting on 

a bench of ashen granite.

You see a single exit leading south.

Halos's eyes sparkle with amusement.

Harbinger Halos Vorondil asks, "Where were you going?"

You say in a quiet voice, "If you wish for my death. I am quite willing to-."

Halos sips from a cup of dark New Hope tea.

You say in a quiet voice, "I didnt think you would want my presence.."

Harbinger Halos Vorondil asks, "What are you doing skulking around Cyrene?"

You shrug helplessly.

You say in a quiet voice, "I have no idea."

Harbinger Halos Vorondil says, "Drifting."

You say in a quiet voice, "Indeed."

You say in a quiet voice, "Not what I wish to be doing."

You shrug helplessly.

You say in a quiet voice, "But I did this to myself."

Halos nibbles a wheat biscuit idly.

Wymer has left the area.

Halos says in a bored voice, "Still shrugging helplessly."

Your eyes sparkle with amusement.

Drawing back his sleeves, Halos dusts crumbs from his lap onto pebbled floor with a sigh.

You say in a quiet voice, "Did you wish me to stay or leave, lumarch?"

Harbinger Halos Vorondil says, "I could ask you the same."

You blink.

Harbinger Halos Vorondil asks, "What do -you- want?"

You say in a quiet voice, "I have no idea anymore."

You shake your head sadly from side to side.

You say in a quiet voice, "I feel like I went from knowing to not anymore."

As the first hint of daylight breaks through the night sky, the Cyrenian Clock Tower chimes out a 

gentle, low din, heralding the arrival of dawn.

Harbinger Halos Vorondil says simply, "Sit down by me."

You sit on a bench of ashen granite.

Halos gives a cup of dark New Hope tea to you.

You say in a quiet voice, "Thank you."

Harbinger Halos Vorondil asks, "Did you sit down with the Rasul yet?"

You shake your head.

Warm, mango-scented steam curls around your face as you drink from a cup of dark New Hope tea.

Harbinger Halos Vorondil says, "You've made a real mess of things, you know."

You say in a quiet voice, "I know.."

You say in a quiet voice, "Not sure how to get out this time.."

Halos watches you over the rim of a cup of dark New Hope tea as he enjoys the calming scent of the 

steam.

Halos sips from a cup of dark New Hope tea.

You have emoted: Caoimhaen shifts uncomfortably and stares into a cup of dark New Hope tea.

You say in a quiet voice, "You know..I have lost almost everything...and I feel completely empty.."

You have emoted: Caoimhaen laughs softly and shakes his head.

Halos looks at your cup with a frown.

You say in a quiet voice, "Every word I say means nothing anymore."

Warm, mango-scented steam curls around your face as you drink from a cup of dark New Hope tea.

Harbinger Halos Vorondil says slowly, "You aren't empty."

Harbinger Halos Vorondil says casually, "There is still tea there."

Your eyes sparkle with amusement.

You say in a quiet voice, "Indeed."

You say in a quiet voice, "It was merely a figure of speech, Lumarch."

Resting his cup upon his lap, Halos watches the shifting of the shadows as the morning light filters through the entrance of the grotto.

Harbinger Halos Vorondil says quietly, "The sun always rises."

You nod.

Harbinger Halos Vorondil says, "Dawn always comes."

Halos stands, leaving his place on a bench of ashen granite.

Harbinger Halos Vorondil says, "Remember that."

Halos puts a cup of dark New Hope tea onto a bench of ashen granite.

Halos leaves to the south.

A rite of piety prevents you from leaving.

You smile softly.

You stand up, leaving your place on a bench of ashen granite. 

Melodie

Caoimhaen said:

You feel the spiritual presence of Halos touch you momentarily.

Oh man. The feels, the feels @Halos. 

Vesios

You have emoted: Vesios takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment, gathering himself.

You have emoted: With solemn steps and cool visage Vesios walks to the center of his grove and raises a wyvern-etched druidic quarterstaff before him, before planting the heartwood into the ground. Roots slither out of the ground and grasp around its length, holding it in place.

You have emoted: Taking two moderate steps away from the implanted quarterstaff, Vesios spreads his arms and hands outwards before him.

You adopt the pose: Vesios Le'Yuet, Aspirant of Galadriel is here, arms spread out wide.

You say, "I would ask you all to make a circle around the quarterstaff."

Kyriella steps forward to join the circle.

Ryuke steps forward to start the circle.

Deladan ponders the situation.

The Dragon melts away from Deladan, leaving him a Satyr once again.

Deladan exhales loudly.

Samakhulis shuffles into place between two other people.

Sidd steps forward, joining the circle.

Aelyn arranges herself among the others in the circle.

Yae joins the circle.

Deladan steps forward joining the circle.

Sentinel Wolf Deladan Seir-Aristata, the Black Knight says to Ryuke, "I fit easier this way."

A great weight seems to have been lifted from Ryuke.

Ryuke takes some salve from a vial and rubs it on his body.

Ryuke nods his head at Deladan.

The corners of Ryuke's mouth turn up as he grins mischievously.

Kyriella's eyes sparkle with amusement at Deladan.

You nod.

You say, "Let us begin."

You say, "Venerable oaks, I beseech your aid once more."

You say, "Long have you stood here, battered by the furious winds and assailed by the powerful thunderstorms. You have survived it all, here in your domain."

You say, "On this day, I ask that you once more lend me your power, so that I may, in turn, aid you!"

You have emoted: The trees of the Shamtota shift in the winds at Vesios' cry and the potent rays of the sun come forth from their leaves. The implanted tool in the center of the grove receives it - the rays course their way through the heartwood, highlighting the quarterstaff like golden veins.

You say, "You and yours have existed long before the mortal races. We learn from you, strive to emulate you, and yet there are still those who would seek you harm."

You say, "They exist outside the cycle of balance, outside of the seasons and that which governs this
world. For their own selfish purposes they destroy and maim and stab at the hand that feeds them, though you, in your benevolence, would not wish it so."

You have emoted: Fingers splayed and palms facing outwards, Vesios maneuvers his arms so they are pointing towards the staff. The luminosity increases in intensity, the golden outline of the wyvern etching contrasting heavily with the dark wood of the staff.

You adopt the pose: Vesios Le'Yuet, Aspirant of Galadriel is here, arms outstretched towards an implanted quarterstaff.

You exclaim, "I request of you now, trees of Shamtota, my greatest allies, to grant me, your humblest protector, the power of the shield! Through me and my twenty-three souls, let the balance be preserved!"

You have emoted: The sunlight stored within Vesios' glowing quarterstaff snakes its way down the length into the ground. Like a multitude of serpents it arcs outwards, dancing around your feet and passing by you harmlessly. As each glowing tendril finds a tree they wrap around the base and climb upwards, curling around the trunks and into the canopy above. A brilliant radiance shines forth throughout the area.

You enact the annual Ritual of Preservation, and the air begins to glow with a deep green aura.

You have emoted: The sunlight fades as the green aura takes hold, and soon the surroundings return to their status quo. Vesios approaches his quarterstaff and removes it from the ground, the vines securing it receding back from whence they came.

You cease posing.

You say, "Done!"

#firstritual #drooidstuff #lensflaremakeseverythingcooler #should'vemadeTempTimerintervalsof10 #sorryryuke

Thanks to the House and citymates for showing up! It's funny how long I spent planning and typing it, only to have it go by in probably a minute and a half when actually performed. It was fun though, I learned a lot in the process.

Bronislav

Caoimhaen said:

Harbinger Halos Vorondil asks, "What are you doing skulking around Cyrene?"

AND WHAT EXACTLY IS THE MATTER WITH SKULKING IN CYRENE, HALOS!?  

Caoimhaen

Bronislav said:

Caoimhaen said:

Harbinger Halos Vorondil asks, "What are you doing skulking around Cyrene?"

AND WHAT EXACTLY IS THE MATTER WITH SKULKING IN CYRENE, HALOS!?  

@Bronislav‌ There are certainly a lot worse places I could skulk. >.>; *cough* Mhaldor. *cough* Ashtan..

Tibitha

Caoimhaen said:

Bronislav said:

Caoimhaen said:

Harbinger Halos Vorondil asks, "What are you doing skulking around Cyrene?"

AND WHAT EXACTLY IS THE MATTER WITH SKULKING IN CYRENE, HALOS!?  

@Bronislav‌ There are certainly a lot worse places I could skulk. >.>; *cough* Mhaldor. *cough* Ashtan..

Perhaps it was the skulking and not the Cyrene part you should be avoiding